| Spike woke in the same alley, still pelted by the same rain. The odor of demon blood still clung to every surface -- the slick pavement, the dirty brick walls, the trash and dumpster. But the demon horde was gone, leaving only their body fluids mingling with the cold water falling from the black sky.
He couldn't remember how he'd lost consciousness. He remembered fighting desperately, the mass of clawed and scaled foes pressing him back. He remembered seeing Charlie Gunn fall early. He remembered seeing Angel dragged into the sky clinging to the dragon’s talon. He remembered seeing Illyria borne to the ground by the weight of a dozen or more opponents, each twice or three times her size. And he remembered punching and kicking and driving his body against the creatures he fought. He was beyond pain, beyond fatigue, beyond fear -- and then -- nothing. Here he was, the battle finished or moved on, and he didn't even know how he'd fallen. He levered himself up off the filthy pavement and looked around. The buildings that bounded this alley were undamaged. The trash was still strewn across road and piled in drifts in the corners. The smell was washing away as the rain poured down the drainpipes and sluiced through the gutters. But the demons were gone. Charlie Gunn was gone. Illyria was gone. And Angel was gone. Staggering to his feet, Spike took inventory on himself. He was whole, and as far as a cursory investigation could reveal, uninjured. That couldn't be right. He knew he'd been hurt. He remembered the impact of the huge claw on his shoulder, the polgara spike through his stomach, the gablar demon's teeth sinking into his knee. He'd been barely standing. Still fighting, still mad with battle, still swinging and kicking -- but he'd known he was done for. What happened? He walked to the mouth of the alley, the rain running down his neck inside his coat, plastering his hair to his head, blurring his vision. He walked out to the main road that ran in front of the Hyperion and looked up and down. The streetlights were surrounded by halos as the light bounced off the driving raindrops. The pavement shone like polished onyx as the rain backed up around overwhelmed drains. But the street was empty. There were no cars, no trucks, no winos, no drunks, no drug dealers. Spike knew it had to be late -- it had been well past midnight when the battle began. But even in the darkest hours before dawn there should have been someone abroad. Spike stopped and listened, and heard nothing but the raindrops beating against every surface and the water rushing downhill and away. There was no one. No stray cats or dogs, no rats, no police, no night buses. What the bloody, buggering hell? The enormity of the situation began to dawn on him. He had survived. He didn't know how, but he was still alive -- at least as alive as a vampire could claim to be. But wait -- what had Angel said? Something about having given up the shanshu. Could it be? Could Angel's rejection of the ultimate reward -- could it mean... He stopped and held his breath, listening intently for his own heartbeat. But there was none. And after five minutes of holding his breath, he had to acknowledge that breathing wasn't necessary either. No, he hadn't died and been reborn. He simply hadn't died -- or at least, he hadn't died again. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Part of him was disappointed. But another part would have been devastated to learn he had been granted a new life at the cost of every friend he had in the world. So, he walked, determined to reach... someplace else. Surely if he kept moving he would come to the edge of the area emptied by the apocalypse. There had to be people somewhere. He walked, each step squishing from the water in his boots -- block after block, mile after mile. But the world was empty. Nothing moved but water -- and him. There was no sound but drumming rain and the hiss of torrents searching for the lowest level. As he walked the empty streets of a hollow city, he tried door after door, finding each locked. And after a length of time he couldn't measure, he realized there was something else missing -- dawn. He was moving through a night with no morning, through a rainstorm with no clear sky beyond. He sat down on a bench by a bus stop -- where he knew now no bus would ever come -- and let his tears mingle with the endless deluge. Angel had been right, after all. He was bound for hell. And he had arrived. |