The Equinox

by M J Preston

  Toomey blinked, and Logan wiggled his big toe. The paralysis was easing. Toomey managed a smile, a bit of drool pooling in the corner of his mouth.

  Two toes now, and a finger. Logan wondered, How long were we out? Is the creature still there? Up there on the hardware store? Or!

  Terror swept through him.

  Oh no! What if it’s standing over us!

  He struggled to bring his arm and get a look at his watch. Dread fueled anxiety, and he started working the tendons in his legs while his mind hammered away: Gotta get up! Gotta get the fuck up!

  Stay calm, Toomey’s eyes said, but he still couldn’t manage the words necessary to ease Logan’s panic. The old man moved his mouth and swallowed. His throat clicked dryly. He was even more sluggish than Logan.

  Using all his strength, Logan pulled his arm up, an invisible 100-pound weight attached to it. Overhead the sky still rolled and churned, but it had darkened. He was sure they had been gone for hours, even days. Turning his wrist he tried to focus on the face of his watch, but the light from the sky reflected across the plastic cover, making it impossible to read.

  God damn it!

  He freed his other arm, which was trapped under his body, a chunk of useless meat plagued with pins and needles. So he used his good arm to climb up. He sucked in a great breath of air and was instantly impacted with a thudding migraine.

  Logan looked around to make sure they were alone, feeling for his sidearm. They were – at least for the moment – although it hardly eased his anxiety. He desperately wanted to bound back up the church steps and into the bell tower to check the scope but knew it would be a while before he could walk normally, let alone run.

  Toomey groaned and rolled on his side.

  Poor Old Jake. This must be hurting him twice as much as me.

  He wiped off the face of his watch and pushed the button to light it.

  Eleven forty-eight, he thought. A bit of saliva ran down his cheek. “That can’t be.” The watch flipped over to 11:49 AM. So it hadn’t stopped.

  “Time moves faster over there,” croaked Toomey. “That is why young Daniel Blackbird has aged.” His back was to him, leaving Logan to wonder how Old Jake had known he was looking at his watch.

  Logan tried to stand up, stumbling at first, then using the bush guard on the car to support himself. Toomey stayed on his butt, leaning back on his hands, waiting for his body to forgive him.

  “What do we do now, Old Jake?” He rubbed his temples.

  “Standing up would be a good start,” Toomey replied. He tried to push up but stumbled backward. Logan caught him and helped him to his feet, then brushed dirt from the road off of Toomey’s shoulder.

  “My head feels like I went on a two-day bender, but according to my watch we were only out a couple minutes.” Logan was looking at his watch again. Still 11:49 AM?

  “There are no clocks where we were; that is why you feel burned out.” Toomey had the pipe in his hand again but was using a knife to clean the contaminated contents from the bowl. “If we had stayed longer you would have aged, and I would have died.”

  “I don’t think I can do that again. Shouldn’t we get going? Join the others?”

  “Shortly; we have one piece of business left.” He was burning the contents out of the bowl with his Zippo, blackening the jade pipe as he burned off the last of the creature’s blood.

  Logan wished he had a couple aspirin to chew on. “What would that be?”

  Toomey looked up from his work and took a deep breath. “I am going to give you my pipe. You will give it to Daniel when you reach the sour ground.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I am going to meet Jackanoob and lure him to the sour ground.”

  “How the hell do you intend to do that?”

  “The devil is in the details,” Toomey laughed, looking up at his newfound brother. “I am going to invite him.”

  6

  They were driving on Bench Road toward the massacre at Angela’s Diner and passed more people standing motionless on each side of the road. Logan wondered if they could see what was happening in the sky if the anomaly was showing up everywhere.

  It stretches from horizon to horizon. Is this happening around the world?

  “It is,” Toomey answered. “But only we can see it.”

  “This happens every year, but we don’t see it.”

  “Twice, and yes, but do not feel bad Dave; none of my people except the chosen ones have had this type of vision. The walls have thinned, and the struggle is at a standstill: the light and the dark are equal.” Toomey was reaching into his jacket now, pulling out a smaller pipe and the sachets containing the herbs and tobacco. “You know something I have come to love in this life, Dave.”

  “What?”

  “Movies. That is the one good thing you white devils brought to this land. Last year Johnny Proudfoot saw that my VHS tape machine died and bought me a DVD player and about forty movies.”

  “What kind of movies?” Logan was thinking about the Little Big Horn reference.

  “All kinds: war, comedy, a couple of good Westerns – but the Indians always get the shaft. Did you ever see the movie Prime Cut?”

  “No, can’t say I have.”

  “It’s a crime movie where an evil cattle rancher grinds his competition up in a sausage making machine. Lee Marvin was the leading man, and Gene Hackman plays the bad guy. You look a lot like Lee Marvin in that movie Dave, but…”

  “Yeah, I know. Fatter.”

  “Well that too, but I was going to say you are a man of many layers. Marvin always looks angry or doubtful. That is the real difference between you two. You look like a thinker. I can tell from your people that you are a good Elder.”

  “Elder? I never thought about myself that way.”

