Over the course of the next few miles, we entered the Brooks Range, a wide range of mountains running east and west that separated the North Slope from the Alaskan Interior. Hanging in the southern sky, the sun dropped behind the mountains as we approached. The temperature plummeted, and the air grew ever colder as we began our climb up the long slope to Atigun Pass, the highest point on the Dalton Highway between Deadhorse and Fairbanks. Aileen turned up the heater. The mountains rose on our right and the Atigun River lay below us in the ever-narrowing valley on our left.

Even though it was still August, within a few short miles, the steady rain turned into large wet flakes of snow. At first, the flakes melted as soon as they landed, but it didn't take long before they'd covered the road, giving my husband no choice but to slow down to avoid the risk of sliding off the Dalton and down into the river.

Some fifteen uneventful miles later, we safely reached the top of the pass and began our descent into the Dietrich River Valley. The road ahead was empty as far as we could see, leaving us with no idea how far we were behind the convoy from Pump Station 4. The snowflakes grew smaller as the temperature continued to drop, and soon clouds of tiny flakes began to blow across the road. Visibility worsened, especially because the wipers on our SUV were in desperate need of replacement. Our view blocked by the side of the mountain to our right, we drove around a sharp bend in the highway and...

Directly in front of us in the middle of the road was a huge gargoyle, at least five feet at the shoulder, his great red wings spread wide to either side, blocking the road and hiding whatever lay beyond.

My husband had three choices with no time to make his decision: run straight into the gargoyle, wrecking our SUV in the process, swerve to the left and drive through the monster's right wing, hoping to avoid sliding off the road and down into the river below, or pull to the right and drive through the demon's left wing, attempting to thread the needle between the creature's body and the sheer rocky side of the mountain. Regardless, there wasn't time to stop, and stopping would have been catastrophic in any case.

For good or ill, Jack veered to the right. The gargoyle must have expected us to swerve to the left because it had begun to rear up onto its haunches, bringing back its right foreleg to bash in the passenger's side of our windshield. There was a wonderfully satisfying crunch and ripping sound as our car tore through its left wing, braking several of the bones that provided it rigidity during flight. The monster spun around, trying to swat us with a swipe of its long black claws. It missed the back of the SUV by mere inches as we flew by.

But we weren't out of danger yet. Not fifteen feet behind the gargoyle stood a dozen imps, their short swords and wickedly spiked maces raised over their ugly heads and ready to strike. This time, there was neither room nor time to swerve. We barreled through the imps like a heavy bowling ball through ten pins. The imps in our way were thrown in all directions, all except one imp whose spiked mace had punched into the hood of the truck and stuck. Somehow, the little bastard managed to hang on and once he'd had a few seconds to recover, he started to climb up the front grill. Grinning at us with wicked glee, he clearly intended to turn the three of us into his own personal three-course banquet.

The imp managed to free his mace and was just standing up on the hood as Aileen aimed her amulet at him and began to cast her killing curse. "Demori..."

Jack chose that exact time to slam on the breaks, sending the imp and his mace flying and the SUV into a spin that left us facing the wrong direction when the car finally came to a stop.

"Shit," Jack cursed as the three of us looked back up the road to see several imps and one pissed off gargoyle dragging its left wing on the ground running down the hill towards us.

Thank goodness for the 4-wheel drive that's on nearly every Alaskan vehicle. Jack put the Xterra in reverse and used the backup camera to drive backwards down the hill. Spotting a pullout in the highway designed for slower trucks, he turned the steering wheel and somehow managed to pull a near-perfect J-turn, sliding to a stop with just a small tap of the back bumper on the guardrail. Just as the first of the imps drew close, he shifted into drive, floored the gas pedal, and we fishtailed down the hill. One imp, in frustration at losing his prey, threw his mace at us. Striking just below the back window, the unexpected loud bang really startled me. Nailed to the back door by its spikes, the mace became an accidental souvenir of the attack on Atigun Pass.

"Why the hell can't we outrun these damned demons?" I asked. "How the hell are they getting here so fast?"

