by Ron Ripley
Asa held a large hunting rifle, a powerful scope attached to it. He held the weapon with easy familiarity, and he wore a long, white bathrobe. His feet were bare, his white hair long and falling well past his shoulders. The man’s face was thin, his blue eyes bright. His nose looked like a hawk’s bill, his lips thin.
“Hello, Francis,” Asa said, and Shane was surprised at the musicality of the man’s voice.
“Hello, Asa,” Frank responded. “This is my friend, Shane, and the young woman he’s carrying is Emma.”
Asa nodded. “Follow me.”
The man’s footsteps were silent, Asa moved with the grace of a dancer.
He’s dangerous, Shane realized. Terribly so. Someone would never hear him sneak up on them.
Asa paused at a gun rack, cleared the chambered round from the rifle and hung the weapon up. He dropped the unspent bullet into a box of the same and opened the door to a room beside the weapons.
When Asa flicked on the lights, Shane winced, blinked several times and then gasped when he could see again.
He was in an operating room. Everything gleamed beneath the strong lights.
“Wow,” Shane whispered.
One corner of Asa’s mouth curled up in a small smile. “Thank you. It has taken me quite some time to accumulate the materials. You would be surprised at what the government regulates and tracks. Now, please set the young lady on the table and step out of the room. I will let you know if I need any assistance.”
Shane put Emma down and paused. Frank took him by the arm, saying, “Come on. She’s in the best hands now.”
With a reluctant nod, Shane followed Frank out of the room. Asa closed the door behind them.
“This way,” Frank said, gesturing towards a small room nearby. It contained a pair of chairs and a wall of monitors. Each monitor had a different view of the area around the house. There were also some monitors whose cameras were tracking game trails and nearby roads.
“Paranoid much?” Shane asked. He sat down, exhaustion creeping in on him.
Frank chuckled as he took a seat. “Little bit. He wasn’t like this before Afghanistan. Traumatic brain injury from a roadside bomb. Made him paranoid. Fortunately, he’s still a brilliant medic.”
“He’s good?” Shane asked.
“The best,” Frank said. “He’s the one who stitched my face back together. Plastic surgeons worked on the rest, but they said if he hadn’t done the initial work, well, it would have been a lot less pretty.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said. He looked around the room and found a single book on the small table between the chairs. Leaning forward, Shane picked it up and read the title. Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius. “And he’s a stoic.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. He rubbed at his eyes and then closed them. “He’ll get us when he’s done.”
“Okay,” Shane said. He shut his eyes, let out a sigh and tried to relax. As sleep climbed up to claim him, a sudden, painful thought grabbed him.
If the ghosts were on the road, he told himself, then the town is overrun.
The thought kept him awake for a long time.
Chapter 27: Early Morning in Gaiman
Jess’ sneakers were a little big on Mrs. Geisel, but she could move around in them. She held onto the fireplace shovel while George remained master of the poker. Both he and Mrs. Geisel were bundled up against the cold and stood by the back door.
“I spoke with Evie Marchinko before everything happened at my house,” Merle said, her voice hard. “I’m not sure how she’s managed since then, but I know she was still alive as of yesterday morning.”
“And she’s the house to the right of yours?” George asked, glancing out the window at the building in question.
“Yes,” Merle said, “that’s right.”
George looked at the house. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet away, but there was a fresh layer of snow covering everything, and he didn’t know if there was ice beneath it. He also wasn’t sure how many ghosts were watching his house, if any.
It would be foolish to think they’re not, he told himself. I don’t know if sending them back to wherever they came from hurts, but they certainly don’t like it.
Gripping the poker, George looked at Merle, gave the woman a tight smile and asked, “Are you ready?”
Her face paled at the question, but she nodded and forced a smile.
George felt his resolve weakening, so he grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and jerked the door open. He entered into the chill air and kept his eyes focused on Evie’s house.
One step in front of the other, he told himself. One step in front of the other.
George didn’t focus on anything more than that. Lifting the right foot and putting it down, lifting the left foot and putting it down, and repeat. Soon they were on the street, then across it, and finally, they were walking up to the side porch.
Merle went first since she knew Evie better than George did.
The older woman knocked on the glass. When no one answered, she knocked a little louder.
“Who is it?!” Evie yelled from inside. George could hear the panic in the woman’s voice.
“Evie, it’s Merle,” Merle said. “I’m with George from across the street. We’ve come to get you and the children.”
“How?” Evie demanded. Her volume had lowered, but the fear was still there.
“George has set up a safe place in the house,” Merle said, and George was impressed with the calmness which emanated from her. “We can all be safe there together until someone figures out what’s going on.”
“The door’s opened,” Evie said.
Merle went into the house, and George followed. They entered the wrecked remains of a kitchen. The table and chairs were smashed, cups and plates and silverware littered the floor.
Evie was crouched in the corner between the refrigerator and the wall, her children pressed in behind her. George remembered a woman with bright red hair, a round face and dour clothes, someone whose body had gone to pot long ago.
