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Shadows Rising

Page 25

by Dean Rasmussen

A manmade hole the same size as the opening to the pit they had discovered in the temple sat in the middle of the room, wide open and without a cover. Black residue streaked along the edge of the hole. A jelly version of the Dunamis, matching the color and texture of the cocoons. The man who had fallen from the ceiling in the feeding room had come from here. The same black straightjacket encased each person. They were each wrapped up like a sausage, but the Leviathan hadn’t eaten them, not yet anyway.

  Michael scanned each face, but none of them looked like his grandfather. He focused on each figure, each face. Finally one stood out. Michael moved closer, but the cheeks were white and expressionless, void of the deeply carved wrinkles, and forming valleys across his grandfather’s face when he smiled. It wasn’t possible the man could be his grandfather. He crouched down and poked at the man’s shoulder, which also stuck out from the top of the wrapping. No response. The man was dead.

  A moan erupted from the other side of the room. “Michael.”

  He spun his flashlight toward the moaning, and the figure at the far side of the room was twisting within its cocoon. The man’s face was white, and his hair was matted flat against his head. Michael’s heart raced, and he maneuvered around the other figures over to the voice. His grandfather’s signature work boots poked out from the bottom of the black wrapping. He met his grandfather’s eyes, but only a sliver of eyeball peeked out through puffed eyelids.

  “Michael?” he whispered. The corners of his grandfather’s mouth widened.

  Michael dropped in front of his grandfather’s weathered boots, and wrapped his arms around his grandfather’s shoulders. “Grandpa! Oh man, what a mess.”

  His grandfather nodded as Michael stripped away the black covering. The black adhesive goo shredded away like a giant gummy worm. Some strands refused to break apart, so Michael leaned his grandfather forward and pulled at the strands around behind his back. Each strand flopped into a pile. His grandfather let out a sigh and took a deep breath when removing the strands around his chest. When Michael unwrapped his grandfather’s arms, a sharp stone like a primitive tool dropped from his palm.

  His grandfather snorted. “Would have stabbed him with that.”

  “Are you able to stand?” Michael asked.

  His grandfather shrugged, but leaned forward and grasped at the wall. Michael held his grandfather’s arm and pulled him forward.

  “The bessies grabbed Ray after they dragged me in here,” his grandfather said. “He tried to cut his way out right to the end.”

  He looked back toward Rebecca and Joey, and they were helping Audrey stand. She was curled over like someone about to throw up, and they helped her step forward, her body wobbling like a baby animal learning to walk. Joey looked over at Michael.

  “Be right there,” Joey said. He moved to the other people in the room. “The rest are dead.”

  A thin layer of dust covered them, and dried streaks of blood ran down their faces.

  Michael turned back to his grandfather, who pulled at his arms and shook as he rose. Joey hurried over and dug into Michael’s backpack. He handed out bottles of water and snacks.

  “That’s all we have for food and water,” Joey said. “Sorry we don’t have more.” Joey was leaning on his sword like a cane.

  His grandfather eyed it. “Where did you get that?”

  “I found it,” Joey said, lifting it up for a moment.

  His grandfather nodded. “I like that.”

  After they finished eating and drinking, the five of them moved across the room and circled the open pit in the center of the room. Shadows shifted within the blackness of the pit.

  “I would have been next.” Rebecca’s mom wobbled in Rebecca’s arms. “They dragged me as far as the hole and then ran away.”

  “We chased them away.”

  “How did you get down here?”

  “It’s a long story, Mom.”

  They peered around the edge of the entrance and helped them out into the hallway. His grandfather and Audrey shivered and convulsed with each step. A long road lay ahead to escape.

  “How are we going to get them out of here?” Joey asked. “They can’t walk.”

  His grandfather held up his hand and pointed back toward the entrance they had come from. “Go that way.”

  “The Leviathan lives that way, Grandpa,” Michael said. “Though we might just have killed her.”

  His grandfather raised his eyebrows and smiled at them. “Well good, and I know a way around it.”

