The Day of Legion

by Craig Taylor

  He shook his head. “Trust me, you have to go and go now.”

  He reached forward and wiped away a tear running down her cheek. He spoke softly and clearly with total sincerity.

  “Patricia, you’re an integral part of this. As such, you are in mortal danger. You must be kept safe at all costs. If I’m one of those costs, so be it. I don’t want you to be afraid for me. I’ve waited a long time for this and I’m as prepared as I know how to be.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Surely there’s been enough death already.”

  “There will be many more deaths if I don’t do this,” Albert said. “This battle will rage for eternity, there’s no doubt about that. Human frailty, weakness, temptation, greed and evil will see to that, but the balance has to be in favor of the light, or we are all doomed.”

  Patricia conceded, knowing she had no choice. She nodded and hugged Albert tightly. “What do we have to do?”

  “We have to pack clothes and food and go to the sanctuary,” David answered. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  They ate in silence. Afterwards, David packed a backpack for them both, getting more of his sister’s clothes. He packed a large bag full of food and put it in the trunk of the car. When they were ready, they stood outside the house and said their goodbyes.

  Patricia could sense a looming, imminent danger. She couldn’t explain it, but it made her skin crawl. Albert and David hugged; David looked as nervous as Patricia. Albert, on the other hand, was serene.

  “Keep them safe,” Albert told him.

  “I will,” David replied. “Are you sure this is the only way?”

  Albert nodded. “This is destiny, David. On my judgment day, when I’m asked if I was a righteous man, I can say I did everything in my power to halt the spread of the darkness.”

  David had tears in his eyes, but ignored them. He knew there were much bigger things at play. He had seen it. Everything the darkness had done through Clara and her helpers and all of the other demons and dark angels active in the world. He had read all of the history they had collected on the darkness. He knew of everything going back as far as the 1600’s, when his family joined the war.

  Albert let him go and hugged Patricia next. She struggled to hold back the tears. He whispered in her ear.

  “You be careful. Your ability to see is getting stronger. Use it.”

  He walked back to the front door and watched them get in the car. David started the engine and drove away. Patricia looked back, but Albert had already gone back inside.

  As she turned back, she saw a coat laid on the rear seat concealing something. She moved it and saw a pump-action shotgun and several boxes of shells. When she looked at David he was already looking at her.

  “Just in case,” he said.

  She didn’t ask what ‘in case’ meant, because the feeling of impending doom was getting stronger by the minute. She also sensed that whatever they were up against, bullets would be meaningless.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Albert retrieved a small wooden box from the safe in his bedroom and walked into the living room. He moved as quickly as he could. He placed the box on the coffee table in front of his chair.

  It was dark and heavy, and was about the size of a shoebox. It had been passed down since his family first got into the fight. The lid was carved with intricate symbols encircling angel wings. At the base of the wings was a crouching child, protected by the light emanating from the wings. The carving was so finely detailed the child’s face could be made out. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance beyond the picture. Albert knew the time prophesied by light-bearers hundreds of years ago was drawing near and the child was coming to the fore.

  He also knew the box contained nothing other than scrolls, drawings and photographs he had gathered over time. It was an heirloom and nothing more, but it comforted him. He rubbed his hands over the box. It was incredibly smooth, despite the age of the wood, and there were no marks on it.

  The lid was attached by two metal hinges at the back and was latched with a solid round piece of metal. There was no keyhole or combination. The metal pin was solid and held the lid to the lower portion of the box. No dark creature could open it. The lock froze if touched by evil and released if touched by the righteous.

  Albert held his hands on either side and closed his eyes. He could see a hundred black winged angels soaring through the air, their eyes red and angry. These were black warriors and their leathery wings beat in unison like a thousand drums marching immoral soldiers to war.

  He felt himself amid their pack as they flew. All the angels were smooth and muscular. Their wing spans were six feet across and strong and thick. The acrid wind created by their beating wings was strong, fiercely hot and stunk of their rotten souls. Their mood was malicious and retribution filled their hearts; revenge for every battle lost, for every black angel ever struck down.

  The box vibrated gently against his palms and warmed to his touch.

  Below the black-winged beasts, Albert saw David’s car driving along the gravel road. He had to bring the beasts to him, prevent them from following David. He called to them, taunting, drawing them towards him.

  The pack turned in unison, a raging torrent of malevolence flying toward him. They sensed him alone and vulnerable and longed for his suffering and death. Far below and in the distance, Albert saw the car drive over the crest of a hill and sink below his sight. He relaxed.

  He could also sense the woman near. She was trying to tell the beasts to turn back, to leave the old man to her, but their hatred for him and cravings blinded them to everything. He was a like a beacon in the dark; a protector of the light, alone and old.

  They hovered over the house and then descended rapidly like a pack of wild animals, fighting and clawing at each other, desperate to strike out at him.

