Tribulation (9 page)

It was still
daylight outside and he felt his eyes watering as he worked.
Sunlight, while not actually dangerous too him, was more of a
nuisance. As a boy, he’d spent much more time in the daylight and
it hadn’t done him any harm. It was just that he had become a
creature of the night during the last few years. He liked the night
and the moon and the strength it brought him. During the day, he
just felt exposed.

He’d been
meaning to get sunglasses for some time, just for this sort of
eventuality - when circumstances dictated that he must be out in
daylight. It would have made preparing the rat meat easier. He
supposed he could have waited until night fall, but it was
important to get some food into Grace. Her body, whilst not
emaciated, was certainly thin. Some food may help her get her
strength back more quickly.

He reflected
that Hell probably sustained her like it did him, without the need
for food or water. Actually, there was no probably about it. He
couldn’t imagine that Bone demon hand-feeding her like some infant.
Regardless, she’d been there for months. Months without food or
water. Months of continual torture, both mental and physical. So it
wasn’t just Grace’s physical needs he was worried about. Meeting
those may help in the long run but it was her mental state he was
more concerned about. Prolonged exposure to the conditions in Hell
was enough to snap even the strongest mind.

The rats were
plump and well fed, having gorged themselves on the multitude of
huge locusts that infested the area. He used a small stainless
steel knife he’d picked up from a camping store to gut and skin
them. He wasn’t about to use either of his precious weapons on such
a mundane task.

Sam hunted
around and finally found two fairly straight dead branches. He
spitted four of the five rats and then cleaned them as best as he
could with his limited water consignment. Next, to conserve his
dwindling gas supply on his camping stove, he lit a fire, finding a
position that was reasonably sheltered from the wind behind the
house, gathering arm loads of dead wood and ringing it with large
stones. Being bone dry, the wood took only the slightest effort to
light, and he took special care to ensure it would not spread.
Given that it hadn’t rained for months, it would be foolhardy to
allow even one spark or burning ember to escape. Any survivors in
the area had enough to deal with without running for their lives
from a raging forest fire.

He let the
flames burn down until only glowing coals remained, then put some
more rocks into it and let them heat up. He’d used this method
before. During some overnight training expeditions in Utah as a
youth, he and Hikari had sometimes cooked just like this. Just the
act of preparation brought back fond recollections of him and the
times they spent together. He wondered for a moment whether his old
master was happy. He assumed so. Who wouldn’t be up there in
Heaven? he thought sourly. Probably drinking ambrosia and nibbling
the most delicate and delicious foods. While he sat on a rock and
cooked rat. That was fair. The contrast made him smile for a
moment.

He quickly went
back inside to check on Grace. She hadn’t moved and seemed alright.
Her bandages displayed some blood soaking, but not as bad as he had
expected. In the kitchen he found some plates and a small pot that
were clean but for a layer of dust. He wiped them as best he could
with a rag and then returned to his fire. The stones were scalding
hot by now. Turning them over, he placed the spitted rat’s skewers
on them. They sizzled immediately, sending the delicious aroma of
frying meat into the air. It may have been rat, but it still smelt
good to him. Hopefully the smell alone would be enough to rose
Grace out of her stupor and tempt her to eat.

Cooking the
skewers more thoroughly than usual in case of disease, he set them
on the plates to cool. He took the last rat, sliced the meat off it
and put it in the small pot with some more of his dwindling supply
of water, using it to make a broth. Finally, everything was ready
and he returned to Grace’s bedroom. He propped her up on some
pillows and fed her some of the soup. Her eyes still didn’t open
but she seemed to open her mouth and swallow by reflex. Sam took
this as a positive sign – at least she was eating.

While he fed
her, he ate two of the skewers of rat meat. As he suspected, they
were delicious; although he didn’t eat very often these days, he
still got some basic enjoyment out of it. He chewed slowly,
savoring the experience and taste as he spoon-fed Grace the last of
the broth When they had both finished, he slid the meat off the
remaining two skewers and hand-fed them to Grace. Somehow, she was
still able to chew and he got the meat of at least one of the
skewers into her before she pinched her mouth shut, refusing to eat
anymore.

