All Hell Breaks Loose
Chapter 7: Hornet’s Nest

June 13th

10:15 PM

Mariah Adams

After asking nearly every person in our group where Malcolm went, no one had an answer. I double checked that Smalls was alright before leaving to search the rest of the building. I walked past room after room filled with cots and dozens of people that looked scared and melancholy. It was getting late enough that the only people awake were the ones like me who just couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t help but feel their piercing stares as I wandered through the dark hallways looking for Malcolm.

Suddenly, a pair of armed guards came around a corner to face me. I was surprised at first. I didn’t quite understand why the military would be patrolling inside the relatively miniscule safe zone they had set up when the threat they were up against was clearly outside. They seemed equally taken aback by my presence. Neither one raised their weapon or their voice, but it was clear that they were trying to improvise in an unexpected situation.

“Uh, hi,” One of them said. It was difficult to see any name tags or badges in the darkness. “Didn’t uh...weren’t you part of the group that just came in?”

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” I wasn’t sure why but the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. Something wasn’t right.

“The, uh...Staff Sergeant is just wanting to ask a couple questions to people in your group. Just to get more of an idea where you came from and how we can help.” They replied.

I nodded my head curtly while trying to hold back a growing sense of anxiety. “Alright. Which room is he in? I’m sure I can replace it myself.”

The guard waved his hand dismissively as he spoke. “No, don’t worry about it. We’ll take you to him. He’s---”

The sound of something clattering to the ground and mumbled cursing interrupted his train of thought. They glanced around the corner they had come from and after a brief pause aimed their rifles down the hallway. I could hear a small scuffle of boots before Malcolm’s voice began to drone in a low, cautious tone.

“It’s the same story I told him, boys,” Malcolm began. “You cause a ruckus, people start to panic, and your boss gets pissed. I’m guessin’ there’s at least one thing in there that would keep you up at night, so let’s talk about this like men and put down the damn guns.”

I stepped around the corner to see Malcolm barely illuminated by the remnants of streetlights creeping in from outside. He was holding a pistol to the head of a younger man wearing a military uniform. Clearly, there were two distinct possibilities: either Malcolm was significantly less mentally sound than I had initially believed or something very, very extreme had happened since last I saw him.

“Malcolm!” I shouted. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, hey there, Mariah! No offense, but I didn’t see you back there. Hopefully you ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere with these two discerning gentlemen.” He responded.

The two servicemen had their guns trained on Malcolm as they desperately tried to regain control of the situation.

“Sir!” They pointlessly shouted. “Put down your gun!”

“I reckon you boys must not know yet.” Malcolm hollered. “The top dog’s a Hell-spawn! This whole thing is one big fuckin’ trap.”

This began to cause visible and audible amounts of stress in Malcolm’s assailants. One began to glance nervously in his comrade’s direction while the other simply repeated his orders in a much more urgent tone. The sounds of conflict began to seem distant and muted while I puzzled my way through what Malcolm had claimed. I haven’t known the man for very long, in fact, less than a week. Barely even a single day. However, in the time that I have known him, I haven’t seen him do anything or heard him say anything that would indicate he would blindly accuse someone of being a Hell-spawn simply because he didn’t like them. That being said, there was still a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that perhaps Malcolm wasn’t the most sane or stable person to be traveling with, but I could just be biased against the thought of having to trudge through his original plan.

I started tuning back into the quickly escalating conversation when Malcolm was speaking. “Your boss already threatened me more than enough for one day. I ain’t gonna take that shit from the likes o’ you, boy.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” I interrupted. “I’ve had it up to here with everybody’s bullshit.” I began to step forward into the fray only to be rebuffed by the nervous soldier aiming his weapon at me and ordering me to stay back. I calmly raised my hands and stared him down while his counterpart tried to continue their conversation with Malcolm. I wasn’t about to let them start again.

“Malcolm!” I shouted. “You disappeared the moment we got here and when you finally decided to resurface, you just happen to be holding a gun to the head of a man less than half your age. I think everyone here would appreciate more of an in-depth explanation than some random and unsubstantiated accusation.”

“Alright, but let’s make this quick. Private thunder-pants here seems like he’s about to pass out or shit himself.” Malcolm replied.

Malcolm’s hand was digging into the young man’s shoulder. The young man’s face was horrendously pale and his hands were trembling with fear as he faced certain death from all angles. Despite the situation, I noted Malcolm’s remarkably calm demeanor and trigger discipline. A demeanor that I sincerely wished his adversaries would consider copying. To their credit, they traded nervous glances and began to quiet down, but they still refused to relax their grips on their rifles.

“When we first got here,” Malcolm continued. “I got pulled aside by a pair of goons that never said anything more than ‘the staff sergeant wants to see you’. Somethin’ didn’t sit right with that. Soon as we got out of eyesight and earshot of everybody in our group, they smacked me upside the head and knocked me out. When I came to, I was being interrogated by this mysterious Staff-sergeant. He kept asking questions about Evan, but kept contradicting himself whenever I’d ask how they knew each other. First it was ‘I’ve only heard stories about him’, then it was ‘We met early on during the invasion’ and so on with the bullshit. Nothing was adding up. Then I got to thinkin’; What if the Demons could do what Evan claims he can do? What if they can look exactly like us without the black eyes and all that?”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Began one of the servicemen. “Who’s Evan?”