"You noticed how we haven't seen any hellhounds for a while now?" Aileen asked in reply. "I think it is because the devils are sending an advanced strike force of gargoyles and imps flying south following the Dalton. Since gargoyles are not able to carry hellhounds, I think the devils are probably using the hellhounds to help build and hold their beachhead around the hell holes. High demons are evil, but not stupid. By ignoring the 99% of the Brooks Range that's uninhabited, the gargoyles can fly more of their soldiers faster and farther south than if the devils were merely trying to capture territory."

"But I thought you said gargoyles couldn't fly this far," I countered. "That they don't have very much endurance when carrying imps on their backs."

"I did. It is unprecedented and highly concerning. On the one hand, gargoyles fly pretty fast, certainly faster than we can drive with the poor condition of this lousy road. On the other hand, this is much farther than I have ever heard of them flying before." Aileen looked up into the overcast sky. "Now that the snow's stopped, we need to go a lot faster if we are going to get to Wiseman in time to stop for gas before they arrive. I don't want to try pumping gas while under attack by gargoyles and imps."

Before long, we reached the bottom of the long descent down from Atigun Pass. As the Dalton curved around the end of the mountain, we had our first good look down the ever-widening Dietrich River valley.

"That cannot be good," Aileen said, pointing straight ahead. In the distance, we saw several columns of smoke rising into the gray cloud-covered sky.

"Shit," Jack cursed, "There better not be hell holes this far south 'cause if they are, then we are royally screwed."

"Doesn't matter," Aileen said. "We have no way to go but forward. Just keep driving. Go off-road if you have to, but do not stop no matter what happens. I will do what I can to curse any that get close enough to be dangerous."

"That's got to be at Chandalar Shelf," Jack said as we continued speeding towards the columns of smoke. "It's little more than a wide spot in the road. On the right is Chandalar Camp, just a few buildings, trailers, and the state Department of Transportation station for road maintenance. If you turn left and take the little bridge over the river, you'll get to the Chandalar Shelf Airport, not that it's much more than a windsock and a short unpaved landing strip.

As we approached, it became clear that the columns of smoke were indeed coming from Chandalar Camp. Bright bluish flames engulfed the two largest buildings, while several trailers were nothing more than smoking heaps of charred wood. A few gargoyles and maybe a dozen imps formed rings around the two remaining fires, staring raptly at the flames that poured out of the broken windows.

"Damn," Aileen cursed. "It's hellfire! They've brought brimstone with them."

The front door of one of the burning buildings flew open, and a man with a gun in his hands ran out. His clothes covered in flames, he fired twice in quick succession at the demons before staggering to a stop and collapsing at their feet. The gargoyles roared and the imps shouted in approval. We sped by as the demons surged forward, engulfing the man's still burning body and mercifully hiding it so that we couldn't watch what followed.

"Well, so much for barricading ourselves in buildings," Jack said. "We're damn lucky they didn't have any of that stuff with them when they had us trapped inside the bunkhouse at Pump Station 2."

"Did you say brimstone?" I asked as I turned my eyes away from the horrific scene now receding behind us. "You mean like in fire and brimstone?"

"Exactly," she answered. "When brimstone burns, it produces hellfire. You can recognize it because of the bluish flames."

"But I thought brimstone was just sulfur," Jack said.

"Oh, it has sulfur in it, a great deal of sulfur, Aileen replied. "Just about everything that comes from Hell contains sulfur, including the demons themselves. Makes me shudder to think what the place must smell like. Anyway, brimstone is a mixture of naphtha, petroleum, pitch, and sulfur that is nearly the same as what the ancients called Greek fire. But unlike Greek fire, brimstone is strengthened by dark magic, making it far deadlier. It sucks the oxygen out of water so that trying to put out hell fire with water only makes it burn hotter. It will burn down to the bone if even the smallest amount touches your skin. Devils use it to make incendiary bombs and other even more unspeakable purposes."

"But I thought demons consider people to be nothing more than food," Jack asked. "If hellfire burns flesh as bad as you say, wouldn't it totally destroy the bodies and make them inedible?"

