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Authors: Anthony Izzo

BOOK: The Dark Ones
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Frank looked at him. “Good shot.”
The bikers came down the porch steps. In the doorway, Roddy staggered out, holding his wounded shoulder.
“Get back here, preacher. I’m gonna kill you,” Roddy said in a pain-soaked voice.
Digger looked at Frank. “Don’t like the odds. Take the stone and run for the woods.”
Frank heard the rumble of motorcycles coming up the road. Their engines blatted and hummed. The cavalry was on the way, and unfortunately, the cavalry wasn’t on Frank’s side.
The bikers on the porch moved closer. Digger raised his arms over his head. Light crackled from one hand to another. The bikers began to back up. Behind him, Frank heard the engines cut out.
“They’re backing off,” Frank said. “Don’t.”
The light engulfed Digger’s hands. The wide-eyed bikers continued to back onto the porch.
“Get to the woods.”
The light fanned out in an arc from Digger’s hands. Like a giant scythe, it slashed across the front of the porch, knocking the bikers backward. Frank heard a high-pitched scream. He saw Roddy fall backward through the doorway.
He turned and ran. Looking at the parking lot, he saw four more bikers approaching. One had a knife in his hand. Another drew a long-barreled revolver and aimed at Digger. Frank was about to shout a warning when the gun cracked and Digger’s back exploded in blood. He flopped to the ground.
Frank whipped a blast of light at the four bikers in the lot. His shot went wide. It slammed into the asphalt like a mortar round and kicked up blacktop. The bikers instinctively ducked, covering their heads. Frank took the opportunity to run. If they came for him in the woods, he hoped for the advantage of an ambush.
He found a dirt trail and scampered down it. He raced through the woods. The rocks on the trail pounded the soles of his feet. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. The front of his shirt was matted and sticky and his chest burned like hell.
Up ahead, Frank heard water gurgling. A stream?
Voices came from behind, maybe a few hundred feet back. His initial blast with the light would have stunned them, left them perplexed. It had bought him time.
He came to a narrow stream. A shot cracked in the woods and Frank ducked. Another blast came from the gun, and Frank threw himself to the ground on the bank of the stream. He rolled over to see the stone dribble from his pocket and hit the water with a
plop
.
The stone settled to the bottom. It glowed yellow in the water. Not hard to find, but it would cost him time. He rolled into the water, flopped on his belly. The icy water was like knives jabbing him. He got on his hands and knees. A sharp rock poked him in the leg.
The stone was three feet from him. He jammed his hand into the water and picked up the stone. Then he shoved it in his pocket.
“Well, look what we got here,” a voice said.
Frank straightened up so he was on his knees, hands resting on his thighs. The four bikers stood on the bank of the stream. They were a collection of denim and beards and strong body odor. The one in the front held the large revolver on Frank.
“What the hell are you up to?” the one with the revolver asked.
Instead of answering, Frank unleashed a beam of light. It hit the biker in the chest and blew him backward. The others jumped back. Two of them ran back down the trail. Their supposed leader was dead on his back, his chest looking like burnt spaghetti. One biker remained behind. He looked down at his dead friend, then at Frank.
“I don’t know what you done to him, but you’re going to pay.”
The biker started down the bank.
“Stay back or you’ll wind up like him.”
“I’m gonna hurt you, bad. Maybe drown you in that stream.”
Frank looked at the fallen one. The stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils. He had never meant to kill anyone.
I violated everything I stand for. Everything I preach on Sundays, I just did the opposite.
The biker grinned, showing a row of greenish teeth. He moved down the stream bank. Frank readied himself, muscles tensing. The biker charged. Frank pushed up, driving his shoulder into the other man’s stomach. They toppled sideways, the biker landing on top of Frank. Water splashed in his ears.
The other man wrapped his hands around Frank’s throat. The water lapped against Frank’s cheeks and he felt panic setting in. He wheezed, gasped for air, and clawed at the hands locked on his throat.
He would have to use the light one more time, no matter what the consequences. With his left hand, he conjured a ball of light. Then he swung it out of the water and bashed the biker in the head, the light and Frank’s fist striking the skull. The biker’s head exploded, the stump jetting blood and the torso slumping backward. Frank sat up, shoved the body off him.
He stood up, then looked down at the ruined body. He promptly spun around and vomited into the stream. When he was done puking, and his stomach continued to heave, he sat on the bank of the stream and wept.
 
