“Then we’d better get in touch with Gabriella right away, ‘cause I sure as hell can’t think of any way to save his ass.”
“Hell, you never could think!”
The squat brother’s complexion reddened, and he crowded close to the thinner Squints.
“Back off,” Squints warned. “I’ve got to contact Gabriella.”
His brother begrudgingly stepped back. He didn’t mind a tussle with his brother, but he didn’t dare risk upsetting Gabriella in the process.
Squints closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all sounds and thoughts before attempting to connect with Gabriella. Within seconds, her image fluttered to life in his mind, followed by her melodious voice.
“What is it, Hugo?” she asked calmly, although her lovely face was pinched with concern.
“We’ve got trouble. Ariel’s been at it again and . . .”
Gabriella’s image withered to a ghostly silhouette, then nothing. Someone had blocked their telepathic connection, and he had a hunch who it was.
Hugo’s eyes blinked open. “I’ve lost her, Fritz.” He glanced at the rear of the plane. “And I’m afraid we’ve lost Bellamy.”
Nick leaned against the countertop and wondered why no one had responded to his pleas for help. What was going on out there? Why were the passengers ignoring the flight attendants’ frantic screams?
Nick put his ear to the door. The screams had ceased. There was complete silence outside. He found the stillness unnerving. It was as if the lavatory had been relocated to an isolated spot thousands of miles away from civilization. But that couldn’t have happened, could it? Then Crow’s parting words echoed in his mind. You can’t outrun the magic.
A soft hiss broke Nick’s reverie, and he glimpsed a narrow stream of brown mist floating up from the toilet bottom. He scooted away from it, but he bumped the doorframe in the cramped quarters before moving a foot. The hissing sound grew louder and the mist, thicker. The reddish brown mist formed a cloud overhead.
Nick stuffed a handful of tissues down the toilet, but the brown stream continued to rise as if the obstacle wasn’t there. He scooted back against the door and scanned the lavatory again. There was no escape. His nine lives appeared spent.
His breath made eddies in the expanding, odorless mist. Ever so slowly, his skin tightened against his frame. He pictured the mummy man outside, and a gruesome realization chilled him. The mist was doing the same thing to him!
A small head with a flicking tongue in its open mouth appeared above the toilet rim. Another serpent head rose, then another. From their triangular heads, Nick recognized them as vipers, aggressive and deadly poisonous. Several others appeared; then, they slithered from the hissing mist down to the floor. Nick watched in horror as three of them encircled his ankles while the others coiled in front of him for the venomous strike.
Without his gun, Nick was helpless against them. More slithered from the toilet and entwined with the others. Nick attempted to slow his rapid breathing, but it was a losing battle. There was no mysterious teleportation this time like there had been in the DEA safe house. No appearances from his White World savior. Nobody ramming the lavatory door to free him.
He slowly, very slowly, squeezed his eyes shut to deflect the stinging perspiration rivulets running down his face. His rapid pulse pounded in his ears. For the first time in his life, he found himself caught in a hopeless predicament. As much as he disliked defeat, he was ready to wave the white flag. His future was being compressed to a mummified corpse embalmed with snake venom.
Chapter 38
Crow paced in front of the computer and surveillance monitors, unable to figure out the anomaly that had suddenly appeared in Geronimo’s programming. He’d completed two systems checks and had received the same result each time: there is a systemic anomaly in the communications programs.
“Dammit!” he muttered, unable to think of a single cause for the malfunction beyond what he’d already come up with.
“Incoming!” Geronimo droned suddenly.
“Incoming!” Crow repeated. “Who the hell taught you to say that?”
“It is in my programming,” the computer replied.
“Not the damn programming I stuffed inside that metal noggin of yours!”
“Incom – (burp) – ing!”
Crow stood wide-eyed and stared at the large, central monitor. “Did you just burp?”
“Affirmative.”
“What the hell is happening to you?” he asked incredulously.
