Part III
Arthur stepped out of the courtyard and into an empty dining area of the manor that looked mostly unused. It was dusty and filled with broken chairs and tables that had deteriorated with age.
Behind him in the courtyard he heard more cultists jumping to the ground from the second-floor window. He spun, fired off two more shots to force them into cover, and then he pulled the door closed.
Arthur ran through the dark dining hall away from the cultists. A swinging door led into an old kitchen and each step he took kicked up a cloud of dust into the air behind him. He pushed through the door into the kitchen, sword and gun ready.
The kitchen was mostly empty and had fallen into disrepair as well. The equipment was broken, and an old fireplace had collapsed in on itself. There were some wrappers and cans scattered around, but no actual foodstuffs. Wherever the cultists prepared their meals, it wasn’t here.
Up ahead he saw a door open on the far side. When he reached about halfway through the old kitchen two men came running in from up ahead.
They raised their guns to fire, but Arthur was faster. He slowed to a walk, raised his gun, and squeezed out two rounds. He put a bullet into each of them but not before the second gunman got a shot off.
He felt a sudden flash of motion in his left arm as a bullet ripped through. There wasn’t any pain at first, only shock, and he knew he’d been hit. The shock and fear was sudden and overwhelming in a way that only gunshots can be, but luckily – or unluckily – this wasn’t his first time getting shot.
He staggered, catching himself on a counter and then forced his body to keep moving. As long as he didn’t allow himself to go into shock he would be fine — it was a clean through-and-through – and the best way to do that was to stay occupied and ignore the shot.
He didn’t have time to examine the wound just yet, and he knew that focusing on it wouldn’t help anything.
He pushed through the door where the two gunmen entered and found himself in another hallway. It mirrored the one he’d first entered in the manor, though this one was carpeted. It went off to his right — back toward the entrance of the manor — and the left, deeper into unknown territory.
By now the other hunters would have caught up to Frieda and they would have heard the gunshots. No doubt they were closing in on the manor even now and his best option would be to try and meet up with them. He had done enough in the last few minutes to shake up the cult, and with the rest of the hunters they could clear out the entire place.
He was about to turn to the right and double back to the front when he heard a scream from the hallway to his left. It sounded like a child, a young girl, and her voice was full of pain and terror. It cut through him like a knife, sending a shiver down his spine.
Arthur rushed left without another thought, reloading his revolver and attempting to run quietly. He heard shouting behind him as his pursuit started to catch up but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that scream and the person who elicited it.
He knew he needed to patch himself up, though, if he was going to be any help to that young girl. His arm was bleeding profusely and it wouldn’t be long before he lost movement in it. He ducked into a side room, trying to control his breathing and calm his heartrate.
His side was wet with blood and he took a second to examine the shot. It had hit the muscle and went clear through. Painful, but not debilitating. He ripped a piece off his shirt and tied it as best he could around his arm using his teeth.
More shouts from behind, closer now. They were searching for him, checking each room and trying to find him. It would only be another minute before they came to his room. He ducked farther into the room behind an old armoire and waited.
A group — maybe five or six armed men — moved past his hiding place. One of them entered the room and glanced around, but he didn’t thoroughly search before announcing to the group that it was clear. Arthur stepped out behind the man and followed him into the hallway, moving quietly.
At the last second — when Arthur was only a few steps away — the man heard a board creak under Arthur’s feet. The man froze and spun, spotting Arthur behind him.
He opened his mouth to warn the group and Arthur decided he was close enough. He stabbed the man in the throat with his sword, but not before he got a partial cry out. It was enough to alert the men up ahead that something was wrong.
They turned, raising their guns. One of them was carrying an assault rifle. Arthur fired off three shots of his own, dropping a man with each round and then he ducked into a side room as the remaining two returned fire. One of the men didn’t go down despite being shot cleanly in the chest, so he knew he’d located another of the demonic host.
The demon was also the one carrying the assault rifle, and it opened up with a hail of bullets in Arthur’s general direction. They shredded the wall Arthur was crouching behind, ripping through the wood as if it wasn’t even there. Arthur fell to the ground as bullets swept overtop his prone form.
He rolled to the side and angled his body, doing his best to size up where the bullets were coming from him, and then squeezed off more shots. He fired his last three rounds, aiming through the wall at where he anticipated the men to be standing.
The assault rifle stopped barking rounds, but whether his shots landed or not he didn’t know. He rolled to his feet and crept to the door, getting ready to peer around the corner.
He didn’t get the chance. The wall to his left exploded as the demon dove through it and into the room. It missed him by about two feet, scrambling to its feet and rushing back in at him. Arthur ducked and dodged, slicing his sword. He hit the demon in the arm, cutting it clean off, but the demon didn’t stop.
Arthur surveyed the area: his shots had dropped one of the remaining three assailants, which meant there was still one human cultist coming after him too. Arthur saw the man raising his pistol to fire and rushed at him to stop him.
He stabbed through the wall next to the hole the demon had made, slicing the man in the shoulder just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet went wide and the man screamed in pain, jerking back into the hallway and dropping his gun onto the carpet.
Arthur felt a hand grab his shoulder, and he was ripped back into the room by the demon. It was strong, even with only one arm. It lashed out at him, punching him in the face and then kicking his leg. The blows staggered Arthur, and he felt his senses reeling under their weight.
He rolled and dodged, avoiding as many blows as he could and trying to find his footing. The demon kept after him, giving him no time to catch his balance, and it landed another series of painful blows, knocking Arthur back against a wall.
Then the demon hit him and knocked him through that termite-weakened wall. It hurt like hell and he fell onto his back in a cloud of dust. It knocked the wind out of his lungs, but he knew he didn’t have time to catch his breath. He rolled and dove, running for the doorway of this room back into the hallway.
The demon was right behind him, growling and grunting. Arthur rounded the door onto the carpet and kept running, heading toward the man he’d stabbed in the shoulder.
The man was gone, fled, but the gun he’d dropped was still there. Arthur felt the demon closing in on him. It pounced onto him, jerking him to the floor a few feet short of where the gun lay, and started dragging him back.
Arthur scrambled and kicked, hitting the demon in the chest and face and creating a small separation. He crawled, got his hand on the grip and then rolled onto his back.
He fired into the demon, emptying the clip into its chest, body, and face. It fell forward, stumbling and landing on him, and then it stopped moving.
Arthur shoved it to the side and rolled over, trying to catch his breath. His vision had narrowed into slits from lack of oxygen and it took several long moments before he could breathe again.
His entire body ached, and he had a dozen open cuts and painful bruises now from this excursion. His arm throbbed, and he felt weak and weary.
But, he couldn’t stop.
He heard another scream from down the hall, a young and terrified girl, and he knew he was her only chance of making it out of here alive. He might fail and he might die, but he would be damned before he gave up.
He climbed to his feet and heard chanting coming from somewhere farther down the hallway.
Lincoln Cole
