“He did something to my brother, Sheriff.”
The sheriff just shook his head in frustration. “That drifter over there been fillin’ your head with nonsense?” He walked over to the desk where the deputy sat and where Luther’s gun and knife were laid out. The sheriff took the revolver and walked back to the cell, holding it up for Karen to see. “This is what we took off him. You see those symbols on the barrel? That looks like some kinda satanic shit to me. Then there’s that knife of his—got a pentagram carved into it an’ everything.” The sheriff gestured toward Luther with the gun. “That’s the kinda man you shacked up with.”
He returned the gun to the desk and stared at Karen. “Now you’re gonna stay in this cell until tomorrow morning, when the judge comes in an’ sets your bail. We understand each other?”
Karen released her grip on the bars and backed away, giving a solemn nod. The sheriff smiled in approval. “There’s a good girl.”
He walked over to the deputy and patted him on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on these two, particularly that big black bastard.” The sheriff cast an eye at Luther’s sleeping form. “Who knows what sort of crazy he’s brought to town.”
“Yessir,” said the deputy. “Mind if I get some coffee first?”
“C’mon, I’ll buy you a cup. These two ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
When the sheriff and deputy left the holding cell area, Karen stepped closer to Luther, standing over him. She poked his arm with her knee and he stirred a bit.
“What do you want?”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Back me up so I don’t look crazy?”
Luther sat up with a groan. “And say what? That Pearson’s got a bunch of zombies locked up in his barn?”
“They’re not—”
“Karen, do me a favor: shut up and listen,” said Luther. “I don’t care if you want to believe this or not, but the things from your nightmares are real. And it’s not just zombies, either—demons, ghosts, magic, vampires, werewolves—they all exist.”
“That’s impossible…”
Luther stood with a sigh. “Then you tell me what you saw in that barn. Because I know what I saw.”
Karen bit her lower lip and looked down at the dirty concrete floor, trying to work it out in her head. Whatever those things were, they did look an awful lot like the zombies from those movies Sam forced her to watch when they were younger.
“Say you’re right… say I believe you…” she began, “…why would Pearson keep a bunch of them locked up in his barn?”
“That I don’t know,” said Luther. “But I do know that this backwater sheriff won’t believe anything I say. If I’m going to stop Pearson, then I’ll have to get out of here on my own.”
“And how are you gonna do that?” asked Karen. “These bars are a bit stronger than that fence. Somethin’ tells me not even you can pull them apart.”
“You’re right, I can’t. But then again, I don’t have to.” Luther stepped over to the cell door and placed his palm against the locking mechanism. “Aperio.”
Karen was shocked to hear the sound of the lock turning and the door swing open. Luther stepped out from the cell and walked to the desk, collecting his weapons. He glanced back at the cell and saw Karen still standing there in shock. “You coming or what?”
She hustled quickly out of the cell and came by his side. They heard footsteps from the corridor outside. Karen saw Luther held his gun at the ready and she tugged at his arm, whispering, “You can’t kill them!”
Luther just looked back at her and placed a finger to his lips. He then motioned for her to stay here and stood to the side of the entrance. The door to the block opened and the deputy stepped inside, holding a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. Luther grabbed the deputy by the back of his collar and slammed him against the wall. The deputy went for his gun, but Luther grabbed it from him and threw it to the ground. He stuck the barrel of his own gun against the deputy’s neck.
“Stop!” shouted Karen.
Luther spun the deputy around so he was now face to face with him and stuck the gun under the young man’s chin. “Let’s get one thing straight, kid—I don’t care what she tells me to do. If I think you’re gonna stand in my way, I’ll put a bullet in your head before you can blink.”
“Please, don’t!” he pleaded. “I-I don’t wanna die!”
“Then make yourself useful.” Luther released his grip and stepped back arm’s length, pointing the gun at the deputy’s head. Luther held out his free hand, palm up. “Keys.”
“Keys?”
“My ride’s still by the forest, so I’ll need something to drive. Give me the keys to your cruiser.”
“And you’ll let me live?” asked the deputy.
Luther smirked. “I’ll consider it.”
The deputy quickly fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a ring with a number of keys dangling from it. As he held it out to Luther, his hand was shaking, jingling the keys, and they slipped from his hand. Luther rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Pick ‘em up.”
The deputy bent down slowly and picked up the keys, locating the one for the cruiser and holding the ring by it. He passed them to Luther’s open hand. The occult investigator slipped the keys into his pocket and removed his glasses, revealing his burning red eyes. As Luther spoke his next words, his eyes began to hum with a dim crimson glow.
“Now get into that cell and close the door behind you.”
The deputy’s eyes glazed over like he was in a trance. He looked to the cell and then back to Luther. “I think I’ll go lie down.”
“Good idea.” Luther kept the gun aimed at the deputy, who went to the open cell and closed the door behind him. The deputy pushed against the door to test that it was really locked, then went to the bench and laid out flat on his back.
