Dervish raises a hand to stop her. Before he can, he’s spun aside by a magical force. It’s not Davida’s work. Doesn’t look like Chuda’s doing it either. There must be a powerful, hidden mage somewhere in the crowd.
“Sound?” Davida shouts again and this time there’s an answering bellow. “All right. Let’s dispense with the countdown and cut to the chase. You lot inside the warehouse—it’s time to make your grand entrance.
The giant door in the middle of the southern wall of the warehouse explodes outwards. Those nearest it are caught by flying splinters, some as long as my arm. Most go down screaming, though a few are torn apart and killed instantly by the shrapnel.
Stunned silence from those not struck by the debris of the blast. Everybody’s staring at the wounded and dead. Wondering if this is real or part of the movie. They live in a make-believe world where anything can happen and nobody is ever really hurt. Their senses tell them this is different, it’s not part of a script, they should run. But the movie-making part of their brain is trying to figure out how the explosion was arranged and how the scattering of the splinters was timed so as not to harm anybody—struggling to convince themselves that those on the ground are acting, the blood isn’t real, it can’t be.
Dervish is back up on his feet. Staring at the hole in the wall like the rest of us. The explosion created clouds of dust around the doorway. As they clear, a figure glides forward from within the warehouse. Pale red skin, lumpen, no heart, eight arms—who else but the ringmaster himself, Lord Loss?
“Alas,” he sighs, looking around sadly. “Here we all are. Bound by chains of blood and death. No way out. Doomed. Dervish tried to warn you, to save you, but he failed. Here you are trapped. Here you will die.”
One of the cameramen moves in for a close-up. “Yes,” I hear Davida murmur. I glance back. She’s speaking into a microphone, directing the cameraman. “His face first, then pan down to the hole in his chest. I want to see those snakes slithering.”
Lord Loss gazes without much interest into the camera. He smiles slightly, then runs his eyes over the crowd, judging their mood, taking in their expressions, most more confused than terrified. “Ah,” he notes. “You do not believe. You think this is part of the film. That I am a movie prop.” He chuckles. “It is time to burst that bubble of misperception.”
He moves to one side. I glimpse other shapes behind him. Eyes. Tendrils. Teeth. Claws. Fangs. “Now, my darlings,” Lord Loss whispers.
The demons spill out in their dozens, each one more misshapen and nightmarish than the last. A variety of vile monsters, spitting bile, oozing pus and blood, screeching and howling with malicious glee. They collide with the shocked members of the cast and crew closest to the building. Cut into and through them, severing limbs and heads, disembowelling, biting and clawing.
Realisation hits the masses swift and hard. A single scream rings out. Then a volley of them. Panic sweeps the crowd. A stampede develops, everyone wanting to get away from the demons, trampling over one another, the weak going down in the crush, dying beneath the feet of their workmates. Anarchy at its most destructive and terrifying.
Lord Loss laughs and his laughter carries over the sounds of the screams. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to react, heart jackhammering, not wanting this to be happening, wishing I could be anywhere in the world but here.
I see the cameraman who moved forward turning away to capture the scenes of mayhem. “Not yet!” Davida snaps. “Stay on the hole. Give me a close up.”
The cameraman steps right up to Lord Loss’ chest, manoeuvring his camera to within a few centimetres of the writhing, hissing snakes. He moves his head from behind the camera to check something—and one of the snakes strikes. It lashes out from within the hole where Lord Loss’ heart should be. Sinks its tiny fangs into the cameraman’s left cheek. He yelps, drops his camera and tries to pull away. But the snake has a firm hold. It yanks him closer so his face plunges into the hole. And now all the snakes are biting. The cameraman’s arms and legs thrash wildly, then go still. He falls away a few seconds later, his face a blood-red map of bites and rips, skin flailed, bone cracked, brains dribbling down his chin.
“No!” Davida gasps. “He hadn’t finished the shot! They shouldn’t have…”
She stops and studies the demons tearing into the humans. They’re drawing no distinction between the intended victims and the collaborators, dragging down cameramen and other technicians as well as the unsuspecting members of the cast and crew.
Lord Loss looks at her sneeringly. “I do not make deals with fools. I promised you chaos, which you and your underlings could film, but I never said I would spare any of you. You simply assumed—and assumed wrong.” He smiles at me. “Greetings, Grubitsch. Such a pleasure to see you again. I will take much satisfaction from your long, slow, painful death.”
“Not today!” Dervish bellows and suddenly he’s by my side, right hand raised. He fires off a bolt of energy at Lord Loss. The demon master deflects it, but is knocked sideways. “Come on!” Dervish snaps at me and Bill-E. “We have to get out of here.”
“But what about…?” I gesture at the fleeing people.
“We’ll summon them when—if—we blast a way out,” Dervish says. “The best thing they can do for now is flee. That will delay the demons and buy us some time.”
“But—” Bill-E begins.
“No arguments!” Dervish barks. “Follow me now or, so help me, I’ll leave you for the bloody Demonata!”
With that he turns and flees south, sidestepping the stunned, frozen Davida Haym. There’s no sign of Chuda, who must have deserted her when he realised they were going to perish along with those they’d planned to sacrifice. I’m not sure where he thinks he can run to or hide, but he fled anyway.
Davida can’t move. She’s weeping, seeing all her dreams of immortality go up in flames. I’d like to say I feel sorry for her, but I don’t. All I can think right now is, “Serves you right, you mad old cow!”
Then Bill-E and I are past the desolate producer, following Dervish through the warren of streets and alleys of Slawter, the screams of the dying and yowls of the demons rising all the time.
Twisting and turning, Dervish in the lead, no apparent route in mind. He stops in the middle of a street. There are doors on either side of us. Handy for a getaway if we’re attacked. “Are you OK?” he asks us.
“Any reason we should be?” I reply calmly, hiding my terror as best I can.
Bill-E says nothing. He looks like a shell-shocked soldier. As awful as I feel, I think Bill-E feels a hell of a lot worse.
“Billy?” Dervish says softly. “Are you with us? Are all the lights on in there?” He taps the side of Bill-E’s head.
“They killed them,” Bill-E wheezes, his lazy left eyelid snapping open and shut at great speed. “I saw a thing with… it looked like a tiger… but bits and pieces sticking out… it killed Salit. He tried to stop it. He didn’t know it was real. He was acting his movie part, where he was a big hero. But it cut him down the middle and—”
“We don’t have time for hysterics,” Dervish growls. “Be a man and help us fight, or go and babble somewhere until the demons find and kill you.”
I hate him for saying that, but I know he’s only doing it for Bill-E’s sake. Cruel to be kind and all that guff.
Bill-E glares at Dervish, anger driving the fear away. “I’m not hysterical,” he says stiffly.
“Glad to hear it,” Dervish says. “Now listen and listen good. Lord Loss is the only demon master. The rest are his familiars or others Davida roped in. Some are stronger than us but most aren’t. We need to capture one of the weaker demons and use it to get out.”
“And the other people?” I ask quietly.
“We’ll take as many as we can,” Dervish promises. “If we’re successful, I’ll send a telepathic signal and let all the survivors know where we are.”
“Why not do that now?” I ask. “Arrange a meeting place and tell them to go there. It would give them more time, a better chance.”
Dervish shakes his head. “Those who were working for the Demonata would receive the message too. They’d go running to Lord Loss—try to save their own foul lives by selling out the rest of us.”
“OK,” I mutter. “So how do we catch a demon?”