“I do not – (burp) – know.”
Before Crow responded, all the monitors went black and static hissed and crackled over the surround-sound speaker system. Crow plopped down in his chair, leaned back, and listened.
A man’s nasal southern drawl exploded over the speakers. Crow quickly adjusted the volume lower. Where the hell was this coming from? he wondered.
“Hallelujah, Brother Simpkins. God’s blessings be upon you and your handicap. Raise now and walk.”
There was an immediate gasp from an audience followed by a burst of wild applause.
Hallelujah, Brother Simpkins, they repeated over and over. Finally, after a long period of murmuring, the man’s nasal twang rose again.
“Here we have Sister Edith Bronkalski who has been without God’s blessing of sight since birth. She is a good, God-fearing woman, a wonderful neighbor, mother, and friend, so I will now, through the grace of the powerful Almighty, the One who rules the universe and provided for our salvation with the sacrifice of His own Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, give her the use of her eyes so she can better follow the true light to salvation and witness the miracles God has wrought on this green earth.”
Crow scratched his head. What was he doing sitting and listening to this bible revival nonsense when he had so much else to be working on? More importantly, how did it get channeled to Geronimo? Irritated, he clicked off the sound at the console and powered down Geronimo.
A sharp intake of breath from the audience hissed through the speakers despite being shut off!
Open your eyes, Sister Edith and see the miracle!
More thunderous applause boomed through the speaker system.
Crow leaped to his feet. He was spooked now. Just where was this transmission originating, the Twilight Zone? Slowly, he backed away from the monitor bank, not knowing what to do. Was this more of the magic that had been tagging along with Nick lately? If it was, the person responsible was a little off his game. Nick wasn’t here. He was on his way to Florida.
A woman’s thin voice sounded. Thank you, Reverend! I am forever in your debt.
“No sister, you’re forever in God’s debt.”
The crowd responded loudly.
Amen! Amen! Amen and God bless Reverend Curtis!
“I am exhausted, kind folks, so I must end this session of God’s miracles.”
The audience groaned.
“But be not disappointed, for I am going to take my crusade and God’s miracles to Blue Lick, Kentucky, where I shall bring the wrath of God down upon the sinners who reside there, strike them down and raise up the blessed in God’s name! Satan and the path to everlasting damnation follows the path of the crow, but I shall convert them to the brotherhood and sisterhood of the dove.”
It was Crow’s turn to gasp!
The crowded shouted. Amen! Amen! Amen!
The strange transmission ended, and the monitors flicked back to life.
Crow resumed his agitated pacing. The Reverend Curtis had revealed his plans to destroy the Blue Lick facility as if playing to the Orion Sector audience. Who was that guy, and why was he warning them?
The refrigerator door creaked open in the kitchen, and Crow nearly jumped out of his skin. His left hand quickly slid his hunting knife out of its belt sheath.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, squinting into the deep shadows of the windowless kitchen.
The refrigerator light blinked as the door was opened and shut again.
“Cool it,
Running Bear!” a man’s stilted voice rumbled.
Crow relaxed. “Grandfather.” He managed a small, anxious grin.
“Glad to see me?” A stooped, bowlegged man shuffled into the light. He wore a red and black plaid shirt, a pair of faded blue jeans, and tan buckskin moccasins that matched the band ringing his head. His face was deeply etched with age and sun, and his smile revealed aged yellow teeth, but his coal eyes were brilliant, youthful embers.
“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Crow grumbled.
The old man frowned. “It’s your given name, Grandson, handed down from your ancestors to you. I don’t hold with your new name. Using it can only anger the gods.”
“I’ve heard enough about gods today. Can we change the subject, please?” Crow asked.
“More blasphemy,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re supposed to be in the nursing home, aren’t you?”
“Sure, but something important came up.”
“Like what?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“You’re in big trouble. It’s time to leave this place. It isn’t safe.”
