The Apostasy

by Ted Minkinow

  Behind The Man, to his sides, in front of each executioner’s tree and body knotted to it, the ground stirred. From out of the mush—cursed soil if one believed Creek lore—five shapes raised like accordions unfolding into rigid forms…upward in perfect unison with Leland Graves’s arms. They resolved into five men.

  Time: Undefined, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  “Union army?” said Corporal Tilbury as he worked to recover from the shock of men growing from the ground in the manner of time-lapse photography. He could see these newcomers were dressed, or roughly dressed, like soldiers from more than a century past. Marlin increased ARTY’s magnification level.

  Definitely seen better days, he thought as he examined each of the new faces in turn. “Five men, nine eyes,” Marlin said. To be fair to The Man, the lone unfortunate did not require both eyes. He was missing half a face.

  Amalgams of bone and rot sufficed for flesh. Each stood quietly, and Corporal Tilbury could see that thousand yard stare in their yellow eyes.

  Estimated: Tuesday, July 17, 10:22 pm, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  1

  Cassandra regained composure. The scientist inside her now accepted the following: The supernatural world was real. This other domain could encroach into her physical world. It appeared dangerous—No, actually it had proven itself lethal. And finally, forced to ply his trade in the backwoods of Alabama, this Graves character had to be…something came to her mind and she spoke words without completely understanding why.

  “The primal apostasy,” Cassandra said, moving forward but not far enough to expose herself to the reach of Leland Graves or Rufus McCarran. “You are nothing but a bullying coward.”

  Cassandra heard Tom gulp, a sign that fur was about to fly. Warren remained still and she didn’t hear a thing from Jeremiah…no wit, no sarcasm. Leland Graves glared with the venom of a thousand cobras, and dropped his arms.

  2

  “That’s it!” said Hattie so loudly she saw Tom jump out of the corner of her eye. Her mental light now burned with 2.5 million candlepower. Nana Sally’s message came through, free of obscurity brought on by decades and flat out disbelief.

  “What is it?” asked Leland Graves.

  But Hattie wasn’t ready to respond…at least not yet. Words from Nana Sally’s letter flashed in her mind, It is the primal apostasy that both creates and, I pray, coupled with love makes vulnerable.

  Evidently her slow response got under Leland Grave’s skin because he spit—actually spit—before saying, “What do you know about anything, old woman?”

  “I know more than you want,” Hattie said. She put a hand atop Cassandra’s shoulder and conjured a smile. “I also think I’m not the only one who has you figured out.”

  3

  Cassandra touched Aunt Hattie’s hand, and then held it in her own. Together, they would press this uncertain attack…it was their only chance. She closed her eyes her mind revealed a scene inadequately described by a single sentence in the Bible.

  No sun illuminated her scene because not a single star existed. Not yet. An incredible expanse, void of both sky above and ground beneath, glowed in magnificent purple hues. Her mind attempted to categorize the scene but found no basis in experience for comparison. The concept of place, as humans understood it, did not apply. Two mighty armies festooned with colorful banners approached one another.

  Fantastic horns, curving in intricate details inconceivable in the human mind, blared in a combined cacophony that exceeded the combined screams of all voices on a thousand Earths. These supernatural horns trumpeted chords that shook the foundation of creation with menace and intent.

  Multitudes of the most perfect beings comprised both armies in columns that extended over the greater part of the barren universe. Each being was possessed of a smooth skin that radiated all the colors of a grand master’s ultimate rainbow. Gowns glowed in a white so pristine and frightening that the color’s dimensions did not exist on Earth and would surely melt retinas if it did.

  Some walked, no, floated forward while others rode as cavalry on behemoth mounts resembling a genetic cross between horses—bodies and legs, lions—heads and tail, and beetles—biological armor covering flanks. Her mind knew that there were no humans to see this splendid horror, not then.

  These great armies intended battle. Seven of the most beautiful and muscular beings, mounted atop seven of the snarling lion-horse-beetle beasts, and carrying seven billowing white banners gilded in solid gold led the army approaching from the west. Six smaller, but still perfect beings rode six giant jackals, each larger than the sum total weight of all the dinosaurs that ever roamed the Earth. This vanguard led the army converging from the east. They bore six black standards, trimmed in a brimstone substance that radiated both fire and poisonous gases.

  Countless storm clouds, solid and orange-black as Birmingham iron ore, vertical and broad as the Pacific Ocean, raged as the armies neared. The scene would have frozen the bravest of the world’s collective military; or sent them running from the field…leaving all technology’s marvels of death abandoned and unfired.

  Someone, or something, allowed her to see that much. Fearing she might never find her way back to sanity if she saw more, Cassandra opened her eyes.

  “You lost the battle, didn’t you,” she said.

  Leland Graves did not reply. Instead, he began to melt from their sight, thick dark smoke replacing his form as first head, then body, and finally legs and feet disappeared.

  Cassandra heard Jeremiah say, “Looks like the women talked him to death.”

  That sort of luck would not shine that night.

