The Equinox

by M J Preston

  “That’s like six and a half hours from now.”

  “That’s the best I can do, sir. I would recommend you reserve it because if more airlines shut down, which may just happen, you won’t be able to rent a donkey let alone a car.” She glanced up from the monitor. “Would you like to reserve?”

  Proudfoot said resignedly, “Yes, I’ll reserve it.” He put his credit card on the counter.

  “Okay, Mr. Proudfoot. I do have some good news.”

  “Well, I can use some of that.”

  “It’s a crossover.”

  “A what?”

  “A crosser-over. It’s kind of like a minivan, but also an SUV.” She used her chin to acknowledge the group of native men waiting anxiously on the bench. “It should suit your needs.”

  13

  When they emerged from the Sawyer house, all eyes were upon them, but neither Logan nor Collins were prepared to give a briefing to the waiting officers. But it didn’t matter: their faces told a grim story, and all present were well aware that the dark chapter in their town’s history had not concluded, but moved on to a new episode of police work to be conducted.

  Logan and his 2IC walked down the steps side by side, Henderson bringing up the rear.

  Logan looked to Don Steel. He had held everything back from the arriving officers until they emerged from the Sawyer place. “Get some tape and cordon off both houses, Don. Set up sentries and let’s try and keep this as low key as possible.” A stab of pain pulsed momentarily in his chest, and he winced, wishing for something to quiet it.

  Not yet; we’ve still got business to conduct, he thought.

  That business was two-fold. Logan wanted both himself and Mick to see the body of Kolchak so that there was no doubt in either of their minds. He was already second-guessing himself, wondering if the cancer was chewing away at his brain with the same lethal efficiency it was wreaking on his internal organs. Secretly, he had been taking half a Percocet to try and dull the pain, but all it did was lower the volume on an orchestra of intense agony. Making it through the day and managing the pain while on duty was a struggle, but he wanted a clear head, and even one Percocet made him sluggish. So he opted for a half a pill, which he had cut neatly on a plastic cutting board in his kitchen at home. After cutting the pills in half, he popped them into an aspirin bottle which he kept in his hip pocket. He’d take half a pill every four hours, and when he got home, he’d pop two and watch reality slip away.

  “What about him?” Mick asked, pointing at Blackbird.

  From the back of Logan’s cruiser, Blackbird waited, looking haggard, but there was also a sense of urgency in his eyes as he stared them down. Logan tried not to connect with those eyes, knowing they would raise questions in himself that he couldn’t answer right now. He had to stay focused.

  “Have Westy take him back to the station house. We’ll interview him when we’re done here.”

  That was all Mick needed. “Westy!”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  “Jump in the Chief’s cruiser and run Mr. Blackbird back into town. Keep him in cells until we get back.”

  “Sure thing,” West replied.

  Logan leaned over and placed his hand on West’s arm. “Treat him with respect, Jim. We don’t even know if he has a hand in this.”

  Mick shot Logan a glance of disapproval, but it faded quickly.

  “Wouldn’t do it any other way, Chief,” West replied.

  Steel was delegating officers, and Logan took a moment to look around, then said, “I knew you wouldn’t, Westy, but we’ve been riding an emotional rollercoaster all summer. Sometimes I need my men to say it out loud to reinforce what I’m thinking.”

  Mick thought, Is that directed at me?

  It seemed that since the excavation of Tommy Parkins he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. His entire world felt like it was on shaky ground, his leadership, friendship. Even his marriage seemed uncertain. He hated feeling like this, but if he were to ask such a thing, it might further alienate him from Logan.

  Something was going on with his boss: he sensed a negative vibe coming off him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had said he needed to talk. That was before all this Blackbird business. He speculated it might be his performance or lack of that warranted discussion.

  Logan elbowed him. He jerked out of his thought. “Come on, Mick. Let’s get this over with.”

  Mick nodded, and they started for the Parkins place.

  “What about me?” Henderson asked.

  “Come on, Jeff; you can follow along as we document the scene.”

