The Undead World (Book 5): The Apocalypse Renegades (39 page)

Adrina’s head overflowed with too much unwanted information. She felt like throwing it up or crying it out. She wanted to make some tea, then go to bed and stay there where it was safe. Instead, she spoke the words that she would later regret, “I’ll go with you, and I’ll do what I can. I fear it won’t be much.” Besides killing her son, she didn’t know how she was going to be any help at all.

The trip from Queens through the city was actually slower in the car than if they had taken the subway. Traffic had them crawling along and Adrina had nothing to do, but stare out the window as anxiety built up in her. Every few seconds, her hand would wrap itself around the ice-cold grip of an imaginary gun. The gun would be loud. Would it wake the neighbors? Would the police be called? Did she care? She decided that she didn’t. She was on her way to kill her son, how could she care about anything else?

There was just one part of the trip when the anxiety left her mind.

It occurred during the short ferryboat ride from the southern tip of Manhattan to the Army base on Governors Island. She got out of the car and stood looking out at the beautiful view while the last light of day was setting just to the side of the Statue of Liberty, which looked toy-like with the distance. The other view, down the length of the boat, was of New York City, brightly lit just for her enjoyment or so it seemed.

The lights made the city look alive and inviting and she wished momentarily that she was young again, and that her worries would just flit out of her and drift out to sea. Adrina breathed in the sea air and felt joy at the weather, which was perfect, just the right shade of warmth. She wanted it to last, but the ride was short and Tomas honked his horn in a hurry to be killed.

The day had been one of the longest in her life, however now that the end was drawing near, time sped up with a dizzying pace. In what felt like seconds they had docked and so quickly after they neared the church to collect the priest. Right away Adrina
knew
he was not going to attempt a real exorcism.

Tomas pulled up to the little white church and hopped out without killing the engine. “Are you all ready?” he asked the priest, who stood outside.

She felt it then. It came in little bursts:
Tomas had pressured the priest into doing an exorcism. The priest didn’t really believe in demons or Hell for that matter; the priest would go through the motions and perform Last Rites but in Latin and wouldn’t do the needless exorcism; he would then go home and have some strawberry ice cream and watch the late news.

Father Menning was a small slim man; he wore the simple black attire of his calling and carried nothing but a single book and a black bag that reminded Adrina of a time when doctors made house calls.

He gave the appearance of concern, nodding gravely and was just about to speak when Adrina asked, “May I help you with your things?” She climbed out of the car slowly hearing her knees pop. Father Menning looked confused at her question. “I can carry your vestments and maybe the censer?” Adrina didn’t wait for the priest but started to move directly toward the church.

Tomas hurried to catch up. “Right, just tell me what I can carry for you.” The priest stood for a moment contemplating and then sighed moving with some reluctance to unlock the doors.

Once they entered, the priest bustled about with Adrina always nearby offering suggestions; she unfortunately knew the basics of exorcism. “Do you have an olive branch? Holy water is best used with an olive branch, rather than this...ah?”

“That is an aspergillium, and it’ll work just fine.”

“You should wear the proper vestments, you know. The violet from the Easter service will be good. Besides it’ll be cold.” Her mind strayed again to the cold gun and she rubbed her hands together as if they were already freezing.

“She’s right, you’ll want to bundle up,” Tomas agreed.

The priest almost started to protest the wearing of the Easter Vestments, but stopped. For the first time he looked to be taking this seriously. Father Menning, with Adrina’s supervision gathered his necessary accoutrements and piling into Tomas’ car, they made their way to the islands one small hospital. As before Tomas left the car running and hopping out, disappeared into the building.

Father Menning tried to make small talk, which aggravated Adrina to no end, but again Tomas was quick and back in a wink. How he was able to get the girl out of the hospital, she had no idea. He laid the cold dead body of Emily across the long back seat of the Buick, and Adrina recognized the pillowcase that the girl wore, but now saw that it was only a hospital gown.

“She’s still alive...I know she may not look it, but she still is,” Tomas assured the priest, who had shrunk back away from the girl’s body looking disgusted. Adrina reached out and touched her granddaughter, but pulled her hand away, rubbing it.

It was there beneath Emily’s skin. The demon lay hiding just below the surface and the touch had been as cold as sin.

Time seemed to compress in on itself, like the cars of train in a head-on collision. Adrina had barely put on her seat belt before she saw Colonels Row, where her son lived. All the other homes on the Row were lit up and pretty in the night, but his was completely dark and foreboding.

As they pulled up to it, she could see that Father Menning finally understood. Just touching the unnaturally cold bricks of the house left no room for doubt and he marveled at the frost, which continually formed and evaporated on them.

He was a brave man and seemingly firm in his faith and at the urging of Adrina, he baptized them and heard their confessions. Adrina wanted to confess about the gun and about her plan to shoot Tomas in the back of the head and drench the wall with his blood, but she couldn’t. She kept reminding herself that it’d be worse if she mentioned anything, though more and more she hoped and prayed her vision had been a mistake. It was Tomas’ only chance.

Before they entered the house Father Menning had a censer smoking, sending up grey plumes of fragrant smoldering spices. He swung the brazier about the kitchen and began exhorting loudly in Latin.

Adrina didn’t speak the dead language, however she had been a part of four exorcisms in her time, two of which had been real. They had been terrifying, hair-raising experiences, but she knew it was the priest and Emily, who were in the most danger. Still she shook with fear.

The house had a cold sinister feel to it. The kitchen was far darker than it had any right to be and Adrina took solace in the small glow of the brazier. She followed around after the priest carrying the silver container of holy water. Every few seconds he would dunk the aspergillium in it and liberally splash the water on the walls and floors.