  Rufus, Julius, and the Union soldiers did not disappear in black smoke. And, as went Graves, so went his henchmen. It made too much sense to deny. A frigid breeze dissipated the mist in front of them in increments—small at first but then increasing in size—the spitting, black night revealed the real being hiding behind the frame of Leland Graves.

  It appeared much like the translucent outline seen by Hattie and Cassandra back in the house, moments prior to Jeremiah’s ill-conceived attack. This time though, it came fully into focus.

  The being grew taller, but at the same time, it shrank thinner than the beanpole preacher. The head appeared larger and more ovoid, with beady, almond-shaped, lidless eyes that were blacker than the coldest depths of a lifeless ocean. These eyes neither reflected nor absorbed ambient light that glowed in the clearing. His nose resolved into two dots splayed over a mouth so sharp that it made the Leland Graves former paltry lips look like an FDA poster for the dangers of collagen.

  Extended rails of arms ended in stretched palms and twig-like digits that had the appearance of oversized chopsticks. The torso’s length and width matched that of the head and arms, but from the waist and continuing to the feet, the gnarled legs seemed squat, undersized and out of equilibrium.

  If the skin of Cassandra’s vision warriors shone without blemish, this thing represented the antithesis. Its husk reminded her more of an elephant plagued with eczema than it did human flesh. Green splotches, the same hue found on copper coins excavated from ancient ruins, further marred its complexion from head to toe.

  Jeremiah interrupted Cassandra’s shock. “Don’t want to be rude,” he said and Cassandra could hear the effort, almost feel the pain in his voice, “but you should consider investing in commercial-grade moisturizer.”

  4

  Leland Graves catalogued the insult. Larger and more annoying fish lay in wait; he would settle the score with Mike Johnson later. Anger welled inside; it split into halves and multiplied exponentially with the speed of a steroid-injected single-celled organism undergoing mitosis.

  5

  Tom selected this moment to get off the bench and into the game. During the first Gulf War, a navy seal team ran their special operations from his base. He befriended their commander and received a few hand-to-hand combat tips. He checked his balance, rallied his strength, and struck the thin
g’s left knee with every ounce of leverage he could will into his leg muscles. He expected to hear a debilitating crack of bone and ligament. His expectations proved in error.

  A hard jolt of electricity pulsed through Tom’s body the instant his foot would have struck bone. Instead of standing over an immobilized jerk, Tom found himself flying through the air, praying for just one more soft landing.

  CHAPTER 78

  Estimated: Tuesday, July 17, 10:23 pm, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  Pine trees clustered in silent cliques as the drizzle clothed nude branches and tall, thin trunks in wet that froze into undergarments made of ice. Tom’s headlong flight halted seven feet up the trunk of one of the anonymous trees. Hattie winced at the crack and splat as body impacted first tree then earth. He did not move.

  Hattie wanted to run to her Tommy, to cradle his head like a baby’s and love away the hurt. But she knew that if her Tommy still lived, his only chance to see daybreak, the only chance for any of them—Cassandra, Jeremiah, Warren…her—lay in her hands. My old hands and Cassandra’s young ones, she thought. Hattie cleared her mind, took a breath, and continued.

  “Kicked out of your home and now skunking around here,” she said. “You hold a proud record.”

  “And you think I’m the only one of my kind?” His voice mutated into an enveloping, guttural, synthesized presence that rustled the trees and upset the environment as the wake of a battleship would a catfish pond. Lips did not move as he spoke.

  “You women trapped in pitiable mortality nailed to this stinking earth have no concept, you could not understand.” As he spoke, the being’s neck extended toward the women and his head darted between Hattie’s left ear and Cassandra’s right one.

  Nobody else…alive…half alive…dead but there anyway, moved. The voice’s raw power immobilized everything.

  “You cannot imagine a universe of so many,” Leland Graves said, “billions on one side or the other.”

  Cassandra interrupted and Hattie thought perhaps the young doctor understood…they needed to keep this thing distracted from what Hattie believed was its primary purpose.

  The Leland Graves thing stopped his head in front of Cassandra’s face.

  “Not billions of souls,” said Cassandra.

  “You are correct to distinguish,” the being who no longer appeared as Leland Graves said. “Paradise,” he said, “better than your garden until His most darling revealed the inequities and rose in protest.”

  “The primal apostasy,” said Cassandra. “And if my knowledge serves…it was more than a protest.”

  “I want you,” the being said, his voice vibrating off the mush of Copper Gulch and into swamp beyond.

  Hattie thought she heard it right, I want you. It didn’t make sense to her but Cassandra seemed to understand immediately.

  “Of course you do,” she said. “Billions without souls,” she said…and then smiled. “I know exactly what you want,” Cassandra said. “But the answer is no.”

  The thing roared in angry response, no words, no posturing, just outrage.

  Time: Undefined, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  Marlin heard the roar. His sleeve faded from jungle camouflage to bare Janitor Tilbury arm and then back to the camouflage like a projector overshooting focus and then coming back. As the noise seeped into the Gulch, the blue soldiers commenced moving with a purpose. Marlin saw three of them lumber towards Brunson, another toward his friend, and the final toward the inert form of Chief Anderson.

