The Creation: Let There Be Death (The Creation Series Book 2)

by The Behrg

  The Shaman swallowed, his throat tightening against Zephyr’s hand.

  “Now acknowledge that you understand me. That you will do whatever you did to Dugan to me. Do you understand?”

  Again with the smile.

  “Do you?”

  The Shaman gave a single nod of his head.

  Zephyr gave a half turn at the sound of men running toward them, which carried from down the hall. He couldn’t tell from which direction. In the end, it might not matter whether this man healed him or not.

  Only to Zephyr, it did matter.

  It was all that mattered.

  “Do it. I’m not removing my hand until it’s done.”

  His grip tightened on the Shaman’s neck as the man reached one bony hand up to the end of the cap at Zephyr’s arm. Instincts demanded Zephyr pull away. He forced himself to remain still. Bony fingers prodded at his skin near the cap, the deadened nerves barely registering the Shaman’s touch.

  Until he pulled at the cap.

  A wet suction sound preceded the tearing open of tiny ribbons of mucous-like tissue followed by a rupture of fresh blood.

  Zephyr howled in pain. Lost consciousness for the briefest of moments. His hand loosening from the Shaman’s neck. And still tissue clung to the cap like the coils of a stretched Slinky. His whole body shook. He fell against the Shaman, who now held Zephyr in his arms like a child.

  “Seraf’kin Lumienke,” the Shaman said, Zephyr’s mind somehow interpreting the man’s words.

  You will see Light.

  Pity, in the Shaman’s eyes. And then a pain Zephyr could only have imagined coursed through his body, rising in degrees until it became unquantifiable. The pain of Light.

  Verse XXXVI.

  Grey stumbled in the dark, barely catching himself before face planting into some exotic plant or shrub. Probably poisonous too, with his luck. The leathery fronds of leaves and branches slapped at him, toying with his inability to see. Sound was the only way to differentiate what lay before him, the world enveloped in a resolute darkness.

  He clutched Josue’s small wrist tighter, fully aware that he was following a blind child in the dark. A blind child who claimed he could see.

  I’m the fool, for believing, he thought. But in a day filled with impossibilities, it seemed foolish not to consider all things.

  Regardless of what Grey thought, Josue certainly moved through the jungle as if he had his sight. Steering clear of trees, avoiding pitfalls or impassable terrain, even warning Grey of a poisonous snake that, supposedly, had been just a foot or two to his right. Of course, without being able to see, Josue could have just been escorting Grey on a small course through the backwoods he was familiar with. But somehow, the fantastical seemed easier to believe.

  “We have to find him. Save him,” Josue had said.

  “The priest?”

  “Yes. Father Shumway. He has to know!”

  “Know what?”

  “That God believes in him.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if God just told him himself?”

  Josue hadn’t answered that one.

  When the mercenaries from the other night came bursting through the back of the building, snatching Father Shumway in the dark from his own church, Josue had decided to go after them. He claimed to know where they were taking him, and Grey had been the only one foolish enough to join the boy.

  Not that Grey had had many options. Remain trapped in a dark prison surrounded by people who didn’t even speak English or run around in the pitch dark with a delusional and quite possibly hallucinating child.

  At least with Josue, Grey could communicate.

  “Almost there,” Josue said.

  They staggered up a hill, each step crushing foliage beneath them. Grey squirmed at the loud snap of bones beneath his shoes, something caving in beneath his weight.

  It’s only a twig, it’s only a twig.

  But the scurrying noises of nearby animals did little to assuage his concerns.

  The blinding light had affected more than just the residents of Santa Elena; it was probably just the skull of a bird or bat he had stepped on.

  Or a baby, abandoned in the woods by parents who could no longer see.

  The image of Malcolm, flashed before his mind. Was that sickening pop the same sound the intern’s head had made when the log smashed his head to pulp?

  His racing heart had little to do with the exertion of their march.

