The Equinox

by M J Preston

  “Calm down, Jake!” West barked now.

  Logan to West: “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Jake Toomey. They arrived just before I came and got you.”

  “Mr. Toomey, I have a situation here. Stay quiet for a minute.” Logan reached over Sabrina and keyed the radio. “Sandy, this is Chief Logan, what is your status?”

  The radio keyed up and then went silent. Logan was about to say something when Hardy’s voice came on. “Chief, Kennedy is down, and Don is bleeding really bad.”

  “Pull your people back!” Toomey thundered.

  “Shut him the fuck up!” Logan growled at Mick.

  They were all standing at the window now, a band of Native men watching the chaos in the staff room. Toomey was muttering in Chocktee. Sabrina had her hand over her mouth and West hung like a great tree towering over the lot of them.

  “Sandy, I want a straight up assessment.”

  11

  The street looked like a war zone. Directly below the corner of the building where the creature was perched lay the body of Pete Kennedy, which looked like it had fallen into a giant trash compactor. Steel never saw the creature. Once he spotted Kennedy’s body he was out of his car, gun drawn, screaming frantically at Hardy. “Call for backup. Officer down! Officer down!”

  Oblivious to the danger lurking above, he sped toward Kennedy. Hardy was climbing out of her car, also drawing her weapon and reaching in through the open door to get the handset. That was when she saw the monster coming down the wall like an insect.

  “Don!” she cried, but it was too late.

  He never thought to look up, never considered that danger would come from above. He took a cursory look down the street, but his attention was on Pete, and he was already leaning over the young officer’s mangled body when he heard Hardy call out.

  Then something spun him around, yanked back his head hard enough to make his upper vertebrae pop, and slashed open his cheek. He sucked in a great gasp of breath, and he tasted decay, death. Before him the monster inhaled too, sucking fresh air over the rows of jagged teeth that seemed to stack up like tombstones in the landscape of speckled grey clay that was its gums.

  Is this some kind of Halloween prank?

  “Send the hunter,” it hissed and spat something dark into the gash on his face.

  Fire spread through his cheek, burning ― then his face became numb as it swam through his veins. When it released him, he stumbled drunkenly backward.

  Venom – I’ve been poisoned.

  It moved away from him, an aura of grey-blue in its wake. He tried in vain to raise his gun, but lost the motor control in his hands and watched it tumble toward the ground in slow motion. It clicked when it hit the asphalt, and he thought about picking it up but abandoned the idea immediately. His feet felt swollen three times their original size. He tried to back up. Failed. He decided to move forward. Also failed.

  I’m dying. This is how it feels to die after a monster spits venom into your face. Who would have thought? A morbid smile crossed his lips, like a kid overdosing on Novocain. Then he thought about Hardy, and that shook the drunken musings from his head.

  She was fifteen feet in front of him, her gun drawn, staring wide-eyed at the building.

  He was running out of energy, the poison taking control. That’s my sweetheart. Kill the fucker, Sandy: shoot it full of holes. Do it for me, baby. His vision blurred and she became little more than a silhouette against the red morning sky.

  Steel dragged one clown foot forward. Pins and needles moved up and down his legs, his arms became heavy, and as he tipped over he managed one word: “Sandy…” Then he hit the asphalt, thoughts swimming incoherently – and the darkness won.

  Hardy dropped the handset, looked on in horror, a terrified moan escaping her like gas. She was sure he was dead and bit into her cheek to stifle a scream. As blood ran under her tongue, her eyes darted back and forth between Don and the creature above.

  It came down the wall so fast, like a spider from its lair. What is it?

  It wasn’t moving, barely breathing, but she could smell it, and she knew that scent from the cornfield behind Hopper’s house. It was the smell of rot and death. She was terrified but did not make the connection between this and the ranting of Stephen Hopper. Nor did she connect it to the murders at the Sawyer or Parkins residences: Hardy only knew that the creature which had killed Pete Kennedy sat thirty-five feet up on the corner of the building and she did not have time to debate what it was.

