Judas Silver

by J. R. Rain

  Trey took a step back, reverent. “The Staff of Saint Patrick. Wow.”

  “It’s just a stupid stick,” Karen retorted.

  “A very valuable stick,” Trey said, but she didn’t appear convinced.

  “Ten million bucks for a stupid tree branch?”

  “You know what they say: A fool and his money...”

  “So, who’s the fool this time?” Karen asked.

  “An Italian multi-nationalist billionaire and collector of arcane artifacts. Too wealthy to know what to do with his money.”

  “Apparently,” she agreed. “I could show him how to spend it.”

  She reached into the sarcophagus to grab hold of the Staff, but Trey grabbed her wrist. “Careful,” he warned. “According to legend, only those pious and humble can touch it.”

  Karen stepped back as well now, both concerned and defensive at once. “Well, someone has to take it,” she looked up at him, questioning.

  “Unfortunately, I’m too much of a thief to be humble.” He looked the gorgeous blond up and down, sizing her up. “And you’re about as pious as Howard Stern.”

  Karen folded her arms across her chest again, but she didn’t argue.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, reaching inside his jacket. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He smiled. “Tools of the trade.”

  “We’ll see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes,” Karen told him.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He snapped on the gloves and took a deep breath, getting ready to take hold of it. “Like you said, it’s just an old tree branch, right?”

  “Right...”

  But as Trey reached for it, she grabbed his arm. “Hold on!”

  He yanked his hands out and faced her, once again irritated. “Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack. What?”

  Karen dashed behind a nearby sarcophagus, then peeked out from behind it. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Nice knowing you’ve got my back.” Trey shook his head and turned back to the mummy and the ancient Staff.

  Trey, the internationally infamous thief, sought after by the FBI and several other intelligence agencies, held his breath, slowly wrapping his latex-covered fingers very lightly around the gnarled but valuable walking stick that had belonged to the patron saint of Ireland. He waited, keeping a light touch on it and holding his breath.

  Nothing.

  Trey exhaled, relieved. “Hey, maybe I’m not such a bad guy after all.”

  Karen crept out from behind her shelter to return to the alabaster casket. Did it seem to glow a little, or was that a trick of the light? She rubbed her arms to warm herself, glancing around again. “Just get it and let’s go. This place gives me the creeps.”

  Trey nodded in agreement and gently tugged on the Staff. To his surprise, the mummified fingers didn’t budge. He pulled harder.

  Without warning, the Staff erupted with bright blue light, illuminating the entire crypt. The thief’s bowels nearly turned to water as he yelped and Karen screamed. Together, they stumbled back, faces glowing in the blue light. They watched in stunned amazement as fire spat and sparked from the Staff.

  A few seconds later, the light emitting from the Staff died down, leaving the place dark and silent once again.

  “I guess it still had some juice left.” Trey panted in the blackness.

  “Maybe we should just leave it alone,” Karen whispered.

  But Trey was determined; more importantly, he was a paid thief. “It’s just an overgrown sparkler.” He turned on his flashlight again. “Besides, there’s a million bucks in it for me.”

  “You mean a half a million,” Karen reminded him.

  “Sure, of course. You deserve half, especially after all the help you’ve given me.”

  Karen stayed put, watching suspiciously as Trey stood again and approached the sarcophagus. He closed his eyes a moment, gathering focus and wit, and reached inside once more. He took hold of the still-smoking Staff and tentatively tugged.

  This time, jagged bolts of blue electricity exploded from both ends of the Staff. Karen ducked as a bolt shot toward her and exploded into the wall behind, blowing a hole into it.

  The Staff seemed to have come alive in Trey’s hands. He struggled with it, desperately trying to wrench it free, once and for all.

  “Christ Almighty,” cried Karen.

  “Not a good time...” Trey said, wrestling with the Staff, “...to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  More jagged streaks of blue lightning fired from the thing, exploding within the crypt. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.

  Trey now could not let go, though, as his hands were glued to the fiery stick. Terrified and sweating, he pulled as hard as he could.