  ***

  Chapter 17 - Red Sky in Morning

  1

  September 23rd Autumn Equinox

  6:58 AM

  Bobby Morneau wheeled his cab into Angela’s Diner as the morning sun broke across the prairie horizon. He looked to the red sky and thought to himself that this was going to be a wet and miserable day. The morning crowd was in there, truckers, delivery folk, and Charlene.

  Charlene had been waitressing in Angela’s for over ten years, and Bobby was sweet on her. Of course, she just smiled and flirted for the buck he tossed her after his usual $4.99 breakfast, but he still fantasized about her saying yes to a night out at the drive-in.

  Charlene Hampton was in her early forties, with a full head of bleach blond hair and a bust that gave the regular men a thrill every time she leaned over to set their plate. She reminded Bobby a bit of Marilyn Monroe or even Candy Clark: she had that sweet happy go lucky voice and she called everyone ‘Hon’ – except Bobby. She called him by his Christian name: Robert.

  One day he might ask her out if he could muster the nerve, but for now, he’d just settle for ham and eggs with a glass of tomato juice and coffee.

  He pushed the door open, and the bell chimed. For a moment the chatter muted somewhat, as heads peered around booths to see who had come in.

  In the back was Norton Graves, who did water delivery for all of the cisterns in the area. Nort was a big guy, 6’ 2”, but as skinny as a rail. He raised his hand and waved Bobby over. They had breakfast together occasionally, talking town gossip and trading barbs about who was going to get on Charlene’s sweet side first.

  “What would she do with a bean pole like you?” Bobby would snipe.

  “Listen, Morneau, by the time you work up the nerve she’ll be collecting her social security. Be careful not to stand still too long, my friend. A dog might mistake you for a tree,” Nort would fire back. But that was just friendly cajoling between two Thomasville old timers who would never have a bad word to say about each other.

  Except, in person, that is.

  Bobby motioned to Charlene. She flashed him her usual pearly smile. Bobby pointed to the back where Nort was sitting. She acknowledged the signal with a wink, and Bobby felt his heart flutter.

  He worked his way down the aisle, which was somewhat like the inside of a rail car. Booths lined it on the left and right. Along the way on his right, he passed a young couple who looked like they hadn’t been to bed yet. To his left were Craig Bronson and Herb Keele, the local real estate shysters, or so Bobby thought. They were the brains behind the Mayor’s new land development on the west side. Usually, the Mayor could be found sitting with these two weasels laughing too loud and acting like some kind of big shot.

  Across the street, Randy Maytum was opening Thomasville Hardware and putting out his daily displays with the help of his son Sidney. Maytum was a nice fellow who always kept to himself, and he ran a clean and organized store. Sidney was not a bad kid either, but he liked to hang out and smoke pot with a few of the local boys who had dropped out.

  Overhead the red sky turned the street scarlet. The streetlights clicked off, and Maytum looked on to the morning sun which hadn’t quite peeked over the horizon. He sighed. If the rain started, he would be dragging the displays back
inside.

  Just up the street sixteen-year-old Mary Rossi was jogging in the early morning. This was part of her vigorous daily training: she hoped that the school and Masonic hall would sponsor her to attend the Pan Am Games. Every morning she was up at 5 AM, stretching and prepping to get in shape. Up until today, it looked very promising.

  Just as Bobby was about to sit down with his pal Nort and Randy Maytum was getting ready to send Sidney in for the wheelbarrow display, Mary Rossi saw the big black bird coming straight down the street.

  It was huge, wings four feet across. Mary stayed her course, pumping her legs, thinking it would pull up and fly over the hardware store – but it didn’t. It continued toward her, only thirty feet away. That was when she made the decision to cross the street and get out of its path.

  “By the Jesus,” one of the real estate agents muttered, staring out the window.

  Bobby turned to look back at what the shyster was rambling on about.

  Maytum also saw the big black bird coming, and it blew past him straight toward Mary Rossi, who was now crossing the street to escape it. The beating of its wings sounded like a bed sheet flapping in a crisp autumn wind, but that wasn’t what startled Maytum. This thing was huge: two and a half feet tall, its wings spanning four, maybe four and a half feet. Worst of all it was flying toward Mary on her early morning jaunt.

