Rapture r-1 Read online

  Hopefully.

  Not for the first time, he doubted his tactics. At least travelling in the daylight would have been demon-free. But like the demons, he felt more comfortable at night. He would be able to move faster. In any case, even if he had left during the day, as soon as night fell he would have been caught in the open with no where to run. At least this way, he had a head start. That was the plan.

  He sensed something then. He wondered if it was his very essence that enabled him to sense these creatures before he saw them, or whether it was something he had learnt through his training. Regardless of the reason, he’d stopped doubting this ability days ago. He knew something was coming, something that took his breath away with fear. It was close, and it wasn’t a Lemure, but something much, much worse. Even the near presence of it was enough for him to almost gag in terror. He had a sudden urge to get away, to run, to hide. Using his training, he fought against his fear and managed to control both it and the adrenaline surging through him. His mind cleared.

  Then the house shook from a massive impact. He heard it too — a great tearing noise and glass and timber shattering. Whatever it was, it was coming through the house. And it was in a hurry.

  Sheathing both swords, Sam turned and fled, battling his way through dead and dying vegetation, ignoring the clouds of ash disturbed by his flailing arms. He reached the fence marking the end of their property and leapt over it just as his house exploded.

  There was a blaze of light, a reverberating blast. Shards of timber from his house whistled past his ear. Every nerve in his body urged him to run, run as fast as he could and keep on running. Instead, he forced his body to turn calmly, ignoring its screaming protests.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  Striding across the burning wreckage of his family home was a creature from the very darkest pits of Hell. Judging from the relative size of the Lemure who were dancing around its feet like excited puppies, it was at least ten feet tall. It was roughly human-shaped but had four arms instead of two, each hand equipped with foot long talons. Five foot-long black blades were clutched in each claw. Massive wings arched above its back like sails. It was clad in some sort of metallic black armour, glinting ruby red against the backdrop of the burning house, and the head, fully enclosed by a black winged helm, turned this way and that before rotating in his direction. It stopped dead. Sam knew with absolute certainty that it was looking directly at him.

  Over the years, Sam had committed to memory every demon in Hikari’s well thumbed copy of Demonology. Hikari regarded the book as essential research for Sam’s coming battle, and had made him study the book endlessly so that Sam would know instantly who or what he was fighting and how to combat it. The book was from the 17th century and all of the illustrations were heavily stylized and detailed but simplistic by today’s standards. However, there was one picture in the book that matched what was before him. There was no way he could fail to recognise the similarities.

  It was an Astaroth. A blood demon. A lesser prince of hell.

  Sam did then what he had started doing and should’ve kept on doing. He ran.

  Heart beating wildly, he darted through his neighbour’s garden, following the path that in spring had bordered a multitude of flowering plants. Now, it meandered through a graveyard of skeletal plants submerged in a white blanket of ash. His neighbours, devout members of the local church, had disappeared along with many of the other 800 odd residents of Jacob’s Ladder during the Rapture. He was sure they wouldn’t mind him using their house in this manner. In fact, where they’d gone, he doubted whether they’d care about that at all, or the fact that he’d helped himself to all the food in their cupboards.

  It was an escape route that he had plotted and practised on numerous occasions. The path led up to the back porch of his neighbour’s earthquake-damaged house. Without pausing, he charged straight through the back door, confident that his senses would alert him to the presence of any more demons. He leapt over a fallen internal wall, sidestepped the divider into the lounge and did a neat forwards somersault through the broken front window. He landed on his feet, already running, sprinting off the front porch and onto the road.

  Sam risked a glimpse behind him and smiled weakly to himself at what he saw. Nothing. They weren’t following him yet. More importantly, the Astaroth had not yet made an appearance. He could do this. He was going to do it — he was going to get away.

  As soon as this thought entered his mind, it was interrupted by a demonic presence to his left. A cluster of Lemure surged out of what had once been the local coffee house, screaming as they advanced. Sam sprinted around a wrecked SUV to give himself some breathing room, drawing both swords.

  He swung around to his left, still at full stretch. Whether by good luck or by displaying a higher than usual level of intelligence, three of the Lemure hadn’t fallen for the ploy. They met him on the other side of the SUV, running as hard as he was. Sam didn’t even pause. He struck high then low and spun around to deliver a double blow to the third Lemure. All three turned to ash in his wake.

  He kept sprinting, skirting around the wrecks in the middle of Main Street, heading east. It was opposite to the direction he wanted to head in but he would double back later in order to confuse his pursuers.

  Sensing that the demons were falling behind, Sam slowed to a fast jog. He could keep this pace up for hours if he needed to. Before the Rapture, he had often run into the Rockies and back before the sun had even sneaked up over the horizon. Night-time was when he always trained, away from prying eyes. Hikari had told him that his night vision was much better than any other humans, something he had suspected when he realized he could see almost perfectly in all but the most absolute darkness.

  It was just as well because now the only light came from the moon, which was hardly a great source of illumination… Normally, street lights, the frontages of residential homes, the odd shop open for a late night and the occasional car would provide ample light for the average resident. It was odd running through the small town like this, guided only by the malevolent red glow from above.

