The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  Barry slowly stood up, looking at the cloaked stranger, and remembered the drunken incantation he and the crack whores performed back at his apartment. While he liked what the weird robed guy was selling, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or having some kind of messed up drug-flashback from his Navy days.

  “Hey, man, I dig what you're saying. I do, but does this whole, hard sell have anything to do with the shit going on out there? And who are we fighting?” He pointed to the storm raging outside the school.

  The figure launched himself at Barry, sending them both crashing into the cold walls of the art room; the robed figure’s gloved hand around Barry's throat.

  “Yes, Mr. Lee. It has everything to do with the shit going on outside. The Master has orchestrated the entire end of your world, Mr. Lee, down to each and every delicious, flesh-devouring detail.” The robed-stranger's eyes glowed with a fiery-red flame, forcing Barry to turn away. “Our enemy is the usurping, Great Creator, an arrogant, greater good kind of god-like entity that seeks to keep fine young humans such as yourself down, conscripted in the world's corporate economic prison. A dime-store hippy masquerading as the epitome of all things good and just. It's all a great big white lie, Mr. Lee.”

  “Hold up, boss. This sounds like some kind of bullshit satanic pyramid scheme or some shit. Are you for real?” Barry raised an eyebrow as the stranger spoke in the dark shadows of the art room.

  “What? Oh, Mr. Lee, I, we believed you to be a soldier for the cause, a man of revolution. An agent of anarchy. 'Fuck the Man,' I believe you used to say. Are you not the staunch believer and warrior you professed in your incantation to the Master? Because, if that is the case, well, I sadly have some very bad news for you, Mr. Lee.” The stranger flicked the ends of Barry's handlebar mustache with his gloved hand. His eyes ablaze, they bore deep into Barry's, and he began to see the light.

  “Well, shit. I'm getting ya,” Barry nodded wildly and smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Hell yeah. I'm that dude. I am the man.”

  “Good, good. I am so happy to hear that, Mr. Lee. We were hoping you'd choose the righteous path.” The stranger's eyes flashed as he stepped back and handed Barry his revolver.

  “Now, servant of the Dark Lord Orcus, your first steps into your new world begin by performing a few simple tasks for us.” The stranger folded his arms into the flowing sleeves and stepped away.

  Barry hoisted his pointed chin at the robed-stranger and grinned.

  “What do you need?”

  The Robed-stranger's eyes grew brighter and his smile turned into a thin, mocking line. “It's a simple one, actually. Go downstairs and kill every pathetic living form, including your brother. I'm sorry, Mr. Lee, but he's aided and abetted the enemy for far too long. An action of circumstance, you understand.” He stepped back, a wide grin returned to his dark face. “Can you do this task, Mr. Lee?” the stranger asked. “If not, I'm certain we can find anoth—”

  “Oh, hell no. I got this, dude. I've wanted to spill some of those pussies’ blood for a long while.” Barry chortled, licking his thin lips.

  “Oh, who am I kidding? I just wanted, well, the Dark One wants all humans dead so, by all means, spare no bullets or any manner of pain in your efforts.” The stranger's cold laugh sent a comforting shiver down Barry's spine.

  The robed stranger spread his arms wide and his gloved hands erupted in a bright, glowing flame. In a flash, he sprang toward Barry, burying both hands in his chest.

  Barry screamed as the sickly smell of burning hair and flesh filled the art room.

  The robed-stranger exposed his skeletal, rotting face and fiery red, burning eyes. “Splendid, Mr. Lee. A very wise decision, young man. You are now a true servant of the Dark One. You now must hunt down any and all Children of Light you find. There seems to be only two or three left at large, so you can't cock it up too badly. A source close to the cult of our Lord, Orcus, tells me one of the flesh-pigs is in the company of your brother. Kill him, and you will find a golden throne of your own once my...our Master is restored to his rightful place in this realm.”

  “What you saying?” Barry said through wincing pain.

  “Fine, Mr. Lee, if you help the Dark One and the cult in this manner of vanquishing any and all pigs of the Great Creator and bring the remaining Children of Light to me, once this flame is extinguished and Lord Orcus rules this realm once again, you, Mr. Lee, will have a kingdom of your own to rule over, anyway you see fit.” The stranger reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a large pistol and handed it to Barry. “Oh, I do believe you might need this. It’s a jungle out there.”

