The Equinox

by M J Preston

  “I do.” Logan leaned forward.

  Toomey brushed the feather across Logan’s cheek, making a half-inch smear and he felt it freeze his skin. Even though pain erupted again in his chest, he did not speak. His head became light, and he did not see or hear anything but the words of the old Indian.

  “You are a good Elder, David Logan. The spirits and the Guardians embrace and now call upon you. The mark bonds you with my people. You are now a Chocktee, as are all others who step forward from your band.” Toomey placed a warm, smooth hand upon Logan’s cheek. “When I am done with the others, come back. We must make palaver together, and I will give you something for the pain which plagues you.”

  Mick followed Logan, not because he was a team player, but because of his wife Nancy and the fear that she might fall victim to what had killed Pete Kennedy.

  Toomey gave each man a choice, and each took the oath for their own reasons.

  “I am a Christian, Jake Toomey. Am I damning my soul?” West asked after accepting the terms of the pact.

  “You are a good man, Jim West, and I could not poison that goodness. Only you can do that.” Toomey smiled his kind smile, touched the feather to West’s cheek, then added, “Call me Old Jake. We are brothers now.”

  Nero and Findlay also stepped up. They could feel the change and knew that there was no turning back.

  When it was over, they all bore a similar mark on their cheek. All but one. Ken Hill would not participate in the ritual.

  “I can’t do this,” he protested, torn between his faith and the brotherhood of the police detachment. He shook his head look around guilty. “I… I just can’t, Chief. Sarge, none of us should be doing this.”

  “It’s okay, Ken. Nobody is forcing anybody to do anything,” Mick reassured him.

  “I’m sorry. It’s the blood; I can’t risk it. Risk my soul.” He was shrill, defensive and then accusatory. “Quite frankly, Jim West I am surprised at you.”

  “Really?” West said.

  “Have you forgotten about the church?” But his tone was already slipping. “This….. this is a sin against God!”

  West said, “Ken, I understand your fear. I am scared too but look around. There are no passages in the bible about skinwalkers or native ritual. That leaves me questioning whether my faith is 100% accurate. From what I’ve seen today I can’t say that anymore.”

  “Don’t say that! You are the most decent man I know! Don’t be taken in by this.”

  “Now just a bloody minute,” Logan piped up. “Nobody is taking anyone in, and nobody is forcing anything on anybody!”

  Hill dismissed Logan as if he weren’t there. “Jim, we can still walk away from this!”

  “Young man,” Toomey interrupted. “You have seen the creature, what it has done.”

  “Those who take the mark of the beast are damned to serve him on earth and in hell. You are marking them with the blood of the beast. It has been prophesized.”

  Hill was backing away from them now.

  “Go! We do not have time for a bible lesson. Go to your people; we don’t need you,” Toomey dismissed. “Time is short.”

  Hill gave West one last disapproving glance and headed for the police car. He walked on, waiting for them to stop him from leaving, but they didn’t. Instead, they watched him go, some questioning their own judgment, the Chocktee dismissing him.

  “Well, that was fun,” Logan said. “Anyone else?” As soon as he had uttered it, he felt a twinge of remorse. Hill was a good man, a good husband, and father and it was unfair to judge him this way.

  No one spoke. The sounds from the sky above echoed and clanked inside their heads as the walls continued to thin. It was a chorus of clattering, some mechanical, others explosive. Whatever it was that moved behind the membrane that rippled across the heavens was intensifying.

  “We must draw it back to the sour ground,” repeated Toomey, breaking their thoughts and silencing the chorus inside their heads.

  “You keep saying that. Sour ground, what does that mean?” Collins asked. He brought his hand up to touch the mark, then thought better of it.

  “A place where evil lingers; a place no man should care to step,” Blackbird said without looking. “The only question is how.”

  “Hopper’s cornfield,” Logan said.

