by Jake Bible
“Valium is boring, Rider,” Kimmy said. “You zone out from it. Let’s find something cool like Adderal and get buzzed.”
“Shut up, Kimmy,” Joanie said. “Adderal would fry your little brain in a snap.”
“Knock it off, Joanie,” Brian said.
“Shhh,” Gil ordered and they fell quiet. He nodded at a rundown-looking house off to their right. “There.”
They looked at the house, looked at Gil, and frowned.
“There?” Brian said. “That looks like a dump.”
“It is,” Gil said. “Tweakers never cared a shit about house repairs.”
“Tweakers?” Kimmy asked.
“Meth heads,” Joanie said, excited. “You think there’s crystal in there?”
“Could be,” Gil said. He glanced around the street they stood on, which was not much more than a strip of pavement that had been consumed by weeds. “I lived in the town over, and everyone said this was the place to go if you wanted meth.”
“You were like ten back then,” Brian said. “What did you know about meth?”
“I had ears,” Gil said and socked Brian in the upper arm.
“Ow,” Brian said. “Knock it off.”
“Come on,” Gil said and walked toward the house. “Only one way to find out if I’m right.”
“I don’t know about meth, Gil,” Kimmy said. Her hand went to her belly and she absentmindedly rubbed it. “That stuff ain’t good for . . .”
“Ain’t good for what?” Gil asked, a challenging look in his eye. “Good for what, Kimmy? Having fun? Nothing’s good for that if you’re going to whine like a little bitch.”
“Hey, not cool, man,” Brian said.
“Come on,” Gil huffed, then hurried away from the group as he took the porch steps two at a time.
“Why you gotta be a dick?” Brian asked when he caught up with Gil.
Gil was busy peeking through the dirt-covered front windows. He didn’t respond.
“Come on, man, don’t talk to Kimmy that way,” Brian said.
“Fuck off,” Gil said. “You’re distracting me.”
Gil shoved by Brian, grabbed the doorknob, and gave a hard twist. The knob turned with some resistance, but gave an audible click after some wiggling. The door was another matter. Years of neglect meant the weather had swollen the door into the jamb. Gil had to put his shoulder to mildewed wood to get the door to pop open.
“After you, tough guy,” Gil said to Brian. When the boy didn’t move, Gil gave him a superior smirk. “Didn’t think so.”
He waved the others forward as he stepped into the dank, dark house.
The stink inside the house told everyone that a swollen door jamb was not the worst of their problems.
“What is that?” Rider asked. “Smells like something died.”
“Probably a raccoon or squirrel,” Joanie said as the group moved from the small, barely furnished living room and into the even smaller, even less furnished kitchen.
The fridge had been torn from the wall and lay in a broken heap in the center of the kitchen. The small breakfast table lay under it, crushed completely, the crusty remnants of the last meal served sitting on cracked and shattered plates. The stove was gone, the dishwasher disassembled, and the kitchen sink was split in two halves, each ceramic side looking like someone took an axe to them before getting bored and moving on.
“Basement,” Gil said and pointed at a narrow door set into the wall. “I bet that’s where they set up the lab.”
“Man, do you have any idea what kind of chemicals they use to make meth?” Brian said. “Noxious ones. Toxic ones. Chemicals that will kill you with one deep breath.”
“Used,” Gil said.
“What?” Brian asked.
“You said use,” Gil explained. “No one uses them anymore. No one uses anything anymore. The chemicals down there are over and done with, man. So suck it up and stop acting like a bitch.”
“Don’t talk to him that way,” Kimmy whined.
“I’ll talk to him how I want,” Gil said. “I’ll talk to all of you how I want. Why? Because I provide the fun.”
He yanked on the door and stumbled back as it opened easily.
“And the fun is down there,” Gil said as the stench of death mixed with chemicals came wafting up into the kitchen at ten times the strength it had been.
“Fun stinks,” Rider said.
Brian started yanking open drawers.
“What are you doing?” Gil asked.
“Gonna make a torch,” Brian replied as he held up a wooden soup spoon and half a dish towel. “Unless you have a flashlight.”
“You want to take an open flame down into a closed basement where meth was made?” Gil asked. “Is that what you want to do?”
Brian frowned and tossed the spoon and rag onto the pile of crap filling most of the kitchen floor. “I guess not.”
“Yeah,” Gil said and tapped his temple. “You guess right.”
He stepped through the door and tested the wooden stairs. Some creaking, but the step held.
“Come on,” he said and was lost from sight as he descended into the darkness.
The rest stood there for a second.
“Come on,” Gil barked and they all hurried to follow.
The basement wasn’t as dark as they had expected when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Windows set high into the walls let in some of the daylight, the duct tape that held the black plastic that had covered the windows having lost its adhesive properties years before.
“Damn,” Joanie said and pulled up her shirt collar around her mouth and nose. “That’s rank.”
“That’s a corpse,” Gil said and nodded at the body that lay draped across a mold-coated card table.
The corpse was dressed in a fluid-stained wife beater and cutoff jean shorts. A respirator was only inches from the corpse’s rotten head, a couple of fingers gripped around the object’s rubber straps.
