Tribulation (33 page)

He sensed a
great many human minds in the building, most of them coming and
going beneath him. They seemed to be active during the day and the
night. Sam assumed they had shifts.

Small portions
of food and drink had been brought for him by a young scrawny male,
probably around fifteen years of age. Every time was the same. Sam
would hear the padlock opened, bolts being drawn on the outside.
The door would open just enough to allow the boy to enter and
deposit the tray on the ground. Outside the door, Sam caught of the
armed guard that he sensed standing there. The guard was taking his
job seriously, his mind radiating alertness and caution.

Sam tried to
engage the boy in conversation but he was completely ignored. The
boy didn’t dally in any case. As soon as the tray was on the
ground, he was back out the door, seemingly reluctant to spend any
more time than he had to in the room. Sam sensed fear in his mind.
His demonic nature was probably common knowledge by now. Certainly
the boy knew what he was.

They were the
only two people Sam saw. Tony didn’t return. Even Grace didn’t
bother to visit him. He told himself he didn’t care, especially
after she’d revealed his true nature to Tony.

The food itself
was, understandably, extremely simple. There wasn’t much of it
either but it did include a little fresh fruit and vegetables.
There was even fresh-tasting water. Like the survivors Sam had
encountered on his way to New York, it looked like this lot were
using hydroponics and had access to a fresh water supply. The food
actually cheered Sam up a little, knowing that people were somehow
eking out a living even in this huge city. He ate it all too, even
though he wasn’t hungry or thirsty, believing that the sustenance
may help his body heal. This in itself was an erroneous belief and
he knew it. The only sustenance he really needed was the light of
the blood moon that seeped in through the window at night.

He began to
train again, running through his unarmed forms, doing press-ups and
other calisthenics. Sometimes, he’d imagine he still had his
swords. He cut down imaginary enemies by the thousands. Their
absence pained him. It was like losing parts of his body.

On the third
night since he’d been incarcerated, everything changed. Sam sensed
something happening outside the door – a mind he’d not encountered
before. There was a brief struggle and a muffled but tell-tale
sound of a body being gently lowered to the floor. The padlock
rattled slightly and then the bolt was drawn quietly across.

Sam moved
behind the door as it silently slid open. A figure entered. Without
waiting to see what they would do, Sam grabbed whoever it was and
thrust them up against the wall. He held the person there by the
neck, their legs dangling in the air. It turned out it was a
he.

“Who are you
and what are you doing here?” Sam hissed.

The man’s eyes
bugged out. He pointed at his throat and made choking noises. Sam
got the hint, letting the man down but keeping one hand around his
collar.

The man took a
breath and tried to rub his throat. He looked up at Sam nervously.
Sam had never seen him before in his life. He looked to be in his
mid-twenties. Scruffy blond hair and a tattered jacket that had
once been brightly colored gave Sam the impression that this guy
had once belonged on the Californian surf beaches and not in New
York.

“I’m here to
get you out,” he finally blurted out, breathing heavily. “My name’s
Travis.”

“Who sent
you?”

“Someone who
wants to help you. What’s with all the questions, dude? Do you want
to get out or don’t you?”

Sam grudgingly
took his hand off Travis’s collar. “I want to get out.”

“Right then,”
said Travis, starting to sound more confident. He adjusted his
collar. “Follow me. Keep quiet.”

“I need my
swords and my pack.”

Travis shook
his head. “No, you don’t. Not where you’re going. Besides, I
wouldn’t have a clue where they are.”

Sam gritted his
teeth in frustration. He’d have to get them later, even though he
felt uneasy without them. The last few days had been horrible but
he comforted himself with the knowledge that they were somewhere
nearby. Now he was actually leaving them behind but he couldn’t
exactly search this whole building for them. Right now, the
important thing was to get out – to make sure that Adam and Colonel
Wheat had received the warning. Other considerations – even his
swords – were secondary.

Travis led him
out of the room, past the guard slumped on the ground. The guard
was still breathing, for which Sam was thankful. As a member of the
resistance, the man obviously wasn’t in league with the demons and
didn’t deserve to die for Sam’s freedom.

