His wife was an attractive lady, a blonde with a pretty smile. I imagined she was devastated. Their daughters, too.
For the life of me, I couldn’t envision him ever having been in love with my mother. He looked nothing like the type she brought home.
Even though it pained me, I liked reading about him—his accomplishments, all the ways he helped people. I clicked on an article written by a reporter in his hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma, published less than a week before he vanished. My father acknowledged that he was going into dangerous territory, and when asked why he would go to such great lengths to help small, remote tribal groups, his answer surprised me: “I’m going to serve and meet their medical needs the best I can because I want to show them God’s love—something I believe every person on earth deserves.”
My dad was a man of faith? It had never crossed my mind that he might be religious. Still, I admired his willingness to go above and beyond for others. Way beyond.
The more I read, reciting the words he’d once spoken, the more I wished so bad that I could have met him. Looked him in the face and told him I exist. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have given to have even one minute with him.
A few seconds.
My father had been brave and selfless and lived every day with purpose and passion. Although the pictures didn’t allow me to see it, I was sure he had been a Light. If I could have called him up and made plans to go see him—if he were still alive and well—all of this would have felt too good to be true. But the fact that I’d come this far only to still be worlds away from him was like torture.
There wasn’t a single statement of his I read that didn’t move me somehow, but it was the final quote I came across that completely rocked my world. I typed it into my cell notes app, word for word, then tucked my phone in my pocket. I threw my backpack over my shoulder . . .
Then walked away.
Away from Starbucks.
Away from my motorcycle.
Away from my pointless life.
I traipsed deep into a nearby field of tall grass and buzzing insects with just the moon to light the way. I don’t recall the specifics of all that ran through my mind, only that something was stirring in me—something new and strong.
I eventually spied a lonely boulder and made my way to it. I climbed up, gripping the cool stone, hoisting myself on top, then stood and looked up at the massive canvas of stars. I was about as far removed from civilization as I’d ever been.
I pulled out my cell, opened the notes app, then read the words out loud—my father’s response when asked why he was willing to make such extreme sacrifices and risk his life for others, especially knowing there was no way he could help them all . . .
“‘The fact that I’ve seen and empathize with their suffering tells me I’m called to intervene and help. I refuse to sit back or run in fear and leave it up to someone else to try and save them.’”
How was it possible? That his words, spoken over a year ago, applied directly to me, like they were meant for me at that very moment?
It hit me all at once—what a coward I’d been, running off and leaving Ray Anne and my classmates when I knew full well that an evil army, led by a demented commander, was likely preparing for their destruction tomorrow.
I knew what I had to do. More than that, I finally realized how to do it. Of all the tactics I’d tried against the Creepers, I’d overlooked one of the most powerful, obvious weapons. And it was time to use it.
There was no guarantee I’d survive, much less rescue anyone, but my father’s example had changed everything.
I understood now . . .
Lots of men fight to defend themselves. A real man fights for those who can’t defend themselves.
Even if it costs him everything.
FORTY-TWO
I’D CLIMBED DOWN OFF the rock and was jogging back to my bike when I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. Towering in the distance on top of an enormous hill was a massive illuminated cross, tall as a high-rise building. It stood firm as a soldier against the dark backdrop of the night sky.
I wasn’t one to believe in signs, but that didn’t seem like a coincidence.
I rushed to my motel room and threw everything in my bag. It was nearly five in the morning, but I texted Ray Anne anyway: So sorry I left you. I’m coming home. Whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll be there with you. I won’t let you down this time.
It was around seven in the morning when I finally turned onto my street, too full of adrenaline to feel the effects of no sleep. There stood Ray Anne, in my driveway, shielding her eyes from the sun. She waved like a spaz the instant she saw me. I parked, then hurried toward her, grabbing her and hugging her tight. I let go fast, though, and stepped back. I still felt hideous. “I know I look horrible to you.”
“Don’t say that.” She moved close to me again. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
I wasn’t expecting that kind of welcome, not after the way I’d left her.
“I’m sorry I walked out on you, Ray. Especially now, when you need me the most. That was wrong. I was wrong.”
Her response was like a splash of cool water across my thirsty soul: “All is forgiven, Owen.”
I stood there, gazing down into her adorable face, blown away by her mercy. I reached over and slid my fingers between hers. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Ray.”
That’s when my mom came flying out of the house.
“Owen James Edmonds, where have you been?” She pointed in my face.
“Mom, I—”
“I just got off the phone with the police. I was begging them to start looking for you!”
I was still furious with her—couldn’t even bring myself to look at her—but to get her off my back, I swore I’d never disappear like that again.
Minutes later, Ray Anne and I were in her car, headed toward our school. She reached from the driver’s seat and touched a gentle finger to a bruise on my cheek. The swelling in my lip had gone down, but the cuts were still stinging, and my left eye had dark purple under it.
“Why’d they want to hurt you?”
I instinctively lowered my head. “They blame me for Walt and Marshall.” It was awkward bringing up their names with her. “You know I never meant for them to . . .”
