Young Writers Society

Pandora’s Tears

Chapter One

-- Demons

Eight Years from Now

‘Sergeant, behind you!’

Assault rifle raised, Janus spun to face the charging demon. A twisted roar bellowing from its throat, the creature smashed into him, the impact knocking Janus’ gun from his grip and the wind from his chest. As one they slipped in the mud, the momentum of the attack toppling them backwards, and together they crashed to the ground. The demon landed sprawled on top of him.

Wet earth sucked them in and restricted Janus’ movements. He grabbed desperately at the demon’s arms, hoping to restrain it until help arrived. Everything dissolved into madness and Janus only caught glimpses of his opponent: a flash of pale flesh, a clawed hand raised to strike, bleak eyes full of… of what? Sorrow?

A gunshot pierced the insanity, the noise an explosion in the cool air. The demon shuddered, stopped its thrashing, and died.

The limp weight of the corpse pinned Janus underneath. It crushed him and drove the oxygen from his lungs, and pushed him further under the viscous filth that enveloped them both. He struggled to free himself, fighting to breathe as the mud seeped into his mouth and nose. Despite being closed, it oozed into his eyes too. He spluttered a string of incoherent curses.

Either way he turned his head, he was greeted by only more of the damp earth. A single voice rang in his head - what a bloody useless way to die.

The demon was dragged off him by an unseen helper.

Oxygen swept in as Janus struggled into a sitting position and coughed out the earth. Breath hoarse and head thumping, he dropped back again, and remained sprawled in the mud for a few moments, blinking the dirt from his eyes.

He stared straight up. Directly above him two leafy branches met in a natural arch and sunlight sunk through the chlorophyll canopy, the gentle rays warming him as they simmered down. Coughing, he tried to wipe some of the muck from his face, but his hands only dirtied him further. The dark mud surrounding him squelched as he moved.

‘Sergeant, you okay?’ someone asked.

Janus looked up. ‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice weary. ‘I’m fine, Private.’

The Private offered his gloved hand. Unsteady, Janus gripped it and climbed to his feet, being careful not to slip. He retrieved his fallen gun from the earth. It was smothered in the mud. Cursing, Janus scrapped the thickest of it off. There was little chance the rifle would fire, clogged up like that. He cursed again.

The demon’s body, now laying in the mud at an awkward angle, was to the left of him. It teetered on its side, stuck in the sludge. Turning to it, Janus nudged it with his foot so that it lay fully on its back. Unseeing eyes gazed upwards and black hair spread out in a mock halo.

Once upon a time, it had been human. He studied its face - it used to be a girl, probably no more than fifteen years old. But she had been corrupted, her body twisted and changed, and her mind torn to shreds.

Each of her limbs were longer than a human’s and her hands had become distinct claws. Her flesh had turned pale and scabbed, her hair black, her teeth jagged and sharp, her pupils grey-white. And her mind - the thing that had truly made her human - reduced to little more than a primitive beast’s. She had become a monster of only basal instincts.

But then, didn’t Janus see a sparkle of sadness… of humanity, in her eyes before she was killed?

‘Sergeant, I see you’ve made a lady-friend,’ Lieutenant Drace noted as he strode over.

Janus looked away from the demon. ‘No sir,’ he said. ‘She isn’t really my type, sir.’

A rare smile curved briefly at the edges of Drace’s mouth.

‘Lieutenant, who shot her?’

‘It’s Private Barvd you have to thank for that.’

‘I’ll have to buy him a drink or two,’ Janus said.

‘See that you do it when you’re off-duty, Sergeant.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Lieutenant Drace was an imposing figure, stood like a tower over the young Janus. His hard and drawn features were in sync with his apparently intense personality, and his dark hair, just starting to thin, was swept carelessly back.

‘Sir,’ Janus said, ‘do you think those were the ones? Do you think we’re done here?’

‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant. The report said there were at least two dozen demons, but there are only six corpses here.’

A nearby town, Great Wyncote, had reported numerous attacks from the demons. As a response, the British Army dispatched Drace’s small platoon to deal with the problem.

They spent their days in the countryside, wandering up and down steep hills and marching through woodland. Dark bushes and trees constantly surrounded them, with only the occasional barb-wired fence, wooden signpost or crudely made stair-set to hint at a human presence. And although it was summer-time, recent heavy rain had turned much of the ground into thick mud, and so the going was slow.

It was tedious work, and Janus found it almost unbearably boring.

‘Alright,’ Drace shouted, ‘let’s get moving - we still have a lot of ground to cover!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~-|-~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hall echoed with the menial chit-chat of the soldiers, idle conversations melding together into a single, uniform buzz. Above, a dodgy light bulb fizzed, flickered, and failed. A couple of the men stopped to stare at it, and then resumed their discussion.

Janus sat in the corner, alone. In his hand he held a flask of whiskey. And after the hard day of marching back and forth in the poor conditions outside - first too damp and cold, later too warm and humid - the alcohol tasted almost sweet.