Crow looked at his grandfather sternly. “Wait a minute. How did you get in here without setting off the alarms?”
The old man chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Crow’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try and feed me that old story about being able to wind walk.”
The old man shrugged. “You’d better get a move on, Running Bear. A great evil is on its way.”
“First, let’s talk about running away from your nursing home and how you got here.”
“I felt the evil force during breakfast this morning, and I used my brew of special herbs to pinpoint its destination.”
Crow sighed. “Never a straight answer.” He walked to his grandfather and wrapped an arm around the ancient man’s broad shoulders. “Look, the old days are gone.” He pointed to Geronimo. “This is the present. Computers give us power to wield over our world; there’s no need for mind-fogging herbal drugs and chants. You can believe what you want, but please stop pushing that mumbo-jumbo on me.”
“Warning!” Geronimo stated. “Unidentified intruder crossing the creek.”
Crow ran to the security monitors, and his jaw sagged. “The Creeper,” he whispered breathlessly. “Jesus!”
An immense reptilian-man strode toward the compound, its clawed feet digging deeply into the gravel road. Black clouds swirled above, as if stirred in a giant caldron, and the trees were being thrashed by terrific wind gusts.
“Arm the perimeter defenses and begin attack,” Crow ordered the computer.
The gravel around the advancing creature disintegrated from the heavy machine-gun and mortar fire, but the intruder remained untouched.
“Time to go.”
“Not now, Grandfather,” Crow snapped. “Geronimo will finish him.”
Grandfather grabbed Crow’s arm. “Now!”
“But . . .”
“Geronimo, return to the reservation!” the old man ordered.
The monitors went black, and the computer systems quickly shut down. The room was deathly quiet.
Crow was amazed. “How did you do that?”
“You built me a back door, I believe you called it.”
The compound shuddered against the tremendous force assailing it. Small cracks appeared in the reinforced concrete, and cement dust floated like white powder to the carpet. The steel door to the parking area groaned and warped inward. The floor quavered so violently that it was difficult for Crow and Grandfather to stay balanced. The monitors glowed, hummed, and exploded, showering the two men with glass. The wiring and circuits in Geronimo’s mainframe sizzled like frying bacon, popped, and flung hissing sparks in all directions.
“We’re trapped!” Crow yelled above the clamor. He hugged the old man close. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.”
But the old man only smiled.
Crow was perplexed. “What’s so amusing, old man?”
The seal around the outside door ruptured and hurricane winds whistled inside the compound carrying an angry, inhuman roar.
“Ready?” Grandfather shouted above the din and grabbed his grandson’s arm.
“Ready for wh . . .” Crow’s words were sucked into an ancient Indian realm along with Grandfather and Crow. They ceased to exist inside the secret facility.
The Creeper’s outline appeared in the opening, but it froze warily. The winds died away and the electrical surges fizzled out. The powerfully built monster stepped inside and searched the entire compound for the meddlesome Indian, but it was futile. The Indian had used some magic of his own and had vanished.
The Creeper constrained its rising anger. It would catch up with the Indian another day. It had to leave quickly. The Creeper sensed that something was wrong with Nick’s flight to Florida. Very wrong.
Chapter 39
The 727 lurched and plunged sharply, as if it had hit a deep air pocket. The passengers screamed and fastened white-knuckle grips on the armrests. In the rear, the sky marshal was thrown off his feet and landed in the lap of a burly businessman.
“Get off me, you clown!” the businessman shouted angrily.
“I’m . . . trying . . . goddammit!”
Fritz left his seat and pulled the sky marshal back onto his feet in the aisle.
“Thanks,” he told the squat man.
Both spread their arms between the carry-on compartments for balance.
“Take that seat there,” Fritz yelled over the panicked screams and nodded toward an empty seat two rows forward.
