The Devil's Highway (Journeyman Book 4)

by Golden Czermak

  They walked for what seemed like forever upwards, yet without a frame of reference might as well have been unmoving. Soon they were joined by the faintest of sparks – one at first then many. If skin had been on their bodies, they would have been burned relentlessly, yet the sparks passed painlessly between their uncovered bones.

  The scene began to change at last, a broad vista coming into view under a blazing night sky, red with the light of distant fires. Bizarre cities burned across the entire horizon as the screams of countless souls rose up toward a trio of moons hanging above the swirling clouds of smoke. Directly ahead of them was a gray stone table, set high on a pillar with seven equally tall chairs around it. In the back of each was a colored stone, glowing brightly as they shifted between each color of the spectrum. As Kahli and the Grim approached, the stones faded to black, then returned fiercely crimson. Each of the seats, save the one in the middle, was now occupied by a shrouded figure.

  “You have at last answered your summoning, Kahli,” said one of the beings, his voice hollow and distant.

  “Yes, Mot, I have come.”

  “The apocalypse of your world is nearly complete, Kahli,” said another. “Why did you not return here sooner to fulfill your duties – leaving it to the rest of us to complete?”

  “There were… other matters that needed attending to,” she replied sheepishly, floating toward the open seat. A dark cloak draped itself around her as she sat.

  “You have come here to Centauri?” Mot challenged, aiming a thin finger toward the Grim Reaper before holding it aloft toward a gap in the clouds. A blue dot wheeled overhead amongst the rest of the starfield. “You are making things quite interesting there on the Earth, Grim. What is it you are playing at, stepping outside your bounds? Is the demon threat; this ‘Deceiver’ Dajjal? You know that it is not our place to change the fate of the worlds nor subvert an apocalypse. We merely ferry souls where they should go so things stay in perpetual motion.”

  “Mot, I know the place Reapers have been allotted. As always it is a pleasure to be degraded by you; long has it been since the last great cataclysm on my world where you disputed that there were not enough souls for your liking. Because of that and a litany of other things, the particulars of my plans shall remain my own, revealed only to those I think deserve to know.”

  “Deserve to know? That would not be us – all of the Reapers charged with maintaining the order of souls in death across the universe?” Thanatos was hissing as he reprimanded the Grim like a disobedient child. “The cosmic balance is shifting, you fool. Surely you realize that all of your games are causing this?”

  “Of course I realize,” he replied succinctly, “and my answer remains unchanged.”

  “And what of your interferences with Gage Crosse?”

  Death remained silent.

  “The end is supposed to be the beginning, the receipt of a blessed gift or curse. Gage Crosse’s soul should have been shoved where it belongs long before this discussion was ever a possibility.” If their faces had been visible, they would have shown seething anger.

  Hades chimed in, his voice gruff. “Thanatos is correct in questioning you, Grim. Insolence stacks itself atop your pride, I see. How far you have fallen. You are about to force us to do something that has never been done before.”

  In the distance, unearthly beasts howled as they drifted across the skyline, dropping a rain of bodies to the ground. It was a gruesome yet beautiful sight, as hundreds, if not thousands of Reapers, pillaged the decimation for the souls of the departed.

  “Is that a threat?” the Grim asked.

  “No, it is a guaranteed promise my friend.”

  “So be it,” the Grim Reaper snarled. “Then we have nothing more to discuss. I bid you farewell.”

  “I think not,” Hades said with an equivalent amount of spite.

  Bursting from the ground, great chains flew toward the Grim, binding him in place within a constricting mass of clanging metal.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed. “Release me at once!”

  Kahli rose from her seat and her garments falling away. “Hades! Stop this!” She looked around the rest of the table, the other Reapers remaining still with inaction. “Never have we chained one of our own; this is profane!”

  “His actions led to this, Kahli,” Thanatos snapped. “Do not interfere. So, tell me Grim, you were about to reveal your secrets to us. Where have you hidden your weapon? Are you planning to use its powers against us, your own kind?”

