by Tom Mohan
The Serpent and the biker whose name he didn’t know climbed the steps to the front porch of the curious building. The old wooden stairs flexed beneath their weight, but if they creaked, the wind covered the sound. The Serpent grabbed the knob of the front door, turned it, and pushed in. He expected it to be locked like the others and was caught off-guard when it swung open. He stumbled through the door, nearly falling into the house. Inside, a bright and cheerful scene greeted him. Lamps lit the room, and a quick glance around revealed not a speck of dust or dirt. The wind outside sounded miles away.
“What the hell?” the no-named biker muttered from behind him.
“Exactly,” was all the Serpent could say.
“WHERE ARE YOU? Come out here where we can see you!” Burke yelled to the mayor’s disconnected voice. He was losing his patience with this eerie town.
“Why, Mr. Burke,” the distant voice replied, “you sound like you aren’t having a good time. We can’t have that, now can we? That wouldn’t be polite.”
Burke saw Martinez motion to the kitchen, and he nodded in response. The mayor’s voice sounded like it came from a great distance. But, if he was inside somewhere, only the kitchen and storage areas remained as options. The two men crept to the end of the counter and pushed open the door that led to the kitchen. The squeaking hinges sounded raucous in the silent diner. The kitchen itself was as dusty and unused as the seating area. Burke took a quick look at the floor behind them, where their footprints in the dust provided clear evidence of their passing. The floor in front of him was undisturbed.
The two men stopped and listened for any evidence that they might not be alone. The muffled wind that raged outside seemed as distant as the voice that taunted them. Convinced that no one hid in ambush, Burke moved farther into the room. A shiny metal door at one end led to what he supposed was a large freezer. The right wall held two doors, one of which proved to be a walk-in pantry. Martinez motioned Burke toward the freezer, and then pointed to himself and the other door. Burke nodded and turned his attention to the shiny door at the back.
The freezer stood just taller than he did, and he guessed it to be about the width of a normal door. As he gripped the handle, he realized his hands were sweaty and he was holding his breath. Get a grip, he chided himself. Everything that had happened since the night in front of the pawnshop had been weird. And terrifying. This was no different. He wondered what had happened to normalcy.
Taking a deep breath, he gave the handle a tug. The door was not as heavy as he had expected it to be, and it swung open so fast he almost hit himself in the face. A dank, musty smell greeted him, tinged with a sweeter, nauseating scent—decayed meat. Burke steeled himself for what might be inside as he peered in. The inside of the freezer was dark, and the muted light that shone through the windows of the seating area did little good this far back. Burke shoved the door all the way open, allowing as much light as possible to reveal the secrets the long-abandoned freezer had to offer. It had been fairly well-stocked, but the power had gone out long ago—months at least—and the food inside had gone bad. The scent that greeted him upon opening the crypt-like space had been the remnants of long-rotted hamburger. He stepped back out, closing the door behind him.
“We’re clear in here.” He waited but heard no answer. “Dave? You in there?”
Burke snuck across the floor. The door Martinez had passed through opened to blackness the light from outside could not penetrate. On the floor, Martinez’s footprints disappeared into the gloom.
“Dave?”
As Burke’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a sliver of light across the small room, illuminating the crack beneath another door. Had Martinez passed through the room and gone outside? Burke strode to the other door. In the darkness, he had to grope for the knob. He turned it and pulled, but the door remained shut. He felt for a lock and found a deadbolt on the right edge. The bolt twisted easily enough, and he pulled the door open. Late afternoon sunlight shone in through the opening. Outside, the wind had died down and the dust settled, leaving an eerie quiet in the empty town.
Martinez was nowhere to be seen.
Burke turned and looked back inside. He stood in a small storage room. Brooms and mops leaned against the wall beside him. To the right sat an old desk with a few envelopes strewn across the top. An old-fashioned lamp with a green glass shade and a pull-chain switch was the only other item on the desk in the otherwise empty room. Burke’s eyes moved to the floor. Two sets of footprints had entered the room from the kitchen door. Burke saw his own cross the room to where he now stood. The other set paralleled his own, but ended in the center of the room—as though Martinez had made it that far, and then vanished. He scanned the floor and ceiling around the area where the prints ended, but he detected no place the man could have gone.