"Indeed, demons primarily see us as prey," she replied. "However, while they prefer their food alive and bleeding, they are not above cooking their victims first, especially if they can burn the people alive. The devils have a famous saying: pain and fear make the best sauce. Regardless, with so many people on this planet, I doubt they will lose any sleep over losing a few of us now and then to hellfire."

"Given that they've established a beachhead in Deadhorse, there's no telling what devilry they may be bringing with them," Aileen added. "We have got to get through these damn mountains. Maybe if we can make it to the Fort Wainwright army base just south of Fairbanks, we'll finally be safe."

We'd put another few miles behind us when my husband pointed in front of us and said, "Ah, finally something good. I've been waiting for that all day."

"What?" I asked. "Is the military finally getting off their duffs and sending troops up the road?"

"No, though I'm sure they're doing their best," Jack answered. "The road's slow at the best of times, and it has to take time to prepare an operation to move against something like this, not that there's ever been anything quite like this before."

"So, what is it?" I asked, trying to see past Jack, Aileen, and their seat backs by leaning forward without unbuckling my seat belt.

"Up there," he said. "It's trees. We're finally leaving the tundra behind, and that means we've made it about a fourth of the way through the mountains and about a fourth of the way from Pump Station 2 to Fairbanks."

The last thing I wanted to do was rain on my husband's parade, but I wasn't about to start celebrating our survival until we were at least through the mountains and hadn't seen any demons for three or four hours. Or maybe we could have a little celebration once we'd filled up our gas tank and were back on the road without being attacked again.

"How far are we from Coldfoot?" Aileen asked, reading my mind. "Isn't that the first place we can get gas?"

"It is, assuming of course that it hasn't been evacuated by the time we get there," Jack answered. "It's about 60 miles, give or take, so we should be able to get there in a little over an hour if we don't have any more problems with the road."

Nothing seems to tempt fate more than mentioning the possibility of something bad happening. We had barely gone three miles when we hit one of the wider and deeper potholes in the gravel road. We were cruising along maybe fifteen miles over the Dalton's fifty miles per hour speed limit, and by the time my husband realized it was there, we'd already hit it. The left front tire dropped into the hole, and the next thing we knew was that the tire was flat and we were bouncing down the road on three wheels. At that speed on gravel, it took everything Jack had to keep the car on the road and going straight. Once we had slowed sufficiently, he pulled us over to the side of the road.

Jack got out to change the flat and check for any other damage, while Aileen stepped out to keep watch for any gargoyles that might be flying over.

"Hitting the damn pothole popped the tire off the wheel," Jack said, as he bent down to get a better look at the damage. "We're damn lucky we didn't break the axle."

The cuts on my thighs had originally hurt like hell once the initial adrenaline rush of the devil's attack had passed. Thankfully, that pain had become little more than a dull ache during the long drive since we stopped to relieve ourselves on the road near Pump Station 4. Still sitting in the back of the car, it dawned on me that as long as we were stopped on the side of the road, we were a sitting duck for any nearby demons. I decided to join Aileen, standing guard.

Exiting the car and standing up once more put stress on the cuts on my thighs. The sharp pain returned as the skin stretched, and I could feel several of the cuts reopen and once more begin to bleed. I gritted my teeth and reached into the back seat for the shotgun. I checked it. It was only loaded with three cartridges in the magazine and one in the chamber.

I limped to the back where my husband was taking out the spare tire. "Jack, you were carrying Bill's shotgun. Do you have any more shells?" I asked.

He reached into his pockets, pulled out another seven, and handed them to me. "I've got another box of twenty-five in my backpack in the back."

He jacked up the car and removed the flat. "Damn it," he said as he looked at the wheel's inner rim. "The wheel's got a good-sized dent in the inner rim. There's no way they'll be able to put another tire on it and have it keep its pressure. This wheel's shot."

"Then we'd better not get any more flats until we can get another one to replace it," I observed.

"Dr. Menendez, come take a look at this," Aileen said. She was standing next to the pothole, a dozen yards back up the road. "This is not an ordinary pothole. I think this was deliberate."