  Don was ten feet away, but it felt like a mile. She loved Don Steel, was carrying his unborn child in fact, but could she muster the courage to retrieve him?

  Then Don moved his arm just slightly, and she let out a whispered cry.

  “Oh dear God.”

  And with that, she found the determination to go after him.

  She stepped forward, watched the creature for a reaction – but none came. It was staring off into space, seemingly unmindful to its surroundings. This was little comfort to Hardy. She eased forward, gun at the ready, watching Steel from the corner of her eye. Get in and get out, Sandy! Don’t wait, don’t assess, don’t worry about anyone else but Don, she coached herself.

  Halfway now, and she moved in tight to the brick wall, following the same path Kennedy had taken before his end. She could only see its bony knees and talons over the ledge of the masonry. If it moved an inch, Hardy would empty her clip into it. Carefully she got down on all fours and scrambled toward Don, keeping her gun trained on the ledge.

  His eyes were open, but he wasn’t responding, and the gash on his face bulged with infection. He’s breathing though, Sandy. That’s something, but for how long? We’ve got to get him out of here!

  Don Steel was a short fellow, standing 5’ 7” and he barely weighed 145 pounds, but right now he was dead weight. Adding to that, the street was littered with glass fragments, and she would not be able to fireman carry him. It was too risky with that thing looming overhead.

  Ten feet, Hardy, she thought. Ten feet, we get him in the car and call for help.

  She reached down with her left hand and hooked it into his belt and dragged him over so that she was spooning his body. With her right arm, she dug her elbow into the asphalt while running her index finger along the trigger guard of her weapon so as not to accidentally discharge it.

  Okay, baby, hang on.

  She heaved him back using her right elbow and legs. Broken glass cut through her uniform, dug into her hip and elbow. That’s two feet; eight to go. She cast her eyes upward to see if the creature had moved from its perch, and for the moment it hadn’t. Again, she dug in, feeling more fragments of glass grind deeper into her elbow and now into her buttock. Fuck! She heaved backward again, not daring to grunt or groan. Four feet! Stopping again, she looked up, then to the bumper of the first cruiser. It was so close – but not close enough.

  Taking a couple of controlled breaths, she again checked the ledge. No movement.

  Six feet to the car. Sweat ran down the small of her back and into the abrasion on her right bum cheek igniting a sting that felt like a hornet’s kiss. But she ignored it and readied herself for another tug. This time she arched her back, using the strength in her legs to push backward – and she felt tiny pebbles of glass grind through the material in her shirt and embed into her left shoulder blade.

  Heave!

  They were beside the driver’s door of Don’s cruiser. She looked inside and saw the keys still hanging in the ignition. If the Chief had seen this, he would have gone ballistic, but for Hardy, it was a Godsend. She set him down, reached in, pulled the keys from the ignition and unlocked the shotgun from its security bracket.

  Just in case!

  She was exhausted and needed to prepare herself to lift him into the car. She pumped the shotgun as quietly as possible, chambering a shell and settled back against the w
all with Don leaning on her. She watched to see if it would come.

  Just give me a minute to catch my breath, Don.

  Twenty seconds later she stood up and opened the rear door of the cruiser. Setting the shotgun on the roof, she reached down, lifted Don up, and pushed him into the backseat. He crumpled over, his face mashing against the front bench as she forced him into the car enough to close the rear door. She ignored the urge to straighten him and made her way around the front of the vehicle staring, eyes fixed all the while on the roof of the hardware store. In her right hand, she held her service pistol and in the left was the shotgun. On her index finger, the keys held tight.

  She climbed in and set the shotgun on the bench seat – but held her pistol tightly and inserted the key into the ignition. She turned the key. The seatbelt warning chimed as she put the gear shift in neutral – and for a second she thought she would have to start it. But then the car began to roll backward, and the only sound was the crunching of shattered glass beneath the tires.

  She looked back down Yale Road for any obstacles, holding the wheel straight so as not to hit anything, and then as the car rolled backward, she turned her eyes back to the creature on the building.

  “Please don’t move,” She begged.

