Dark Channel

by Ray Garton

  Clay took a step forward and said, “Can I help you?”

  The inside of Mark’s mouth was fuzzy, his tongue felt thick, his throat swollen shut. He kept walking, swallowed hard, cleared his throat and called, “Hey there, Clay.”

  Clay watched him a moment longer, then said, “Mark? Schroeder?”

  “Yeah.” Mark reached the guardhouse and Clay shook his hand, grinning.

  “Well, what the hell’re you doing here? I thought you moved to the country.”

  “We did, but … well, that didn’t work out the way we’d planned.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear it.”

  Mark glanced at the deputies. They watched him with cold suspicion. Clay seemed to have forgotten they were there.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Clay asked.

  “Well, I was thinking about getting a position on graveyard. I thought I’d come see Mitch while he’s on and ask about an opening. Mitch is here tonight, isn’t he?”

  “Sure is.”

  Another glance at the deputies. They hadn’t budged.

  “So, uh … what’s going on here, Clay?” Mark asked. “Some kind of problem?”

  Clay made an annoyed gesture with a hand the size of a thick slice of prime rib. “Oh, some tip they got. Right, boys?” he asked the deputies.

  One of them nodded.

  “But you don’t have to worry about Mark,” Clay said, grinning. “He’s a friend of the family, here.” He turned to Mark and asked, “By the way, how is your family, Mark?”

  Mark’s throat froze into a solid tube of ice and, for a few seconds, his lips moved, but no sound came out. He coughed once, then said, “Fine. They’re fine. Yeah, that was my wife who dropped me off. She’ll be back in a while.” He looked back toward Diego Road where the driver had dropped him off and—

  —he saw movement on the other side of the road. At least, he thought he did. It could have been anything really: a dog, a bird, anything. But it gave Mark a chill. He remembered what the driver had told him. He’s armed and hopes to stop you … he’s armed and hopes to stop you … hopes to stop you … stop you. …

  “So, what went wrong in the country, Mark?” Clay asked.

  He braced himself; he would have to make more pleasant conversation while hiding his fear and the fact that he had to get inside. He smiled and talked some more with Clay.

  40.

  From the embankment below the freeway to the fence across Diego Road from the plant, Marvin had been cursing his decision to leave the real-estate business. The landing in Flash’s helicopter had thrown something out in his lower back and the pain had crawled all the way up to the base of his skull; his knees ached and his stomach burned and the combination of it all was beginning to make him feel weak and a little dizzy.

  Those kinds of things had never happened to him while he was selling houses.

  Oak trees grew beside Diego Road and Marvin got behind a fat one before climbing over the barbed-wire fence. Staying behind the tree, he peered around the trunk at the plant’s gate across the street and saw the three squad cars, the deputies, the security guard and Mark. They were talking. Marvin could even hear laughter now and then.

  It was obvious the deputies weren’t going to stop Mark.

  Even if Mark were standing clear of the others, Marvin couldn’t possibly hit him from that distance. And if he tried to get any closer, the deputies would change his plans. Even if they didn’t stop him, what would they do once he’d fired a few shots into Mark? He thought it unlikely that the deputies would demand explanation.

  He could run, of course … providing he was able to run. He could go down the road a bit, then run across at an angle to the gate and maybe—just maybe—surprise them enough to do what he had to do.

  But the outcome would be the same for him.

  He sat on the ground, leaned his shoulder against the tree trunk and scanned the surrounding area. There wasn’t much around the plant. On the way there in the truck, he’d noticed a couple of buildings—colorless, blocky structures—a mile back, maybe less. Other than that, the plant was surrounded by flat land divided by barbed-wire fences.

  But he knew that, beyond that empty space, there were houses, neighborhoods and towns filled with people. A lot of people.

  He let out a breath through puffed cheeks, stood and hobbled down the road.

