by Dan Padavona
“Now it’s just the two of us,” he said. In contrast with his rage, the soothing quality of his voice frightened her.
He threw a glass at her, and it exploded against the kitchen floor beside her head. She closed her eyes as the tiny fragments ripped at her face and lodged themselves in her hair. He drove a shoe into her stomach. All of the air in her lungs escaped into the kitchen.
“I’ve had my eyes on you for a long, long, long time, Tori. All those other girls in school...they weren’t special like you. I’ve known forever that you and I were meant for each other. Now there is nobody left to get in our way.”
He laughed a lunatic’s laugh.
She opened her eyes, bracing for him to kick her again. But he stood staring out the windows, head oddly cocked to the right, silently muttering in the moon glow. A grin spread across his face, solidifying into a rictus. He threw his head back and laughed, and at that moment she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see him sprout fur and claws and morph into a werewolf.
“I’ll finish her. I promise,” he said to the air. “I just want some time alone with her first.” He shook his head as though arguing with a phantom.
He’s lost his mind, she thought.
“Don’t worry. She won’t get away.”
As he conversed with the night, her eyes centered on the glass fragments. She moved her hand toward a jagged shard that might serve as a weapon.
Slowly. If she moved her hand too quickly, he would see.
He stared through the back door window, the mottled glow of the moon contouring his face in streaks of shadow and light. Now his head cocked to the left, his eyes growing heavy as though he was drifting into a trance.
The shard, curved like a sickle with a wicked edge, lay two inches from her fingers. At any moment he would snap out of his trance and turn around, and when he saw what she intended, he would snatch the shard away from her and rip it across her throat.
She would have only one chance.
As though an alarm sounded, he whipped around. His face was contorted with confusion and fury. She snatched the shard and stood up. His eyes opened wide in realization. He lunged for her.
She drove the glass toward his face. He turned, and the edge of the shard tore across his neck. He howled in pain—almost a wolf’s howl, Tori thought with a shudder. Appearing black in the moonlight, blood bubbled out of the gash. He grabbed at the wound, screaming.
“I’ll kill you for that, you fucking cunt.”
She sliced the glass across his chest. He fell back across the kitchen floor, slamming his head into the cupboards below the sink.
Snatching the keys off the hook, Tori ran for the door, his punch-drunk curses coming out in slurs behind her. She pulled at the door, and when it wouldn’t budge, she panicked. She heard him getting up, stumbling across the kitchen like the undead, reaching out for her. He was mere steps from her, laughing maniacally.
“I’m coming, Tori.”
She pulled and pulled on the door, but it was warped in the jamb. She wasn’t going to make it—
Tori’s eyes rolled back into her head, and the kitchen, the night which crouched at the window, and Jacob disappeared into a milky haze of whiteness. Her head swimming with fever, she rocked on her feet, her hand clutching the doorknob. She felt an odd static electricity between her fingers and the brass, and suddenly the door whipped open and banged against the wall. The noise shook her out of her stupor, and she ran into the humid night with his screams trailing her from the kitchen.
“You’ll never get away from me. You hear me, cunt? I’ll cut you to fucking pieces.”
She cut left, wondering what happened in the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the blacktop. Her parents’ Honda Civic sat at the bottom of the driveway, the haunted face of the moon reflected in its windshield. She heard him coming through the backyard as she pressed the auto lock on the key chain. The car emitted two beeps, and the hazard lights flashed.
“I’m coming to getcha, Tori!” He was closer now.
She pulled the door open and leaped into the front seat. Shutting and locking the door, she put the key into the ignition.
This is the part of the horror movie where the car won’t start, she thought, helpless to stifle a crazed laugh.
The engine started.
She threw the car into reverse just as Jacob pounded the glass with a closed fist. His face pressed against the driver side window, a thin layer of glass standing between her and his spittle, which trickled down the glass like a river.
“Don’t you leave me, you little cunt. I’m not finished with you. I’ll never be finished with you.”
