The Liberator

37 We All Fall Down

I’ve memorized this fall. I know the way the gravel will dig into my muscle when I land. But it doesn’t lessen the blow when I hit the ground.

Aspen smacks onto her side and rolls to the left. I land flat on my back. The breath is ripped from my lungs, and if I could, I’d lie still. But I can’t. Not after who I saw. “You’re all right,” I tell Aspen, helping her up. I’m not sure if she is or not, but I need her to be, so I keep tugging on her arm. She stands and looks overhead. The shattered floor is now a stained-glass ceiling. Light slinks in through the jigsaw pieces, casting a riot of blues, greens, and purples across the area. The heavenly colors do nothing to soften the smell.

“Oh, my God,” she groans. “What is that? It smells like…”

“It’s decay.” My blood hammers behind my temples as I search for him. He’s here. He must be.

There’s a narrow bridge connecting the dark platform we’re on to a similar one on the other side. We have to cross over to get where we’re going. I contemplate not telling Aspen about the collector—about Patrick—but I must. This isn’t something she’d want to be in the dark about.

Aspen is running her hands over her long, dark ponytail when I say, “They know we’re here.”

Her head whips around. “How do you know?”

“There was one back there. In the Hall of Mirrors.”

Aspen glances around like she’s searching for him. “It could be only one,” she says, but the way her brow furrows tells me she doesn’t believe that. “How fast can we get to the soul storage area?”

In response, I grab her hand, and we dart toward the bridge. The pine boards creak and sway beneath our feet, and far below, black oil bubbles and pops. Moans fill the air, and I know what they are, but we have to keep moving.

The bridge sways wildly, wider and wider, and I order Aspen to run.

The demons. They’re coming.

They’re climbing up the posts that support the bridge, nails digging into the old wood. If Aspen sees them, she’ll scream. And once that happens, the demons will scream, too. There’s a rule in hell: no matter how much pain you’re in, no matter how many horrors you face, you can never scream. If you do, they’ll come for you. And you will be punished.

The creatures are close. Their stench makes me light-headed, but I have to keep pumping my legs.

“If it isn’t the infamous Dante Walker,” a voice shouts. It isn’t a scream, but it’s dangerously close.

A shiver races down my back as I turn around, hanging onto the rope handrail for balance. Patrick, the collector, stares back at me, a shit-eating grin smeared across his face. I trained Patrick a couple of years ago. He’s a good soul collector and has a decent left hook, if memory serves. He’s a scrapper, a small guy who’s quick and eager to please. Patrick would like nothing more than to hand-deliver me to Lucille.

I gauge how far Aspen and I are from the other side and know we could make it there before he does. In fact, once the demons crawl over the side, they may even take him down. They’re slow and stupid, but they have strength in numbers. But if he runs fast enough—and God knows he’s a fast fucker—he’ll make it across, too.

Not if I hold him up, though.

My eyes lock with Aspen’s. “Run.”

Then I turn and race toward Patrick. The bridge rocks, and I almost tip over the side twice, but I keep moving. Patrick accepts the challenge and storms in my direction. I don’t know what his goal is. Maybe to toss me to the demons so I’m trapped. Then find Lucille and lead him here.

We both run hard, realizing we have seconds before the demons ascend. As we get closer, I anticipate he’ll go for my chest. Maybe even my face. But instead he drops low and barrels into my legs.

I smack onto my back with a grunt. Patrick dives on top of me like a Doberman, all snapping teeth and lean muscle. He goes for my throat, and I let him. My thumbs dig into his eyes, and he bites down to keep from screaming. Taking advantage of his pain, I bring my knees up. I kick out, and his body flies backward. He’s upright in a flash, racing toward me with wide brown eyes.

He stops.

Crawling over the side of the bridge is a demon.

Its body is shaped like a human’s, but it’s all wrong. The angles are too sharp, and the spine is too curved. Black-and-yellow scales cover the creature’s torso, and talons grow where fingernails should be. The demon’s beady black eyes fix on me. Its mouth drops open. A low whistle emanates from its throat. The sound could be from a young girl strolling through a park with a boy’s face in her mind. It’s a sweet, innocent noise, but coming from this creature it’s chilling.

