Fallen: The Demontouched Saga (Book 2) (5 page)

-7-

We stopped off at the remnants of a military surplus store to pick up a few things. Normally, I am the loner type who likes to do everything on his own, but my new friend Azrael insists that we keep in communication with each other. I’m not sure that I like this, but I’m not about to argue with one of the angels of death.

The reason Uriel didn’t know about him was that he left a long time ago. Back in the beginning, when God decided he wanted to make humanity, he told the angels that they were to worship us in the same way that they were to worship him. Some of the angels refused, believing that we should be worshiping them.

I’ll cut the shit out about Lucifer and the angels that left to join his cause. Azrael was not one of that group. Instead he left on his own accord many years later because he wouldn’t worship us either. He didn’t hate us, like some of the others, instead he believed that God should be the only being worthy of worship.

He never changed his beliefs. Instead, he decided to stay on earth to protect humanity from the evils of the world. Now that the world has went to shit, the evils are everywhere. I know, I’m one of them.

Normally I’m not a fan of long car rides, but I’m glad I had a few minutes to get to know him before we try to fight together. I feel a little better knowing that we are on the same side, even with my problems.

Within a few hours, we pull up to the Nilton building. At one time this factory was the king of the auto parts business. They manufactured and sold auto parts for any domestic car on the market, which is probably why they didn’t make it out of the economic crash in the early 2000s. They had a standing policy to only stock parts for American cars that were made by American workers. That would have been a huge marketing point, but the workers they employed believed that it was only possible to make those parts if they made about thirty bucks an hour. This all hit about the same time that China had an economic boom, meaning they could make the parts and sell them for a lot cheaper.

Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about the Nilton company except that their old warehouse makes one hell of a demonic playground. One that involves running people through the furnaces that attach the pads to brake shoes, putting various body parts in hydraulic presses, or even just using the forklifts to hang a few people. That tends to leave one hell of a smell. The type of smell that you could never get used to.

“When you are in here, keep your eyes open. Demons have been using this place since the Rising.”

I give him a nod and pull out my gun, then attach a light to the bottom of the barrel. It is loaded with special iron alloy anti-personnel rounds. While it will not kill a demon outright, the iron in the bullet will cause him a considerable amount of pain. Unfortunately, these rounds are not so friendly for the demon’s host, but neither are my knives.

“You go in the main entrance and I’ll work my way around back. At the first sign of trouble, call.”

“Same with you.”

He laughs and walks away. When it comes to the food chain, the angels are firmly at the top. There are few things around that can take one out for good, my angel blade being one of them. Demons come in at a close second with humans at a distant third. I’d laugh too if I was him. It would take an amazing amount of shit for an angel to need help.

I shrug it off and enter the building. “Entrance clear. Moving into the plant now,” I say at a whisper.

I thumb off the safety and start to make my way through the darkness.

“Roger that. No activity around the back either.” Azrael said.

I work my way through the warehouse. I aim my gun side to side to illuminate the walkway. There are hundreds shelving units, empty minus a layer of dust that has accumulated in the ten years since the plant closed its doors. The floor is covered with empty boxes and paperwork that was abandoned after the rest of the stock was liquidated. I keep scanning for a visual sign that someone has actually been here recently and keep drawing a blank.

I make my way to the offices on the far side of the building. These would have housed about a dozen over paid executives whose only job was to stare out the windows at the warehouse employees below. This would be the place I would be, or at least watch, if I took over this building.

I get to the bottom of the staircase and shine my light up top. On the stairs and handrails is a fine layer of dried blood. The dust layer is much thinner up here, but still no signs that anyone has been here in some time.

I work my way up the stairs and to the platform above. The grated walkway creaks as I work my way to the main office door. I raise my light and shine it at the door. On the outside blood has been used to write some sort of message or warning, though I can’t tell what. I pull out my phone and snap a picture for Sara to analyze later on.

Reaching down, I crack open the door, unleashing the foul odor of decay. I pull up my gun with two hands and scan what I can see of the room. Inside I notice at least three bodies stacked on one desk in my view. It is hard to tell in this light, but they have been dead for at least a few weeks.

As I enter the room I notice another dozen bodies littered around the room. I take another picture and put my phone back away.

I start to work my way down the walkway to another set of rooms. The walls are all decorated with more of the blood writing similar to the first door, so I continue my way down towards another doorway.

I reach down to open the door when I hear a noise on the other side. I put my ear to the door and hear what sounds like a conversation on the other side, though it is not loud enough to make anything out. Pulling out a vial of holy water, I take the liquid into my mouth, being careful not to swallow.

Or laugh. I visualize an old video I saw where some guy acted like a fountain and spit water on people who passed by. The spitting was actually pretty nasty, but the ass kicking he got was much worse.

Not wanting to be late to the party I reach pull down the latch and kick open the door. I point my gun at the first thing I see, which happens to be some dick head reaching down for what I believe to be a gun. I fire a shot into his chest and move my gun left and at the other asshole.

“Israfil will delight in owning your soul, hunter.” The demon leapt at me, hands first with its demonic speed. It had closed half of the gap before I pulled the trigger. He crashed into me taking me down to the ground landing on top of me.

I spit the holy water in his face. His skin begins to burn and bubble, the smell of sulfur filling the air and he lets out a loud scream. “He can take a number.”

He stands up, holding his smoking face allowing me a chance to grab my knife. Guns are great for range, but in the confined space of this office, you can’t beat a knife.

I get to my feet and stab the smoker in the chest. Within a few seconds the shadow tendrils of his soul leaves the body and the host body drops to the ground.

