Sentinels (32 page)

Toby and Noah shook on it.

“Now I know why you always had bumper crops,” Noah said. “All that rain. And your men? Hell of a method to keep the birds away.”

“They pick the corn too, Noah. I save on labor that way. But you have to understand, this has been going on long before Charlie Stanhope died—the guardians, I mean,” Toby said. “There've been bad men trying to get their hands on Charlie's land while he was alive and healthy. Whoever's hanging on those crosses out there tried getting to him or to me and my family, or to other freedmen. I realized what I had to do after the first attempt on Charlie's life. He didn't understand how it was possible either. But he came to accept it. Culliver's the newest one, but the two others have been out there at least twenty years. And they've saved us every time. The closest call we ever had was when you got shot, Noah. Never lost any of them until that day. And I will not stop using them to protect my family. You've seen what's out there.”

Noah drank all of his tea before replying. “I have. I've seen evil men commit atrocities. And I've seen good men do likewise. The justifications are the differences.” He smiled and pushed the saucer forward. “May I please have another cup?”

Toby grabbed the kettle on the stove and began pouring. “Noah, you'd be surprised how quickly self interest dirties the self-proclaimed pure.”

Noah blew on his tea before sipping. “Not everyone's corruptible. Not everyone can be bought.”

Toby chuckled. “I thought the same thing nine months ago.”

Chapter Forty-Four

“You ready for this?” Doreen Culliver wiped Eric Harrison's shoulders free of any lingering dust or dirt on his crisp white shirt.

“I feel too young for this,” he replied.

“You're gonna do fine.”

“This all happened so quick.” Harrison stood in the lobby of Henderson's municipal building and eyed the preacher holding the bible.

“Don't you go getting cold feet on me.”

It was midday on a Sunday and some semblance of order had returned to the town two months after the incident—as the townies referred to it—at Toby Jenkins's farm. The survivors kept the details deliberately vague—Noah was the toughest to bring into the fold. And he was there with his wife, who held Jake, to support Harrison on his big day. Toby and Sarah Jenkins attended with Isaac to also give their blessing.

The mayor—a rotund middle-aged man with a black handlebar mustache—accepted the bible from the preacher.

“Young man, I know you might have some doubts about doing this, and I have to admit you might not be as experienced as I'd like you to be, but someone out there”—the mayor spotted Noah in the audience, making it obvious and drawing some laughter—“convinced me Henderson will be at its best with you as its sheriff. And the more I've learned about you, the more confident I am that he's right. You ready to be sworn in?”

“Yessir.”

The ceremony was brief and jubilant, and the twenty onlookers broke and mingled in the lobby to exchange pleasantries. Henderson had been quiet ever since the incident. The greatest shock to everyone had been the corruption of Sheriff Clement and his deputies. Franklin explained what he could about the conspiracy to the prosecutor, who considered Franklin's involvement against Diggs and Lyle as a reason not to prosecute the giant. The warrant to search Diggs's mansion corroborated Franklin's story. Correspondences detailing payment from Diggs to Clement were found in the Englishman's desk. The good deputies that remained with the office felt betrayed. But none complained when the mayor selected Harrison to lead the department. All were relatively young—Noah was the oldest of the remaining deputies—and most importantly, they liked and trusted the new sheriff.

“That star looks real
purty
on you.” Noah hugged Harrison and then straightened the Sheriff's star.

“It does. Still can't believe it's pinned on there,” Harrison said. “And I appreciate you vouching for me like you did.”

“I meant every word. And you'll win election in a landslide.”

“Hell, I ain't even thought about that. But I do know the mayor wanted you for this job first.”

“He asked me, and I did give it thought, but”—Noah nodded over his shoulder.

“Oh, the wife.” Harrison spotted Natalie gabbing with Doreen.

“The child has something to do with it too, but yeah, Natalie had a big say in this.”

“Did you want it? You can tell me.”

Noah thought about the heated discussions with his wife in the days leading up to his declining the post.

“Honestly? Yeah, I did.”

“She okay with you staying on as a deputy.”

“That's the other thing we haggled over. I turned in my resignation, Eric.” Noah was surprised when Harrison failed to act surprised.

“I had a feeling,” Harrison said. “Heard the mayor saying I'd be making an unexpected hiring decision real soon. I gotta find, what, five new deputies? I'll be busy.”

“Natalie agreed to stay in Henderson if I'd give up my star. She was dead set on moving too.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Well, she'll teach. She's fine with me helping reestablish order, just doesn't want me on the front lines anymore. Wilson Templeton's term as county prosecutor's ending and—”

“Ah-ha! I figured you'd still wanna keep your hand in things.”

“It ain't a guarantee that I'm gonna get it. Governor's gotta appoint someone. But, the mayor's got his ear and said he'd champion my cause. Told me not to worry about it, especially after you and me uncovered Clement and Diggs.”