  Disturbingly, despite his injuries, Sam felt even stronger right at that moment, almost as if the moon was energising him. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of a star in the now cloudless sky. There were none. Had been none since the Rapture. The stars, once beautiful and sparkling in the clear country air, had all fallen. Where they had landed, Sam had no idea.

  Suddenly a shadow fell across the moon, a strong wind buffeting him from above. He’d recognised the presence of the Astaroth but he was far, far too late. Too late and too slow. Cursing himself for his lack of concentration, Sam attempted to roll but felt something lift him off his feet with a powerful jolt. It was the Astaroth alright. Clearly, those wings weren’t for show, he thought wryly as the Astaroth slowly gained height. Luck had been on his side though. Instead of those mighty talons piercing his skin, they had merely jagged his backpack.

  Then Sam remembered what were in his hands. What had been in his hands all the way down Main Street. His swords. He swept both up at the same time, each aiming for a different leg, and felt a savage surge of satisfaction as the iron weapons both connected and bit deeply. The Astaroth roared so loudly that, if Sam had been able to, he would’ve covered his ears.

  Instead, he found himself falling. Surprisingly quickly. He thought, rather belatedly, that he hadn’t actually planned this out very carefully.

  The ground rushed up to meet him.

  2

  FATHER’S SON

  TWELVE YEARS EARLIER

  “And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming.”

  2 Thessalonians 2:8

  Sam and Aimi were playing in the backyard, surrounded by swirling growths of cherry tomato and strawberries. It was late afternoon and the sun, poised to drop beneath the horizon, had lost most of its heat. It was something to be grateful for. He
could tolerate the sun, but he didn’t love it the way he knew Aimi and other children did.

  He liked it out in the yard — here amongst the riotous knots of living things. The plants provided shelter from the raw gaze of the sun. The yard was so clustered with foliage that there was no danger of the neighbours seeing him which meant he didn’t have to wear his hat or a hood. He liked not having to wear anything on his head. It made him feel free — honest even.

  Aimi sat opposite him, small and delicate and dressed in tiny overalls. He knew they probably shouldn’t be in here. If Hikari found out, they might get in trouble. He’d been told by his master that the plants shouldn’t be disturbed when they were growing but today … well, today he was just feeling a little rebellious.

  They were playing sticky fingers. It was a simple game taught to him by Hikari two years earlier. He in turn was trying to teach it to Aimi with varying degrees of success. Three year olds, he had learnt, had short attention spans. She was quick to learn and had reflexes like a baby tigress, but she kept stopping to grab a tomato or strawberry which she popped into her mouth with a cheeky smile and small sigh of satisfaction. The juice of one or the other dribbled down her chin like blood.

  He coaxed her back into the ready position. She placed the back of one of her hands against his palm, her other hand reversed so that her palm sat flat against the back of his. They moved their hands together in a gentle circle. Then one or the other would strike out. The object of the game was to keep in contact so that any aggressive move was always countered and blocked. He was winning but she had snuck in a few lightning quick blows.

  Picking up the pace, Sam’s left hand darted out. Her hand stuck to his like glue and blocked it so he reversed the motion and struck with his right instead. He connected with her face in a light tap.

  “I don’t want to play anymore.” She pouted at him.

  Sam smiled. “Hikari told us we had to practise.”

  “Don’t care,” she said grumpily. Aimi reached out for another cherry tomato. He followed the movement but it was just a feint, and felt the lightest of taps on his right cheek.

  She laughed at him, but it wasn’t a mocking sound — more of a joyous, cheeky giggle that he found he loved. He smiled back at her as he stood up, and Aimi reached up in a motion that was all too familiar, fingering the tiny horns on his head. He let her do it. She liked to play with them and he didn’t mind the touch.

  “Do you like having them?” she asked, not for the first time.

  He shrugged, humouring her as he always did. “They’re ok, I guess.”

  “They feel funny,” she said, looking up at him through her long black hair.

  He nodded. He knew just how they felt, having touched them very much in the same way Aimi was doing now, over and over again. They felt like they looked — a horn. He’d handled the horns on a bull once and they felt exactly the same; the only difference was that his were glossy black instead of off-white.

  “Why don’t I have any? Can I get some? Why do you have them?” She’d never asked these questions before. Now she fired them off so fast it made his head spin.

  He answered the first two questions the best he could. “Because you don’t. No, probably not.”

  The last question made his heart flutter nervously, but he answered anyway because it was Aimi.

  “And I have them because I’m a demon,” he said.

  Hikari called them in for dinner. The small, tightly-knit Japanese man waited for them on the back porch as they scampered inside. Sam could tell from his stern gaze that he knew they’d been in amongst the plants but he didn’t say anything. The gaze, as always, was enough admonishment for Sam.

  They ate at the dinner table. It was Hikari’s tradition that the dinner table was a place of conversation. The TV and radio always remained off during these times. Sam vaguely remembered the lively and happy banter that Hikari and his wife had when she was still alive. He missed those times and her presence as much as Hikari.

