Unlike the clean high-rises of the second ring, the seventh was post-industrial urban squalor: large high-rises blackened from burnings, clouds of smoke over parts of the ring, streets littered with trash and the burnt out husks of what appeared to be vehicles. It was essentially an urban war zone, and as they got closer, they could hear eruptions of gunfire below.

A bullet whizzed by Kurt. He wasn't sure what it was; like having a fly or an angry bee go by you at high speed. When a couple more passed, following the sound of cracks of gunfire from below, he put two and two together. "They're shooting at us," he yelled.

George had been carrying the Uzi as they jumped. He wriggled around into a standing position — to present a smaller target — and returned fire. Rather than take cover and engage in a firefight, the shooters ran. They weren't brave defenders. They were just taking pot shots.

The group angled down toward one of the rooftops. Alain landed first, sweeping the perimeter as George and Kurt came in to land. Once all of them were down, Alain ushered them through a door into the stairwell that led up from the ground.

"Fuck," George said, seeming as if he was just catching his breath.

"Seventh ring," Alain said. "The violent."

"Wonderful," George sighed. "How do we get across this one? We going to fight our way across fifteen miles of armed turf?"

"Freeze," a voice shouted in the darkness below them. "I'll put a bullet in your damn heads."

The voice didn't seem deep enough for a man or high enough for a woman. As the gun-wielding figure approached them, it entered the shaft of light coming in from the open doorway behind them. They were at the mercy of what appeared to be a fourteen year old boy.

"It's a kid," George said, laughing as he relaxed. His relaxation was cut short as a loud bang resounded in the cramped stairwell and a bullet buried itself in the wall next to George's head, showering him with a spray of plaster.

"A kid with a goddamn gun," the boy said, motioning George to close ranks with Alain and Kurt. George obeyed. He and Alain held their guns at their sides, but didn't let go of them. Kurt stood behind them, a stair up.

"What's your name, son," Alain asked calmly as he took a step down the stairs.

"I ain't your son," the boy said, leveling the gun at Alain's head. "Now you got three seconds to tell me what the fuck you're doing up here before I cap you."

"We jumped down from the sixth ring," Alain said, taking another step down, putting him four steps from the boy.

"Bullshit."

"I'm going to reach into my coat," Alain said, moving his free hand toward his breast pocket. "I'm just getting a kerchief. Don't shoot." Pulling a kerchief from his coat, he reached behind himself. "One of you take this and clean yourself up a little."

Kurt stepped forward tentatively, watching the boy with the gun. The barrel was still zeroed in on Alain, but the boy's eyes were tracking motion, not his target. Taking the bandanna, he spit on it and started wiping the red dirt from the sixth ring off his face.

As his cleaner skin was revealed, the boy's eyes went wide. "You're alive," the boy said almost reverently.

With the boy's attention on Kurt, Alain took advantage of the distraction to step forward and swipe the gun out of his hand. The boy put up little resistance. Disarmed and shocked, they expected him to run, but the boy composed himself. "Shit, we've gotta get you out of here. Kolya and his boys will be up any minute."

"Who's Kolya," Alain asked, putting the boy's gun in his belt and taking a more active hold of his Uzi.

"Later," the boy said hurriedly, turning to look down the hall. "Follow me."

The kid took off down the hall, but the three paused. George and Kurt looking to Alain for their cue. Alain shrugged and took off after the boy, Kurt and George following.

The boy led them down a hall, peering down a stairwell at the end. Voices could be heard far below and they were approaching. The boy put a finger to his lips, cautioning the three men to be quiet, and then crept down the stairs, his shoulder against the far wall. Alain, George and Kurt followed, doing their best to make as little noise as possible.

Slowly, they made their way down as the approaching voices got closer. Three flights down, the boy crept out into the hallway, the men following as he went to door after door, trying the knobs until he found one that was unlocked. Standing at the open door, he motioned the men inside, indicating that they should hurry. The three hustled in and the boy followed them, shutting the door quietly behind them. Another finger to his lips signaled to them to remain quiet. The men stood in the hallway of a small, unfurnished apartment as the boy put his ear to the door.

When the boy was apparently satisfied with whatever he heard, he opened the door quietly and peered out. Holding up a hand, flat, palm out, he motioned to the men to stay as he crept into the hallway. Not sure exactly what they were up against, the men didn't find themselves feeling too scared, but whatever they were up against sure scared the boy and that was enough to get them to take it seriously.

A few seconds later, the boy returned and motioned for them to follow him. The three crept into the hallway and followed the boy down ten more flights of stairs. A flight from the lobby, the boy stopped and motioned for them to stay and be quiet. Rather than creep, the boy steeled himself and sauntered down the stairs. They couldn't see what was happening, but they could hear it.

"Hey," the boy said.

"Wazzup, Ty," came an adult male voice.

"Kolya said the shipment's big this time. He wants you to get Curly and Moe to help."

"Cool," the adult said.

