Chapter Twenty-Five
Pestilence’s trail of disease and death was easy to follow. Belle stood in the waiting room of a small rural hospital, her heart aching for the avalanche of human misery surrounding her.
An exhausted and disheveled doctor entered the waiting room, her scrubs wrinkled and stained from her battle to preserve life. Her mouth and nose covered by a mask, she consulted the clipboard in her hand. “Kagiso Dlamini,” she called. “Is the family of Kagiso Dlamini here?”
A thirty-something woman rose from the packed seats in the waiting room. “Kagiso is my husband.”
Beneath the weary mask of professional detachment, Belle sensed the doctor’s frustration and powerlessness. She motioned the doors leading out of the waiting room. “Could you come with me?”
“Is he okay?” The wife frowned, her eyes beseeching the doctor to give her the answer she desperately wanted.
The doctor held the door open for her. “If you would follow me, we can speak in private.”
Kagiso Dlamini was dead. Belle didn’t need to follow the doctor and his wife to verify.
Ambulance sirens wailed from outside, bringing yet another soul to this beleaguered hospital.
Already beds were lining the walls. Some patients passed before the overworked hospital staff could even assess them.
In the hour Bella had spent at the hospital, the young doctor had made fifteen trips to the waiting room. Fifteen souls had left this plane. Fifteen families would have to process their loss.
And this was only the beginning.
Everywhere Pestilence went, they would spread their plague. Humans going about their lives, interacting with other humans would do the rest. Entire villages would be wiped out in days. Cities would take only a small while longer.
Humans would fight, because that was in their nature—driven always by the survival imperative, but it would all be pointless. As quickly as they cured one disease, Pestilence would mutate another. There would be no cure once someone was infected. No chance for herd immunity. No chance for survival.
Those Pestilence didn’t catch would be driven into conflict by War. Then would come Famine, which would be catastrophic to an already weakened population. And then Death, and Death would not return to their rest until no living thing remained.
The other hell princes and archangels held gatherings. Clustered in that charming theatre, they discussed their options and made their plans. While for each day Pestilence walked the earth, hundreds died. Hundreds would become thousands and then millions.
A bright sunny noon mocked the horror taking place inside as she walked across the parking lot to her car. Clear arcing blue skies spread above her like a promise of hope and a future. The breeze carried a hint of spring to come. Life, ever buoyant, went on.
She started her car. Even with her power heavily muted, she could sense Pestilence. They weren’t traveling in a straight line but moving from community to community, drawn always by the pulse of healthy humans.
Turning out of the parking lot, she headed southwest.
Sunset was painting the sky gaudy orange and scarlet by the time she narrowed the gap between them. Dust from commuters hung heavy in the cooling air.
Pestilence’s power gnawed at her nerve endings.
Belle parked and took a deep breath. Locking her power down even tighter, she climbed out and followed the grating pulse of power. Across the street, ribbons of people waited for the commuter taxis to take them home from a day’s work. It was the perfect place to spread disease. People would travel from here in close confines and carry the contagion into their homes.
Pestilence was learning. They would look human and could be one of the scores of waiting commuters.
Parked off to the side of the taxi rank, a long figure sat astride a white motorcycle. The one thing amidst the scene of daily human grind that didn’t fit.
Pestilence stood and removed their helmet as she approached. They were attractive by human standards, but indistinguishable. Medium brown hair and skin tone, dark eyes. Gender and ethnicity hard to define.
“Belphegor,” they greeted her.
They stabbed for her power, but she’d prepared, and it pinged off her locked shields. “Pestilence.”
“You cannot stop me,” they said. “Even you are not powerful enough.”
“I realize that.” She stopped outside of their reach. “I am here to parley.”
“Parley?” Pestilence frowned. “You have nothing to bargain with.”
“Only the truth.” She kept her expression blank. If they sensed her desperation, this negotiation would fold before terms were reached. Pestilence wouldn’t harm her and would also not end her. It was outside of their imperative. They frowned. “The end of days is upon us.”
“The end of days approaches.” Tension tightened her spine, and she kept her muscles locked. She was all that stood between Pestilences and the people waiting. People who would carry plague home with them if she didn’t stop them. “The seals still hold.”
“No.” Pestilence shook their head. “We felt them break and were awakened.”
“You felt them crack,” she said. “But you were raised too soon. You drew on a seraph’s power, but it is not your time.” Appealing to any sense of guilt or empathy for the misery they were creating would be pointless. Pestilence has no emotions, not even clear reasoning beyond executing the purpose for which they were created.
Pestilence pointed to the growing line of people. “You lie to save them.”
“I wish I could save them.” If she lied, Pestilence would disregard her and continue. This conversation would be immediately forgotten as an impediment to their imperative. “But if the seals were broken, I would not be here.” She spread her arms wide. “I would not be conversing with you but doing battle with you.”
Pestilence considered for a long moment, and then nodded. “Your words ring true. Make your parley.”
“I ask you to stop. Your purpose is not yet here, and therefore you must stop.” Belle shoved her shaking hands into her pockets. Pestilence was so beyond any being she understood or could relate to. She had no way of knowing what would appeal to them other than logic connected to their imperative.
“What has risen cannot return to rest until its purpose is fulfilled,” Pestilence said. “With my rising, the others cannot be stopped. You know this.”