“I think you had more to do with that,” Harrison said. “In fact, you had
everything
to do with that.”

“I'm just lucky to have survived.”

Left unspoken was why Harrison and Noah remained alive.

“You think about it?” Noah said.

“Voodoo? Constantly. I can still hear Sarah explaining it all to us in that cave. Hell, we
saw
them too.”

“I'm curious, was the one with an executioner's hood there with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it take its hood off in front of you, Doreen and Nat?”

“Not that I recall.”

“That's good.”

“Why?”

Sarah promised Noah that Doreen did not know what actually became of Robert Culliver, but Noah wanted to make sure.

“I saw what was under there,” Noah said. “It wasn't pretty, probably the ugliest one of the gang. A thing of nightmares.”

“And seeing all those other things
wasn't
enough to make bad dreams?”

“Point taken. How's Doreen?”
Switch topics
, Noah thought.
Mission accomplished
.

“She's sweet. Wanted me looking my best today.”

“Well, it
was
my intention to introduce you two over supper at our place. I'd say I did my job in probably the most circuitous way imaginable.”

Doreen sidled up next to Harrison.

“How you doing, Sheriff?”

“Getting used to being called that.”

“May I borrow him, Noah?”

“Yes, please do. I think Natalie wants us to get going to straighten up our place for supper tonight.” Noah saw that Nat was deep in conversation with Toby and Sarah. “We can expect you two at four o'clock, correct?”

Harrison and Doreen agreed, and then Noah left to meet his wife, who embraced him.

“Noah, Toby and I have been discussing something.” There was eagerness in Natalie's voice that Noah wasn't expecting. Toby and Sarah stood behind her.

“Sounds important,” Noah said.

“It is. There are parts about it that you'll like and others you won't. But let's discuss it later.”

“Why can't we discuss—”

“Noah, later.” Natalie dabbed her pointer finger on his lips to shush him.

Chapter Forty-Five

They had cleaned the house the morning after the big supper, which went off without a hitch. Now they craved rest. Noah still wasn't at full strength, Jake needed a nap and Natalie a breather. Summer waned and the night felt like what passed for crisp in South Carolina.

Jake slept in his crib while Noah and Natalie sat on their front porch, hand in hand, feeling serene surrounded by sunny fields and gently swaying forests.

“I'm glad Harrison took it well,” Nat said. “Did he ask you what you'd be doing in the meantime, I mean, before the governor appoints you?”

“Nope. Hell,
I
still don't know. Maybe I can review legal documents for the town, use my skills. Excitement awaits.”

Natalie affectionately squeezed her husband's hand.

“Thank you, Noah. For agreeing to all this.”

“Sarah's the one who really tipped the balance in your favor. She assured me nothing bad will happen. Said she's confident.”

“I'm glad they came by this morning to explain everything.” Natalie swiveled her chair to look at the small vegetable garden to the left of their house. “It's the only way I'm agreeing stay, Noah. I know you hate it, but I don't. It's the reason why I'm fine with staying in Henderson. I finally feel a bit safer around here because of it. I realize you won't be the most popular feller when you're prosecutor, but I'm sure you'll be secure in that fortress where you'll be working. And you're good at taking care of yourself, I know that.”

“And when you're here with Jake, by yourselves?” He kicked at the floorboards, internally regretting a deal he loathed making.

“I'm not worried, Noah. The shotgun don't need to be loaded.”

“I should've expected something like this would happen,” Noah said. “And I sure as hell ain't crazy about the crew visiting the marble orchard. But I suppose it was the only way.”

“Noah, do you feel safe here?”

“
Safer
.”

“Jake's safer now too. That's most important to me.” She waited for him to say something and felt panicky when he stayed quiet. “I-I can't escape this thought, Noah. What
wouldn't
you do to protect our son?”

Noah stared into the garden a long while before quietly answering her. “I'd do everything. Absolutely everything to protect Jake.”

“The cross isn't that garish, either.” Natalie smiled, as if she'd found a bright side. “Nowhere near as large as the ones at Toby's farm. And Toby was right. You can barely see it.”

Noah stared warily at the emaciated stick figure, barely discernable from the wood on which it hung. “I'll grant you that. And you know what sets it apart for me? More than anything else?”

“I have an idea.” She eyed him slyly.

“I know you like it too,” Noah said. He'd forever regret his appreciation of it, not just because he found it stylish, but because his acceptance of it marked what he thought was his otherwise impossible descent from purity to taint. “It's a goddamn exquisite top hat.”

Acknowledgements

Ian Bagg, a fantastic stand-up comedian has never met me, but I was in the audience at the Comic Strip in New York City in 1999 when he joked about three lawmen unsuccessfully surrounding a house. I've never forgotten how clever I found that observation, and credit for that joke must go to Ian.