About thirty seconds later, the boy was back up at the landing, motioning for the men to come with him. Following his lead, the three crept down the stairs, but rather than go out the lobby doors, they crossed to the side and headed down another two flights into the building's basement. The boy led them through a maze of halls and pipes, stopping about 20 feet from the end of the hall they were in, opening a door to his left and leading them inside.

Pulling a chain, he lit the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The room had boxes piled along the walls, leaving a small rectangle of space extending from the door. The boy went to the far wall and slid some boxes to the side, exposing a hole about three feet in diameter, and waved the men into it.

This time they didn't follow his instructions. "Where does that lead," Alain asked.

"'Nother room like this," the boy said, waving them forward.

"And what's there?"

"'Nother hole like this," the boy said, his voice and the force of his wave showing his impatience.

Alain didn't budge. "Where are we going?"

"To see Albert."

"Why would we want to see Albert instead of Kolya?"

The boy's face was twisting into a mask of anxiety. "'Cos Kolya'll kill you."

"And Albert won't?"

The boy nodded his head violently. "Works for me," George said as he moved around Alain and headed for the hole. Alain looked back at Kurt, who shrugged. Alain shrugged in return. They both headed for the hole.

With the frame pack preventing him from crawling on his hands and knees, George slid in on his stomach and pulled himself forward with his elbows. Pausing at the hole, Alain reached down to the boy's gun in his belt. After considering it a moment, he turned back and handed it to Kurt. Kurt reached around toward his back to put the gun there, but Alain shook his head in the negative. Kurt took this to mean he should hold onto the gun. Alain stepped aside and motioned Kurt into the hole.

His backpack being the book-bag type rather than a frame pack, Kurt was able to crawl on his hands and knees with a couple of inches of clearance between his pack and the top of the tunnel. This allowed him to catch up to George fairly quickly as Alain followed and the boy came in after him, using ropes attached to the rears of the boxes to pull them back into place.

The tunnel extended about forty feet before George, very carefully and very slowly, slid a box aside, peering out into the room. The room was dark, so he listened, but all he could hear was Kurt's breathing behind him. Figuring it was okay, he slid the boxes aside even further, giving himself enough clearance to get out, though the pack made it rather awkward. Getting to his feet, he swung his hand around for a chain near where he thought the light would be. He pulled it, filling the room with light from the bare bulb.

The room was almost a clone of the one they'd just left, empty except for boxes. George gave an all-clear signal with his hand, motioning Kurt out of the hole.

Kurt crawled out, followed by Alain and the boy. The boy quickly pushed the boxes back into place and then went to the wall to his right, moving more boxes to expose another hole. This time there were no questions. George took point, Kurt followed, Alain came next, and the boy crawled after them.

In the next room, after the boy had moved the boxes back into place, he moved to the door and put his ear against it. Satisfied, he opened it and peered out, then motioned the men out the door. Stepping back inside, he shut off the light, came out, shut the door and then led them through another maze. Rather than go to the stairs that led to the lobby, they veered off to one side, up a short set of stairs to a steel door. The boy opened it and peeked out as the flame-light filtered in. He motioned to George to hold it open as he crept out for some recon, back a few seconds later, motioning for the men to follow him.

The door was at the bottom of a stairway that led to it from inside an alley. The boy led them up the stairs, across the alley, down two buildings, and then down another set of stairs to a steel door. This door had a camera above it and the boy smiled at the camera. A few seconds later, they heard locks click in the door and the boy pulled it open. They followed him in and the door closed behind them.

---

The basement they entered wasn't the twisting, turning maze the other basements had been. Instead many of the walls had been knocked down, creating a large open space, albeit with supporting columns spaced around them. There also weren't any stairs leading into it. Every possible exit had a large steel door covering it.

There were tables laid out with various projects in varying stages of completion on them, all of them looking somewhat military. Against a far wall was a desk with a computer, a few video monitors, a control panel and a heavyset, balding old man sitting in a desk chair at them. "Hey, Albert," the boy said.

Swiveling around, he smiled at the boy, his bushy moustache turning up with his lips, standing in contrast to the nasty looking Mac-10 automatic pistol in his lap, aimed at his visitors. "Morning, Ty. Who're your friends?"

"They're alive," was all Ty said. Albert's smile disappeared and with his free hand he put on a pair of glasses that hung from a chain around his neck.

"If you'll excuse me," he said as he stood and moved closer, the pistol still aimed at the new arrivals. "I probably don't need these anymore, but my mind is convinced that my eyes are still bad. My back doesn't hurt anymore and the senility that plagued my last years is gone, but for some reason, I still feel like I need my glasses."

Stopping about 10 feet from the group he peered at Alain and Kurt. George was still covered in red dirt, though sweating from the recent exertion had caused it to run in places. "So they are," Albert said. "Doesn't mean anything. Why are you here?"

"Long story," Alain said.

"I've got time," Albert replied. "Why don't you boys put your guns down on that table, shrug off your packs, pull up a chair and tell me all about it?"

"And what if we don't want to?" George asked.

"I'm the only one who knows how to open the doors and I've got more booby traps rigged up around here than you can find, even if you knew how to disarm them. You're not leaving until we're all friends."