Tomas, who stood in the near freezing dark holding his daughter, became impatient. “The demon is in the attic.”

“Colonel, it’s best to be cautious. We’ll be up there in a few minutes.”

Father Menning was a man of his word and he slowly went up the back staircase still going on in Latin. They followed him despite the growing cold and the steadily escalating fear.

Their fear slowly ramped up, however the priest seemed particularly immune to it—that is until they reached Emily’s room and saw the demon. Then Father Menning ceased speaking and stood in mute horror.

The demon appeared to be a tremendous column of black and grey smoke. At first Adrina thought it had a vague spiderlike shape with many thin arms and legs, but that was an illusion. What she had at mistakenly thought to be arms and legs, were actually tendrils of smoke. These started as barely visible wisps a few feet from it, but then they seemed to gain mass and thickness as they streamed toward the “body” of the demon. It looked to have a head too, and that was the worst. In the head was a terrible opening, a hole from which nothing could escape.

It seemed to drink from this world through that void.

“Do the prayer again,” Tomas demanded. The sound of his voice seemed to be muffled and far away.

The priest jumped a little at the words and then started his incantations once more, “Exorcizote, omnisspiritusimmunde, in nomine Dei...”

The Latin barely registered on Adrina’s ears; she felt lost and useless, and had stark terror running through her. She had no purpose there, except to die horribly. She wanted to look away, she wanted to run away, but neither was an option.

Forced by a power greater than her pathetic self, Adrina stared into the black pit of the demon’s face. She would stare and stare until she was used up and what would happened after that, she was deathly afraid to find out. She hoped she’d die before that could happen, but she was certain the demon wouldn’t allow it.

From the moment she had walked in, the demon held her in its gaze and she could only stand there and see what the demon wanted her to see, and think what the demon wanted her to think. For the moment, it wanted her to see the surprise it had for her. She was allowed to see the smoke of its body flowing up into the pit of its face. The smoke was all chaos and madness yet what lay beneath it was worse—it came together, congealing to form a streaming liquid gruel. In the foul gruel there were shapes and it hurt Adrina deep in her chest to see these. An arm, a face, part of a torso. These would form out of the vile fluid and then sink back in.

The face was the worst.

Pain gripped her heart when she saw the face. It was the face of her granddaughter Emily, contorted into a silent scream of agony. The demon had Emily’s soul and was letting it surface so that Adrina could feel her pain too. The demon enjoyed this, but it was a malicious evil joy and it was horrible to feel that sort of joy.

The demon drew them slowly toward it. Like a magnet it pulled everything into that black pit. Even the smoke and gruel that made the demon’s body flowed continuously up into the endless void.

The air around them coursed into the thing and it was like a wind at Adrina’s back. She leaned away, but the demon drew her on. It dragged the breath from her lungs and sucked the heat from her body. It ran off her, streaming into the voracious pit, leaving her cold inside and out.

The pit was feasting. Feasting on Tomas, feasting on the priest, but right then it was gorging itself on Adrina. Not just the heat of her life; the demon had opened her mind like a can of peaches and was savoring each morsel of sin, of fear, and especially of pain.

Because the demon wished it, Adrina suddenly remembered the first time her mother sent her to kill a chicken for their evening meal. She had been ten-years-old and a little scared, but wanted to prove herself. Going to the coop, she grabbed up the largest bird and carried it to the old tree stump. The small axe lay in the grass nearby. The head of it was stained with rust and blood and there were little pieces of old flesh on it. The axe looked like a dead thing itself. Adrina grew afraid to touch it, worried it would move, worried that maybe the axe was really alive and if she reached for it, it would bite her.

On the stump, the bird squawked in irritation and Adrina jumped. She screwed up her courage and bent to grab the axe.

It was warm.

Her hand drew back and she cast a look over her shoulder at their tiny shanty, but her mom wasn’t about. The axe had felt warm, as if it were alive.

No! It was just a thing, a thing lying in the sun. But it felt like an evil hungry thing that enjoyed the death it caused. What else would it enjoy? Fear gripped her and Adrina nearly ran inside with the chicken. However, she knew her mother would be angry. She would just do it and not think about it.

Swallowing hard, Adrina grabbed up the little hand axe, and discovered not only that it was warm, but it also had a nasty smell about it—old death and new corruption.

Ignoring the smell as best she could, she laid the chicken on the stump, as she’d seen done countless times and brought the axe down hard.

The ungainly tool turned in her hand and hacked into the chicken’s back and shoulder. Blood exploded out of the bird and it bounced about in her grip, squawking in terrific pain. Adrina looked upon the bird and the axe in confusion.

That never happened when her mom killed a bird. It always went so fast, but this was horrible. Choking back unexpected pity she stepped down lightly on the bird to hold it still. The axe was hot, drenched in blood and as she raised it a second time, she saw it was smiling a gory, blood-dripping smile. There had been no notch in the axe before, yet now one was plainly visible and it looked to be a wicked, hungry, toothy grin.

Horrified, Adrina swung the axe down a second time, but again the axe, slippery with blood, turned to the side. This time she struck its back dead center and she had to pry the axe out of the bird that still squawked in terrific misery. The axe did not want to let go of the bird, it seemed to have a hold of it and Adrina had to work it back in forth before it would come out.

The wide grin was larger and bloodier.

Adrina knew what else the axe liked more than death, and that was pain. Death could happen in an instant but pain lasted longer. Ten-year-old Adrina, now drenched in blood, threw the axe from her, terrified. She let go of the chicken as well. It tried to run, but it veered off sideways, and fell over. The chicken took a long time to die, flopping about in delectable agony, while the axe lay grinning in the sun enjoying the spectacle. Adrina stood far back, crying and shaking as the coppery blood on her turned tacky...