  Thankfully, it didn’t.

  The car rolled 400 yards from where it had been left, and once they came to a stop she shuddered, and she reached for the radio handset.

  12

  “Sandy, what is your status?” Logan repeated again. The radio keyed up and then fell silent. The room was electric with anticipation. Everyone was waiting. No one spoke: not even from the window where Toomey stood.

  Then, to their relief, she responded.

  Their relief would be momentary.

  “Pete Kennedy is down, no vitals. Don Steel is wounded, and I am okay; minor cuts and abrasions.” Logan was about to ask what had happened, but she didn’t release the switch on her handset. “Chief, we have a bunch of bodies between Angela’s Diner and the hardware store, and you won’t believe what –”

  Logan glanced back at Toomey for a second, searching for a reaction. The man looked back at him, eyes wide, chin raised. That look was one of urgency and concern.

  Then he turned his attention back to the radio. “Sandy, I’m listening.”

  “It came down the wall so fast, like a man-sized spider monkey. It cut Don… Steel’s face and spat something into it. It’s like something out of a nightmare. It was a monster, Chief. I know how crazy that sounds, but it’s the only way I can describe it.” There was a tremble in her voice. “I gotta get Steel to the hospital, I can’t wait for backup.”

  He stole another look at Toomey, who was nodding his head.

  “Get the hell out of there, Sandy, I’ll dispatch EMS to Bench and Yale.” He removed his hand from the button and looked about the room. “Mick, I want everyone mobile! Westy, open the weapons lock up, and Sabrina, I need you to call everyone in. Even off the crime scene at the Sawyer and Parkins place.”

  “What about us?” Toomey asked.

  “Look, I don’t know exactly who you are, but I’m guessing you have something to do with this. As you have probably noticed we have a situation. Once that is resolved I will give you my undivided attention.”

  “You need to listen,” Proudfoot interrupted. “And we need Dan Blackbird.”

  “Stop!” Toomey interrupted. At the sound of the authority in his voice, everyone in the room stopped. “Your officer has been infected: he may pose a threat.”

  “Get Blackbird out of interview one and bring him out here,” Logan told Mick then turned back to Toomey. “What threat? He’s injured.”

  “Chief David Logan, up until now no one has listened to Dan Blackbird or us. Now you have dead in the street, your policeman killed and another infected! Do not send these people to slaughter! Now is the time to stop and listen!”

  “Everyone get ready and do as I say; prepare to jump off in five minutes.” Logan squared off with the old man. He could feel the indecision and chaos of the moment but resisted dropping his guard. “Get moving! We have two officers in need of assistance!”

  “Send someone to retrieve your wounded, but no one to the site,” Toomey whispered. “Please listen to me. I know you care about these people. I beg of you.”

  “Parking garage, five minutes! Sabrina, get the rest of our people in!”

  Toomey barked, “Fools!” He threw his hands in the air and turned to his nîyânan. “Let them die. Stupid white devils never listen, always think they are smarter. Always have to touch the flame and feel the burn!” He locked eyes with Proudfoot, who looked confused. “You will come to see us, Chief Logan. You will ask for our help after more of your people are slaughtered. Go and learn your lesson, white devil!”

  Then there was a pause, and those in the room exchanged glances between Toomey and Logan. Logan’s face hardened like stone, and they thought he might explode with anger, but instead, he let out a breath and walked to the window.

  “That was the worst case of acting I have ever seen.” Logan didn’t smile as he leaned over the counter, close enough to smell the tobacco on the old Indian’s clothes. “Okay, Mr. Toomey, you have my attention.”

  Toomey turned around and whispered, “I know your secret.”

  “What secret would that be?” Logan whispered back.

  Toomey inhaled through his nose, then trained his eyes on the burly cop. “You are in great pain, but you don’t want to take anything, because you’re scared it will cloud your judgment.” Toomey took another whiff of the air.

  Logan’s mouth dropped.

  “I can help you with this, Chief David Logan, but you have to listen. Bring us Dan Blackbird.”

