The Dark Ones (18 page)

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Authors: Anthony Izzo

BOOK: The Dark Ones
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The thought of leaving Laura’s fate to others, to possibly be captured, enslaved, and tortured, twisted his guts. Engel was here, he knew it. That poor night watchman was not slaughtered by chance. The Lackawanna cops hadn’t found him or the Dark Ones because they dissolved like so much black mist when they didn’t want to be seen.
I have to try and stop this. I failed to keep him contained. It’s my fault, mine alone. If I wait, the blood of thousands will be on my hands.
Charles looked up at the fence. He guessed it to be seven or eight feet tall. Back in his college days, he had run track and field, taken all kinds of meets. But now his knees ached and after a round of golf it felt as if someone were driving red-hot nails into his lower back. But he had to try.
Gripping the fence, he shoved a toe in between the links. He pulled himself up, tendons in his wrist straining. The wind gusted again, shaking him. He clawed upward, one foot, one hand, until he reached the top of the fence. Luckily, Bethlehem—or whoever owned the mill these days—had seen fit to leave barbed wire off the fence. He swung one leg over, teetered, got his balance, then swung the other over. He scrambled down the other side, his foot catching in one of the links, and he stumbled at the bottom and hit the pavement. Wrist aching and a scrape on his palm, he stood up. He was in.
Were they watching him?
He strode past the guard shack. Ahead were the blast furnaces, hundreds of feet of tubing and pipe running into the air. How the hell did you build something like that? Each was flanked by the equally impressive stoves that at one time had fed hot air to the furnaces. He continued past them, past the skeletal ore bridge, farther down until he reached the long, narrow rolling mills.
The opening to the one nearest him looked big enough to admit a cruise ship to its innards. The rolling equipment had been long since stripped and salvaged for scrap, but an impressive array of steel columns and jutting framework remained. Slats of light filtered in through high windows, but it would still be like entering a cave.
His heart sped up. His wrist ached and his palm stung. He had left his overcoat on the other side of the fence and each gust of October wind knifed through him and he shivered.
I
can do this. I beat him before. He should fear me, the bastard. And after what he did to Lydia, I owe him another round of payback.
He mustered a little light, the warm glow spreading through his arm, and he held out his hand, palm up, and the white glow shone around him. He had been a Guardian so long he no longer had to think of light or goodness to make the light spring up. It had become as natural as walking or talking.
He stepped into the Ten Inch mill. The light showed a concrete floor smudged with grease. He smelled oil, the chemical pierce of solvents, and under that, something old and rotted.
He looked up at the catwalks that ran the length of the building, which seemed to stretch a mile in itself. A fine black mist swirled around the railings. It descended, curling and gathering at the floor. He turned and saw the cloud rising up over the entrance, making the daylight outside appear through a filmy black curtain. The mist rolled up and stopped in a circle around him, leaving him and the light untouched.
One of them materialized out of the mist, taking form as a shadow, then turning solid. Charles held up the light. The thing stepped closer. Charles recoiled. Its face was a mess of putrid, pockmarked flesh. The right eye had been sewn shut, and half the nose bitten off, leaving a ragged hole in the center of its face.
Charles backed up. He sensed something behind him. He peeked and out of the corner of his eye saw something big and winged and leathery.
The one in front of him said, “He wants to see you.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Turn out the light or we’ll tear you apart.”
“I should fry your rotten hide where you stand.”
He sensed the winged one behind him getting closer. More of them, grotesque forms in the darkness, crept toward the edge of the mist. He extinguished the light, and the darkness crept in around him.
“Follow me.” The one in front turned, and the mist parted. “Don’t let the mist touch you. Lest you want to lose your skin.”
He started forward, the winged creature behind him thumping along. He flattened his arms at his sides and followed the path through the mist.
They led him through the mist. He guessed they walked a few hundred feet. His eyes adjusted to the slats of light filtering in the high windows, but it was still hard to see. The dark form in front of him stopped. It then stepped aside.
He saw the black mist part. Engel appeared. Dressed in a trench coat full of holes. Hair stringy and black. Face as white as porcelain.
“Interesting home you’ve chosen,” Charles said.
The rotted, cracked voice said, “It suits me. Why did you come here?”
“To stop you.”
“You couldn’t stop me before.”
“I buried you, didn’t I?” Charles said.
“And I’m back. Where is the girl?”
“I’m old, not a fool.”
“We caught up to her,” Engel said. “She used the Light and drove off my children. Soon enough, I’ll find her.”
I should destroy you now
, Charles thought. At least try.
“Did you really think you had a chance coming in here?” Engel asked.
“What are you planning?”
Engel chuckled. “Everything outside this mill,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “will be gone. And if the girl has come here, as my Master has said, she will suffer and die.”
Not this time. Not on my watch.
Charles flicked his hand and a bolt of white light streaked toward Engel. It hit him in the face and the force of the beam turned his head. Charles heard a sizzling noise. Then, he felt something heavy and dull strike the back of his head. He fell to his knees. He rubbed the back of his head. The winged beasts roughly grabbed his arms and hoisted him up.
Engel stepped forward, teeth clenched. The side of his face had been scorched. Smoke curled up from his skin.
Extending a pale hand, he gripped Charles’s chin and tilted his head up. “Now you’ll suffer. You’ll tell us about the girl, whether you want to or not. You’ll die like your bitch wife did.”
If I fail, at least I tried something. God help us all.
CHAPTER 14
David watched Frank approach across the expanse of the armory’s main hall. The tanks, most of them Vietnam-era, seem to dwarf the Reverend. He joined Dave, who sat on a bench next to one of the behemoths. They sat for a moment, watching men and women haul crates, load rifles, and stack boxes of supplies.
“I’m going,” Dave said finally.
“We could use you,” Frank said. “We could use everyone.”
“Sara’s on her own.”
“If we fail here, it won’t matter.”
“You don’t have kids, Frank.”
“That’s not fair,” Frank said. “I care for Sara, too.”
“Who’s cared for her? Ripped her out of schools when people started asking too many questions? Worried that Engel and his freaks were looking for her?”
“We all have,” Frank said.
“No one more than me. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve kept going. I’ve wasted time.”
“Know what?”
He felt his muscles tense. “What, Frank?”
“You’ve become a pretty damned good father,” Frank said, and clapped him on the leg.
“I’ve lied to her all these years,” David said.
“It was for her protection,” Frank said.”
“Still.”
“Go find her.”
“Good luck, Frank.”
“We’ll need it.”
“I’m going to say good-bye to Jenny.”
 