  “You can burn in pits,” he spat in reply.

  “By all means, after you.”

  The chains surged, belching fire and sparks as they grew tighter around the Grim Reaper. There was the sound of cracking and he was burned, bones becoming black with char. He also let loose a scream and it was unlike anything heard before – defying description in its levels hurt and agony.

  “That is enough!” Kahli charged, Mot thrusting out an arm to subdue her. He was unsuccessful as she summoned her dagger from thin air.

  “You dare to draw your blade here?” Mot challenged.

  She eyed him menacingly, her still fleshy eyes like slits.

  “Your actions led to this,” she said, seething. When she finished, she stabbed him and leapt off her pinnacle, flipping through the air before tossing the dagger at the Grim. It soared through his bindings, cutting them like threads before they fell away in a shower of liquid metal.

  The distant Reapers bellowed, their voices speaking as one as they tore through the skies toward them. “Traitors!”

  The Grim, now freed, held his hands out. “Let me return the favor!” he shouted as a massive burst of shadow flung itself toward the table, scattering the assembled Reapers as it tore through the towering table and chairs.

  “I think it’s time we departed,” Kahli said, slicing the air with her dagger.

  Mot rose out of the debris and cast a lance of shadow her way. It flew with great speed, scraping her side which caused her to grimace then stumble.

  The Grim rushed in, scooping her up in arms that didn't look like they could bear her weight. Together they stepped across the verge, the portal collapsing just as the horde of Reapers reached out for them.

  DESPITE THE FACT that the long and desolate road had been peppered with signs of civilization, those crumbs were few and far between. With nothing much to look at, Gage tried his best not to feel awkward, which was difficult to do considering he’d spent the last ten minutes staring right at Marcus’ face – specifically his beard which had grown a lot fuller over the past couple days. Though Gage would never admit it, he might have been a bit envious, now planning to let his own grow out a little more. Hell, maybe even his body hair, too.

  It's worrying the things you think about when you're bored, Gage, he told himself as yet more uninteresting brown blurs sped past the windows.

  Thankfully Marcus had no idea that he was the center of so much attention, having succumbed to the droning hum of asphalt beneath the rubber tires. His eyes were closed, resting away the remainder of the drive time. The two of them weren’t all that far from their destination now – about twenty minutes or so –Gage having plans to make it in fifteen or less. As usual though, his plans were rarely set in stone and something ended up catching his attention off to the left.

  It was yellow crime scene tape flitting wildly in the wind, cordoning off an area around a decrepit building – a diner of some sort by the looks of it. There was a black Ford Police Interceptor parked just outside the barricade, a solo state trooper leaning against the front fender while eating a greasy burger.

  At first glance, the crime scene looked normal enough and Gage was tempted to drive by on their merry way as there was a lot ahead. However as they got closer, he noticed an inordinate amount of blood splattered across the windows and the faint but undeniable smell of rotten eggs crept into the vehicle.

  “Curiosity always gets the better of ya man,” he mumbled as he hit the blinker and turned
the steering wheel. Reaching down, he plucked his spectral shades off his shirt and donned them.

  At first, he didn't see all too much, though faint colors were swirling further to the south indicating that something, or more likely someone smoky, had teleported away from that spot.

  Crossing the rough shoulder into the parking lot, the jostling roused Marcus from his nap. Playing it off like he had only nodded off for a second, he looked over in Gage’s general direction.

  “Damn man,” said Marcus, followed by a little yawn that snuck out, “only you would manage to hit the only pothole on this cursed highway.” He continued watching; Gage didn't answer and the bloodied diner soon coming into view.

  Oh geez Gage, what the hell are you up to now? Marcus thought, sitting up as the car came to a halt. He raised a pair of his warded fingers just in case things turned bad. If the past was anything to go by, they wouldn't be waiting long.

