The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,59

his fingers. “You’ve got six left. You’ve only shot two and Argus gave you eight.”

“I dropped some,” Zac replied, thinking fast.

“That was clumsy, Mr Butterfingers,” Angelo scolded. “It doesn’t matter, I’m coming. Gabriel said I had to stick close to you, so that’s what I’m going to do. Besides,” he added, “I feel safer with you around.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Zac said. He sighed. “Fine. But remember, the lower we get, the more dangerous it becomes. Keep calm. The last thing I need is for you to freak out on me.”

Angelo gave a little laugh. “I don’t freak out.”

“Yes, you do,” Zac replied. “You just never remember afterwards.” He stepped on to the escalator and began the descent to the circle below. “Now, come on. Stay close and stay quiet.”

The second circle of Hell was virtually identical to the first. The carpet was the same. It had the same frosted-glass barrier round the inside curve. The only difference was the doors.

The doors on the floor above had been glossy white. The ones on the second circle were a sort of creamy brown colour. Aside from that small difference, and the fact that there was no unconscious demon lying on this floor, the circles were virtually indistinguishable.

They moved quietly, keeping low so the glass would hide them from anything that might emerge from one of the doors on the opposite side of the circle. Zac slipped the gun back inside his jacket. He wanted to keep the last dart until he really needed it. If something stepped out of one of the doors ahead of them, he’d have to find some other way of dealing with it.

Fortunately, nothing did. They made it to the second escalator in under a minute and let it carry them down to the floor below. The third circle looked just as empty as the others. The doors were a coppery shade of brown and the muzak sounded just a little louder and more grating, but otherwise it was nothing they hadn’t seen before.

“See,” Angelo grinned. “Easy. I told you you worry too much.”

As if it had been standing in the wings waiting for its cue, an alarm began to ring. It was an old-fashioned clang-clang-clang, like someone was repeatedly striking a bell. The sound drowned out the muzak and carried all the way from the first circle to the last.

On every floor, doors began to open. Demons and monsters and things Zac couldn’t describe stepped into the corridors, grumbling in annoyance or looking around in confusion. It was only a matter of time before—

“Oi!” shouted someone by the door on their left. “You two. What you playing at?”

“Run!” Zac cried, grabbing Angelo and powering along the corridor. They clattered past another door, then the next one along swung open and something large and heavily armoured ducked out and blocked the way.

“What do we do?” Angelo yelped. “What do we do?”

Zac turned and grabbed for the handle of the door they had passed. “In here,” he said, throwing open the door and shoving Angelo inside.

“No, no, what are you doing?” the boy squealed, but Zac leaped in behind him and pushed the door closed with a slam. He jammed his foot and his shoulder against it, trying to stop the demons from coming in. But no demons came. The door did not move.

Still keeping his weight against the wood, Zac turned and looked into the room they had entered. It was dark in there. The only light came from an illuminated EXIT sign directly above his head. It threw a weak glow down the door, and in a faint puddle round his feet.

“Angelo,” he whispered into the darkness. “You OK? Where are you?”

The only reply was a soft hissing, like static on a radio or rain falling on a window far overhead.

“Angelo?” he said again. “Stop mucking about. Where are you?”

The darkness kept hissing, but from Angelo there came no reply.

Zac dragged his foot a few centimetres from the door, ready to jam it again if anything tried to come through. Nothing did. Whatever the demons were doing, they weren’t trying to get into this room.

“Come on, Angelo,” he said, raising his voice a little. “I swear if you’re messing around I’ll kill you myself.”

He opened the backpack and pulled out a slim black torch Argus had given him. It was waterproof, but not completely Styx proof, it seemed. The glow flickered erratically when he switched it on, sending shadows scurrying spider-like up and