The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  Warren rushed toward Barry and was met with the cold steel barrel of his pistol.

  “Take your best shot, Brennan. I'm gonna gut you nice n' slow like the fat pig you are. I was going to save you for last. But hey, I'm flexible,” Barry said without even looking at Warren.

  To Warren's left, not a couple feet away, the gymnasium doors shook and buckled under the frantic pounding of fists. The hallway filled with the moans of the dead. The two long two-by-fours shoved inside the metal handles shuddered with each attack.

  “Hey, I'm cool,” Warren said and stopped moving.

  Arnie held his arms wide and dropped the chains. They landed with a loud clunk on the carpeted floor. “Come on, bro. We're really sorry about what happened upstairs, but damn. You've been acting all kinds of crazy ‘n shit, and we didn't want to do—” The barrel of Barry's pistol swiftly in Arnie’s direction.

  “Shut the fuck up, VanLaken.” Barry's eyes burned with a faint, red glow that lit up the hallway, and Warren watched as Arnie cowered against the gymnasium door, trying to get as far away from the psycho with the gun as possible.

  “Now, there's you.” Barry turned toward Frank, who positioned himself between Arnie and Barry.

  “You’re fuckin' nuts, dude. You deserved a shitload more than I gave you,” Frank said, glaring at Barry; the pistol still in his large hand.

  In a flash, Barry threw a fierce uppercut that staggered the much larger teen.

  “That's for knocking me out,” Barry taunted.

  Frank laughed, caught his balance and defiantly rose back up and resumed his stance. “That all you got old man? My little sister can hit harder than you.” Frank slowly raised the pistol.

  Dex began to stir, got to his feet, and wiped the blood from his lip. “Brother, come on. Stop this crazy shit. What are you doing?”

  “That so, tough guy?” Barry swung the gun to Frank's chest and pulled the trigger. The roar of the gunshot drowned out Dex’s and Warren’s screams. They watched in horror as the bullet blew a hole in their friend's chest; Frank's gun clang to the floor with a thud.

  Barry stared down at the twitching body of their friend and smiled. “Hey, Frankie-boy, sweet dreams, asshole!” The second bullet caused Frank's head to implode in a hail of ripped flesh, shrapnel of bone and gray matter.

  “No! Dammit, Barry!” Dex yelled.

  Barry glared down at Frank's lifeless body and laughed again. “No worries, brother. You and the Child of Light are next.”

  Warren and Dex exchanged the same frenetic looks.

  Child of Light? Warren thought, remembering what happened back in the cellar.

  “Barry, Jesus Christ, man. What the hell are you talking about? Don't do this!” Dex held his hands up and stepped cautiously toward his smiling brother.

  “Fuck this noise,” Arnie muttered and pawed at the two-by-fours. He yanked one free and the weight of the things on the other side of the gym doors instantly cracked the second piece of lumber.

  The same warm sensation filled Warren again, and he moved without thought and at a miraculous speed as he fumbled over Rocky DeRueter's body and snatched up the shotgun.

  “Warren!” Dex's voice sounded desperate.

  “Well, well, well. Shit, Brennan. Looks like you got some balls after all. What ya got, fat boy?” Barry waved a welcoming hand in Warren's direction.

  Barry's eyes erupted in a fiery glow and his words came out twisted and unnatural as he brought the pistol to bear on Dex. “You've chosen your side, brother. All pigs of the Creator must pay the flesh-price. The servants of the Dark One will dine on your flesh, and your soul will rot in Hell.”

  Dex stared in disbelief at this brother.

  Warren's shotgun roared to life. Its muzzle flash caused twisted shadows across Barry's face as the slug bore deep into his thin chest and sent him spinning down the hallway. Barry fired a shot that tore into the thick gym doors near Arnie's head.

  “No!” Dex's scream bounced off the walls but was washed away by the creaking of wood and Arnie's own cries.

  “Oh, shit, oh shit! Arnie shrieked as the remaining two-by-four splintered free from the door handles, and a massive wave of undead growled and moaned from the sprawling darkness, filled with dozens of glowing red orbs, as they living dead began to rush through the door; All of them chanting, “Give us the Child of Light!”

