Hellfire

by Jeff Provine

  “The thing aboard my train wasn’t just a monster. It bent the very fabric of the world around itself. You can’t look at it without beginning to go mad, let alone fight it.”

  “The train,” Husk said quickly. “The train landed in the bayou!”

  Blake arched an eyebrow at him. “That was days ago.”

  “It was something that Burr said.” Husk shook his head. “‘It would have stayed if the train hadn’t fallen into the bayou.’”

  “You think the water had something to do with it?” Blake asked.

  “The monster I fought stayed out of the river, too.”

  Kemp clapped his hands once. “So we drown them. But where could we get that much water?”

  “The lake,” Ozzie offered. “It has enough water to soak the whole town.”

  Husk scratched his chin. “Maybe if we could open the spillway?”

  “That leads straight to the river,” Kemp said. “What we have to do is blow open the levee. And I know where to get explosives.”

  He broke into a run down the hallway. Ozzie was first after him, and Husk and Blake followed after. The younger folks seemed to have an easier time. Blake did his best to keep up with them despite a stitch cutting through his side. They ran back up the corridors the soldiers and hunchbacks had dragged them down.

  Then, the stone hallways had seemed too small as Blake wriggled out of the grip of weird-fingered hunchbacks. They hit him from time to time, and there was never enough room to dodge. Every few steps brought another pair of soldiers who joined in with a jab from the butt of their rifles. Now the halls were all empty, and they seemed cavernous.

  Blake stopped all at once. “Wait!”

  The others bumped into each other. Kemp spread his arms around Ozzie to protect her. Husk held up is gun, but his hands shook so much he held it more by the barrel than the handle.

  “Where are the soldiers?” Blake asked.

  The others looked around themselves. Husk lowered his gun.

  “Exactly,” Blake told them. “We were surrounded by those fellas in the strange uniforms since we got here, but where are they now?”

  No one had a suggestion.

  Kemp shrugged and said, “Let’s get out of here before they get back.”

  Blake sighed. He followed after them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They stormed up two sets of steep, stone steps and came into the anteroom to Burr’s throne room. The soldiers there were gone, too. Even the old man with the thick spectacles was missing. His wide desk was swept clean of papers.

  Kemp hit one of the large doors running, pushing as hard as he could, but it refused to budge. Husk stopped him and went to the panel with the pins, recreating the pattern the old man had done before. Then the door opened easily, hidden counterweights allowing the heavy door to swing.

  Blake hung back, readying his rifle even though it was unloaded. He doubted he would shoot Burr, but the man looked like he had already lived too long.

  The door opened, and the throne room was empty.

  Blake walked inside quietly. Husk and Kemp went on to the hidden panel that had moved to reveal Burr’s laboratories, but Blake was cautious across the plush carpets. Burr’s wall of machines slept, all of the tubes and pipes hanging limp in a mass tucked into a glass jar of what smelled like formaldehyde.

  “He’s gone,” Kemp mumbled.

  “That’s why we haven’t run across soldiers,” Blake said with a nod. “It’s begun.”

  “Look at that!” Ozzie said in an airy voice.

  Blake turned. She was at the window with its web of iron running through. Beyond it, the city shone. Even with the sun setting, it almost looked like day out there.

  The window faced west, and the whole horizon was lit up in a brilliant array of greens, oranges, and pinks. Lake Providence was famous for its sunsets, though naysayers scoffed that it was thanks to the pollution from the smokestacks. Above the sunset, the sky was dark orange, reflecting the lights from the Midsummer festival.

  Normally the view must have been a pleasant scene across the green mall to the behemoth new City Center. As evening set on, people had jammed onto the grass, turning it into a roiling mass of bodies among the tents and games. It twisted and convulsed as Blake watched. At the far end, the City Center stood tall and dark. The cranes had been moved away, which left the building almost looking dead to the world.

  “I found the seam!” Husk called.

  Blake spun around. “Would you be quiet? You don’t know who could be listening!”