  “God,” he whispered, “I hope Lizzie’s right about you listening to anyone who speaks to you, because I want you to be listening when I say I hope I’m doing the right thing. I don’t approve of killing, but I think it’s justified in this case. Of course, I’ve been wrong before. Anyway, I think you’ll be the only judge I explain it to, so if I am wrong, I hope you’ll show me some mercy. I’ll need it. Um … amen.”

  He stopped and turned back toward the plant’s gate. He watched it for a moment, bracing himself for the pain to come, then pulled out his gun and began to run as—

  —Mark tried to wrap up his conversation with Clay. The deputies were talking among themselves as Clay went on and on about his last camping trip in the Mount Shasta area. Mark fidgeted, nodded, smiled and every time Clay paused, Mark started to say that he had to be going, but Clay always interrupted him. One of the deputies bailed him out.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I think we’re gonna take off. It looks like we got a lousy tip. We were told it was from a good source, but …” He shrugged.

  “Well, it was just a tip, remember,” another deputy said. “I’ve never taken them too seriously, myself.” He smiled at Clay and said, “I’ll be sticking around a little while longer, just in case.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said, “we get that kinda crap all the time here. Phone calls, notes, bomb threats from environmentalists, from nuts, you name it.”

  Clay launched into one of his stories and Mark tuned him out. The four deputies who were leaving headed for their cars. Mark stepped around Clay and headed for the plant when he heard a sound.

  He stopped and turned, listening intently.

  Tapping … it sounded like a rapid tapping that grew steadily louder.

  “No,” Mark breathed when he recognized the sound as footsteps. “No …”

  The deputy listening to Clay’s story heard Mark and turned to him, frowning.

  Mark took a few steps backward as—

  —Marvin ran diagonally across the street, gun in hand. Pain shattered his back each time a foot struck the pavement, but he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out and tears streaked down his cheeks and—

  —the sound grew louder, closer, and Mark felt panic rising in his throat like a bad meal as he stumbled backward, but he remembered what Hester had told him—that no one, absolutely no one, could stand in his way because what he was doing was right and had to be done—and he stopped as—

  —the deputy looked suspiciously in the direction Mark was staring and asked, “Is something wrong?” But—

  —Mark said nothing to him, but whispered, “For me … coming for me,” as he watched the road and started to walk slowly in that direction as—

  —the deputy motioned for the others to get out of their cars as—

  —Marvin’s pain became so excruciating that it was something more than pain now, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care, because his attention was focused completely on the corner of the Cyclone fence that drew closer and closer and closer as—

  —Mark raised his voice slightly and the others heard him as he continued to say, “… for me … he’s coming for me,” as he reached beneath his coat, and—

  —one of the deputies said, “Hey, listen to that, somebody’s com—”

  Marvin rounded the corner, heading straight for them in a staggering run, his gun clasped between both hands as—

  —Mark drew his gun and aimed and—

  —the deputies shouted curses as they clumsily un
holstered their guns and—

  —the night exploded with gunfire. …

  41.

  Jordan was still standing with Coogan just outside the alcove staring at the ground to avoid looking directly at the blue light when the chanting was joined by a ululating wail. It was Lauren.

  With one sweeping gesture, Benjamin swung an arm through the air and scooped Jordan, Coogan and Lizzie—who had been leaning against the wall praying silently—into the alcove like three children. Jordan’s foot struck something and he fell through the archway as Benjamin lumbered quickly to Lauren.

  Joan was beside her, shaking her and hissing into her ear,

  “Sh-sh-sh! Stop Lauren please stop he’ll hurt you he’ll hurt all of us please he’ll—”

  Benjamin slapped a hand over her face, closed his fingers on the front half of her skull and lifted her to her feet; he put his mouth to her ear and growled quietly.

  Beneath his palm, her muffled cries stopped. When he let go of her, she collapsed in a heap. Joan and Lizzie rushed to her side and helped her back onto the rock.

  On hands and knees, Jordan looked back to see what had tripped him up. It was a rock. But it wasn’t like all the other rocks on the ground in and around the alcove. It was a perfect rock. It was about twice the size of Jordan’s fist and it was still rocking back and forth slightly from the impact of his foot.