  He could sense the woman in the kitchen. She saw only him. The battle between the angels and Albert was on a plane she had no access to. She was human and, although she was immortal, that was all she was given. She was a slave to the darkness, requiring rituals and sacrifices to call on its power. That was how it controlled her. To find her way there, she had to be led. She could talk to the beast swarm and sense them and their thoughts, but not see and hear them as Albert could.

  She wanted to taste Albert’s blood on the blade of her knife, and feel his flesh give way as she plunged it deeper into his body, but was afraid of the darkness. She could sense the battle about to ensue. She could smell the hounds baying for blood.

  Albert knew he was surrounded. They saw him as vulnerable and old, sitting in his chair and hugging a trinket box to his chest like a weak child. They fought each other, desperate for the power they would gain in killing him, desperate for the dimming of the light his death would cause, but were suspicious of the wooden box he held as though it were a weapon.

  They howled and screamed, scratched at each other and pounded on the flesh of the beast closest to them. Albert waited, his mind clear and calm as they cautiously advanced closer and closer. He was ready. He had prepared for this since the day he sensed Jason Hansen die and be reborn. He had drawn strength from the light and knowledge from the sanctuary. It was time.

  The box fell to the floor. It crashed open, the contents spilling forth and disintegrating in the presence of the unclean beasts. For a moment the beasts froze, waiting for the box to do something, but it lay quiescent at the old fool’s feet.

  Clara watched from the kitchen. She saw Albert drop the box and although she couldn’t see the beasts, she could sense their momentary fear, before the anger and malevolence raged again.

  One of the beasts stomped his black foot on the wooden pieces. It looked at Albert and as the other beasts swarmed forward, it struck out with its hand. The razor sharp nails on its bony fingers sliced through his neck; his head slu
mped forward on to his chest.

  All Clara saw was the old man’s neck suddenly open, his head hang forward and blood gush forth. He made no sound. She had to hold herself back from rushing forward and plunging her knife into his chest.

  The beasts closest to Albert ripped at his flesh, stripping it from the bone. They were in an absolute frenzy. They bathed in the blood and tissue. The beasts who couldn’t reach continued to surge forward, reaching out desperately from the rear for a touch of his flesh, but they were too far back. All they could sense was the dimming of the light, and it made their insatiable appetite grow stronger.

  Clara was the first to see it. At first it was dim, then it grew quickly in intensity. A light in the corner of the room so vivid she had to shield her eyes. It burned her skin where it touched her. She screamed and threw herself backwards out of reach.

  The raging mass of blackness around Albert’s body stopped and an eerie quietness fell. They were confused. It was the old keeper of the light, but the tattered remains of his body lay at their feet.

  Albert’s form was in the center of the light. The beasts closest to him, those who feasted on his flesh screamed in agony and fell to the floor, writhing in abject pain before being consumed by the purity of his essence.

  The beasts behind tried to retreat, but they were all pushing and pulling at each other as the light moved through them, consuming the dark masses. Clara could hear the screams of agony. She covered her ears and pushed herself further back into the shadows.

  The remaining beasts surged forward as a pack toward him. The first ranks screamed in agony as they were absorbed by the light and burned by its intensity. They tried to push back against demons behind them, but the pack pushed forward, hoping to suffocate the light with darkness.

  Slowly, the mass became so thick around the light it began to dim. They surged eventually suffocating it, the light fading to nothing. Half the dark angels remained. They were furious and flew skywards into the distance and disappeared, leaving behind their wounded comrades, slowly being consumed by the light that had touched them.

  Clara couldn’t hear their screams anymore, but she could sense their pain. It pierced her like thousands of needles, but the sensation grew weaker as the beasts died off. She emerged from the shadow in the kitchen and looked around. Nothing had changed, except the old man’s body was gone. The battle had been fought somewhere else.

  She thought about what had happened and it was clear to her now. Albert was her opposite; a righteous man, born again to help those who were destined to be born into the battle. He made no deal and gained nothing in return for his services. Even a place in the light was not guaranteed at the end. He would have faced all the temptations of life, and still chose to lead a just existence.

  He tricked them all, she knew that now. He was especially powerful in that he was able to keep himself from their knowledge. They knew of him of course, but considered him just another born into the battle through family lines.

  She knew he left his body before the darkness arrived, waiting while their rage blinded them to his presence in the corner of the room. He had been ready and knew them well.

  She was furious. Not because the beasts had died, but because she now had to deal with the threat of Jason Hansen. It kept her from enjoying the moments between these times. She wanted sex. She wanted a high. She wanted to kill, to taste the blood of a victim and revel in their fear. Temptations pulled at her constantly, whispered to her, welcoming her into the embrace of sin, but she knew she couldn’t stop until this was over.

  * * * *

  Patricia jumped in her seat.

  “What’s the matter?” David asked.