  Warren’s heart pounded as he could not believe in what happened. Barry's bloody body lay on the cold school floor, steam rising from the fresh shotgun wound.

  “What the hell, man?” Dex rushed at Warren, shoving him against the wall.

  The back of Warren's head smacked into the cold cement, and a white flash stole his vision. “I-I-don't...” All Warren offered was a dazed look and he shrugged his shoulders not certain of what to say. A stunning wave of shock rushed through him.

  “Shit.” Dex punched his own leg, his fiery glare losing some of its rage.

  “Guys!” Arnie shout was followed by the undead stumbling from the blackness of the gym.

  Dex still his balled fists up and glared at Warren, still blinded, somehow sensed the attack coming and ducked below it. He spun around his best friend, subduing him against the wall.

  “For Christ’s sake, he killed Frank, man! What did you want me to do? Wait until he turned the gun on me, you? I’m sorry. I am. But he left me no fuckin’ choice! He just blew Frank away! I'm so sorry, but—” Warren fought for words and to keep Dex restrained. He felt tears welling in the corner of his eyes, and his glasses began to fog. Dex wore a matching expression of utter shock and sadness, yet Warren thought he caught a hint of relief on his friend’s troubled face.

  “You had no god-damn, right!” Dex said through gritted teeth and burning eyes.

  Warren held Dex against the wall and shook his head. “I know, I know.”

  “Guys, uh...” Arnie yelled.

  “What?” Warren and Dex shouted, turning toward the gym as Arnie fell to the floor, a dead thing beginning to tear into the forearm of his leather jacket.

  “Oh, shit!” they said.

  Warren looked around liked a crazed animal, just trying to grasp anything close to reality. He ran over to Arnie and pulled him away.

  “Holy hell!” Arnie let out, just mere inches from one of the dead things. “That was closer than a nun's c—”

  “Yeah...yeah, it was, man.” Warren offered a tired smile as he helped Arnie to his feet.

  An all-encompassing sense of the familiar and comfort filled Warren’s mind and body. His presence seemed to quell the dead swimming into the school hallway.

  For a split second, Warren saw everything slow in a brilliant flash of white light and billowing mist.

  40.

  I'll take you Alive

  Arcadia Falls Elementary

  First floor-

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  The bright wash of light slowly receded, leaving only a soft glow and the dead stood motionless in the gym doorway.

  All grew silent in the school's hallway as a small, shadowy figure appeared from the center of the white glow that swirled with a matching fog. Wispy tendrils flicked and tickled the cold air.

  Warren squinted, pushing his glasses up to see a short figure wearing a well-abused fedora and a worn, suede smoking jacket with leather patches on the sleeves approaching them. The hat unsuccessfully fought to contain the man’s bushy, brown hair that pointed out in every direction with wild streaks of gray finding its way from the roots to the tips.

  Who the hell? Warren thought. Dex and Arnie vocalized his puzzlement.

  As the diminutive stranger drew closer, Warren saw he carried a pair of heavily laden satchels and he was fumbling through one of them and mumbling. The figure came into the light. Standing before them was a short, thin man in his forties and Warren had to blink twice as the stranger reminded him of someone. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

  The man yanked out an object that looked like something between a small, double
-tined garden hoe and a crucifix. With a loud “Ah ha!” of excitement, he knelt down at Rocky DeRueter's dead rotund body and plunged the tool deep into the dead man's eye sockets.

  “Uh, um...wha...?” Warren's words spilled out “Who are you?” He held the shotgun ready. Dex stood beside him.

  “One, moment, lad, if you please.” The odd stranger pushed the pair of bent John Lennon glasses up, which were only kept on his slender nose by the rather large end of his bulbous proboscis.

  The stranger proceeded to do the same with Wilbur DeRueter's eyes, and then swiftly went to Barry's limp corpse, stood up and paused. His mouth broke into a slim smile. He stood with a crooked bend from the weight of the canvas satchels strapped across his back

  He held a long forefinger to his mouth and quickly stepped away. He turned and looked at Warren and his friends.