  They inched their way through the hallway, not a creature in sight. Halfway down, his grandfather stopped them and pointed out a crumbled section of the wall, revealing a dark hole not much bigger than a person could fit through.

  “We’ll go through here.” His grandfather crouched down.

  “I’ll go first, Grandpa.”

  “It slopes down. Put your feet in first.”

  Michael dropped to the floor and crawled facedown feet-first through the hole, kicking against the walls as he back in. The walls pressed in against him and his breathing became shallow and quick. His elbows slammed against the dirt with every movement. His grandfather’s boots slid into the tunnel next. The tunnel angled downward, and the memories of the previous tunnel they had slid down into the room full of corpses sent a cold chill through him. Each sound, the huffing of his breath and the shards of rock and dirt raining down before him as his backpack scraped them loose, died as soon as the sound hit his ears.

  His grandfather’s boots stopped moving. “You okay, Michael?” his grandfather called out.

  “Yes, Grandpa.” Warmth spread through him. It felt so good to say that. To speak to his grandfather, to say anything, filled him with energy. They would make it now. No doubt.

  Michael paused twice during the descent through the tunnel to wait for his grandfather to catch up to him. His grandfather groaned and gasped for breath. All that time without food or water. What had kept Audrey and his grandfather alive in there?

  The ground dropped away under his feet, and his heart skipped a beat. He kicked around, but his feet only met air.

  “Grandpa,” he said, “the tunnel ended.”

  “Keep going,” his grandfather responded.

  Michael inched backward and his lower body dropped until the toes of his shoes scraped against the wall. He slid down until his feet landed on a hard surface again. His grandfather’s boots stuck out of the hole moments later, and Michael helped him stand again. Each of them dropped from the hole until they all stood in a circle.

  “I’ve been down this hole before during the early days,” his grandfather said. “After those damn things chased Ray, Finn, and me.”

  Hearing his grandfather say Finn’s name was startling. Should he tell his grandfather what had happened to him?

  Before he could decide, Joey spoke up. “Where to now, old man?”

  With his arm around his grandfather, Michael led the way through the tunnel toward the temple.

  “Proud,” his grandfather said. “Proud of you.”

  Michael was silent. His grandfather sniffled and grunted as if he were laughing. Another sniff, and his grandfather wiped his nose.

  “Your dad would be proud too.” His grandfather patted his back and pulled him closer. The hallway ended up ahead and turned through a doorway with the stairway leading down into the temple. They made their way through the temple and across the room past the entrance to the pit where Finn had fallen earlier. He opened his mouth to tell his grandfather about Finn, but closed it again.

  The door leading up into the church creaked open, and they started up the stairs. After the latch to the temple shut behind them, he knew they would make it out. Audrey had the most difficult time making it up the stairs. She collapsed twice, so Rebecca and Joey helped her the rest of the way. They labored up the two flights of stairs leading them up to the church basement door.

  “What if the basement door’s locked?” Michael asked.

  “We’ll bust it do
wn,” Joey said.

  The church basement door opened to a dark silent kitchen. Michael took a deep breath. The clean air lifted his heart. Sunlight poked through the edges of the blackened basement windows. Within minutes they’d be outside, but who’d be waiting for them? They trudged forward, their feet shuffling across the tiled floor.

  At the far side of the basement sat Pastor John, sitting in the darkness with his back against the exit. He aimed his pistol at Michael’s head.

  36

  Pastor John’s flashlight rested on the ground next to him illuminating their lower bodies like a misplaced stage light. Their flashlights lit up the blood, sweat, and dirt streaking down the front of his clothes. His shirt hung from his shoulders in shredded strips. His eyes were heavy, and he leaned to one side with his left elbow pressed in against his chest. He folded forward and winced as if someone had stabbed him, then bared his teeth and aimed the gun back toward Michael.

  “It’s alive,” Pastor John exclaimed. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Michael?” He stood with a groan and wobbled like a drunk.

