Shadows Rising

by Dean Rasmussen

  Before Michael could suggest who might go through the gap in the fence first, Joey charged forward and ripped back the section of chain link metal, stretching it wide so everyone could squeeze through one at a time. Rebecca and Audrey went through first, then his grandfather followed by Michael. Joey came last, and the fence snapped down behind him.

  “Which way?” his grandfather asked.

  Michael pointed. “About three blocks that way.”

  Michael ran ahead of them. Finn had kept the keys to the truck with him, although Michael hadn’t checked to see if they were in Finn’s backpack or not. He listened for the jingle of keys while he ran, but there was no sound like that. Maybe the keys were in Finn’s jacket pocket below the church, destined to rot forever in the pile of debris deep in the tunnels. He debated whether or not to stop and check before he ran too far.

  He came around the corner to the final block and Finn’s truck sat in the same location where they had left it. The trees and sky reflected off the windshield, creating shadows over the driver’s seat resembling a dark figure. Finn was waiting for him. He’d sat there all afternoon. The reflections on the windshield shifted as he approached. The driver’s seat was empty. A surge of energy pushed him faster. The closer he got to the truck, the more energy rushed through him. At the driver’s side door, he slid the backpack to the ground and dug his hand to the bottom, scraping his fingers through the crud that had slipped inside. His finger touched a key, and then he yanked the keychain out.

  He unlocked the car door and jumped into the driver’s seat, tossing the backpack onto the passenger seat. With his left hand clutching the steering wheel, he started the engine and put the truck in gear. Without hesitation he drove over to the others and parked it. He unlocked the passenger side door.

  “Do you want me to drive?” his grandfather asked him as he helped Rebecca and her mother climb into the backseat of the cab.

  “I’m fine, Grandpa,” Michael said.

  Joey volunteered to sit back in the cargo bed. Michael adjusted the mirrors as everyone settled in and then handed the last of his water from his backpack to the others. They guzzled it within seconds.

  Michael tapped the gas pedal and took off with an unintended jolt. “Sorry!”

  Joey tapped on the window at the back of the cab. Rebecca opened the cab window and Joey shouted in.

  “Easy on me back here,” Joey said. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Not really, where’s your house?”

  “I’ll tell him, Joey,” Rebecca said.

  “Okay. I guess I’ll have to answer to my dad at some point. How am I going to tell him his god is dead?”

  No one answered.

  On the way to Joey’s house they passed a white van, and the driver eyed them as they passed. Michael focused on the van’s brake lights in his rearview mirror, but the van didn’t turn around. Within two minutes the truck stopped in front of Joey’s house. A dog barked at them through the front screen door.

  Joey climbed out, and came around to the driver’s side window. Michael rolled it down.

  “Come by tomorrow if you’re still in town,” Joey said. His eyes turned to Rebecca. “Take care, Bex. Can we talk later?”

  Michael met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes, we should all talk later,” she said.

  They took off down the road, passing the cemetery and turning onto the gravel road toward his grandfather’s house.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go home,” Michael said. “What if they’re waiting for us?”

  “What else can they do now?” his grandfather said.

  Michael bounced along the gravel road, hitting a pothole that slammed against the tire of the truck. Behind them, far in the distance, another car approached, kicking up a trail of dust. The car behind them raced toward them, and Michael sped up too. Rebecca’s house came into view first, and Michael slowed as he turned into the driveway.

  The porch light was on and some other lights were visible through the windows. He pulled the car as close to the house as he could. The approaching car might be temple members, and they might need to race into the house. He stopped the truck and left the engine running as he climbed out and ran around the front of the truck to the other side. They all stepped out.

  The approaching car’s engine grew louder. His heart skipped a beat. The truck door slammed shut as the car whizzed past them without slowing. A middle-aged woman sat in the driver’s seat.

  His grandfather glanced toward the house. “Looks like you’ve got power.”

  “Thank you, Artie,” Audrey said. Her voice was soft and her eyelids hung down. “And Michael.” They all shared hugs.

  Rebecca wrapped her arms around Michael, pressing her face up against his cheek. “If the phones work, I’ll call you.” She stepped back still holding his wrists. “Thank you for everything.” She squeezed his wrists and pulled him closer, leaning into him with her face tilted up. She kissed his cheek.

  Audrey and Michael’s grandfather were most likely watching. A warmth spread through Michael and he didn’t back away. The sun peered out from behind a cloud and lit up her face. She squinted and smiled.

  “I’ll check up on you,” he said. She nodded.

  “All right, you two. Michael, let’s go home now,” his grandfather said, “and see what the temple left for us.”

  “It’s a mess,” Michael said. “They wrecked a lot of your stuff.”

  “Did they get down into the basement?”

  Michael nodded. “They tore it up, but they didn’t find the secret hole.”

  “Finn took us down there,” Rebecca said. “That’s where we got the map and the medallion. Without him we couldn’t have done this.”

  “He was a good man.” His grandfather returned to the truck, and Michael followed him.

  After walking in the door to his home, his grandfather put on a clean pair of work boots sitting undisturbed beside the door, despite all the chaos from the creature and the temple.