  “Yes, that is the place where we must confront it,” Toomey said. “Jim West, you will take my five brothers to this cornfield. There John Proudfoot will direct you.” Toomey pointed to the members of his band. “You must go now.”

  7

  Oddball and the paramedics lifted Steel into the ambulance as Hardy stood a safe distance away. He had told her not to get too close in case he awoke again. She held one hand protectively over her belly. She loved Don Steel, but whatever that thing had done to him could not be allowed to harm their unborn child.

  “Alright, you’re going to take him straight through to Thomasville General and no removing his straps under any circumstances,” Oddball ordered.

  “Are you two going to escort us?” Willy asked.

  “No; we’ve got other business.”

  “What other business?”

  Oddball shook his head impatiently, then pointed up toward the sky which was now turning dark ashen grey. He locked eyes with Willy and said, “You take care of my friend, but don’t dare take those straps off.”

  The other paramedic aptly named Panty Waist was standing impatiently by the driver’s door. “Come on, Willy, let’s go!”

  Willy climbed into the back of the ambulance and Oddball grabbed the door to close it. Just before shutting it he leaned in and handed the taser gun over. “No stops. He breaks loose you fucking zap him.” Then he slammed the door, and the ambulance pulled away. He turned to Hardy, who watched the ambulance depart, regret radiated across her face. She had no choice. They had to join the Chief and the others because whatever that was on top of Randy Maytum’s hardware store was going to be waking up very soon.

  “Get in,” Oddball said, and opened the driver’s door of his cruiser. She climbed in, still watching as the ambulance rounded the corner with the father of her unborn child – and then it was out of sight.

  Please don’t let him die, she thought.

  “Okay, they said they were heading to the old church, so that’s where we’re heading.” Oddball picked up the radio handset. “Base, come in!”

  “Go ahead, Keith.” It was Sabrina; she was the only one on the force who called him that.

  “Verify Chief and party are still at the old church?”

  “Roger that. They are static at the moment.”

  “Copy that. Corporal Steel is on his way to Thomas Gen, and we are headed to Chief’s location. Please notify me of any changes.”

  Oddball hung the handset up, his heart pumping now, the adrenaline making him shake a bit. Most people would be ready to break down, but Oddball Larson was wound up and lived for this type of excitement. A former member of the Airborne, Oddball, was what most considered a hair on the crazy side. He didn’t look the part, but his gangly arms were wiry bands of steel beneath the Thomasville Police uniform, and he was deadly with numerous weapons. A marksman with both a pistol and rifle, Oddball was still an active reservist who had served in Afghanistan. When he came home, he was greeted by his friends and family, who looked upon his voluntary tour as a necessity of service.

  Truth be known, he couldn’t wait to go back.

  “Oh my God,” Hardy mumbled.

  Scores of townspeople lined the streets as they moved down Yale Road East. They looked like they were getting ready for the Santa Claus parade, except for the fact that all of them were listening to the skies now and with good reason. It was turning from ashen grey to dark blue and black. The clouds which rolled and churned looked surreal, moving as though behind an enormous pane of glass. The sky appeared liquid. Drops
and waves distorted the panoramic view, dancing to the dead silence uninterrupted by even a whisper of wind. In the darkness below the liquid sky were lights which moved chaotically. Any minute now she thought the four horsemen of the apocalypse would break out of the clouds and let loose the end times.

  “Woe to you, oh earth and sea,” Oddball whispered.

  Hardy gave him a disapproving and frightened look.

  “What?” He smiled his boneyard smile, then frowned. “Bad timing.”

  They rolled past the members of their community. None turned away from the sky to even consider the police car. In their group was the coroner Jeff Henderson, standing there hypnotized, still wearing his lab smock and a pair of bloodied surgical gloves.

  “No shit, Oddball. Get us to the Chief.”

  8

  Mick tried to call Nancy, but she didn’t answer. None of them were answering their phones, and this had all more than a little worried. “I can’t raise her.”

  “Me either,” Nero said, lowering the cell phone from his ear.

