Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves

by Richard M. Heredia

  He had to find Kimberly!

  “Oh God, please don’t fall down there,” he cried, daring a glance downward, disturbed by what he saw. “KIMBERLY!!!”

  There was no answer. Only wails and moans of torture reached his ears.

  “KIMBERLY!!!”

  Something lodged against his foot. At once, he shifted his sneaker so the ball of his foot rested square against whatever it was that had stopped his sliding.

  From below, something exploded.

  A gas tank? he wondered.

  A second later, all thought left him as tremendous heat washed over him. Again, he was blind, bright orange and yellow flames were all over the place, obscuring everything. He buried his face in the mud. He felt his scalp burn, the hair on his head withered, crackled, and filled his nostrils with an unholy scent. As wild as an animal, he rubbed the viscous dirt on his head, trying to cool it, ignoring the gore and blood that dripped through his fingers.

  He shifted onto his side, putting more weight onto the obstruction that had saved his life, chancing a quick glance about. Every flammable object around him was aflame, scorched by the explosion. Some of the mud nearby appeared glazed, as if placed within a potter’s kiln and fired, with pure malcontent in mind.

  He twisted this way and that in an attempt to find anything he could use to pull himself up, maybe even out of the hole…

  He stopped moving, a jolt of optimism arching through him. He told himself what he was seeing was not real. It couldn’t be. It was implausible -. No! It was unbelievable. He knuckled his eyes. This could not be reality. This was not the truth. He shook his head from side-to-side, struggling to banish the sight.

  It would not go away. No matter what he tried, the vista before him remained.

  The entire mall was… gone! All the Eagle Rock Plaza had vanished! All that remained was an asteroid-sized crater.

  And, all the people. And, their cars.

  “Oh my…,” he tried to say, but could not finish before the gigantic sobs consumed him and he became a sodden heap of weeping flesh.

  There had to be hundreds of people pulverized in the rubble. The depression in the earth was so big.

  He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes fluttering down to what lay beneath his shoe, to what had saved him from certain death.

  It was a head – the head of a man decapitated below the Adam’s apple.

  Unable to control it, Shawn Moore screamed like he was stuck in some sort of vile device of the Inquisition. Out of pure revulsion, he jerked his foot from the offending body part, his shouts unending.

  That was all it took.

  Before his mind registered what was occurring. He fell.

  He fell into the gaping maw of the Devil himself and was no more.

  *****

  Shawn slammed onto the floor of his bedroom with jolting force. He was awake in an instant, squealing like a stuck pig. His blankets and bed sheet twisted and tangled about his person. He could not move his legs. They were bound too tight about his chest he could only just breathe.

  He glanced down at himself, frowning, the blood pounding at his temples. “Sonofabitch, I’m wound up tighter than a chimichanga!” he said aloud, but to no one in particular. As was usual when he slept in on a Sunday, he was alone.

  He lay there for a few moments longer. He let the terror leave him completely, inhaling and exhaling in long, slow rhythms so he could slow his racing heart. He rubbed the sides of his head, knowing it would be yet another day of throbbing headaches. It was a persistent condition that had been with him going on four days now.

  Four days…

  The two words echoed in his mind like the tolling of bell, a constant vibration that lessened with each passing second.

  Four days.

  He sat up. He unwound his torso from his bedding, intent on losing himself in the mundane task. He did not want to think about what had happened four days in the past. He could not. He dared not. As was the norm, also since then, he could not keep those thoughts at bay for long.

  Kimberly…

  His lungs shuddered within his ribcage, his sigh so thick with emotion he almost groaned. She had been gone for four days now - ninety-six hours and counting. That was five thousand seven hundred and sixty minutes, and still there was no word of what had happened to her. Three thousand nine hundred and thirty-two people had been inside the Eagle Rock Plaza at the moment of the Event. It was the beginning of the holiday season; so, of course, the place had been jammed to the gills. Of those people, only two hundred eighty-seven had survived. Everyone present, whether living or dead, had been identified. This of course did not account for three individuals – all teenagers, all missing. They had unearthed nothing, not even a single tooth belonging to any of them. Seeing the site scoured with such scrutiny, he knew it was cleaner than the dinner plate he had eaten off the night before.

