Concentrating on listening for a moment, she heard nothing but a haunting whistle of wind that was feeding itself into the air vent above her. Below, there was step after dirt-covered step. From the even layer of brownish sediment, it was evident that no one had passed this way for a very long time.
Penelope began to go downward. The plan called for approximately ten stories’ worth of descent. John Rife couldn’t remember exactly the footage involved. The air vent shaft went to the bottom of the silo to deter the effects of water consolidation on the technical equipment there. He said in his brief time there the ventilation system had only worked intermittently. Someone had crawled up these stairs on several occasions to see where the problem was located. Every landing that switched back to the other direction included a little louvered door that allowed access to the vent.
And Anthony didn’t give a rat’s ass about proper ventilation.
She didn’t know where her mother would be located in the facility, but John said something about several rooms on the bottom of the silo that were supposed to be used in cases of emergency for personnel trapped in the area with a missile about to launch. These were actually used for garbage and storage of antiquated equipment. John had reckoned they could be used for a captive or two, not knowing that there was, in fact, at least five.
The former airman didn’t know about the children, and she wasn’t about to tell him. If Anthony got away due to the interference of local authorities, he would merely take his act on the road. He knew how to open the gates to the underworld. He could simply do it elsewhere. But he still needed the Tears of the Spirit for permanency. He needed Penelope.
She didn’t give a rat’s ass what Anthony needed. Penelope was going to get her mother out. She was going to get those four children out. She was going to do it under Anthony’s nose if possible. She would do it and then come back for the psychopathic son of a bitch with a gun.
Penelope lost count of the switchbacks of the stairs after the fifth or sixth or one. She reasoned if there were approximately ten floors then there should be twenty of them. However, as she went lower and lower, the air became choc-full of musty peril, and the world became a silent place that oozed a veil of barely concealed threat.
The errant dust clouds caused by her passage tickled her nose, and it occurred to her that her annoyingly persistent inner voice had been silent for far too long. Even that would have been a welcome distraction in this place that reminded her of a long-closed-up tomb.
You want me to talk to you now? Screw that. You should be thinking about what’s going to happen if you run into Big Dark and Gruesome. The sarcastic tone came right on cue.
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered. The noise of her own voice echoed back to her oddly and made her cringe. She didn’t want to think about the seatco. She had a plan for that thing as well as the others, but like all plans, there was never a written guarantee of its outcome.
Don’t mention it.
Long after she thought she should have reached the bottom was when Penelope actually did. She immediately adjusted the beam of her Maglite so that it wouldn’t give her away if anyone was about. However, the narrow stairway ended at a locked door that didn’t appear to have been opened since Nixon told people emphatically that he wasn’t a crook. There was a high-water mark one flight up where the walls had a brownish growth of algae, and there was a lingering smell reminiscent of dead fish. Of course, the padlock wasn’t on her side, but she knew there was more than one way to skin a cat.
“I can do this,” she whispered.
Don’t talk to me. They might hear.
Penelope didn’t bother to answer. Her inner voice was correct, and she didn’t want to admit it. Instead the vision of Will Littlesoldier came to her mind as she last saw him, lying in the hospital bed looking ten years older and a thousand times frailer than he normally did. She was glad that he wouldn’t be here to see the end of this. He had gotten her deeply involved. He had convinced her of his sincerity, and his altruism made her think of herself in terms that included the words, egotistical, self-centered, and single-minded.
And don’t think about him. After all, you need to concentrate. The voice went into a lower tone as if it were speaking to itself. We already know what you think about him.
Penelope frowned. There were critics everywhere.
And you should be thinking about what you’re going to do after this is all over.
“What the hell does that mean?” she breathed.
You’re going back to creeping, you idiot? Not hardly.
“If I live through the night,” she muttered softly. Penelope put the flashlight on an upper step and made sure that its light beam was not strong enough to show under the door. Then she retrieved the little bottle of liquid nitrogen she had brought along. She studied the door and ignored what her not-so-subconscious was trying to tell her. She didn’t have the time or the energy for other problems now. She didn’t even know if she was going to be walking out of this silo or if she was going to have to be carried out. The latter wasn’t a cheerful option but one she had to consider a viable outcome.
Listen to this. You can do this. You’re not the woman you were when you walked into that house on Durfrene Row on the Fourth of July. Your mother needs you. Those children need you. You have the strength and the cunning to get through this.
Penelope looked at the little bottle in her hand and closed her eyes. I know I can, but it doesn’t mean that I have to like it. Then she put the special nozzle on the bottle. She was going to spray the hinges of the door with the nitrogen and freeze them off. It was going to make a little noise when she cracked the frozen metal. She got the nitrogen ready, placing it by the flashlight, and retrieved a small tool with a plastic-encased grip and a tiny mirror on the end. It looked like something a dentist would use in his office, but it was anything but that.
Kneeling on the floor, Penelope got her face close to the bottom of the tiny landing as she could. There was a minute crack between the bottom of the metal door and the cement floor. She could see a dim light from in-between the space. Maybe all of Anthony’s things didn’t need light, but Anthony sure as hell did.
