Sam waited, completely mute, dreading what she would say next.
“It’s a disease we haven’t really seen since the Middle Ages,” she continued. “They called it the bubonic plague. It’s commonly called the black plague.”
Sam was lost for words. Of course he’d heard of the black plague and knew it was deadly. But didn’t modern medicine eradicate it?
“Is there a cure?” he managed to ask.
Grace smiled, her mouth quivering. “Sure is. An antibiotic will sort it out in no time at all. We’ll just roll up to our local drug store and buy some over the counter.” She tried to laugh but suddenly spluttered and coughed. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she moved it away, it was speckled with blood.
“We’ll find one,” said Sam, trying to sound confident. All he had to do was find a drug store then. Easier said than done.
A day later and she was worse. She complained of chills and started bleeding out of her ears. She suffered from terrible muscle cramps. He did what he could for her but knew she was dying. After all she’d been through, after what he’d been through to save her, it seemed it wouldn’t be enough. He cursed the unfairness of it all.
Another day passed. Her fever worsened. Her lips, nose, fingers and toes started to turn black. Even Sam knew what this was — the onset of gangrene. She didn’t have long. She couldn’t travel any longer and he made her as comfortable as he could on a makeshift mattress in the backroom of a service station. He thought about calling Yeth, knowing that the Hellhound could quench his own fires if the need arose — but he was unsure how Grace would take riding on the back of a demon, even in her barely conscious, feverish state.
Just when he thought it was all over for her, a miracle happened. He heard voices outside and cautiously moved to investigate, ensuring that his hood was up, concealing his telltale horns.
In the forecourt of the service station were a group of men in fatigues. Army fatigues. Soldiers.
“Hi there,” he said quietly, moving slowly so as to not startle them.
There was hurried movement as several automatic weapons were suddenly leveled in his direction. These soldiers were obviously not taking any chances.
“Who are you?” demanded one of them — an officer by the looks.
“Just a survivor. My name’s Sam. I need your help. My friend is sick.”
The officer looked Sam up and down, appraising, taking in the swords at his hip and back.
“Lots of people are sick,” he said curtly. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Her,” Sam corrected. “I think she has the plague.”
The officer didn’t display any surprise. He nodded once. “Wayne — get the medical kit and go see to her.”
One of the soldiers grabbed his backpack and entered the station. Sam and the officer followed.
“What’s he going to do?” Sam asked.
“We’ve seen this a lot. Easily treatable. We’ve got antibiotics.”
Inside, Wayne knelt down next to Grace. He dispensed some pills while Sam helped her sit up. Using his canteen, Wayne gave her a few sips of precious water.
Sam breathed out heavily, the worry of the last few days suddenly lessened ever so slightly. “So what happens now?” he asked eventually.
The officer shrugged. “It should work. It’ll take a couple of days before the antibiotics kick in. In the meantime, you guys can come with us. We’ve got a truck.”
“To where?” Sam hadn’t really thought about it. Of course, these soldiers must have come from some military base.
“We’re a long range squad from Kansas. The CO sent us out looking for people like you.”
“Had much luck?” Sam asked.
The officer looked sour. “None. You’re the first people we’ve seen since we came out on this patrol. Alive, that is. Let’s hope the other squads have more success. You’re lucky we came with antibiotics though. The plague has been breaking out all over the place and our supplies are getting a bit low.”
“Thank you,” said Sam, feeling suddenly moved.
The officer shrugged. “Hey, just doing my job. Glad we could help.”
They loaded Grace into the back of the truck, Sam making her as comfortable as he could. Two days travel saw a huge improvement in Grace’s condition. It also saw them back at the base. Thankfully, Grace made a full recovery — physically at least.
From there, the two of them traveled from base to base, state to state until arriving in Ohio, making a semi-permanent home at the army base they found there. Grace had fully recovered her strength but had lost something in the process. Things between them were never the same again. Every time he saw her after some mission, the gap between them continued to widen, almost to the point where they could no longer talk. It pained him but there was little he could do about it. Grace had suffered terrible mental and physical torture in Hell. It had changed her forever.
He deliberately stayed away from the base for longer and longer periods, just to avoid coming back and seeing what she had become. She never spoke of her experience and he never asked. Some things were best forgotten. But other things could never be.
Book 2
Three and a half years into the Tribulation
“ Man's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed.”
Chapter Seven
“ For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people.”
Had the thing just spoken? It couldn’t be… but Sam was sure it had just told him that it brought greetings from his father.
So stunned was Sam that he relaxed his grip on the Lemure’s hair. Immediately, with one swift, savage movement, the Lemure yanked its head forward. The razor sharp blade lying against its neck easily sliced through demon flesh, almost severing the head completely.
Sam held the body until he was sure it was quite dead, still in a state of shook. Finally, he let the body topple to the ground, still struggling to absorb the words he had just heard uttered.
“Your father sends his greetings.”
What the Hell was that supposed to mean?
The last time he’d seen his father had been three years ago, in Hell. Sure, he got that feeling that someone was watching him from time to time and he mostly assumed it was his father because, let’s face it, who else was it likely to be? And then there were the dreams of his mother. He wasn’t so naive to think that the dreams were only a product of his overactive subconscious. His father was playing his usual games. Occasionally, he thought he caught glimpses of the sharply dressed, debonair demon who was Satan, ruler of Hell, his father, the father of lies. But when he looked again or tried to move closer, whatever it was had disappeared. So why now? Why would his father send his greetings now? Sam knew with absolute certainty that Satan was up to something. He never did anything without it serving some purpose, or having some intrinsic value or calculated risk. But what was it?
It was only then that Sam realized that the Lemure was still lying at his feet. It hadn’t disintegrated into a pile of ash like all Lemure did. Some greater demons, Sam knew, had more resistance to iron than others but when struck a killing blow, all dissolved into dust eventually. Lemure weren’t greater demons though. In fact, they were the least of their kind, were highly susceptible to iron and always, always became powder upon death.