Free Demon by Erik Williams

in an alley in An Nasiriyah.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    S emyaza sat up and looked around him. Tall walls stood on both sides of him. Underneath him was a filthy surface covered in rocks and dirt and debris. All around lay the bodies of dead people.
    The soul of his new vessel had fought just as hard as Hank’s had, but this time it did not last as long. Semyaza had been prepared, learning its weaknesses quickly. As a result, this vessel did not lose as much internal blood and tissue as Hank. Semyaza had minimized the damage and hoped it would delay the corrosive effects his presence would have on the body. Maybe he could hold on to this one longer than Hank. Maybe he would eventually find a way to maintain a vessel for more than a few days versus a few hours. Maybe.
    Do not leap so far ahead, he thought.
    Semyaza reached into the mind of the host, as he had with Hank, and learned another language. This one had spoken Arabic. Much of the other information remained the same: a family he loved, how to drive an automobile, and so on. The religious beliefs differed, though.
    He glanced over at the bodies surrounding him, many piled one on top of the other. Mounds of human refuse. Some had been bludgeoned. Others stabbed. Most died clenching crude weapons. Others sharp objects. A few had resorted to using their bare hands. Blood soaked the ground of what he learned was an alley.
    Semyaza stood and breathed. The air reeked of death. It held a mix of blood and excrement, folded together in an abominable stench.
    The smell overpowering him, Semyaza walked out of the alley and onto a main road. There, more bodies lay.
    All around you shall discord rule, he thought.
    Semyaza walked down the main street, past buildings on fire and cars tipped over. More and more bodies lay strewn around him. He stepped over men and women and children, all savagely killed.
    He felt nothing for them. It was because of man he was imprisoned. Bound underneath them while the little mud people danced and raped and killed, debating whether they believed in God and whether or not to worship Him. Yet they were superior to Semyaza. He was required to bend the knee.
    I will not serve.
    Thinking about it made him want to kill more, to employ the vessel’s hands and feel the warm blood of a human as he took its life from it.
    Patience, Semyaza thought. First, he had to find living people. The corpses around him served no purpose. If his vessel started to fail, he would need a breathing mud person close by.
    Semyaza walked through the sea of bodies toward the other side of Basra. Toward people. Toward a collection of possible new vessels.
    Yet so far, his current host seemed to stand up well to his presence. No skin flaked away. Muscles did not deteriorate. It would all dissolve sooner or later, but knowing he could extend his residence pleased him.
    Progress, Semyaza thought.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    M ike made it as far as the cordon outside Basra when he ran into an armed roadblock. He flashed the Jeremiah Hosselkus ID, but it didn’t work. The sentries wouldn’t let anyone in or out of the city no matter how important the person acted.
    â€œBasra is secured to all personnel.” The sentry had added special emphasis on the all , dragging it out for a good second.
    Rather than beat a retreat back to An Nasiriyah, Mike pulled the car over a mile away from the roadblock, sat on the hood, and watched. Tanks, troop carriers, and Humvees swarmed the outskirts. Both armed and surveillance helicopters orbited a couple of hundred feet over Basra. Smoke rose from several places in the city, but he couldn’t make out what structures burned. He wondered if one of them was his hotel.
    As the sun dipped near the horizon, Mike thought about what he should do next. It didn’t take long to come to a decision: nothing.
    â€œMr. Hosselkus,” a voice said. Mike almost didn’t respond until some part of his subconscious kicked him in the ass and reminded him