by Matt King
August stopped mid-swing. Who's he talking to?
With an ear-splitting crash, the wall to the viewing area exploded into the room, knocking August off his feet and through the glass wall to the death chamber. His chest throbbed where the concrete hit him. Bits of glass fell from his hair. He rolled slowly to his side before getting to his feet. He looked around for the train that hit him only to see Gemini standing at arm’s length.
“No…” Gemini whimpered.
August drew one of his swords. All it would take was one swipe and the war would be half-won. One swipe and he could go back to Meryn with proof that he’d earned the title she’d given him. He worked swiftly.
Halfway toward the killing blow, a coarse hand took August around the neck and slung him back into the rubble of the viewing area.
“Kill him!” he heard Gemini say. “Quick, before he gets away!”
August could feel blood on his neck where the hand had grabbed him. It took his throbbing head a second to focus, but his eyes snapped wide when he saw what was standing between him and Gemini.
Talus’s face was unmistakable. He loomed large as he emerged from the death chamber, a rumbling growl coming through his gritted teeth. The creature had gray skin, prismatic like an oil-slick, and crusted with stone just like the Pyrians from the church. Unlike his smaller cousins, however, Talus had no weak spots in his armor. He was a tower of muscle, with serrated claws at the end of his fingertips and a corona of stone tendrils rising from the back of his scalp. August found himself staring at the beads of saliva dripping down the ends of his teeth. They were thick and milky white.
When the monster brought his clenched fist back to strike, the stone covering his skin cracked along the joints.
I should probably run now.
Talus chased him with a series of punches that would’ve flattened him if any had landed. He skirted out of their way and brought both swords across in a slash at the back of Talus’s leg. The cut was barely deep enough to cause a scratch.
Shit.
The monster picked him up. Saw-toothed ridges along the top of his claws dug into August's chest as he tightened his grip. He threw August sideways like a doll, hurling him through the doors and out into the hallway. August landed hard against the corridor wall and fell into a slick of guts and bone. His boots had no traction in the muck. He found his footing just as Talus stepped into the hall. The monster crashed his fist through the ceiling and then pulled until the floor above them gave way, sending chunks of concrete raining down into the hallway. August knocked one of the largest sections away, but he couldn’t block them all. A piece of rebar crashed into the side of his head. He struggled to hold onto consciousness as a warm flow of blood leaked from his temple.
Talus ripped the door to the visitation room off its hinges and used it like a bat to swat August away before he could recover. He bounced from the wall to the pile of rubble before he dropped to the floor, his body swimming in pain. Talus was on him quickly. He planted a foot on August’s chest, pinning him to the ground. August’s ribs bowed under the weight. Talus flayed his clawed fingers in front of August’s face before he drew back and came down with a sweeping shot aimed at his head.
Bear’s hand stopped Talus’s claws only a few inches from August’s face. Their arms shook with tension. “August, move.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Do it now!” He pushed Talus away and took hold of the back of August’s jacket, pulling him free and tossing him back into the hallway.
Bear’s transformation began with small bolts of electricity flashing over his skin. They grew larger and danced faster until he was encased in a shell of light so bright, August had to raise a hand to protect his eyes. He squinted, but didn't turn away. He wanted to see it till the end. Lightning crashed through the windows coupled with deafening thunder. Hot gusts of wind swirled around the storm, until finally, the light faded, leaving behind the smell of ozone and animal musk.
Fully phased, Shadow shook off the last bit of static charge that spread over her reptilian skin. She looked over her shoulder at August, her orange eyes cutting through the cloud of dust. It was a startling sight, and August wasn't sure which monster was more frightening. He nodded to show that he was okay, leaving Shadow to turn back to Talus with a snarling growl.
“We have to go!” Gemini’s voice echoed in the hall. He stood behind Talus, still hunched over as if he couldn't catch his breath.
Talus ignored him. He sprang for Shadow and the two went crashing to the floor with Shadow landing beneath Talus’s back. She opened her jaws, sinking her ivory teeth into the meat of Talus’s shoulder. The monster stood, roaring as Shadow held fast, and threw himself back against the wall until he was free.
His strength finally back to full, August tried to find Gemini through the melee. The kid was backing away and looking at the hole in the ceiling. His lips moved like he was talking to someone. He started toward the opposite end of the hall where Talus had smashed through the window.
Where do you think you're going? August took out a sword and tried to run past the staggered Talus. Gemini's red eyes grew wide at the sight.
Before he could make it through the rubble, Talus dove and grabbed August's leg. He pulled back, ready to sink his teeth into August's exposed chest, until Shadow came off the floor with an angry scream to wrench him away by his jaws. They came down in a heap, blocking August from getting through. Talus lifted Shadow away from his chest and threw her into the wall. He stood, snorting heavily through flat nostrils as he held his hand to his face. Shadow’s claws left fissures in the stone, coated in milky blood. He stared at the drops on his claws as though he didn't recognize what it was to be hurt.
“Talus!” Gemini yelled. “She says we have to leave right now!”