  The azure currents continued to travel up and down the Staff, and over the mummy’s bony hands, which still clutched tightly. Trey calmed a bit as he noticed the currents didn’t seem to affect his gloved hands.

  Karen inched forward for a closer look. Eyes wide with wonder, she took in the crackling blue flames surging along the Staff, bypassing Trey’s hands, but zipping through the bony arms of the mummy, into its core. The crackling sound increased, creating a vibration. She looked up at the dust shaking down from the ceiling, which trembled along with the rest of the stone room.

  She had to raise her voice. “What is it? What’s causing this...energy?”

  “The power of God. The Energizer Bunny. Who knows?” Trey tried to maintain a semblance of professionalism. “Let me just get the damned thing.” He tugged. “And let’s get the hell out of here.”

  But Karen was drawn to the mummy for some reason. She leaned down for a closer look.

  Trey warned, “I wouldn’t get so—”

  The mummy sat upright, turning its head from side to side, blue flames bursting from its empty mouth and eye sockets, coming nearly nose to nose with Karen.

  She screamed again, turned and ran.

  Trey pulled as hard as he could. The corpse finally relinquished its hold on the Staff and dropped back into the sarcophagus in a cloud of dust. Trey fell back, hitting the floor with a thud.

  The blue electricity still crackled intermittently up and down the Staff for a moment before it finally died out.

  “Okay.” Trey’s voice shook. “That wasn’t terrifying at all.” He stood, holding the Staff of Saint Patrick in wonder. It looked like any other old staff now.

  Karen appeared from the shadows, wielding her flashlight. “That did not just happen.”

  Professional thief that he was, Trey composed himself. “You can tell it to your therapist. Come on, let’s go.”

  I am gonna have a drink though when this is done, Trey thought as the two worked their way back through the mausoleum. He didn’t even know if he would spend the night there. The Marriott would do, better yet, the Hilton, after a night like this.

  He was thinking of a comfy king-size bed and the possibility of Karen’s company when they rounded the last corner and bumped into a small band of armed men led by a beefy Irishman. Trey stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Mack O’Brien,” Trey said in disbelief.

  O’Brien leveled a pistol at Trey’s chest. “You’re supposed to be dead, Jordan.”

  “No thanks to you,” Trey spat back.

  “You two know each other?” Karen was all innocence now, stepping past Trey and taking hold of O’Brien’s arm.

  “You could say Mr. Jordan was my mentor,” O’Brien answered. “Taught me everything I know.”

  “Everything but the betrayal part,” Trey accused. He scanned the kitchen out of the corners of his eyes, looking for a way out of this unfortunate situation. “Karen?” he said, hurt.

  Karen shrugged, unconcerned. She did step in front of Trey and planted a hell of a big kiss on his mouth. Trey stared at her with disbelief as she pulled away.

  “Don’t take it personally, darling,” she said. “O’Brien just pays better.”

  “You two belong together,” Trey told her. />
  Karen smiled. She held out her hand, indicating the Staff. “I’ll take that now, if you please.”

  Karen removed the Staff from Trey’s unyielding grip, holding it gingerly. Nothing happened, however, so she turned to O’Brien. “Kill him.”

  Mack O’Brien took aim at Trey’s chest. “Gladly.”

  He was about to fire, and Trey got ready to pull the old kick and roll move; when all else failed, chaos could provide escape.

  However, suddenly, the Staff came to life again. First glowing a soft white, the Staff started to hum and quiver in Karen’s shaking hands. Panic crossed her pretty face.

  Mack O’Brien, who hadn’t been present for the strange confiscation of the Staff, forgot about Trey. “What in the hell...”

  But Karen turned to Trey, hysterical. “Help me, Trey! Please! I can’t let go...” her words faded, replaced by whisperings. The sound of a thousand demons whispering at once filled the room.

  Everyone backed away from Karen as the white light entered into her skin, illuminating her from the inside out. Trey gasped as he saw the skeletal structure of her bones as if from an x-ray. She tried to scream but the demons’ voices only became louder.