  “Cool, I'm in.” Barry checked the rounds in the revolver and smiled.

  In a flash of crimson and yellow light, the stranger was gone, leaving Barry Lee standing alone in the shadows of Mrs. Freeman's art room.

  “Grab your dicks and hit the bricks. Time to rock n roll, motherfuckers.” Barry cackled and ran out the door toward the stairwell, jumping every other step.

  “I've got a shit-ton of asses to kick and a kingdom to rule.”

  37.

  Don't Shoot Shotgun

  Arcadia Falls Elementary School

  First Floor

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  First, the cold steel barrel of the pistol tore into Warren's cheek He flinched and felt warm droplets of blood run down his sweaty face.

  Second, the metallic cocking of the hammer brought his fragmented consciousnesses back to focus.

  Third, the putrid smell of muck-cowshit, B.O., rot gut whiskey, and ignorance made Warren's mouth fill with bile.

  “Nice try, kid, but looks like you lost,” Wilbur said, squeezing Warren's shoulder tight with his free hand.

  “Ah shit.” Rocky kicked the dead janitor in the head. “Thanks for nothing, fat ass.”

  The storm raged outside the school and Warren froze, his hand still on the broken mop handle and his dad's Ka-Bar only a few feet away.

  “Come on, guys. This shit's gotten out of hand already. Can't we just, ta—” Warren tried.

  A sharp pain rocked Warren's jaw, sending him and his glasses sprawling backward onto the floor.

  “What the hell, Rocky. Why'd you go and do that shit for? I told your dumb ass to chill the hell out.” Wilbur turned toward this brother, shouting.

  Warren felt his right eye swell and it hurt...bad. As the Darwin Brothers argued, he hastily looked around and smiled. The knife laid only a couple of feet away. He risked a look back at them, and seeing they were lost in a heated shouting match, Warren reached out and felt a glimmer of hope as his hand found purchase on the worn handle of the Ka-Bar.

  In a blur, a muck-covered boot rushed in and stomped down on Warren's wrist—sending bone-shattering shock waves all the way up into his shoulder. He screamed out in pain.

  “Stupid sumbitch,” Wilbur DeRueter bellowed and followed the stomp with a stunning punch to the back of Warren's head. In turn, his forehead bounced off the cold floor, and Warren saw a light show of stars, mixed with white flashes and red blotches of pain.

  “Told you, Will. Goddammit, I told you. We should have just dusted this piece of pigshit back at the store.” Rocky paced back and forth across the hallway.

  “Shut the hell up. Pops is gonna love having this Brennan kid. Trust me. It's worth all the trouble.” Wilbur yanked Warren over by his shirt and tossed him against the wall and knelt in front of him, glaring into Warren's swollen face.

  “Hey, boy, you still with me?” Wilbur laughed pushing his ball cap up on his greasy head.

  “Why in the world would Pops give two good shits about Tubb-o, here?” Rocky stepped closer to his brother.

  “Le-ttt-mee-g-oo,” Warren uttered.

  Wilbur roughly grabbed Warren by the chin and moved it back and forth, examining the extent of the damage, Warren guessed through hazy eyes.

  “You don't remember the big shit storm between Pops and this kid's father, do ya?” Wilbur asked, shaking his head.

  “Not rea
lly. Should I?” Rocky admitted, turning away.

  A cold, biting wind whooshed through the hallway. On it rode a heavy miasma of rotted flesh and another foreign, foul stench. The DeRueter brothers covered their faces with the neckerchiefs around their necks.

  “Holy shit. That's nasty,” Rocky said.

  Wilbur continued studying Warren, who tried to ignore this lanky, redneck.

  “Yeah, it is, brother. Not as nasty as the shady deal this kid's dad pulled over on Pops. No, sir. That was some downright underhanded bullshit to end all carpet baggin' deals.” Wilbur's eyes seem to glaze over with what Warren thought were tears, but the muck-farmer quickly shifted his hat back down over his beady eyes.

