Severed

by Corey Brown

  “Looks like you signed with the wrong team,” the twin says. “Of course, now it’s too late to switch sides. No matter how you look at it, you are just plain fucked.”

  “Shut up.” T’biah shouts, putting more pressure on the trigger. He sees the twin’s singed lips form a faint smile. He hears the metallic sound of the twin’s trigger moving ever so slightly.

  David hears and sees all of this. “Don’t fall for it, Dad,” he says. “They do care. He’s just baiting you.”

  Still angry, T’biah draws a deep breath, tries to relax. “I know, I know. But it’s working.”

  “You are so pathetic,” the twin says to David. “At least my father watches out for me. Look around you. Do you think this army just happened to be in the neighborhood? Does your father….”

  In Suzanne’s mind, the prayer-song starts to fade, the voices of the twin, her brother and T’biah take on more significance in her ears. This worries her because the song, this prayer has brought a sense of safety. It seems to bathe her in an invisible, protective mist. Suzanne shakes her head in response to the receding melody thinking it is T’biah’s anger driving the woman away.

  “No, wait,” Suzanne calls out. “Please, come back.”

  T’biah and the twin stare at her. David cannot turn because the twin’s ten-gauge shotgun is pressed against his temple, but he is the first to speak. David’s voice is calm, reassuring. “Suzanne, it’s okay I’m…we’re both here.”

  “No, not you,” Suzanne says. “I don’t mean you. The woman is leaving or something, I don’t know.” Suzanne’s eyes are wide, intense. She stares at David. “Can’t you hear her? She’s singing, she’s praying.”

  All four of them fall silent. Even the demons seem to sense something is happening and their noisy bickering drops to a low grumble.

  “Uh… no,” David says. “I don’t hear anything. Well, the hellhounds, them I hear, but not a woman. I don’t hear anyone singing.”

  “Great, this is just fabulous,” the twin says. “She’s losing her mind. I’m about to re-populate the earth in my own image with offspring from a looney tune.” He leans a little to the left in order to get a better view of Suzanne and says, “Sweetie, the sex had better be good or I won’t have much use for you.”

  “Shut up,” David says, trying to turn his head, the gun barrel jabbing his temple. “You will never touch her again so just give it a rest.”

  The twin’s look turns mischievous. “Hey, yeah, let’s talk about giving it a rest,” he says. “Let’s talk about your old man, may he rest in peace. While we’re at it, let’s talk about your mother.”

  “Shut your mouth,” David says.

  The twin’s face grows somber. “Really, I’m serious,” he says. “I want to tell you something about their untimely deaths.”

  “David,” T’biah says, quietly. “Follow your own advice, he’s fishing, ignore him.”

  “I know how much it hurt when your folks died,” the twin says, giggling. “I know because I was not quite free of you then. I was in you when they died. I was still in you at their funeral, but here’s the cool part, I know how much it hurt because I was in you when you killed them. Don’t you remember? We did a quick little free jump and landed on their car. Man, we hit hard. We crushed that piece of shit Jaguar, your folks, too. Nailed them good.”

  David really wants to turn his head, wants to look at his twin but the ten-gauge is planted firmly against the side of his face. David starts to speak, wants to ask questions, but holds back. On the edge of his mind, and it is hardly more than a sliver of thought, David remembers the night his parents died. He remembers suddenly waking up after falling asleep at his computer, waking up after another marathon writing session. But that night he felt sick, so sick that he bolted for the bathroom only to have a case of dry heaves. He convulsed and tried to vomit for three hours. Right up to the moment Suzanne called with the bad news.

  “You killed them?” David says.

  “Not me, you killed them. Back then I wasn’t quite out, as it were.” The twin shrugs. “I might’ve had a hand in the jump, but the rest of it was all you, baby.”

  Against the double gun barrels, David tries to shake his head. “No, not possible.”