Gradually, over
the next few days, Grace appeared to improve. Her skin color
changed from the unhealthy pallor to a warmer glow. Her wounds were
beginning to heal as well. Sometimes, when she slept, she’d scream.
During those times, Sam would sit with her, Grace squeezing his
hand so tightly that even he would grimace in pain, mopping the
sweat off her brow as she thrashed about. She still hadn’t opened
her eyes or uttered one coherent word ...

Thankfully, no
demons made an appearance which would have made their position
untenable. It occurred to Sam to burn down the church. At first he
thought it was pointless given that he’d have to thoroughly bless
and wet the area with Holy water. How was he meant to do that with
his pathetic amount of water? Then he got lucky. Exploring one of
the other houses in the small town, he found an old well, deep in
the cellar. The water was stagnant, but it was still water. A few
drops of iodine or boiling it would make it safe for Grace to
drink. He could also use it to make Holy water. He wasn’t a priest
but he was sure that, under the circumstances, God would make an
exception.

At first, he
dismissed the idea. It was too risky burning down the church. The
fire had the potential to spread and he wasn’t in a position to
move fast enough with Grace in tow. Also, if the entire town burnt
down, where was he meant to nurse her? Not only that, but he was
extremely wary of Holy water. He wasn’t even sure if he could make
it or not but he certainly knew the effect it had on him. It was
like acid. If he was using buckets of it, he was bound to splash
some of it on himself at some point. While not fatal in small
quantities, it was certainly extremely painful.

But then the
demons came. It was only a pack of Lemure but Sam didn’t take the
threat lightly. He dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Their
appearance served as a catalyst for action. The demons knew that
they were there now and the following night would bring them in
greater numbers.

The next day,
at dusk, he prepared carefully. He found a hardware store and
emptied its shelves completely of buckets. He took several down to
the well in the cellar, filling them with the stagnant water. He
dampened down the house where Grace rested, dousing the walls with
as much water as he could. Next, he set up a series of buckets near
the church – to put out any fires that sprung up accidentally. He
carried more buckets over to the church and set them down in front
of it, gazing at them thoughtfully. His plan was to fill them with
holy water but he’d have to bless them first, obviously.

If he was being
honest, Sam wasn’t even sure that his plan would succeed. Wasn’t
the water meant to come from a spring or at least a more pure
source than a stagnant well? But then again, he remembered Big Tom
saying that a wandering priest had done the same thing in his town
and surely the water he used can’t have been much different?

He didn’t
really know the proper words either, words that would bless or
sanctify the water. He’d witnessed Father Rainey doing it back in
Jacob’s Ladder, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. He’d
have to improvise.

“Gracious Lord,
bless this water. Not for my sake – for Grace’s. She may not be
your most loyal servant but she has made sacrifices for your cause.
It was Grace who gave me the chance to confront my brother – the
Antichrist. And isn’t that my mission, given to me by your
Archangel Gabriel herself? To defeat my brother. To save the
innocent. Grace may not be completely innocent, but she’s all I’ve
got at the moment. Besides, I could do with a little help here. I
don’t ask you for help very often, but I’m asking now. Just a
bit.”

Sam knew it
wasn’t much of a prayer but it was all he was up to at the moment.
At first, he sensed and felt nothing and then slowly, he detected a
change. He raised his head. Yes, something was different. Something
in the air. He knew the water had altered then, could feel the
goodness – the holiness radiating out from it. He’d turned plain
old well water into a weapon for good. Something about it made him
uneasy though. Perhaps it was his demonic side, instinctively
willing him to stay away from it, knowing that it had the power to
harm and potentially destroy him, especially in such
quantities.