  “I never knew about that,” Rocky said.

  “Yeah, well, you were nothing but a young'n then, so I guess you probably wouldn't have.” Wilbur stood up in a quick. “Go out and tell ‘em to clear a section of the wagon for a breather and be quick about it. I have a feeling the dead-shits will be getting mighty close about now. We need to be getting back to the compound before things get too riled up in town, here.”

  Rocky turned and said, “Yes, si—” His words dropped off in the cold air.

  “Uhh, Will,” Rocky's words rang with fear as he leveled up what looked like the Ithaca Deerslayer shotgun.

  “Stop dickin' the dog and go tell Butch, goddammit. Do I have to do—” Wilbur turned to see three kids standing on the other side of his brother.

  “Whoa. Chill, gentlemen. We're not looking for any trouble. Any chance you can let our friend go?” Dexter Lee asked, his long shaggy brown hair hanging over his eyes and grabbing the pistol at his side.

  Warren smiled through the aching pain seeing that Dex wasn't alone. Arnie and Frank stood next to him, and Frank held a pretty big pistol.

  “What the hell we got here? Some kind of gay-ass rescue team?” Wilbur chuckled, snatched Warren up by the hair, and yanked him in front of his lanky body.

  Frank raised his pistol, Arnie held a long chain in his hands, and Dex let the fire extinguisher hang to his side.

  The familiar warming sensation welling up inside Warren returned as he watched Wilbur DeRueter slowly turn his pistol back in his direction.

  “Nobody wants any more killing, right?” Dex asked, raising his arms, the fire extinguisher still in his hand. “There's been too much killing, am I right?”

  Wilbur chuckled and pulled Warren closer, using the teen's wide body as cover. “Put down the extinguisher, kid. Then we can talk beans.”

  It wasn't a request.

  Dex halted for a second.

  “Oh, everyone in my town knows who the infamous Lee Brothers are, son. Don't act so shocked. Your reputation sure as shit precedes you. Well, your druggie, thug brother's reputation really. You all just seem to be along for the dirt-bag ride, I guess.” Wilbur buried the barrel deeper into Warren's cheek.

  Dex tensed.

  “Dex, don't,” Warren said, his words met with a harsh yank of his hair.

  Dex held still. Warren watched Dex's deep-set eyes drilling into the tall rednecks' face, and then his thin, freckled face broke into a wide smile.

  “Hey, guess I'm no brother's keeper, huh?” Dex laughed and lowered his arms.

  “Shit no.” Rocky taunted, waving the shotgun in their direction.

  Wilbur paused, cocked his head and stared over Dex's shoulder. “Hey, nephew, not sure why you're with these shitbirds, but damn glad to see you're still kicking. Now, why don't scoot your chubby ass over here with your family where you belong.”

  Arnie held in place, but Warren knew his friend was struggling with the situation. Arnie was always close to his family and took their relationships and loyalty very seriously.

  “Hey, Uncle Will. I...I...” Arnie stammered, and walked forward, the chain still dangling from his big hands. “We just want our friend. That's all. Warren didn't do anything. Come on, let him go, and we'll head out and won't bother you anymore?”

  “Arnie's right, man. Can't we just talk like normal people? We'll take Warren and bail.” Dex stepped forward.

  “Stop!” Rocky aimed the shotgun at Dex's face.

  “Well, you disappoint me, Arnie. You really do. Your mamma would be disgusted at the scum you're keeping company with. But you've made your choice.” Wilbur shook his head and spat a wad onto the floor, then looked at Dex. “Normal? Son, normal’s been in the goddamn rearview for months. Since those rag-heads attacked us. Ain't no such thing as normal, no more. Just us, taking what rightfully belongs to us. So, if you move one step closer, asshole, I'll plaster your friend's brains all over this here wall. Get what I'm saying?” Wilbur slammed Warren's head into the wall for emphasis.

  Warren's head exploded with pain, but the warmth held most of the concussive blast away, and he suddenly felt well, very strong, healthy, no pain. Then he caught Frank raising the pistol at Rocky's chest.

  Warren squeezed the handle of the Ka-Bar as everyone sprang into action and everything exploded in a hail of gunfire, screams, and horrific shouts.