“He looks so sad,” Kimmy said. “You think something spilled and he couldn’t get his mask on in time?”
“I think he ran out of food and water and didn’t want to go looking for more,” Gil said, kicking empty soup cans and diet soda bottles out of his way with the toe of his boot. “Probably opened a container of something nasty and took a couple deep breaths.”
“He’s probably a demon now,” Joanie said. That gave everyone a start and they took several steps back, including Gil. “No, I mean because suicide is a sin. His soul went to Hell and now he’s a demon possessing a vessel somewhere in the world.”
“That’s not how it works,” Rider said. “Demons aren’t condemned human souls. They’re like fallen angels and shit.”
“There aren’t eight billion fallen angels,” Brian argued. “That’s just stupid.”
“Listening to you morons blab is stupid,” Gil said.
“Lame one,” Joanie said under her breath.
“What was that?” Gil snapped.
“Nothing,” Joanie replied, holding up her hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Spread out,” Gil ordered. “Look for finished crystals. He probably has them stashed in the walls or in the floor or somewhere out of sight. Tear this place apart. We’re gonna find something.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Kimmy said, her hand over her mouth. “The smell down here. . . . It’s too much.”
“Don’t you fucking puke,” Gil growled. “Smells bad enough without you adding to it.”
“Go on upstairs,” Brian said, taking Kimmy by the shoulders. “You can keep an eye out for trouble.”
“But stay out of sight,” Gil said. “Don’t hang out in front of the window for the neighborhood to see.”
“Who�
�s gonna see me?” Kimmy asked. “There’s nobody living in this neighborhood anymore.”
“Possessed,” Gil said like he was talking to a very slow child. “The possessed will see you.”
“Oh, right,” Kimmy replied. “Sorry.”
“There was a chair in the living room,” Brian said. “Go up there and sit down. If you hear anything, then come warn us.”
“Okay,” Kimmy said and gave him a quick peck before heading back up into the kitchen.
“She’s a winner,” Gil said.
“Shut up,” Brian snapped.
“What does meth look like?” Rider asked. “I mean, what do the crystals look like? I’ve never seen meth crystals before.”
“What’s it matter what they look like?” Joanie asked. “If you find a bag with crystals in it, then that’s probably the meth.”
“Or sugar,” Brian said.
“Meth crystals are big, like rock candy, not like sugar,” Gil said. “You never watched Breaking Bad?”
“I was too young,” Brian said. “My parents wouldn’t let me watch that stuff.”
“My parents couldn’t have cared less,” Gil said. “I saw all the seasons. There was gonna be a spin-off show, but then the Gates opened, so I doubt my DVR was able to record it.”
“How long do you think TV shows were broadcast?” Joanie asked. “I mean, so much of that stuff was automated, right? You think there’s still some satellite up in the sky that’s beaming down reruns of How I Met Your Mother?”
“Maybe,” Gil said. “Doesn’t matter since we don’t have electricity.”
“We should find a generator and put some biodiesel in it,” Joanie said. “Maybe we could watch some TV. Or Blu-Rays, at least. The cathedral is so damn boring.”
“There’s the library,” Rider said.
They all paused then broke out in laughter.
“Have you seen the titles of some of those books?” Joanie snickered. “I think having them in the building is what’s making the cathedral ten times more boring than it would be without them.”
“I don’t know,” Brian said. “Kimmy started reading Wuthering Heights and it looked good. The words were weird, all old-fashioned, but it had a cool story.”
“That’s a classic,” a man said from halfway down the stairs. “So is Jane Eyre, if that’s in the library too. If the Bronte sisters are there, then I’d guess there’s some Jane Austen, as well. Maybe Pride and Prejudice? Or Emma? Good stuff.”
Gil picked up a half-broken beaker from a work table against the wall he’d been searching. Brian, Joanie, and Rider grabbed anything close at hand. They brandished their makeshift weapons at the stairs as the man reached the last step and came into view.
“Where’s Kimmy?” Brian yelled.
The man held a finger to his lips and shushed at Brian. He was five eight, maybe one hundred and thirty pounds. A little guy in size, but not in attitude. He wore a black tank top and every inch of skin peeking out was illustrated in thick, elaborate tattoos. His eyes were behind a pair of sunglasses. As he regarded each of the teenagers, he slowly lifted the glasses and let them rest on top of his almost-shaved head. He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties, and his face showed lines and crags that told a story of life in the elements. A hard life in the elements.
He stuck out his right hand at Gil and said, “Jon. Jon Falk. You must be the man in charge. Gil, right?”
“How the hell do you know my name?” Gil exclaimed, his voice sounding considerably more shrill than he had intended. “Who are you?”
“Where’s Kimmy?” Brian yelled again.
“Listen, brother, if you keep yelling, then we’re gonna have a demon problem right quick, understand?” Jon said. “I ain’t exactly too keen on tangling with some possessed dipshits today, you feel me? I’d rather grab a bag and be on my way. Life’s too short nowadays to be running every which way. You gotta play it safe and have as good a time as possible.”
Gil took the still outstretched hand.