  Each of them was becoming increasingly agitated and distracted. Logan was about to call his ex-wife on his cell, but Toomey placed a hand over his. He snapped the phone shut and put it in his pocket.

  The calls were getting through, but no one was answering; they were all in the streets lining the roadways, standing on their porches and in their fields watching the skies, spellbound. Nancy Collins stood outside the veterinary clinic, holding a ringing cell phone absently. A block and a half down stood Jeff Henderson who had the blood of Frank Sawyer drying on the latex gloves he wore. The others, including Judy Nero, stood next to Bobby Morneau and Charlene Hampton, who had tried to make a getaway but were drawn to the crowds. All were transfixed, succumbing to the chorus of rattles and bangs, lulled into a state of waking sleep as the walls continued to thin.

  Even Sabrina stepped out into the street when she saw the crowd gathering, and when she gazed upward she heard the sounds and felt herself being lulled into darkness.

  She never got her call through to Logan.

  “Your families are fine,” Toomey soothed. “They are standing in awe of the coming storm, but our time is short. Mick Collins, I need you and Jim West to accompany my people to the sour ground. Daniel, you will wait for him there. Johnny Proudfoot will direct the rest of you what to do.” Now Toomey was ordering them, taking charge. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the Walker awakened from its slumber – and then it would be too late. “Chief Logan, tell them.”

  “Mick, saddle up! Get these people moving!”

  Mick came to life then, putting his trust in his friend and boss while praying he wouldn’t live to regret it.

  “Let’s go,” he barked. “You heard the Chief!”

  They all began mounting cars. When Logan stepped forward to get in his, Toomey placed a hand on his arm.

  “No, we are staying here. We still have business.”

  “Dave,” Mick called after him.

  “Go. We’ll be along soon.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. You take Blackbird and the others to Hopper’s farm, and we’ll join you when we’re done here.” Logan looked past Mick to see Oddball and Hardy rolling up and asked Toomey. “What about them?’

  Overhead the sky darkened even more as the cruiser came to a stop. Oddball jumped out first and gave the Chief a queer look. “You got something on your face, Chief.”

  Logan touched the mark absently. “How’s Don?”

  “Headed for Thomasville General. Some spooky shit going on there, but then it looks as though you have had your fill, too.” Oddball looked at Toomey. “Hey, he’s got a mark on his face too.”

  “We all have, Oddball,” Mick chimed in, then turned to Logan and Toomey. “What do we do now?”

  “Come here,” Toomey called to Oddball and Hardy, pulling out the feather and vial once more. He had been quick to mark them, no longer showing patience or offering warm words or wisdom. He was about as subtle as the preacher performing a wedding ceremony in a church that is on fire. “You are the keepers of the ritual and hunters. You are all brothers and sisters bound by the oath of blood,” he said, dabbed them both, and then ordered: “Now go with them.”

  ***

  Chapter 19 - Blood and Smoke

  1

  The convoy pushed south-east, away from town and toward the sour ground of Hopper’s farm. As they drove, scores of men and women stood like scarecrows by the road, staring toward the sky as it continued its dance of light and liquid.

  “Holy shit,” Mick gasped to Blackbird. “Is this real?”

  “It’s real,” Blackbird replied, and Mick could see he was crying. He didn’t ask why; he just watched the police vehicles behind him and the SUV filled with native men who looked to be from a different time.

  Then on the side of the road, facing in the same direction as they, was a car he recognized. Standing in front of it were three figures: a husband, wife, and son. On the back bumper, a sticker proclaimed: We visited the Devil’s Tower! Beside that, another sticker said: Jesus is coming! Are you ready? That and the luggage Donald Wakeman had tied firmly to the roof of his car was a dead giveaway. Guess you might get to meet the Messiah today, Wakeman – or maybe the Anti-Christ. He glanced at them through the rearview mirror as they passed. They stood as stiff as mannequins.

  “You know them?” Blackbird asked.