  “Get out of our way,” Michael said.

  “Artie and Audrey, somehow, you survived. So happy to see you. And I see you found my canteen,” he said. “I looked all over for that thing.”

  “This is for my grandma,” he said, resting his hand on it.

  “Perfect,” Pastor John said. “Hand it over, and I will heal her tonight. You have my word.”

  “I don’t need you to heal her,” Michael said. “You’re a fraud.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think,” Pastor John said. “I’m taking that canteen.”

  Michael looked at his grandfather.

  “Don’t look at him, Michael,” Pastor John said. “You’re a big boy. Give it here.”

  Michael slid the strap from his shoulder and considered his odds of knocking the pistol out of Pastor John’s hand by whipping the canteen at his chest. The odds weren’t good. He set it on the ground a few feet in front of him and pushed it forward with his foot another few inches. Pastor John opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, his eyes locking on the canteen. The pistol swayed back and forth in his hand, the barrel’s direction shifting between the walls, the floor, and the group. Pastor John crouched to pick up the canteen and heaved as he lifted it. Michael calculated how he might jump forward in that moment and knock the pistol out of his hand, but Pastor John stepped back.

  Joey moved forward. “We want to go home.”

  “You’re a traitor to the temple, to your father, and to God.” Pastor John curled forward for a moment and winced, holding his hand over a large bloody spot on his chest. “Oh, you can go home all right. After you’re done with your mission.” Pastor John opened the canteen and poured much of its contents across the wounds on his chest. The black water oozed down his shirt, some pooling on the floor at his feet. He sealed it up again and slung it over his shoulder like a purse.

  “John, we’re done with our mission,” his grandfather said.

  Pastor John lost his grin and exploded. “Traitor! Thief! You stole from me. You stole from God.”

  “We gave you what you wanted.”

  Pastor John laughed and winced. “All of you are going back down there to get more Dunamis. I know this because that’s the only thing that can save your grandmother now. She’s in that nursing home, dying, and I have a strong feeling she won’t make it through the night without some of this. Bring back a full canteen this time.”

  Michael stepped forward, which stirred Pastor John to sit up and aim the pistol toward his face.

  “Empty your pockets.” He pointed the pistol toward the hand in his jacket pocket.

  Michael lifted his hands out without the pistol.

  “You’ve got a gun in there, haven’t you?” Pastor John’s face fell into shadow as he stepped forward. “Come over here.”

  With his hands still raised, Michael walked over. Pastor John poked his pistol against Michael’s chest as he dug his hand into Michael’s jacket pocket. He pulled out the pistol and broke into a grin. “Why don’t I shoot you all? Or drop you all into the pit with Finn? Because I believe in giving everybody a second cha–”

  Michael slammed his fist down against Pastor John’s pistol and it cracked against the cement floor. The round blasted against the wall and ricocheted to the ceiling. They all crouched with their hands around their heads. Michael lunged toward the pistol, but Pastor John slammed against his side, knocking him to the floor, and almost fell on top of him. Michael spun around and pounced on the pistol as Pastor John kicked him on the side of his head. A flash of pain blinded him, but he gripped the cold metal. He rolled onto his back as Pastor John loomed over him with the pistol he’d confiscated from Michael’s pocket a moment earlier. The barrel of the pistol stared him straight in the eyes.

  Pastor John’s finger strained against the trigger, his eyes and mouth wide as he bared his teeth. He grumbled as he floundered with it in his hand, grinding his teeth as he squeezed the trigger. The pistol trembled until his brows squished together and he stared, stunned, at it. The corners of his mouth formed a deep frown. His eyelids fluttered as if trying to wake from a dream.

  Michael swung Pastor John’s pistol around toward Pastor John’s chest and fired twice. The blasts ripped across his body and sent him hurtling backward, his arms flailing in the air, until he collapsed back onto a stack of folding chairs. His eyes swelled open, and he crumpled down to the floor. A gurgling noise flowed from his open mouth followed by a steady stream of blood.