  Before Logan could answer Bobby Morneau and Charlene Hampton burst through the door.

  ***

  Chapter 18 - The New Hunters [Omachiw]

  1

  It was just a grey dot on the top corner of Thomasville Hardware, but once Mick got the tripod level that would all change. They were in the bell tower of Thomasville’s First Alliance Church and from this vantage point their line of sight would be clear. The reconnaissance scope was an acquisition they had made two years earlier when they were watching the comings and goings of a suspected grow-op.

  “Almost there, Dave.” Mick was snapping the black scope on now as Logan scrutinized the grey figure. It was just too hard to tell if it was anything at all. To his right was Old Jake Toomey, who to this point had been quiet and unassuming. He too was fixated on the faraway building, waiting for the big cop to hurry up.

  Mick leveled the bubble on the tripod and aimed it at the building. He peered through the eyepiece and then recoiled. “Jesus, what the hell is that?”

  I guess this is going to be one fucked up day, Logan mused and then stepped in front of Mick to have a look for himself.

  At first, it looked like some kind of wingless gargoyle perched on the corner of the building, and he might have pegged it for a statue, except for the telltale brown that caked its rough skin. He had been on enough crime scenes to recognize the discolored stain was coagulated blood. He released the swivel nut and swung the scope downward, to the street where the bodies lay. His heart sunk when he saw the khaki pants and powder grey uniform shirt of his junior officer.

  “Pete,” he whispered and pulled his eye away. Guilt tore through him. What would he tell Pete’s fiancée, Monica?

  He felt eyes on him. It was the old man, waiting for a decision.

  The only reason they were up in this bell tower was because of what Bobby and Charlene had told them.

  “By tomorrow you’ll be begging me to help you,” Blackbird had warned.

  “Ah, shit!” Mick was back at the eyepiece, now sharing in Logan’s sorrow and sudden guilt at not listening to Blackbird.

  Poor Pete, lying out there in the str
eet, no one at his side: like bloody road kill.

  “It goes into states of reverie after it has gorged,” Toomey told them. “It will stay that way for a few hours, but then it will be ready to gorge again.”

  “We gotta go get him, Dave,” Mick cried. “We can’t just leave him out there.”

  “You should do no such thing unless you want more dead,” Toomey warned.

  “Why can’t we just go in and blow it to fucking Saturn while it’s asleep?” Mick said.

  “It’s not sleeping, and it is still very dangerous. In my childhood, I saw a young warrior killed when he approached the Walker in this state. Most likely your infected officer is only alive because it wanted to leave him that way,” Toomey wasn’t looking at Logan, but at the big scope. “May I look?”

  “Go ahead,” Logan invited. “Just close your other eye.”

  Toomey surveyed the scene, murmuring in Chocktee as he did so. He trained the sight on the Walker and took the opportunity to really examine it. “You cannot kill this Walker, Chief Logan. We can only try and send it back to where it came from.”

  “How can you be sure?” Collins asked.

  “Why?” Logan added. “Why can’t we kill it? It’s a living thing, is it not?’

  “It is an apparition, not of this world. What was once a living being was long ago consumed and discarded.” He stepped away from the surveillance scope and rubbed his right eye.

  Mick returned to the scope. “What then? What are we supposed to do?” His mind reeled. I know what I believe, and I believe what I see. I saw Kolchak get on the plane. I saw a man and woman butchered in their home and now I see poor Pete Kennedy and the rest killed in the street. He swung the scope back onto the creature. Any illusion it was a statue disappeared: it shifted. “Fuck! It just moved!”

  “We don’t have much time,” Toomey said. “We should get out of this tower before it stirs.”

  Below they stood in a loose gaggle. West kept the three officers in check. In all, nine people were waiting for them. Two officers, Jack Nero and Roy Findlay, were still dressed in civilian attire. Ken Hill was still wearing the uniform he had worn the day before when called in to do detail on the Sawyer house. His uniform was a train wreck, wrinkled, and in dire need of dry cleaning. Oddball Larson had gone to escort the EMS to Steel and Hardy.