She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, separating herself from him. The car shot backward, swerving from the driveway into the lawn and bouncing over the curb. The car bottom scraped pavement, and the back bumper clipped a parked SUV.
He came stumbling down the driveway, his insane smile caught in the headlamps. She shifted into drive as he bounded off the driveway, lunging for the car.
Tires squealed. The Honda jumped forward, throwing her head back into the seat top. She pressed the accelerator again, and the car shot down the unlit neighborhood road.
As she drove, she glanced warily into the rear view mirror. Jacob, bathed red in the tail lights, like a demon rising, climbed back to his feet.
She looked away and drove, flying at 50 mph through blocks of deserted neighborhoods. The car whipped around blind curves and through intersections.
Tori didn’t breathe until she hit state route 90. Even then she didn’t check her mirrors, for if she did, she was sure she would see Jacob Mann running behind the car, grinning his lunatic grin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thou Shall Not Steal
The night air was redolent of rain-washed concrete. A sense of devilry pervaded the dark maze of streets.
“I really don’t think we should be doing this.”
Brian rubbed his arms, slick with a clammy dew that descended upon Jerome, Nebraska, just south of Omaha. His brown curls, already slick with dew, hung into his eyes. Soon the atmosphere would take the next step, turning the invisible dew into a changeling fog that would cloak the town. The deserted streets seemed creepy during the day. Brian didn’t want to be in Jerome at night when the fog rolled in.
“You worry too much, my man,” Donnie said, lugging a 50-inch HD television out of Vision Electronics into the van. His black jumpsuit blended with the night. Starlight caught the piercings in his face and eyebrows, sparkling like Christmas lights. “It ain’t like there are any cops left to catch us.”
Donnie, after driving south from Omaha, feeling like a kid with the keys to a candy store, had found Brian wandering downtown Jerome. Brian was born and raised in Jerome, and although he realized he should take what he needed to survive, he didn’t think robbing an electronics store fit the bill.
“What are you going to do with the television? There’s no freaking cable, no satellite, no Sportscenter. Hell, the power’s out. You can’t even plug it in.”
“Give me a hand with this bugger,” Donnie said, grunting as he struggled to lift the television into the trunk. Brian took one end, and together they managed to wiggle the black JVC into the van. “You know what your problem is, Holmes? You don’t see the bigger picture. Me? I’ve been thinking this through.” He tapped his forefinger against the side of his head. “The human race ain’t gone. Not everybody. You and me are here. Am I right, or am I right? And we humans, see, we want our luxuries. We want our Sportscenter and our MTV. We want rock and roll and porno movies. Sooner or later, this whole shit storm of a society is gonna organize again, and someone is gonna figure out how to get the power turned back on.
“And don’t tell me that once the power is back on that it won’t be long before some asshole decides it’s time to go back to work and make that green, because shit ain’t gonna be free for long. And when that happens, he who has the most toys is gonna be the winner. You mark my word
s. A year from now, this baby is gonna cost ten times what it was sellin’ for in that store, because ain’t no companies left to build ‘em anymore. That’s simple supply and demand economics.
“And you know what I’m gonna do when Mr. Asshole Store Owner puts a $5000 price sticker on one of these here televisions? I’m gonna sit back and laugh, because I already got me one. Hell, I’m gonna have as many as I damn well want, maybe stocked in some mansion in Beverly Hills or some such place. Maybe I’ll even sell you one for a discount, my man. The man with a plan today is gonna be the man on the throne tomorrow. Now that’s some heavy Shakespeare shit. Am I right, or am I right?”
Main Street in Jerome was not unlike Main Street in most small towns. An assortment of small-business eateries and hardware shops butted restlessly up against the encroachment of Subways and mobile phone retailers. All were dark in the night, abandoned relics of an age that already seemed a hundred years ago.
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you,” Brian said, glancing warily up and down the street. Brick-faced buildings were contours in the darkness, rising out of the earth like giant outcroppings, the street a frozen river that divided the terrain.