Gritting his
teeth, resigned to check it, he gingerly dipped just the tiniest
tip of one finger into the bucket. Immediately, he felt a searing
pain and snatched his finger back even as the water in the bucket
began to boil angrily. Right then. It was definitely blessed. He
examined his finger. It was badly blistered; he sucked it, hoping
to ease the pain.

Satisfied that
everything was going to plan so far, he carried several armloads of
branches and set a bonfire in the middle of the church. A part of
him felt ill at ease. He was about to burn down a church, which
didn’t seem right. There was nothing for it though. It had been
desecrated and was now used for evil purposes. He was sure God
would understand. Hadn’t he allowed Sam to create Holy water?
Wasn’t that a sign that he had His unspoken approval to do what he
was about to? He shrugged helplessly. It was what it was. If
lightning struck him, or if he fell out of favor with the Lord, his
life would hardly change on a purely physical level. It couldn’t
get much worse.

He lit the
fire. It went up surprisingly quickly, the flames licking eagerly
at the wood on the fire and spreading rapidly onto the floor and
then the walls. Sam was forced to retreat outside much sooner than
he’d supposed.

Soon enough,
the whole building was ablaze. Sam waited anxiously while it
continued to burn, racing after any flying embers with a bucket of
water, drowning it before it could set fire to something else.
Smaller fires inevitably started and by nightfall, Sam was
exhausted, covered in soot, his clothes singed. Fortunately he was
all but immune to fire. The church collapsed but still continued to
burn.

Despite the
fact that the fire hadn’t completely burnt out, Sam knew he
couldn’t delay any further. He could sense the demons about to come
through the gate. Removing his swords, his clothes and his boots
and carrying a bucket in each hand, he swiftly moved into the
burning wreck, conscious that he must look ridiculous. A naked
fireman.

Muttering
blessings, he scattered the water over every part of the burning
building he could get to. Most of it evaporated with an angry hiss
but he hoped it would still work. It seemed to. The feeling that
demons were about to break through lost its immediacy as their
presence began to fade again. Inevitably, he spilled the water on
his naked flesh; wherever the droplets touched him, they raised
ugly blisters. Soon, almost his whole body was covered. He ignored
it stoically, knowing he had to do this for Grace. He owed her.

He worked for
hours, ignoring his exhaustion, keeping going until no water
remained. By that time, the fire was out, the church had been
reduced to charred remains.

Staggering
slightly, he remembered to pick up his swords before wobbling back
towards the house he shared with Grace. When he got there, he
collapsed on the floor next to her bed and remembered no more.

He awoke from a
thankfully dreamless sleep to find that Grace had opened her eyes.
It was morning. He stood next to her bed, fussing over her
injuries. She was looking at him strangely and for a moment he
wondered why and then, with a start, remembered. He was naked and
covered with still-healing blisters. Embarrassed, he streaked out,
found his singed clothing and dressed painfully and as swiftly as
he could, wincing whenever the cloth touched a particularly sore
spot. When he returned, Grace was sitting up all by herself.

“Do you often
nurse people in the nude?” she asked in a weak whisper.

Sam looked
down, trying to conceal the blush that was spreading over his face.
“Only on Tuesdays,” he muttered, clutching desperately for
something funny to say.

“Is it
Tuesday?” she asked, the vaguest hint of a smile on her face.

“Beats me,” he
said, still not looking at her.

He fed her
again, his spirits soaring. Not only had he cleansed the church,
but Grace was getting better. This was a sign that he was doing the
right thing. It had to be.

The next few
days passed uneventfully. Grace’s health gradually improved
although she rarely spoke and never, ever smiled. Conversation and
humor especially wasn’t exactly his strong point, either, but he
made an effort, trying to make light of the situation and smile at
her as often as he could muster up the energy. It wasn’t natural
for him, either. She didn’t offer to talk about Hell and what she’d
been through over the last few months. He took the hint - this was
a sign that she wasn’t ready to discuss it. She would when she was
ready. Perhaps, she would never be ready but that suited Sam as
well.

One morning he
discovered her trying to get out of bed.