  “So, what happened at pre-school today?” Hikari asked Aimi. She shrugged in a way that made Sam want to laugh.

  He didn’t though. He never laughed.

  “Made some friends. Played some games.”

  Hikari tried unsuccessfully to hide a chuckle. “What sort of games?”

  “The usual,” she said, in between mouthfuls of rice and fish. “Tag, hide and seek. I made a sandcastle with Sue and Thomas in the sandpit. That was fun.”

  “What else?” asked Hikari, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

  Aimi sighed before answering. “Did some finger painting and I learned to count to ten.”

  Hikari smiled. “Good.”

  There was a momentary silence at the table, so Sam seized his chance.

  “Sensei, why can’t I go to school?”

  It was a question he’d wanted to ask ever since Aimi started going to pre-school. Before that, he had thought that it was normal for children to stay at home. His experience with other children was, after all, rather limited. Other than Aimi, Sam had only ever seen other kids from the house windows or on the occasional outing with Hikari, and even then, it had been from a distance. The few times that he’d left the house during the day, Hikari always made sure he was wearing something on his head. He’d had had very little proper interaction with other children — other people, in fact.

  Sam felt pleased that he had finally plucked up the courage to ask. The question hung in the silence for a moment.

  Hikari levered a piece of fish into his mouth with his chopsticks, chewed carefully and swallowed before answering.

  “I would like you to, my son, but I think you know the answer to that question.”

  Hikari was right. Sam did know the answer. For a boy aged five, Hikari had told him, he was more advanced than he should be. Hikari would know, too. He was once a school teacher himself.

  The answer pained Sam. He couldn’t go to school because he was different. If the other children saw his horns and the blackness of his eyes, questions would be asked. Questions that if answered, would not be believed.

  Hikari stopped eating and looked sadly at his ward. “I am truly sorry, my son. I know this is hard but you have another purpose. A greater purpose. Something far more important than playground games and making friends. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is.”

  Something rebelled inside him. He knew his master spoke the truth, but it was still painful. He surged to his feet, knocking over his plate in the process. Shame brought a blush to his cheeks.

  “May I be excused?” he asked stiffly. When Hikari nodded, he ran from the table to the security of his room.

  He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to cry. Like laughing, he didn’t seem to be able to manage tears even though he knew that a situation like this probably warranted that response. He’d seen Aimi do it enough times. Hikari had told him it was because his eyes had no tear ducts.

  He heard a faint knock at the door. Before he had a chance to say anything, the door opened, and Aim’s tiny head peaked around the door.

  “Hi,” she said brightly.

  She took his silence as an invitation to enter and nudged the door open with her shoulder. She was carrying a plate with some rice and fish on it. “I brought you some food.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, rolling over and facing the wall.

  He felt the bed shift as she sat down. “You know, school’s not all that great,” she said. “I’d much rather stay here at home with you and Papa.”

  Even at three years of age, she knew what to say to cheer him up. He turned over to see her beaming face. It was too much for him to take and he smiled back.

  She held up the plate of food. “Eat. I know you’re hungry.”

  He did. Then after Aimi left, he tried to sleep. It was always hard — he didn’t need much sleep and anyway, he preferred to do it during the day. The dreams he had were not soothing, and seemed to be dominated by dark shapes wreathed in flames.
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  Much later, finally drowsy with the onset of sleep, he heard another knock on his door.

  “Go away,” he said, thinking it was Aimi.

  His master entered the room on silent feet, a technique he was just starting to teach Sam.

  “I’m sorry, Sam, but I think we need to talk.” His master, like Aimi before him, perched on the side of his bed.

  Sam sat up in bed and regarded his master. He had the utmost respect and love for the diminutive man who was both foster father and teacher to him. He would not willingly disobey the man, other than small infractions like sitting amongst the plants. Hikari had never raised a hand or his voice to Sam — he’d never had to. His demeanour and calmness commanded instant attention and obedience.

  “I think it’s time we talked about your mother,” said Hikari in a gentle voice.

  Sam’s body went rigid with shock. He’d asked about his mother before but Hikari had always maintained that it wasn’t time, despite the boy’s pleading. Perhaps his master sought to grant him a gift to make up for the school issue? Sam didn’t care what his master’s reasons were. He wanted to hear about his mother. Needed to hear about his mother. Although Hikari’s wife was always kind and gentle with him, Sam felt that it just wasn’t the same.

  “Your mother was a beautiful and kind woman,” Hikari began, stroking his small, neatly-trimmed goatee that was only now starting to show the greying signs of age.

  Another shock coursed through Sam’s body when he heard the past tense. What happened to his mother?

  Was she no longer alive? Hikari held up a hand to stop Sam interrupting.

  “Her hair was long and black, much like Aimi’s and my own, and her skin was the colour of alabaster, very similar in hue to yours. “

  It was true. Sam’s skin was very white indeed, a testament to the lack of time he’d spent in the sun, he’d thought, but apparently genetic.