 
David crossed the main hall. He came up on heavyset guy in a hunting jacket, who was busy clicking shells into a shotgun. Dave tapped him on the arm. “You seen Jenny?”
The man pointed upward. “Roof. Go to the rear stairs, all the way up. There’s an access ladder at the top of the stairwell.”
Dave thanked him and proceeded through the building and up the stairs. His footsteps echoed as he walked. He found the ladder to the roof and saw an open hatch above.
He climbed the ladder. The roof was vast and black and spotted with bird droppings. Chen stood in one corner with a auburn-haired woman dressed in overalls. Chen was pointing off in the distance.
Dave crossed the roof, winding around air-conditioning units and ventilation stacks. He looked out over the valley. The hills were brown and the leaves yellow and orange.
He approached Chen and the other woman. They turned around. The woman with Chen was built like a baby bull and had an open, friendly face. Chen introduced her as Madeline. David shook her hand, feeling the callused palm and pegging her for a farmer.
“We were planning the defense of the roof. The winged ones will present the biggest problem. If they gain access to that hatch, we’re in trouble,” Jenny said.
“You think three dozen of us will be enough?” Madeline asked.
“They start swarming, it’ll be like a shooting gallery for you.”
Madeline nodded. “I’ll go tell the others who’ll be on the roof. Nice meeting ya.”
“You, too,” Dave said. Madeline walked across the roof and disappeared down the hatch.
“What’s up?” Jenny asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“We could use you,” she said.
Don’t lay a guilt trip on me, please
. “I need to find Sara.”
“Be careful?”
“As careful as I can, given the situation.”
She stepped closer him, reached up, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace and she pressed against him. Last night had been wonderful, however brief.
“Thank you. For last night,” she said.
“It was my pleasure, believe me.”
She looked up at him. He kissed her wetly on the mouth.
“Good-bye, David.”
With that, he let go of her and crossed the roof. He took one last look. Jenny Chen stood at the edge of the roof, hands on hips, as if daring all comers to knock her off. If the Guardians were to have any chance of victory, they would need her.
He stepped on to the ladder and climbed down.
 