  Maytum picked up one of the garden hoes he had put on sale and began running up the street just as Sidney came out with the wheelbarrow.

  “Dad,” Sidney puzzled.

  Bobby saw the bird from inside diner now and Charlene, carrying a fresh pot of coffee, also worked her way to the window. In fact, everyone was standing up, moving forward to watch the quiet drama unfold in the street.

  Mary was halfway across the street when she saw the bird change course. She stopped, screamed, and began running the other way. From behind, Maytum was also running, trying to catch the bird, raising the garden hoe up to strike but he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

  “Oh my Lord,” Charlene gasped and dropped the pot of coffee she had been holding onto the booth’s red vinyl seat. It spilled over. No one noticed.

  The bird dived. It crashed into Mary from behind, its talons tearing out a large part of her scalp and knocking her down. She stumbled forward, smacked hard into the asphalt. A terrified cry escaped her as she skidded across the pavement, skinning her right cheek and forearm.

  From behind Maytum saw the bird knock her down and then arc straight upward, but what he saw next could not be described in his wildest nightmares. The bird seemed to stop four feet above the wounded Mary Rossi and explode in a mix of gas and black tar. Then, as the gas dissipated, Maytum took in the horror with a sense of fascination that completely blocked out the reality that he still was running toward it.

  They all saw the transformation and the nine-foot monster which now stood over the body of the wounded Mary Rossi. Its breath turned to mist in the September air. It looked first left and right, then up the street. It blinked the grey and veined eyelids, unfurled its long arms that terminated in talons. A bit of drool like raw egg white dripped from its mouth.

  Then it smiled and pushed one of its claws down into Mary Rossi’s back, killing her instantly. The entire time it kept its eyes fixed on Maytum, who charged forward, hoe poised above his head.

  “Dad!” Sidney screamed from behind him, but it was too late to turn back. Maytum swung the hoe as hard as he could – and the creature reached up and caught the handle in mid-air.

  For a second they stood there, each holding one end of the hardwood, a sticker declaring ‘$5.98 Great Deal!’ between them. Maytum might have had half a chance if he would have only released the garden hoe – but then the monster yanked him forward and in a blur pulled its claw free from Mary Rossi’s back and disemboweled him right on the spot.

  “Oooooooohhhhhhhhh,” Maytum groaned, the contents of his belly spilling out onto Mary’s dead body. He fell to his knees, then keeled sideways while it reached down and grabbed a large helping of his intestines.

  “Fresh meat.”

  “Daddy!” Sidney screamed again.

  Then it let loose a shriek, blowing in the windows on both the hardware store and Angela’s Diner. Morneau had just turned his head and – by sheer luck and coincidence – had grabbed Charlene’s arm to pull her down from the window. The glass exploded inward, blinding the real estate agents and three other onlookers. Nort, who was still seated in the back, was spared the peppering.

  “Come on!” Morneau yelled at Charlene. “We’ve gotta get out of here!”

  He dragged her up the aisle as she screamed frantically. Shards of glass had embedded in her cheek and arm, but she had fared better than the others. Around them, the young couple seated by the window moaned and writhed in agony, and the two shysters held their hands to their bleeding faces. Another guy Bobby didn’t know was standing there screaming and with good reason. A shard of glass the size of a matchbook had pierced his right eye.

  “Nort! We gotta get the hell out of here,” Bobby yelled back at his friend.

  The creature rushed up the street in a blur, wrapped its talons around Sidney. “Are you scared?” it hissed, then tore him open like a wet grocery bag.

  Bobby kept leading Charlene to the door, looking back and urging Nort to get moving. The moans and cries around them were enough to tear out his heart, but he knew they had to get to his cab before that thing – whatever the fuck it was – turned its sights on the diner.

  “Nort! Let’s go!”

  They were at the front door. Nort was halfway up the aisle as Bobby fumbled for the keys to his cab.