 
The Light was never intended to be wielded against a human enemy, and the biker’s corpse bore the horrible evidence of that fact. Frank walked downstream, knelt down, and washed his face with some handfuls of water. Shivers racked his body, and his chest felt raw. But he had the stone, and that was important.
He was ready to head back. A shot cracked. He ducked his head. He glanced down the trail and saw a denim-clad figure staggering down the trail. It was Roddy, apparently well enough to come and look for payback. Frank got to his feet, started up the bank. His foot caught a slick spot on the bank and he went down. Frank’s head struck something hard, the world spun, and blackness took over.
CHAPTER 15
Sara watched out the front window. The shadows had lengthened across Charles Pennington’s front lawn. There had been no sign of her pursuers, and although she was grateful for that, her nerves were still on edge.
“What are you looking at?” Laura said.
“Nothing.”
“Where the hell are you, Dad?” Laura wondered aloud.
Sara turned around. Laura sat on the couch flipping through a leather address book.
“We tried the golf course, The Red Brick, his pal Eddie’s, nothing. I’m getting worried.”
“What’s with the address book?” Sara asked.
“Thinking maybe there’s another place I missed.”
“I’m sure he’ll show up. At least he left a spare key, right?”
“I suppose that’s something.”
“Mind if I turn on the TV?” Sara asked.
Laura shook her head.
Sara looked at the clock. It was five o’clock and there probably wasn’t anything else on, so she would settle for the news. The television was a flat screen, mounted on a wall over a rich oak mantle. Sara turned it on, flipped to Channel 7.
A breaking-news graphic crawled across the bottom of the screen. The camera showed an industrial complex, maybe a steel mill, and over it, a black cloud that seemed to stretch for miles. The cloud swirled over the mill buildings. It appeared to be thick and covered the grounds of the mill in shadow.
“Laura, look at this.”
Laura looked at the screen. “Holy crap.”
A reporter’s voice broke in, “
You’re looking at a live shot of the former Bethlehem Steel plant. A strange cloud appeared over the mill shortly after four o’clock. Weather Team 7 is currently tracking the cloud on Doppler radar. It does not appear to be a tornado-forming cloud. More on this breaking development as it happens.
”
The screen switched back to a pretty blond anchor, who went into a story about a man who stabbed his wife and three children.
A heavy feeling of dread settled in Sara’s chest. The cloud was similar to the ones her pursuers had used for cover. Could it be they hadn’t attacked her because a larger attack was about to happen?
“We have to get out of the city,” Sara said.
“Because of some funky cloud?”
“Bad things are going to happen.”
“We’re not going to get a tornado, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s worse than a tornado.” She tugged on Laura’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. If it storms, we’ll take shelter somewhere.”
“It’s no storm.”
“You’re acting weird,” Laura said. “Cut it out.”
How can I convince her?
“It is weird, but it’s no storm.”
“Then what is it? Alien invasion?”
That wasn’t too far from the truth. “Not aliens, but not a storm.”
“Sara, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Should she tell Laura what happened? Maybe she wouldn’t entirely believe the story, but hopefully she would recognize its urgency. Sara suddenly wanted to be back home, maybe sitting in the front row of the Royal, holding Robbie’s hand. Away from all this. “I think a lot of people are going to die.”
“How do you know that?”
“There’s things in the cloud, things that tried to kill me. Let’s find your dad and get the hell out. Go far away.”
“Things in the cloud?”
“They killed a woman. I was at her house.”
Laura placed her hands on Sara’s shoulders. “Honey, are you okay? I understand you’re scared, but c’mon.”
Sara took a deep breath. She told Laura about the bus trip, the stop at the gas station, and the creatures tracking her down at Joanne’s house. She left out the part about her firing beams of light at them.
“If someone was killed, we need to call the police.”
“Not if. Was.”
“Why didn’t you call for help? It was probably guys in masks.”
“Yeah, and a whole Hollywood special-effects crew?”
“You don’t have to make things up. I believe something bad happened.”
“I’m not making shit up, Laura.”
“Watch your language.”
Sara felt her face get hot. “I’m sorry. We’re wasting time.”
“We’re not going anywhere without me finding my dad. Besides, we’re probably safer indoors, anyway. No telling what that storm will bring.”
“If only you knew,” Sara said.
Enclosed in the darkness of the mill, Engel waited. The cloud had risen. When night fell, the cloud would descend, and the city would know pain.
 