  “Who the hell are you?” Dex growled. “And where did you come from?” He held his pistol at the ready.

  “I heard your portly friend the first time and both are grand questions, indeed. I have a far grander answer, young squires.” The stranger removed his hat and bowed deeply. “Good evening. I trust you've had some jolly good excitement this fine crisp night, yeah?” Adjusting the tilted hat on his head, the man with wild hair dusted his hands off and reached for a flask with the agility of a gunslinger.

  “Squire?” Dex looked to Warren. “Say what?”

  Warren felt a bit relieved seeing the hatred in Dex's eyes waning. If the world in the month or so, hadn't been beyond Twilight Zone bizarre before, this moment was beginning to drown Warren in complete apocalyptic insanity.

  Outside, the odd white glow faded as fast as the inside. The small stranger stepped in close to Warren and continued blessing the other rednecks and Frank's bodies, all while shaking an empty flask. Warren held the shotgun and Dex had snatched up Barry's pistol.

  “I am Dr. Elton Reese Habersham, the III, Keeper of the Eternal Flame and Guardian of the Child of Light, at your service,” he said in a calming British accent. It reminded Warren of a mix of John Cleese and Ringo Starr. His hair bounced as he bowed. He rose and with one hand holding his fedora in place, the other accentuated his introduction with a wide flourish.

  “Those archaic weapons will hold off the evil that surrounds us now, but for the vile dark creatures you'll face in the future, I’m afraid you will need, as they say, a bigger gun.”

  “I'm quite certain this all seems so incredibly strange to you young lads, however, I beseech you to come with me and flee this horrid place before those...vile creatures break free. I swear by the Great Creator, all questions will be answered.” The stranger stood and offered them a wide yet, concerned grin.

  “There's that whole Child of Light crap thing again,” Warren said and looked to Dex, who ignored him, turning his full attention to the stranger standing in front of them.

  Lightning flashed angrily, followed by a deafening thunderclap that filled the entire hallway.

  “Please forgive me. I am normally far more prolific with introductions and other sorts of customary conversation, I do believe if we don't leave the premises quite soon, we’ll be in an extremely perilous situation and time is indeed, of the essence. Let us make haste out of this brick tomb. As far as my purpose here and all that rot, well that will have to wait for a more—” he looked about at the still zombies,”...convenient time.”

  The stranger's mild-mannered demeanor and friendly smile did little to satiate any questions to the surreal events of the past few minutes, but the past few months had been chocked full of unanswered question and with the lighting fading, Warren decided to err on the side of caution and agreed with the stranger.

  Dex stepped forward, pistol in hand and glared at the shorter stranger. “How the hell can we trust you? You appear out of nowhere, wave your hands around like some sorcerer or some shit. You're gonna have to explain yourself a little bit more before we take off down the yellow brick road with your Dr. Who-looking-ass!”

  “Whoa, while I fully understand your mistrust, young master, please be aware that there are far fiercer and fouler creatures out beyond those metal doors. I've studied them all my life, and they are coming for the Child of Light and all who defend him. It shall not be long before those vile creatures awaken from my spell and once their slumber ends, goodness me oh my, we don't want to be here when they do.” The odd Englishman’s words seemed like a movie or book Warren had read, utter fiction, yet deep down, they felt inexplicably true.

  “Spells?” Warren and Dex asked. Both looked to the other. Warren assumed his puzzled face wore the same face as his friend.

  “Yes, yes, spells. What is it with you Americans? You most certainly have read all those nifty Hobbit books, and played your silly Dungeons & Dragons game. And I see you both blankly staring at me like two hounds that have had twice a day lobotomies. Yes, I'm a sorcerer, Master of the Source, the Source being the Aether, that is. And I am a Keeper of the Eternal Flame, blah, blah, blah. And the travel here and the spells I had to cast thus far spent almost all my mana-or magical energy, for the layman. I'm useless until I have sufficient rest and time to re—” the stranger's words slurred, then faded to a murmur. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and he slumped. Warren reacted in a split second, dropping the shotgun and catching the small man before he could smash to the floor. The tiny man’s thin hands absently pawed at Warren’s jean jacket pocket, as Warren brought the stranger to the floor.

