Forty-Four Book Thirteen (44 13) Read online

  “Ride out of here, Abby,” Samael said as the thing focused on me again. “Go!”

  This time the engine started and a second later I zoomed past them without looking back. I kept going as fast as the bike and the rain and the road would let me.

  It was the first of these creatures I’d seen since New Orleans when I had fought the cop outside the police station and although I thought I was being vigilant, I wasn’t. It had taken me by surprise.

  I drove on, the rain stinging my face, the wind like wolves howling in my ears. But after about fifteen minutes I hit a stretch of bad traffic with the cars coming to a crawl in the flooded lanes and I thought about getting off the highway. But I worried I might get lost, so I stayed the course, weaving between cars.

  As I was shooting past a horse trailer, I felt the familiar tap on my shoulder.

  “Better put this on,” Samael said, handing me my helmet. “He’s not far behind. Punch it.”

  I glanced in the side mirror and saw a sea of watery headlights. A chill ran down my back thinking that a pair belonged to the ghoul.

  “Jesus, why didn’t you do anything to him back there? You could have slashed his tires or pulled a spark plug.”

  “You have to go faster, Abby.”

  “There is no faster,” I said to the wind. “Any faster and I’ll be road kill.”

  Still, I shifted into fifth, bringing the speedometer up to fifty-five, and then seventy when the traffic thinned out. I felt the rear tire slip.

  “Damn it!” I screamed.

  The bike fishtailed and I careened into the next lane, the sound of a car horn telling me what I already knew. I swerved back over and avoided the collision.

  Up ahead I was again greeted by a long trail of brake lights glaring off the wet pavement.

  “I’m getting off,” I said. “I’ll try and lose him in the countryside.”

  I rode the shoulder until an off ramp appeared and then roared out into the fields of crops. The miles dropped away, but when I checked the mirror I saw headlights in the distance.

  “Is that him?” I said, thinking of those white eyes.

  Samael didn’t answer, but for once I knew what his silence meant.

  I wasn’t making any progress. There was no way I was going to outrun him. My only hope in beating him like this was for him to lose control on the curves before I did. I needed a new plan.

  “There’s a fork coming up,” Samael said. “Turn left and then a right on the dirt road.”

  I followed his directions, but after the split I couldn’t see where to turn.

  “Where?”

  “Here,” he said, pointing.

  I made the turn on blind faith and somehow the road was there. But it wasn’t dirt anymore. The moment we hit the black mud the bike stopped abruptly, the wheels sinking into the mushy goo. The jolt sent me flying through the air and crashing into a cluster of cornstalks.

  I lay there in the pouring rain for a long moment, stunned. When my head cleared I could make out Samael back near the bike. I staggered to my feet and made my way down to him.

  “Thanks for the hand,” I said.

  “The rest of the way will have to be on foot,” he said.

  “What about the bike? I’m not leaving it out—”

  “Stash it over there.” He pointed to some nearby stalks. “You can come back for it later.”

  I followed as he zigzagged through the rows of corn, wading up to my ankles in the mud while the storm raged on. I was soaked to the bone and I knew I would be okay as long as I kept moving, but there would be full-body shiver hell to pay when I stopped.

  “Why am I running from this thing, Samael?” I said. “Shouldn’t I practice on it for what’s coming?”

  “Sometimes there’s a fine line between practice and exhaustion,” he said. “You’re ready, Abby. At this point, these things can only wear down your energy.”

  “Good to know.”

  Suddenly the cornstalks parted and we stood in front of a barn.

  It looked deserted, no sounds, no lights, not even a farmhouse around. Samael opened the large doors, sending the strong smell of hay and manure my way. But although there were stalls and stacked bags of feed, there weren’t any animals inside. The barn seemed to be a storage facility. There were a couple of tractors, pallets and fencing material, baled hay, other farm machinery, and hundreds of tools hanging off the walls.

  I worked my way out of my helmet and jacket, my own rankness mixing with the animal smells. My hair was wet, plastered and dripping with rain and sweat. I unzipped my pack and pulled out some dry clothes.

  “It’s good to get out of that rain,” I said.

  Samael was still at the door, staring out.

  “He’ll be here soon.”

  I took in a deep breath, forgetting how cold I was and thinking instead about how I needed to calm the nerves that were now flying around inside me like live wires snapped from a pole.

  CHAPTER 4

  It wasn’t long before the roar of the pickup filled the air, followed by the familiar revving of the engine. I peered out and saw that the truck was stuck in the mud not much farther down the road than where my bike had bought it.

  The driver sat eerily behind the wheel for a long minute, the high beams on and the wipers still swiping the windshield. When he finally got out, he went over to the bed and pulled out a tire iron. I retreated back behind some bales of hay, listening to the footsteps slurping toward the doors.

  I wrapped both hands around the small canister of pepper spray and waited.

  The sight of the dark silhouette in the doorway sucked all the air out of my lungs as well as my courage. But I drew in a long breath and centered myself.

  Even at two hundred pounds plus, eyes were still eyes, and if my aim was true, he would go down. I just needed to hold my nerve.