  Michael set his backpack on the kitchen table and dug out the canteen and the medallion. Streaks of dried Dunamis covered them. The toxic stench pulled him back into the tunnels and the memories flashed through his mind like a rapid slideshow. The etchings on the medallion had filled in with dirt.

  “I have more things to show you,” his grandfather said standing next to him. “Some other time.”

  “Will the creatures attack again tonight, Grandpa?”

  “I’m not sure. Everything in this town is upside down.” His grandfather turned away and walked into his bedroom.

  Michael returned the medallion to the backpack and carried the canteen over to the kitchen sink. It thudded against the bottom, knocking against the dirty dishes from the previous day’s meal, and he scrubbed away the remnants of the Dunamis from the surface. So much suffering to get it, but his grandmother would live. He’d done something right for a change. He lifted the canteen from the sink and placed it on the kitchen table. His teacher had talked about heavy water in chemistry class, but this wasn’t the same thing. This was literally heavy. His teacher would go berserk analyzing this.

  Michael crossed the kitchen to his grandfather’s bedroom where a light breeze blew in through the smashed out window. Shattered glass sprawled across the floor. “We need to get this boarded up before Mary can come back.” He kicked some glass into a pile. “Grab the broom and dustpan from the kitchen pantry.”

  Michael did as his grandfather asked, but stopped at the sink to pour himself and his grandfather a glass of water first. He pushed aside the curtain over the small window above the sink revealing clouds igniting a reddish-orange blaze in the sky as the sun neared the horizon. He’d seen sunsets like that in photos on the Internet, but never in real life. He finished his glass of water, and then carried the broom and the other glass of water into the bedroom.

  His grandfather gulped the water down in a few swallows, and then asked for more. His eyes and cheeks had regained col
or.

  “Sure, Grandpa.”

  For the next half an hour he helped his grandfather board up the windows and straighten out the mess as much as possible. Streaks of dried blood marked the path where the creature had dragged his grandfather through his bedroom and out the window. A lot of work still needed to be done before the house would be back to the way it was. Despite his exhaustion, it would be difficult to sleep tonight.

  “Go on upstairs now and get cleaned up,” his grandfather said. “I need to do the same.”

  Michael went upstairs, took a shower, changed his clothes, and came back downstairs to find his grandfather on the phone. The conversation ended with ‘I love you.’ No doubt he’d been talking with Grandma Mary. Tears streaked down his grandfather’s cheeks, and he turned away as he hung up the phone. His grandfather had changed into his pajamas and wore a brown robe over them.

  “We can take the canteen to Grandma tomorrow,” Michael said. “It’s got some of that stuff in it that Pastor John used to heal people. You just put it on your skin.”

  “I know what it does,” his grandfather said, lowering his head. “We don’t want it.”

  “I got it from the tunnels.”

  “Pour it down the sink.” His grandfather plodded to the kitchen and rested his hand on Michael’s shoulder as he passed. “It’s not… natural.”

  Michael followed him. They both sat at the kitchen table. “I want to take away her dementia. I want to save her. Please let me do that.”

  His grandfather reached out and held his hand. His eyes locked onto Michael’s. “Everybody dies. It’s her time soon.”

  Michael stared at the canteen in the center of the table. Pressure pushed against his eyes as they watered. “Please, Grandpa.”

  “Thank you, Michael. I know you mean well. You’re a good person, and I love you.”

  Someone pounded on the back door, and they both jolted upright.

  38

  “Stay back.” His grandfather went to the back door and peered out before opening it.

  Michael slid the canteen off the table and slipped it into one of the kitchen cabinets. He scoured the kitchen for weapons. Only knives remained.

  “I figured you would return home.” Brother David stood in the doorway escorted by two men in white suits. All three had their hands in their jacket pockets with the faint outline of a pistol poking through. “You’ve stolen something from us.”

  Michael walked up beside his grandfather, and David glared at him.

  “David Hatcher.” His grandfather stepped forward, towering over him. “I wondered how long it would take you to assume control. Get off my property.”

  David sneered. “Bold statements from a man who just committed murder. One call and the police will be here in minutes to drag you both away.”

  “Your temple is finished.”

  “Not by a long shot.” David pushed his way through the front door followed by his two guards. “Where is it?”

  His grandfather stood in front of Michael as the guards circled them.

  “Maybe–” his grandfather started.

  “Maybe you need to stop playing games!” David yelled. He clenched his fists at his sides and his eye twitched. “I can smell it. The Dunamis is here. Our beloved Pastor John’s shirt was drenched in Dunamis when we discovered his body in the basement, yet there was no sign of its origin. We know it’s here.”

  “It’s mine,” Michael said. “I found it.”

  “Then give it to me!” David’s eyes were red, and he blinked nervously as he surveyed the kitchen. “You burglarized my temple and murdered my pastor.”

  “My grandpa was dying under your church,” Michael said. “Your pastor tried to kill us!”

  “Michael,” his grandfather said.

  “How many people have you killed down there?” Michael stepped forward.

  “Michael, please give it to him.” His grandfather held out an arm to stop his advance.