  “Oh, it’s more than possible, it’s a fact,” the twin says, a wicked grin creeping across his burned face. “We hit that Jag like a goddamned meteor, smashed it flat. If it makes you feel any better your dad died instantly. But your mom…” the twin shrugs. “Well, it’s not the same story for her. She felt it. I gotta tell you, that bitch suffered for a long time.”

  David has had all he can stand. Abruptly, he turns to face the twin, tipping his head so the shotgun doesn’t clip the bridge of his nose. For a split second both barrels of the twin’s shotgun are pointed at his forehead. At the same time he is turning to face the twin, David is also bringing up his sword. The twin sees the blade rising and fires.

  But before David can move a centimeter, T’biah notices an ever-so-slight tightening of David’s neck muscles. It had been the giveaway and T’biah, at once, reaches for the twin’s ten-gauge.

  T'biah’s palm strikes the barrel an instant before the twin pulls the trigger. Flame and steel pellets explode from the gun, missing David’s face by inches. Missing David, but not the ape-like demon sixty yards away. The beast screams in pain but the outburst is hollow compared with the shriek of agony from the twin.

  The blast, coupled with the gun barrel being pushed aside, makes the twin stumble backward. He loses his balance then loses his arm just below the elbow as David’s blade slices cleanly through muscle and bone. The sound is thick and dull and wet, like a sledgehammer striking a pumpkin.

  Holding up his ravaged right arm, the twin stares at it then closes his eyes and screams, both in rage and pain.

  T’biah aims his ten-gauge at the twin, scowls and says, “Now, it ends.”

  Using his good arm to shield his face, the twin cringes, waits to be shot. T’biah pulls the trigger. There is a solid click as the firing pin strikes the shell and then….nothing.

  T’biah frowns, gives the weapon a cursory inspection, takes aim and pulls the trigger again. Another click, still nothing.

  “I’ll take care of this,” David says, bringing his sword in an arc toward the twin’s throat. But he stops mid-swing, he stares at the single inch of steel remaining beyond the hilt. The blade has snapped off and is laying several feet beyond the twin’s severed arm.

  There is a moment of complete pause as every ounce of activity stops. A tomb-like silence cloaks the planet and no one speaks, no one moves, even the writhing mass of demons becomes catatonic. T’biah is looking at his jammed gun, David is staring at his broken blade on the ground and the twin is looking at his disconnected limb, which is also on the ground, still clutching his ten-gauge.

  Suzanne looks at them. She watches all three of them, but is desperately trying to will the song-prayer back into hearing. And, in this awkward hush, she can just barely hear the melody. It is faint, as if being carried away by a distant breeze, but it is still there.

  The moment of silence stretches out, it waits, hangs on. The moment reaches critical mass as David, his twin, and T'biah look at each other, then in a burst of energy all three of them reach for new weapons. David drops what is left of his sword, gropes for something, anything. T’biah reaches for a pair of crossbows and the twin goes for an M-16 rifle. All three reach, all three come up empty. David and T’biah stare at each other, confused.

  “You’re out?” T’biah says to David.

  David nods, almost mechanically. “I got nothing. You?

  “Empty.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Apparently,” T’biah swallows, glances at the twin and says, “What about you? Have anything?”

  The twin wonders how to respond. He checks again for a weapon, still nothing. Looking skyward he shouts, “What are you waiting for?”

  T'biah looks at David, says, “He doesn’t
have anything, either. Get ready, something is in play.”

  There is a ripple of movement and it seems as though every single demon is moving closer. Which is true, they are moving closer but not because they have gone on the offensive. All three billion, six hundred million, four thousand and twenty-one of them are moving closer because they are being pushed downward.

  A roar tumbles over the planet as the canopy of Hell’s host folds inward. Being crammed down, shoved closer, they claw at each other, screaming obscenities. They scream in confusion, they muscle for position but they resist, they push back. For an instant, a balance of force seems to occur and the army of ghouls stops descending.