  He stood there at the entrance, those cotton-white eyes glowing as he lifted his nose and inhaled.

  He stepped inside and began circling the tractors, spinning the tire iron in his hand. He climbed up on one and looked into the cab. Again he smelled the air. But this time after doing so, his head snapped toward me.

  He jumped down, coming at me fast, taking hard, violent swings with the tire iron, slicing at the air between us. Every fiber of my being was telling me to fire, but I waited, waited, waited.

  When he was finally close enough I pushed the button and a peppery cloud engulfed his face. It slowed him down, but it didn’t stop him. Dropping the tire iron, he stumbled toward me as he batted at his eyes like a man without hands.

  I ran to the other end of the barn and took a pitchfork off the wall. I used it to push over a stack of pallets. It distracted him and I moved in quickly, plunging the sharp tines into his arm.

  “Bitch!”

  It would have taken down most normal men, but the injury only fueled the ghoul’s anger and with renewed energy he lifted one of the pallets above his head and threw it at me. It mowed me down like a bowling ball and I fell hard, the taste of dirt and blood flooding my mouth. I crawled toward the pitchfork but then felt myself being pulled back, the creature’s hands wrapped around my ankles.

  I kicked at him as he dragged me, but he was too strong. He flipped me over like a pancake before jumping on top of me, the air rushing from my lungs all at once. I couldn’t breathe and a searing pain radiated from my chest. I tried to throw him off, but he had me pinned and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He brought his face to mine and for a moment I got lost in those horror eyes dancing like ghosts in a haunted graveyard. He stroked my hair as the smell of rot seeped into my nostrils.

  “Sama—” I tried to shout, but the ghoul wrapped his hand around my throat and squeezed out the last of my words.

  He licked the blood off my lip.

  I gasped again for air, but there was none. My head was spinning and I felt myself floating away.

  “The knife,” I heard as if in a dream. “Use your knife.”

  I
brought my knee up and felt for my ankle. It was there, right where I had left it. I unsheathed the blade slowly, lifted it even slower, and then buried it into whatever flesh I could find.

  The ghoul screamed like a hog being herded up a slaughterhouse ramp. He released his hand from my throat and rolled off of me. I crawled away, desperately fighting for air, reaching for the pitchfork again.

  The tables had turned.

  He was still on the ground, pulling out the knife and watching the blood squirt from his leg as I stood over him, readying myself for the kill.

  The rage churning inside me was so thick I could barely see straight. I hated Nathaniel for all he had done to me. And I hated this thing at my feet.

  “Goodbye, demon,” I said, aiming for the thing’s heart.

  But something jerked me backward.

  I turned around, ready to strike.

  “No, Abby.”

  “Samael!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me!”

  “Look, look at his face.”

  I glanced at the ghoul still writhing in pain on the ground. I raised the pitchfork again, but stopped when I saw them.

  His eyes.

  They were no longer white.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Please!” the man said, scuttling away from me. “Please, don’t, don’t kill me!”

  It was a real voice coming from him now and it was filled with terror.

  “What?” I said.

  “Miss, please! I… I have a family. You can take my wallet, my truck. Anything. Just don’t kill me. Please!”

  He struggled to his knees and held both hands up in surrender.

  “Put it down, Abby,” Samael said. “It’s over.”

  I didn’t move an inch, keeping the pitchfork aimed at the man’s chest.

  “It’s just a trick, Samael. The minute I let go of it, his eyes will be white again and I won’t get a second chance. He’s been trying to kill me all afternoon. He’s not walking away. I’m finishing this.”

  “Wait!” the man screamed, the crack in his voice making it sound like two syllables. “See, no, you got the wrong guy. My name isn’t Samael! My name is Jake. Check my license. Jake McKinney and I’m not trying to kill you… or anybody. I don’t even know who you are. And I want to keep it that way. Please let me go!”

  “The spirit that has been chasing you is gone,” Samael said. “Take a moment, Abby. Feel the air.”

  Samael was right. The air had lost its charge. I stared into the man’s face. He really was just a man now, trembling and scared.

  I let the pitchfork fall to the ground.

  “Thank you.” The tears streamed down his cheeks. He covered his face with pudgy hands and cried. “Oh, thank you.”

  I took a step back, trying to let go of the rage still burning inside me, trying to shut off the jackhammer pounding beneath my ribs.

  “I don’t understand what just happened,” I said.

  “I don’t either, miss,” he said, looking right through Samael. “Where we are and how I got here. I’m supposed to be... I’m supposed to be at my brother’s funeral.”

  He collapsed into himself, his sobs now louder than the rain.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t! I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so...”

  Samael stepped toward him.

  “What’s he talking about?” I said. “Who’s Jimmy?”

  “The ghost you were speaking to at the church,” he said. “And he’s talking about a bad decision that he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life. But you’re done with him now, Abby. Send him on his way.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The rain had finally stopped but the air was still heavy with moisture. I stood behind the hay bales and changed into the shorts and T-shirt I had pulled out of my bag before the ghoul showed up. It felt good to have something dry against my wrinkled skin. Samael had a small fire going in the middle of the barn and I walked over and spread out my wet clothes across a wheelbarrow and then stood next to the flames.

