Hell Patrol

by R. D. Tarver

  He closed his eyes as the disembodied voice called out, seemingly mere inches from his face, so close that he could feel its breath. He thought for a moment he could smell a hint of wine cooler in the air.

  Rust’s Zippo clinked open.

  The spark of the flame revealed a pair of cat-eye glasses and a mop of dense, curly hair that spilled out above the collar of an oversized military jacket.

  “Hey guys! Sorry I’m late,” Kara slurred. “Did I scare ya?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Kara!” Mal shouted as she shoved her friend. “I think I have to change my pants.”

  Kara jumped inside the control room, latching on to Mal. The two tumbled to the floor in a bout of laughter as the others uttered a collective sigh of relief.

  The relief was short-lived, as the stabbing groan of metal on metal called again from the darkness beyond the control room.

  Jesse could hear Mal faintly whisper as she pulled Kara to her feet.

  “Did you come by yourself?”

  Kara nodded.

  Rust patted Mazes on the shoulder, firmly planting the lighter into his catcher’s mitt-sized hand. As Jesse’s eyes adjusted to the soft orange- yellow glow, he began to make out the rusted metal outline of the mine cart affixed to the ancient rail cart track.

  All eyes followed in the direction of the grating sound as the mine cart rolled slowly along the track, stopping just in front of the control room doors.

  Mazes stepped further into the corridor. The others followed suit, funneling out from the control room, with Rick in his wheelchair taking up the rear.

  As Mazes raised the Zippo, the glint of the flame was reflected back from a pair of wet, bulbous eyes.

  “Totally called it—stray dog,” said Rick.

  “That doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen,” said Rust. “How’d it get in there?”

  Jesse fumbled for his lighter.

  With the added light, he could make out the broad snout, jutting out urgently from the creature’s face like a baboon. Its pale grey flesh was hairless and slick, almost translucent in spots. A barbed, prehensile tail snaked out from behind the beast’s large hindquarters.

  Jesse stood watching, frozen in disbelief as the thing’s tail swayed hypnotically back and forth. A pair of dexterous, clawed hands rose from the shadowy confines of the mine cart, gripping the sides as it hoisted itself up.

  As it emerged from the cart, a large fleshy sac began to fan out from beneath its widening jaws as a low rumble gurgled up from its chest. Jesse felt a wave of nausea come over him as the sound began to fill the tunnel.

  The creature lunged forward.

  Alex swung his boombox by the handle in a wide arc, landing true against the creature’s skull. The force of the blow knocked it from the cart where it lay still on the track.

  “Run!” Alex squealed. The word trailed behind him as he fled towards the gated entrance with the boombox in tow.

  The action spurred the others to follow.

  Mal pulled Jesse forward as he stumbled towards the dim rectangle of candlelight at the end of the tunnel.

  Rust had stopped ahead of them, doubled over on the ground, vomiting.

  Jesse grabbed hold of his downed bandmate, fighting desperately to push ahead through the cacophony of discordant screams that echoed off the walls of the corridor.

  Jesse plunged ahead with Mal and Rust on either side. Each step felt more and more difficult to muster, like he was trying to run underwater. Just as he was about to falter, he felt his lungs fill with fresh air from outside. He came to, and found himself with the others back at the Hell Hole.

  “What just happened?” asked Kara. Her eyes were welling up with tears as she looked for confirmation from her peers.

  Mal moved to console her friend as she looked over the others, dazedly. “Everybody else okay?”

  “Where’s Rick?” asked Alex.

  “I—I dunno man,” Rust managed to cough up the words. “I thought he was right behind us.”

  The question pierced through Jesse’s mind like a cold dagger. He looked to the impenetrable darkness beyond the stone archway for any sign of his brother. The sonic remnants of their passage had faded, leaving only a dead silence to fill the night.

  He could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears as he ventured back towards the archway. The pulsing of blood gave way to the gallop of heavy footfalls as Mazes’s gargantuan form appeared, knocking Jesse aside as he charged through the arch like some medieval juggernaut. In his arms he carried Rick, still seated in his chair, whom he gently sat down just beyond the gate.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Rick said.

  “Discretion is the better part of valor,” Mazes panted.

  Once outside, they quickly barricaded the gate shut, all the while keeping an eye out for any sign that they were being pursued.

  “So let’s begin with the obvious question,” Jesse started. “What the fuck?”

  “Whatever it was, it probably had rabies, or mange,” said Rust. He patted Alex on the shoulder. “Lucky nobody got bit, thanks to Mr. Miyagi over here.”

  “Rabies?” Alex squealed. “That thing made Cujo look tame.”