---

A half hour later, they were friends. The story of how Kurt had entered Hell and how Alain and George came after him was told. In turn Albert had explained the seventh ring to them.

"It's not just criminals, warmongers and soldiers who enjoyed the killing a bit too much. We've got child abusers, wife beaters, rapists, people who facilitated fighting..."

"Like Don King," George asked.

Albert smiled. "Being a boxing promoter is the least of his worries... or so I hear. I'm talking about the political hawks, the men who'd send a few thousand boys off to die to keep the price of bananas down... or the guys who employed me."

"And who would they be?" Alain asked, his voice flat and serious.

"The arms makers, arms dealers, arms designers... all of us wonderful people who made a living from coming up with new and more effective ways to kill people, then made sure they got manufactured and distributed so they could get used for their intended purpose. I designed and oversaw the production of rocket engines for nuclear missiles."

George took a deep breath. "So that's why you're here?"

Albert shook his head sadly. "I wish it were that simple. Then I could feel angry with God, never accept responsibility, and shake my fist in righteous indignation."

He paused and removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose as he looked at the floor. When he looked up, his face displayed a look of such sadness, all three men could feel it. "I beat my kids... physically, mentally... occasionally took a swing at my wife..."

Kurt didn't know what to say. For all intents and purposes, Albert seemed like a nice old guy. Up on the first ring, when he'd met Corynysus and Lyatea, even Mick on the second ring, there'd been some sense of cosmic injustice, of an unfair God. But now... "Why did you...? Didn't you know it was wrong?"

Albert shook his head and smiled a sad smile. "Actually, not really. That's one of the few blessings you can get here if you really want it... clarity, understanding. If you're willing to let go of them, your rationalizations can get the wings you can't and fly away."

"So why were we running from people?" Kurt asked. "Why were people shooting at us?"

"If you're willing to let go of them. Most of the people here cling to their anger, their insecurities. Everything that made them bad on Earth gets worse here. It's just easier to be mad at God or someone else. You have to be willing to get desperately honest with yourself to see the truth of your own evil. And that honesty is amazingly frightening, scarier than even the Devil himself to some people.

"You know the story of Paul of Tarsus... from the Bible. He was a persecutor of early Christians following the crucifixion. On a trip to Damascus, Jesus came before him and blinded him. For three days he couldn't see, didn't eat, didn't drink. This changed Paul, and in his blindness, he saw the error of his ways and prayed for forgiveness. I'm not exactly sure how it's phrased in the Bible... 'and the scales fell from Paul's eyes.'"

"I was never much for religion, but to me it's an allegory. Jesus took Paul's blind hatred and made it manifest as a physical affliction. Only after he let go of that hatred was he given the ability to see again."

Albert paused as the men took in what he said. "Did you meet anyone besides Ty here before you came to me?"

They all shook their heads in the negative. "Tell them, Ty."

"Kolya's blind. So're most of the folks on this ring."

"But you're not," Kurt protested.

"He sees shapes and shadows," Albert said, "some blurred colors, little more. Hasn't let go of all of it yet. Running with Kolya doesn't help."

"Then how..."

"How did I know you were alive," Ty finished.

"Yeah."

"You glowed."

---

Taking advantage of the safe haven, Alain, Kurt and George cleaned up and ate a bit of their dwindling provisions. Alain and Kurt had around the same waist size and shoe size, so he loaned Kurt a pair of boxers and some fresh socks. Albert had them pee in buckets which he covered and kept. "You'd be surprised at how many useful chemicals you can get from piss."

The trip through the sixth ring hadn't been too hard or taken too long. Their ride to the gorgon fountain in Nybras's golf cart cut 60% off the walking they had to do. Still, neither George nor Kurt refused the opportunity for a nap.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but when Kurt woke, George was still sacked out on the cot next to him. Kurt felt reasonably refreshed, so he sat up on an elbow on the cot. Alain was over at Albert's workbench, talking with Albert. There was no sign of Ty as Kurt scanned the room.

He got up from the cot and padded over towards Alain and Albert, feeling the cement floor through his socks. Despite being in a basement, it was warm. Everything in Hell seemed to be warm.

There were no more swiveling chairs, but there was a stool at one of the tables. Kurt lifted it gingerly and set it down close to Alain and Albert with similar care. "You woke up just in time," Albert said. Your friend here was about to tell me how he became a vampire."

"Cool," Kurt whispered. The story sounded very interesting. He was about to sit when the standard post-sleep pressure in his bladder decided to make itself known. He went over and grabbed a bucket.

"That one's George's," Albert said.

"Does it matter," Kurt asked.

"Humor me."

Kurt wasn't in a mood to argue. He lifted the top off his bucket and emptied his bladder. When he was done, he replaced the top, jogged back, and took his seat on the stool.

"You done?" Alain asked.

Kurt nodded and Alain took that as his cue.

"It was World War II," Alain started, "and I was in the army. Hitler wasn't the only one with a fascination with the occult, and the Army had captured itself a real live vampire..."