He followed
Travis on silent feet. He had to hand it to the man – he moved
surprisingly well, making almost as little sound as Sam himself.
Cautiously they moved through two large rooms. Both of these rooms
were filled with glass display cases containing police memorabilia,
weapons and evidence from old and probably famous cases. Sam didn’t
pay them much attention. Outside the second room, they discovered
an emergency exit.

“No-one really
uses this,” whispered Travis. “They lead almost straight to an
access hatch which will take us to the sewers. They’re not guarded
either because they lock from the outside. Once in, you can’t get
out. The doors are fire proof – very thick.”

Sam nodded. He
still didn’t know why Travis was helping him but he seemed well
informed. Travis didn’t seem much of a threat either. Once out of
here, Sam could easily overwhelm him.

They entered
the emergency exit, closing the door silently behind them. Inside,
it was pitch black. Sam was fine – he could still see well enough
to negotiate the stairs – but Travis was a different story. Only
human, Travis needed artificial illumination.

“Shield your
eyes,” said Travis. There was a spark and then a flame as Travis
used a lighter to ignite a candle he had produced from his pocket.
Holding the candle before him, Travis led the way down the stairs.
They descended maybe four flights. Either the building wasn’t very
tall or Sam had been held on a lower floor.

They found
themselves in a small sub-basement. Two exits led out of the room.
One was marked ‘Maintenance’. It was this door that Travis opened
with a key. Inside, the room was filled with shelves, all stacked
high with what appeared to be cleaning supplies, mops, and plastic
containers filled with chemicals. Without a word, Travis led Sam
over to a corner, partially blocked and concealed by another
shelving rack. Set into the floor of this unobtrusive corner was a
large circular metal plate – easily big enough for a man to squeeze
through. Sam knew immediately that it was made of iron. Grunting,
Travis tried to lift it.

“Give us a
hand, would you?”

Sam shook his
head and made no move to help. “I’d rather I didn’t.” Travis had
planned his route out carefully. He must have calculated on lifting
the plate himself in the event that Sam was not able to help. He
was probably just being lazy. Perhaps it was some kind of test?
Regardless, Sam wasn’t going to play games.

Muttering to
himself and shooting Sam a scathing look, Travis finally managed to
wrangle the plate out of the way. Underneath was a grill, also made
of iron. This one was locked with another padlock. Travis produced
another key and swiftly unlocked it and moved this grill aside. Sam
was impressed. No wonder no demons had gotten in this way. He
understood now why no guard needed to be posted at this access
point. Even in desperation, Sam couldn’t have gotten through such a
secure grill.

On his knees,
Travis poked his head through the hole, waving his candle away.
Satisfied, he nodded to Sam and disappeared. Sam moved over and
peered down it. The hole was a perfectly formed concrete tunnel
leading down – presumably and judging from the smell – to the
sewers about twenty feet below. Metal rungs were set in the
concrete walls at regular intervals. Already, the candle light
revealed Travis was almost half way down. Sam was about to follow
when he sensed it. The rungs were made of iron. Typical. He could
do this the hard way or the easy way.

He decided that
his body had suffered enough lately. He’d do it the easy way.

Waiting for
Travis to descend seemed to take an eternity. When he got to the
bottom, Travis looked up expectantly at Sam. Sam waved him aside.
“Get out of the way,” he hissed.

Travis appeared
momentarily confused and then, when he realized Sam’s intent,
hurriedly moved aside. Sam put his hands straight down his sides.
He gave a tiny sideways leap and then plummeted down the hole,
missing the rungs by the narrowest of margins. He splashed down in
a foot of water, legs spread and bent to dissipate the impact.

Travis looked
at him for a moment and shook his head. Sam heard him say ‘Show
off’ under his breath before the other man turned, leading Sam down
the sewerage tunnel. Travis was clearly making an effort to be
silent even though it was difficult in the water. Even if he had
been dispossessed of his demonic senses, this would’ve told Sam one
important piece of information. There were other people around. He
could sense them and Travis knew they were there too. This, then,
was obviously not the only access point from the Police museum to
the sewers.

There was
no-one else in close proximity but Sam had no idea how Travis knew
this. He was being quiet as a precaution but he made no move to
extinguish his candle. Sam followed, a soundless, hulking shadow at
the other man’s back.

As he moved, he
noticed the water. It wasn’t red which meant it was fresh and not
salt water. And it was still here, proving that New York somehow
had a fresh water supply. No wonder so many people were able to
survive here.