  The newspaperman had his hands pressed against the wall, running up and down. Kemp came over to him and tried to jam his fingers into it.

  He looked up and said, “Maybe we can use that rifle as a crowbar?”

  “Worth a shot,” Blake mumbled. He walked that way, but Ozzie slipped in front of him.

  She knocked on the wall several times.

  Blake stopped in his tracks. “Girl, are you serious?”

  She knocked again without a word.

  There was a loud clang, followed by the sound of grinding gears as the panel moved. Blake and Kemp jumped back from it. Ozzie crossed her arms and nodded proudly.

  “Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you,” Blake said with a smile.

  The panel moved away to reveal a man in a red coat. The many lenses that surrounded his eyes were pulled back to the top of his head. He held a bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other.

  “Yes?” he asked before he even looked up.

  When he did, he dropped the porridge.

  “Grab him!” Husk called.

  Kemp obliged and tackled the red-coated scientist to the ground.

  “Don’t kill me!” he screamed. “I’m just a researcher! I study kidneys! My work will save lives!”

  Kemp put a hand over the man’s mouth. He kept screaming behind it, but the sound was little more than muffled gasps.

  “We’re not going to kill you,” Kemp told him. He looked up at Ozzie, who looked on with tight lips. “We need your help.”

  The scientist stopped screaming. His eyes, which were lined with red veins, moved from one of them to the next. Finally, he nodded.

  Kemp took his hand back. “Can you help us?”

  “I don’t know what you want help with,” the scientist replied.

  “The catalyst that was used in Faber’s Bluff. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know which one that is!” the scientist cried. “There are a half-dozen experimental catalysts in the back laboratory!”

  Blake stepped forward. “It’d be the one invented second from the last. Do you know that much?”

  The scientist blinked. “Um, yes, it’d be dated in the storage jars. But why do you want it?”

  Blake rocked back a little on his heels. He didn’t know, but Kemp seemed to have an idea.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Kemp told him. “I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to show us where it is. Deal?”

  The scientist nodded.

  “Wait,” Blake called.

  Kemp and the scientist both froze.

  “Where is everyone?” Blake demanded.

  The scientist blinked and shook his head. “They’re all down at the Midsummer Festival.”

  Blake took a turn blinking in confusion. It seemed like too simple of an answer, but it must have been true. Burr, who had hidden himself for twenty years, was now going to reveal himself. It was no wonder he brought along his personal army.

  “What’s so special about Midsummer?” Husk asked.

  The scientist stood as Kemp stepped off him. He dusted his long red coat. “It’s Midsummer, that’s what. From our analysis, the catalyst is at its most potent tonight. Why? I don’t know. I’m no astrologist.”

  Blake held up a finger for him to stop. “What does it mean?”

  “Burr opens his gate at nightfall.”

  “Gate?” Husk asked.

  “Gate,” Kemp repeated. “He’s goin
g to bring forth a whole wave of the things right from the pits of hell.”

  The scientist shrugged.

  Ozzie pushed Blake aside. “Don’t you shrug it off! You helped with this!”

  The scientist looked at her, down at her finger, and back up. At last he shrugged and turned back into the laboratory. “As long as my research is funded, Burr can do as he wishes.”

  Blake gritted his teeth. His hands popped as he gripped the rifle. He wanted to drive it into the back of the man’s head. How could a man know of such a great evil and let it slide right off his back?

  The scientist led them through the first laboratory of medical chemicals and then into the second, which stank of chemicals and herbs that burned Blake’s nose. He wanted to sneeze, but he wouldn’t let himself.

  After reading to several labels on wooden cabinets, the scientist apparently came to the right one. He pulled a drawer full of jars open and mumbled as he pointed to new labels with dates ranging across several months. He picked up two jars of bluish-amber crystals. “These are just our samples. The catalyst is all generated down at the City Center.”

  Blake held the label up to Husk. “Is that right?”

  Husk nodded. “That would’ve been two days before that wreck.”