  Dex and Arnie stared down at Warren as he held the stranger's unconscious body in his arms.

  “Well, now what?” Dex shrugged.

  “I have no clue who the hell this guy is, man, but something tells me he's right, guys. Hell, even if he’s nuttier than a fruitcake, we sure can’t stick around. And, as crazy as it sounds, man, we should bail. Staying here and fighting is far crazier.” Warren looked up at Dex. “These assholes have my dad's truck and at least another one and a damn cattle car filled with freakin’ zombies out there.”

  “We don't really have much choice. There isn’t any food or water left here at all. We polished off what was left,” Dex nodded toward where his brother lay, and his words were colder than the winds outside. He turned his face away and looked into the darkness of the hallway. Warren tried to catch his best friend’s gaze, but Dex stared into the darkness. Warren felt a freezing shiver run up his own spine.

  Arnie knelt to help Warren with the stranger and asked, “What the hell is this Child of Light thing we keep hearing all over the damn place? It's like one your games, Dex? I don't get it.”

  “No damn clue, man,” Dex muttered, snatched up Warren’s shotgun and moved toward the doorway and shooting his dead brother a long glance.

  Warren shrugged at Arnie as they both picked up the small man. The stranger calling himself the Keeper of the Eternal Flame opened his eyes, and a white flash of light emanated from them. In a vastly different voice, he spoke: “You...you, Warren Francis Brennan, are one of the three. The last of the Flame Eternal. Your lives are the only things that stand between our world and the insidious darkness and evil of the demon Lord Orcus. You must live, for if your life source is extinguished, your world will fall to evil and the abyss will have its way.”

  They all stood in shocked silence as the stranger spoke, then collapsed back into an unmoving slumber, leaving the heavy words to hang in the freezing air of the school's hallway.

  “I don't know what the hell that was, but something tells me we need to get out of here, now,” Dex said, looking at Warren. He turned and ran out into the black night.

  “Warren, I don't understand?” Arnie said.

  “I-I don't either, man. We should go. Come on.” Warren turned, yanking the stranger from Arnie's grip, and carrying him like a feather. Warren didn't want to think about it and kept running.

  “Damn, guys. What the hell? Wait up.” Arnie called, chasing after them.

  41.

  Desecration Of Souls

  Wewelsburg Cas
tle

  Wewelsburg Township,

  Paderborn, Germany.

  May 1985.

  The large chamber in the once holy castle was dark, save six golden braziers ablaze with yellow and crimson flame. Three on each side flanked the High Priest’s inner sanctum. Despite the intense flame, it was still cold inside.

  The spacious stone room once belonged to the Great Cardinal Berthecht. A lavish red biretta still sat on his undead corpse. His body was mounted on the wall like a trophy.

  The zombie priest snarled and bit at the air. His flaying skin hung off his nose and cheek, exposing dry cartilage and bone. The only sound in the room was that of a low chanting from the large man prostrated before an altar adorned with several lit candles, silent statues, and two large incense burners, all arrayed symmetrically about Gustav Moltke.

  The silence of the hall was broken as the door creaked opened. Armen Haydn shook with chills as he entered his master’s chambers. His long blond hair hung to his waist, covering the black cloak. He could feel his pulse race and beads of sweat ran down his face and into his thick handlebar mustache as he approached his master. The heavy smell of rich sandalwood filled the dank air and rose to the soot-covered ceiling.

  Armen Haydn had been High Priest Moltke’s second in command since his predecessor failed at his post. That poor soul, or what was left of him, now staggered about in the dungeon with several hundred other undead that waited for their chance to feed on the living and exact revenge. He didn’t know whether to smile at his recent promotion or cringe. He didn’t have long to ponder his new position.

  “What is it, Brother Haydn?” The ice-filled voice ran straight down Hayden’s spine, forcing him to step back and focus on not letting his knees shake.

  “Uh, yes, m’lord, I’m sorry to have inter—”

  “Yes, what is it?” The impatience in his superior’s voice made him shudder.