He sighed. They’d been searching the countryside for almost three weeks, and only that day had their first encounter. The endless, monotonous searching was incredibly boring, and not the sort of thing Janus took well too. He gulped back some more of the whiskey.

The little red light on the radio-set he’d sat down on the bench beside him lit up, and the set cackled into life. ‘Sergeant Janus? This is Lieutenant Drace. Pick up.’

Janus sighed, lowered the brown flask that hovered inches from his lips, and picked up the receiver. ‘This is Janus. What is it Lieutenant?’

‘I’d like you to come up to the Governor’s building,’ Drace said. The annoyance that tinged his voice gave Janus a bad feeling. ‘The Governor has set a little task aside for you.’

‘I’ll be right over, sir.’

‘Make it quick, Sergeant.’

He set down the radio, and frowned at the flask sat next to him. Perhaps drinking hadn’t been the best of ideas. He hadn’t drunk much, but the liquor stained his breath, and Janus didn’t fancy getting punished for drinking whilst on duty.

Ah well.

He shrugged and climbed to his feet. There were worse positions to be in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~-|-~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drace was not impressed with the Governor of Great Wyncote - he was a pompous little bastard. A scowl ran across his sharp features whilst he stood in silence, waiting for Janus to arrive.

Governor Ted Ballask, sat in his oversized chair, kept his eyes on the paperwork in front of him. Mere minutes ago his face had been flushed red and his eyes had been squinting in anger. But now that he’d got what he wanted all of his muscles seemed to have relaxed. A light smile played across his lips.

A patrol! Drace had never heard such idiocy. But the Governor had insisted he was doing the right, moral thing. In the end, Drace had no choice but to concede to his demands.

A burst of three knocks came from the door. The Governor looked up from behind his mahogany desk. ‘Come in, Sergeant.’

Janus stepped in. He was a young man, not yet even nineteen, but still one of the best Sergeant’s Drace had ever had serve under him. He had a usually good natured face, although his dark eyes often betrayed boredom. Scruffy, dark auburn hair, then still matted with drying mud, sat atop his clean-shaven face.

He cast Drace a questioning look.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Governor Ballask said. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Janus nodded, and sat down in one of the seats positioned in front of the desk. Only Drace was left standing.

Ballask said, ‘As you may well know, Great Wyncote has suffered an increasing number of attacks from the demons. In the past few months, we have averaged just under one attack a week, a figure exceeding the national average.’

Drace recognised it as almost the exact same speech, word for word, the Governor had given him.

‘And although the people of this town are grateful for the efforts you have put into locating and destroying these local demons, we need more direct protection, also. That is, we need a patrol, to help keep our streets safe.’

‘And I’m afraid Janus that you’ve been selected to lead this patrol,’ Drace said. Being ordered to lose his Sergeant, his second in command, to a damned street patrol was an insult Drace had never thought he’d have to endure.

‘But-’ Janus said.

Drace cut in, ‘You have your choice of two men to take with you.’

A pause. ‘I’ll take Peterson from Charlie One, and Barvd from Charlie Two.’

‘Very well.’

Governor Ballask stood up, a stupid smile cut into his face. ‘Thank you both very much, you’ve been very helpful.’

Drace didn’t reply. Instead, he turned on the spot and marched to the door. As he went, he heard Janus clamber from his chair to follow.

Outside, in the cool night’s breeze, Janus said, ‘Sir, why do we have to have a patrol? Are the town guard not doing their job properly?’

‘They aren’t getting the chance,’ Drace sighed. ‘The Governor has the majority of them posted in his private residence as personal guards, so there aren’t enough left to protect the public.’

‘Is that legal?’

‘Technically, no. But there’s nothing that we can do about it. I’m afraid we have no choice but to agree to his demands.’ He paused, and sniffed the air. ‘Janus, what’s that I can smell on your breath?’

Janus grinned at his Lieutenant. ‘Spearmint chewing gum, sir. You want one?’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~-|-~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The village hall had been lent to them by the local council, and within it they had set up tables and bunk beds and all the equipment they’d need whilst on the assignment. The hall wasn’t particularly large, so it was a tight fit to get everything in. The poor lighting meant it was perpetually dim, and the entire place smelt like wet soil. But despite all its flaws, it had been home for the past three weeks, and was certainly better than some of the hell-holes they’d put up with in the past. It was growing on Janus.

Upon arrival, Drace had gone straight to his personal bunk, to muse on the latest development.

Janus’ bed was on the other side of the room to Drace’s, partly by the design of each. Janus had wanted his bed out of view of the Lieutenant, so he could get in the occasional drink. Drace, however, had wanted Janus over there to keep an eye on the other men, to ensure none of them got into any serious trouble. Janus thought of the situation as a kind of compromise, and both got what they wanted.