  Then a shaft of light stings the darkness and touches the ground at the twin’s feet. The sight of it surprises all of them. T’biah, David, Suzanne, and the twin stare at the pinprick of brightness. They stare, comprehending and not comprehending at the same time. The demons sense a change and the life goes out of their struggle. They don’t quite fall silent, there is still some kind of pervading grumble among the mass, but they stop screaming, stop struggling.

  For some indiscernible amount of time the spot of light remains just that, a small point of illumination hardly larger than a dot.

  Suzanne puts her hand on T’biah’s shoulder and whispers, “Someone heard you.”

  T’biah looks at Suzanne, thinks her confidence belies the situation. Probably, the dot of light means nothing. Some demon is no longer pressed up against some other demon, a momentary separation of bodies.

  T'biah considers what Suzanne said, is preparing to dismiss the comment as nonsense, then he notices the spot of light is expanding. From a pinpoint, the light becomes a thin line snaking across the ground, growing wider, brighter, as if a backlit canvass is being slit open.

  All four of them watch as the light jags across the planet, they look up as the demons begin to shout and argue and wail. But instead of attacking, instead of a killing orgy, they have turned their backs on David, T'biah, Suzanne and the twin. Now the slit of light has grown to a wild gash and is stretching across the planet’s surface like a freshet.

  As the stab of illumination widens, demons, some wounded, most of them dead, begin to fall to the ground, their bodies landing with sickening thuds. The dead ones slam to the ground and evaporate or turn to dust or split apart on impact. The injured ones bellow in pain, as their bodily shapes are ripped open on the rocky ground or become impaled in the trees.

  A demon that is half snake narrowly misses David. Instinctively, David jumps back as the beast scrapes his arm, just before it splatters on the ground.

  “Oh man, that’s disgusting,” David says, looking for the next demonic missile. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Suzanne looks over her shoulder, and confirms a memory. “This way,” she says, taking David by the elbow. “Over there, past those stones, there’s a cave, I think.”

  Before they can take the next step, the swath of white light cuts across the planet and grows wider still. It stretches for miles then hundreds of miles then from horizon to horizon. Demons are falling from the sky like grains of sand swirling in a storm. The sight is stunning and the sound of millions of bodies striking the ground is thunderous, almost deafening.

  “Let’s go,” David shouts.

  They start to run but David realizes T’biah is not with them. Another demon, this one without a head grazes Suzanne, knocking her off balance and she drops to one knee.

  David lifts Suzanne to her feet and says, “Go on, I’ll catch up.”

  “But----”

  “Go.”

  David turns to see T’biah in pursuit of the twin, who is escaping into the overgrown valley along a gravel footpath.

  “Dad,” David shouts, but he cannot be heard over the noise of falling bodies.

  A demon that is part scorpion, slightly humanoid and forty feet long falls across the footpath, blocking T’biah’s pursuit. It lands hard, crushing a large walnut tree. An arrow from a long bow has pierced its side and yellowish slime is oozing from the wound but the thing is not dead, not yet. Three of its twelve eyes swivel toward T’biah. There is a whipping sound as the tail lashes out. T’biah stumbles backward and the stinger jabs the ground an inch from his foot.

  Instinctively, T’biah reaches for a weapon but, again, he comes up empty-handed. Then he sees the Claymore mine jammed in between one of the beast’s pincer-like hands. T’biah turns left and rolls to the ground an instant before the explosion. Arachnid parts rain down along with the bodies of other slain demons.

  Pushing to all fours, T’biah sees David coming toward him, shouting, gesturing for him to come along. T’biah takes one final look down the footpath, hoping to catch sight off the twin, but he is gone.

  Now T’biah can hear David. “Come on, Dad,” he says. “This way, we found a place.”

  Whump.

  Another beast lands to T’biah’s right. It breaks apart then evaporates. T’biah looks at David then nods and gets to his feet. Just as he starts to run, just beyond the din of falling corpses, T’biah can hear a new sound. The squeal wavers slightly, going up and down in pitch. It sounds like the incessant screech of a rusty metal wheel turning on a rusty axel. He looks up, wishing the Yaw would not come here.