Burke turned and slipped out the door into the fading light of late afternoon. The hush fell over him like a heavy blanket. There should have been fifteen bikers roaming the town, but the place was as silent as a cemetery at midnight. Burke crossed the lot behind the diner, walked down a short alley, and entered the street behind the tiny business district. Looking up and down the street, he saw dust-blown houses and scrub—but no sign of Martinez or the Rebels.
As far as Burke could tell, he was the only living person in town.
The sun was a flaming red orb on the western horizon as Burke dragged his exhausted form back to the entrance of the town. He had not searched every house, but he had checked enough buildings to know beyond doubt that he was alone. Everyone else had disappeared. In too many places he had seen footprints suddenly end for no reason, just as Martinez’s had in the diner. Even the gang that had chased them into town was gone. It was as though he was the last man on Earth, alone in a strange land as alien to him as a distant planet.
The motorcycles and car had vanished, too. How or when that had happened he had no idea. Time and reality meant little here. He wondered if Red would have any answers, but he couldn’t find her either.
He was alone.
A cold, dry breeze rustled some scrub along the edge of the road. Burke pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame as hopelessness seeped through his mind like a rancid poison. He was lost, unsure what to do. It was like the feeling he’d had years ago when it had become clear he was not going to find Laura and Sara. That horrible moment when he had been forced to admit they were not coming back. That he was alone. He never once believed they had run off on him—the physical change in the church building had been enough proof for him. Convincing anyone other than a few relatives of the other missing kids had been impossible. In time, even they had given up and accepted the official story that the church had been a wacko cult that took off.
The world moved on and forgot the whole thing.
The sun fell below the horizon, casting a final glow in the western sky. Burke turned and stared into the darkened town, desperate for any sign of life within. The place remained silent, holding greedily to its secrets. The strong wings of a predator flapped overhead as another night in the game of hunter and hunted began.
God, why is this happening? Why me?
Burke’s heart cried out to the God he was certain he had met in the lake. But if that God really did exist, he was silent now. Cold tears slid down his face.
You are never alone.
Yes, I am. I’m alone now.
Trust me.
Trust you? No way.
You are stronger than this. Trust me.
I’m not strong. I don’t want to be strong.
I will provide the way.
Burke’s mind went back and forth with the conversation, not knowing if he was talking to himself or one of the other characters that had taken up residence in his head of late. He wondered if he was losing his mind, and then laughed. He had probably lost it long ago.
Another chilly gust of wind hit him out of the east. Burke cocked his head and listened. The wind carried something with it. The sound of a bell. Not th
e tinkling sound a small bell might make, nor the deep ring of a church bell. More like an empty tin can being tapped on. He turned his face into the breeze and stared into the black desert. A dim light moved in the darkness. As he watched, it drew closer, and the bell grew louder. A shadow formed around the light. As the glowing object approached the town, Burke made out the outline of a wagon and a small horse.
Feeling terribly exposed, he slipped through the darkness to the side of the gas station. He watched from his hiding place as the newcomer’s strange wagon went around the DEAD END barrier at the other end of town and climbed from the desert sand onto the pavement. Once on the road, it continued its leisurely pace in his direction. A lantern mounted above the driver’s head swayed in rhythm with the wagon. The clanging bell hung from the neck of the horse.
The wagon drew closer, and Burke crouched down, hiding himself in the shadows of the station. From his vantage point, he could only see the road about twenty feet in front of him. His body tensed and the air grew colder as the stranger approached, the lantern beginning to illuminate the road within his view. He saw his breath in the air in front of him and pulled his head back even farther to keep the puffs from revealing his presence. The soft clomps of the horse’s hooves on the pavement sounded like they were almost on top of him as the beast’s shadow came into view.
