The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wanda

  As I plodded towards the entrance to the ice rink, I puked, missing Warnick’s boots.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No Weezer for you.”

  He helped me through the doorway and led me to the counter, where Eddie waited with my skates. The old man had gotten me the best pair he could find—black leather with red trim and white laces. He even had polished them.

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  He couldn’t look me in the eye. That’s when I knew Chavez had something special cooked up for me. As I walked away, the old man said, “See you, Dave.”

  Putting on my skates, I noticed the mood was subdued—or it might have been in my head. Warnick stood nearby talking with Estrada like they were old friends. Weird. Then Chavez came over.

  “You never meant for us to survive,” I said. “Except Warnick. Or are you saving him for later?” I knew this was the last thing Warnick wanted me to say to this guy, but I didn’t care.

  Chavez looked at me, his jovial grin hardening into a look of resentment. “Everyone has the same chance. The strongest will survive. Just the way it is.”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  I picked through the weapons in the equipment bags but didn’t see anything I liked. If I was going to die, I wanted to go out my way. The crap in those bags wouldn’t help me. I needed a better weapon.

  “Hey, Enrique,” I said. Chavez glared at me. “I want my axe.” As he stood there, I held my ground. “Look, I get this is all a show. Let me give you one.”

  He eyes drifted to Warnick and Estrada. I could tell from his expression that it wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other. Let this dumb bastard think he’s got a chance. It will make his death even sweeter. Whatever.

  “Hang on,” he said, and called Estrada over.

  We waited as another soldier left the rink.

  “Can I see your Bible?” I said to Warnick. Then I flipped through it, looking for strength.

  Fifteen minutes later, the soldier was back with my axe. By now those in the bleachers had settled down. I was actually happy as I walked towards the ice. Once inside, I skated fast around the rink, swinging the axe in each hand. Axes are much heavier than hockey sticks, and I had to work on my balance. But the feeling was exhilarating.

  It felt good to be on the ice. I remembered suiting up, putting on my helmet and going up against guys twice my size. It occurred to me I’d never in my life felt as free as when I played hockey. Why did I ever give it up for drinking?

  I pushed the bad feelings deep down inside and focused on skating. The only things that mattered were the ice, my axe and whatever was about to come through those doors.

  Chavez signaled for the draggers to be brought in. The emergency doors opened, but this time there was no cheering. I couldn’t make out the four figures backlit by the sun. Was this a mistake? Had they run low on combatants?

  As they entered, I made out three soldiers leading in a single female pulling against the catch pole like an enraged animal. Something about her. As she came into the light of the rink, I stumbled. This was what they were saving for me. This was how I would die.

  “We thought you’d enjoy mixing it up with Wanda,” Chavez said, laughing and touching Estrada’s shoulder in a way that was a little too familiar. “This little beauty took out eight of my men before we caught her. I won’t tell you how many she killed in the rink. It would only depress you.”

  I recognized the torn, blood-soaked clothes. The skin had mummified to a dark, leathery sheen. Thin strands of dirty brown hair adorned the mostly bald head, which was scarred and dented. The eyes protruded from their sockets, twitchy and searching. The nose had long since fallen off, and the lips had shrunk back savagely, revealing daggerlike teeth.

  Missy.

  They dragged her to the center of the rink as I skated around counterclockwise. My heart was in my throat, and I struggled to breathe. But I kept skating, trying to escape the death I knew awaited me.

  “She’s not like the others,” Chavez said. “We figured you already had an advantage, being a hockey player and all. We’re evening out the odds a little.”

  Soldiers hooted and whistled in the bleachers. Then they chanted, “Wan-DA! Wan-DA!”

  Missy’s dead eyes scanned me. I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition. Was it possible she recognized me? She shrieked so loudly everyone had to cover their ears. But it wasn’t the ungodly sound I’d come to dread. It was a name—my name.

  “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!” the voice said, sounding like red-hot bearings in a burned-out motor.

  “What the hell?” someone said. Then cruel laughter. “Does she know him? Aw, man. This is awesome!”

  On cue, the person in the sound booth put on Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” and everyone screamed with approval.

  My blood went ice-cold, and I almost crashed headlong into a wall and had to scramble to regain my balance. I knew that, even dead, Missy would never stop till she killed me. She was my sin calling to me—every wrong thing I’d ever done. The drinking, the bad grades, the abuse I hurled at my parents. Betraying Holly.

  I felt I wanted to accept my punishment and die. But something in me brought back the words Warnick had spoken.

  Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry.

  They were words that made me think I still had something worthwhile to do in this life, something precious to live for.

  Lie not one to another, seeing that ye have put off the old man with his deeds;

  Maybe it was better to stay alive asking for forgiveness than to die without it. Holly and Griffin were out there somewhere—I felt it. If Landry was right, I could still help them.

  And have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that created him.

  I needed to stay alive for them. With all my heart, I wanted to make amends. So I skated away as Missy lunged towards me. My chest was tight. A red band of blood pressed my eyes, almost blinding me. All I thought of was getting away from this terror-inducing demon that wanted to destroy me.