She was right. The hole was too rectangular and deep for its width. The gravel from the hole was also missing. I looked to the nearest side of the road and saw the missing gravel, lying scattered on the ground. "You're right. Someone made the pothole as a pitfall," I said.

"Not someone," she replied. "Some demon. This is just the type of simple trap I'd expect imps to make." She looked into the sparse forest of short trees on either side of the road. "Back to the car. Run!"

I turned just in time to see my husband tightening the bolts on the spare. He had his back to the forest and didn't see the five imps fifteen yards away sneaking up behind him.

"Jack, look out!" I screamed, raising my shotgun and aiming it at the imps who had started to charge at my husband now that they had been spotted. I pulled the trigger and the two imps in front exploded into a rain of red flesh and black blood.

"Demorior demonia!" Aileen shouted, aiming her amulet at the three remaining imps. Two dropped while the one at the back merely stumbled. Dragging his left foot behind him, he limped towards my husband, his short sword raised above his head.

"No, you don't!" I yelled, furious that he hadn't just died like the other imps. I raised the shotgun again and fired. The blast blew everything from his waist upwards into a spray of black and red gore.

"Damn," Jack cursed, clearly shocked by the sudden attack that hadn't given him time to do more than stand and turn to face his attackers.

"Are you done attaching the spare, Dr. Oswald," Aileen asked.

"Yes," Jack answered, clearly still shaken up by the unexpected assault.

"Then I strongly suggest we get the hell out of here," she said, walking back to her open door. As we headed back down the road, I replaced the two shotgun shells I'd fired, hoping that I wouldn't need them but fearing that the time might come when I would use up all of the rest we had. I promised myself I'd get more when we reached Wiseman.

"Dr. Oswald," Aileen said after we'd driven a few minutes.

"Yes?" Jack replied once he realized she'd paused. At first, I thought she was just waiting to be sure she had his attention, but it soon became clear that she was having trouble finding the right words.

"I... uh... I am afraid I owe you an apology," she finally answered.

"For what?" he asked, clearly surprised by her unexpected statement.

"For nearly getting you killed," Aileen replied.

"What?" Jack and I both asked in unison. "But you were the one who spotted the trap," he pointed out.

"And you were the one who noticed the imps sneaking up on Jack," I added. "If you hadn't shouted out your warning, I wouldn't have turned around in time to shoot the two nearest imps. They would have killed him if it weren't for you."

"But Dr. Menendez," Aileen said, turning in her seat so that she could face me. "They should never have got close to him in the first place. I was wrong to call you over to look at the hole; there was no need for you to see it. It was sufficient that I saw it. No, you should have stayed with your husband, standing guard over him." She shook her head and looked down at the amulet in her hand. "I have absolutely no excuse for my mistake. I know better than to leave someone in my charge unprotected, but I was careless. When I get careless, people die."

"So, you're human and made a mistake," Jack said dismissively. "We all make mistakes. No one's perfect, not even members of the Tutores Contra Infernum. Besides, we would all have died back at the hole and a dozen times since were it not for you. Forget it."

"But Dr. Os..." she said, ignoring his arguments.

"Okay, if it bothers you so much, I accept your apology," Jack interrupted, shaking his head in exasperation. "And we'll all be more careful when it comes to watching each other's backs. Okay?

"Okay," she answered. "I promise you, it will not happen again."

The car grew quiet as everyone settled into his or her own thoughts. I was sure there was more to this than Jack's narrow escape. Aileen had lost someone she was supposed to protect, someone important to her; I was certain of it. And seventeen hundred years was an awful long time to carry that kind of guilt. Suddenly, I realized that near immortality was not without unexpected downsides, and I no longer envied her great longevity. I decided to change the topic. "You said you were only twelve when you joined the Tutores Contra Infernum. When I think back to what I was like when I was twelve, I can't even begin to imagine myself doing something like that. How did it happen that you ended up joining a secret society at such an early age? How could you have understood what you were getting into?"

"Dr. Menendez, life was very different in the time of Constantine the Great; disease, famine, and war could strike one down at any time. There was absolutely nothing that a simple peasant could do but work from sunrise to sunset and pray to the gods that tomorrow would be no worse than today. We soon learned as children to respect our elders and do as they said or face the consequences, be they going without food when we were already hungry or a switch applied harshly to our backsides."