  Gage leaned over to roll down his window as the trooper approached, setting down what was left of his burger. The crinkled paper, just like everything between the buns, was ladened with grease, causing the whole thing to slide right off the hood.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the trooper asked suspiciously, tipping a pair of dark sunglasses that made him look like he’d walked off the set of Super Troopers.

  “Mornin’ Grady,” Gage said with his charm on high, perhaps a little snark too. “Well, afternoon I guess. By the looks of it, there's been some trouble in paradise?”

  “Could say that… though I'd wonder what business it is of yours.” The officer’s posture grew guarded and stiff. “Who are you, some random passerby or are you planning on telling me your Federal agents with more jurisdiction than me here in District Ten?”

  “I'd never do somethin’ like that, my man,” Gage replied cooly. “Seems like a quick way of getting’ your ass in trouble. We’re just interested citizens concerned about the welfare of our community.”

  Marcus winced internally, wishing Gage hadn't drug him into the conversation. Since he was knee deep in it now, he was unsure if the officer was aware of the bullshit Gage was guiding them through, but he wasn't about to wait for the cuffs to come out before doing something to alleviate their forthcoming problems. Waving a finger, the ward upon it – a set of quadruple stacked chevrons – glowed and one of the bags in the back seat began to move in response. Its zipper slid open a short time later.

  “So what you're telling me is that you have a vested interest in this crime scene do you?” The trooper came up and rested his hands on the window sill, tipping his head to one side intimidatingly. “From the comfy seat of an out-of-state vehicle, no less?”

  A thin wisp of turquoise dust rose out of the open bag, twirling in mid air.

  Gage stammered, but quickly recovered his composure. “Well… there ain't too much comfy about these seats.”

  The colored dust wafted out the open window, settling in front of the trooper’s face. Since he was still wearing those dark sunglasses, he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

  “I bet,” the officer replied, wholly unconvinced by Gage's stories. “License and registration, sir. Just as a precaution for the welfare of my community.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Gage grumbled as Marcus flicked his finger, sending the hovering powder straight up the trooper’s nose. The man sneezed, his campaign hat tumbling to the ground before he started sneezing several more times in a fit.

  Gage shot a look of surprise over to Marcus. “You, Mr. Sheridan?”

  Marcus smirked sheepishly, opening his door. “Maybe,” he said as he climbed out. “Someone has to cover your ass since all it does is invite trouble.”

  The trooper continued to sniffle and sneeze, wiping away some snot that started to form a big bubble in one of his nostrils. He then settled on the ground in a fetal position beside the duo’s car and within moments was fast asleep.

  Marcus opened the back door and yanked out one of the cloaks they had procured in York. Wadded up, he tossed it across the roof. “Use that to cover sleeping beauty,” Marcus instructed as Gage caught the garment. “The both of us stopping by this crime scene is odd enough without anyone seeing a state trooper snoozing on duty.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause it's so busy along this stretch of road.”

  “Just do it,” Marcus snipped playfully, not wasting anymore time before walking over to the line of tape.

  Gage placed the fabric over the officer’s curled up body and followed Marcus, the sleeping trooper disappearing from view a few shimmering seconds later – all except for a tiny hint of shoe that peeked out from underneath.

  “What was that stuff?” Gage asked as he stepped into the crime scene. “Seemed like a strange mix of sneezing and sleeping powder.”

  “Nearly,” Marcus replied as he did the same. “It was something Joey was trying to perfect. He’d started working on it in the warehouse, back on your old property before it…”

  “Went kaboom,” Gage said eloquently as he swaggered on.

  “In so many words,” Marcus laughed. “Anyway, he told me about wanting to perfect a powder to knock out some of the giant mammals – like Bigfoot – easily so I had the boys at HQ see what they could do with his help. It might not have seemed like much, but I think it made him feel better about losing everything. All things considered, it's much more than I ever did for Ty.”

  Gage looked soberly at him.

  “Apparently it works on humans, too,” Marcus continued as if to get the subject off his brother. “Though sneezing is apparently a side effect that needs to be worked out. No point in having a tool if it alerts everyone that you're using it.”