“Damn straight, Holmes. And if you stick with me, we’ll both be sitting on thrones when the kingdom gets put back together. Now, hop in the driver seat and move my old girl three buildings down. King Donnie is fixin’ to get him an upgrade for his phone.” He tossed a beaten Motorola phone over his shoulder. When it hit the pavement, the back popped off, and the screen shattered.
Without street lighting, the van’s high beams looked like police spot lights, cutting through the darkness. As Brian edged the van forward, Donnie strolled along the sidewalk, angling toward a small storefront that read, Jerome Mobile Solutions. The lamps swept across the sidewalk when Brian brought the van to a stop curbside. As the lights reflected off a convenience store on the corner of Main and North, he saw movement in the alleyway.
“Make it quick,” Brian said, leaning his head out the window with one eye watching the end of the street where the shadows congregated.
“Hold yer damn horses. There ain’t no time clocks to punch anymore. Artistry takes time, and I’m an artiste.”
The door swung freely open for Donnie. The unexplainable disappearance of everyone had occurred Saturday afternoon while businesses were still open. Not that locked doors were a problem. In the game of rock-paper-glass, rock always won.
Brian rolled up his window, his eyes dropping across the glow of the instrument panel. The orange pointer for the gas gauge sat just below one-quarter full. He started to wonder about King Donnie’s plans for world domination, and if the whole strategy would fall apart the minute his old girl hit empty.
You got a van full of electronics that you can’t use, and you’re out of gas. That sounds to me like one dumb ass plan if I ever heard one. Now am I right, or am I right, Donnie?
The dashboard clock read 10:48 PM Sunday. Minutes passed like hours, and Brian kept glancing at the alleyway by the convenience store. He couldn’t see Donnie inside the store. Now and then he saw the shadows shift behind the glass, but nothing more.
What the hell is taking him so long?
His eyes darted toward the tunnel of darkness that was Main Street. Something moved within the gloom.
Brian shifted in his seat, straining his eyes: recessed store fronts, mailboxes, abandoned cars diagonally parked—all places where someone could conceal himself. His mouth went dry. A gray murk of fog formed over the windshield. He searched the controls for the defogger, and when he finally found it, he looked up just as something flashed past him. He felt his groin tighten. Brian had a building urge to kick the van into drive and get the hell out of Jerome.
A fist slammed against the driver side window. He screamed. Donnie’s face pressed against the glass, wearing a shit-eating grin. Donnie moved his hand in a circle, motioning for Brian to roll down the window.
“Scared ya, boy?” Donnie’s shirt bulged with mobile phones, as though he had been impregnated by AT&T. “Now what’s yer preference? You an Apple guy? A Samsung guy?” As he pulled an assortment of new model phones from his shirt, two dropped to the pavement and shattered. “Aw, shit. I guess I’ll have to run in and get replacements. I still got me the warranty, ya hear?”
“Get in the van,” Brian said. “Something isn’t right.”
“I keep telling you, Holmes. There ain’t no right and wrong anymore. There’s only—”
“Why, Severin, I believe at least five of the seven deadly sins are on display in this fair town.” The voice rang out from the bowels of the darkened street. When Donnie lifted his head, he saw the shadowed shapes of two men striding toward the van.
“What is this happy horse shit?” Donnie asked, spitting.
“Lust,” said the tall, thin man with eyes as black as coal. “If one may commit adultery in his heart, does one not also sin when he lusts for worldly excesses which belong to another?”
The unknown men walked into the light from the headlamps. As Brian watched them from behind the wheel, a creeping chill worked up the back of his spine.
“Gluttony. Over-indulgence and wastefulness. A glutton is never satisfied, always craving more.
“Greed.”
“Now you just stop right there, Holmes,” Donnie said, dumping the phones through the window into Brian’s lap.
“A sin of excess,” Joshua Geldon continued, as though Donnie hadn’t spoken. “To indulge in impurity with a lust for more.
“Sloth. It is the lazy man who rejects the labor that God intends for him, choosing to take what he desires rather than earning through good, honest work.”
The two strangers stood in front of the van, their faces washed out and spectral in the high beams. The light illuminated their faces from below, molding harsh shadows under their eyes and transforming their faces into skulls.