The woman George saw in the kitchen only had the ginger hair he remembered. Her pale skin was splotched with red, a trio of identical scratches down her left cheek. It looked like she had lost ten pounds in the last three days, and also found a strength George doubted she had known about prior to the current situation. In her chubby hands, she held onto a cast iron frying pan, and George smiled.
“You’ve kept them away with that,” he said.
A little girl peered over her mother’s shoulder and said, “She’s made dozens disappear.”
“Not dozens,” Evie whispered. “But a lot. They wanted my girls. They wanted to do things to them.”
“I'm glad you did. It was good,” George said. “Really good. I never thought of a cast iron frying pan as a weapon.”
“I saw what you did with the poker,” Evie said. “We were watching out the window.”
George nodded. “Listen, do you have any food and extra salt?”
Evie frowned at the second part of the question. “Sure. Why?”
“We need it, dear,” Merle said, smiling. “Let’s gather up what we need quick as we can, alright?”
Evie paused and then straightened up. “Okay. Salt and food are in the pantry. I’ll grab the kids’ coats and stuff.”
“Alright,” George said, “but let’s hurry. I don’t know when the ghosts will be back.”
Fear spurred them all to greater efforts.
Chapter 28: Answering Some Questions
The sun was up when Asa stepped into the small observation room and said, “She wants to speak with Shane.”
Shane nodded his thanks, stood up, stretched and went to the small operating theater. He found Emma on the bed, the back of it raised slightly, and the safety bars on either sides of her in the upright position. She had several white hospital blankets on her and an IV drip as well. Asa had also hooked her up to a monitor, which beeped at a slow and steady rhythm.
Emma’s face was
puffy, but all the cuts had been cleaned and bandaged, giving her the appearance of a boxer who had come out on the losing end of a bout. Her eyes followed him as he entered, and since there was no chair for him, Shane stood.
He smiled and said, “Hello, Emma.”
She offered a weak, tired smile in return and when she spoke her voice was small and difficult to hear. Shane heard the painkillers working their magic, fighting off shock and keeping her from sinking under its weight.
“Where are my friends?” she asked.
“They were killed,” Shane answered.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“Did they suffer?” Emma asked.
“I hope not,” he said.
“Me too,” she said, sighing. “I suffered. You know, I had heard, once, that people who have a traumatic incident usually don’t remember it. Some sort of safety mechanism for the brain.”
“That’s a lie,” Shane said.
“Figures,” Emma said. “Thank you.”
“For pulling you out of there?” Shane asked.
“And for bringing me to this hospital,” she added.
“You’re welcome,” Shane said. “But you’re not in a hospital. This is a friend’s house.”
Emma shrugged. “Whatever works. He’s got some awesome drugs. I don’t feel good, but I don’t care that I don’t feel good.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Shane said.
Emma closed her eyes and was quiet. Shane turned to leave and stopped when she asked, “How did you know to use salt?”
Shane faced her again and said, “Those weren’t the first ghosts I’ve had to deal with.”
“Ah,” she said, a small smile playing on her face, her eyes still closed. “I wish I had known there were a lot of them.”
“We did know,” Shane said, anger creeping into his voice. “We were supposed to go in there. We were just waiting on the call.”
Emma opened her eyes. “You were supposed to?”
Shane nodded, not trusting himself to speak calmly.
“Then why did he send us?” she asked, confused. “If you knew what you were doing, and how many were there?”
“I don’t know,” Shane answered. “But we’re going to talk to him. He’s got at least three deaths on his hands, maybe more.”
“How could he have more?” she asked. “Did others go into the prison?”
Shane shook his head. “No. The town of Gaiman owned the prison. And the ghosts are loose within its borders.”
“Oh my God,” she said, and Shane had to strain to hear her. “How many people?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. The bitterness and rage he felt towards Ollie Dawson tasted like steel in his mouth. “But we’re going to find out.”
Emma closed her eyes again. “Hit him for me.”
“I will,” Shane said. He stood by the bed for several minutes, making sure she had fallen asleep before he went back to the monitoring room. Frank and Asa were there, Frank raising an eyebrow.
Shane sighed as he dropped into his seat. He yawned, rubbed at his eyes and said, “I want to knock your friend Ollie’s teeth out.”
“Is he the one responsible for this girl’s condition?” Asa asked, and Shane heard an angry tightness in the man’s voice.
“Indirectly,” Frank said. “He sent them into a place he had been warned about.”
“Them?” Asa asked, and Shane could see the man struggled with his temper.
Frank nodded.
“Can you tell us the extent of her injuries?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Asa answered. “All of her toes have been broken, as well as several of the larger bones in her feet. Both knees were dislocated, and all the ribs on her left side were cracked. She has suffered extensive internal injuries and a fracture of the left orbital socket. Both pinkies were broken, and the thumbs dislocated.”
Asa took a deep breath, looked down at the floor and added, “And she was assaulted.”
Frank pushed himself up out of the chair and walked around the room for a minute, cracking the knuckles on his hands.
