A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) Page 16

  They fled through ministerial offices, a kitchen, and a restroom, all just as saturated with demons as the sanctum had been. When these demons saw Thorn and the Judge burst past, they joined the pursuit. Thorn soon emerged into a large recreation hall where moonlight beamed through tall windows, past several thousand more demons, and onto a set of bleachers pressed against the far wall. Seeing the futility of further flight, Thorn tried to stop, but the Judge doggedly pulled him onward.

  The demons swarmed around them, converging. But as they moved in, broad angel’s wings folded down over Thorn and the Judge. Thorn glanced up and saw Xeres, flying along with them, staring straight ahead at the incoming foes.

  Xeres’s protective wings contorted into gnarled shapes as the demons attacked. His wings beat back and forth, buffeting any demon who tried to get to Thorn and the Judge. Together, the three of them zoomed past the outer wall of the megachurch and turned toward the quarantine zone.

  Between Xeres’s wingbeats, Thorn glimpsed the battle that continued to unfold in the sky above. The demons who hadn’t retreated had now regrouped, and they were staging what looked to be a somewhat effective defense against the overwhelming number of angels. Still, their defeat seemed inevitable. A single small cloud in an immense storm, the demon army was surrounded in all directions. But there are plenty of demons left down here to join the fight.

  Xeres cried out with a powerful wail of pain, and the shade of his wings melted away. Thorn looked back—Xeres could barely be seen through the mob of demons. He flung a few of them away, but more swooped in to engulf him.

  Thorn wanted to shout after his dying friend, to rush recklessly back to defend Xeres, as Xeres had defended him. But Thorn had been maimed, and would be of no use. And if Thorn rushed back to his own death, surely that would invalidate Xeres’s final rescue of him.

  Fortunately, in their zeal to tear the giant angel who’d killed Wanderer limb from limb, the demons seemed to have momentarily forgotten about Thorn and the Judge. The Judge led Thorn over to one of the angels’ warehouses. “Stay here for a sec,” the Judge said. “I’ll go tell them to scram.”

  Them? Who is he talking about? Thorn peered in the direction the Judge was floating and saw, sitting in a car about fifty yards away, Heather and Brandon. I almost forgot about them! Thorn felt exposed without the Judge beside him, but he agreed that the humans needed to leave. The last thing he wanted was for them to get caught up in this mayhem.

  “Judge! Tell them to—”

  A demon burst from the warehouse and clouted the Judge in his temple, right where Wanderer had kicked him minutes earlier. The Judge drifted lazily sideways through the downpour, unconscious.

  The demon who’d struck him then turned to Thorn, and any hope Thorn might have had fell away with the rain.

  “Rat,” said Marcus, with utter malice in his voice and two thousand years of hatred simmering behind his eyes.

  •

  Brandon couldn’t get back to sleep. Something ominous about the storm outside the car prickled him with unease every time he started to drift off. The car was still, but the sheets of water spilling down the window obscured any view of what lay outside, save for the shadows of trees and buildings that jumped out of darkness whenever lightning flashed. Waiting by this abandoned warehouse complex in the repose of early morning felt all wrong to him after everything he and Heather had been through. Where was this Thorn character? And what made Heather so sure he could be trusted?

  “I’m gonna grab a smoke,” he said to Heather. Her eyes droopy, she nodded. He unlatched the door and left the car, then rushed quickly under a nearby overhang, where rivulets of rainwater fell and splattered on the asphalt beneath. Brandon paced forward, staying as close to the outer edge of the overhang as he could without getting wet, keeping his distance from the cloudy windows and rust-stained walls of the warehouse. He tried to not even look at the gloomy place.

  Stopping at a corner where a heavier runnel of water fell, he turned and stared out at the rain. The large parking lot was unlit for a hundred yards, all the way out to the road, where dim streetlights barely illuminated the buildings across the street. Beyond those buildings, the branches of tall trees waved in the wind; between those branches, Brandon could make out the lights of skyscrapers several miles away.

  Avoiding the cast and sling protecting his aching left arm, Brandon slid his right hand into his left pocket, where he still had a few cigarettes left in his pack. It was the same pack he’d shared with Tim last night.