  “Good,” Kemp said simply. He grabbed the jars and tucked them inside his engineer’s coveralls.

  “What do we do with him?” Husk asked, jerking a thumb at the scientist.

  “He’s coming with us,” Kemp said. “Where are your changes of clothes?”

  The man wrinkled his brow. “Um, yes, but what do you mean?”

  “Show us,” Kemp said.

  He went back into the first laboratory and opened a closet full of red coats. “Spills happen, after all.”

  Blake found himself looking away from the others toward the far laboratory. He walked cautiously over the salted threshold and into the red-lit room with three ovens. One was empty. Another held the thing that made Husk jump back in fear. There was a form in the last oven, and Blake could only imagine it was Jones, the engineer.

  “Where’s your kerosene?” Blake called.

  The others peered at him from the first laboratory. Husk was already dressed in a long red coat and a helmet with dark glass.

  “What?” the scientist called.

  Blake marched toward them. “Kerosene.”

  The scientist’s face drooped. “What do you want that for?”

  “There’s evil going on back there, and I aim to stop it,” Blake replied.

  Kemp closed his eyes and shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do for Jones now. He’s gone.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to let his body become one of those things,” Blake said.

  Kemp’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, full of gritted teeth. After a moment, he blinked and turned back to the scientist. “Where’s the kerosene?”

  The man recoiled enough that his coat touched the ground. He pointed at a cabinet in the second room. Blake followed it to find a ceramic jug clearly labeled.

  Without a word, Blake went back into the room with the ovens. He grabbed up a pair of tongs, opened the first oven, and grabbed the thing inside by the foot. Holding his breath and trying not to look at it, he pulled it to the floor.

  It was horrifying. Parts were a human corpse, dried and gray. Its fingers had fallen away, leaving a pointed ridge along the edge of its arms. Its face looked like nothing he had ever seen.

  Seeing it filled Blake with a cacophony of emotions. It made him afraid that such a profane monster could be real. It made him sad that it had once been the body of a man. And it made him angry.

  Blake poured the kerosene over the body and lit it with a long-stemmed match sitting by a coal bucket. He thought he heard a small voice squeal out in pain, but Blake ignored it. He moved on to the third oven and pulled out the body of Jones. Scales were settling onto his skin, but he still looked very much like a man. Blake was glad to save him from any worse of a fate.

  As he poured the kerosene, the body’s eyes leapt open. Instead of pupils, there were long slits like a reptile. It took in a long gurgling breath.

  Blake dropped the kerosene bottle onto the floor. It shattered there, filling the air with fumes. He stumbled several steps backward.

  “Jones!” Kemp called from the doorway.

  The thing turned its slitted eyes and gurgled. “No Jonesss.”

  Kemp let out a horrified scream and brought up his revolver. He let out shot after shot. Blake dove into the corner and covered his head with his arms. The thunderous bangs of the gun slammed against his ears. When they stopped, he looked up.

  The thing still stood. The force of the bullets had thrust the body back against the far wall, where it leaned. The withered human flesh was torn open in huge swaths, but no blood spilled. Gray muck oozed around the scaly meat, which weren’t even scratched.

  Kemp stood frozen, his brown eyes seeming to shrink, leaving only shaking white.

  The thing raised up an arm to reach for him. It stepped forward. “You left himmm. Now you join himmm!”

  Blake jumped across the room and tackled Kemp. The fireman resisted. They fell dumbly into the next room.

  The thing followed after, both hands raised. It gave an unholy wail.

  Blake pulled himself off Kemp, who lay panting on the ground. Ozzie screamed. The scientist turned to run, but Husk caught him by his collar.

  The thing’s reach came to the doorway. One hand seemed to get stuck in the air, the arm folding backward as the rest of the body came forward. That, too, stopped. It looked as if it were pressing itself against a glass window.

  Blake looked down at the threshold made of salt. The thing’s clubbed-foot kicked up against it, but the grains didn’t move.

