The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(76)

People scatter, but there’s nowhere to scatter to. The bugs are everywhere. Muffled screams under piles of beetles as souls and Hellions try to claw their way out. Flashes of bones as bodies are stripped of their flesh. People scramble onto the flatbed, but the little bastards are going to swarm that soon, too.

No way I’m going out as bug food and neither is Alice.

I can’t think of anything else to do, so I bark some Hellion hoodoo at the front of the beetle wave. They explode into flames. The fire burns from the vanguard of the insects, spreading out across the hillside. Beetle bodies smoke and explode like monster popcorn, tossing their guts into the air.

The rain keeps falling. The angels look at me and I look right back at them.

“Great plan. Nice fucking road.”

When we finally get the flatbed moving again, the rain changes. People scream as tiny objects from the sky slash their skin. Some people hide under the skeleton trees, but most of the havoc dive under the flatbed as a razor storm cascades from the skies. The weird part is that it sounds nice. Like a million little bells tinkling overhead.

A few minutes into the deluge, Alice runs over and slides under the flatbed next to me.

“Are you all right?” she says.

“I’m fine. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Unfortunately yes. It’s the war. Things are getting worse. Do you know what celestial spheres are?”

“Yeah. They’re big glass globes that hold the light Mr. Muninn uses to make stars.”

If she’s impressed by my knowledge, she doesn’t show it. “Not anymore. That’s them breaking into a million little pieces.”

“You’re losing, aren’t you? The ones loyal to Mr. Muninn.”

“We weren’t supposed to say anything. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. But are you okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Just stay here. It can’t last forever.”

Turns out I’m not as good a swami as Cherry. The glass falls through the night and the next day. The good news is that it does stop, and when it does, the rain stops, too. We shovel as much glass as we can from around the wheels and push the flatbed free. The Magistrate stands up front with the angels. His map was torn to shreds in the glass-fall. Good. Disgusted, he throws it onto the side of the road. I think everyone is expecting one of his Holy Roller pep talks, but the only thing he says is, “Let us get moving.”

Not exactly Dale Carnegie material.

We throw the ropes back over our shoulders and start pulling again. No one has eaten in over two days and the only water we’ve had is what fell from the sky. The angels better pull a miracle out of their saintly asses soon or there isn’t going to be anyone left to care who wins or loses their goddamn war.



After another day of pulling, and people collapsing or running off, we come to a crossroads. Strange, skeletal trees line both sides of the road and the hills. The branches look like they’re the bones of snakes woven around each other and posed to look like a forest by a very bad gardener or a very good taxidermist.

Vehuel and the Magistrate march to the front of the flatbeds. Vehuel’s red hair is stringier than when I first saw her. She and the other angels are as caked in mud and filth as the rest of us. It’s quite satisfying. On the other hand, except for his muddy boots, the Magistrate looks like he just got back from two weeks in Cabo. I hate him more by the minute.

Vehuel says, “Loyal friends, I have good news for you all. We have reached our destination. The weapon needs to be pulled no farther. In an hour or two, we will have the Lux Occisor in our possession and the weapon will be ready to return to Heaven so that God may use it to destroy his enemies.”

The Magistrate gives her an enthusiastic round of applause, but everyone else is too exhausted and sore to even pretend they’re excited. A few relieved groans is all she gets.

Someone up front yells, “Where is the bloody thing?” It’s Johnny. Ever the gentleman.

Vehuel points up the road to her left.

“In a nearby stronghold called Henoch Breach.”

Now. That’s weird. I swear I know that name from somewhere. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Why does something in an area this obscure, even by Hellion standards, seem so familiar?

The Magistrate says, “We might need assistance in retrieving the sword. I wonder if Daja and Mr. Pitts would care to join us?”

We join him and the angel crew. Daja stares up the dark road. She looks nervous. I don’t blame her.

“You have six armored angels,” I say. “Why do you need us?”

“It was Vehuel’s idea,” the Magistrate says. “Is that not right?”

“It was,” Vehuel says. “Let’s get started and I’ll explain along the way.”

I tilt my head toward the havoc.

“What about them? What makes you think they’re not going to run off or kill each other while we’re gone?”

The Magistrate shakes his head. “Let them. There is little use for the havoc anymore.”

“What do you mean?” says Daja. “Those are our friends. Members of the crusade.”

“And God will remember the worthy ones. The others will have to fend for themselves.” He takes Daja by the shoulders and says, “Try to understand. The crusade itself is what is important. Not the crusaders.”