The dim yellow light seemed to be from far off and didn’t move in the least. She gingerly inserted the tiny, long-handled mirror under the door’s edge and carefully moved it outward, keeping the reflective part out of the mud. She had to work her face into the icy cold muck on the floor to see what the mirror showed, but it was worth it. There was a short hallway that opened up into the missile silo. More lights were lit in the direction of the silo.
Anthony had lit up the inside of the silo. Perhaps it had been done when he was still looking for the debris of the meteorite. Perhaps he simply couldn’t stand the darkness with the things he had brought into this world. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that nothing seemed to be moving in the range of her little mirror.
Penelope brushed muck from her face and knees and put the mirror away. She retrieved the liquid nitrogen and took a minute to apply it to the three metal hinges of the door. Stupid of them to put the hinges on this side, she thought. But then they never thought someone would come down into the silo this way. It was always meant as an escape. There was a slight hiss of noise as the metal’s composition adapted to the subzero chill of the compound. Then there was a sudden loud crack that made a ripple of tension flow effortlessly down her back. She looked at the hinges closely and knew that the weight of the steel door had broken the metal.
However, the door was still in place. One edge sagged slightly, pushing against the side where the padlock was located. If the years of being underwater hadn’t rusted it, and it didn’t appear rusted because it was made of steel, then she could simply pull it fro and slip inside.
Penelope took a moment to retrieve the little mirror again and systematically checked out the small hallway again. No one was there. Nothing huge. Nothing with glowing eyes. No nutty human intent on bashing her brains on the floor when he got
what he wanted from her. She waited a full minute, keeping an eye on the far opening, and nothing moved in response to the sound that the metal hinges had made as they fractured.
That’s a really good sign, her inner voice said sincerely.
She didn’t answer. Rising up, she swiped mud off her body and put her tools away. Then she tucked her flashlight under her arm and got a grip on the door. One hand was on the slimy doorknob. The other was on the rounded part of the hinge, with barely enough room to get her fingers under the edge.
It was the very first time she had worked without gloves. Penelope knew that leaving fingerprints in this place was the least of her problems. She hefted with her shoulders and grunted with the effort. The steel door was solid and heavy. Additionally, she suspected that it was almost certainly set in its position after thirty years of being stationary and probably a decade from being underwater. Her muscles protested with the exertion. Pins and needles stabbed at her back where the weight was testing her resolve.
I’m not letting a damn door thwart me, Penelope vowed silently. She rested for a moment and tried again. The door creaked, an eerie wail that reverberated along the narrow staircase like something alive. She almost let go, but her fingers grasped on tightly and gave an urgent jerk. The door began to sag in her direction.
A fraction of second later, it nearly fell on her, and Penelope had to fight to keep it from twisting off. Then the padlock on the other side held and she sighed with relief. She peeked out the crack that she had made and saw nothing to alarm her. She was counting on the fact that if someone came to investigate in the next few minutes, then she could put the door back and perhaps none would be the wiser.
Perhaps, if none would be the wiser didn’t have supernatural powers and eyes that glow in the dark. Her inner voice had regained its sarcasm.
Using her shoulder as leverage for the heavy door, she pulled at the handle and levered the main part away from the wall, just enough so that she could pass through and then pull it back in place. It would be enough to pass a casual scrutiny. It was all she needed.
Penelope slid through the opening and took a moment to slowly pull the door back into its original position. She looked at it as she lifted her hands away, waiting to see if it would sag backwards into the slight stairway. It tottered for a second and then held. If no one actually leaned on it, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Looking toward the main missile silo, the only thing that struck her was the strong stench of death. The seatco was near or had been nearby. Penelope looked left and then right and before she moved something alerted her. Her head went up, and above her she saw the huge shape of something encased in black and knew exactly why the smell was so powerful.
Directly over her head, the seatco was waiting for her, attached to the ceiling like a perverted bat. As soon as Penelope’s head came up, the seatco dropped like a lead weight.
*
Will Littlesoldier was dozing uncomfortably in the hospital bed. The surgery on his arm had been uneventful. The doctor had droned on about clearing some bone fragments away from ligaments and tendons, but Will had tuned him out. Instead, he focused on Penelope. He knew that she intended to do something by herself. At first he had attributed her reasons to a selfish nature but came to realize that she was anything but that.
Penelope Quick was a daughter. Her mother meant more to her than anything, and she would do what she could to protect her. However, he knew that Penelope didn’t intend on aiding Anthony. Her intent was trickery. It was the motto by which she lived and breathed. Like Coyote, she would do what she had to do as a means to an end.
And that meant even sacrificing her life. Will had called the cell phone in her possession about a dozen times. It had rolled over immediately into voice mail. The recording said it belonged to someone named Jeremy, and Will knew that had been Penelope’s friend.
So he had called the tribe and Joseph John Dick. Several tribal elders were on their way from Oregon. But they wouldn’t arrive until the morning, and there was little that Will could do, doped up on morphine as he was.
