The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  Elton walked the fence line, looking for the perfect spot to make his climb.

  “Quit stalling, you old dolt. Times a wasting.” He cursed himself and his wet hands found purchase on the cold links. Letting out a long breath, he slowly climbed up the fence that separated the cemetery from the school. He barely caught his balance on the other side but righted himself. The sound of music flew on the chilly air. He cocked his head, his frizzy hair jutting out. He could make out two large vehicles in the parking lot.

  His feet landed with a sloppy slush on the soggy grass of the soccer field, and he spotted a few other, living, human forms milling about the entrance. They were laughing and singing along with some wretched country music and fiddling about with guns of some sort.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Elton could not hide the sense of concern in his soft voice. “This is most unfortunate.” He slid the slender flask from inside his tweed vest pocket and took a long pull from it. “Ah, a shot of liquid courage is needed in situations such as these.” Pushing up his John Lennon glasses, he shoved the worn flask back into its hiding place, gathered himself, took inventory of his belongings, and made his way toward the school.

  30.

  Looking Out for Number One

  Arcadia Falls Elementary School

  Art room- Second Floor

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  “Did you hear that?” Arnie shouted.

  Dex jumped to the window. “He's right, Barry. Someone's down there.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Barry snapped, looking out the window. It was pitch black, save the sporadic flashes of lightning that splintered the room. The doors were blocked with wooden furniture. Dex, Arnie, and Frank stood, unsure what to do.

  Dex always respected his older brother, but he was too smart to think that Barry's unpredictable mind always knew what was best. Barry quit high school in his senior year, joined the Air Force, and ran away from Arcadia Falls and his parents as fast as he could. On top of that, he'd been acting strange for over a week or so after they partied and messed around with the Ouija board and the Satanic books Barry took out from the library. But this was some seriously dark shit.

  “Dude, there are living, breathing human beings down there, not just zombies, damn it,” Dex said. “They need our help.” He felt his skin grew hot in anger as he stepped closer to the window, peering down on the parking lot of the elementary school.

  “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if it’s goddamn Molly-motherfuckin'-Ringwald down there.” Barry’s long, greasy dark hair shone when lightning flickered outside the window. The lightning also illuminated the anger and agitation on his face.

  “Fuck `em!” A large vein bulged in Barry's forehead. His thin, mousy mustache twitched along with the mouth beneath it. “I ain’t risking’ my life for some dumb-ass who can’t be smart enough to stay the hell inside!”

  “Hey.” Arnie pointed toward the form racing for the doorway two floors below. “Ain’t that Warren?”

  Dex crowded over Arnie’s shoulder, pushing him aside. “Yeah, I think it is. And that’s Maico with him.”

  “For fuck's sake,” Dex said. “C'mon. If that is Warren, I’m gonna let hi—-”

  Barry’s skinny, but strong hands coiled around Dex’s throat. His brother moved in one swift motion; and Dex’s feet lifted off the floor, and he was slammed into the art supply cabinet. Art brushes, pencils, and glue bottles crashed down.

  “Now look here, dipshit.” Barry seethed through pursed lips. His eyes seemed to bulge more than humanly possible. Dex thought they would explode and splatter all over his face. He turned his head.

  “That kid ain’t worth it, anyway. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna die `cause of him.” Barry let Dex go and stepped back. “And neither are any of you, assholes.”

  Dex fought to regain his breath and glared at his psychotic brother. He turned to his friends who seemed to be paused. Arnie and Frank’s seem to find something fascinating on the floor, avoiding any eye contact with the volatile Barry. Dex knew they both feared his brother, although he never could understand why. Arnie was a two-time state wrestling champ, and Frank was a seasoned farm worker who could easily dead-lift Barry over his head with one hand while drinking a beer with the other.

  There was a deep craziness inside his brother, and it got worse after he started reading about satanic cults and tarot decks and all that crap. Barry's black eyes seemed to stare right through them, the way he shakily smoked a Marlboro and always had this sly, yet twitchy smile on his sunken face. They just kept their distance. All that didn't matter now. Dex had to do something or Warren was dead meat.