Thank you, Don D'Auria, my editor, for your continued faith in me, and for guiding me in the right direction with suggestions about how to improve my work.

Everyone at Samhain Publishing, from publisher Christina Brashear to the wonderful artists and copy editors, has been great to me. Let's keep it going!

My first job out of college was to copy edit the
Anderson
(South Carolina)
Independent-Mail.
Moving from New Jersey to South Carolina, the farthest I've ever been away from home, was daunting, but the kindness and accepting nature of the folks in Upcountry South Carolina kept the homesickness to a minimum. I modeled Henderson after Anderson for no other reason than I was reasonably familiar with its geographical location. The rough nature of Henderson's denizens in no way reflects the genuine goodness of the people I met in Anderson during my stay there in the late 1990s. Thank you for your hospitality and for teaching me the phrase that I still use to this day: “Do what now?”

About the Author

Matt Manochio lives in New Jersey. Learn more about him at:

www.MattManochio.com
.

Look for these titles by Matt Manochio

Now Available:

The Dark Servant

Coming Soon:

Twelfth Krampus Night

Santa's not the only one coming to town...

The Dark Servant

© 2014 Matt Manochio

It has tormented European children for centuries. Now America faces its wrath. Unsuspecting kids vanish as a blizzard crushes New Jersey. All that remains are signs of destruction—and bloody hoof prints stomped in the snow.

Seventeen-year-old Billy Schweitzer awakes on December 5 feeling depressed. Already feuding with his police chief father and golden boy older brother, Billy's devastated when his dream girl rejects him. When an unrelenting creature infiltrates his town, endangering his family and friends, Billy must overcome his own demons to understand why supposedly innocent high school students have been snatched, and how to rescue them from a famous saint's ruthless companion—that cannot be stopped.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Dark Servant:

December 5

Travis Reardon drove his Mazda CX-5 out of his parents' three-car garage and met the foggy darkness typical of his early morning drive to high school—yet the odor, slight but detectable even with the windows up, gave him pause.

The eighteen-year-old senior lowered his window to identify the smell. His new crossover's headlights were all that guided him down the windy driveway to Winchester Road. Streetlamps didn't exist in this densely wooded stretch of Hancock Township. It was one of the few places in rural New Jersey where light pollution didn't ruin starry skies.

“Gross” was all he said as he raised the window and continued his fifteen-minute commute to school. He reached into his book bag on the front seat for his iPhone and dialed his girlfriend. He put the phone on speaker and placed it on his lap.

“Hey, baby,” a female voice answered.

“You miss me?”

“Parts of you,” she purred. “You on your way?”

“As we speak. How 'bout you?”

“In my car, in the school parking lot. Waiting. I'll wander on over in, oh, just a little bit. I'll be cold, baby. My legs especially.”

“You minx. Any tests today that I can take your mind off of?”

“English, some Shakespearean Othello nonsense. God forbid we learn something that can actually help us succeed in the real world. Since when does knowing a few lines from some old play make you well-rounded? It's not like quoting Iago will help me land a job.”

“Unless you become an actress.”

“Hardy har. Any tests on your horizon?”

“I play football, honey. Tests don't mean dick. My throwing arm does. That's all Virginia Tech cares about right now.”

“So, it's Virginia Tech today? What happened to Boston College?”

“I go back and forth. It's a nice luxury to have when multiple schools offer you free rides. Christ, it
stinks
!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not
you
, baby. I've been on the road for like five minutes and there's this awful smell all over the woods. It keeps getting worse. Like something died.”

“I hope it doesn't stick to you. Sweaty can be sexy. Smelling like roadkill? Not so much.”

“It's just, I can't describe it. I hope whatever it is died quick.”

“Let's not end things by talking about dead animals, big guy. I'll leave you with this. I'm going all Anne Hathaway today. It's a good thing the paparazzi aren't waiting around to photograph me stepping out of my car. It would be quite the naughty picture in the school paper.”

“You are such a tease—I love it. See you in ten.”

“Bye, sugar.” And she was gone.

Travis pumped his fist. He'd reach second base in the morning and throw touchdowns that night. Howard Stern prattled on satellite radio in the background and Travis noticed the temperature outside was in the thirties, appropriate December coldness. Dirty remnants of a freak Thanksgiving snowstorm littered the landscape. There'd be no respite from the white stuff. A blizzard was set to blanket the tristate area come evening.

What a gyp,
Travis thought.
Why couldn't the damn thing wait to start Sunday night? It'd wipe out school on Monday, maybe Tuesday too. What a waste.

The road was clear, save for the occasional salt stain, and he stayed under the forty-miles-per-hour speed limit. He wasn't going to let a deer leap from the shadows and smash into his early graduation present from Daddy.
Maybe a dead deer's stinking up the place?
They infested northern New Jersey and he regularly hunted them with his father and uncle. It wasn't a skunk's scent, the lingering kind that eventually dissipates. This alien reek intensified.