  “She is okay,” Josue said.

  His words pulled Grey from the terrors of his own imagination. Darkness always had an endless canvas to paint upon.

  “Who?”

  “The girl you were with. At the church.”

  Faye.

  “She is okay; she is not dead. She is the reason you joined me, no? To protect her? Save her? I think maybe you will have that chance.”

  If only this kid knew what Grey had tried to do to her. He wondered if Josue would have still accepted his help.

  They continued through the darkness in silence until it felt they were just moving in circles, like the strokes of a paintbrush. Back and forth, then around in tiny swirls. Sharp, clinging leaves and thorny branches left their own strokes of paint on Grey’s arms and face and legs, though with only one color to choose from. He wondered if Josue wasn’t some avenging angel, leading him to the underworld where he would pay for his sins with an eternity of torment.

  I should have stayed in the church. But he would have been just as lost in that building God had abandoned.

  Josue’s hand suddenly slipped from his grasp. With the forward momentum, Grey fell into some kind of prickly brush.

  “Josue?”

  “Can you see them?” The young boy’s voice sounded both close and yet far away.

  Grey turned around, surrounded by only darkness. “See who?”

  “I think they have come to feed.”

  Grey felt every hair on his arms rise. “Who are they?”

  “They are beautiful.”

  A rustling noise sounded behind him, from the bush Grey had fallen into. Padded footfalls coming from the opposite direction. And then something brushed against his side.

  He yelped, jumping back a step. The creature, or whatever was before him, didn’t flee. Rather, it stood its ground, curious.

  Oh, God, I don’t want to die.

  “He hears you,” Josue whispered somewhere nearby. Or far off. Grey couldn’t tell.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Not the beast. God.”

  A low rumble sounded, coming from the creature before him. Part growl, part … almost part machine. Like an engine. Something whisked at his back, briefly touching him. A tail, or arm. Or tentacle.

  Grey swung his arms wildly, jumping in place to make as much noise as possible. Footfalls raced past somewhere to his left, a quiet rustle passing before him. But whatever was making the rumbling noise wasn’t going away.

  It was growing louder.

  Since coming to Venezuela, Grey hadn’t felt like himself. His usual snarky personality had given way to his attempt to be something he wasn’t, to impress a woman he knew he’d never have. Faye had infected him like a biogenetic disease, changing his molecular makeup and turning him into a mere iteration of his former self. Yet here in the darkness, surrounded by something that wanted to eat him, he could face the truth. He no longer had to hide. And the harsh truth he could never have faced in the light of day, was that he wasn’t special. He wasn’t unique. He didn’t have an extraordinary vision to put on display to a world who would eat out of his palmed hand but just hadn’t discovered him yet. Grey Peterson was just an ordinary man, filled with ordinary doubts and desires and hopes he would never act on. Destined to be a body, but never a somebody.

  He was surprised at how liberating the truth made him feel. He wouldn’t have to live his life always feeling like he hadn’t yet accomplished what he had come here to do.

  Because he hadn’t come here to do anything.

>   He would live, love — maybe — and die, replaced by the masses of bodies just like him, stepping in line to fill in the gap created when he made his exit. Or, since he was being honest, when his exit made him. Only in the solitude of darkness could he be so completely honest with himself, honest enough to know that if he didn’t die right now, he probably wouldn’t change for the better.

  I’m not a bad person, he thought. I’m just bad at being a person.

  The rumble grew louder, to the point Grey couldn’t hear his own thoughts. And then, like the flicker of a flame in a completely dark room, twin lights appeared a few feet in front of him. Eyes opening, shining. Their brightness increased as they drew nearer; a matter of seconds before they had converged upon him.

  The front bumper of a dark vehicle stopped less than a foot in front of him. Its headlights shone like a dying star, the darkness wrapping itself around the dim lights from all angles. Above the headlights, the hood of the vehicle disappeared into a black emptiness.

