Part 44 (2/2)

Merihim threw another fireball at him. It hit him, slowing his approach and setting several of the nearby zombies on fire. Simon drove himself forward, trusting the armor to hold even though the HUD was filled with warnings.

Then he reached the demon and his sword came alive in his hands. He slashed at the demon's head, driving it back. Runes carved into the demon's scaled flesh burned molten scarlet. The sword opened grievous wounds that revealed more scarlet, only this trickled down the demon's body.

Roaring with rage and pain, Merihim curled his hands into fists and struck back. The impacts shook Simon to his core, and for a moment he felt certain that he was about to die.

Then, on the HUD, he saw one of the Templar on the train raise a grenade launcher and fire a volley into Merihim. The grenades drove the demon back.

Taking advantage of the distraction, though he'd been buffeted as well, Simon stepped forward and plunged his sword through the demon's chest. Moving swiftly as the train reached him, Simon grabbed the bandolier of grenades from his shoulder and pulled the cord that popped all the pins. He looped the bandolier around Merihim's head, letting it settle over the demon's shoulders like a lethal necklace.

”Die, h.e.l.lbeast!” Simon shouted, grabbing his sword hilt and kicking Merihim in the stomach to drive him backward.

The demon tripped over one of the rails and went down in the midst of the zombies. Merihim reached for the grenades, but they went off before he could yank them away. The explosions ripped his upper body to shreds, but he remained alive.

Simon couldn't believe it. Even if Merihim wasn't one of the Eldest or the Dark Wills, the demon was hard to kill.

The communications band crackled to life inside Simon's HUD. ”Simon!”

On the HUD, Simon saw that the train was on him then. A few of the Templar shot down a handful of Blood Angels that had continued pursuit. ”Give me your hand!” Wertham shouted.

The train plowed into the zombies, shuddering from the impacts that threw undead bodies and pieces of undead bodies in all directions.

Wertham stood at the last car, one hand dug into the side of the car, the other extended to catch Simon's hand.

Simon turned and shoved his left arm out, thinking that Wertham was mad and they were both about to get killed. Their hands closed around each other's forearms, locking tight. Simon barely realized that before the train's momentum yanked him from his feet.

Confusion filled Simon's world for a brief instant as he collided with several zombies that the train had missed by inches. Then Wertham pulled him to the platform behind the pa.s.senger car and they fell in a heap.

By the time Simon forced himself to his feet, the zombies and Merihim were behind them, growing smaller as the train sped on. But the demon stood, weakly it was true, but it stood nevertheless. There was, however, no pursuit.

Now if we can just get out of London alive,Simon thought. He stared at the horizon through the swirl of snowflakes. London looked dark, like an infected body part that had died from gangrene and needed to be amputated. Dark clouds roiled around the h.e.l.lgate near St. Paul's. Blood Angels claimed the skies, sailing over the buildings.

Looking at the city, Simon couldn't help thinking that no one would ever again escape the death trap that London had become.

He hoped that wasn't true.

Epilogue.

Two days later, a convoy of rescue s.h.i.+ps picked up the survivors the Templar had delivered from London to Bristol. One of the Templar had managed to find an outpost that sent the message out to the rescuers.

The s.h.i.+ps sat at anchor out in the harbor as longboats powered back and forth to pick up the survivors.

It was early morning and the day seemed full of promise. For the first time in days, the sky was clear.

Captain Webber, a seasoned veteran who had once lived in London himself, stood with Simon and Wertham as they watched the survivors climb aboard the s.h.i.+ps.

Simon stood on the sh.o.r.e in the sunlight, not minding the winter chill on his bare head. He held his helmet under one arm.

”You could come with us,” Webber suggested.

Gazing at the people boarding the s.h.i.+ps, Simon knew that he couldn't leave. He took a deep breath and let it out. ”No, but thanks all the same. My place is here.”

Webber turned and glanced north. Even in the distance, the smudge in the sky left by the presence of the h.e.l.lgate could be seen. A gray winter morning might have covered it up, but not the clear weather of today.

”London isn't a place for anybody these days,” the captain said. ”I grew up there, but I was in the city when the demons came. I was lucky to get out.” He shook his head. ”I don't want to go back there. I don't know if I ever will.” The older man's eyes looked haunted.

”I've got to go back,” Simon said. ”Even with all the demons?”

Simon showed the man a grim smile. ”That's my calling, captain. Just like the sea is yours. I know men who would never set foot on a s.h.i.+p to cross a sea.”

Webber shook his head. ”Well, those demons are one sea you can have to yourself. From what I gather in the news, n.o.body knows what they're supposed to do with them.”

”The answers are there, captain,” Simon said. ”We've just got to look for them.”

But he knew there were more questions than before, too. He was certain Merihim wasn't dead, and he'd wondered about the demon's agenda ever since Leah Creasey had told him what she knew.

And then there was the mystery of Leah as well. Who was she really? And who was she working for? It was a lot to think about, but it also meant that a lot of pieces were in play in London.

But one of the keys was Merihim. That was why Leah and her mysterious group had locked on the demon. If Merihim was disruptive among the demons, if he was working at cross-purposes to them in some kind of power play as Leah had suggested, there was a good chance more information about the demons would pop loose.

When Simon returned to London, he intended to find out as much about the demon as he could. But first he had to get his team rested and healthy again. Thankfully Bristol hadn't yet been invaded. There were still plenty of supplies inside the city, and they were relatively safe there. Except for the demon patrols that ranged the English coastline.

But it would be enough for a few days' respite. He intended to make the most of them. They would mourn their dead and care for their wounded, then-when they were able-they would head back to London.

The war for the city had just begun.

A high stone and wrought-iron fence protected Good Saints' Cemetery from vandals, but the gates exploded inward at Warren's gesture. Part of him didn't like what he was about to do, but another part looked forward to it because he'd never done it before.

Three days had pa.s.sed since he'd fallen into the River Thames and been thwarted in his attempted vengeance on the Templar that had taken his hand. He'd managed to save himself. For a time, though, he'd feared that Merihim would finish what the Templar had not.

But the demon's wrath had pa.s.sed and Warren had received further instruction. He was amazed at how quickly his power continued to grow.

Walking through the graveyard, Warren didn't worry about the demons prowling through the area. He was marked, to their senses at least, by Merihim's protection and knew they would give him a wide berth.

Demon-claimed, they called him. Warren wore that name willingly. Demon-claimed was demon-protected. Here, with the power he had and the demons in control of the city, he was a lord. And he was getting stronger.

He walked through the graveyard, looking for one marker in particular. When he found it, he sat on crossed legs and unleashed the spell that Merihim had given him to use.

An electric-blue fog rose up from the frozen ground, providing a foot-thick layer of cover over a large section of the graveyard. Then, after a long time, the dead began to crawl from their graves.

Since the cemetery was hundreds of years old, the zombies Warren awakened stood in all manner of dress, from knickers to modern khakis. Some were soldiers and some were slackers. Dead and mindless, they were just a force Merihim could use to build his army.

But the one Warren waited on took a bit longer, as if reluctant. But then that zombie too rose and stood before him.

The mortician had done a good job of putting the dead man's head back together after he'd shot himself, but Warren could still see where the bullet had gone through.

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