  Dex took a second to catch his breath, then lunged at his older brother. Dex and Barry slammed to the floor with a loud thump. Dust-covered pottery fell from the shelves on the walls, shattering in many unglazed pieces on the tiled floor.

  “Go down, let Warren—” Dex smashed his brother’s greasy head into the floor with a sick thud. “Inside!”

  Barry thrust hard to one side and rolled out from under Dex, twisting his brother's arm as he shifted his weight. Barry now lay on top of Dex.

  Arnie and Frank threw aside the wooden art tables blocking the doorway.

  “Now, brother.” Barry wheezed as he wiped spit from his wide grin. “You should a’ known better than to screw with me.” A hard left came down and crunched into Dex’s cheek. A brilliant rush of pain filled his face. Bright red blood gushed from his nose.

  “Nuh uh, fellas, not so fast.” Barry turned to Arnie and Frank. The metallic click of a pistol made them stop.

  Shaking, they dropped the heavy art table and slowly turned around. It landed with a loud boom.

  Barry aimed the .357 magnum at them. He dabbed the blood from the corner of his mouth with his other hand and continued smiling.

  “You guys don't want to open that door, do ya?”

  They stepped away from the door. Arnie hung his head while Dex saw Frank balling up his first.

  “Ah, don’t feel bad, boys. You’ve always been pussies.” Barry’s condescension weighed heavy on the stale air. “Why should anything be different now, huh? Sit your punk asses down and shut the fuck up.”

  Dex lay on the ground, moaning. His face was a bloody mess, and his Black Sabbath Live Evil shirt was soaked with blood. He tried to catch Frank's attention. He could tell his strong friend had just about enough of Barry's shit and was about to snap.

  Then it all happened at once.

  31.

  Tooth and Nail

  Arcadia Falls Elementary School.

  First floor, entryway.

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  “Shit,” Warren shouted, looking out the window. He tried to lock the door. As if the mad rednecks knew his effort was useless, a cold laughter filtered in the entryway. He wiped away the foggy glass as Wilbur DeRueter’s toothless smile engulfed the entire rectangle window. Warren recoiled and let out a sharp scream. More laughter seeped through the door.

  “Hey, punk, by the time they get done with yer ass, you’ll wish you stayed with us.” The unshaven face broke into a wide, toothless smile. Wide enough that you could play cat's ‘n-the-cradle with it. Warren slammed his fist into the crisscrossed patterned glass of the security door. Rain washed away his grisly image, and lightning eradicated any sign of life from the window.

  Warren knew he needed to go now. He looked into the dark hallway. Maico barked and ran ahead into the darkness.

  Rumbling country music filtered in through the doorway.

  Warren snatched the flashlight from his pocket, flicked it on, and aimed it down the hall. The refrains of Merle Haggard sounded behind him, followed by drunken laughter.

  His legs burned, and his lungs felt like two balloons expanded far beyond their limits. He took a deep breath, wiped his glasses on his T-shirt, and exhaled.

  “Hey, boy, hang on.” Warren coughed and slowly walked down the hall, hoping to get away from the inbred twins.

  “Maico?” Warren
came to a T-intersection. The school was dark, papers and trash scattered all over the tiled floor, and nothing moved. To his immediate left, a stairwell led to the second floor. He shined the light up into the darkness and was shocked to see the way completely blocked by a miss-mash of desks, projector carts, stools, and cabinets. Further beyond the stairs on his left, laid a hallway that lead to the main office and the kindergarten classrooms.

  Maico sniffed and huffed in the hallway, and Warren turned back toward his dog's sounds.

  The air was stale with the telltale hint of death. In front of him were a set of closed wooden doors leading to the gymnasium. He brought the beam of the flashlight up and looked down the hallway; one way extended toward the main offices. The other, a hallway descending into darkness, and Warren shuddered as he remembered the boy’s locker room and the boiler room were located there as well as the exit to the playground.

  Slowly walking past the stairs, to the left, he headed into the darkness. The small beam of light from his flashlight offered only a slight comfort.