  Will I ever see you again, Dad? He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled, closed his eyes, let the warmth percolate down through his body. It felt great. He hadn’t smoked in over a day, which would have been damn unusual under normal circumstances. He imagined Tim next to him, in the garden in back of the country club, concerned for his adopted son’s well-being. Tim would be just as confused as Brandon if he were here now, but Brandon would gladly have switched places with him. He desperately wished he’d had a chance to say goodbye. He wanted Tim here now more than anything. Hell, he even wished Karen were here now, or Cole.

  Cole? Who is Cole?

  Brandon opened his eyes, and nearly collapsed from the shock of what he saw. The world’s colors had changed: they were all darker, muted, tinted reddish brown. And beyond the wall of rain falling from the overhang, an incomprehensible scene unfolded. Ethereal, illuminant things were whirling around across the parking lot. They had arms and legs, and something like faces. Yellow and glowing, they cast delicate light wherever they went. They looked beautiful… but they seemed to be struggling against each other. Brandon faintly recalled the shimmering invisible entities in the courthouse earlier in the day.

  “Brandon!”

  He swung his gaze toward the voice. It had come from somewhere out in the parking lot, but he couldn’t see exactly where.

  A huge one of the things with great white wings was struggling near Brandon. Dozens of the smaller ones crawled over it, ripping pieces off of it. It looked weak, like it was dying. Nevertheless, it reached a mighty arm out toward Brandon. The thing spoke to him!

  “You. Thorn’s humans. A gift for you. This is our realm.” The huge thing moaned in agony, then croaked out a request in its impossibly deep voice. “The sword. Get Him talking. Open… with the sword. Let them hear. Let them know.”

  And with that, the thing foundered, then seemed to yield to its attackers. It lay motionless in midair. The things crawling over it gave a cackling cheer.

  “Hon?”

  Brandon turned to see Heather approaching from the car, her eyes alert as she scanned the parking lot. “You see it too?”

  “Yeah. What are they?”

  He followed Heather’s gaze upward to see a dazzling sight that he’d missed until now. The stormy sky above them was teeming with thousands and thousands more of the glowing things. Most of them were concentrated in a big luminous group. Were they fighting? Brandon couldn’t tell, but these strange fireflies buzzing in the midst of the lightning storm mesmerized him for several moments. Until he heard his name again.

  “Brandon! Help!”

  “He can’t hear you, Thorn,” another one said. This one was hovering in the air a foot above the asphalt, stalking in a circular motion around the one that had called for help. “Thilial is gone, the Judge is out cold, and Xeres is dead, truly this time. You have no friends left to help you. Your ideas have left you alone and destitute, and your ideas will die with you.”

  “You seem more angry at my ideas than you are at me,” said the weakened one, floating near the ground. Thorn?

  “Can you blame me?” said the aggressive one. “Your ideas have sabotaged our battle. If demons are allowed to dwell on them, they will poison our cohesive society and everything we’ve worked so hard to build. Is that such an unfounded criticism?”

  “It’s tribalism. It’s censorship.”

  The aggressive one stopped its circling and strode toward Thorn. “And that is why you
must die, even if you hadn’t spurned me in Rome. You can not think such things! Just look at how Xeres, the greatest of us, was brainwashed by the same lies you constantly spout. You must not be allowed to coax people to think differently!”

  “Or perhaps I’m simply not allowed to coax people to think.”

  The aggressive one’s arm surged forward and clutched Thorn’s throat. Thorn gagged as he lifted him above his head. “It is my hallowed duty to kill you now. Your death is my reward for all my service. It was for this moment that I invaded Africa, for this moment that I orchestrated Shenzuul’s death, invaded two Sanctuaries, and killed all those people at the wedding.”

  At the wedding? Brandon dropped his cigarette and stepped forward, out into the rain.

  “It is for this that I’ve lived my life, Thorn. To kill my enemies. What purer purpose can a person have?”

  “Did you kill Tim?” Brandon called across the parking lot. Several of the glowing things turned from their fighting to watch him advance on Thorn and Thorn’s attacker.

  “Hon. Hon! Don’t go near them!”