Nursing wounds of her own, Shadow righted herself as Talus retreated to stand beside Gemini. The monster let out a final roar before he knelt down to let Gemini crawl onto his back. The two set off down the hallway. At the end, Talus sprang forward, blasting through the opening he made earlier and out into the open.
Shadow growled through gnashed teeth, still holding out a protective hand over August's body.
“Little help,” August said with a grimace. That was the last time he ever wanted to be in the middle of a heavyweight fight. His legs felt like soup.
A noise drifted through the opening in the broken wall. Bits of glass fell from the windows as a rumbling sound filled the prison. “Shh!” August said. “Stop growling for a second and listen.”
The noise sounded like a jet engine, but if it was, it was damn close.
“Oh shit,” August said, the realization sinking in. The Army’s about to bomb the place. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. We gotta get out of here.”
Shadow looked down at him.
“Come on!” he yelled. He stumbled through the debris. “Those planes are going to level this place. We need to—”
Shadow scooped him up like he weighed nothing and sped toward the opening left by Talus. They jumped through, landing hard on the ground. She quickly scanned the yard.
“Put me down!” August said. “I can run, damn it!”
A pair of jets crossed the sky overhead. They circled around, screaming back toward the prison side-by-side.
“Never mind. Go!”
Shadow tossed August over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and began to sprint toward the road. The buses and transport vehicles went by in a blur. She got them to the truck just as the bombs struck the prison. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. As she dropped him to the road, August looked up to see a mushroom cloud of smoke rise over the field. The back half of the prison collapsed in a fiery implosion.
“Jesus, that was close,” he said.
The explosion masked Bear’s return. “Get in,” he replied, breathless. A dying lightning bolt jumped from his skin to the truck. His clothes and skin were dusted in gray again.
August got in and scanned the sky th
rough the windshield. “Let's get out of here before those things come back.”
The truck roared to life. Bear stepped on the gas, turning them onto the highway. Sirens approached in the distance.
“Shit!” August unbuckled his seatbelt and slumped down in his seat.
Bear flashed his brights at the passing squad cars. He slowed the truck.
“Stop. They’ll notice you,” August said.
“That’s the point. We need to let them know what happened.”
“No, we don’t. Keep driving.”
“Those things are on the loose now. We need to warn somebody before they hurt anyone else.”
“You can’t.”
“And why not?”
Because I’ll be dead if you do. “You can’t. Not yet,” August replied. “Please. I have my reasons.”
Bear glared at him.
“I’ll explain later, I promise. Just get us back home, Bear.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Burt Sommers didn’t need a calendar to tell him that fall was in full swing. The state of the parking lot behind his Stop-N-Gas told him everything he needed to know about the seasons. When spring came, daffodils popped up beside the back door and provided a welcome bit of color to the otherwise plain exterior. Summer brought crab grass, and plenty of it. He never understood why crab grass got such a bad rap. It was green and it was free. Winter saw the place covered in dull shades of brown. He hated winter. Ugly in a lot of ways. Fall was more palatable, but it was a cruel guest. The turning of the trees and the swelling of the crops made for a beautiful prologue to a dismal chapter of the year. Fall made its presence known in a single breath.
He pulled the Toyota into his parking spot behind the store and suffered through the usual tussle of throwing the transmission into park. He grabbed his newspaper from the passenger seat along with his coffee mug from the drink holder. When he got out, he felt the chill on his skin. He inhaled, letting his breath out through his mouth. Its heat created a misty cloud. It was fall, all right.
While he searched for his keys, he put the newspaper in his teeth. The soda delivery man would be by soon for his monthly visit and he’d probably want to spend at least an hour talking about college football. Burt didn’t mind the company, but he wasn’t the rabid pigskin fan he used to be, not since college sports turned into a circus controlled by gamblers. High school ball was the only thing left that you could count on to be a fair game. Fair as can be expected, anyway.
The stockroom looked clean enough for company, as his mother used to say. He'd swept the floor before locking up the night before and set out a couple of chairs for him and the delivery guy. Morris, he thought his name was. They changed drivers every so often, but word must’ve passed on that ol’ Burt Sommers wasn’t too stingy with free drinks on delivery day, because no matter who showed up, they always wanted to sit and chat.
He passed by the stockroom door on his way to setting his coffee mug down on the break table. What he saw through the scratched plastic window made him do a double-take. A man stood at the front door, waiting as still as a scarecrow. Burt could only make out a silhouette, but the man wore a cowboy hat like the ones Clint Eastwood used to wear in the movies. He even had the cowboy duster to go with it. Hollywood costume or not, he didn’t like the look of the man. What kind of person just stood at the door like that, looking inside and not moving? It said plain as day on the sticker what time the store opened. Rudeness like that could wait.
Dropping the paper on the table, Burt sat down to read the headlines. He hadn’t gotten the coffee mug to his lips before a knock rattled the front door, slow but heavy. He took a sip anyway, hoping that the man would eventually go away. A few seconds later, he knocked again.
“Impatient son of a gun.”