  It was loose, unattached.

  It was a weapon.

  He got to his feet as Benjamin went to the archway and peered out to see if anyone had heard Lauren’s cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Lizzie said to Lauren. “I’m sorry he did that, but you scared him. He was afraid his mother would hear us and—”

  “Why the hell are you apologizing for that thing?” Jordan hissed.

  “Because he can’t apologize for himself. And he is not a thing.”

  He watched Benjamin standing in the archway. He looked like a thing to Jordan. His left foot was inches from the rock Jordan had tripped on … the rock Jordan needed. …

  “Coogan,” he whispered. “See if you can get him back in here. Divert his attention.”

  “Who, Benjamin?”

  Jordan nodded impatiently.

  Coogan looked at Benjamin a moment, then turned back to Jordan with deeper wrinkles in his forehead and around his eyes. “Well, I … I-I … how would I—”

  The chanting stopped.

  Deafening silence crashed down around them suddenly.

  No one in the alcove moved; only their eyes darted from face to face, waiting. Then, outside in the chamber, Hester spoke.

  “You understand what you are about to do, Nathan Schroeder?”

  A small young voice said, “Yes.”

  Lauren stood and staggered toward the archway blubbering, “She said his name, she said hi—he’s out there right now, he’s out—oh god oh my god—”

  “You are fully willing to enter your next incarnation?” Hester asked. “You want this?”

  “Yes.”

  Joan threw herself on Lauren, hushing her and keeping her from rushing out of the alcove.

  “Then,” Hester said, “we’re ready.”

  Lizzie spun around and walked straight for the archway, muttering to herself, “… knew what it was all along, I shouldn’t have waited, I shouldn’t have, I should’ve just done it. …”

  “Lizzie?” Jordan said. “Where are you go—Lizzie, what’re you doing?” He stood and followed her.

  She stopped in front of Benjamin, placed her hand flat over the center of his chest and said, “Benjamin, you know I’m your friend. And I know you won’t hurt me.”

  Then she was gone.

  “Oh, shit,” Jordan said.

  Benjamin stood gawking after her for a moment, his face managing to register surprise in spite of all that twisted flesh and cartilage, then made a gurgling groan as he went after her.

  Jordan saw his chance.

  He rushed to the archway and swept the rock up in both hands without stopping and went after Benjamin as—

  —Lizzie headed for the altar purposefully, her back straight, her steps broad, with Benjamin closing in behind her until—

  —Jordan closed in on him, first running, then jumping, then, during that split second off the ground, slamming the rock down on the back of Benjamin’s large and misshapen skull.

  Rock met bone with a crack that resounded through the enormous chamber.

  A few heads turned away from the ceremony to see what had happened.

  An explosive grunt escaped Benjamin before he hit the ground.

  More heads turned.

  Jordan ducked into a shallow triangular depression in the wall and watched.

  Lizzie hadn’t lost a beat. She stalked up the incline, broke through the line of adults, then between two of the children, until she faced Hester, who stared in disbelief.

  Hester said, “What are you—”

  Lizzie pointed a steady index finger at her and said loudly, “In the name of Jesus Christ—”

  Hester flinched.

  “—I command the demon that is in you—”

  Hester’s upper lip curled back into a sneer, her head dropped forward and she glared up at Lizzie from beneath deeply furrowed brows.

  “—to come out!”

  Gasps rose from the onlookers and a hiss of confused whispers floated through the chamber like a mist.

  On the ground at Hester’s feet, Nathan lay naked on the mat, afraid to move. The two women towered over him like giant pine trees in the woods outside.

  Jordan kept an eye on Benjamin, who still lay on the ground; he stirred and made retching sounds, but he didn’t get up. Jordan stayed in his hiding place, furious at Lizzie for doing whatever the hell she was doing when they could be getting out of the cave. When Lizzie began shouting at Hester, Jordan stuck his head out of the small shelter and turned back toward the alcove.