"So, your parents made the decision for you. But why? And how did they even know your order existed when its very existence was such a well-hidden secret?"

"Oh, my parents made the choice for me, but not in the way you think. I was born in a tiny village that no longer exists in what is now the county of Ballinasloe, Ireland. No one in my small village had ever heard of the order, and I am almost certainly the only one who ever did. The answer to your question begins a great many years ago. I was nearly eleven when terrified refugees began passing through from the north. They were homeless, hopeless, and destitute, bringing only what little they could carry on their backs. They also brought terrible news of unstoppable monsters that had risen from the infamous cave of Oweynagat. These monsters were destroying entire villages as they moved south towards us. A few weeks later, they reached our neighboring village to the north. It lay less than a single day's walk from us.

"Everyone in our village was terrified. We had all heard the same stories repeated over and over by the refugees. The monsters were said to be invincible. Arrows, swords, and even fire proved powerless against them for their wounds would disappear before one's very eyes. Our village elders argued endlessly but reached no decision, for no one could think of any way to stop the foul beasts."

"They were demons?" Jack asked.

"Aye, they were," Aileen answered. "Three hellhounds although to the people of my village, they might as well have been gods from the underworld." She paused and her eyes lost focus as her memories carried her back seventeen long centuries to the village and time of her birth.

"So, what happened?" I asked. "What does this have to do with your induction into the Tutores Contra Infernum?"

"Everything," she answered, sadly. "The next night, we barricaded ourselves into our one-room cabin. Father was the village blacksmith and the strongest man in the whole village. He pushed our table against the door, and braced it with his heavy anvil and a large pile of firewood he had carried indoors for that very purpose. I remember watching him pace back and forth with his sword in one hand and his heavy hammer in the other. Mother and I huddled together under a blanket on my parent's bed. And so, we waited as the hours slowly passed. Eventually, the sounds we were dreading came. We heard the hellhounds' horrible howling followed by the splintering of wood and the awful screams of a family we had known our entire lives. Abruptly the bloodcurdling screams stopped, replaced by the normal sounds of the night, broken now and then by the cracking of bones, deep-throated growls, and my mother's muffled crying. Three more times that night, the horrible sounds were repeated as the hellhounds broke into other huts and slaughtered the families inside. After a long and sleepless night, we ventured out at sunrise to learn which home the beasts had entered and which of our neighbors and friends had died. Among the victims were my uncle Bradán, my aunt Fedlimid, who was heavy with child, and my cousins Eógan and Fáelán."

As I listened to Aileen, I noticed how she began to speak with an accent similar to modern Irish. The more she spoke, the stronger it became as though her memories were taking her back to the language of her childhood.

"Later that day, two strangers rode into our village. A man and woman, they were heavily armed with bows, Roman swords, and the long spears with crossbars of steel like those we used to hunt wild boars.

Many in my village feared them for they were dressed in the manner of Roman mercenaries. There were some who believed the strangers might even be scouts for the slavers who raided our island to provide Hibernian slaves for the villas of Britannia. But we were desperate, and the majority of the village would welcome the Morrighan herself if only the dreadful goddess would protect us from the beasts. However, it is one thing to welcome strangers, but quite another to fight with them. Of our entire village, only my father had the courage to stand with the strangers when they faced the monsters that night.

"A little before sundown, my father kissed my mother and gave me one last hug. Then he picked up his sword and hammer and stepped out into the lengthening shadows. Once again, my mother and I barricaded ourselves in our small cabin. We barred the door and pushed our table up against it. Again, we stacked the firewood up against the table and door. We even tried to move father's anvil, but it proved too heavy for us.

"Time crept oh so very slowly that evening. Mother tried to distract me with stories she had heard from her own mother and grandmother, but I could not listen. My mind was outside with my father, and I was filled with dread.