Then the wagon stopped. Burke saw the horse’s shadow grow and shrink, distorted by the swinging lantern. The breeze carried the scent of cigarette smoke.
“You can come out, Mr. Burke. I know you’re there.” The rasping voice was thick with the now-familiar southern twang that seemed so prevalent in this tiny Arizona town. The man chuckled. “Do you like the accent, Mr. Burke? I do. It lends a sense of culture and hospitality, don’t you think? Now come on out of the shadows, Mr. Burke. You can’t hide from me.”
Burke hesitated only a moment before straightening from his crouch and stepping out into the open. What did it matter now, anyway? Everyone had abandoned him. Once again, those he had thought were his friends were nowhere to be found, and he was alone to fend for himself. A small voice deep within told him to be strong, but familiar self-pity shoved that voice aside. He had thought at least Martinez cared, but even he was gone. Gone just like Laura. Like Sara. Like his parents.
Burke’s mind felt almost numb as he stood before the strange wagon that had rolled into town. The first thing he noticed was that it was not pulled by a horse but a donkey. It appeared to be the bed of an old pickup truck. Faded blue paint covered the sides, unsuccessfully hiding much of the rust that had accumulated over the years. An equally rusty white camper shell covered the pickup bed, giving the whole thing a nightmarish covered wagon feel. The wagon rode on oversized studded tires, custom-made for desert travel.
A lantern hung from a pole attached to the top of the camper shell and extended out over the driver. The steady light within looked to be neither bulb nor flame. Burke had the distinct impression of something alive and aware watching him from deep within it.
The glow of a cigarette drew Burke’s attention to the driver of the strange vehicle. Wild gray hair protruded from the ragged edge of a tattered top hat. What at first appeared to be a silver hatband Burke soon discovered was duct tape, which held two large feathers, one on each side. Deep lines creased the man’s tan, leathery face, making it impossible to guess his age. He wore a black tailcoat and black pants with plaid patches on each knee. On his hands were white gloves with the fingers cut off. He seemed such a caricature of clichés that Burke would have laughed had he not been sinking ever deeper in his despair.
The man reached up and mimicked tipping his hat. “Good evening, Mr. Burke. My name is Cyrus. Cyrus Whitkey. I believe we have some business, you and I.”
Burke stared at Cyrus for a moment, trying to force his brain into action. “I don’t know you, Mr. Whitkey. What kind of business could we have?”
Cyrus Whitkey laughed and took another drag from his cigarette. “Ah, you may not know me, Mr. Burke, but I know you. And please, call me Cyrus. All my friends do.”
“What is it you want from me?”
Cyrus Whitkey shifted on the wagon bench, leaning forward so that Burke could see the reddish glow of the lamp reflected in his eyes. “You’re a very important man, Mr. Burke. A VIP, you might say. I’m not sure why. But if Agibus wants to see you, Mr. Burke, you are very important indeed.”
“Agibus? Who’s Agibus?” Burke struggled to remember if he had ever known anyone by that name. As far as he knew, he had not.
Cyrus Whitkey laughed again, coughing hoarsely as he did. “Another good question, Mr. Burke. A fine question indeed. Who is Agibus? Hmmm…well now.” He leaned even farther toward Burke, his razor-like face seeming to close the gap between them beyond what was physically possible. “Let’s just say that Agibus is a very powerful being with a very powerful interest in you.”
Burke blinked, and the man’s face was back where it should be. “I think you have the wrong person, Cyrus. I’m just a man who’s been abandoned in the desert.”
“Oh, I think not. You are much more than that, Mr. Burke. I must admit, I don’t know what Agibus has in store for you, but I know it is very important. Very important.” Cyrus took another drag from his cigarette and scanned the darkness around them. “Though you do seem to be correct about being abandoned. It is quite lonely out here, isn’t it?”
Burke noticed that Cyrus’s southern accent had faded away. “Just who are you, Cyrus?”