He decelerated when the first of two stoplights that punctuated his journey came into view, and that's when the shriek shattered his ride. The Mazda's closed windows blunted what seemed to be the screams of prey being mauled by a pack of beasts.

Just put it out of its misery, please,
he thought.

And then the wails ceased. Travis stopped at the red light and turned off Howard Stern. Curiosity led him to lower his window and he was arrested by the odor and silence, broken only by his breathing. He counted five Mississippis of quiet before an anguished scream rippled through the air and then devolved into a growl. Travis swore he heard a chain clanking every time the thing drew breath to resume its gnarling.

“Some kind of guard dog that escaped?” Travis asked aloud. His nerves spiked the way they did the first time he saw police lights in his rearview mirror—his dad was mayor—no speeding ticket that day.

“Turn green. Turn green already,” he commanded the light.

The snarling persisted from afar, but from where? Travis fumbled through his glove box and found his emergency flashlight. He acted like a high school quarterback and scanned the forest to his left. Eyes darting back and forth, the beam danced from here to there, and instead of finding an open receiver he spotted huffs of condensed breath puncturing the darkness, as if some unseen bull was preparing to charge his red Mazda.

The light turned green and Travis floored it. He had to trust that no deer ahead of him would jump into his path. A pickup truck passed him going the opposite direction, as did a couple of school buses out to retrieve their loads of kids. He'd traveled ten miles since leaving home, and his headlights illuminated the final stoplight, meaning he was five minutes away from school.

The howling resumed and grew louder as Travis approached the light.

“Jesus
Christ
, what
is
that?” he blurted.

He looked in his rearview and swiveled his head over his shoulders, looking for something trailing him. Nothing. But the howling, brewed deep in the bowels and belched skyward, would not die, nor would the smell.

Travis had to slow down. The cross street always had some school traffic this time of morning and he'd be crazy to blow through the red light that greeted him.

“Just keep it together,” he told himself. He scanned left and right and saw a school bus in the distance, traveling toward the light from his right. Travis despised this signal because of the length of time it took to change. The bus would pass him, and perhaps another would too, before the light turned green. He'd felt on edge before, when two-hundred-pound linemen were bearing down on him. But that was a game.

His shaking grip on the steering wheel at the ten and two positions made it appear as if he were bending an iron rod. He wanted to be at school. He wanted his green and white football jersey that he wore under his varsity jacket to broadcast to the world that he and his teammates were superior specimens within a sea adrift with regular students. He'd even French-kiss and cop feels off his girlfriend—who admitted she wasn't wearing a
shred
of underwear—before the homeroom bell, all of it five minutes away.

The school bus headlights approached. He kept his window down despite the putridity. He neglected to turn on Howard Stern. He wasn't in the mood to find out how old the Kardashians were when they all lost their virginity. Instead, he heard earthmoving footfalls and a growl erupting into an otherworldly roar.

Travis turned to his right to see through the passenger's window a dark mass burst through the forest.
Screw the light,
he thought.
Just go!
But it was too late. The thing barreled into the side of the Mazda, lifting it off the ground. The bellowing thing repeatedly rained down a heavy chain with watermelon-sized links—the kind that could lower drawbridges—onto the Mazda's hood, crushing the vehicle's engine into a stall.

Travis went to unbuckle his seat belt but again was too slow as the creature's hairy right hand smashed through the window and began to thrash and grab. The Mazda's headlamps and dashboard lights still worked and illuminated dark tangles of grimy fur attached to a log-thick forearm.

A meaty, calloused hand with crescent-shaped talons raked though Travis's seat belt. The hand grasped through Travis's jacket and jersey, talons slicing into flesh on his chest. Its grip firm, the thing pulled Travis across the passenger's seat and out of the window. It disregarded the pain Travis felt as it dragged his body over jagged edges of the remaining window glass, its shards wedging into his thighs.

Now fully extracted, Travis remembered a long tongue waggling around fangs, and his six-foot-two-inch body reduced to being a rag doll's, tossed by hand
over
the beast's head and into what Travis surmised was a wooden crate strapped to its back. His skull cracked against the crate's base, dazing him. Now he knew what a notebook felt like in a backpack.

Jesus, how big is this thing?!

And then running. Travis's legs jutted out of the crate and his head smacked against wood as his kidnapper bounded through the forest's dead leaves and snow. And the running stopped, but not the movement.
Gliding?
His stomach churned as if he were plunging on a rickety amusement-park ride.

Besides the beast's howls, the last bit Travis remembered before losing consciousness was the smell that started the nightmare: the odor of a malevolent force that invaded New Jersey twenty days before Christmas.