His eyes opened reluctantly, and he studied the solid cast encasing his arm from wrist to mid bicep. It felt like the heavy weight that it was, crushing down on his flesh and causing the most uncomfortable itching sensation along the top of his skin.
The witch had done this. And then an inane thought entered his head, undoubtedly aided by the flow of morphine through his blood. Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead. Penelope killed the witch. Without magic or ancient sorcery or a special tool sanctioned by the gods. What could someone like her do if she were always on the side of good?
Will would have laughed if he could have brought himself to do so. A shadow moved over him, and he said, “I don’t need any more drugs.”
“And I haven’t brought you any, brother,” Anthony said.
Will’s eyelids shot open. His one and only brother stood by the side of the bed staring down at him with a sneer twisting his handsome face. From this perspective Will thought that his brother appeared like the demon he had evolved into. His brown eyes flashed diabolic fire.
“You look older than before,” Will said, not bothering to move. There was a Glock pistol stuck into Anthony’s belt. Briefly Will speculated if it was the same one that Penelope had gotten from her loan shark associate and then he decided the model was different. It was possible that Anthony didn’t have a clue that Penelope was onto him. She was tracking the location of the meteor crater like a rapt bloodhound. Will said, “The evil is seeping into your bones, Anthony. It’s going to consume you.”
Anthony’s lips quirked in amusement. “Aren’t you interested in knowing how I found you, big brother?”
Penelope. Will thought the rebellious thought before he could help himself. No. No. She had kissed him gently before she’d left, not realizing that he was conscious enough to know what she was doing. His logical brain started to work. Anthony had come looking for Merri, or what was once Merri. He needed the witch. He had gone to the Durfrene Row house. There he had found her decayed corpse, and perhaps one of the neighbors had told him that a young woman had helped a man out of the house who looked very much like Anthony. The man who looked like Anthony appeared injured. And if Will had been injured, this was the nearest hospital. All Anthony had to say was that he was looking for his brother. No untruths there.
Anthony was anything but stupid.
“It’s a little past visiting hours,” Will said. The room was darkened except for a crack of light from a partially opened door. The hallway was brightly lit but foot traffic had slowed to the sporadic attendance of nurses and various hospital staff.
Anthony chuckled. There was movement behind him. Red eyes glowed in the deep shadows. Black shapes moved erratically. “You can come with me, brother, or…” Anthony voice trailed off with the implied threat that the shadow people presented.
Will pulled at the IV, demonstrating its restraint. “I’m a little occupied, Anthony. Would you like to get to the point?”
“It’s not too late to join me, William,” Anthony said. He braced his hands on the rails at the side of the hospital bed. “Surely you must realize that. Your little heroine has made her deal. She’s not sitting at your side anymore. She doesn’t fight for the good of humanity. She only fights for what she wants. The reality of the white man. And soon she will discover that is a falsehood. The fourth world will become fact, and only those who stand beside me will endure.”
Will stared at him. “It will be hell on Earth, Anthony. Man was never meant to last into the next realm. The third world is our last, and you won’t be welcome there, any more than I would be.” He hesitated, trying to see the little brother that he had played with many years before. Surely there was something left in the hollow shell of malevolence that he saw before him now. “It’s not too late for you, Anthony. Turn back before you topple over the edge.”
Anthony’s eyes looked into his brother’s. Will saw the instant of temptation,
the longing for familial acceptance. Then the flash was gone, and Will knew that it was too late. Anthony motioned with his hand, and hellish red eyes came closer and closer.
Far too late, Will thought.
*
Penelope rolled away, and only the flailing arm of the seatco caught her. She launched herself down the hall and hoped she could find a moment of safe haven before the thing caught her. Behind her she heard the awkward shuffle of flesh against cloth and knew that it was struggling for purchase on the muck-covered floor. One of her hands held onto the medicine pouch still around her neck, and the other used rusting rails for support as she flew into the main part of the missile silo.
The deep interior was like the Shelley poem. “Look upon my works, ye Mighty and despair!” Nothing besides remains. There were only the remains of rusting stairways and catwalks, lit dimly by yellow spotlights that were placed haphazardly around the cavernous silo, leaving streaking paths of darkness. The missile was long since gone, and the place was an empty shell, a great construction laid bare by the whimsical hand of fate.
A great fist swung at Penelope, and she ducked. It hit a muddy rail, and the old metal bent with a creaking groan of dismay. Caught up for a moment, she had simply forgotten the danger of the seatco. She twisted away and waited, turning to face it fully. She couldn’t see its face, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to see it. The terrifying oversized kachina mask was gone, broken in the attempt to crush the seatco into a bloody pulp.
Expecting the skittering shapes of the shadow people, Penelope kept an eye on her surroundings while she slowly backed up. “Can we talk about this?” she asked carefully. “Jeremy, any part of you still there?”
The monstrous thing hesitated in its approach. Its mismatched hands twitched angrily. “Pa-nel-o-pee,” it said, and its voice was an unearthly creation that grated along Penelope’s last nerve. She wanted to run like hell and not look back.
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