“Why, I’m a demon, of course. Or at least what you humans refer to as a demon. One of the fallen. A prince of this here world of yours.”
Burke’s depressed mind took that in. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that he was standing in the middle of the desert at night chatting with a demon. God had abandoned him as well, it seemed. “I don’t believe in demons,” he said.
“Oh, come now, Mr. Burke. Mind reading is not high on my list of talents, but I have been around the block a few thousand times and am quite adept at seeing past your puny little human masquerades. So let’s skip the crap, shall we? Agibus wants to see you, and I wish to meet Agibus. Whoever brings you to him will be well-rewarded, and I think I deserve that honor, don’t you, Mr. Burke?”
Burke shivered as the temperature dropped another twenty degrees. “I wouldn’t think demons would be big on rewarding people. Besides, you don’t even know why he wants me. It might not be what you think.”
Cyrus blew out a puff of smoke. “I said I don’t know why he wants you, not that I don’t know how bad he wants you. There’s a mighty big difference there, Mr. Burke. The forces of darkness are moving toward Agibus. Never before in the history of time have so many of our kind been so unified. After all, we’re demons. We can’t even get along with each other.” He laughed at his little joke. “Lucifer is taking notice. This is big, Mr. Burke, very big. Whatever the case may be, Agibus is on his way to incredible power, and I intend to worm my way into his good graces by delivering you to him.”
Cyrus Whitkey reached back and knocked on the camper shell that covered the back of the wagon. Burke heard the door in the back of the camper open. His body felt numbed by the cold, and his mind continued to sink in the swirl of despair that dragged him into its dark embrace. He watched, as though from a great distance, as two black human-shaped forms came around the wagon toward him. They were short creatures, not more than five feet tall, and covered with bumps and protrusions as though their very skeletons were trying to escape the filth of the flesh that encased them. Each of them carried chains. Burke stood unflinching as they attached the chains to his wrists and ankles. When they made contact with his flesh, he felt the touch of ice. The cold seeped through him, moving up his arms and legs, into his torso, and meeting at his heart, where it shrouded his soul.
Burke felt nothing but frozen detachment as they led him to the back of the wagon and into its waiting maw.
Sara shielded her eyes from the glare of daylight. The sky was overcast and the
sunlight muted, but after the darkness of the tunnels it felt like high noon on a clear day. The small group of survivors from the Keep had spoken little as Master Eleazar led them through the twists and turns of the tunnels—in part for fear of attracting the attention of El-Shaddai’s minions, but mostly from their shock at the Keep’s fate. The Keep had been the source of strength and power throughout the land for centuries. The thought of its desolation was unimaginable.
Sara had never felt more alone in her short life. Her parents were gone. The place that had been her home for the last four years was destroyed. She looked around. Dana and Ryan huddled together, looking so much alike in their fatigue and distress that they seemed to blur into one another. Kyle stood off to the side, trying to keep cool like this was just another day, while Master Eleazar surveyed their surroundings, tufts of white hair sticking up in all directions. Against the advice of Eleazar, Master Yarna had gone back to see if he could locate any survivors.
That was it, everyone she knew in the world.
Sara jumped as an arrow materialized in a tree trunk less than a foot away. It took a split second for her mind to register what she was seeing. “Get to cover. Arrows!” She ducked and rolled back to the cave entrance, sensing the others do the same. Another arrow struck the ground inches from her foot as she scurried to safety.
“Is everyone all right? Anyone hit?” Master Eleazar asked. When it was clear that no one had been injured in the ambush, the old man peeked outside. “They was waiting for us. I had hoped to get ya clear of here before they noticed ya were gone. We’re gonna need to think on this a moment.”
The scream of a monster from inside the cavern echoed through the tunnel, sounding much too close for comfort.
“Moment’s over.” Master Eleazar pulled a small shield from his back. “We’ve got a better chance against the arrows than we do against the beasty. The shooters are on the ridge a ways above us. If we can get deep enough into the trees, we can be clear of ‘em.”