She rested her hand on the middle console over mine. “Of course.”
I exhaled, hoping to never bring it up again. That lasted about a second.
“I’ve been thinking about the well, Owen. How drinking from it affects people. And I think it comes down to motive.”
Interesting. In all the craziness, I hadn’t had time to fill her in on what the old man had told me, yet here she was, piecing things together on her own.
“Think about it,” she said. “Why’d you drink the water in the first place?”
I really did have to think about it. “The old man said I’d get answers. I wanted to know the truth.”
“A pure motive, right?”
I nodded.
“So, why do you think Walt and Marshall drank it?”
The horrid memory was as fresh as the wounds on my face, but even more painful. The insults they’d thrown at me. The fatal water I’d handed them in return. “It was about showing me up, I guess. And proving how brave they were.” I angled toward her. “What about you? Why’d you drink it?”
She looked at me. “So I could help you. Because I care about you.”
My stomach dropped like I’d leaped out of an airplane.
“Get it?”
“Get what?” Her sweet comment had derailed my concentration.
“You and I drank the water for selfless reasons, but Walt and Marshall’s motive was self-centered. I’m not saying they deserved to die—not at all—but the motive makes all the difference, I think.”
“But how could motive affect a person’s bodily response to a substance?”
“You still don’t understand?”
I really didn’t.
�
��Whatever’s in that water isn’t physical, Owen. It’s spiritual—different from natural laws.”
She acted like there was nothing even slightly strange about what she’d just said and I was dense for not picking up on it too.
“It’s like this.” It was all she could do to keep her hands on the steering wheel. “Drink the water with a pure heart? You’re exposed to the truth. Drink it with the wrong heart? The truth exposes you.”
I was impressed, but before I could say it—
“I know what I’m talking about.” She lifted her chin in total confidence—a Ray Anne trademark I found irresistibly attractive.
“By the way,” she said, “I spoke with several Lights at school, and I told them to be on alert today, in case I need them.”
“Didn’t they want to know why?”
“Of course. I told them I could sense evil forces and I might need their help warding them off.”
“And they believed you?”
“Well, yeah. They’re Lights. It’s the shackled ones who don’t believe.”
Her comment socked me in the gut, but I knew it was true.
Ray Anne made the final turn on the way to our school.
“How’s your stomach?” I asked.
“It quit hurting yesterday.”
I was happy for her. My stomach had never shed the queasy chill.
The closer we got to Masonville High, the more my nerves kicked in. Ray Anne started taking long, drawn-out breaths.
I suddenly second-guessed bringing her here. I understood that out of the two of us, she was much more equipped to stand up to the enemy, but if things went tragically wrong today—if she got hurt because of me, again—I’d never recover.
“Ray Anne, maybe you should let me do this. Alone.”
She pressed down harder on the gas pedal. “You need me today, Owen.”
We were nearly to the school when I asked her to pull over. She stopped and looked up at me. “I need you tomorrow, too, Ray.” I cupped her face. “And every day after that. So be careful, all right?”
She nodded, then cut back fast into the flow of traffic.
It occurred to me that maybe we’d read too much into the Creeper notes—misinterpreted them completely, and there was no attack at all planned for today. But one glance at our school, and there was no doubt. Something was definitely going down here.
Something catastrophic.
FORTY-THREE
OUR SCHOOL WAS surrounded by eerie, unnaturally straight rows of Creepers stretching from one end of the campus to the other—lurking behind the school, lining both sides, and spewing all the way from the entrance doors into the parking lot.
Hundreds of them standing inches apart, peering down each other’s reeking necks.
Their hands were crossed at the wrists and pressed against their sunken chests. It reminded me of how dead people in horror movies are positioned in graves.
More Creepers were pouring in from every direction like rats, then filing into place like they’d rehearsed their formation before. They stood so still they looked like corpses, their tattered garments hanging limp despite gusts of wind.
“I . . . I . . .” Ray Anne was at a loss.
“This is it.” The sheer number of them . . . I drew a deep breath, determined not to panic. “I refuse to sit back or run in fear and leave it up to someone else to try and save these people.”
We parked in the back of the lot, then stood by Ray Anne’s car like it was some sort of protective home base. Surely an army of Watchmen would arrive any minute. Shoot, I’d settle for a handful. Even one. But all we saw were more Creepers flocking to the scene like demented zombies ready to feed.
“How long do you think they’re going to stand there like that?” I’d never seen Ray Anne so nervous. Not that I blamed her.
“Until each nasty one of them is accounted for, I imagine.”
Students were arriving in droves now. I heard a familiar voice and looked back. Sure enough, Lance was headed toward the school with a group—guys who used to be my friends. He passed by me like I didn’t exist.
Just as well. There’d be no convincing him he was walking into a malicious mob. And did he deserve a warning? After what he’d done to me?
But there was Riley—the shy freshman I’d talked to in the cafeteria who’d been linked to Hopeless. She was Creeper-free today, but some senior guy had his arm around her.