  Mal stroked Kara’s hair as she sobbed into her shoulder. “Hey guys, I don’t wanna be a wet blanket, but I think we need to get this little lady to bed.”

  “You sure you wanna leave all your stuff?” asked Jesse.

  Mal took Jesse’s arm as she guided Kara towards the ramp. “We can come back later after we drop her off.”

  Rust helped Mazes push Rick and his chair up the wooden planks that led to the gravel service road where they had parked the van.

  They drove in silence as they headed back to town.

  6

  After returning Kara safely to her home, the group returned to the practice trailer. Mazes tossed his backpack on the floor and collapsed into the bean bag chair, sending out a small explosion of styrofoam kernels.

  “Well, I was wrong,” Rick said. “You little shits do know how to throw a good Halloween party.” He pulled out two cigarettes from his jacket, lit them both and handed one to Jesse. “That was some real Tom Savini shit. I’m flattered.”

  Jesse choked on the cigarette, mid-drag, as he attempted a retort. “Dude, that was not special effects.”

  Mal offered a dismissive laugh. “Not to mention you saw our entire production budget burn up in flames in the middle of the church parking lot.” She patted Rick on the shoulder as she continued. “It’s really sweet that you think we would waste money on showing you such a good time, though.”

  “I knew that séance was a bad idea,” Alex said.

  Rust rummaged through the mini-fridge and produced a round of beers for the group. “Worst part about it is, we didn’t even get a chance to float the fuckin’ keg.”

  “Fine, I’ll bite,” Rick giggled as he opened his beer. “Since you are truly going above and beyond—maybe it was just someone’s exotic pet that got loose?”

  “Since when do they have pet stores in Hell?” said Alex.

  “The beast did possess certain Stygian attributes,” said Mazes.

  A natural silence fell over the group as they contemplated the shared experience.

  It was Rust who stepped up first and said aloud what everyone was thinking. “We have to go back. That keg was like a summer’s worth of lawns.”

  “That was a real witchboard too, not some cheap Parker Brothers crap,” Mal said.

  Jesse piped up, knowing what must be done. “I’ll go back with Rust. The rest of you stay here.”

  Mal jumped on Jesse, wrapping her legs around his waist. “My hero!” she said, kissing him deeply before dropping back to her feet. “Just be careful. And come straight back.”

  Jesse produced a flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen and grabbed a baseball bat from the hall closet.

  “This time we go prepared.”

  Mazes grabbed the bat from Jesse and held it aloft. “I’ll not see my bro
thers in arms ride into battle alone.”

  7

  Back at the mine, Jesse took point with the flashlight, leading the others back into the control room.

  “No sign of Cujo,” Rust said. “Looks like the coast is clear.”

  “Probably scared it off for good after Alex smashed its head in,” Jesse said. “You guys grab the keg. I’ll get the rest of our shit.”

  “And still plenty of time to get fubared, and salvage this fucked-up night,” said Rust.

  The control room was all but destroyed. The contents of Mal’s duffel bag were strewn about, the console chassis streaked with claw marks. Jesse set to work loading Mal’s duffel bag with the Ouija board and her other personal effects, which were left mostly unharmed.

  Mazes and Rust were already carrying out the keg before Jesse had finished packing up the rest of their belongings. He surveyed the destruction of the room once more before following his band mates out into the night.

  One hell of a stray dog, he thought to himself as he left the mine.

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  WOE TO THE VANISHED

  1

  Jesse was dreaming about the mine.

  He and the others were being chased by an unseen presence as they ran, on and on, trapped within the endless labyrinth of darkness that tunneled beneath the ground. Finally, their path opened into a cavernous hollow in the earth.

  In the dream, Jesse was given the knowledge that the cavern he inhabited lay within the natural cave system located deep beneath the abandoned Spring Creek Mine.

  Once inside the spacious cavern, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and straining for any sign that they were still being chased. Jesse lay on the cave floor frozen in fear. One by one, his companions fell lifeless to the ground as a great shadow stepped into the center of the cavern. A deep, bellowing call emanated from the shadow; the sound burned in Jesse’s ears, ejecting him from his fitful slumber.

  He laid in bed listening to the idle chatter of Rick and Randy coming from the kitchen as he got his bearings, and tried to distance himself from the unwelcome vision.

  “Two words: David Bowie.”

  “He’s pretty good. But I ain’t into that foo-foo shit.”

  “So he’s a gender bender? He’s also one of the greatest artists of the twentieth century. See, that’s the problem with your generation.”

  “You tellin’ me he’s better than Jimi Hendrix?”

  “Need I remind you that two-thirds of The Experience were British?”