  Brandon heard Heather’s footsteps running after him.

  The thing attacking Thorn gave Brandon only a cursory glance, so Brandon repeated himself, louder this time, enraged. “YOU! DID YOU KILL TIMOTHY BARNETT?”

  The glowing thing swiveled its head toward Brandon, bewilderment written on its vague features. It let go of Thorn.

  “You can see me?” the thing said, a moment before Brandon pummeled it in the face. It spun backward but rebounded quickly. It tried to maneuver around Brandon to get at Thorn, but Brandon hit it again, then grabbed its neck just like it had grabbed Thorn’s.

  Brandon looked into the creature’s glowing white eyes, trying to see what was there. It clutched at Brandon’s arm, trying to free itself. Brandon had to exert tremendous force against its considerable strength. “I don’t know who Tim was,” it choked out with a sneer. “But I know who you are. You might remember me as ‘Shannon.’ I killed all your friends and family.”

  The thing lashed out with its leg, kneeing Brandon in his broken arm. Brandon yelped at the sharp jolt of pain and lost his grip on the thing that had been Shannon. It quickly grabbed him and flung him toward Thorn. He hit the ground and rolled, sending fresh bursts of pain sparking through his broken arm.

  When he looked back up, the thing was charging at him. He raised his good arm to shield himself and braced for the hit.

  Heather charged past him and plowed into the attacker head on. The thing didn’t fall, but it staggered back a few feet as she struggled to get hold of it. Brandon ran to help her. He gripped the creature’s left arm while Heather gripped its right. Once their arms were locked with the thing’s, they tried to push it downward.

  It grunted as it resisted them, slowly pushing them back toward Thorn. Its strength alone was greater than theirs combined. Dozens of other glowing beings were whirling around them now, yelling indecipherable taunts.

  Then the thing abruptly stopped fighting and sank through the ground. Brandon and Heather’s momentum forced them forward. They tumbled onto the asphalt.

  Brandon groaned as his left arm exploded into new and excruciating pain. He stopped himself with his right arm, then rested his head on the blacktop. Glancing down toward his left forearm, he saw that it was now bent up toward his shoulder at a sickening angle.

  Heather had fallen in front of him. She winced as she touched a bloody scrape on her head. “Are you okay?” she asked Brandon.

  Brandon was about to answer when a glowing hand reached up from beneath the ground, obscuring his vision.

  •

  Thorn watched, horrified, as Marcus snapped Brandon’s neck. Brandon’s whole body spasmed, then went suddenly still.

  Heather screamed. Marcus rose from the earth and grabbed her by the arm.

  Thorn summoned what little energy remained to him and charged to aid Heather. But before he could get to her, Marcus clutched her by both sides of her head and spun it a hundred and eighty degrees. A muffled crack escaped her neck. Marcus released Heather, and she fell limply to the ground.

  No! Before Thorn could fully grasp what had just happened, Marcus struck him powerfully, propelling him backward. No, no, no! Not the humans, too! Not Brandon and Heather. Not after Xeres. Can’t I just keep one friend? Can’t I just save one single person?

  As if in answer, Marcus said, “Amy will be next.” He reached down, clasped Thorn’s head, and drew Thorn up to his eye level. “You are wrong. I am right. You are wrong. I am right.”

  “Have you forgotten that I spared your life when I could have killed you?”

  Marcus increased the pressure on both sides of Thorn’s head. “You are wrong. I am right.”

  Thorn gazed upon Brandon and Heather’s dead bodies, eerily familiar from the Miami Sanctuary. They’d lived for only two days, Thorn realized. Such a short time had passed from the beginning of the Bristol Sanctuary until now, and that had been their entire lifespan. What had they known during that brief period? Panic, terror, bloodshed, grief? Thorn intensely regretted what he’d put them through. And all for nothing, in the end. He wished he could have at least shown them that he cared, that he loved them.

  The pressure from Marcus’s grip grew unbearably great. Utter agony burst through Thorn’s skull. His vision blurred. His consciousness waned. Marcus drifted backward, away from him, yet his suffering did not cease. Has Marcus crushed my head?