“Riley!” I motioned for her to come talk to me. She walked over, a big smile on her face. She’d gotten her braces off.
“Hi, Owen.”
“Riley, listen. I know this sounds crazy, but don’t go to school today.”
“Why?” She crinkled her nose.
“It’s not safe,” Ray Anne said.
Riley looked over her shoulder, right at the horde of Creepers, but her spiritual blindness deceived her. “What do you mean?”
I was sick to death of arriving at this same impasse over and over. Trying to help people understand the serious threats around them only to sound like a lunatic. “We can’t really explain. But trust me, you don’t want to go inside.”
Her boyfriend was getting impatient.
“Um . . .” She looked back at him and his loudmouthed friends. “Everything looks fine to me.”
Of course it did.
Off she went, like a gerbil wandering into a lion’s den.
By the time I spotted Jess, she and Ashlyn were headed through the entrance doors. I sent her a text: Please come outside!!! Who knew how long it would take her to see it, much less do it.
“You stay here,” I said to Ray Anne, “and I’ll check out things inside the building.”
“No.” She pressed her hand flat against my chest. “I’m going. I’ll have an easier time getting through the Creepers. You keep watch out here.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m ready.” Then she clamped her nose shut.
“Wait!” I turned her toward me and wiped a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Don’t try to be a hero today. If something doesn’t look or feel right, promise me you’ll back off. Let me handle it.” I pulled her closer. “I have a new weapon now. Something I’ve never come at them with.”
“Tell me you didn’t buy a bigger flashlight.”
I smiled. “No.”
I turned her around so that we both looked out across the ranks of Creepers. “Think about it. If you’re right, and faith is part of the formula that activates forces of light, surely fear must empower the kingdom of darkness.”
She faced me again.
“Fearlessness, Ray. I refuse to cower to Creepers anymore. If I come face-to-face with Molek today—Death himself—I will not give in to his demented need to see me sweat.”
She looked down, a disappointed frown.
“What?”
“Fearlessness is good, Owen . . .” She stared into my eyes. “But it’s not enough.”
“You were there when I tried, Ray Anne. When I prayed.”
“It’s not a try thing. It’s a surrender thing.”
I pulled her to me. “Trust me. I’ve got this.”
She wrapped her arms around me. “Lord, protect him. Help him understand.”
And with that, she let go and popped her knuckles, the first time I’d ever seen her do that. Then she held her nose again and began her descent toward the school, walking right up to the ranks of Creepers. Sure enough, they leaned away, allowing her to pass, then quickly resumed their positions.
I lost sight of her in the maze of black, and I hardly moved until I saw her again, passing through the entrance doors. Talk about fearlessness. Ray Anne was turning out to be the most daring person I knew.
A strange movement in my peripheral vision caused me to turn my head. In the untouched acreage next to the school, grass and soil shot up into the air like a giant snake was charging underground toward Masonville High. Bizarre as it was, I couldn’t tell if it was a paranormal sighting or something anyone could see.
It stopped at the front line
of Creepers, then a being emerged, rising up from the earth with a thorn-crowned head and outstretched arms.
Molek had arrived.
He stayed frozen like the rest of them for several seconds, then threw his robed arms back in a dramatic, sporadic motion. At once, the Creepers sprang into action, some scattering, while others rushed to form what appeared to be predetermined groups. Assigned posts or something.
Their movement blasted a suffocating stench my way, and I nearly gagged.
Despite my determination to rid myself of every ounce of fear, I couldn’t force it away entirely. But I chose to act in spite of it. That was my understanding of true courage anyway.
I texted Ray Anne: Creepers on the move!
I eyed the building, watching them slither in droves along the rooftop and scurry up and down the brick exterior like tarantulas. I’d lost sight of Molek.
Had he gone inside?
I called Ray Anne, but she said everything was fine—not a single Creeper in the building. Weird.
Across the campus, Creepers clumped together, communing through their mystical telepathy. That’s when I saw the redheaded protester glaring at me. The depraved one-eyed freak had trespassed onto school property and was standing outside the gym.
He was surrounded by Creepers, but worse than that, he bore the ghastly appearance of evil—a demented state I recognized as full-blown possession.
I was mad at myself for not connecting the dots a month ago. I had no clue what he was plotting, but he was today’s human culprit—I was sure of it. A homegrown terrorist about to strike. An arsonist, maybe? For all I knew, he had explosives under his baggy shirt, ticking down to detonation.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he took off running, sprinting fast around the side of the building. I had to get inside now and warn Principal Harding, but a horde of Creepers clumped together like an impenetrable wall on the front steps of the school.
There’s a first time for everything, right? I ran at them, then forced myself to plunge forward, fighting through their soggy garments, stepping over their raunchy feet, working my way to the entrance doors. The experience was brain twisting—the disgusting feel of damp, rough fabric against my skin, yet my body passing through them like they were mere shadows. Like they existed in the air. Present but without matter.
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