The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

XXXV

SAMUEL TURNED AT THE sound of his cage bars rattling. A match flared, and he experienced a moment of pure terror at the sight of the demonic figures revealed, until one of the ice-cream cone horns fell from Angry’s forehead once again, and Jolly rubbed some of the “blood” from his face, licked his fingertips, and said, “It’s just raspberry syrup! Oh, and sweat.”

“All right, son?” said Angry. “We’ll have you out of there in no time, as long as the lightning holds off for a minute or two.”

From somewhere on his person he produced a set of picks, and began working on the lock.

“What’s happening?” asked Samuel. “I can’t see much from in here.”

“Well,” said Jolly, striking another match as the first one died, “that Mrs. Abernathy woman was asked to surrender and hand you over, but she didn’t think much of that idea, so she tore the messengers apart, rolled them in a ball, and sent them back where they came from. Strong female, she is. Model of her kind, assuming anyone could tell what kind she is, exactly. My guess is that, anytime now, there’s going to be a lot of shouting, and stabbing, and general warmongering going on all around us.”

“What about Nurd, and Boswell, and the others?”

“All fine, and all nearby.”

There was a loud click, and the cage door opened.

“Barely worth the name ‘lock,’ that was,” said Angry. “I’ve had cans of beer that were harder to open.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Samuel as he clambered out of the cage.

“It’s Mr. Nurd’s,” said Jolly. “And it’s genius.”

He opened the sack and revealed what lay within.

“You can’t be serious,” said Samuel.

But they were.

Duke Abigor raised a hand, and a horn rang out. From behind him came the sound of a thousand arrows being nocked, and a thousand bowstrings being drawn tight.

“On my command!” cried Abigor, then let his hand fall. Instantly the arrows were released, darkening the sky as they hurtled toward the enemy lines.

“Oh, crumbs,” said Constable Peel, peering through the slit in the cloth that covered Dan’s ice-cream van. “That’s a lot of arrows.”

But just as the arrows reached the top of their arc and began to fall, they burst into flames, and a cheer rose up from the ranks of Mrs. Abernathy’s army. The lady in question was visible upon her mount, her arms raised and smoke and flames pouring from her fingers.

“I’m glad she’s on our side,” said Constable Peel.

“Only until she finds out that we are not on her side,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Then she’ll take a very different view.”

Another flight of arrows was unleashed against them, but this time in greater number, and some of them broke through Mrs. Abernathy’s fiery defenses and embedded themselves in the flesh of demons. The demons didn’t seem terribly perturbed about their injuries, though, and for the most part just stared at the arrows in mild annoyance.

“Well, they don’t seem to be doing much harm,” said Constable Peel just as a nearby entity, a hunched being of black fur and bad teeth, tugged at the arrow in its chest and promptly exploded in a shower of flesh and white light.

“On the other hand…”

Abigor ordered his first wave of cavalry to attack, and the skinless horses carried their riders toward Mrs. Abernathy’s army. The cavalry wielded heavy lances with vicious, multibladed tips, and although half of them fell beneath the onslaught of spears, arrows, and complaining rocks that ripped through their ranks, the remainder hit the first line with incredible force, tearing a hole in the shield wall and impaling the soldiers behind before casting the long lances aside and swinging maces and swords to brutal effect.

A second wave of cavalry attacked, followed by the demonic rank and file, led by Duke Abigor and his personal guard. Meanwhile two legions had commenced a flanking movement, hoping to encircle Mrs. Abernathy’s army entirely. In response, Mrs. Abernathy’s forces unleashed torrents of flame and clouds of arrows while Mrs. Abernathy herself waded into her opponents, the tentacles on her back whipping and writhing, pulling riders from their horses and ripping them apart like bugs. The Gorgons at last revealed their hideous visages, turning to stone those who did not look away in time, while those who did hide their faces found themselves vulnerable to attack. The Cyclopean giants swung their clubs, tossing aside ten soldiers at a time. Dragons on both sides set hair and skin and flesh burning while sirens attacked from above like birds of prey, their outstretched claws impaling themselves in flesh and armor, inflicting awful wounds that turned instantly black as the poison in their talons infected the tissue. The fighting drew closer and closer to where the motorized rock and the disguised ice-cream van stood, hemmed in by the thronging mass of demons anxious to join in the fight.

“Guard the cage!” screamed Mrs. Abernathy, for the discipline of Abigor’s legions was beginning to tell, and she felt the battle turning against her. A second line of demons surrounded the wagon, their blades unsheathed, forming a wall of sharp metal and sharper teeth through which none could penetrate. Only a few noticed that the original guards were more than a little unsteady on their feet, and seemed to be having trouble focusing, but then more arrows began to descend and avoiding impalement took precedence over all else.

There was blood, and screaming, all lit by bolts of lightning from above as Hell tore itself apart.