Luther holstered the gun beneath his jacket and donned his sunglasses once more. Karen picked up the deputy’s discarded gun and looked up at Luther. He motioned for her to follow him and they left the station. It was empty aside from the deputy so they had no trouble making it out front to the deputy’s cruiser. Once inside, Luther started the car and Karen stared at him as he drove.
“How’d you do that back there?”
“Given the right circumstances, I can influence people.”
“Where’d you learn to do it?”
“Same place I learned about my strength,” said Luther. “Just something I was born with.”
“And the thing with the lock? You born with that, too?”
“No,” said Luther. “I picked that up along the way. That and a few other magic tricks. Now we’re gonna get you home and—”
“Home?” asked Karen. “But Sam—”
“If your brother’s alive, I’ll get him out. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
“Just so we’re clear on this, Mr. Cross: I’m not sitting home while you do the dirty work,” said Karen. “You try to drop me off, I’ll still make my way back to the Pearson farm. So either I go with you or I go alone from wherever you leave me.”
Luther glanced over at her. “And you think I can’t get you to do otherwise? You saw how I made that boy get into that cell.”
“Yeah, but you couldn’t stop the sheriff from arresting us. Plus you just said that you need the right circumstances,” said Karen. “My guess is your little brainwashing won’t work on someone who’s dead-set on what they’re doing.”
Luther turned his eyes to the road with a grunt. “Your funeral, girl.”
* * *
Luther parked the cruiser a bit of a walk from Pearson’s farm, making sure to leave it in a secluded spot. He and Karen stepped out of the car and Luther surveyed the area. “Pearson’s truck is gone. We should move fast. No telling when he might return.” He began the walk toward the fence.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Karen, checking the bullets in the deputy’s revolver before following. “Go to the barn and kill them?”
“No, I’ve got a better idea,
” said Luther. “To resurrect those people, Pearson needed to use a spell. Probably came from a grimoire.”
“Spell? But I thought zombies got created by being bitten by other zombies?”
“Yeah, but how do you think those first ones were created?” asked Luther. “Pearson must’ve resurrected someone. That alpha turned someone else into a zombie, then that zombie turned more people, and so on. But it can still all be traced back to that original spell. Break the spell, kill the zombies, save the day.”
“You think that’ll really work?”
“Has in the past.”
Karen stopped. “You mean this isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with zombies?”
Luther glanced at her from over his shoulder and flashed a smile. She sighed and moved to catch up to him. When they approached the farm this time, they didn’t bother going in through the fence. Luther gave another glance down the single road leading up to the house and satisfied they were alone, walked toward the front porch.
The door was locked but that posed no difficulty. Luther placed his hand against the lock, just as he had in the holding cell, and once more spoke the word, “Aperio.” The lock slid free and Luther turned the doorknob with ease to open the door. Once inside, Luther drew his revolver and stepped carefully into the foyer.
“What are we looking for?” asked Karen.
“A grimoire,” said Luther. “It’ll be an old book, probably thick, likely leather bound with weathered pages.”
A staircase led up to the second floor with a corridor leading into the kitchen. Luther moved slowly up the steps to the second floor. Karen stepped into the corridor, holding the gun she took from the deputy with care. She noticed the pictures hanging on the wall beneath the staircase. Karen looked at each of them, seeing the blond woman who had been Tom Pearson’s wife, as well as the young son they had together. She wondered what could have driven a man like this to create those things out in the barn.
While moving to the kitchen, Karen passed a door and heard some faint noise. She pressed her ear up against the door and listened carefully. It sounded like groans. There was someone on the other side of the door and she immediately thought of her brother. Karen turned the lock and opened the door, finding a dark, wooden staircase leading down.
“Sam…?”
She saw a switch on the wall and flipped it up, illuminating the basement. Karen slowly descended the steps, pointing the gun out in front of her. Once more, she called out to her brother, but received no response. The moans grew louder, though. Karen moved from the last step onto the concrete floor. The basement was cluttered, with boxes lining the walls and cobwebs everywhere.
“Karen!”
She ignored Luther’s voice, moving further into the basement. The moans she heard were actually two different ones, and they were accompanied by the rattling of chains. The sounds came from behind another door. Luther grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s Sam,” said Karen. “It’s gotta be, right? He’s gotta still be alive.”
Karen turned back to the door. Luther removed his sunglasses, his eyes burning brightly. “Karen, stay away from that door!”
She pulled away from him and went to the door. Luther called out to her again, but there was no stopping her. Karen unlatched it and pulled it open. But what she saw was not her brother. Her arms fell to her sides and the gun slipped from her grip.
A woman and a child kneeled on the ground, stuffing raw meat into their mouths. Their hands were soaked with blood. They both looked up at the sudden influx of light and hissed as their eyes fell upon Karen. She recognized them from the photos in the hall—they were Pearson’s wife and son. But now they were decaying corpses with shackles around their neck. They lunged for Karen and she screamed.
* * *
Pearson pulled his truck up the dirt path to his front door and stopped it at his porch. He turned off the car and grabbed the rifle from the passenger side before climbing from the Silverado. Once stepping to the front door, he slid his key into the lock but found no resistance when he turned it. He had locked the door, was sure of it, so why was it open now?