  He shook his head. It didn’t matter why it held back the creature, but he had to end this. The long-handled matches still rested in the coal bucket inside the room. He swept up a few fingers full of the salt.

  “No, don’t!” the scientist shouted. “Don’t disturb the threshold!”

  “Don’t worry. About the threshold,” Husk said, stumbling over words as he wrestled with the scientist. “I can help. Serve the… no, wait.”

  “No time to wait,” Blake replied. He flung the salt into the thing’s face and bolted into the room.

  It shrieked with its gurgling voice. Its bone-thin fingers grab after his coat, and Blake let it roll from his shoulders. All that mattered was getting his hands onto the matches. He grabbed a whole handful and turned to run back out.

  The thing stood before him, its eyes, now bloodshot, staring at him. Its mouth opened impossibly wide. Several uneven fangs stood out. A human tooth fell out as he watched.

  There was no way out. Blake pressed the nail of his thumb against the match head, ready to strike it. With so much kerosene in the air, surely it would catch and set alight the glistening liquid that still drenched the thing’s body. With any luck, Blake wouldn’t do more than burn himself bald. He watched to take a deep breath for courage, but the air was too thick.

  The thing came a crippled step toward him, and then a wave of water washed over its shoulders. It let out a shrill cry, which turned to hissing, as the water bubbled on its body like acid. Flesh turned to foul black liquid and spilled to the floor.

  Behind it, Ozzie Jacey stood with an empty bucket still raised. “Hurry!”

  Blake ran past the moldering thing. Its gnarled hands, now partially gone, still reached for him. He didn’t turn to look until he had hopped over the threshold.

  Ozzie was there, holding her bucket tight. “I thought we should test this whole water thing, anyhow.”

  “Smart girl,” Blake said.

  She blushed and covered her mouth, looking away. Kemp came up from behind her and took the bucket, replacing it with himself in her arms.

  The thing melted until its twisted, scaly flesh was gone. Only the mummified gray flesh of Jones remained, just a few pieces of a body. Blake coul
dn’t look away until the body stopped twitching.

  “I still need to finish the job,” he said. He stepped back over the threshold, scooped up what was left of the kerosene bottle, and poured it over Jones. Back over the threshold once more, he lit the match and tossed it inside. The room lit up with a roar of fire.

  While he cremated Jones’s body, Blake tucked away the rest of the matches. He watched until his eyes hurt from the heat and he had to turn away.

  Kemp held onto Ozzie, who had her face buried in his shoulder. His brown eyes glazed over with tears. “Thank you.”

  Blake realized there was a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow it, but he couldn’t. A hand settled on his shoulder. Blake jumped.

  Husk was there, holding out a red coat to Blake. “Come on. We’ve got more wickedness to end.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nate Kemp’s feet hurt from walking in the too-small boots he had scrounged from the Rail Agency airship.

  It had taken more than an hour to walk the mile from the town center to the levee where Lake Providence rested over the city. The streets were packed with people celebrating in every way possible. Adults sang and sipped from bottles. Couples kissed and disappeared into shadowy alleys. Children ran with sparklers that gave off weird colors of light and tall plumes of smoke. It was meant to be a time of revelry, though not everyone saw it like that. There was a fight seemingly on every corner. Sheriff Blake had tried to stop them as they went, but the people were quickly back at each other as soon as they passed.

  They had simply walked out of the capitol. The scientist led them down a staircase beside the laboratories away from Burr’s throne room. It opened into a barracks where several men half-dressed in the odd, old-fashioned uniforms of Burr’s personal army rested. Clad in the strange red coats and dark-windowed helmets, they hadn’t caused the soldiers to look twice. The scientist didn’t say a word, though Nate doubted Husk really would have fired the revolver he had stuck into the man’s back.

  When they reached the streets of Lake Providence, they let the man go. He swore he wouldn’t say a word, and Nate believed him. If he were coward enough to cave on Nate’s first demand, he wouldn’t be the one to take responsibility for aiding escaping prisoners, even if they did threaten him.