“None your damn business!” Retorted Malcolm.

I could feel my eyes begin to roll out of my head as soon as Malcolm’s pig-headed answer left his lips. “Evan is a man about your age who claims to be an Angel in disguise. Whether or not that’s true is irrelevant. The larger point is that he’s a natural leader and very good at killing Demons.” If looks could kill, Malcolm would have blasted an enormous hole through my head and I would have returned the favor. “Don’t give me that crap, Malcolm. If it is true that the Demons can impersonate people with no obvious way for us to tell, then Evan might be the only hope we have in detecting them. Withholding that information isn’t going to help you. It’s also painfully clear that Evan’s existence isn’t a secret to anyone that might actually want to kill him.”

Malcolm’s scowl began to soften slightly as he mumbled a half hearted apology. The young man with a gun to his head timidly tried to work his two cents into the conversation. He was almost too quiet to hear properly.

“Can I just say something before someone accidentally shoots me?” He said. No one made a move to stop him from talking. “I’ve kept quiet this whole time about it, but I genuinely have no idea who the staff sergeant actually is. He says he was stationed at Travis Air Force Base where I was and I kinda just ignored that by thinking ‘Oh, well, I couldn’t possibly know everyone that was working there.’ But the more I’ve thought about it, the less that seems true. He’s got the presence and attitude of a man that everyone under him would hate and all of his superiors would love and yet I’ve never heard anyone talk about him or mention his name, so I’m inclined to believe the guy who has a gun to my head and not just because he’s threatening to kill me.”

Oh the wonders of diplomacy over aggression. As the younger man was speaking, the servicemen facing him began to slowly lower their weapons. The faint traces of realization crept over their faces as they began to question what they thought they knew. Malcolm followed suit by steadily aiming his gun skyward away from people.

“There, see?” Malcolm chimed. “Was that so hard? Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I did my best to ignore Malcolm as I stepped between the two distressed parties. If Malcolm’s story was true, which it certainly could be, we were probably going to be in over our heads unless we resolved to work together. That being said, I could feel an unhealthy amount of suspicion and skepticism welling up inside me as the possibility struck me that anyone and everyone could be colluding with the Demons. While tucking away those unhelpful thoughts, I started trying to form a plan with the group.

“So let’s say that your commanding officer is a Hell-spawn or that he’s just working with the Demons or whatever. What can we do to mitigate his potential threat with as little shooting and violence as possible? Because, remember, most people here are civilians fleeing from these new demonic monstrosities, not soldiers.”

The older serviceman leaned forward into the dim glow of what little ambient light still remained. He was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties at most. He was taller than everyone present and appeared rather muscular. Standing in front of him I could now see his name tag more easily. Moore. Hopefully we’d have an opportunity for more amicable introductions later. I took note of his companions’ names as well. Anderson was the nervous one that threatened me earlier and Malcolm’s hostage bore the name Allen.

“If we want to do this quietly, we’ll have to secure the makeshift armory we’ve got set up here.” Wilson said. “It’s got a decent supply of military hardware as well as plenty of guns and ammo we’ve either confiscated or looted.”

This was a detail I had overlooked as we came in. I wasn’t carrying any weapons, and had no plans to do so anytime soon, but in the chaos of our arrival I could vaguely remember several people arguing against their guns being held for safekeeping. This meant that only the military personnel had firearms. Everyone else was on their own. This was beginning to feel a little more disconcerting.

“Alright, so we take the armory,” Malcolm piped up. “How long do ya think we can hole up in there?”

“Again, if we can get in quietly, we should be able to hold out against anything the CO tries within the next few days. Hopefully, we won’t need to last that long.” Wilson said.

“It’s as good a plan as any.” I said. “Let’s get moving before someone else steps around the corner and pulls a gun. Speaking of which, do you know how many Angel-touched weapons are in your armory?”

“How many Angel what?” Wilson asked.

“Are you serious? Y’all have survived this long without knowing what an Angel-touched weapon can do?” Malcolm growled.

“Whatever,” I stopped Malcolm before he could begin an unhelpful tirade. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get to the armory sooner rather than later.”

Moore took the lead. We walked quickly while also trying to avoid suspicion. Malcolm was constantly glancing over his shoulder at the slightest noise, but I doubted he could see anything more than I could. To the best of my knowledge, when we reached the armory we were not being followed. Moore and Anderson tried their best to discreetly explain the situation to the two men guarding the makeshift armory. Tensions mounted as everyone began passing concerned and knowing looks. Nobody really wanted to believe that they were being led by a Demon. The armory guards eventually opened the doors into the room letting us see a large group of people inside. As they turned to face us, I gasped in horror as I saw they all had the same featureless, blackened eyes. Hell-spawn. All except for one very irate man in his mid to late thirties wearing a military uniform.

“You guys had one job...”