The first demon is dead so I turn my attention to the guy I shot.

It takes me all of five seconds to find him. His sense of self preservation brought him about five feet away from the door. If it wasn’t for the iron alloy rounds, he would have been long gone by now. Or worse yet, I’d be dead. When we take down Israfil, I have to remember to thank Azrael for them.

“Where is Alastor?” I place the blade at his throat.

“Screw you, hunter.” He spits his blackened blood in my face.

There are a few things in life that I refuse to put up with. Spitting in my face is at the top of that list. I do what any sensible person would do in my situation and pull the gun back out and shoot the jackass right in his marbles. To tell the truth, I wish I could have been able to take a few steps back. I have a few shotgun shells loaded with rock salt I would love to hit him with right about now. Instead, I think I have an acceptable solution to my problem.

“How about we wash this puppy out.” I pull out a bottle of holy water and pop open the top.

It takes all of two seconds for him to beg me not to. Demons and angels are typically made of pure spirit, pretty similar to our souls. While they do feel pain in the spiritual form, it is intensified when they are in a host. I can’t say for sure, but I think that is why Eunie does everything he can to keep me from getting hurt too badly.

“He is in the security shack.” Tears flow from his eyes as he struggles with the pain. The amazing thing about iron is that it not only causes them intense pain, it also manages to lock the demon’s spirit in the host as long as the iron remains. It won’t hold them forever, though. They do have the ability to heal their host, though they would normally just evacuate the body and let the host die. The only thing this one has going for him is any doctor worth his salt will be able to remove the fragments.

“The small one near the truck entrance?” I find it hard to believe that he would hide somewhere that would leave him that vulnerable.

“No. The large building on the far side of the parking lot.”

That is the building where the security personnel would report to daily. It would have a locker room and its own set of offices. In the Nilton Company prime, they would have had upwards of thirty security guards on each shift to cover the complex.

I pull out my phone and call Azrael. “He’s in the security building.”

“On my way. I’ll try to leave you a few to kill.” Az laughs.

“Don’t hold back on my account.” I hang up the phone and kneel down next to the demon. “As much as I want to watch you suffer, I have to go kill your boss and I can’t have you crawling down after me when I leave.” I stab my knife in his chest and watch him die.

I take a moment to look around the room before heading down to help Az. I figure he can handle himself for a few more minutes. There has to be a reason they were sitting in this room and not somewhere else.

I sit down in one of the office chairs and start going through the desk. I find pay dirt when I open the first drawer and pull out a large bag of gummy bears sitting on a stack of manila folders. I put the candy in my pocket and start going through the files, but I don’t find anything that looks remotely important. I can’t imagine the personal details of a half dozen former employees will do anyone a lot of good at this point.

The next drawer is much of the same, without the gummy bears, so I start to go through the ones on the other side. The bottom one was completely empty, but in the top drawer there was a stack of pictures of the convention center back in the city from a dozen different angles. I pick up another stack of pictures and notice a small flash drive underneath. It could be totally unrelated, but I should be safe. I put the pictures and drive in my pocket and work my way out back.

Once I’m outside I notice a stack of boxes stacked up alongside the building. I use the knife to open one up, being careful not to pierce the box. With my luck I would hit a bottle of sarin gas and die a pretty nasty death. I may have watched Alcatraz one too many times, but I know that is not the way I want to go out.

Once the tape is cut I open the top to find some plastic cases sitting inside. I pull one out and take a look at it. What I am looking for is some sort of marking to tell me what might be inside. If it was something as simple as some hand tools there would be a label or a stamp on one of the sides, but this case was clean. Not knowing what I’m dealing with, I put the case back in the box and note my position on my GPS so I can find them after we deal with Israfil.

I’m about halfway to the security guard shack when I hear the loud screeching of tires of the pavement. Seconds later there are a pair of headlights aimed directly at me. Instinctively, I level the gun at the car and try to take out the driver before he can run me over.

I aim at the driver’s side of the car and pop off a few shots before rolling out of the way at the last moment. Once the car is past me, I take aim at the rear of the car, but it is too far to make a difference.

“Bastard had six of ‘em on me before I could drive my blade in his heart.” Azrael walks from behind me and puts his sword back in its sheath.

“That was him?”

Azrael nods. “Find anything in the warehouse?”

“Flash drive, a few pictures, and some writing on the office doors.” I pull out my phone and show him the writing and bodies. “Gonna need to grab the truck too.”

“For?”

“He left a bunch of toys.”

-8-

Az and I loaded the boxes into the back of the Expedition and started heading towards the only guy I know that can figure out what the hell we have. Roman Nalar. I guess I should make it clear that he is probably about as clueless as I am about the cases, but he has the advantage of a large crew to help him out.

Nal is one of those guys who keeps his nose stuck in a self help book of some sort. He had a hard on for the life of Henry Ford, specifically how he knew he didn’t know everything but instead made sure he had people around that could provide any answers he needed. If Nal had applied all that knowledge to something more productive, he could have made something with his life. Instead he finds himself running a couple hundred thugs scattered across the city, not that I’m complaining.

We made a pit stop to get Sara to look at the flash drive while we take the cases to Nal. I didn’t really want to bring my work home with me, but I figured she could get a jump on that while I figure out what I’m hauling around.

The parking lot of the Holiday Inn was empty. Unless Nal was expecting guests, it usually was. I pull up to the front and get out of the car.

“I know these guys are pieces of shit, but do you think you can play nice?”

“I’ll try.”

That was as good as I could expect. These guys are the exact type that normally find themselves hunted by Az. Part of me feels bad knowing that I just led him here, but something tells me he knew this place already.