  Rebecca shrieked, and the others gasped as Michael’s grandfather hurried to his side. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. His grandfather took the weapon from his hand and set it on the floor.

  Michael’s ears rang, and he stared into everyone’s eyes. They all looked the same. Bright white circles. He staggered and caught his breath. His grandfather’s voice rose above the ringing.

  “Michael.” His grandfather grabbed his arm. Michael flinched. “Let’s go.”

  Michael nodded, and his head swirled. Rebecca stood at his side, and her hand stroked his back. She pulled him close to her, and he draped his arm over her shoulder as she pivoted him away from the scene.

  “Did I kill him?” Michael asked.

  “You saved us. You okay?”

  “Not really.”

  “Hurry,” his grandfather said again. Footsteps thundered across the floor above them. “They’re upstairs. Go out the back.”

  Michael scrambled to grab the canteen from the floor in front of Pastor John, and then jolted into survival mode again. He raced to help his grandfather up the back stairway to the door that led outside. The rear door opened and a flood of warm air embraced them. Rebecca and Joey hurried Audrey out toward the orchard at the far edge of the lawn.

  His grandfather pulled at his arm, and they moved across the backyard toward the orchard as fast as their legs would move.

  “You did the right thing,” his grandfather said as if reading his mind.

  37

  As they passed the black house, Michael glanced over at the black cellar door behind it leading down into the room of corpses. A string of rusty chains weaved across the door, now with padlocks connecting them in the middle. A whiff of foul air floated past him, and he cringed.

  His grandfather stumbled at his side as they made their way to the edge of the orchard. He grunted when he lost his balance, and Michael grabbed his arm.

  The warm afternoon air filled his lungs. So clean. The birds chirped in the surrounding trees. Each breath lifted him from the darkness behind him. The breeze blew fresh air to them, and it also brought the odors from their bodies up to his nose along with the rancid smell of Dunamis and the monsters. Everybody’s hair was caked with dirt and flattened down as if they had been homeless for a month. If anybody saw them, they would think they were zombies, mass murderers, or victims of a terrorist attack.

  They ducked beneath the trees of the orcha
rd and followed the rows straight back, twigs snapping beneath their feet and leaves rustling in the surrounding shadows. Audrey plucked an apple from one tree and kept moving forward as she devoured it. His grandfather did the same and handed him an apple, which he held in his hand. He wished he could stop to eat it.

  Near the center of the orchard, they passed the black cellar doors Finn had pointed out that morning.

  “We’ll take Finn’s truck,” Michael said. “Not too far away.”

  “Where’s Finn?” his grandfather asked.

  Michael caught his grandfather’s eyes and slowed. “Grandpa, Finn didn’t make it. Pastor John killed him.”

  His grandfather stopped and hunched forward with his hands on his knees.

  “Finn is dead?” Audrey asked. Her tired face drooped farther.

  “He helped us a lot,” Rebecca said.

  His grandfather straightened up with red watery eyes and started again. “No time for mourning. Later.”

  The edge of the orchard came into view, and they slowed as they approached it. Maybe the temple had discovered Finn’s truck by now and would be waiting for them? All they had for weapons were a machete and a hunting knife. No match for the assault rifles the temple would brandish. His heart quickened, and each breath raced in and out of his lungs.

  “Michael,” Audrey said, “thank you.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Grandpa, I’m sorry I caused you problems.” Michael gripped his grandfather’s arm tighter.

  “No,” his grandfather said, “I’m proud of you.”

  The wall of sunlight ahead at the edge of the orchard approached. No sign of any white vans or guards awaited them. They crept forward at the edge and peered out into the street where it was as quiet as any other summer day. The chain link fence stood between them and freedom. Michael spotted the section of fence that Finn had cut apart earlier and was relieved the temple hadn’t repaired it yet. Michael couldn’t imagine the difficulty of climbing over the fence with his grandfather, but Audrey could barely stand and had almost toppled over several times on the way through the orchard.

 

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