Untitled (Post-Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy)
an excerpt

Prologue

The nails in his hands were nothing compared to the roaring in his head as he surveyed the scene beneath him. His vantage point provided an excellent shot of the room, a gift he could have lived without.

Bodies of those who he had loved were strewn about the sanctuary. Heads and arms lolled at odd angles; more than one hung from the chandeliers. None were moving.

"Yes, priest," the creature hissed, the title coming out like an epithet, "look at your precious lambs. Do you still have any other quick words, or is your relentless tongue finally silent?"

He tried to form his mind around last rites but the pain in his body and soul wouldn't allow the words to come. He shut his eyes, but it didn't help ease the knowledge of what had happened. Not in the slightest.

Fetid breath washed over the side of his head. He twitched away, then a moan escaped him as he felt his hands tear more around the nails.

Beside him the demon chuckled. "Open your eyes, priest," it hissed, the sibilant tone washing over him like a toxic wave. "Witness _my_ miracles."

Eyes opening not of their own volition, he fought not to look at the creature beside him and again surveyed the wreckage before him. A thin mist seemed to seep from the floor, blanketing the floor and its occupants. Small snaps, like static charges, came from within the thickening fog. He watched, a growing sense of horror forming in his chest at whatever was about to happen.

Something just above the thick cloud twitched. From the rear of the room a single arm flailed through the air, then settled again. On the front pew the body that had once housed Sister Baker rolled off the bench, then got to its feet and began to stagger around.

"No..."

His moan seemed to amuse the demon, which dropped down to the foot of the cross. "Your God is not alone in his ability to raise the dead," it whispered, eyes on those beginning to get to their feet. It peered up at the cross and its current inhabitant, and its feral grin widened. "You can join them if you'd like, although it will not be by my hand."

A tendril of the fog snaked up the altar, a wispy tentacle searching for further prey. It started to weave up the base of the cross but the demon batted it away and it dissipated.

The building shuddered as something large exploded somewhere outside, and with a casual disregard he was dismissed by the creature. It snapped its fingers, and the fog disappeared into the ground as if sucked down. The sound, harsh and louder than it should have been, got the attention of those beginning to mill about. Heads snapped toward the sound with a twitchy intensity. A restless energy had filled the room, the bodies (because that was the only way his mind could think of them, even seeing them moving) both unnaturally still and spasming as if still in their death throes.

A helicopter passed overhead, close enough to feel the building shake a tiny bit as it went by. More than one head snapped to attention toward the sound, then snapped back to the demon. The priest remained motionless, pressed against the crucifix by an invisible wall, hanging by the nails in his hands.

The demon surveyed the congregation, then sighed. “This will do for now.” He looked back up at the priest. “If you do end up dying I’ll be sure to add you too. These probably won’t be much use other than fodder anyway.”

He wasn’t paying any attention to the demon, however. Eyes brimming with tears, the priest looked over the slack faces of those who had come to the church for shelter. Who had come to him, and who he had let down.

He felt the demon studying him but didn’t look at the creature. “Pathetic, weak, powerless humans,” it said finally, “railing against your fates.” It shook its head, then walked down the center of the church. The crowd parted, then fell into step behind it as he exited the sanctuary.

Less than a minute after the small mob left the church the sounds of battle outside picked up. The force which had been holding the priest back against the cross disappeared suddenly; his body slumped, freed of the force but now subject to the same horrors those who had been hung on crosses centuries before had felt.

From behind him an explosion rocked the building, nearly bursting his eardrums. The world tilted as the cross he hung on pitched forward then jerked to a stop. His body slid forward, and the nails through his hands, little more than cylinder rods previously used on the altar, slid out of his hands. Then he was falling face first to the floor.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, but the pain in both his face and hands finally brought him back to consciousness.

From somewhere close by, he could hear a baby crying.

The sound motivated him more than anything else could have. Struggling to his knees he crawled as best he could on his elbows and knees through the rubble and shaking church toward the sound. Beside him the windows shattered from another blast, the pieces raining down on him and making his trip that much more dangerous.

The sound was close, however. It had faded to a mewling sound, more like a kitten but definitely came from his right. Blindly changing directions he staggered to his feet and walked the last few steps, then fell to his knees beside the infant.

The tiny head was dented in a good inch and blood splashed across its mouth and front. As he watched it mewled again, a long keening sound. Veiny green eyes blinked up at him and its mouth worked like a fish, struggling to bite from a mouth lacking teeth.