“You’ve got to prime that with a bucket of water for it to flush,” Martin explained to the others. “I’ll be darned. I haven’t seen one of those since my grandpa’s old house in Suffolk.”
“Okay, just eww,” said Abby, turning away.
The hallway also had a very narrow set of steps that led to a brightly lit loft used for storage. Among the old furniture, books and a chest of old clothes, they found several more oil lamps.
Steve had to admit that, despite its dust and shabby appearance, the house was very clean and functional. The strongest impression he had had of the house, from the moment he had opened the back door, was the smell. It reminded him of his childhood, when he and his older cousins used to play hide and seek in his grandmother’s house. His favorite hiding place had been the small hope chest in her spare bedroom. She had used it to store blankets, ancient photos, long past love letters and a few old books. Steve used to open the lid and slip inside. If he lay very still, the lid would close over him. He always lay on his stomach, nose down into the mementos. To lie face up reminded him too much of Dracula in a coffin, and vampires had haunted his childhood.
He’d lie there for long minutes, inhaling the scents of long ago—lingering fabrics, paper curing in decades-old hardbacks and trace whiffs of cedar and mothballs. His cousins never found him there. Were they too naïve, thinking he wasn’t small enough to fit in the chest, or were they letting him stay hidden because he was “little cousin Stevie?” It didn’t matter which. Either way, it had made him feel strong and comfortable. It was uncanny that the smells here were so similar. Years later and thousands of miles away, he once again felt that strength and comfort in this house.
After they finished the tour of their modest, new, temporary home, Steve called the group back to the den.
“Okay, guys. So here we are.” He looked at his watch. “We still have a couple of hours of sunlight left. Let’s do what we can to get this place set up.”
“Set up for what?” Veronica asked.
Steve knew they might have only hours before Preacher showed up, but Biker had told them that they might have several days. “For living,” said Steve. “We might be here a while.”
He didn’t want them going stir crazy waiting for some kind of signal, especially when there was no guarantee that they’d get any warning.
“Martin, how about you put your culinary skills to work and see what we’ve got for a kitchen?”
“Got it. I’ve never worked one of those old-time cook stoves before, but I think I can whip it into shape.”
“Good,” said Steve. “Abby, would you mind seeing if we can get some sheets and stuff for the bedrooms and get those beds set-up?”
“Yes sir,” she said, saluting and smiling.
“Veronica, how about checking out the shed to see if you can find that lamp oil Biker told us about?
“Will do.”
“And anything else you can find that might be useful,” Steve added. “I am gonna get started on bringing in some water out of the well. Martin, you’ll probably need it for the kitchen. We need it for cooking, cleaning up and using that funky toilet. We’re gonna need a lot.”
By sundown, the scents of vegetable stew and lamp oil had replaced the dust and must. The small flames bathed the rooms in a soft, comfortable glow. Warmth from the cook stove filled the kitchen. They crowded around the small table, digging into hearty bowls of Martin’s vegetable soup and crusty bread.
“Martin, I owe you an apology,” said Veronica, pointing her spoon in his direction. “This is excellent. Never again shall I dispute your culinary complaints about sub-standard hotel food!”
“Yeah, Martin,” Abby echoed. “This is awesome!”
“I think you’ve just signed yourself up for permanent kitchen duty,” Steve confirmed.
“As long as there’s food to cook,” said Martin, “I am happy to cook it!”
“How long do you think our food will hold out?” asked Steve.
“Well, breakfasts will be light. We’ve got a few eggs that I think will keep. We’ve got plenty of fresh fruit that’ll last for several days. Lunches will be that pre-packaged stuff you girls bought. Dinners will be special. I’ve got some ideas up my sleeve.”
“Good,” said Steve.
“Steve,” asked Abby, “how long do we have to stay here? I mean, I know we are waiting for Preacher to show up, but how long, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Even Biker didn’t know. Although he didn’t think it would be too long. Several days at most would be my guess.”
“That’s good,” said Veronica. “Because I am gonna get pretty tired of waiting before too long.”
Martin yawned. “Speaking of tired,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, I think we should turn in. But first, a couple of housekeeping items. Come on.”
They all stood and walked into the den.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, sitting down on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about what we’re up against. Bottom line is, we don’t know. Biker couldn’t tell us a whole lot, except that Preacher is a nasty twisted pit of evil with one purpose only. His whole drive is to find us and keep us from fulfilling some good thing or other. When Biker drops our shield, we know Preacher is going to come gunning for us. So even though we don’t know for sure what to expect, we still can’t hang out just waiting.”
“I don’t know about you all,” interrupted Martin, “but I am not gonna sit around and be a pawn in someone else’s game. If that sonuvabitch had something to do with my Maggie’s death, he’s gonna get the business end of me before I am done.” Pounding a palm into his fist for emphasis, he concluded,
“Veronica found some makeshift weapons in the shed.”