  They were three blocks away.

  “This will be good. Pull the car over. I must walk from here.”

  Logan pulled the car to the curb, put it in the park and looked up the road. He wanted to go and see. He felt a hand touch his and turned to see that Toomey was handing him the satchel. “I don’t feel right about you going up there alone, Old Jake.”

  “This is a walk I must take alone. I have my business, you have yours.” He placed the leather satchel in his hand. “Before you get to the sour ground smoke a bit of the herb in the satchel. It should see you through your end of this business.”

  “I’m not going to see you again.” Logan placed his own hand over the old man’s.

  “Yes, you will; just not in this world.” And with that Toomey released his hand, opened the car door and got out. “I am an old man whose friends have left this earth to run through the passage into the next world. It is my time.” There was no fear on the old Indian’s face: his eyes were bright, his demeanor cheerful. His hand settled onto Logan’s right shoulder. “It has been my pleasure to have known you in this world, and I will promise you one thing before I go.”

  “What is that?” Logan asked.

  “When your time comes, I will meet you in the passage and lead you to the next world. There we will make palaver.” Toomey released his shoulder then. “Give the pipe to Daniel Blackbird. He is the Chief Elder of our people now. He will lead the council until the breath is gone from his body.”

  And Toomey closed the door.

  Watching the old man walk up the hill, Logan felt a bit like crying. Old Jake raised his hand over his head, palm open, but did not look back. Logan put the car in drive but held the brake as he continued to watch Toomey depart. The old Indian kept moving, and though Logan wanted to see him disappear he knew the time was short, and he had other people who needed him.

  “Goodbye, Old Jake,” he said and started for the sour ground.

  ***

  Chapter 20 - The Drums of Chocktee

  1

  “Oh Spiri
t Mother, be my eyes, be my ears, be my strength as I walk forth toward the darkness,” Toomey chanted in Chocktee, cresting the hill where Hardy and Steel had arrived a few hours earlier. Both Steel and Kennedy’s cruisers were still sitting on the hill, silent witnesses to the events of that morning. Toomey did not feel fear; he already knew the outcome. “Protect my brothers and sisters as they stand strong before the darkness Show them the way and the light.”

  “Igasho,” the creature hissed from above.

  Toomey looked up to see it peering down at him from the perch it had taken on the hardware store. “Igasho was my great-grandfather; my name is Jake Toomey, Jackanoob.”

  “Jackanoob is dead. You look like Igasho, but he would not be so stupid to walk here alone.” The walker seemed serene, in the mood for conversation. “What would possess you to come into my midst unarmed?”

  “I come with a message for you and a call to challenge.”

  It scrambled down the wall in a blur, blowing past him and perching atop Kennedy’s police car. “A challenge? You must think me stupid.”

  “The hunter calls you to the sour ground where you killed those boys between the stalks of corn. There he will face you.” Toomey would not look directly into its eyes, instead focusing on the creature’s cavernous mouth.

  “Why would I go there when there is so much to eat here? I gave the hunter a chance to walk away; he chose to ignore it. I will be eating the prey of this world long after his bones turn to dust.” It wiped the spittle from its chin and smiled.

  “No, Jackanoob. You will go.”

  The creature cackled a piercing shriek that spun out in a ripple of octaves.

  2

  Logan was two miles away from Hopper’s farm when he felt the pain erupt in his chest. It was back, and it had come with a furious vengeance that almost made him crash the car.

  This is how it will feel in the end, he thought. An assault of agonizing torture until I either have to be so doped up that I’m in diapers or crying like a baby.

  He hated not being able to control this, at its mercy whenever to reared its ugly head. He pulled the car over and leaned back in the seat. To his right on the bench seat, laid the satchel of herbs Toomey had left him. The second pipe was lashed onto the satchel with a piece of cord made from animal hide.

  Gotta be quick about this.

  He filled the pipe.

  3

  The party at Hopper’s farm spread out into a circle. Daniel Blackbird stood in the center, holding his grandfather’s walking stick and waiting for death to come calling. The abandoned farm looked like a battlefield scored by tire tracks and gravesites that could have passed for abandoned trenches. The smell of death had definitely soured the earth here, and all around him and beneath his feet he could feel evil.

  He was surrounded by them, secretly lurking in the shadows, forming an inner cordon, while Proudfoot set up an outer cordon with the other three members of the Chocktee council. He was the nucleus of this mad plan, hoping to draw it into the circle so they would trap it – but this was not the Spirit Woods of Chocktee. Even with the magic in the sky and whatever plan Toomey had hatched he wondered if they would be able to send it back.

  He fully expected to die on this day and that his journey would come to an end. Like Old Jake Toomey, he had little trouble with this idea but hoped that he would right the wrong.

  Above them, the sky churned and rolled, green light dancing with blue, sentries of white moving dangerously like vessels in a fog bank. The struggle between dark and light had reached equal, and – for the moment at least – it halted.