The two men made their way carefully up the aisle, keenly aware of the sounds of retching and the subsequent malodor filling the cabin. Before the sky marshal sank his exhausted frame into the vacant seat, the mysterious dark-haired woman suddenly appeared out of thin air in it.
“Jesus Chri . . .” Caught off-guard, the sky marshal stiffened and backed off. He’d had his fill of laps for one day.
The people across the aisle screamed louder at the woman’s appearance. The sky marshal turned to Fritz.
“Just what in the Sam hill is going on here?”
When the woman opened her mouth to speak, black butterflies with red, dappled wings emerged and flittered about the cabin. Nearby passengers waved wildly at the winged intruders despite the butterflies’ harmless nature. The sky marshal’s skin was clammy and blanched, and his head felt as if it had been inflated with helium.
Fritz just shrugged. “Let’s go get Mr. Bellamy out of the john, okay?”
The woozy marshal was incredulous. “So how are you planning to do that? Pry the door open with butterfly wings?”
Fritz seized the stunned man’s forearm with surprising strength. “Follow me.”
Nick was drenched in fear. His taut muscles ached from being frozen in one position so long. Death slithered all about him, and all he could do was wait on its lethal strike. His nerves were frayed, and his mind was tainted with creeping insanity.
The snakes were now a wriggling mass, a foot thick with more gliding from the toilet every minute. Although his own eyes were tightly closed to prevent further sanity erosion, he could feel their eyes boring into him, like dart players zeroing in on the bulls-eye.
The brown mist enveloped Nick like a shroud, and the skin at his throat was so tightly shriveled that his breaths were reduced to braying wheezes. His legs, although physically fit, were nearing exhaustion from their immobile position.
The phrase living hell drifted through his tortured mind regularly.
Hugo watched his brother and the sky marshal fight their way to the rear of the plane in the lurching turbulence. The sky beyond the windows was now black, split by jagged forks of lightning and jarring thunderclaps. When the two reached the alcove, Fritz collided with the invisible barrier. Hugo leaped from his seat and crouched beside the distressed woman.
“Ariel, take off the spell,” he demanded
fiercely.
The woman silently mouthed, “I can’t.” A butterfly escaped from her mouth with each syllable.
A young couple across the aisle stared in horror as flesh grew between Ariel’s fingers. She raised her now webbed hands and inspected them angrily. She was fairly certain who was doing this to her, and deeply resented it.
Hugo was bewildered by the transformation. “Who’s doing this to you? It certainly ain’t Gabriella.”
Ariel’s mouth opened in surprise and released more butterflies.
“Then who?” she mouthed.
Hugo just shrugged as he rapidly scanned the passengers in search of an answer. He tried again to reach Gabriella telepathically, but their telepathy remained blocked. The plane dropped suddenly again, and Hugo fell heavily against the seats and cracked his head. Dazed, he picked himself off the floor and shook his head at his brother.
Fritz grimaced. “If anything happens to Bellamy, we’re dead meat,” he said to himself.
“Now what?” the sky marshal asked.
Fritz leaned against the invisible barrier. “I’m fresh out of ideas, man. You got any?”
Before the sky marshal could reply, Fritz went tumbling backwards into the lavatory alcove. The barrier was down! In an instant, both men reached the locked door and shoved hard. It fell open easily.
“What the . . .” Fritz said, his eyes wide with alarm.
“I’ll be damned.” The sky marshal looked at Fritz, hoping he’d have the answer.
The lavatory was empty. Nick was gone.
Chapter 40
The hotel ballroom was wall to wall with political figures and citizens with fat wallets. A string quartet played soft classical music that helped grease the purging of large donations from those wallets.
Senator Hollis Danforth worked the black-tie fundraiser like the pro he was, eliciting campaign contributions in exchange for political appointments and favors when he was elected President. Once a contribution was finalized, he mentally dismissed his promises and sweet-talked the next walking piggybank. There was no honor among thieves and politicians.
Mortal Eclipse Page 21