Steve picked up a rusty axe from a pile of tools at the edge of the couch. “I’d suggest we all take one and keep it with us at all times. Veronica, you still have the gun Biker gave you, right?”
“Always,” she said, patting the butt of the gun that stuck out of the waist of her jeans.
“Good,” Steve replied. “How many shots?”
“There’s one in the chamber and seven in the clip. Might not kill him, but it’ll do some damage, I bet.”
Martin rifled through the pile and picked up a machete in a cracked-leather scabbard. He pulled on the handle and revealed a bright metal blade. “Ah, bolo!” he said. The blade glinted in the lamplight as he twisted his wrist to test it. He slid the blade back into the scabbard and tied the straps around his belt loop and thigh. “This’ll work for me.”
Abby pulled a small hunting knife from her jacket pocket. “I got mine,” she said. “I found it in that trunk in the attic. It’s perfect for me.”
Steve frowned at first. It was small, but so was she. Besides, he had to remind himself that he had no idea what was or wasn’t going to work against Preacher. There was no sense destroying confidence, when he didn’t know the truth himself.
“Okay, good. Don’t let this stuff out of arm’s reach then. We don’t know when things are going to go south. Which leads me to my next point: we need to sleep in shifts. I’d recommend four hours each. We all need sleep, but we don’t want him to catch us off guard. We also need to sleep with the bedroom doors open. This house is small enough that we should be able to hear anything from anywhere.”
No one argued, or even spoke—just thoughtful nods of agreement.
“And finally, when things start to happen, I’d recommend we hole up here in the den if we can. It’s defensible. We’ve only got that one small window to deal with,” he said, gesturing to the window in the front wall of the house.
“And we can close off that door to the hallway and the kitchen and move the furniture over to block it. If we have to, we can put our backs to this wall, so that he can’t sneak up on us.”
“Good,” said Veronica. “So, who’s up first for guard duty?”
“I’ll take the first shift. You guys go get some sleep,” Steve said swiftly. He stood u
p, and the others joined him.
“No argument here, I’m beat,” said Veronica, yawning.
“Martin, I’ll help you with the kitchen,” said Abby.
“No girl. It’ll keep ‘til morning. You go do like Steve said and get some shut-eye.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely.”
“Before you leave,” Steve said. “I was thinkin’. Should we do some sort of group prayer? I’m not sure I have the words, but—”
“We don’t need words,” said Abby. She moved close and put her arm around Steve. Martin and Veronica stepped forward. For several moments, the four stood close together in a quiet embrace.
“Amen,” Martin whispered.
Steve cleared his throat as he broke the circle. “Okay, then. G’nite, you guys.”
Martin smiled and sat down in the chair by the window. Abby and Veronica headed down the hallway.
“Goodnight,” Abby called.
“Veronica — you up for the second shift?” Steve asked.
“Sure. But make sure you announce it’s you coming to wake me up, so I don’t bust a cap in your ass.”
Steve chuckled. He sighed and sat down on the couch across from the fireplace. Martin was peering out into the gathering night in the clearing. Steve pawed through the rusty tools piled on the couch.
“See anything interesting out there?” he asked.
“Nope. All quiet. Hey Steve, let me ask you something. Have you thought about what’s going to happen in the future? I mean, if—when—we get through all of this?”
“No.”
“I mean, think about it man. How am I gonna go back to being a pharmacist? How are you gonna be a computer guy knowing that this kind of evil mess walks the earth with us?”
“I don’t think that far ahead right now, Martin. One day at a time is about all I can afford to do at this point. I was kinda already operating in that mode after Julie died, so it’s come naturally to me lately, I guess.” He shrugged as he continued, “I do think that eventually I’ll be able to look further ahead. I don’t intend to wander through the rest of my life one day at a time, but currently, that’s working out well for me.”
Martin grunted an agreement. The house grew quiet. Every noise was audible. Steve could hear the muffled tones of Abby and Veronica whispering in their room. He heard the small hiss of the fire in the kitchen. He could hear the chorus of chirping crickets and night birds outside. Long minutes passed. Martin’s breathing was shallow and steady, and his eyes were closed. Steve slid himself to the edge of the couch. He was planning to do a perimeter on the house every 20 minutes or so to check things out and to keep himself awake. As he picked up his axe and headed for the kitchen, Martin’s voice caught him off guard.
“I always knew that there were angels among us, y’know? I never thought about the demons. It makes sense though. But the worst part of this is that, even if we beat this thing, it’s kind of like a hollow victory. ‘Cause they still maintain a balance, with us caught in the middle of a war that has been raging since the beginning of time. How’re we supposed to deal with that one?”
