high. His grip is so powerful, his fist so large, I don’t even have room to struggle. He smiles at me and licks his lips like I’m a snack.
“You must be Silas. Still little after all these years,” he mocks.
“You killed my brother, asshole,” I say.
“He was the price your father paid me for your mother,” the Devil responds to me. I don’t understand. He sees the look on my face and knows he’s found a weak spot. “Oh, I see. Your father never told you how we met,” he adds.
I’m not sure I even want to know what he’s talking about. “Go fuck yourself,” I answer.
He’s unfazed. “You should thank me. I could have chosen you,” he says back. “Though I guessed you were half the man he was,” he adds, again with the midget jokes. He holds me out, away from his body, his dark eyes scanning me. I can tell he doesn’t like what he sees. “Hmmm… perhaps my initial assessment was wrong.” He dives down, descending like a bird of prey, and there’s not much I can do about it but helplessly go along for the ride. He stops short, a foot off the ground, and deposits me at my father’s feet like a stork delivering a baby.
“Are you done?” I scowl at him.
He smiles then looks at my pa and snorts. “Your son has a pure soul. Looks like the two of you need to have a father son talk. Perhaps that will color it a bit.” Then the Devil looks back, admiring his advancing army of zombies. “You better hurry, though. You don’t have much time.” Then he takes off, literally like a bat out of hell.
“He’s heading to Los Agros,” says Miguel. “We need to go , now,” he adds, raising his gun, firing a few bursts of scattershot that drop the two zombies closest to us. One of ‘em rises back up. Miguel aims more carefully and finishes him off for good.
My father grabs my arm and lifts me up. Our eyes meet. I see the shame in his. He knows the Devil just revealed to me his darkest secret. Now I know the Devil spoke true.
“I—” Pa starts to explain, but Miguel cuts him off.
“Not now… Balzuzu’s right. We don’t have much time,” yells Miguel. He tilts his head at the advancing hoard of corpses. Their sickening moans fill the air with despair. Their stench washes over us like a gray cloud. “Nor do we have enough ammo to deal with them. Our only hope lies in Los Agros.”
Pa looks at me, almost apologetically. “I agree,” I say loudly. Then I turn to my pa, soften my tone and add, “and anything you have to tell me can wait until later... if there is a later.”
Pa nods and it’s time to move. We backpedal toward a motorcycle lying on its side. Miguel fires indiscriminately at anything non-living that approaches. “And who’s Balzuzu?” I ask him. “I thought that was the Devil.”
“Balzuzu is a devil. He’s not the Devil,” Father Miguel answers. “He’s Nephilim… a descendant of Araqiel, a savage that resides in the space between Heaven and Earth.”
Miguel’s words are just as confusing as Balzuzu’s , but I got the gist. “Since you know who he is, how do we stop him?” I ask, while blasting an approaching zombie into tomato paste.
“We need to get him back on his side of the gate. I know how to perform the ritual that closes it,” says Miguel.
“Simple enough… how do we get him there? How do we drive him back?”
“Through the only thing he understands… brute force,” answers Miguel.
“Okay… brilliant,” I say, a pained smile on my face. In my head I say we’re fucked more than a new kid in a prison block.
My pa grabs the motorcycle by the handle and hoists it upright. He steps on the clutch, twists the handle, and the engine roars. The rear wheel kicks up dirt and in a second my pa’s next to us. “Get on,” he says.
It’s built for t wo. Miguel hops on behind my pa. The zombie herd is closing in. I squeeze in behind Miguel making the bike big enough to fit two and a half.
My pa throttles it. Then he screams out. “Sheriff
“You must be Silas. Still little after all these years,” he mocks.
“You killed my brother, asshole,” I say.
“He was the price your father paid me for your mother,” the Devil responds to me. I don’t understand. He sees the look on my face and knows he’s found a weak spot. “Oh, I see. Your father never told you how we met,” he adds.
I’m not sure I even want to know what he’s talking about. “Go fuck yourself,” I answer.
He’s unfazed. “You should thank me. I could have chosen you,” he says back. “Though I guessed you were half the man he was,” he adds, again with the midget jokes. He holds me out, away from his body, his dark eyes scanning me. I can tell he doesn’t like what he sees. “Hmmm… perhaps my initial assessment was wrong.” He dives down, descending like a bird of prey, and there’s not much I can do about it but helplessly go along for the ride. He stops short, a foot off the ground, and deposits me at my father’s feet like a stork delivering a baby.
“Are you done?” I scowl at him.
He smiles then looks at my pa and snorts. “Your son has a pure soul. Looks like the two of you need to have a father son talk. Perhaps that will color it a bit.” Then the Devil looks back, admiring his advancing army of zombies. “You better hurry, though. You don’t have much time.” Then he takes off, literally like a bat out of hell.
“He’s heading to Los Agros,” says Miguel. “We need to go , now,” he adds, raising his gun, firing a few bursts of scattershot that drop the two zombies closest to us. One of ‘em rises back up. Miguel aims more carefully and finishes him off for good.
My father grabs my arm and lifts me up. Our eyes meet. I see the shame in his. He knows the Devil just revealed to me his darkest secret. Now I know the Devil spoke true.
“I—” Pa starts to explain, but Miguel cuts him off.
“Not now… Balzuzu’s right. We don’t have much time,” yells Miguel. He tilts his head at the advancing hoard of corpses. Their sickening moans fill the air with despair. Their stench washes over us like a gray cloud. “Nor do we have enough ammo to deal with them. Our only hope lies in Los Agros.”
Pa looks at me, almost apologetically. “I agree,” I say loudly. Then I turn to my pa, soften my tone and add, “and anything you have to tell me can wait until later... if there is a later.”
Pa nods and it’s time to move. We backpedal toward a motorcycle lying on its side. Miguel fires indiscriminately at anything non-living that approaches. “And who’s Balzuzu?” I ask him. “I thought that was the Devil.”
“Balzuzu is a devil. He’s not the Devil,” Father Miguel answers. “He’s Nephilim… a descendant of Araqiel, a savage that resides in the space between Heaven and Earth.”
Miguel’s words are just as confusing as Balzuzu’s , but I got the gist. “Since you know who he is, how do we stop him?” I ask, while blasting an approaching zombie into tomato paste.
“We need to get him back on his side of the gate. I know how to perform the ritual that closes it,” says Miguel.
“Simple enough… how do we get him there? How do we drive him back?”
“Through the only thing he understands… brute force,” answers Miguel.
“Okay… brilliant,” I say, a pained smile on my face. In my head I say we’re fucked more than a new kid in a prison block.
My pa grabs the motorcycle by the handle and hoists it upright. He steps on the clutch, twists the handle, and the engine roars. The rear wheel kicks up dirt and in a second my pa’s next to us. “Get on,” he says.
It’s built for t wo. Miguel hops on behind my pa. The zombie herd is closing in. I squeeze in behind Miguel making the bike big enough to fit two and a half.
My pa throttles it. Then he screams out. “Sheriff
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