  Missy stopped as I whipped around the rink faster and faster. She seemed to be calculating where I’d be in the next few seconds. Then she leapt through the air towards me. The soldiers in the bleachers went wild. This was the show they’d been waiting for. As I skated past, I saw Warnick watching me, holding his Bible in both hands.

  There was no way to run out the clock. I glanced up and saw ninety seconds had passed. I had to decide. So I attacked.

  I did a quick hockey stop, sending a shower of ice at the wall. Missy hurtled towards me as if running on grass. I raised my axe and waited—waited those impossible few seconds—as she lunged at me. At the last moment, I shifted sideways and brought the axe down hard, taking off most of her left arm, which threw her off balance and sent her spinning into a fall and sliding hard into the wall as I skated away.

  “Keep her in front of you,” Warnick said.

  An excellent reminder, because as she came at me again, I skated backwards hard. Everyone in the stands stood, mesmerized by the death match. I’d have to turn around soon or risk crashing into a wall myself. Breathing deep, I spun and stopped cold.

  Missy was closer than I realized, and I didn’t have time to raise my axe. I whacked her hard in the face with the handle, making a crunching noise. Her jaw hung open, revealing more deadly black teeth. She grabbed the axe and tried taking it away from me. Her grip was incredible.

  Gripping both ends of the axe, I dropped to my knees and hit the ice, throwing Missy over my head and behind me. People screamed, delirious at the spectacle. Then I stood and skated backwards in the other direction, taking care to keep the demon in my sight.

  Six minutes to go.

  I was exhausted. I needed to rest, but there was no time. She was already back on her feet a
nd coming at me. My only hope was to take off the other arm—or her head.

  Chavez was right, she wasn’t like any of the others. She was cunning. It didn’t matter whether I feinted left or right. She always matched me, almost anticipating me. She was like a heat-sensing device that didn’t lose its target. The crowd booed, impatient for blood.

  Then I remembered something.

  When I was little, I didn’t start out playing hockey. I took figure skating. There must be something I could use. Though I wore the wrong kind of skates, I had to try. As Missy came at me, I spun. She didn’t appear to understand what had changed and kept coming. As I went faster and faster, I held the axe out. She lunged at me, and I caught the other arm and sliced it off clean, like a butcher cutting up a pig.

  I stopped and saw her spinning away from me, armless and shrieking with fury. She came at me again, but all she could do was sink her teeth into me. I had to finish her.

  There was silence in the room as I waited for her to close in. Then I crushed her kneecap, causing her to fall forward. As her head went down and forward, I swung the axe hard, finding the neck and taking off the head. It went skittering across the ice.

  I skated backwards, the head rolling after me, the jaws still snapping. As the head came to a stop near the wall, the hate-filled eyes stared up at me.

  It’s not true what they say about the undead, that they retain nothing of their former selves. Though they are no longer capable of rational thought, some of their old personality still remains. Like Missy. It reminds us that they once were people with dreams and memories.

  I split the skull in two. Then I skated towards Chavez.

  The music had stopped. Everyone was silent as I made my way to the exit. Sweat poured down my face, blinding me. At first I didn’t see Chavez pointing his weapon at me. When I saw him, I stopped on the ice and stared.

  “It was like I said, wasn’t it? I wasn’t supposed to make it.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Chavez said, taking aim at my head.

  I didn’t close my eyes. I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

  Estrada appeared suddenly and swung the pipe wrench hard, connecting with the back of Chavez’s head and sending him forward in a spray of blood. Estrada stared down at the psychopath as he struggled to understand what had happened.

  “Dude,” Chavez said in a thick voice, blood gushing from his nostrils, unaware of the severity of his injury.

  As I left the rink, others swarmed from all sides, surrounding Estrada and Chavez. I couldn’t see. I forced my way in next to Warnick, where I found Chavez convulsing on the ground and gurgling helplessly. Though the entire back of his head was crushed, exposing pink, pulsating brain, amazingly he still tried to get to his feet. No one did anything to help. They watched as the life bled out of him.

  Estrada still held the bloody pipe wrench. As Warnick moved closer, she let the weapon slip from her bloody fingers.

  Lying still and scared, Chavez looked younger than I thought he was. He reminded me of a frightened child.

  Something had gone horribly wrong in the time that Black Dragon had been here. A madness had taken over some. It manifested itself in Chavez, the bloodthirsty leader of a band of violence-prone acolytes. But without him, the rest of them no longer had any conviction. I looked around at the faces of these young soldiers. Not a single one of them had the stomach for it anymore.

  Chavez’s eyes fluttered a few times, then he closed them for good. Blood pooled around him like oil from a shallow well. It set him apart from the other soldiers. It made him different and unwanted. Estrada unholstered her weapon, aimed it and sent a bullet into the soldier’s broken head, silencing those evil internal voices forever.

  Warnick looked at me, then at the rest of the soldiers. “Listen up,” he said. “We’re putting this house in order.” Then to Estrada, “You okay?”

  Estrada nodded, stunned by what she’d done.