  O’Brien lowered his gun, awed by his apparently bewitched partner in crime.

  Trey felt for her. He really did. But he didn’t know what he could do for her as the white light coursed now, and danced crazily under her skin, flashing from head to toe. He stood transfixed as smoke hissed from her body and it started to bubble, popping and crackling like fat in a fryer. Her mouth burst open again, and white-hot flames shot from her lips.

  The Staff clattered to the stone floor but no one noticed, because the previously beautiful blond had become a human flame-thrower. No one noticed but Trey.

  He inched toward the wooden Staff as O’Brien watched her burn from the inside, the demonic whispering echoing in the room. Finally, a super-heated energy exploded from within her. Karen’s remains toppled over in a smoldering heap.

  Trey, still gloved in latex, said a prayer for his ex-lover, his betrayer, and snatched up the Staff as the same white-hot energy spread from her blackened corpse, slithering quickly along the floors and walls, over caskets and corpses. He backed up slowly as O’Brien and his men jumped out of the path of the bizarre, supernatural currents.

  No one expected the currents to gravitate toward the open caskets and corpses. No one expected the mummies to come to life. But the mummies sat up as the currents flowed into them, piercing the basement with horrific screeches.

  Trey tiptoed backward as O’Brien and the armed men stood, entranced.

  “Holy shit!” O’Brien cried over the screams. He glanced down at Karen’s charred remains, and swung his semi-automatic around. He pulled the trigger as the dead rose from their caskets, blowing one of them away. Shots echoed loudly in the stone chambers; the corpse, nearly cut in half, toppled over. O’Brien’s men, terrified, used their own weapons, shooting randomly at the chilling, walking dead.

  Trey backed further away from his nemesis as the ancient ceiling began to collapse. He watched in stunned silence for just a moment, then, gripping the Staff, turned and dashed off in the opposite direction, deeper into the crypt. He hoped to God there was another way out.

  O’Brien and his men fired away at the living skeletons and mummies. He realized too late that Trey and the Staff were both missing. He fired away at another hideous creature and gave chase.

  Chapter Four

  Feet, don’t fail me now, Trey prayed as he raced on in the darkness. The ground shook beneath him. He dodged massive chunks of falling bricks and rocks as his legs carried him around corners, deeper and deeper into the old hotel’s underground.

  Trey had to stop to get his bearings in the confusing tunnel system. He found a small alcove, quieted his breathing and listened. He couldn’t hear anything but the crumbling ceiling behind him. He only paused for a brief moment, gathered his sense of direction and moved on. He knew O’Brien wouldn’t give up so easily.

  * * *

  O’Brien was after him, but not as soon as he’d like to have been. By now, hideous corpses appeared in front of him, and he had to take them down in order to continue on. One such creature met him just as he rounded a corner, its unhinged jaw opening widely, revealing a dark sinewy maw.

  O’Brien wasted no time quickly blowing it away, too. He was about to dash forward when another ragged corpse appeared. He shot at it, but more moving corpses materialized before him in the darkness. He fired like a madman, blowing away heads and shoulders and arms. But still they came, from everywhere it seemed. O’Brien found himself turning in circles, shooting desperately.

  Now’s not the time to panic, big guy, O’Brien told himself. He kept shooting, blowing off limbs and torsos. The mummified corpses hissed and lurched closer, as if they understood his intent on taking the Staff of Saint Patrick.

  O’Brien took aim, and pulled his trigger again. Nothing. Out of bullets. The corpses closed in, forming a tight circle around him. “Okay,” he said out loud, “now is the time to panic.”

  As the undead closed in, O’Brien reached inside his jacket and removed an odd silver glove. Pulling it on, he disappeared within a sea of deranged skeletons. His panicked screams echoed even above the thunderous sounds of the collapsing tunnel.

  * * *

  Trey tried to steady his jiggling flashlight as he raced through the tunnel. He barely kept ahead of the bricks and stones crashing down, along with sections of the ceiling above.