  “I won’t,” Michael said. “It’s for Grandma.”

  David rubbed his fingers against his temples. “Give it to me.” His voice was calm and condescending.

  “All I want to do is heal Grandma.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Give him what he wants,” his grandfather said. “Their healing is not from love. Not from the God I know.”

  Michael grimaced. “I don’t want her to die, Grandpa.”

  “I love you, Michael. Everything will turn out fine. We don’t need it.”

  David’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward Michael. “This is your last chance. Give me the Dunamis. The temple will be grateful, and God will bless you for cooperating.”

  Michael scowled and shot a glance back at the cabinet holding the canteen. No point in fighting them anymore. He kicked a kitchen chair out of the way as he trudged over to the cabinet and pulled out the canteen, clutching it in his fingers. Traces of the black liquid formed a ring around the edge of the cap.

  “Take it,” David commanded.

  The two guards jumped across the kitchen, wrestling it from his grasp. His chest ached as the canteen’s weight lifted from his hands.

  Michael dropped into a chair at the table and stared at the floor.

  “Don’t leave town,” David said. “We’ll be in touch. God bless.”

  They stormed out the door and the kitchen fell silent again. His grandfather wrapped his arm over Michael’s shoulder. Michael wept.

  39

  David stood within the darkness at the edge of the stage. Angelic music reverberated off the walls of the gymnasium. Pastor John’s body lay at the center of the stage in front of the pulpit, his hands folded over his chest, and white silk pillows cushioning him as if clouds were raising him to Heaven. The lights lit up his body like a precious jewel in a museum. Weeping and sniffles echoed from every direction as the crowd continued to flood in. The bleachers overflowed with worshipers, and every additional person coming in the door grabbed a folding chair from the stack against the wall.

  David’s guards stood at every entrance, but there would not be any problems. David would get back to the business of the temple. They would see what kind of man he was this evening. It was his time to shine. No longer in the shadow of Pastor John, he would become the healer he’d always dreamed of being.

  Some followers crowded in close to the stage, grasping at the edge of the high rise to peek at the body, as if getting an inch closer would somehow ease the pain of their loss. Guards lined the stage, both in front and back, and they’d escorted several followers off the stage after they’d climbed up to touch Pastor John’s body one last time. The mortician had cleaned him up well on such short notice, although there wasn’t a need for makeup or embalming, since it had been less than one day since his death. The funeral home had removed all the filth from the tunnels that had saturated every corner of Pastor John’s body. Good as new. Pastor John’s face was a pale, ghostly white under the intense lights. A glowing, angelic white as God had intended.

  Bertha stood next to David along with an elderly man who would become his first healing victory. The man shot wide-eyed glances at David and the audience. David had chosen a follower with a minor medical issue, a broken arm, since the Dunamis was limited. They’d discovered more problematic medical issues, like cancer or heart disease, required a greater amount of the substance to heal. Bertha’s cancer never seemed to go away, no matter how much Dunamis they applied. It was as if Death had won a morbid bet and refused to give up its prize.

  David held a gold tinted unlabeled wine bottle in his hands. The last of the Dunamis. He had emptied the remaining contents of Michael’s canteen into the bottle after finding it in Pastor John’s office. Even though the Dunamis only filled half the bottle, it would last for several healing performances and buy him enough time to find more, enough time to cement his stature in the town’s mind as the new pastor. The new healer.

  The wine bottle shifted in his hands. Bertha was tugging at it.


  “Give that to me,” Bertha demanded.

  David clamped onto her wrist and ripped the bottle away. He spoke to her as he would a child. “I need to take care of business now, Mrs. Crane.”

  Her head wobbled, and she glared at him. “I know what you’re up to. You wanted him dead.”

  David made sure he’d switched off his wireless microphone. He tightened his grasp around her wrist, sure if he squeezed harder, he might snap it apart. He leaned into her ear.

  “I’ll never waste another drop of this on you.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes narrowed. She yanked her wrist away and nursed it against her chest.

  David led the elderly man out from behind the curtain toward the pulpit. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. Joel Somebody. The crowd applauded and shouted praises to God. A spotlight followed them. Another spotlight dimmed on Pastor John’s body. The crowd hushed, and the music faded as David stepped up to the pulpit. The elderly man at David’s side beamed a wide grin as he waited for instructions. David switched on his microphone.

  He gazed down at Pastor John’s body. He was determined to put on a good show, having dressed in his finest white suit, and even donning white gloves to distinguish his appearance from his predecessor. The eyes of the town focused on him, and he basked in their attention. The spotlights blinded him, blacking out the audience except for the front few rows.

  “Pastor John loved his temple,” David said. “He performed miracles for you every week for the last three years. He wanted to see his lambs grow and be strong to battle the phantoms that continue to prowl this town at night. We must be strong now. As he reminded us, darkness has descended on this town and has taken many of you who did not believe, who did not have faith. We’ve protected those who have trusted the temple and put their faith in Pastor John, and if you are here today, then you have survived only by your faith in him. He has kept us safe from the phantoms.”

  David made a sudden gesture with his hands, raising them to the sky. “How many people here have faith?”