Dead Harvest

  There were three of them, the bike messenger in the lead, followed by two others. In all my time walking this Earth, I'd never seen a demon so thoroughly warp its host as these three had theirs – nothing human of them remained. The clothes of the bike messenger hung in tatters around his now-massive frame. He galloped just ahead of the darkness on all fours, his flesh as black as the fire that raged in his eyes, as black as the Depths from which he had sprung. In the naming of things, humans have never been so wrong as when they called the brown-skinned "black" – for brown skin is full of warmth, of life, and this creature, black as pitch, was anything but. Its skin glistened and rippled as muscles pushed beyond the breaking point heaved and flexed like the haunches of a prized steed. Gristly streaks of red where the skin had split in deference to the form it now contained marred every swollen joint and twisted limb. Bloodied fingers, more claw now than digit, tore at the ground, propelling the beast forward, while the joints of its hind legs now bent backward, folding under the creature in an awkward, inhuman motion, and then extending in leap after bounding leap. I'm amazed I managed to keep my feet, so transfixed was I with the view over my shoulder. But keep my feet I did, and as I tore my eyes from the horrible visage behind me, I saw something that caused my heart to leap: a glimmer of light maybe a hundred yards ahead, the next station on the line. If we could just make it, just shake these beasts for long enough to disappear into the crowd…

  But it may as well have been a hundred miles. Hot breath prickled at my neck as the liquid darkness engulfed us, and by instinct I pitched forward, snagging Kate on the way down and dragging her to the ground. The one-time bike messenger sailed overhead, one clawed hand swiping diagonally across where I had just stood. But the demon just passed through empty space, and the creature tumbled to the ground, rolling twice before finding its feet. It stood hunched in the center of the tracks, facing us, its chest heaving with every labored breath. A corona of light, pointed like the rays of a star, splayed out around the beast as its massive form eclipsed the light of the station beyond. The creature made a terrible chuffing sound. I suppressed a shiver as I realized that it was laughing.

  "You have fought well, Collector," the demon said. "You have done yourself proud. But you have also caused us a great deal of trouble. I'm afraid you shall receive no mercy this day. Your death will be a slow and painful one."

  Again I heard that awful chuffing sound, this time from behind. I wheeled to find the other two creatures standing guard just behind us, somehow clearly visible despite the darkness that enveloped us, blanketing the walls and rendering indistinct the ground beneath our feet. Both stood on all fours, their sudden heft supported by arms that now rippled with thick ropes of muscle. One lazily stretched a set of leathery wings, which made a sound like rustling leaves in the darkness. The other's flesh had split the length of its back, revealing two rows of bony protuberances – black as its skin and slick with its vessel's blood – that ran the length of its spine before terminating in a ridge of small horns at the bridge of its nose.

  "And you, my dear," the once-bike-messenger said, addressing Kate. "So young, so petite, and yet so very, very dangerous. I've no doubt you'll find your new accommodations… satisfying. But don't fret; I'm certain that once your Collector is dispatched, we four can find the time for a little entertainment before we consign you to your fate. After all, you are such a pretty little girl…"

  It was then that the winged one leapt. Maybe it was the rustle of its wingbeat; maybe it was just dumb luck. I guess it doesn't matter what it was that tipped me off, but as the winged demon closed the gap between us, its mouth of misshapen teeth open wide, I drew the gun from my pocket, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.

  The report was deafening, and even through closed lids, the flash of the barrel was painful in its sudden brightness. The winged demon collapsed to the ground, whimpering like a wounded dog, its head a mess of blood and brain and teeth. I fired again. It shuddered and lay still.