  I felt old, like I’d lived through a hundred years of war in a few weeks. Somewhere out there Holly and Griffin were fighting for their lives. And I needed them alive—especially Holly.

  I needed her to forgive me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Burning Men

  No one knew how many soldiers had survived in Tres Marias, but our group consisted of fewer than a hundred. We spent the next two days cleaning up their mess. I didn’t want to be here. I needed to search for Holly and Griffin. Warnick reminded me that, without the Black Dragon’s protection, I wouldn’t succeed. More to the point, I’d be dead at the hands of either the nailheads or the draggers.

  Warnick assigned crews to assess each of the buildings in the office park. He and I stuck together, taking a few men with us. Estrada took charge of the rest. Though she’d saved me, I didn’t trust her. She’d gone along with everything that maniac Chavez had cooked up, and now she felt remorse. Warnick looked at it differently. He saw in Estrada a woman who’d made wrong choices in order to stay alive. On second thought, I could relate to that.

  Many of the buildings housed the soldiers, but a few had been designated as storage units for the bodies of the victims who’d fought draggers in the ice rink. There were close to a hundred of them.

  We learned that Keller—the cocky kid from the ice rink—was an intern working for Black Dragon. In reality, no civilian except me had survived the games. The rest had been meat for the draggers.

  The rotting bodies stank. In the first building we entered, some vomited from the smell. We retreated, slathered our noses in Vicks VapoRub, put on particle masks and returned to ensure nothing was living. We thought about carrying the bodies out to be burned in the parking lot, but there were too many. So we brought in fuel cans and rigged them with explosives.

  After I don’t know how many hours, we had one building left to check—way in the back near the ice rink. Though other soldiers had warned us, we were exhausted and walked in.

  We almost died.

  Draggers wandered from one end of the open floor to the other. This was where the soldiers had housed them for the tournaments.

  As soon as we saw them, we slipped out. It was too risky to try to shoot them all—there were too many places inside for them to hide. We decided to rid ourselves of them all at once. But how? Then it came to us.

  We brought in huge drums filled with gasoline, placed them around the building and rigged them to explode. We knew once one of the buildings caught fire it would spread to the others, which were already booby-trapped. We intended to burn the entire office park to the ground—and the draggers with it.

  Warnick directed other crews to assemble all working vehicles and to make sure they had enough fuel. Each was stocked with weapons and whatever food and water we could find.

  At twilight we met in the conference room one last time. I looked around the table at the battle-weary soldiers. Warnick and Estrada sat across from me.

  “Where will we go?” I said.

  “We need to find a new building we can secure,” Warnick said.

  In his zeal to bring about conformity, Chavez had ordered all computers destroyed. But we still had satellite maps of the town, which were spread out across the table.

  “What about the high school?” I said, pointing at the map.

  “Estrada, you been back there?” Warnick said.

  “Yeah, it’s no good,” she said. “Chavez sent us over there a few weeks ago. The place was overrun. We decided not to waste any more resources on it.”

  “But there might still be survivors,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Warnick said, “but I think we should avoid it. We can’t afford to lose any more men.”

  “That would be my vote,” Estrada said, avoiding my glare.

  We studied the maps further and, after a lot of discussion, settled on another location off the main highway. It seemed large enough. With luck, the doors would be locked and the structure free of the undead. I recognized it as the old Arkon Insur
ance building.

  Before evacuating, we ignited the explosives around one of the buildings. I’d never seen anything so spectacular. A huge fireball blew out the front doors and windows. Another explosion rocked the adjacent buildings. Soon the fire spread from unit to unit, including the ice rink, like bright orange fingers.

  We blew the last building, the one teeming with draggers. We used grenade launchers to shoot out the windows. Then we set off the gasoline drums. A series of massive explosions around the building created a blazing, brilliant ring of fire. Flames shot inward, consuming everything inside.

  It was dark, and we waited to see what would come out. The front doors of the building had been blown away, leaving a gaping hole hot and angry with flames. Then we saw them. Draggers. First a few, then the entire horde.

  They were on fire.

  As they pitched forward, unaware of their condition, they burned like torches. Some made it to within a hundred feet of our trucks. One by one they fell, blazing on the ground like piles of toxic trash. The smell was unbearable—hot, sweet and greasy. Others followed, making their way relentlessly forward till the flames consumed them and they collapsed into burning heaps.

  As the last of the undead fell, we piled into the vehicles and left.

  * * *

  My plan was to settle in quickly, then go in search of Holly and Griffin. Though I had my phone again, thanks to Warnick, it was dead. Even if I could charge it, who knew if any cell towers were still working.

  Two soldiers, named Springer and Popp, rode with Warnick and me. They looked like kids fresh out of high school. Both were blonde and buff, and they were from opposite ends of the state—Santa Rosa and San Diego. I wasn’t sure how much use they would be in a firefight. On our way to the Arkon building, we passed a Walmart.

  “Stop here,” I said.

  Warnick pulled into the parking lot, and the other vehicles followed. The outdoor lights were on, buzzing like angry wasps and bathing everything in an otherworldly orange glow. So far nothing moved. We got out, our weapons ready.