  Young Corporal Tilbury knew the mission and took careful aim. He wondered if ARTY, the rifle, and the match-grade M118 ammunition would perform.

  “Real or Memorex?” he said. His finger would grant no reprieve this time, no stay of execution. He zeroed the crosshairs and sent the tiny, supersonic missile to flight. The rifle bucked with a familiarity that rang true to his memories…like the only home he had ever known. It felt like that jungle. The bullet flew true.

  Estimated: Tuesday, July 17, 10:27 pm, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  Jeremiah closed his eyes in prayer as one of the goons raised a rusted carbine and bayonet to his neck. It looked like death and he would look no more. Celia’s face filled his mind. To Mike Johnson’s credit he neither whimpered nor pled for his life. The United States Air Force officer would die with honor intact.

  Time: Undefined, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  “Bingo,” said Marlin as the first bullet demolished the head as a sledgehammer would a watermelon. He did not permit time to admire the other kill shots with equal enthusiasm.

  First one in the groove, the rest will follow.

  Estimated: Tuesday, July 17, 10:27 pm, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  A ribbon of lightning seared Leland Grave’s mind.

  The drunk!

  What power did these two sirens hold to distract? Before he could exercise sufficient will to halt this burgeoning debacle, his five soldiers lay grounded and headless, melting back into the same stinking muck where they fell century and a half before.

  Leland Graves acted and dispatched both Rufus and Julius to handle the traitor…The janitor.

  He sensed the portal creep open but refused to allow further distraction from the task at hand. Why worry? Nothing back there to threaten me.

  Vassals shall dispatch the traitor. Leland Graves trusted he could control that much without direct contact. It would give him a moment to survey the tableau and then handle the cleanup.

  The orbs. They still existed…if not the perfect orb from a century ago then at least Hattie Jackson. But as he scanned her she did not glow so warmly as before…not so enticing with his immortal rear end on the line. But was failure really a possibility?

  No, Leland Graves thought. Not at all. There’d be a mess all right…but a local mess…something he could clean up outside the Old Ones’ wandering eyes…and then?

  Experiments to continue and a new company to launch.

  Time: Undefined, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  Marlin pumped a single fist into the air. “Sierra Hotel!” He figured it might work. If you wanted to kill a vampire—stake through the heart…a werewolf—silver bullet. So, he reasoned, why not use a weapon supplied by the devil himself to toast other varieties of the undead. It all made perfect sense.

  Leland Graves did not understand hit and run tactics of a professional sniper, nor did he take into account Tilbury’s flare for camouflage that would make Rambo envious. He did not scramble the little corporal’s mind with enough due diligence to unearth the Medal of Honor. But Leland Graves could be forgiven that oversight because those of his nature could never understand. Finally, failing to dispel the illusion of youth closed the book on his errors. That last one would cost him his lieutenants.

  Rufus and Julius appeared out of nowhere, but Corporal Tilbury planned for as much. Only Rufus bore a weapon, the same rusting bayonet used so many years ago on Colonel Jackson and recently on the vagrant. Perhaps the other man intended to fight with his teeth. Tilbury held a contemptuous chuckle in check. He would spend his surprise on the stinking slob. After that, his chances would diminish, but only marginally.

  The two searched the small rise in terrain, the last spot where Leland Graves sensed his sniper. They found nothing. Rufus’s eyes darted from left to right. He never looked down, and from out of the pliant ground rose a silent apparition dressed in peat and pine needles.

  Marlin made a frontal attack from his spider hole. The rear would have been ideal, but time was precious and Hattie and her gang still faced great danger. The young warrior ran his razor-sharp K-Bar knife into the base of Rufus’s skull and the goon fell into Marlin’s arms.

  Tilbury expected blood, but saw only a tarry substance oozing from the wound. He pushed Rufus to the earth. Instead of immediate resistance Julius Washington offered a look of confusion. Professionals do not pause to grin at their victims…they finish them. In three quick movements, Marl
in dispatched Julius Washington…thrust, twist, disengage. And as Julius Washington fell to his face, Marlin delivered the deathblow, a kick to the temple.

  He spoke to his victims as the their skin melted into a stinking butter that commingled with the pine needle floor and then seeped away in search of lower elevations.

  “I’m not you,” he said. “I saw my breath on ARTY, you lifeless bastards, I saw my breath.” He turned to rejoin the battle, safe in the knowledge that he just served The Man a hearty dose of his own medicine.

  Estimated: Tuesday, July 17, 10:29 pm, Copper Gulch, outside Vienna, Alabama

  Leland Graves sensed elimination of his big dogs. No matter though, as he could re-animate everyone with reasonable fidelity...A century or two would be soon enough. He turned toward the women, they deserved his full attention.

  “What to do now,” Leland Graves said out loud. Humiliation…and he could not bear to glance over his shoulder to the portal and those red eyes staring back at him. Mocking eyes, he thought…and that stoked the fire under the furnace that was becoming his rage. And that noise he heard earlier? The portal sliding open a bit? More eyes to savor a defeat.