Brian cocked his head, gesturing desperately for Donnie to climb through the panel door. But Donnie hadn’t seen. Donnie was too busy slipping a hand down into his pocket.
Jesus. He isn’t going to pull a gun, is he?
“And envy. The Bible warns us against desiring that which belongs to our neighbors. And yet we covet. Do we not?”
The second stranger’s glare burned holes into Brian through the windshield. His emerald eyes were cat’s eyes in the headlights. Brian’s right foot touched the accelerator. He didn’t want to harm these men, but if they proved to be violent (and Brian suspected they most definitely were), he would do whatever it took to get himself out of this predicament, alive.
“Severin, we have discovered two men who are responsible for what has befallen all of us. Are these two not an example of the sins which have brought wrath down upon us?”
“Hold your horses, cowboy.” Donnie said, a Cheshire-Cat grin spreading across his face. “Ain’t no reason for name calling. Look, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Donnie—”
“Maybe you two would like to share in the wealth? You want a TV, or—”
“Donnie—”
“How about a new phone? Why, I just upgraded, myself. These new phones—”
“Donnie. Get in the fucking van—”
“They can cruise the Internet as fast as a goddamn computer. Well, you know, as soon as they get the Internet workin’ again.”
As he was speaking, Donnie slipped his hand deeper into his pocket. Brian saw the outline of the gun before Donnie began to pull the weapon free.
Don’t, Donnie. Get your ass in the van and let’s get out of here.
Something whistled across the windshield.
Donnie screamed.
The tall man moved with such stealth that Brian didn’t see him produce the ornate dagger before it lodged in Donnie’s chest. Donnie fell onto his back in the street, his face flashing orange and black in the light of the van’s turning signal. He writhed through agonized convulsions, as though the blade was digging deeper and deeper i
nto his chest, twisted by unseen hands.
“Run, Holmes,” Donnie said.
Time froze. Brian felt his foot touch the accelerator at the same time that Severin pulled a silver handgun from his hip. Those eyes, Brian whispered in his head, as he identified the handgun as a Colt 1911.
Brian pressed the accelerator. The van jerked forward.
Joshua was already gone, twisting out of the vehicle’s path. Severin leaped into the air. As his knees landed on the hood, he fired three point-blank shots. The first two ripped through Brian’s eyes with preternatural precision. The third blew apart his forehead.
Gore splattered against the inside of the windshield, like a water balloon filled with raw meat. Severin rolled from the hood, landing on his feet, as the van careened over the curb and smashed through the plate glass window of a Starbucks. The vehicle came to rest butted up against two tables, with Brian’s torso pressed to the blaring horn. He slumped over in his seat, and the horn went silent.
Donnie lay muttering on his back, his lips trying to form words, as blood trickled down his cheeks. A cold shadow passed over him, and then he saw Joshua looking down into his face. The tall man bent to one knee, his eyes moving over Donnie, assessing, as though he was a mathematician working through an equation.
“There will be many more like these two before the final battle,” Joshua said, yanking the dagger from Donnie’s chest. As Donnie’s eyes went dark, Joshua wiped the blood onto the dead man’s shirt. “But the balance of power shifts with each victory, Severin.”
Severin stood silent and unmoving beside Joshua, like a menacing statue erected in the middle of Main Street.
The stars brightened, shining down on Jerome like a million spotlights from Heaven. As the first threads of fog stitched a phantom quilt over the deserted street, Joshua and Severin disappeared into the mire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ricky and Hank
For two days, Viper worked his way eastward, trading the Highlander’s empty gas tank for a Jeep Wrangler in Evansville. He traveled the back roads of Kentucky without seeing a soul, weaving the Jeep through a patchwork quilt of farm-to-market roads where corn, soybean, and tobacco grew unrestrained now that there were no farmers to cut it back. Near the borders of West Virginia and Virginia, he picked up I-77, angling southeast with a vague notion of catching I-40 and holing up on the beach. Something urged him southward, subconsciously pulling at him like invisible tethers.