  38.

  The Way

  Arcadia Falls Elementary

  Parking Lot- side door

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  Elton Reese Habersham III closed his eyes, whispered the ancient words, and the cantrip caused the simplistic tumblers to roll to the correct combination. The green doors clicked open, and he slipped his slender form inside the dark stairwell.

  Once inside, he closed the metal door and caught his breath. A harsh round of sneezes rocked him due to the thick layer of dust that covered the landing. He hastily turned around and saw a stairwell leading upward.

  “It's all for the child, Elton. All for the cause.” The shaking Keeper reminded himself as he tried to force ghastly images of an army of hairy, creepy spiders crawling all over his skin from his mind.

  Eyeing a double set of doors, he crossed the entryway, examined the shattered lock, and looked through the slightly open door.

  Elton closed his eyes, offered a heartfelt thanks to the Great Creator, then he staggered and collapsed against the door. An explosion of warmth sent pricking ripples through his entire body and an omniscient sense pinged his mind. The prickles subsided and were replaced with an overwhelming wave of white-flashes of happiness, and every bit of weariness was washed away in the freezing breeze.

  He dabbed the sweat and stairwell grime from his forehead and smiled. He knew what had just transpired. It was what the High Keepers and the Celestial Codex called the Ardoru-Alarum; the innate ability of all Keepers of the Eternal flame.

  The Child of Light lay near.

  “Alright, mate. Time to bloody well put on your big Keeper pants and save us a child.” Elton checked the remaining components in his satchel and nodded, stood, and adjusted his floppy hat, slowly squeezing through the metal door and following the hallway.

  The celestial magics showed him the way.

  39.

  Shoot, Shoot

  Arcadia Falls Elementary

  First Floor

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  The hallway came to life in a blaze of gunfire and frantic shouts. The acrid smell of cordite, gunpowder, and the metallic scent of blood filled the thick air. Warren flinched as another flurry of muzzle flashes erupted, and he swore Barry was the one doing the shooting.

  Rocky DeRueter's wail was cut short by another gunshot, and in a horrific instant, Warren watched in shock as the younger DeRueter's face exploded in a deadly spray that rained against the far wall.

  “No!” Wilbur DeRueter shouted and swung the pistol upwards towards Warren's friends.

  Warren jumped and tackled the lanky muck-farmer. The gun flew from his hand and clattered down the crowded hallway. Warren scrambled on top of the man and held him down, the Ka-Bar at the ready. “Just chill, man. Just chill,” Warren said through labored breaths.

  In a flash, a short, scrawny figure cast a long shadow over Warren and the elder DeRueter.

  “Barr
y. No,” Warren muttered. He felt something strange as Barry walked closer, a burning pain in his eyes and chest. Weird, he thought.

  “That's right, Brennan. It's me, in the flesh. Now move before I deflate your pathetic Michelin ass.” Barry Lee warned and shoved Warren off the farmer with a booted foot.

  “Hey,” Warren held his hands up, knife still in his right. “We don't need to do anything crazy here, man.”

  Barry didn't even acknowledge his words and brought the barrel of the pistol down toward Wilbur DeRueter's wide-eyes.

  “The kid is right. I didn't mean n-nothing, we were just—”

  “Oh, I know, you don’t mean nothin’!” Barry said.

  A deafening gunshot rang out. The bullet turned the begging farmer's face into an explosion of obliterated flesh, bone, and blood.

  Barry Lee laughed, blowing the gun smoke from the barrel.

  Heavy tendrils of smoke twisted and churned in the stillness of the hallway. No one moved, all caught in a staggering, shock-filled silence.

  “Suuurpriiise! Hello, boys.” Barry chortled and turned toward Dex, Arnie, and Frank. “You're welcome.”

  Warren watched the look of complete disbelief wash over his friends’ flushed faces.

  Barry walked directly to Dex and, without speaking another word, dropped his little brother with a vicious left cross.

  “That, brother, was for letting these pieces of dog shit get inside your head and turn you away from your true family. Stay down before I put you down for good.” Barry spat and turned toward Arnie and Frank.