 
Dave’s car pulled away from Chen’s house. When he arrived in Buffalo, he would look up Laura Pennington’s address and start there. If she wasn’t there, then it was on to Buffalo General Hospital, where Frank had told him she worked. He left Routersville with a sick stomach. It might be the last time he ever saw the Reverend, Chen, or any of them.
 
 
Reverend Frank climbed onto a tank, and Jenny followed him. He looked over the crowd, perhaps three hundred strong, not counting the hundred or so Guardians. A buzz rose from the crowd. He had expected—and hoped for—more people. The ones who didn’t attend were dooming themselves.
Frank waved his arms to get the crowd’s attention. Then, sticking his pinkies in the corners of his mouth, he whistled. That cut the crowd noise, and now most of them faced him.
“I’ll say this quickly,” he boomed. “I’m glad you’ve all come. How many of you read about the family slaughtered in Iowa, the Littles?”
A sea of hands shot up.
“The forces that were responsible for killing the Little family are on their way here. We’ve gathered at the armory because this is the best defensible position in town. We’re expecting an attack at any time. We have enough food and water for two weeks. If we haven’t driven them off by then, we never will. You’ll be protected in here. Beyond those doors, you’ll be slaughtered.”
The murmur rose to a low roar. Heads shook, and people exchanged puzzled looks. A man wearing a leather jacket and a blue bandanna raised his hand.
Frank said, “Yes?”
“You expect us to believe this?”
“Believe what you want. Just know that you’re safer in here.”
“What is this, a cult?”
“Yes sir, it’s the cult of save your own ass. That’s the cult.”
The man looked as if he’d been slapped. “What about this attack?”
He glanced at Chen, hoping for some suggestions. Chen shrugged her shoulders.
“Demons, sir. Demons that travel the night and look for flesh. They want some of us dead, and will kill anyone who gets in their way. If you go home, you’ll be dragged from your houses. Some of you will be tortured. All of you killed.”
“You’re all crazy. Certifiably fuckin’ nuts.”
A woman in a dark overcoat raised her hand. “He might be right. My sister-in-law lives down in Wickett’s Corner. There’s been trouble, weird things moving around in the night.”
“Yeah, right,” the bandanna man said. “I’m out of here.” He nudged his way through the crowd.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Frank asked.
“Agnes Bush. My sister-in-law saw something flying over her house a few nights ago. Man-sized, with wings.”
An elderly man in a Caterpillar ball cap stepped up to the front of the crowd. “Just say we are under attack, how you going to help? And how you do you know about these things?”
“We have guns and ammo. And we have ...”
Should he tell them? Give them a demonstration? People had already begun to file toward the main doors. He looked at Chen. She gave him a look that said “do something.”
“They’ve been around for centuries, that’s how we know. As for how we’re going to defend ourselves, watch.”
Frank raised his arms in a Y. He closed his eyes. Warmth surged through him and slowly brilliant white light appeared around him. He opened his eyes. A lone tank stood off to the side, away from the crowd. He flicked his wrist and a bolt of light streaked across the hall and struck the turret. It popped, leaving a scorch mark on the turret. The smell of burning metal filled the armory.
The woman named Agnes approached the tank. “How did you do that?”
The old man in the cap said, “How
did
you do that?”
Frank lowered his arms, and the light dimmed, then disappeared. The crowd had gone silent. Chen joined him on the rear of the tank. She said, “Time’s running out. Stay with us and have a chance, or go back to your homes and die with the ones who didn’t come here.”
In the end, Frank estimated about half the crowd remained, Agnes Bush included. He heard talk among the departing crowd of a “fireworks show” and “trick lighting.” After the crowd left, Chen ordered the steel doors shut and barred.
When the doors were shut, Frank asked her, “Now, let’s see the Everlight. Who has the stone?”
“McGivens. Let’s find him.”
 