  In the wood line where Derek Wakeman had first seen Hopper burying his secrets stood Jim West. Twenty-five feet to his right was Hardy, and so it went as they surrounded him. Blackbird guessed the creature would come by flight, so the men behind him who did not have the overhead cover of woods were hidden in every place imaginable. Oddball was standing in the grave of the fourteenth boy, an old tarpaulin bundled up over him. To some, this prospect might have seemed unthinkable, but for Oddball it was the most logical place for an ambush.

  The sky overhead was darkening. A fork of lightning flashed, and rain began to fall. Mercifully it came slowly at first, pattering against his jacket and the ground, breaking the intense.

  West had two things on his mind while they waited.

  First, he was worried about Don Steel. They had been friends for years, always taking potshots at each other, but he was his best friend. West had known about the romance with Hardy long before anyone else. He was surprised to see Hardy show up with Oddball when they did. If he had not known better, he would have judged her as being cold, but Hardy was the best thing to happen to Don.

  The second was whether he had taken a leap of fate without really thinking through what he was getting himself into. Kenny Hill’s judgment dug into him. They had both attended church every Sunday and held onto the idea that Christ was the son of God. Nobody comes to the Father except through me, he thought. Have I abandoned my savior? Am I being duped by false prophets? God, give me guidance in these unchartered waters.

  Though West pondered heavy questions, Hardy did not. She only hoped they had gotten Steel into the emergency, wanted desperately to go with him – but the mother had insisted she come. At the moment she fainted she had been told by a woman that she must come here for the sake of her child and the people. That was why she had insisted they leave Don with the ambulance attendants and get to the Chief and the others.

  “You are the key,” said the mother. “You must be there.”

  She did not speak about this, only telling Oddball that they had to come and nothing more.

  “For your child and mine,” the mother had urged. She did not know what she meant by ‘mine’ until she saw Blackbird standing there when they rolled up. The resemblance was there in the eyes, and even though one of his had fogged over, she immediately recognized the shape of his face and understood this was her son. If she had not been so wrought with fear and confusion, she might have said something, but now was not the time.

  Mick was positioned between a front end loader and a bulldozer that was going to be used to level the ground once the police department completed its tasks here. After witnessing the carnage at Angela’s, Mick wondered if this place would become another killing ground and if he and the rest of them would be collected as evidence after the foreseeable confrontation was over. All of this was so alien to him. He was trying to come to terms with it but didn’t think he ever would. He worried about Nancy and hoped she was still indoors. He puzzled over Logan’s seeming acceptance of this madness.

  What the hell was with him anyway?

  He had seen the grey thing move, but this was just all too crazy. Now as the rain tapped away at the earth and the sky churned and pulsed he began to question whether his hold onto sanity had faltered somewhere along the line.

  “Wait until it is in the circle,” Proudfoot had said.

  “You will find a cadence, a whisper that is in unison with those to the left and the right. Great Spirit God,” Blackbird told them. “No matter what you see or hear, friend or foe, do not break the circle! It is a master of manipulation.”

  “What if someone is attacked or injured?” Mick asked.

  “That is how it will try and betray our circle. No matter what, stand firm.”

  “Even if someone dies?” Hardy inquired.

  “Yes, even if I am killed, or you, or you!” He pointed a finger indiscriminately at the members of his audience. “No matter what, we cannot let it escape.”

  Where the fuck are you, Dave? You should be here with us, showing leadership instead of leaving your people in the trust of strangers. Mick felt guilty for thinking this way but thought so just the same.

  After that they took up their positions, arranging into a circle at Mick’s direction from Blackbird’s side. It was easy unt
il Oddball climbed into the grave. That caught Mick off-guard: but there was nowhere else to hide.

  Blackbird reached and touched his arm. “When it comes it will be fast and furious. It may appear as Old Jake or Chief Logan. Do not be fooled. Once in the circle, it can only influence us; we must not break the circle.”

  Mick nodded and made his way over to the front end loader.

  “Now what?” Findlay called from his spot.

  “Now we wait.”

  4

  Logan slumped across the steering wheel, a wave of relief flowing over him. The herbs pushed the mutating cells and their pain back.

  Where have you been all my life?

  The clarity he felt was astounding. With the Percocet, his skin itched, and he felt out of control. This was heaven sent: no drowsiness or impaired judgment; just a switch that shut down the pain. Toomey was in the wrong business: he could make a mint from this stuff. He thought about the old man walking away, open hand raised and again felt like crying.

  He’s going to his death, and I let him.

  Get to your people, Dave, Toomey’s voice commanded.

  Logan jumped, spilling the contents of the satchel onto the seat and knocking the pipe onto the floor. He reached down over the seat, feeling the shotgun bracket dig into his side as he cleaned up his clumsiness. “I’m going, Old Jake.”

  5

  “You will go, Jackanoob.”

  “Why?” It shifted slightly, still lethargic from the morning feed. “Why would I go?”

  “Because you want him to stop.”

  “He’ll be dead in no time.”

  “But the others won’t.”

  “I’m not one to be bluffed, Jake Toomey. I could remove the top of your head and let out all the lies.”

  “I do not lie, Jackanoob.” Toomey brought a finger up to the mark on his face. “Ten hunters, ready to follow you to all ends of the world.”