  He wracked his memory trying to recall if there was another exit. It had been six years since he'd set foot in the elementary school and, sadly, most of his memories were bad ones. He gave the thick wooden doors of the gymnasium an intense glare of derision and continued walking.

  The mocking twang of country music, mixed with the taunting laughter of the psycho DeRueter brothers and the jarring concussion of thunder drew closer, echoing off the tiled walls. Together, they combined to create a sadistic mix-tape of dread that wrapped around Warren as he fought to figure out where to go and what to do. Ahead of him, he tried every door on the right side of the hallway. All were locked.

  A loud metallic clang filled the hallway as the outside doors to the school yanked open, and Warren nearly dropped the flashlight. Followed by more cruel taunts, his heart pounded heavy in his chest.

  “Hey, fat boy. Looks like your time's about up, pumpkin'.”

  Warren fled into the darkness, the small light bounced around, casting chaotic shadows against the ocher-colored walls. The chilling sound of what he guessed was a knife blade scraping against the stone tile of the wall filled the hallway.

  “Brennan, don't tire yourself out son, we got plans for your sorry ass.”

  They were getting closer.

  Every door Warren tried was locked, but he kept running, kept trying. His legs throbbed with shooting pain, his lungs burned as if afire. His heart almost stopped when the hallway suddenly ended at a set of closed metal doors.

  No! The fire doors weren't there before. He fought to breathe. The small light did little to help his exploding panic.

  32.

  No More Mister Nice Guy

  Arcadia Falls Elementary School-

  Art Room-Second Floor-

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  “Do it, you big pus—” were the only words Barry Lee mustered as Frank tackled Barry and drove him into the stack of desks, file cabinets. They landed with a loud crash.

  The revolver skittered into the shadows as Frank levied a big right cross into Barry's jaw. The much smaller Barry collapsed to the floor in a heap.

  “Hell yes!” Arnie cheered and pumped his fist into the air.

  Dex started pulling furniture away from the door. “Damn, man.”

  Barry lay still in a pool of his own blood. Frank climbed off him and snatched the pistol and tucked it into his waist band. Then he ran to help Arnie pulling the furniture from the front of the door.

  “What? I was getting sick and tired of him running his mouth. Sorry, Dex,” Frank said, hefting a large table and setting to the side.

  “Oh hell, I know. Just didn't think it'd be that easy. Barry is a tough and sick son of a bitch. I best tie him up just to make sure.” Dex looked about the art room and besides old paint trays, and some construction paper garland left over from Christmas, there wasn't much there.

  “Dude, how about the flag?” Arnie said filled with excitement.

  Dex shot his friend an incredulous look and thought for a second.

  “Good idea. Nice.” Dex threw up devil horns at Arnie and ran to the American flag suspended by a pole attached to the wall next to the door.

  “Hey, my mom always said I was special.” Arnie laughed proudly, grabbing a stool from the pile.

  “Yeah, no kidding. Special Ed, that is.” Frank punched Arnie in the arm and never missed a beat while shoving a file cabinet away from the exit.

  “Screw you,” Arnie said, throwing another chair across the room. He laughed and begrudgingly added, “That was pretty good, man.”

  They both laughed while Dex pulled his Buck knife from its sheath and cut the flag into long strips.

  “Forgive me,” he said with each slice down the red stripes.

  “Just a piece of cloth, man,” Frank mumbled.

  “To you maybe,” was all Dex said while he watched his brother, making sure he wasn't moving at all. That was the last thing they needed.

  He ran to Barry's body and tied his wrists and ankles with the flag stripes, his cautious gaze never leaving his brother.

  “You guys about done?” Dex asked, finishing up the last knot on Barry's ankles.

  “Just about.” Arnie said, helping Frank move the last piece of furniture, Mrs. Freeman's desk. Dex caught Arnie wiping a small tear as he shoved it into the center of the room.

  “Hold on,” Frank said running back to the limp Barry’s limp body and violently yanked the big pistol from his waistband. “Now I’m ready.”

