Jeffrey Thomas, Voices from Hades Read Online Free Page B

(hoping he didn’t take the contact as having flirtatious meaning) and left her would-be beau behind.
    It was not unrealistic for him to believe she might be ill. In Hell, there were microscopic Demons, or at least infernal creatures, that could infest, infect, cause grief to the Damned. Maria knew this well; from the irregular holes rotted open in the walls on the 53rd floor of this building, she had been able to look outside at a narrow building that reminded her of a spinal column, in which these viruses were manufactured by other workers like herself.
    "Hope you feel better!" he called after her.
    When Hell freezes over, she thought.
    She had walked only a few steps when she heard Russ cry out in alarm and pain. Turning, she saw that a Caliban had loomed up behind him and seized him in its pincers. One of his wrists, pinned, was half severed and jetting blood. Another pincer had ripped his trousers down, while a third was closed around his genitals as if to masturbate or castrate. The weight of the immense body doubled him over and the creature was no doubt entering him.
    "What is your sin?" the Demon wheezed.
    Russ and Maria held their eye contact. Russ looked more ashamed than in pain. Maria was ashamed, too, that there was nothing she could do for him. She knew the next time they met he would be physically healed, at least…and she knew they would not discuss this.
    As she left him behind, she heard the Demon grunt more demandingly, "What is your sin?"
    We have forsaken our Father, Maria thought. And He has forsaken His children, the ultimate deadbeat dad.

    ««—»»

    There were more people in the sleep chamber than there had been yesterday, when she had retired without a trip to the mess hall first. Many of the orifices were already occupied, like eggs filled with termites that would hatch tomorrow to take to their labors. She climbed up the rib-like ridges that protruded between two columns of the elliptical hollows, and then ducked into her own in the third tier.
    Against the back wall of her sleep space, her spare uniform lay crumpled up. And that crumpled heap was subtly moving, like the heap of gelatin had been yesterday.
    Maria pulled aside her clothing to reveal the larval Demon lying on the glassy hard surface beneath it. Its eyes shifted toward her, held her gaze, blinking. Its fingers plucked and kneaded at the air. Her eyes trailed down to its puny genitalia; it was a boy.
    She pinched the infant boy’s nostrils shut. The creature’s squirming became more pronounced, and she was afraid he would cry out. So far, he hadn’t cried or made any loud sounds. In fact, even his soft burbling sounds had decreased over the hours of her rest period, which made Maria both relieved and concerned. Was he making less sounds because he was content, or because he was ailing, growing weak?
    The thought of clamping her free hand over his mouth came into her mind. The Damned were immortal, so that they might suffer through eternity. The Demons could perish. The Demons were only machines, so to speak. This diabolic cherub was at her mercy. He was one of the many genera of her tormentors. And her torments might be increased in severity if she was found to have been hiding him. He was the enemy…
    Last night, she had considered smuggling him out of this room and abandoning him in some little-used corridor, or in the space between two machines, and leaving him to the Fates. But there were no Fates, just Demons, and if they found him they’d kill him to further the factory recall, or genocide, of his species.
    So what if they killed him? So what?
    But it was because  they’d want to kill him that she hadn’t killed him. Though still a Demon, he was now something kindred to her.
    Maria pinched his nose, but didn’t cover his mouth. His mouth opened in a disgruntled gasp, and leaning over him, she drooled the orange, citrus-flavored gruel out of her own mouth into his, like a bird feeding her winged but flightless