 
Milo sat at the horseshoe-shaped bar in the Alligator Grill sipping a root beer and waiting for the only woman in his life. The bartender, bald as an egg and wearing a gold earring, flipped on the television over the bar. There was some weird-looking cloud hovering over the old Bethlehem site, and the weather people were saying they couldn’t identify it.
Milo took another sip of root beer, the soda cool and sweet in his mouth. It did the job of ridding his throat of dust and tasted quite fine, to boot.
That was one weird-looking cloud. Not like anything he’d ever seen, but it
was
Buffalo. If you didn’t like the weather, wait five minutes—it would change.
Debbie arrived five minutes later, coming up behind Milo and tapping him on the shoulder. He hugged her, kissed her cheek, looked at her for a moment. Every time he saw her he still got a little hitch in his chest, for she looked almost exactly like her mother. The graceful neck, the bright hazel eyes, the same shade of chestnut hair.
They took a table near the front window, and watched as the college crowd began to file in on Chippewa: guys in backward ball caps and girls in low-rise jeans strolling past the window. Milo took in the smell of fried onions coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled.
The waiter came, and they both ordered beef on weck and seasoned fries. Debbie also ordered an iced tea.
“So, what’s new?” he asked.
“You believe that cloud over the mill?”
Milo turned, caught a glimpse of the television. The cloud seemed to have grown.
“That’s some weird weather, all right.”
“You think we’ll get a tornado?”
“It’s not unheard of, but I doubt it.”
“So about my news,” she said. “I got you in suspense?”
“I’m on the edge of my seat.”
Please don’t let it be that she’s pregnant.
“I’m engaged.”
“To Brian?”
She held out her hand. A small diamond occupied her ring finger. Milo looked it over. She had been dating Brian all of two months, and now an engagement?
“Of course, silly.”
“Deb, you sure about this?”
“I know what I’m doing,” Debbie said.
“It’s not that, you’re just so young. And Brian, he’s a nice kid, but two months of dating?”
She withdrew her hand. A frown crossed her brow, then disappeared.
“You don’t think I can handle it,” she said.
“You’re a junior in college. You’ve got plenty of time. You want to get your master’s, right?”
“That’s a given, Daddy.”
“You set a date?”
“We’re not setting any dates until I’m done with school.”
“He treats you good, right? From what I’ve seen, he’s a gentleman,” Milo said. “What about when you’re alone?”
“Couldn’t be sweeter.”
He leaned in, extended his hand. She placed her hand in his, and he put his other hand over the top. “Promise me you’ll finish school. You don’t want to end up like your old pops, running a machine the rest of your life.”
“Somehow demolition doesn’t suit me, Dad.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “You happy?”
“Feel like I’m flying.”
He remembered those days. When he’d first met his wife. Going home and smelling his shirt because it would smell like her perfume or soap where she had leaned her head on Milo’s shoulder. Walking around in a daze, her name dancing through his mind.
“All right,” Milo said. “Just take it slow.” He patted Debbie’s hand and she favored him with a smile. He let her hand go, thinking she had been about eight the last time he held her hand.
A waiter with spiky hair and an eyebrow ring brought their food and a bottle of Miller’s horseradish. He set the plates in front of them and said, “Enjoy!” Then he bopped back toward the bar.
Milo took the top portion of the roll off and smothered his sandwich with horseradish. He put the roll back together and took a bite. The beef was tender, the roll salty, and the horseradish hot enough to clear the sinuses. Delicious.
After taking a bite of her sandwich, Debbie said, “That cloud’s grown again.”
 
 
In the weather department at Channel 7, Montgomery Felser watched a group of staff members stand around a bank of monitors. They watched the live feed of the cloud, eyes wide, some of them with mouths agape.
Felser was due to get on the air and give an update in five minutes.
As he looked over the Doppler, Rick Ferguson, the station manager, appeared at Felser’s desk.
“That’s some cloud,” Ferguson said.
“If that’s what it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been here thirty years, seen two blizzards, the October surprise storm. Some small tornadoes.”
“That’s why you’re the best, you’ve seen it all.”
“There’s just one problem,” Felser said. “I’ve been on the horn to the National Weather Service.”
“So?”
“They don’t have a clue what that thing is,” Felser said. “And neither do I.”
 
 
As David cruised down the 190, the elevated thruway that wound through the City of Buffalo, he kept looking at the cloud over Lake Erie. It rose up in a column, then fanned out, swirling blackness that darkened the horizon. The attack would come soon. Finding Sara became even more critical.
Using directions Frank had given him, David exited the 190 and wove his way through downtown Buffalo. It was early evening, the air just starting to take on a chill. Normally he loved this time of year and the crisp fall weather, but tonight it only chilled him. He turned on the truck’s heater.
He parked on a ramp a block from Buffalo General. He untucked his flannel shirt and jammed the revolver in his waistband. Then he pulled the shirt down to conceal it.
He approached the hospital and found the ER entrance. He went down a corridor and found the ER waiting room. He approached the desk, where a pretty nurse with black-rimmed glasses sat. She had dark circles under her eyes.
“Excuse me,” David said.
“You hurt?” she said, and yawned.
“I’m looking for a doctor.”
“Okay sir, but do you need treatment?”
Did he look sick? “No, I need to speak to one of your doctors, Laura Pennington.”
“It’s her day off.”
“Great.”
“Who are you?”
“I’ve come a long way to find her. Did you notice her with a girl, sixteen years old, black hair?”
“I don’t feel comfortable giving out information to strangers. Now do you have a medical issue?”
“I’m not a stranger, look.”
The nurse craned her neck to look around David. “Our security guard will be making rounds. Do I need to call him over?”
He wasn’t looking to harm anyone, but the nurse didn’t know that. In today’s day and age, he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. He could be a Ted Bundy clone for all she knew. “No, I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

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