  “Don't forget about the snot bubbles too,” Gage replied as they finally reached the glass. “Nasty stuff…”

  Peering inside the scene was gruesome and even with the bodies removed there was a pervading acidic smell that curled their noses along with the sulfur. There had to have been several people inside when the demon paid them a visit, the sheer amount of stuff covering everything – from the ceiling to the floor – was far more than one person’s worth.

  His heart sank deep into his gut as he continued to scan the never-ending, chunky red. There, in a corner booth, was a stuffed animal laid upon unwrapped pieces of candy… its once soft, white fur now matted with blackened blood.

  GAGE STRUGGLED TO get the sight of that toy out of his mind. It nagged at him as they closed in on Bennett Peak, bringing up two painful memories.

  Foremost was his own toy truck, the one he played with often as a child in Denver. It was the very same one that his dad kept as he journeyed through the Astral Plane, returning it to him just before his demise.

  Gage had seen a gambit of things normal humans had and so much more that could fuck up even the strongest mind. That grizzly scene in the diner also brought back memories of his first encounter with Death – something very few had done and returned to talk about.

  “Gage…” said a voice amidst the vision of him holding that dying child in his arms. Even though he didn't have children of his own, he could imagine there were few things worse than seeing someone’s legacy end well before they even had a chance to shine.

  “Gage!” Marcus interrupted, breaking through his friend’s wayward thoughts at last. “You alright big guy? That was quite a lot of weaving back there.”

  “Huh?” Gage replied, pulling himself together. “Yeah, I'm all good. It's just… seein’ all that mess back there has me a bit rattled. Surprised I'm admitting it to be honest, but that shit was downright bad.”

  “Can’t disagree with you,” Marcus said. “I think we've all seen stuff more or less, my heyday being back in 2010, but…”

  “What is it, bossman?”

  “I've said it to you many times, but I can't help but feel incredibly lucky to have J back with us,” Marcus told him. “It could have gone so differently, so incredibly worse. Yet thanks to you and Ady, plus everyone else we’ve met who’s helped along the way, it ended in th
e brightest way possible. Given that, I have more resolve and strength enough for the fight ahead.”

  “Oh trust me when I say I agree with ya more than ya know,” Gage stated in full agreement. “I mean look at what Dajjal is capable of; what he did all by himself in that place. I can't imagine a worse fate for the world than being beneath that smoking piece of shit’s heel. We have to stop that motherfucker, before it's too late.”

  “Yeah, for sure. So, you think it was Dajjal back there?”

  “Had to be,” Gage answered. “Call it a gut feel if ya want, but that level of carnage ain't coming from a regular demon or even a group of lesser red eyes.” Glancing to the right, he saw the ominous peak rising from the desert floor, looking far different from ground level than the heights at which the Odyssey had sailed. It was more imposing, yet that wasn't about to sway him. “But more on that later Marcus,” he said, pointing. “Looks like we’re here at last.”

  THE CLOCK STRUCK four o’clock in the afternoon, daylight already starting to yield to the evening’s darkness. That happened to be one of many reasons Adrienne hated the winter, shorter days saved only by holiday cheer that pervaded the atmosphere. Admittedly, that was also keeping her spirits raised, despite Christmas having passed them by.

  She had been sitting in a couple of very uncomfortable hospital chairs, the kind made to get people to leave quickly, bouncing between them every hour or so as if that would magically transform them into cozy couches. Despite having done it countless times, it wasn’t working.

  As a last ditch effort to get her head to stop racing, which was keeping her on the restless verge of a headache, she pulled one of the chairs over to the hospital bed, bunched up a section of the light blue blankets, and shoved her face in the pile. Now, if she closed her eyes tightly she could almost be fooled into thinking such an undignified position was, in fact, a comfy bed. Yet, that wasn’t working either, but the smell of fresh linens did provide a modicum of solace.