"Once again, we waited. Eventually, long after the sun had set, we heard the distant howling of the wolves. It came closer and closer until it seemed to be coming from right outside of our door. Then, there was a large crash as one of the monsters threw itself against the door. It shuddered but did not break. Before it could happen again, I heard the sound of two arrows striking flesh, and one of the creatures cried out in pain. Then, everything seemed to happen at once. I heard my father shout a dreadful oath followed by a defiant challenge, the sounds of more arrows, and the scream of pain and rage of another of the creatures, which was suddenly silenced. I heard the strangers yelling in Latin, but the language was completely foreign to my ears and I understood none of it at the time.

"Slowly, the sounds of the fighting moved away to the far side of the village. My mother and I began to feel a little safer, though we both feared greatly for my father's safety. Then there was a crash as something heavy slammed against the closed shutters protecting our back window. Startled by the unexpected attack, I screamed as my mother jumped off of the bed. She dashed towards the window, grabbing an iron poker from the fireplace as she ran by. She was about to reach the window and was raising her hand to prevent the shutters from being forced in, when the hellhound once more slammed his muzzle into them. They flew open, and my mother swung the poker with all her might. It struck the beast's face, blinding it in one eye and causing it to withdraw its head back into the darkness. But it was too late; the hellhound had bitten her, sinking its venomous fangs into her outstretched forearm. I screamed again. Mother, I cried, but she just stood there looking down at her bleeding arm as if she could not understand what had happened. She looked up at me and said my name as though she was confused. Then she took a step towards me, swayed, and collapsed on the floor, dead from the monster's lethal venom.

By then, the hellhound's eye had healed and it returned to the window. It shoved its head through the empty window frame, growling and pushing until the wall began to crack and bend inward. I screamed again, this time calling my father over and over again. Suddenly, I heard a loud thwack, and the monster went limp. Then another thwack, and the hellhound's head dropped into the room, separated from its body by my father's sword. He stuck his head into the room, and I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. He hugged me so tightly, but then he stiffened. He had seen my mother's body on the floor behind me, next to the severed head of the creature that had killed her. Crying out her name, he pulled his head back through the window, nearly dragging me outside in the process. As he turned to run around to the cabin door, another of the hellhounds jumped onto his back. An arrow hit it in its head just as it bit the massive muscles of my father's back. Within seconds, the venom had reached his heart, and my father was dead. Then, the stranger with the spear ran up and stabbed the beast in the neck. The spearhead passed through the hellhound and into one of the logs that formed the wall of our house. Pinned and unable to pull its head past the spear's crossbar, the hellhound was trapped and howled its rage as the man reached down and picked up my father's sword. With a great swing, he did with one blow what had taken my father two. He brought the sword down on the creature's neck, severing it as my mother might have cut off the head of a fish.

"The three hellhounds were dead, but for me the cost was too high. While the rest of the village celebrated the death of the three monsters, I was left alone in my cabin to watch over the bodies of my parents. Lying side-by-side on their bed, I could almost will myself to believe that they were still alive. But I knew they were dead and that I was an orphan, a girl too young to marry and too old to be taken in as another's daughter. I had no relatives in the village, and there was no one in town who could afford another mouth to feed. The monsters might as well have killed me when they killed my parents. It would have been kinder than forcing me to try to survive alone in a harsh world with no one to turn to when winter came. I was no hunter. I would slowly starve as the snows came and the game grew scarce.

"Such were my dark thoughts sitting alone in my cabin with only the company of the dead. Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and the two strangers asked my permission to enter. Who was I to refuse the people who had avenged my father's death? I offered them the hospitality of what was now my home rather than that of my parents. I offered them bread and cheese, but they politely refused, perhaps thinking that I would need it myself. But no, they had not come to bid me goodbye. Instead, they made me an offer. The woman said that my father had saved her companion's life, and that they were now in my debt. If I wished, I could go with them and learn to kill monsters like the ones that had murdered my parents. They promised me food and shelter. They offered me, a simple girl, an education and a new place to call home. But most importantly, they offered me revenge."

With that, Aileen ended her story and turned to stare out of her window. In a silence broken only by the low rumbling of the tires, we continued south along the lonely road, neither of us wanting to disturb her as she withdrew into her sad memories.