  Chapter 36

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying Lucas Kelly is dead?”

  Derek has a cell phone pressed hard against his ear. It’s difficult to hear above the wind whipping through the treetops. The strange March heat wave plaguing Louisiana for the last few weeks has suddenly broken, chased off by a strong northern cold front. Super cells are forming, dotting the Gulf coast, storms are whipping up. It’s only eleven-thirty at night but it seems later to Derek, it seems darker and a hell of a lot colder. His friend Greg, the retired state trooper, is standing a few yards away, up the path of crushed stone.

  Derek glances at his maroon Impala. He cannot see inside but knows Todd Briggs is sitting in the backseat. Leaves swirl around the car and Todd turns, sees Derek looking at him. Todd swallows, wipes at his eyes and tries to stem the flow of tears. He can’t hear Derek, but he knows.

  “Kelly is dead?” Derek says, again. This time the question is laced with apprehension because Derek senses that Todd knows what has happened to his natural father. He looks away from Todd and says, “How can that be? He was in protective custody, in your district.”

  “Sorry, Agent Simmons,” says the District Five dispatcher. “This is New Orleans, we got a different play book down here.”

  “Hold on,” Derek says, looking at the Saint Landry Parish deputy walking towards him. Three other deputies are standing in a semi-arc near their cars.

  “You’re Special Agent Simmons?” The deputy says.

  “I am.” In the darkness, Derek squints at the nameplate pinned to the deputy’s uniform. “Deputy Haines,” he says, “I’ve got to contain this situation before things get out of hand.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “This church, it’s part of a Federal op but my team can’t get here soon enough, I----”

  “Don’t make me ask again,” Deputy Haines says. “What kind of situation?”

  Derek narrows his eyes, waits a moment before speaking again. “A Federal situation,” he says. “You don’t need to know anything else. Listen, I don’t know your rank and I don’t care, but you’re in charge of the perimeter. Post the other three deputies around the building, one on each side. You take the front door. No one goes in and no one comes out without my approval. Understand?”

  Deputy Haines stares at Derek, considers telling this FBI agent to go fuck himself then says. “What’s with all these dead snakes? Christ, the grass is full of them.”

  A gust of wind makes them both squint. The deputy pinches the brim of his Stetson, catching it just before it lifts off his head.

  “You guys ride with shotguns?” Derek says.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Get ‘em and stand ready. No one goes in, no on
e comes out. Got it?”

  The deputy looks around, nods, and turns away.

  An arc of red light cuts across Derek’s face, momentarily blinding him, the ambulance has finally arrived. He is both relieved and frustrated. The goddamned thing seemed to take forever. How far was it to Opelousas, anyway? Still, he needs a little more time. Derek watches Deputy Haines walk toward the church, motioning for the other deputies to join him.

  “Agent Simmons?” The woman on the other end of the call says. “Are you still there?”

  Derek grits his teeth, presses the phone back against his ear. “Yes, I’m still here. Now, explain to me again how a Federal witness under NOPD protection, in a fucking NOPD jail cell, winds up dead.”

  The dispatcher does not answer immediately but when she does speak there is an edge to her voice. Her tone is less casual, more formal.

  “The details are still unclear, Agent Simmons. But it appears that one or more NOPD detectives attempted an unauthorized relocation of the prisoner. At which point a firefight ensued, mortally wounding the prisoner, the detectives, and one guard.” The woman pauses says, “It wasn’t just your man who went down, Agent Simmons. We lost one, too. Not to mention the detectives.”

  “No shit it was an unauthorized relocation,” Derek says. “Kelly was an FBI prisoner, how in the hell…?”

  The call waiting tone sounds. Derek looks at the in-coming number, breaks his connection with the NOPD dispatcher and answers the new call.

  “Agent Simmons,” Derek says.

  “We’ve located her, Sir,” a male voice says, his tone is crisp, professional, on track. “I’ll connect you now.”