  Thorn collapsed into the air just above the ground. He gasped for that air, but none came to him. He tried to ignore the pain. He tried to focus on Brandon and Heather, on the simple joy he’d felt when he’d thought they were safe.

  Rain pattered against his suit and his skin. Marcus had left Thorn’s field of vision, but when Thorn turned to find where he’d gone, he couldn’t locate him. In fact, all of the demons and angels had gone. To where?

  Alone with Brandon and Heather, Thorn rested his mangled skull against the wet ground. The pain flowing through his head and his shoulder gave way to a sudden numbness. As the world went black, Thorn felt nothing. Nothing but a strange sense of heaviness, of tangible weight.

  Am I human again?

  Darkness took him.

  •

  Thorn blinked. His pain was gone, his arm was back, and his fingers on the end of that arm curled when he wanted them to. His eyes didn’t even have to adjust to the bright light, as if he’d never even left here. Brandon and Heather were standing next to him, alive and well, and confused.

  Thorn was in Heaven. Again. He and the two humans stood on a cantilever platform attached to one of the Celestial City’s nearly vertical mountainsides. Many such platforms dotted the cliff face, and as Thorn watched, new—or newly deceased—humans appeared on some of them, greeted by angels. The golden city stretched outward in the wide valley beneath them.

  Thorn swapped glances with Heather, then with Brandon. Both appeared floored, speechless. Thorn almost explained to them that because they’d both been rational people who’d done good deeds during their short life on Earth, they’d automatically gone to Heaven when they died. And so had Thorn, since he’d died as a human. But when Thorn opened his mouth, he found that he was speechless as well.

  Near the mountainside, some twenty feet away, two white-robed angels stood behind a celestial console, digits and symbols streaming across its surface. They gaped as they observed the newcomers.

  “Well this is awkward,” said Thorn.

  12

  Brandon tried not to look at the big wall of TV screens as he was led across the golden city. Heather, though, kept staring at the giant black monolith, like it confirmed a suspicion she’d long held. Even Thorn seemed mesmerized by the structure as they passed less than a mile away from it, surrounded by a dozen winged creatures—angels?—and walking on foot.

  Brandon remembered that black wall. He’d glimpsed it briefly during his delirious flight from the plane crash. But he hadn’t seen it so closely then.r />
  It was indeed composed of tens of thousands of small screens, each no larger than an average television set. Various digits and figures flashed across the screens, all the way from their base up into the clouds, where the top of the tower disappeared into white mists.

  The monolith drew Brandon’s attention like a siren calling his name. He somehow knew that dark horrors waited for him inside the black structure, but as he walked by, he was helpless but to gaze upon it. And when he did, he felt it reach into his mind. It showed him things—things he’d only glimpsed in the periphery of his mind’s eye when he’d looked at it before. But here, so close, the visions were brighter than waking dreams.

  This is what would have been.

  Brandon saw himself seated in Good Shepherd Family Church, one of many guests at a service. Splotchy colored light poured through the stained glass windows, but it fell onto black garb and sad faces. A funeral was in progress. A collection of candles and photographs of the departed adorned the area behind the pulpit. Brandon spotted Tim’s face among the pictures.

  Pacing along the sanctuary’s center aisle beneath the chandeliers, Karen stopped by each one of the old, worn pews to comfort the folks who sat there. She cried with them and prayed with them, their anchor in the gale of grief. “Jesus will give you the strength you need,” she said. Then Brandon watched her approach him, dressed in blacks like the rest of them, but seated near the back, silent and shaken. She sat with him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Brandon felt small next to her kindness, beneath her caring arm. In that moment, he felt terrible for every snide comment he’d ever made about Karen, or about any Christian.

  As she consoled him, the black monolith replaced the church with a different, darker vision.

  This is what could have been.

  Brandon saw himself wearing stylish apparel, in a high-rise condominium near the waterfront. He watched as he tried to manipulate another, shorter man—Cole?—then terrorize a panicked girl. Was he raping her? He looked away in disgust, but the vision moved along with his gaze as if punishing him for these deeds that he never would have done in his right mind. And then he was downstairs in the lobby, trying to kill the same girl. As he raised a golf club to swing, he turned and locked eyes with himself.