Blake moves fast, his body infused with artificial vitality. He slams into his bathroom and shuts the door reflexively behind him. There is a soft spot on the far wall, he knows. With any luck, he can distract the thing long enough to formulate some sort of plan. He throws himself at it, hitting hard with his shoulder, and bursts through in a shower of plaster dust.
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He is in the next apartment over, an empty, un-lived-in domicile that is rapidly decaying from within. He pounds across the room, turns, and has time to see an explosion of plaster and wood as the demon smashes its way after him, its volcanic body covered comically in whitish plaster-dust. Quickly, Blake reverses his course, and makes for the bedroom. He has no idea what to do, where to go. He leaps up, caroms off the bedpost, and smashes through the bedroom window, hitting the pavement hard on his back. He hardly feels it. Behind him, inexorably, the demon pounds after, an unstoppable juggernaut from a world he cannot even imagine. It bursts through the wall as he is rolling to his feet and keeps moving, gaining quickly now, as Blake takes off randomly, no idea where he is going, no thought at all in his head other than flight.
He makes it almost to the road, when it hits him. He flies forward like a ragdoll, flopping bonelessly onto the road. Like a flash, the demon is on him, jaws opening to rip the flesh from his neck. With his last reserves of strength, Blake puts out his arms to stop it, every muscle complaining as the full weight of the abomination settles on his arms. He is strong now, almost supernaturally strong, the drug still hot in his veins, but he is no match for the demon. Slowly, slowly, it lowers toward him, bear-trap jaws no more than a foot away from his neck. Now ten inches. Now eight…
He hears the squeal of tires and hope flashes into his mind like a white fire. He relaxes his muscles, laying flat-out against the road. The monster falls on him, nearly crushing him, jaws closing on the flesh of his neck, and then…
He feels it move over him, a fast, hot rush of wind. Something on its underbelly draws a line of fire across his belly up to his shoulder, but he hardly cares. There is the sound, the strange screaming, crunching sound, the sound of two thousand pounds of car striking seven hundred pounds of demon at sixty miles per hour. The beast goes flying, half its body a pulpy mess. It lands, rolls over and over, and comes to rest some ninety feet from Blake. It makes a sound, a sound like a dog being slowly dissolved in a vat of acid, and slowly starts to push itself to its feet. The truck jumps forward, smashing into the demon. It flies forward again, its jaws broken, its skull crushed, and still it moves, trying to rise. The truck moves forward again, and this time the sound of bone crunching together lasts longer, as the vehicle makes it all the way over this time, leaving tracks of smashed flesh and broken bone. It reverses, rolls over it, moves forward again, reverses again, moves forward again, and finally stops. There is a bloody mass of tissue and bone lying in the road.
The door opens and Sarah steps out of the cab. She runs over to Blake, who has finally managed to stand, and hugs him, nearly bowling him back over. He is, quite simply, a mess. His body is covered in bruises, lacerations from glass, abrasions of all shapes and sizes. There is a long, bloody gash down his side where something on the belly of Sarah’s truck came too close to him. Though he has not discovered it yet, there is a nasty circular scar on his chest, the result of a stray drop of saliva. He knows that when the drug wears off, when his body has had time to rest, that he will be nearly unable to move. He knows that he is tired, but not so tired he cannot do what must be done.
“Sarah,” he says. “Will you please fetch the gas can?”
The fire is very pretty, but not as pretty as the sunrise.
"Quit this world, quit the next world, quit quitting!" -Sufi proverb.