“Yeah, I’m Gil,” Gil said as he tried not to wince from the extra-firm grip he received. “I’m the guy in charge.”
“Good,” Jon said. “Because I like talking to the person that makes the decisions. Saves time.” He licked his lips and grinned at them all. Not one ounce of that grin met his eyes. “So, let’s save some time. You kids think you can rip me off and walk away?”
“What?” Gil asked. “Rip you off? Man, we didn’t know this house belonged to anyone. It’s been empty forever.”
Jon nodded at the corpse and gave Gil a wink. “That look empty?”
“He’s dead,” Gil said.
“He’s my brother,” Jon replied. “Was. Was my brother. But even if he is dead, he has more right to be here than you punks do.”
“We’re sorry,” Rider said. “We didn’t know.”
“Sorry,” Jon mused. “Huh. You’re sorry?” He looked them up and down then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Pretty girl up there said the same thing. Yet, you kids don’t look too sorry. You look fed and healthy. Sorry is cold sores and open wounds. Sorry is notching the tenth new hole in your belt to keep your jeans up. Sorry is crying silently at night as you hear a horde of demon fuckers marching by your hiding spot. That’s sorry. You idiots? No. You don’t look sorry at all.”
None of the teens responded, not even Gil.
“Right,” Jon said and clapped his hands together, making them all jump. “Which one of you wants to tell me where y’all are staying? Because, damn, if you don’t, then you’ll understand what sorry really means.”
5
THIRTY-EIGHT POSSESSED clustered around the rotten bar outside the iron fence. They were busy singing songs and lifting liquor bottles high into the air with each resounding chorus. Not one of them even glanced at Elisa as she walked through the grass toward the fence.
“That’s close enough,” Xue said, his bass voice vibrating up Elisa’s legs as much as within her ears.
“I have my sunglasses on,” Elisa said, tapping the plastic frames. “Extra dark lenses. They can look directly at me and nothing will happen.”
“I would prefer if we do not test the limits of their abilities,” Xue said. “Stay where you are.”
“He’s right,” Coins said from Elisa’s side. “Things are changing, doll.”
Elisa frowned down at him and he gave an apologetic shrug.
The grotesque in the form of a stylized mastiff backed up a few feet until he was standing even with Elisa and Coins. Even in the bright daylight, it was easy to see a glow swirling from inside Xue every time he opened his stone mouth. He shook his huge head and curlicues of smoke drifted from his nostrils, lost on the day’s breeze.
“This will not end well,” Xue said.
“Is this what your gut was feeling?” Elisa asked Coins. “All these possessed?”
“No, it has to do with something else,” Coins said and tipped his hat to the landscape beyond the iron fence and the possessed that huddled around the bar. “Something out there. Something coming our way.”
“Gut feeling?” Xue asked and Coins nodded. “Not good.”
“Nope,” Coins agreed.
“Listen,” Elisa said to Xue. “Some of the kids have left the sanctuary grounds through the tunnels under the cathedral.”
“I know,” Xue said. “It is nice when they leave. They have bad chi. The energy within the grounds calms considerably when they are absent.”
“No, it’s not nice,” Elisa snapped. “It’s not nice at all. We have to get them back and close up those tunnels. They’re only teenagers; they can’t be outside the grounds, running around unprotected.”
Xue looked at Coins.
“Yeah, she said the same thing to me,” Coins said.
“And
you said?” Xue asked.
“Wards are only under our protection if they are within the sanctuary grounds,” Coins answered. “Once outside, they’re stupid idiots with death wishes.”
“Crude, but succinct,” Xue said. His massive head swiveled on his massive shoulders and more smoke curled up from his nostrils as he looked directly at Elisa. “They made their choices of their own free will. Whatever the consequences, they will deal with them with that same free will. It is not our place to intercede.”
“Even if I ask you to?” Elisa cried. “Even if I personally ask you to help me go find them?”
“I am unsure what bearing your personal pleas have on this subject,” Xue replied. “Your desires and wishes do not change the dynamic in place. Outside the sanctuary, they stop being our responsibility. We cannot spare the numbers to go find them.”
“This is just typical,” Elisa grumbled. “I swear, you Gs are no different than the foster parents I had or the counselors in the homes I grew up in. Not your problem. Always the same. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“They are far from out of mind,” Xue said. “I always wonder how many will return, and of those that do return, how many will be barred from entry because they have become vessels for demons. They cannot enter the grounds if they are possessed, but I know they will try.”
“Come with me and help find them so they don’t become possessed and lead the demons to the tunnels,” Elisa said.
“No,” Xue replied. He aimed his huge snout at the possessed outside the fence. “My attentions are needed here. My power is needed here. All of our power is needed here.”
“He’s right, E,” Coins said. “Look at those ugly good-for-nothings, will ya? They ain’t at that bar for the ambience. They’re there because something’s about to go down. We can’t split our power now.”
“Now? You were ready to bail on this place yesterday,” Elisa said. She pointed at her ears. “You all talk way too loud.”
“I wasn’t really going to bail,” Coins said. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s just my gut. . . . Something’s coming and—”