  Three teens. Three lost souls.

  Derek Benson.

  Hyun Kwon.

  And, Kimberly Madison.

  His Kimberly Madison.

  If it had not been for the disappearance of the Von's supermarket down the street, things might have gone different. Simultaneous, two more teenagers – boys – had gone missing there. Without their misfortune though, the disappearances of the missing teens from the Eagle Rock Plaza might not have been investigation further. Though they were abductions, classification as such might have proved difficult. In this aspect, there was some degree of a break, a baseline established. Because, those terrible kidnappings had continued throughout the northeastern communities of Los Angeles as the days passed.

  But the entire weight of the United States government was behind the quest for truth. After a time, trends became known, similarities unearthed. On the day before Thanksgiving, all except four of the kidnapped children had gone to Eagle Rock Junior/Senior High School. Two of the exceptions were siblings of an attending student. Another, though he went to rival school, had been the same boys’ best friend during grammar school.

  Only, Louis Willigan was the odd man out. He went to Annandale Elementary and had no direct ties to the others. Still, he was lumped into the group, because he had disappeared at precisely the same time they had.

  6:47pm.

  The time, down to the minute, stamped so far into the collective psyche of the human race.

  Shawn did not think it would ever be forgotten.

  6:47pm.

  He had awakened at that time, on that day, within the humongous hole left behind by the absence of the mall. He came to consciousness hearing the yelps and the squawks of the injured, much like the dream he had just endured. It was a common theme now, with him. He relived those horrifying minutes every time he went to sleep. The screams, the fire – the head - those images were never far from his mind the moment he closed his eyes for the night, or even for a nap. He could not escape them, they hounded him, haunted him, at every turn.

  Within minutes the entire area swarmed with First Responders. They were of all sorts – policemen, firemen, good Samaritans, urban rescue, fire rescue, even a few Forest Rangers. It seemed like all the trucks and ambulances and helicopters in the whole city had descended upon the scene. It was madness, pure chaos. But of the human sort, which was one thousand percent easier to stomach than what had happened down at the bottom of the crater. There he was certain, evil dwelt.

  Immobilized upon a hard, plastic stretcher and hauled up the steep embankment, man after man pulled him out. At last, he found himself in an EMS van and sent to the hospital.

  He had been asking for Kimberly the entire time, but he had, time and again, been told to calm down, to lay back and rest. He had been lectured. He had been admonished because he had survived a traumatic incident and was doing little to make his situation easier. He was assured she would be found. He had been promised, patted, stroked to no end. And yet… they had all been wrong.

  Kimberly was never found. She had disappeared as if she had never been.

 
With each passing day, Shawn grew more and more depressed. Then plaguing headaches had come, flirting with migraine status. He would have slept for hours on end, if it had not been for the recurring nightmare. Sleep would have been a method of choice, if he could get through an hour of it without the past stalking him, frightening him out of his mind. So, he ambled about his parent’s house, wearing the same pair of dirty sweat pants, t-shirt and socks. He did not even bother with underwear. What difference did it make?

  His scalp ached where he had been burnt. His shoulder barked whenever he turned the wrong way or tried to lift something that was too heavy. His knees and elbows were covered with bruises, his ribs were sore, his neck was stiff… and his heart was broken.

  After the multitude of interviews with more government agencies than he knew existed, there was little else to do but wait. After the constant influx of new developments, after the true scope of the Event became clear, he had more time on his hands than ever.

  Kimberly was still gone.

  Shawn finally stood. He came to his full six-foot-four height. He ran a not-so-clean hand through his even dirtier carrot-colored hair now reduced to near nubs. The motion put his arm pit closer to his nose. He wrinkled it in disgust at his own smell. Damn, I smell like shit!