  Grey let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Two shots rang through the night, causing him to flinch. Something ran off through the jungle, trudging across leaves, while something large and heavy fell to the ground with a final thump. A body returning to the earth.

  “Josue? Josue!”

  The engine of the vehicle turned off, men or women stepping out to finish the job.

  “What are you doing out here?” a males’ voice said with an accent. Not a Spanish accent; almost a mild Jamaican.

  “I … I don’t know.” Grey knew how ridiculous it sounded, he just couldn’t come up with a better answer.

  The man must have thrown something, as a light object hit the ground, rolling to Grey’s feet. In his mind, he saw the explosion of a grenade, his body blown to tiny bits of bone fragments, flesh and jelly. But the object gave off a faint light.

  He bent down to pick it up, realizing it was a flashlight. A heavy-duty one, at that. What should have been a beam was instead a trickle, the light reaching only a foot or two into the darkness before dying out.

  “What’s out there?” Grey asked. “I felt one of them, it … brushed against me.”

  Grey heard the word “muku” under the man’s breath. “You were about to be somebody’s lunch,” the man continued. “Shine the light to your left … Your other left.”

  Grey crouched, moving in a hunched position to allow the light to strike the jungle floor. He couldn’t help the gasp that left him when his light finally fell upon a furry leg. The spotted skin rose to a sleek body torn apart by two bloody holes. Half of its head was buried in brush, the other half reminding Grey of a kitten, only infinitely larger.

  A jaguar.

  He had almost been attacked by a jaguar.

  Or a pack of them.

  “Good luck.”

  “No, wait!” Grey rose, stumbling toward the dim headlights and distinct voice.

  “Stay where you are!” Grey heard the man raise his weapon, imagining the worst. “You are safer here than where I am going.”

  “You worked for Dugan, right? Faye’s father?” Grey asked. “You’re certainly not Venezuelan and I don’t know why else you’d be out here. But why are you alone? Where are the others?”

  “Who said I’m alone?”

  “Please, I just want to help his daughter. I’m her … friend. We came here together. She doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in any of this.”

  “I should have let the jaguars kill you.”

  A car door slammed shut, but before Grey could shout, he heard the man cry out in rage — “No!”

  The vehicle’s engine turned over with an angry thrum. He heard the man, who was still outside, slam his weapon against the door or window. The vehicle jolted into drive with a bark, Grey jumping out of the way of its headlights. As it passed — much closer than he would have liked — he brought the flashlight up, trying to peer through the darkened glass. Behind the wheel he caught a glimpse of the priest, Father Shumway. His arm hung in a sling, a look of terror stricken across his face. And crouched low in the passenger’s seat, was Josue. He turned his head as if following Grey’s eyes, though the little back-stabbing bastard was blind. Grey could have sworn the kid smiled back at him.

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  The jeep roared past, and then the soldier that had been left behind opened fire. Grey instinctively hit the dirt, covering his head with his arms and praying the man wouldn’t turn on him. Bullets ricocheted and clinked off the fleeing vehicle, the back window shattering like a burst bubble. Finally the soldier stopped, his vehicle lost in the growth of the jungle.

  “Hraughhh!”

  The soldier kicked at something on the ground, hurling something heavy out into the plants and trees.

  Grey got up on his knees, holding the flashlight on his face, his other hand bent upward, palm out. “Please … don’t kill me?”

  Brush rustled beneath the soldier’s feet as he marched toward Grey. The man grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him up to his feet. Grey rose, awkwardly spinning the flashlight around so he could see the man he was stuck with.

  It was a man he didn’t recognize from the previous night; dreadlocks were wrapped into a knotted pony tail, the man’s dark face hidden beneath the night vision goggles he wore. But the goggles weren’t low enough to cover the man’s scowl.

  Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke. “You … are coming with me.”

  Verse XXXVII.

  Screams echoed through the hall, a ferocity to them Kendall had never heard before. Not from anything human.