This thing, this creature, used to be a person.

The demon moves toward me, toenails clicking against the bridge. Behind it, Patrick scurries backward. He smiles. This is exactly what he wanted. I contemplate what action to take. If I flee, the demon probably won’t catch me, but I’ll lose sight of Patrick. And it’s better to have your enemy in view than hidden in the shadows. So I’ll fight it. I’ll toss it back into its bubbling grave and then toss Patrick in after him.

But I’ve got to hurry, because more demons are coming.

The creature is bigger than me, but not nearly as quick. And that’s what I’m counting on. I rush toward the monster but stop when a thump-thump-thump comes from behind.

Aspen rushes past and charges toward the demon. The heel of her hand rams into its mutated nose, and the creature hisses and falls back. She doesn’t give it a moment to think. Aspen ducks when the monster swipes a clawed hand at her, then she drives a closed fist into its side. She hits it again on the opposite side.

“Oh, man!” Patrick says from a few feet away. “Boss Man is going to love her.”

My mind buzzes as I try to pull her away, but she brushes me off and keeps fighting. This time she rears back and thrusts her foot into its stomach. When the demon hunches over with a sickening gurgle, she kicks it in the face. The demon recovers quickly and attacks. It drags a single claw across her bicep, and somehow Aspen doesn’t scream.

She just gets angry.

Her fists fly faster than I can follow. She’s totally kicking its ass, and though I don’t want to leave her alone with the creature, I know this frees me up to take care of Patrick.

I set my gaze on the collector. Then I brush past Aspen and tackle him to the planks. He grabs the rope handrail over his head and uses it as leverage to kick me away.

I’m back on him in a blaze, sweat covering my brow. It’s sweltering in here, and the smell. I ignore both and fling myself on him. Taking a cue from Aspen, I throw my fist into his sides, then land a blow straight into his shining teeth.

Once I’m standing, I pull him up with me. And then I underestimate him, forget how fast he is on his feet. He reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair. My scalp stings as he rips me forward and then past him. I fly toward the edge of the bridge and just manage to keep from falling by grabbing onto the handrail. The bridge sways like a drunken sailor, and it’s everything I can do to stop myself from tumbling over the side.

I look back at Patrick. He grins from ear to ear. Then he lifts his leg up. I understand what he’s about to do a moment before he does it. He’s going to kick me off the edge. And that’s going to be it.

But the collector stops cold, his knee still raised, when he hears the whistling sound over his shoulder.

The demon rises up from behind him like the moon. It lowers its black shiny head until their cheeks are pressed together. They almost look like lovers. Patrick is shaking and turns a shade of white that seems impossible.

The demon wraps his arms around Patrick and then kicks off from the side of the bridge.

They are gone.

Falling toward the thick oil.

The collector may be there an hour, a day. Or he may stay for eternity. It just depends how hard he fights, and for how long. Maybe he’ll let go of his humanity entirely and become one of them. The same way I think Rector has begun to do.

Once I hear the splash of his body hitting the oil, I join Aspen in her battle against the demon. Together, we are able to shove it back toward the dark liquid blanket. Aspen glances around, her breath coming fast.

“Is he gone?” she asks.

“For now,” I answer. “How’s your arm?”

She grips the place where the creature cut her. “I’ll be fine. What now?”

“Stick to the plan. Get to the soul storage room and get out of here. Handle obstacles as they come.” We race toward the end of the bridge as more demons claw their way over the side. Thankfully, they’ll never make it to us in time. We near the door, and I tell Aspen, “Remind me to thank Lincoln for teaching you how to fight. You’re an animal.”

She grins. “That was a lie.”

“What?”

“He didn’t teach me how to fight. I taught him.”

I slow down and stare at her. “How did you—?”

“Dante. The door. Do we need a key or…?”

I shake my head. “Right. No, we just go through.” The door swings open beneath my hand, and we step into the next room. Aspen immediately falls back with fright, but I push her forward. We must close the door behind us, or the demons will keep coming.

Aspen’s hands fly to her ears, and she looks at me, eyes dancing with fear at what she sees.