Tony ran the fingers of one hand over his smoothly shaved jaw, considering. “I admit that this isn’t an easy decision. You’ve got to realize that I have the lives of hundreds of others to consider here. Their safety. Under the circumstances, I can’t allow you to leave. You could potentially compromise everything we have worked hard to achieve. I also can’t allow you your freedom.”
Sam listened, aghast. He could understand that Tony might have reservations about him, but this could ruin everything. “You don’t understand,” pleaded Sam. “The Antichrist is here. I’m the only one who can defeat him.”
Tony smiled without humor. “We’ll see about that, boy. In the meantime, you are confined here, under guard. I don’t want you leaving this room. Things may change — may — if and when your allies get here, but until that time, I’ll not revisit my decision.” He nodded once at Sam who was spluttering on the mattress, trying to rise, and stood.
“There is a guard outside this door,” he said. “Don’t try to leave. They have orders to shoot and trust me when I say that their guns are loaded with iron.” He gestured at Grace. She stood too, gave Sam a look that he couldn’t decipher and allowed herself to be led out of the room.
The door shut behind them with the sound of finality. Sam heard a bolt sliding across. He was effectively a prisoner. A prisoner of the Resistance. The very people he was trying to save.
Chapter Twenty-two
“ He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God's temple, proclaiming himself to be God.”
It took Sam almost three days to completely regain his strength. This in itself was extraordinary, testimony to how close to death he had been. The scars, especially the raised one from the Cambion’s Hell blade, were a constant reminder of how many injuries he’d suffered. He had quite a collection now. He had one on his chest and a very impressive one on his left leg where his brother had cut him. That had been a bad injury — almost taking off the leg completely. He’d only lived because his father had saved him. Ironic that. Had saved him only to try and kill him again with the Devil’s Hand. His father continued to move in mysterious ways.
When he started feeling better, he investigated the room. The covered window was tiny. All he could see was the building across the street. He left it covered during the day but removed the sheet at night. In addition, iron bars secured it from demon attack from outside, keeping him in just as effectively. The door was as solid as he’d assumed. He tried to use his telekinesis to open it but it was padlocked securely.
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.