  Samael came up behind me with an old, wool blanket that had seen better days and wrapped it around my shoulders. It was scratchy and smelled like a horse, but I wasn’t complaining.

  “Thanks.” I let the warmth kiss me. “Where did you find the dry wood?”

  “Pallets,” he said, holding up a small hatchet.

  “Nice.”

  I rolled my tongue across my split lip and looked over the cuts on my arms and legs.

  “How’s your chest?” he said.

  “It hurts, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  I wondered again why Samael hadn’t done more to help. I knew I had to learn how to deal with these ghouls, but that had been a close one. Maybe it was that he couldn’t help, not in a physical way, except for small stuff like bringing me my helmet or chopping firewood. Maybe in that way he was like Jesse, who could shoot a basketball. It seemed that dead or alive, angel or ghost, we all had limitations.

  I looked at the fire, surprised to see that there was an open can of Spaghetti-O’s sitting near the flames. Samael put an old rusty spoon inside it and handed it to me.

  “I’ve always wondered what you carry around in that rucksack of yours.”

  The faintest of smiles crept across his face.

  I brought some of the tomato-y mixture up to my lips, thankful that none of my cooking professors could see me now. It was ridiculously good. I had never felt so hungry in my life and I gobbled down spoonful after spoonful as the memory of sitting with Kate at the kitchen counter on Saturday afternoons flashed in my mind.

  “It can’t be a coincidence that this is the same thing that I used to eat when I was a kid.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I finished the last bite. When I turned around Samael had set up a bed for me made of hay and more old blankets not too far from the fire.

  “You did well today, Abby.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, tossing the empty can into the flames. “I forgot about the knife. And if you hadn’t stopped me, I probably would have killed the bastard.”

  “Yes, you do need to keep those emotions in check.” Samael nodded, as if lost in a memory. “Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment.”

  “Is that from the Bible?”

  “Michael Corleone.”

  “Okay,” I said, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

  “What do you think happened to it? The spirit, I mean. Why did it leave all of a sudden there at the end?”

  “It burned through its energy,” Samael said. “It couldn’t sustain its power.”

  “Do you think all of them are like that? With limited energy?”

  “At this point. But you can’t count on things staying that way. You should assume that these creatures will only get stronger the closer that you get to him. They will possess the bodies for longer and longer periods of time.”

  I was quiet for a while as the wood crackled and groaned.

  “If…” I began. “When we finish off Nathaniel, what will happen to these things, to all the dark spirits he has under his control?”

  “I am confident that they will wither away,” Samael said. “Cut off the head and the body will die.”

  I hoped he was right.

  “Another thing I don’t understand is why Nathaniel doesn’t just come after me himself. He’s been trying to kill me for years. It seems like he’d want to do it himself.”

  “He may be sending them to wear you down so that by the time you meet him face to face your energy has been compromised. Or perhaps he’s merely playing with you. The dark force that you know as Nathaniel Mortimer has always taken much pleasure in the sport of the kill, like a matador with a bull.”

  I remembered something.

  “Who were you talking to back at the church?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Everything concerns me now.”

  Silence. I tossed a piece of wood into t
he fire.

  “All right, whatever. But for the record, I’m off the church circuit until further notice. I need a break from that scene.”

  He looked at me like I had just read him the box score from last night’s Marlins game.

  “You should get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow will be a good day for traveling.”

  I wandered over to the bed of hay and moaned a little as I tried to find a position that didn’t inflict some pain. I was tired suddenly, really tired, but as I lay there an uneasy feeling swept through me. There seemed to be so many things Samael kept from me, so many things I didn’t know.

  Why was Nathaniel down in the Florida Keys? How was I going to kill his ghost? Those and dozens and dozens of other questions circled around my mind like runners on a track. But as I felt myself drifting off, I tried to let all those thoughts fade too. There were no answers tonight. Tonight it was good that I had beat down the demon and chased him out of that man’s body. Tonight it was good that Jake McKinney was still alive.

  And that I was still alive.

  “Good night, Samael. And thanks for the fire and dinner.”

  I stared at the flames with half opened eyes for a while and then watched as he moved to the doors and looked out into the black night. The scent of olive oil, basil, and thyme suddenly blew in around me and for a moment I swore I could hear a foreign language in the distance.

  “Who are you, Samael?” I whispered in the dark, before falling into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  Samael had been instructed to do this thing and he did not ask why.

  Down through the millennia, he never asked why. He never questioned. He never doubted. He simply did what was asked of him. But there were moments, lately more and more of them, when he was not sure if he was up to the task. Building something this large took time and patience, patience beyond measure.

  Even for an angel.

  It was much easier to destroy. Destruction came with the sweep of a hand and in the blink of an eye. An entire city could be reduced to rubble in a matter of seconds. Creating a Church, on the other hand, was something altogether different. How many human centuries would have to come and go before God’s chosen creatures were able to find the proper expression to truly worship Him?