The scream from inside the house answered that question. Pearson opened the door and stepped into the house, holding the rifle in both hands. He spotted the open door to the basement and ran for it, rushing down the steps.
When Pearson reached the foot of the stairs, he turned the corner and saw Luther Cross pulling Karen back and stepping in front of her. Pearson saw Luther raise his revolver and then Pearson saw both his wife and son struggling against their shackles, arms reaching out to try and grab some of Luther’s flesh, snarling with their blood stained teeth.
“No!” Pearson cried out, just as Luther pulled the trigger. He fired two rounds in rapid succession, one into the woman and then another into the boy. Both bullets struck them right above their noses and their heads rocked back as blood and brain matter exploded out the back of their skulls. They collapsed from there, lying limp on the ground.
“You bastard!” Pearson raised his rifle up and aimed it at Luther. “You killed my family, you sonnuva bitch!”
Luther turned, holding his gun up, eyes glowing a bright red. “Your family’s been dead for some time. Just tell me where the book is and we can stop this before it gets any more out of control.”
Karen’s gaze was fixed on Pearson’s gun. A Remington 783. The same one she bought Sam for Christmas last year. Her eyes narrowed, lips contorting in rage. She jumped at him, grabbing the rifle’s barrel and wrestling with it. Pearson pulled the trigger, but the shot did nothing more than make a loud noise. Karen pushed against the rifle and moved close enough so she could swing her leg and strike Pearson between the legs.
As Pearson cursed in pain, Karen pulled the rifle from him and raised it up, pointing it at his face. Angry tears welled up in her eyes. “You killed my brother…”
“Not what you think,” said Pearson. “I was just tryin’ to do right by my family.”
“Bullshit!” she cursed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you!”
Pearson went for the rifle’s barrel and forced it back, slamming the butt against Karen’s head. He ran back up the steps.
Luther watched the whole thing happen. He would have loved to empty his gun’s chamber into Pearson’s face, but the kill wasn’t his to claim, it was Karen’s. Luther held out a gloved hand to her.
“You okay?”
“I’m gonna kill him…” she muttered.
“I know.”
* * *
Pearson scrambled out the front door of the house, running from the porch into the fenced field. He made a beeline for the barn, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the key. Pushing the key into the lock, he turned it and it clanked open. He heard a gunshot and ducked, the bullet from Luther’s gun striking the barn door. The elder man took the lock off and opened the latch.
“Stop!” Luther ran from the porch, moving across the field. He fired two more shots from his gun, but Pearson had already pulled the barn door open and was using it as cover. Luther paused in his run, his mouth slightly agape as the zombies emerged from their prison. “Dammit.”
The zombies moved toward him and Luther brought up his gun, dispatching the one in the lead with a shot to the head. Luther maintained his calm and kept his arm steady as he squeezed off two more shots, felling two additional zombies. When he pulled the trigger again, the gun clicked. Luther snapped the barrel open and discarded the empty shells. He reached into his jacket for one of his speed-loaders, but that gave the zombies a chance to move closer.
Luther elbowed the one closest to him in the head. He tossed the gun, grabbing the barrel and swinging it as if it were a hammer. The butt struck another zombie in the head, becoming lodged in the sticky mess that was the zombie’s brain. He yanked on the gun, trying to pull it free, but the other zombies moved closer.
A shot rang out and one of th
e zombies fell to the ground. Luther risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Karen holding the rifle. She fired a few more shots, giving Luther a quick respite. He left the gun in the zombie and stepped back a few paces. Luther drew his knife, holding it in a reverse grip. He charged toward the zombie, bringing the knife down on its head.
Karen fired off several more shots and the Remington was close to empty. Luther turned toward her and shouted over the sounds of the snarling zombies. “The grimoire!”
“What?” she asked.
Luther slashed, cutting into the throat of a zombie. “Find the damn book and burn it!”
“I can’t leave you!”
“Go!”
Karen hesitated, but she knew the only ammunition she had was what was inside the Remington, and it wasn’t likely to last much longer. Then she’d be effectively useless out here. She ran back for the house, hoping Luther was right about the spell.
The zombies piled on Luther, surrounding him in all directions. His eyes hummed with power and the darkness that resided inside him screamed for release. Luther tried to hold it back, but he knew he’d need the strength.
“Okay, time to play.”
Luther’s eyes burned like hot coals and he let out a battle cry that sounded close to a growl. Pearson peeked out from behind the barn door and watched in horror as Luther Cross cut through his creations. Sometimes he even used his bare hands, using inhuman strength to pull the heads from the zombies with a frightening ease.
* * *
Karen returned to the house and ran back down to the basement. She carefully stepped over the bodies of Pearson’s wife and child, moving deeper into the darkness. Not far from the door where Pearson had kept his family locked up was a workbench. It was dusty and unorganized, with tools scattered over the surface. But in one corner was a leather bound book that looked like it had seen better days.
Devil's Taunt and Other Stories Page 12