There weren’t even twenty men in the platoon, but in the dingy hall it, packed up with randomly scattered beds and equipment, it could sometimes be hard to find the person you were looking for. And that was what Janus was doing.

His eyes caught sight of Private Peterson, sat in a small huddle of the soldiers. It looked like they were playing a card game - poker maybe.

‘Peterson,’ Janus said as he approached, ‘mind if we have a little talk?’

The large soldier looked up. It was evident from the guilty look on his face that he thought he was in some kind of trouble.

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,’ Janus reassured him.

Nodding, he left the game. One of the other soldiers turned Peterson’s cards over, and groaned.

‘What is it, sir?’ Peterson asked, once they were away from the group and on their own.

‘I’m afraid you, Barvd and I have been conscripted to patrol Great Wyncote for the rest of our time here. Tomorrow morning, I’ll meet you at the entrance of the hall.’

‘A p’trol, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘Huh, how about that.’ He caught himself, and added, ‘Sir.’

‘Peterson, when we’re on the patrol, don’t worry about formalities. None of this ‘sir’ crap, ‘kay?’ Janus had already decided he wanted a casual atmosphere during the patrol. The prospect of conforming to military discipline on what was destined to be a painfully boring routine did not appeal to him.

Peterson grinned. ‘Right you are.’

‘Great.’ Janus nodded, made to turn, and then added over his shoulder, ‘Could you tell Barvd about the patrol too? I’m knackered.’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

‘Cheers,’ said Janus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~-|-~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Not a bad job, this,’ said Peterson, his gun slung over his lean shoulders. ‘I was getting sick of spending all day every day searching those damn woods. Nice to be able spend my time in civ’lisation.’

‘It’s boring,’ Janus yawned. ‘At least out there with the Lieutenant there’d be a chance for a bit of action.’

Peterson frowned. ‘I thought the entire reason we were here was because there were loads of attacks?’

‘Well, yeah. But given the size of the town, and the fact that we don’t work twenty-four hours a day, it’s unlikely an attack will take place during our shift, near enough for us to get there before the town guard has dealt with it. But in the countryside we’ve covered almost all of the land there is to search - another week or so, and Drace’ll either have killed all the demons, or we’ll have left.’

‘Well then,’ Peterson said, ‘jus’ think of this as a holiday.’

Janus pulled a face. ‘I’ve been on a holiday before. They’re overrated.

‘But what about you, Barvd? Would you rather be with the Lieutenant, or trudging along aimlessly here?’

‘I’m happy here,’ Barvd said in his small voice.

The three of them strolled through the streets of Great Wyncote. Within the suburbs, they passed children playing and adults going about their day-to-day lives. The warm sun cast a pleasant light on the scene and the tedious chores of washing the car, fetching the shopping and mowing the lawn took on a sparkle of life. And despite the sheer ordinariness of it, Janus still had to admit to himself it was an agreeable sight.

It always struck him as amazing that, despite the appearance of demons and the incredible loss of life they brought with them, everyone still did their best to get by. True, every household now had at least a single gun, and all doors and widows were reinforced or boarded up, but life continued. Society survived.

They walked in silence for a few seconds, the gentle tapping of their boots against the tarmac providing a rhythmic distraction for Janus.

‘Eh, Janus,’ Peterson said, ‘how old are you again? Nineteen? Twenty?’

‘I’m eighteen.’

‘Eighteen and already a Sergeant? That’s damned impressive, y’know that?’

Janus squirmed inwardly. He hated receiving praise - he never knew how to react to it. Supposedly he should be used to it by now, but it still felt unnatural. ‘So they say,’ he grunted.

‘You don’t sound too happy about it, though,’ Barvd said.

‘No, it’s not that.’

Peterson laughed. ‘The boy’s upset he’s not Region General yet.’

Janus stared at him. ‘That’s not a real rank.’

‘Oh.’

Janus allowed himself a small smile. He’d chosen his companions well - they were helping to keep the patrol interesting, and if it did came down to it, Janus knew they would both stand well in a fight.

Not that a fight was very likely.

‘Attention all units,’ the radio barked. ‘There has been a demon sighted in Great Wyncote.’

Well, Janus thought, so much for statistics.

All three of them stopped walking. Janus twisted the knob on the small receiver, turning up the volume. ‘Proceed to Thirty Two Barking Road. Repeat - there has been a demon sighted at Thirty Two Barking Road.’ It was the town guard’s channel. Janus had got the channel number from Lieutenant Drace first thing in the morning. The only other thing they’d heard through it so far had been a couple of the guards chatting idly.

‘That’s near here,’ Janus said, ‘it shouldn’t be more than a five minute walk.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Peterson.

‘I memorised the map.’ He coughed. ‘Private Peterson, Private Barvd - follow my lead; guns on safety, and only fire on my order.’

The two soldiers saluted. ‘Yes sir.’

I could really do with your feedback on this, particularly with regards to:

- the pacing of the chapter,

- and how you feel about the main character (Janus).

Cheers.