  “What about Alice Cooper?”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Score one for the Americans. Pretty decent sound for a minister’s son.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “My next one is a threefer, because in my mind they are all one great incestuous British Triangle. The unholy trinity—Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, and Rainbow. And don’t even get me started on the connections to Elf, Whitesnake, or Def Leppard. I could make a Venn diagram that would make your freakin’ head explode.”

  “I do like that ‘Smoke on the Water’ record.”

  “Of course you do. Aside from that song, Machine Head is a great album.”

  “But some of that other satanic stuff just gets a little too weird for me, man. I’ve seen some shit over there, Chief. I don’t need a bunch of black magic hippies trying to put the scare on me.”

  “Satanic stuff? Black Sabbath were Vietnam War protesters—I get it if that’s a nonstarter. But don’t dismiss them because they were ‘satanic’—that’s bullshit. And Dio’s only crime was writing one too many songs about dragons.”

  “All right, all right! Simmer down before you hurt yourself. How ’bout Van Halen?”

  “Well played. You’re putting me in a tough spot here. For the sake of argument, I’ll just say that one amazing record doesn’t forgive one of this country’s most hedonistic cultural exports since the Big Mac.”

  “Rush.”

  “Doesn’t count. They’re Canadian.”

  His mother’s voice followed the roar of the great white wagon up the driveway as she called for help to unload groceries.

  The rest of the house had seemingly gone about their day despite Jesse’s lack of participation. He stumbled out into the kitchen to forage for a tonic that would absolve him of his nocturnal sins.

  Images from the previous night were beginning to rise to the surface: the burning of the demonic effigy in the church parking lot; the séance and the flight from the mine; the mine cart. One hell of a stray dog. The thought resounded again and again inside the pounding walls of his skull.

  As he rummaged through the sea of brown paper sacks stacked on the dinner table, he noticed a black-and-white xeroxed flyer peeking out from one of the grocery bags. Jesse digested the heading, writ in bold black letters: missing.

  The all-American teen wearing his letterman jacket stared back. Jesse immediately recognized the vacant, yet innocent smile.

  “Welcome to the land of the living,” his mother called. She kicked the screen door shut behind her as she placed another round of groceries on the table. “Isn’t that just awful about Kenny Summers?” she asked. “He’s in your grade, isn’t he?”

  Jesse winced at the pronouncement of his classmate’s name. “Yeah, some jock kid.” He shrugged. “I think I had him in one of my classes.”

  “Oh hon, I’m so sorry. That must be horrible. You haven’t seen him around town the last couple days, have you?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Any idea what happened to him?”

  “The cashier at the ez-Buy said his parents last saw him the day before Halloween. He still hasn’t made it home.” She wagged her finger at Jesse. “I want you and your brother back on the property before sundown until this whole thing blows over.”

  Jesse could feel his cheeks turn red before the words left his mouth. “I don’t get why we should be punished just because some asshole jock stayed out past curfew.”

  “How could you say that? He’s about to be on a milk carton.”

  “You don’t understand, these athletes…they get to do whatever they want at that school. It’s probably not any different at home.”

  “Well, his parents are very worried. And since they’re part of the local church community, this is going to affect all of us whether we like it or not.” She stuck a magnet on top of the flyer and hung it on the refrigerator. “You can have your friends over at the trailer, but just stay indoors.” She rifled through the groceries as she continued. “I know it seems like a small-town oasis, but you have to keep your eyes out for the crazies these days, no matter where you are in the world. Nobody is safe anymore.”

  Rick wheeled up to the kitchen counter, taking a drink from a carton of orange juice that had been laid out as he scanned the flyer on the refrigerator.

  “So just because some rich jock couldn’t find his way home from the varsity circle jerk, we all have to suffer the consequences?” he asked.

  Jesse’s mom stifled a laugh as her jaw was left hanging open.

  “Well. I’m glad I won’t have to worry about my boys going to any varsity circle jerks.”

  “Damn straight,” said Rick. “Can’t speak for my little bro, though. Might wanna keep an eye on him.”

  His mom ruffled Jesse’s hair as she left the room, leaving the brothers to unload the groceries.

  Jesse snagged the orange juice carton from his brother and downed a few swallows. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

  “You guys were so scared of that stray that you almost cost us a full keg. Bunch of pussies.”

  “When was the last time you ever saw a dog?”

  “It probably had mange or rabies, like Rust said. What else could it have been?”

  “Dude, maybe it’s time to check your prescription. That was no fucking dog.”

  “All right, Jim Fowler. I give up. Why don’t you tell our viewers at home the name of this mysterious animal?”

  2

  Alex was pac
ing around the usual meet-up spot near Mal’s locker when Jesse arrived at school. He was licking his lips like a tree frog from the cover of one of those Ranger Rick magazines Jesse had when he was a kid.

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”