Steve leaned his axe on the couch. He walked to Martin’s side and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “We just do, man. We take it one little bit at a time.”
Martin looked up at him.
“If we can defeat Preacher, it means that we ourselves and anybody else he’s been after can breathe a sigh of relief,” Steve continued. “Even if it isn’t permanent, at least we’ll know we knocked him down. When it comes down to it, we’ll figure out how it’s done. And if we can do it once, we’ll do it again, if need be.”
Martin was tired. He nodded at Steve’s comment, but made no response.
“Look, the dishes can wait ‘til morning—go get some sleep.”
“Mmhmm,” was Martin’s reply. He rocked back in the chair and leaned forward to stand with a groan, before he walked toward the hallway. “Have Veronica wake me in time to make some breakfast for you people,” he said over his shoulder.
“Will do. Goodnight, Martin.”
Martin waved over his shoulder without looking back.
Steve retrieved his axe and headed through the kitchen and out onto the back stoop. The faintest trails of purple in the sky behind the house were the only hint that the sun had recently been up. The night air was already growing cool. Steve was grateful for it, because it would help keep him alert at guard duty.
He questioned himself as he walked the perimeter of the house. Was there any point in setting a watch? Was the rusty axe in his grip just a prop to make him feel more comfortable? How would he raise an alarm? What was he even looking for? Would Preacher just stroll out of the woods and announce his arrival? Could Preacher make himself invisible? There were so many things that Steve wished he’d had a chance to ask Biker about before they left.
It seemed like ages ago when they had been sitting, eating, talking and listening to Biker at that seaside fajita grill in Cozumel. Now, here they were, 24 hours later, isolated and making themselves out to be sitting ducks, just waiting for the hungry wolf to come calling.
Chapter 41
Steve finished walking the perimeter and went back into the house through the back door, locking it behind him. He walked back into the den and was surprised to see Martin on the couch.
“I thought you were heading to bed.”
“I decided to remain here and converse with you,” Martin replied, watching Steve enter the room. He sat on the edge of the threadbare couch, his back arched and shoulders out.
Steve shrugged. “Is your back hurting?” he asked. “My legs are a little sore, from the hike I guess. Don’t tell Veronica though. I think she could run circles around us.”
He sank into the side chair, leaning his axe up against the wall. Martin turned his head to follow his movements.
“Tell me Steve, why are you here?”
Steve rubbed his eyes. He chuckled. “More of the deep questions, eh? I guess the same reason you are—a search for closure, faith, a need to see this through.” He traced the pattern of the chair’s fabric as he spoke.
“Do you think something as gossamer as faith will save you?”
“Gossamer?” asked Steve. “I think our faith is stronger than that. You, of all people, should know that. Why would you ask a question like that, anyway?” He was annoyed at the tone Martin was using. It reminded him of a haughty grade-school teacher.
Martin smiled a toothy grin. “I ask it, because I am curious to know what leads you so readily to the end of your existence.”
“What is your problem, Martin—” Steve started.
“What the hell?” he heard from behind. When he turned, he saw Martin standing in the hallway in his boxer shorts and tank top undershirt. He looked tired and confused by what he saw.
“Martin?” Steve said. Martin wasn’t looking at Steve. He was staring across the room to the couch where he watched himself sitting and smiling back. Steve turned back to the couch where the sitting Martin began to laugh.
rut rut rut rut
“It’s him!” Steve yelled. He grabbed his axe and bounced out of the chair.
“LETITGO,” said the doppelganger-Martin, still smiling as Steve lunged across the room. Steve raised the axe and swung it down onto the impostor’s head, but the axe dropped and lodged deep in the center cushion of the couch. The apparition had vanished into wisps of white smoke. Steve stood back from the couch and watched as the white smoke tendrils drifted up and then shot to the chimney and up out of the house.
“Martin—get the girls!”
Steve ran through the kitchen and out the back door. Outside, it was now pitch black. Moments earlier there had still been faint signs of dusk. Steve ran around the corner of the house to the front, then backed away until he could see the top of the chimney. He couldn’t see anything against the starry night sky. He heard Martin shouting to wake Veronica and Abby. He looked around the clearing but there was no sign of the doppelgang
er. He searched the porch and the other side of the house. He ran back to the shed and circled it once, but the darkness surrounding him seemed infinite. The moon was low on the horizon. The only light came from small windows of the cabin. Steve felt vulnerable. He ran back to the cabin and in through the kitchen door. He slammed the door shut.
“Steve?” he heard Veronica call from the den. She sounded scared.
“It’s me.”
He locked the door behind him and returned to the den. Martin stood at the window, peering out into the inky blackness. He still had his boxers and undershirt on, but now he had his machete.
On Tenterhooks Page 27