  Finally, he spied a dark opening at the far end of the passageway; his flashlight showed a worn stairway that was little more than crumbling wall and broken stone steps. He went up them three at a time. At the top, he came to an abrupt halt—a brick wall blocked the way.

  “Dammit,” he swore, pulling out his blueprint again. The tunnel below was rapidly deteriorating in a cloud of dust.

  Trey ran his hand over the worn brick wall. “Come on, come on, TJ.” He’d been in tight spots before. “You can do this.” Trey focused on the wall instead of the now crumbling stairway. He closed his eyes, cocked his head from side to side and cracked his knuckles. Eyes still shut, he ran his hands delicately over the wall...bingo. A protruding brick.

  He had no idea that on the other side of the wall sat a middle-aged man, comfortably reading in a cozy, wingback chair, lazily turning the papers under an arched reading lamp. The man did look up, cocked his head when he heard an odd, muffled sound. He shrugged, and went back to his book.

  Trey pushed the brick, which retracted into the wall. The wall itself spun, rotating completely around—Trey along with it.

  As the floor and wall moved, Trey found himself in the same cozy room—but the robed man was gone.

  The robed man sitting in his comfy chair found himself on the ancient stairway’s landing. He had been in the middle of turning a page of his novel. He stopped dead and looked up, confused as hell. He saw the rapidly approaching dust cloud and falling debris. In stunned desperation, the man tried re-enacting the last thing he did before ending up on the stairwell; he turned back the page in the book.

  It didn’t work, of course. Still sitting in his plush red wingback, the man quickly searched his surroundings. His groping hand grasped the brass neck of the lamp above him. He pulled, and the lamp swung down. As dust and debris engulfed him, the wall spun around once more.

  Trey barely had time to catch his breath and realized he was now safe in one of the hotel rooms when he felt the floor move again. He dove forward to the middle of the room as the wall spun around again. A thunderous, shuddering crash shook the entire room. Dust spilled through the opening.

  Trey, lying sprawled across the carpet, looked up to see the man sitting in the wingback chair. The man was now covered in dust and bits of mortar and plaster. He tilted his book forward, and more dust poured from its pages.

  A woman holding a bottle of red wine and two goblets suddenly appeared above Trey. He looked up and gave her
a lopsided grin.

  She screamed bloody murder, and smashed Trey over the head with the bottle, promptly knocking him out.

  Chapter Five

  Senator Preston Draken kept command of the Senate and the House as he wrapped up his speech to Congress. He prided himself in his speeches—which he wrote mostly by himself—and prided himself in swaying others to agree with him; indeed, he was a man who always got what he wanted.

  “I’ve said it before, and I say it again,” he spoke passionately. “We need to pass an economic stimulus package that will help ordinary Americans cope with the inflation of rising food and gas prices, help rebuild our schools, roads and infrastructure, and assist states and cities to avoid budget cuts and tax increases.”

  He paused here, waiting for the applause to die down. “You will see that my plan will extend expiring unemployment benefits for those Americans who have lost their jobs and cannot find new ones.”

  Draken nodded gravely to the standing ovation. Head held high, he strode from the lectern toward the building’s back exit.

  His chauffeur held the door for Draken then hopped into the driver’s seat. “Moving speech, Senator,” he commented sardonically.

  “Cut the crap,” Draken snapped. He leaned back into the soft, expensive leather seat. “What’s the latest news?”

  The chauffeur entered into the busy streets of Washington D.C. “We followed him home, Senator. Our boys are with him now.”

  Draken’s grave expression transformed into an evil toothy grin. His interests were vast, the least of which was his political position.

  “Good,” Draken said. “Let’s talk to him now.”

  “But the White House dinner is in an hour—”

  “Then I suggest you hurry.”

  Draken’s chauffeur wove quickly through the traffic and soon arrived in front of a quiet residence on a quiet street. Draken exited the limo and was met immediately by another one of his men. Another type of man, and one who had nothing to do with politics. He led Draken through the house to the master bedroom upstairs, which was swarming with dark-clad thugs.