  Arnie must have caught Dex looking because he quickly wiped the tear away and turned beet-red. “What? She was a cool teacher. Sue me.”

  The sound of country music grew louder, and they all heard doors slamming.

  “Let's go, guys. If that is Warren, he's probably in some in deep shit,” Dex said, swinging the door opening and headed toward the stairwell to the right.

  “Maybe Jack's down there, too. You think he might be?” Arnie asked.

  Dex offered his friend a reassuring nod. “Sure. I'm betting that sneaky bastard will be safe inside the Blitz, warming it up for us.” He ran toward the stairs.

  “Yeah, sounds like him.” Arnie followed Dex.

  Frank closed the door and shot a look at the unconscious body of Barry Lee in the darkness of the art room. He promptly flipped him the bird.

  “Sweet dreams, asshole,” he said and headed downstairs.

  33.

  Demon’s Night

  Arcadia Falls Elementary School.

  Athletic Fields and Playground,

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  Elton only made it halfway across the field before the pawns of Orcus sniffed out his presence. The school lay a good one hundred yards away, and the lumbering undead blocked his path.

  Their gravelly voices flitted into the freezing air, taunting him. “Come closer, Keeper. The Master demands you.”

  “Well, if this just isn't a kick in the naughty bits,” he said, plotting his next move. He wasn't sure why he needed to get to the school, but each Keeper was born with a sixth sense of where his, or her, charge was. Seeing that he teleported to this specific cemetery, the Child of Light most certainly must be nearby. “The trick now, is how do I get to the bloody school?”

  Scouring the surrounding area, Elton smiled. An extremely large oak tree stood tall in the middle of the playground, rising near the height of the three-story school. If he could make it the old tree, he'd be able to get a much better vantage point and perhaps discover a way into the school.

  “Time to bugger off,” Elton said and ran, hell bent toward the tree.

  A myriad of undead arms and hands jutted out and grabbed at him. Calling his name and biting the chill air.

  The thick, ocher-colored mist hung above the undead like a canvas. Elton ran faster in hopes of it just being his imagination and that he could out run it and the moaning dead. The Keeper didn't stop moving until his well-worn, leather shoes hit the blacktop of the
playground where the pain-filled cries of Orcus's spawn surrounded him.

  “Keeper, do not run. You will toughen your scrumptious flesh.” The crowd of undead bayed and growled as Elton punched and kicked his way to the tree. The red orbs filled the darkness of the schoolyard.

  Something yanked Elton backward, his shoes slipped on the wet pavement. He fell to the ground as a loud round of laughter filled the air.

  A flurry of rotten, decaying hands grabbed and tore at the Keeper, and he kicked and swung, doing all he could to keep the vile creatures away. His crazed mind fought to find purchase on an action, but the teleportation spell had taken nearly all his energy.

  A dozen fiery crimson eyes bore down on him and it would have been easy to give up. To surrender to the spawn of the Lord of the Dead. The vivid image of his father, he, too, a Keeper, filled his mind. The last words he spoke burned deeply into Elton's mind while hands tore at his clothes and fingernails ripped at this arms and face.

  “No life is meaningless once you find your heart's calling. I have served at the pleasure of the Keeper's Council as Keeper of the Children of Light and to protect our realm. It is yours now, too, my son. You may not believe or feel it, but trust me, someday, you will. Never, ever, let the darkness prevail. Ever.”

  Elton held the attackers at bay and eyed for an opening. There, finally, it was. Only a few feet away, the large maplestood high above him. He rolled to his knees, swinging his satchel. It caught two of the undead in the face, sending them backward, which in turn caused the second row of rotting dead to fall to the ground. That's when the Keeper sprang for the tree.

  Something yanked him back, pulling the satchel from his shoulder. Elton froze, knowing the importance of the canvas bags. There was no time to ponder. He let the strap slip from him and jumped onto to the lowest limb of the oak, and it took all he had to pull himself to safety.

  Once his feet were clear of his necrotic assailants, Elton tried to stop his heart from exploding out of his heaving chest.