 
They found Digger McGivens in the armory’s kitchen, stacking cases of canned fruit salad against the wall. He slung the cases with relative ease, his tattooed biceps flexing and pumping. Despite the apparent lack of exertion, sweat poured down the back of his neck and he cursed in a low voice.
“Digger,” Jenny said.
He turned around, wiped his hand across his brow. Frank looked at him and thought
biker
. The man’s wild gray hair was kept off his brow by a blue bandanna, and he had a beard that had never seen a razor.
“Oh, hey Jenny. Man, these cases is a bitch.”
“This is Reverend Frank Heatly.”
Frank extended his hand. Digger contemplated shaking for a moment, then quickly shook hands. “Meet ya. Not much on going to church, I’m afraid. I’m a lapsed Catholic.”
“I’m not here to convert you, don’t worry,” Frank said.
“Is the light safe and sound?” Jenny asked. “We should go retrieve it.”
Digger stroked his beard. “Yeah, my brother’s still got it.”
“Where exactly is it being kept?” Frank asked.
Jenny said, “At the Warlords’ clubhouse. Digger’s brother is club president.”
Frank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You let a bunch of
bikers
hold on to it?”
Digger took a step forward. Frank saw a fight brewing in Digger’s eyes. “And what’s wrong with bikers having it?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Frank said. “I’m sure it’s as safe as Fort Knox. Why would I ever question that strategy?”
“You making fun of me, Reverend?”
Jenny stepped between them. Digger backed off, sat on one of the cases.
“It’s been safe there, Frank. First of all, the Enemy wouldn’t think of looking for it there. Second, no one in their right mind would try and steal it from the Warlords. They’ve got a pretty bad rep in these parts.”
Still, he didn’t like this. Not one bit. “Let’s go get it, then.”
“Who’s going with me, him?” Digger said.
“That’s right.”
“You’ll need me. You walk up to that clubhouse door by yourself and they’ll tear you apart.”
“Do they know you’re a Guardian, Digger?”
Digger stood up. With the front of his shirt, he wiped his brow. “Don’t exactly go flaunting something like that, not even to your brother.”
“Do you want me to send some of the others with you?” Jenny asked.
“You need all the help you can get here. Still prep work to do. Now why don’t we get going?” Frank said.
Digger eyed Frank up. “Let me get my bike, and we’ll go.”
“I’ll need a vehicle,” Frank said.
“I’ll round one up for you,” Jenny said.
“They’d better have it, Digger.”
“Let’s just go.”
Reverend Frank followed Digger in a borrowed pickup truck, the biker going hell-bent for leather. Frank pushed the truck to seventy-five and was still a hundred feet behind him. They drove about two miles out of Routersville. Digger turned right down a road cut out of the woods, and Frank followed. Digger slowed to a more reasonable speed. That allowed Frank to take a peek at his watch. It was two thirty, time enough to get the Everlight and return to Routersville before dark.
The road passed over a short wooden bridge, which led into a parking lot. Frank saw a row of motorcycles parked in front of a long two-story building with a covered front porch. The faded sign over the porch read
JOHNSON’S INN
. Frank guessed this place ran out of vacancies long ago.

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