Burt closed the sliding lid on his mug and rose to look through the stockroom door window again. This time there were four others standing behind the man, each sporting a similar cowboy hat. They weren’t looking in the store, though. There were two on either side of him looking out to the road like the President’s G-men checking for shooters.
Burt opened the stockroom door just wide enough to stick his head through and yelled, “Five minutes!”
For a second, the man didn’t move. Burt thought about calling out again, but stopped when the man in the duster put out a cigarette on the ground and walked away. It was a slow walk, the kind a man used when he felt like he owned the earth beneath his feet. The bodyguards followed in kind.
Burt let the door swing shut. He went back to his paper and coffee, doing his level best to pretend he hadn’t been interrupted. As usual, the front page was nothing but war and murders, scandal and corruption. He bypassed it and shook out the Sports section. Fairview County’s quarterback had a big picture of himself above the headline: “Reynolds Powers Spartans Past Generals.” The good guys prevailed 28-7.
He smiled.
With a thunderous noise that made him drop his mug, the door to the parking lot shot open. The four bodyguards came in, their black coats fluttering around their legs as they made a beeline for him. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. The four men looked exactly alike. Their faces were thin and angular, with sickly pale skin. He saw nothing in their eyes as they came for him. No malice to any of their stares, but he felt the violence behind them, and it chilled him.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Two of the bodyguards grabbed him and threw him to the floor. Something in his nose snapped. He could feel the blood starting to flow.
“There ain’t much money!” he yelled. The blood made him sound like he had a terrible cold. “Please, stop!”
The men jerked his arms behind his back and held them together at the wrists. He felt something cold and metallic wrap around them. They yanked him up by the back of his shirt and slammed him into the chair while they wrapped his ankles same as his wrists. When they were satisfied that he was immobile, the bodyguards parted, allowing Burt a view of the man in the beige coat and hat. The man smiled, but there was no comfort in it. He was a snake about to squeeze the life out of his prey.
“What do you want with me?” Burt asked again. Blood dripped over his lip.
“My name is Coburn,” the man said, “and these are my Horsemen.” He had a deep and graveled voice. Smoker's voice. He removed his hat and set it on the table, uncovering his white-blond hair. “I came to speak to you about a picture of yours in the paper the other day.”
Burt’s breathing became shallower as the guards moved closer. “You didn’t need to do this.”
“I’m sorry that we had to resort to such drastic measures. No one seemed to answer at the front and I have very little time to waste, Mr…”
“Sommers.”
“Mr. Sommers,” Coburn echoed. He pulled the other chair in front of Burt and sat down. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the man you saw that day.”
“I never seen him before then,” Burt replied. “He showed up a few days ago saying he was looking for work.”
“Anywhere specific?”
“The Lawsons’.” Burt felt his stomach turn, not because of fear, but because of how easily the answer was given with no thought to the kind of danger he might be putting his friends in. He hung his head.
“What then?”
Burt shrugged his shoulders. “I gave him directions and he left. I heard that he was staying on their farm, working. I didn’t see him again until that day at the church. That’s when I called the papers to report I had a picture.”
“An act I am most appreciative of,” Coburn replied. “I’ve been looking for him for some time now.”
“No one believed us when we told them,” Burt said. “But I saw it. I was there for the whole thing.”
“I’m not interested in what happened at the church. What I need to know is how I can find August Dillon. Is he still with the farmers?”
“I…don’t know.”
Coburn nodded to one of the men. In an in
stant, the man grabbed Burt’s hair, put a gloved hand on his chin, and yanked his head to the side. Burt let out a whelp.
“Another centimeter and he’ll snap it,” Coburn said. “Do you believe me?”
Burt could barely swallow. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, is August Dillon still at the Lawson farm?”
“He was. I don’t know if he still is today, but last I heard he was there after the church.” His eyes began to water.
“Tell me about the Lawsons.”
“A man and his son,” Burt said. “Ray's a few years older than me. Bear’s in his forties. He’s a big man.”
“Where can I find this farm?” Coburn asked.
Burt held the answer on the tip of his tongue. It felt as bitter as the blood seeping into his mouth.
“Mr. Sommers, the location of the farm.”
“I don’t…want to say.”
“You’re worried that I’ll hurt them, like I’m hurting you.”
“Yes,” Burt answered. His neck blazed with pain. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Whether or not I have to do that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. All I need from you is the location of their farm. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me this information again, Mr. Sommers. Where is the Lawson farm?”
“Up 47, two miles.” The man holding his chin pulled it farther to the side, making Burt scream. “White house…red barn. Please, make him stop!”
The man held him in place. Burt heard Coburn rise from his chair and walk across the room. He came into view as he walked to the stockroom door. He lit a cigarette.
“I did what you asked. Let me go!”
Coburn took a long drag on the cigarette as he looked out the stockroom door window. “I have a rule, Mr. Sommers. My rule is that I leave nothing to chance. The people I’m charged to find seldom want to be found. As you can understand, it is to my advantage that they never know I’m coming. Since it’s clear that these farmers are friends of yours, I can’t risk you telling them of my visit.”
“No,” Burt said, “I won’t say anything.”