Shane clenched his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose.
“She cannot be moved,” Asa continued, “at least not without an ambulance. When she wakes up, I will, of course, offer her that option. I will also offer her the choice of remaining here until she is well enough to travel home in a vehicle other than an emergency one.”
Shane nodded.
“Thank you, Asa,” Frank said.
Asa offered them a grim smile. “It is not much of a burden, although I must say that I wish I could go with you when you speak with this Oliver Dawson.”
“Yeah?” Shane asked.
Asa nodded. “As a medic, I have the requisite knowledge for inflicting the maximum amount of pain while causing the least amount of physical damage.”
“That,” Shane said, “is something I would like to see.”
“Do you want to see him now?” Frank asked, turning to look at Shane, his hands balled into fists.
“If I may,” Asa said, standing up. “Both of you would do well with two to three hours of sleep. Also, a large amount of snow fell again while I was caring for Emma. I would advise you to rest. I will wake you up in three hours, and have a meal ready for you.”
Shane didn’t want to, but he knew the wisdom of it. He looked to Frank and the former monk nodded his agreement.
“We would appreciate it, my friend,” Frank said.
“Then come,” Asa said, standing up. “My home is Spartan, but it is comfortable.”
Shane got up and followed his friend and the strange medic out of the room, wondering what the day might bring.
Chapter 29: Merle Has Information
George poured the last of the chicken noodle soup into a cup and carried it out into the television room. The fire burned brightly in the hearth, the flames casting out much needed warmth over Evie Marchinko's two little girls who were asleep in a Coleman sleeping bag. Their mother was wrapped in an old blanket, sipping a hot toddy from an old china cup.
Merle was standing by the wood logs that she and George had brought in together and stacked beneath the front window. She inspected the line of salt on the sill, nodded to herself and smiled at him. The expression showed her exhaustion, as did the black circles beneath her eyes.
"Soup's here, Merle," George said, easing himself down onto the floor.
"Thanks," she said. Merle sat beside Evie, accepted the cup from George and bent over it, inhaling. "Funny. I never thought chicken noodle soup could smell so good."
"I didn't think I'd ever be hungry enough to eat half a stack of saltines," George confessed.
Evie took a drink and then asked, "Why?"
"Why what?" Merle asked. George could hear the effort it took for her to keep her voice calm.
"The ghosts," Evie said, looking at Merle. She kept her voice low, but it was tinged with desperation. "Why are they here? Are they in all of Gaiman, and why isn't anyone coming to help us?"
"I don't know," Merle answered.
"I called the police," Evie said. "And they told me they had lots of other problems to deal with, and that they'd send an officer out as soon as they could."
George shook his head. He had never thought to call the police, and by the look on Merle's face, he could see the idea had never presented itself to her either.
"When did you call?" Merle asked.
"This morning," Evie said, her voice rising a little. Then she took a deep breath and continued. "I called this morning because a couple of them had come into the house. They said terrible things. They were going to hurt my girls. That’s when I grabbed the frying pan."
"You did a great job," George said. "A fantastic job, Evie."
She nodded, brushed a lock of red hair away from her forehead and said, "But why are they here?"
"I think I know why," Merle said.
Both George and Evie looked to her. Evie's surprise mimicking
his own.
"When the town first brought the prison in," Merle said, "the guards and the staff had to drive in from places like Concord and Goffstown. Some as far as Nashua. The town figured it would be in their best interest to put in a few houses, so they built Mulberry Street."
"Wait. What?" George said.
Merle nodded. "This entire street. It's why all the houses are all one type. Easy to build prefabs. The whole place went up in about a month. Then the prison's staff and the guards moved in. They could see their homes when they were at work, and the prisoners could see the freedom that the guards enjoyed. Everyone in Kurkow was fixated on Mulberry Street."
"That's why there were guards here too," George whispered.
Merle nodded.
"But why are there so many of them?" Evie asked. "I mean, come on, did a whole bunch die at once or something?"
"Yes," Merle said, and she told them about the accident at Kurkow Prison. “Lots of rumors really, about what happened at the prison. Small towns are good for that. And no one knows for certain, of course, because no one bothered to tell the residents. What’s passed down over the years is that there was an accident in the basement. They kept chemicals down there. Some for the cleaning equipment they used, since they did all of their own laundry, and some for finishing wood.”
“What?” George asked, confused.
“Kurkow used to put out some excellent furniture,” Merle said, shaking her head. “Gave the prisoners something to do. A way to earn money. And for some, it was a way to learn a trade so they could get a job when they got out.”
“And they think it was the chemicals?” Evie asked.
Merle nodded. “Yes. I heard from one man, who survived, that a cloud came up from the basement. Men choked to death on it. It became a mad house. Prisoners being murdered even as the guards tried to get everyone out and to safety. A lot of guards died, too, trying to save those men.”
“Did the man who did it get punished?” George asked.
“No,” Merle said. “They never learned who it was. Or how it happened. The bodies were so contaminated by the gas that they were cremated instead of being interred.”