  “Coogan!” he hissed. “Coogan! Hey!”

  Coogan stood just inside the archway, terrified. He’d watched Lizzie walk out, then Jordan, and he could hear the commotion outside, could even hear someone—he assumed it was Jordan—calling his name. But he was afraid to move. He felt weaker and older than he’d ever felt before.

  Joan was still holding Lauren down, but she couldn’t quiet her.

  “Look out there, please,” Lauren sobbed. “See what’s happening, see what they’re doing to my son.”

  Trembling, Coogan moved forward slowly, stepped through the archway and turned to his right. He saw Benjamin on the ground. He saw Lizzie and Hester glaring at one another, bathed in blue light.

  “Coogan, over here!”

  And he saw Jordan’s head sticking out of a low opening in the wall.

  “Go!” Jordan rasped. “Take the others, get the lantern and go. Now! Go!”

  He couldn’t move. His body was numb, his heart had stopped and he wasn’t breathing.

  “Dammit, Coogan, get outta here!”

  It took tremendous effort, but Coogan broke out of his paralysis, went back in the alcove and grabbed the lantern.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” he said.

  Joan whispered, “What? What are we doing?”

  Coogan turned the lantern off, deciding he wouldn’t use it until they left the light behind, then said, “We’re leaving.”

  Once again, Lizzie began, “In the name of Jesus Christ—”

  Hester stepped around Nathan.

  “—the son of god—”

  She slapped a hand on Lizzie’s wrist and closed her fist tightly. “—I command the demon—”

  Lizzie’s voice trembled from the pain of Hester’s grip. “—thuh-that is in you—”

  “Lizzie,” Hester breathed, jerking Lizzie close until their noses almost touched, “listen to me, Lizzie … I don’
t want it to come out.” She inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, and suddenly her breath smelled of excrement and her throat sounded filled with phlegm. For an instant, her face looked swollen, as if it were going to split open and reveal something horrible underneath, something that was trying hard to get out. When she spoke again, she whispered, but not in her voice: “I told you many years ago that she was mine, but you didn’t believe me. Happy now, cunt?”

  Hester backhanded Lizzie with the strength of a large man and Lizzie flew backward into the semicircle of children.

  Several women cried out in shock.

  One of the children shrieked.

  Nathan held his breath, shivering from cold and fear. Overhead, he saw the Guardians spiraling downward until they lighted gracefully. One of them landed beside Nathan and smiled down at him. Nathan felt better suddenly. He knew the angels would protect him.

  Coogan hustled the women out of the alcove, saying, “Move fast, maybe we won’t be seen that way. Everybody’s pretty distracted.”

  “What about Jordan and Lizzie?” Joan asked.

  “Nathan, what about Nathan?” Lauren cried.

  “Shh! You’ve got to be quiet. Jordan and Lizzie are gonna get Nathan, Lauren. They’re gonna … do their best, now come on!”

  Pointing to Lizzie on the ground, Hester shouted, “This woman is an agent of the Great Lie! She has come to stop this ceremony and prevent the coming of the New Age of Enlightenment. She knows that—”

  Hester stopped when she saw Benjamin lying on the ground a few yards from the alcove. Just beyond him, she saw Coogan, Lauren and Joan hurrying out of the chamber.

  She pointed at them and said, “Stop them.”

  Every head turned in the direction she was pointing, but no one moved. No one needed to. Instead, they watched the Guardian that stood beside Nathan spread its beautiful wings and lift itself from the ground gracefully. A few children cooed and some of the adults smiled as they watched the sleek, glowing creature glide just a few feet over their heads, but—

  —Jordan didn’t smile. He saw the slimy beast flying toward Coogan and the two women and, still clutching the rock, he stepped out of the small shelter and shouted at them, “Run! Run! Get out now!”

  They ran, Coogan and Joan pulling Lauren by her arms as she began to scream, “Nathan! Nathan, please—let me go, let go of me—Nathan, please, come with us, please—”