  He unraveled his bedding the rest of the way from his person, flinging it upon the bed when he finished. Then he sauntered over toward it, sitting upon the edge, his hand wringing before him. What could’ve happened to her? Where was she? Who could’ve done this to her? Why? He glanced around his messy bedroom looking for answers that would not come.

  How can life be so cruel? How could it be so unfair? I was just getting to know her. I was… he could not finish. The tears burst from his eyes too fast for him to stop. He sat upon his bed, his back humped and his shoulders slumped, and he cried like he had so many times over the course of the past four days. He ignored the comfort offered by his mother and father. He paid little heed to consoling texts and phone calls from his buddies on the basketball team. He did not need any of that fucking shit. He was ok. He would live. There were more important things to spend time on, to investigate, discover. He was fine god damn it.

  Kimberly was not. Kim was missing. Kim was missing, along with the mall and everything else in it.

  Except the people and the cars, he recalled. They had been nothing more than hamburger. Those who had fallen into the pit, they all had seen the devil’s face. They all bore the mark upon their souls.

  Kimberly, he cried. He did not care if he sounded pathetic. He covered his face with his hands, his throat raw and his mouth dry. Why were you taken from me!?! Why would I finally find you, the girl of my dreams, only to have you snatched out of it before I got the chance to tell you?

  “Why?” he asked the empty bedroom.

  Why would anyone do this? Why? Why!?! I can’t stand this anymore!!! Please, come back… He slammed a fist on the mattress, making the pillows on the bed jump. Why would anyone do -?

  The thought never finished. A new one sprang up and took its’ place.

  Somewhere in the wellspring of Shawn Moore, something vile turned. This heretofore unknown aspect of himself gazed upon its’ own reflection and smiled.

  Of a sudden, Shawn had a purpose.

  He made for the shower intent on doing something about it.

  ~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~

  ~ 23 ~

  Boy Troubles

  Sunday, November 28th, 11:01 am…

  Sonny placed his knee between Tilly’s, edging her legs open and hiking up her pleated mini-skirt at the same time. She had been sleeping going on two hours now and he was bored. He wanted some. Fuck, he needed some.

  This is going to be good, he told himself, enjoying the growing thickness in his pants. It had been a while since he had felt like himself. Ever since that bitch Kimberly had dumped him, he had been a little off his game.

  It did not matter he had been stoned to the point of delirium just about every day or that he drank himself into a snoring slumber each night. Those were the sort of details Sonny never let creep into his mind. They were a waste anyway. It was irrelevant if he abused drugs and alcohol. A man’s equipment should work regardless. Plus, he was young, in the motherfucking prime of his life. He could drink a gallon of booze and still be as hard as steel, shit! He did not need no little blue pill or a hit of strong weed either. His pecker was the Black & Decker Pussy Wrecker! Hell ya!

  That’s church! he agreed with himself, distributing his weight on the balls of his feet and one elbow. With his free hand, he explored the pale, emaciated girl’s flaccid breasts. He had free reign since she wore only a loose-fitting t-shirt. He could have cared less if she was as strung out as him or if she had not showered in the four days she had been shacking-up at his pad. Besides, he liked natural girls, not those prissy bitches he watched on TV or seen in magazines. A real woman, an uncorrupted slut could take what God gave him and want more. Yessir! She would take the load, flip over, throw what she got from her mama in the air and ask for seconds.

  He glanced down. He was going to use all he had on her. Yup. Absolutely – porno-style. He giggled through his teeth, putting his mouth on hers, forcing his tongue in her slack maw. Yeah, porno-style!

  She mumbled through the smash of his lips, in the throes of a narcotic-induced sleep.

  Sonny came up on all fours, yanking Tilly’s skirt up and roughly pulling down her panties. They rolled up as he slid them down her rail-thin thighs and over her knobby knees. She might not be as fit or as pretty as Kimberly, but she was good to go. There was no bullshit with Tilly. All she needed was a good hit now and again, and she would let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. She’s a real woman, not some stuck-up, little kid.

