“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.
“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, terrified that he might reopen some of her wounds. He quickly knelt down by her side and helped her sit up, conscious of how thin and frail she felt beneath the t-shirt he’d found for her.
“What does it look like?” she replied irritably. “I can’t say here forever.”
Reluctantly, he agreed. The fact that she was trying to get up meant that she was probably ready to travel.
“I want to leave,” she said. “Can we go? Please.”
He couldn’t and wouldn’t deny her. “Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
Chapter Six
Colorado
“But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.”
He found a pack at the same hardware store where he’d liberated the buckets and filled it with as much sterilized water and roasted, dried rat meat that he could carry. Inside another abandoned house, he discovered clothes and boots that almost fitted her.
He carried both packs, one at the front, one at back. Even though Grace was getting better, she still wasn’t completely healed and Sam didn’t want her to relapse while they were traveling.
She watched him impassively while he made his preparations.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yes,” she snapped but then appeared to regret her tone. Her voice softened. “I just want to get out of here, Sam. I don’t want to be lying helpless when demons come for me again. I’d much rather be doing something — anything.”
Sam nodded. He was beginning to understand. She didn’t want to be a victim any longer — wanted to appear to be in control of her own destiny. If the demons took her again, at least it would be on her terms.
They made slow but steady progress, heading east, traveling during the day and resting at night. It was easier this way for Sam, even though it was an unusual change that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Grace struggled to see during the night and even though his glamor ability was possibly able to conceal both of them, it would count for nothing if they were seen at close range. If demons found them on open ground, it made it all but impossible for Sam to protect her. It was better to be holed up for the night in an abandoned building — well away from any churches. Even if demons found them, at least he was better able to protect her.
Several more days and nights passed. Finally, inevitably, the demons found them again.
He’d known there was a church nearby, but there was nothing for it. Grace couldn’t have gone anymore. He’d had to carry her for the last hour as it was.
The place he’d chosen for the night didn’t often much in terms of respite and protection. He could hardly call it a cave — it was more a concave depression in a cliff face. Sam made Grace as comfortable as he could within while he took himself outside.
It was already dark. The wind had picked up blowing eddies of ash into his face which he brushed off without conscious thought. He sat down on a shattered piece of rock, took out his whetstone from his pocket and began methodically sharpening his blades. The activity always managed to soothe him with its mindless repetition.
He felt the demons intruding on his thoughts as a gradual pressure, slowly increasing as they got nearer. He knew they couldn’t sense him — his glamor was still in place — but they had detected Grace.
With a resigned sigh, he stood, placing his whetstone back in his pocket. He picked up both swords and shrank back into the protective overhang of the cliff face, gathering the shadows about him. It wasn’t actually concealment but it might give him the slight advantage of surprise. They wouldn’t be expecting him.
He knew there were many but he hadn’t anticipated just how many. They arrived in a great howling, screaming horde. Just Lemure, thankfully, but scores of them. They headed directly for the cave where Grace was beginning to stir, completely ignoring or unaware of him. He leapt out before they reached the entrance and cut down several before they even knew he was amongst them.
Even though they were just Lemure, there were just too many of them. In desperation, he called upon Yeth. His Hellhound arrived, inflicting fiery destruction on any Lemure he touched, shredding others in his powerful jaws. The Lemure were routed, unable to cope with such power. They fled into the night, shrieking.
Breathing heavily with exertion, Sam met the glowing red eyes of his Hellhound and an understanding passed between them. Sam nodded once, acknowledging the debt he owed. Yeth loped off in the direction of the nearest church, returning to Hell, his task complete.
Sam sat down wearily, his thoughts blank. He was about to settle into a meditative stance when the shock of demonic presence intruded once again. He was tired and realized how foolish he’d been to dismiss Yeth so quickly. He still needed the Hellhound’s assistance. He called to him again.
The Lemure arrived in great numbers. Sam’s fought hard, his blades dancing. He lacked the strength and speed he’d had earlier though. Even his endurance had limits. He twirled and struck, waiting desperately for Yeth to make an appearance. He waited and waited but the Hellhound failed to materialize.
At first he was confused. Then he felt betrayed. The sense of outrage lent him strength and somehow he was able to fight off the horde, using every power in his arsenal. His whirlwind attack exhausted him but he had no other recourse. As he dispatched the last of the Lemure, he slumped to the ground, his swords tumbling from numb fingers, completely spent. If the Lemure came again this night, all would be lost. He simply didn’t have the strength to repel another wave.
He lay still for a long time, gradually recovering his strength. By morning, he was almost recovered. He and Grace set off again, Sam for once content to move as slowly as his companion, turning over the events of the previous night in his mind. What had happened to Yeth?
Nightfall found them in the middle of nowhere with no shelter or protection of any kind. The barren landscape offered no salvation — not even a clump of shriveled vegetation. They were completely exposed.
The demons found them again. With mixed emotions, Sam called upon Yeth again, unsure whether the great demon would answer his call. A part of his soul shrank at the thought that maybe Yeth had found him unworthy — no longer deserving of his service.