  He had retrieved a fallen pistol — a Colt 9mm, both chamber and clip empty — in front of a cell filled with angry women. Aren’t they all, he thought. Rounds or no rounds, he’d use the weapon to bludgeon his way out of here if he had to.

  His bare feet moved swiftly across the hard earth, hand tightening around the barrel of the gun, ready for anything. But as he rounded a bend, the scene playing out before him was one he hadn’t prepared for. One that defied preparation.

  Streaks of white light zipped through the corridor like coagulating snowflakes, swarming around a darkness crouched on the ground. As they settled on the dark mass, they flashed brighter, burning out with a sudden spark, though more shot forward to take their place. Kendall had the distinct impression that he was witnessing something no human was meant to see, that he had stepped momentarily behind the curtain of reality, and the inner workings were more complex than a mind was capable of comprehending.

  Hours could have passed. Or years. Kendall found himself wondering if existence had started in a similar manner; no Big Bang, just a small light show, expanding exponentially throughout the ethers.

  Without a warning, the glimmers collapsed.

  Glimmers?

  They didn’t fade, they simply replaced the curtain, closing off the portal through which he had viewed them. But the darkness at the center remained, huddled in on itself.

  That darkness was the source of the screaming.

  As Kendall’s mind began to make connections once again, he recognized the frail form of the Shaman leaning against the wall. The man had never looked weaker. His bony chest heaved in and out, the rock necklaces and medallions he had worn previously, now removed. Sweat ran down his face, his body shiny with perspiration.

  The darkness on the ground began to move, crying out with a shuddering pain.

  “Zephyr?” Kendall shuffled a few steps forward.

  Zephyr drew up onto his knees and roared, a howl that made Kendall feel like a child. Frightened, scared, and believing that monsters were real.

  Because one was right in front of him.

  “What did you do to him?” Kendall shot forward, cornering the Shaman and shoving him back into the wall. “What were those things?”

  The Shaman looked up sharply, though he offered no resistance. “You saw. Not all can see.”

  “I saw what you did. What you are.”

  The Shaman reached out a hand, touching Ken
dall’s face. Kendall knocked it away, brushing at the skin where those bony fingers had landed.

  “No,” the Shaman said. “You do not see. You were merely shown.”

  Kendall placed the barrel of the pistol into the soft flesh just beneath the Shaman’s jawline, pointing it upward. If the gun had been loaded, he would have killed the man right there. Instead, all he could do was utter threats.

  “What did you do to him?”

  If the Shaman was afraid, he certainly didn’t show it. “He is whole.”

  “Don’t move or I’ll blow your muku head off.” Kendall stepped back from the Shaman, moving toward Zephyr, though with just as much caution. But before he could address him, two soldiers appeared from the far corridor, rifle muzzles raised.

  Kendall hurled his pistol toward them, striking the first man in the face. He staggered back, not expecting the blow, and hit into the guard behind him. Kendall closed the distance, moving like a panther toward its next meal, and leapt at them. All three bodies fell, Kendall beating the first guard in the side of the head and knocking him unconscious before they even hit the ground.

  The second man reached for his rifle, which had fallen free in the tumult, but Kendall slammed an elbow into his trachea, collapsing his windpipe. A quick thrust, and the man’s neck snapped. If he could even be called a man.

  These guards were boys, barely out of their teens. But a stray shot from a child did as much damage as that of a trained sniper, and Kendall wasn’t taking chances.

  He wrenched the neck of the other guard back, then dragged their bodies around the bend, collecting both of their semi-automatic rifles. Only one of them looked sturdy enough to use. Neither Zephyr nor the Shaman had moved from their perches, though Zephyr had finally quit his moaning.

  “What happened? What did he do to you?”

  Zephyr turned, raising his arm toward him. The wraps and bandages had been removed from his amputated arm. At its end, dark skin had fully formed into a bumpy knob.