  Kimberly had always been such a prude. He had to just about beg her for piece of her ass. Even when she did give it up, she would just lie there like a dead fish. She never seemed to enjoy it, always on the verge of goddamned tears and shit. What the fuck was wrong with her anyway? He had been good to her. He had been caring, doting, faithful – well, maybe not all the time, but shit, he turned down more pussy than he took to bed. That had to count for something right? Why had she been so ungrateful, so selfish? Why couldn’t she just have a good time? Why couldn’t she just ease up, chill-out? It was only sex. All the other girls liked to get a good ramming, why not her? After all, she was human, wasn’t she?

  Fucken prude.

  And why the fuck did she dumped me? Who the hell does she think she is? Some beauty queen or something?

  He felt the anger begin to come back as thoughts of his one-time girlfriend washed over him. What the hell had he ever done to her? True, she was young. True, she had been a virgin. But, she had wanted it just the same. She had told him on many occasions. So, what had been her problem?

  Ah, fuck that bitch! He peered down at the unconscious nineteen-year-old splayed below him. He made himself ignore the smell wafting from her. Tilly’s good enough for now. He tugged her t-shirt upward, exposing her bosom. Her light-pink nipples greeted him, lethargic, deflated. They looked as “baked” as the rest of her. He giggled in spite of himself, knowing it was lame to laugh at one’s jokes, but who the fuck cared? Right? He giggled some more.

  He began to fumble with the buttons of his H&M skinny jeans, cursing, because they were difficult to undo with only one hand. Since they were the only garment he was wearing, all he needed was to unfasten three or four of them and he could shimmy his way free. He wanted to be completely naked when he indulged himself within Tilly’s girlie parts.

  He had only undone two when Tilly’s eyes fluttered open, bloodshot orbs glancing about under a furled brow.

  “Welcome back from the dead, you freakin’ crackhead,” said Sonny, smirk melting his face to one side.

  The girl looked up at him and then down at herself. “You finally gonna be able to use that thing?”

  His ire was back in a flash. “Fuck you, bitch!”

  She sneered. “I
wish. What the hell do you think I’ve been waiting for all these days? It’s about time you got your shit together.” She harrumphed through a derisive laugh. “Fucken limp-dick, motherfucker…” She had mumbled it but Sonny heard it loud and clear.

  Suddenly, he saw red. Blinding, unavoidable crimson that made his ears burn, his stomach knot in his gut. Before she could react, he slapped her right across the face from left to right. “You better watch your mouth, bitch!” He said it so vicious he almost drooled on her. The heat of his anger fired through his body, making blood pump where it had not been able for the past few days.

  Tilly’s head swiveled back around, her eyes narrow and her cheek smarting and pink. “Hit me again, you little prick. I hardly felt that one.” Ignoring her compromising position, she did not move other than to brace herself by stiffening her arms and legs. “I’m not your Emo-slut, Sonny. You don’t scare me.”

  Sonny felt his right hand ball into a fist. “You want me to fuck you up?” Now his chin jutted, pulled taut as though he was on the verge of a seizure. “Cuz, I’ll fuck you up something proper, if you’re game.”

  She chuckled without merriment, her eyes glaring. “You better make it worth your wild, sonny. You better.”

  Now, this is going to be good, he had just thought when there was a heavy trod across the rickety floorboards of his front porch. This was followed by a thunderous knock on the front door.

  Sonny’s face went from violent to surprise, the knock had startled him. “Sonofabitch!” he cussed, vexed over his untimely visitor. Not only was he going to waste his hard-on, he was going to lose out on beating the shit out of Tilly as well. What’s the world coming to when a man can’t even beat a bitch and then fuck her silly?

  Now, he was going to have to deal with some ass-cheese, Jehovah’s Witnesses. He knew they would try to push something like fifty pamphlets down his throat. He knew they would hold him hostage at his own front door, talking a mile-a-minute, never pausing, non-stop. It would take him a quarter of hour to get rid of them. He knew it for fact, because those fuckers had done it to him in the past.