Ahead of him,
Travis took several turns. Some of the tunnels were so low that Sam
had to stoop. They saw no-one else. No humans. No demons. Sometimes
Sam could sense both. The demons from above and humans both above
and on the same level as he and Travis. The only other creatures
they saw were rats and cockroaches - thousands of them.

Sam estimated
they’d been moving for about forty minutes when Travis brought them
to a stop. On the wall next to him were more rungs leading up to an
iron manhole cover about ten feet above their heads. Travis swiftly
moved up the rungs. At the top, he edged the cover across and
peeked out warily. Satisfied by what he saw, he moved the cover all
the way across and hauled himself out, motioning Sam to follow.

Sam sighed.
More iron. Always iron.

He tore some
strips off his jeans. They were already in tatters anyway from
their mistreatment at the hands of the Lemure so he figured it
hardly mattered. He ripped more material away until they were
basically long shorts, and used it to wrap his hands, careful to
ensure that not one scrap of his skin was exposed.

That done, he
ascended, slowly at first, wincing in advance at the expected pain.
When none came, he grew more confident and raced up the rungs. He
literally flew up out of the manhole, his attitude being that if he
was going to make contact with the cover, it would be best to get
it over and done with quickly. Fortunately he avoided it, landing
next to Travis.

He looked
around and found himself in what had once, by the looks of it, been
a park. Now it was littered by blackened tree stumps, a desolate
and barren wasteland, almost identical to Liberty state park that
he’d seen earlier, now just over the water.

“Battery Park,”
said Travis, appearing to read his mind. “Would’ve taken you
through the Brooklyn battery tunnel but its blocked now. The
Resistance thought it was a good idea. Thought they might stop the
flow of demons. They were wrong, dude, so wrong.” Travis inclined
his head. “This way. Got a surprise for you.”

Warily, Sam
following as Travis led him along one of the paths that weaved
through the once park. Something about this situation didn’t seem
right. It was somehow a bit off. Then he saw it. On a clear space
that had once been trees and grass, a helicopter rested, its rotors
already spinning. As they got nearer, Sam could hear the wine of
its motor increasing in pitch. It was readying itself to take
off.

“You’d better
hurry,” said Travis. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Who?” asked
Sam, mystified.

Travis smiled
and shrugged helplessly. “You’ll just have to find out for
yourself, dude,” he said. “I’ll leave you here. Go on, get in the
helicopter.”

“Why are you
doing this?” Sam asked. “What has this got to do with you?”

“You’re gonna
find out soon enough,” he said. And then he shrugged. “What does it
matter?” He turned around and lifted up the long blond hair on the
back of his neck. There was a tattoo there. The Mark of the Beast.
Travis was in league with the Satan worshippers in the city.

He turned back
to Sam and winked. “Handy little mark,” he said. “Gets you all
sorts of things in this city.”

Sam turned away
from him, disgusted. Suddenly, a man dressed in fatigues with
insignia that Sam could only interpret as belonging to some
European nation got out of the back of the helicopter and opened
the rear door, clearly waiting for Sam to get in. Reluctantly, Sam
did so. As soon as he was in, the door slammed shut and the chopper
lifted off. Despite the situation, Sam was thrilled. He’d never
been in any sort of flying craft before. The closest he’d got to
flying was when an Astaroth had picked him up once. That wasn’t
fun. This was.

He’d never had
an opportunity to fly before the Rapture, his life being one long
training session. After – well - after the Rapture, flying became a
risky business. Clearly, volcanoes continued to erupt all over the
world, pumping tons of ash into the atmosphere – ash that wasn’t
about to go away anytime soon. Any flying craft with an air intake
ran the risk of choking and becoming blocked by ash. Once that
happened, the plane or helicopter would fall out of the sky. Not
only that, but the constant fire storms were an occupational hazard
for any would-be pilot. Sam couldn’t actually remember the last
time he’d seen anything fly – including birds. They’d been some
jets and helicopters at the Beightler Armory but every time he’d
seen them, they were always being swarmed over by engineers and
technicians, trying to sort out glitches and problems. He’d spoken
to one of the engineers and been told that navigation was a huge
problem too. The same atmospheric interference that was
interrupting communications also played havoc with radar. Nowadays,
the skies belonged to the demons.