  “Albert’s gone,” she replied.

  “How do you know?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I can sense it, a dimming of light. I’ve never felt it before.”

  David sighed. “He knew he would fall and was ready for it.”

  Patricia shook her head and closed her eyes.

  * * * *

  Clara was livid. She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheek was scarred with burnt skin about the size of a walnut where the light had touched her. It was a deep wound; she knew it would not go away. She screamed and punched the glass, shattering it and cutting her knuckles.

  Her beauty was all she had. It was everything. With it she got what she wanted. Women were jealous. Men wanted her, and gave her beautiful things and money, sex. She used her beauty to lure victims. It gave her power over them all.

  The rage burning inside her intensified. She ran into the living room and picked up a chair. She smashed the computer and speakers, the windows and dishes, the television, everything she could in her fit of rage.

  She searched the bedrooms and out-buildings, but found nothing of use. She returned to the house with a can of gasoline she found in the barn and set the house on fire. As she walked away, the flames reached high into the sky.

  She turned and smiled. She lightly touched her cheek and her fury returned. She vowed she would wreak havoc on the light and all who supported it.

  * * * *

  Patricia fell asleep about an hour into the drive. She had no idea what direction they were going, and David insisted she not ask. She dreamed of Clara and saw her walking through a field, her face disfigured. A black haze surrounded her. Patricia realized she was seeing things she had not seen before.

  Slowly Clara faded. She dreamed of David. He stood in front of her, naked. She was about to ask him what he was doing when she realized she was naked too. He walked toward her and took her in his arms. They kissed passionately with their bodies pressed together. She could feel his erection pressing into her. She reached down and grasped it, feeling its smoothness in her hand.

  The car went over a bump and she woke up. David was looking at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You muttered something. Were you dreaming?”

  “No,” she snapped. “How much further?”

  “We’re nearly there,” he replied.

  She realized they must have gone off the road while she was sleeping. All she could see was scrub as the car traveled over a dirt track that looked unused.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Detective Matthew Roper surveyed the scene in complete bewilderment. He’d never seen so many graves in one spot before. He never thought one small group of people could create death on such an obscene scale. He stood on the top of a dune behind police tape and watched as five teams of specialists sieved through multiple graves below him; twenty-five figures clad in white paper overalls, paper boots and hairnets.

  Tarps had been erected over each grave site, and under each tarp, were string grids, so that each grid outside of the grave could be minutely searched for evidence among all the sand. Lights had been set up to aid the searchers through the night.

  In one area the sand was especially soft and damp, so a crane had been brought in with a suspended platform to enable an officer to literally lay over the sand without touching it.

  A sandwich truck was parked not far from the scene, providing the officers with food and drinks. Portable toilets were lined up on one side of a clearing where most of the vehicles were parked, and a small bus was provided to transport the workers.

  Single-crew cordons were put in place at any point accessible to the scene, preventing the media and the curious from impeding the operation.

  So far they had located twenty-three bodies, including one child, but they were having trouble identifying many due to decomposition. They knew there were a lot more, perhaps double what they had already unearthed.

  They called in the Disaster Victim Identification team. Usually this was reserved for plane crashes and train wrecks, events with multiple victims. This scene was far too big for a standard invest
igation team. The media was demanding updates and answers the police weren’t prepared yet to give.

  Roper asked for all the information on the suspects Ravenbrook and Leland. They were complete unknowns to the police. Neither had been in trouble before, both were highly-educated professionals, and although Ravenbrook’s work history was thin, Leland had been a dedicated psychiatrist at Middlefield Hospital and was highly thought of. Everyone spoken to so far said there was no way she could be involved, at least not voluntarily.

  She had no known family members. Her parents had died in a car crash when she was very young. The local police had mislaid the report on the accident, but the old officer he spoke to remembered it well. Their car had been hit by a truck that fled the scene. It was never found. It looked as if the truck had pinned the car to a tree and rammed it several times.

  The car was so badly damaged that it was hard to identify the make or model. The only thing he said that remained in one piece was the little angel wings that hung from the rear-view mirror.

  Roper turned when he heard someone clambering up the dune behind him. It was his partner Paul Jacobs, a corpulent individual most people despised. He was rude, arrogant and thought the world revolved around him. Unfortunately, Jacobs was the only solo officer when Roper joined the department, so they became partners.

  He wordlessly handed Roper a clipboard. Jacobs needed to catch his breath. He bent over and painfully sucked oxygen into his overworked lungs. He looked at the clipboard. They had just discovered another grave, taking the total to twenty-four.

  Roper shook his head. This was incredible. A career-defining case like this would seal his reputation if he played his cards right, but there were aspects that didn’t sit right- Leland and Ravenbrook for one. He usually got a feeling about suspects before he even interrogated them, and, although they were the main suspects, there was something about them as suspects that felt wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it.