  “Yeah. The boy is the one who saw Hopper burying Tommy Parkins.”

  “I see.” Blackbird gripped the diamond willow stick in both hands. “When we get there you will need to help me to the center of that field.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m the bait.”

  2

  Lighting a cigar, Logan watched his people go and wondered if he would ever see them again. The pain which he had kept so well hidden dragged over the center of his chest like jagged fingernails.

  Toomey was looking up at him: the old man wanted one of his cigars. Logan reached into his breast pocket and pulled one out.

  “Did anyone ever tell you,” Toomey said, puffing on the cigar after lighting up with an old Zippo, “that you look kind of like Lee Marvin, but fatter?” On the lighter was a weathered logo. Just above Toomey’s thumb, he read the worn lettering: Recon 101 and below that: Shock Force.

  Logan chuckled, forgetting the lighter. “Well, you’re too short for Chief Dan George.”

  Toomey blew out a smoke ring and smiled. “Ah yes, Little Big Man. White Devil’s being taught lessons. Again.” He smiled and lifted a thumb to show his approval, but there really was no malice in the statement. There were many layers to Old Jake Toomey. He was a leader, an Elder, a warrior, a mind reader and now it appeared he was also a comedian. Logan felt at ease with this old Indian.

  “What now, Old Jake?” he asked.

  “How long will it take them to get to the farm?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  Logan had an idea they would not be following them.

  “That should be enough time.”

  Toomey reached under his shirt and produced a leather satchel the size of a clutch purse and set it on the hood of the cruiser. From it, he pulled four smaller bags, each decorated with their own colored beads. He then pulled out a small pipe, approximately six inches long and fashioned from a piece of jade. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship, polished green and round in its neck where the cup had been carved out. It was solid jade: not a vein of any other rock or mineral tainted its purity. Toomey placed this, too, on the hood. Then he set down the vial of blood.

  “I promised you that I would help you with your pain, and I always keep my word, Chief David Logan.”

  Logan considered the pipe, the urge to resist smoking something that could quite possibly be illegal. This tugged at his conscience. Even as the scourge of death
ran through his body, the skies overhead churned and flashed and in the center of town the street looked like a war zone. Even now he was thinking like a cop. And why not? That was who he was.

  But the jagged fingernails dug into his sternum again, reminding him that the agony would only get worse – so he decided to accept the old Indian’s magic.

  “Alright, Old Jake. I’ll smoke some of that stuff, but from here on call me Dave or Chief.”

  “The smoking of the pipe has been a ritual with my people longer than I can even begin to tell you.” He was stuffing bits of tobacco from each satchel into the cup, not looking up, concentrating on the amounts. “This pipe has been passed from one Elder to the next and will leave my hand for the next in line when it is my time to join my brothers and sisters in the passage.”

  “The passage?”

  He was lifting the pipe now, pressing the contents down into the cup with his index finger. “Yes. When the Spirit Mother calls, I will be beckoned to the passage, where my brothers and sisters will guide me to the Guardians. The passage is very beautiful. It is a portico between this world and the next.”

  Logan watched the old man lift the pipe up and flip open the Zippo lighter. He snapped the flint wheel as he had done thousands of times before. The contents glowed blood orange, and the sweet smell was inviting to even the most hardcore anti-smoker.

  “Is this going to dope me up, Old Jake?”

  “No. It will open your mind and release you from any pain or anxiety.” Toomey smiled and took a deep draw, filling his lungs to capacity. He then handed it across to his new friend as he expelled the smoke. “Draw deeply… Dave.”

  Taking the artifact in his hand, he was amazed at its weight and feel. When he raised it to his lips, he felt the moisture left behind from Toomey’s draw. He checked the time. His watch read 11:45. Then he drew on the pipe. He expected he would cough at first, but it was smooth, non–intrusive, and a wave rolled over him that was reminiscent of the days when he and his high school friends blasted hash in the garage of his teenage pal Brian Burke.