  “Move it, Nort!”

  Charlene clutched his arm in a death grip, digging her nails into the skin, her lower lip quivering. She wanted to scream, but she did not dare.

  The cab was five feet to the left of the entrance.

  “Listen to me, Charlene. We are going to get in my cab. We’re both going to get into on the driver’s side. You scoot your arse over real fast so I can get us out of here, okay?”

  She nodded. Her makeup ran down her face. Her lower lip continued to quiver.

  Nort was almost up to the aisle. Then the air around him blurred crashing him right into a waiting booth, and a glut of his blood splashed up the wall.

  Nort was no more.

  Bobby didn’t wait. He yanked Charlene out the entrance of the diner while whatever it was that had killed Mary, Randy and Sid went to work on Nort.

  They ran for the car. He reached it first. He yanked open the door and shoved her in.

  “Skooch over, girl,” he ordered, abandoning his manners. She was fumbling around on the seat, her butt up in the air and he said, “Move your ass,” – then placed a hand firmly on her buttock and shoved her headfirst into the passenger door.

  In the back alley, Brad, the cook, was having a smoke when Angela’s Diner broke into pandemonium. He had blocked the big steel door open with a piece of cardboard: there was no handle on the outside, for security reasons. More than once Brad had locked himself out and had to suffer the indignity of walking all the way around to the front of the building. He and Charlene didn’t really get along, and she would put a dig into him every time.

  He heard the shriek on the other side of the building, followed by the glass shattering inside the diner just as he was opening the door. It startled him: he released the handle. At the same time, the cardboard blocking the door open fell away.

  The door clunked shut, locking him out.

  “Fuck me,” he cursed. “Fucking marvelous.” He shook his head in frustration and shuffled down the alley preparing to fall victim to that cackling, balloon boob, bleach blond airhead. God, how he hated her!

  Bobby put the key in the ignition and turned it – but the engine didn’t start. Beside him, Charlene was looking into the smashed out windows of
Angela’s Diner when a girl appeared at the doorway screaming. It was the teenage girl sitting with her boyfriend. She was reaching out blindly, crying, “Help me! Please, someone, help me!”

  Bobby turned the key again. The car still wouldn’t start.

  Suddenly the girl in the doorway was yanked back inside, and a bloodcurdling scream filled the morning air, followed by another horrific shriek. Charlene tapped at Bobby’s leg frantically. “Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!”

  “I’m trying!”

  He was beginning to think they were going to have abandoned the car and go on foot, but he tried the key again. And …

  Nothing!

  More screams, this time a man. One of the shysters?

  Then Bobby looked down and saw what the problem was. The car was not entirely in park. He grabbed the lever and pushed it all the way, then turned the key. The engine roared into life. He threw it into reverse and stepped on the gas, wheeling it around, almost taking out the fire hydrant across the street. Getting the car straight he took one last look at Angela’s. The overhead lights inside were flashing on and off like strobe lights.

  A body crashed out onto the street, entrails flapping behind him.

  Shyster number two!

  Bobby punched the accelerator.

  At first, the car lunged and almost stalled, but the big 400 caught and began to move just as the creature came barreling out into the street behind them. Bobby stared into the rearview mirror. It came to a standstill behind them, its ragged grey flesh coated in the intermingled blood of its victims.

  His eyes locked with the creature’s – and it began to speak.

  “Stop the car. Stop the car,” the mirrored eyes insisted.

  Dumbly, he realized it was hypnotizing him. He started to veer left and release his foot from the accelerator. Then Charlene screamed at him and knocked the rearview mirror right off the windshield. Bobby snapped out of it immediately. He regained control – but they were running up the sidewalk.

  Brad came around the corner staring at what looked like two bodies lying on the roadway. He didn’t even have a chance to say what he thought when Bobby Morneau’s cab collided with him. In an instant, Brad was flat out on his back, and the front wheels decimated both his lower legs. Thankfully it had happened so fast that he hadn’t yet time to process the pain being transmitted from the raw nerve endings in his broken shins.