Red Sky: Rising

by Ben Archer

  Every television, phone, and radio broadcasts the same condescending sound. There’s a low voice in the background, too muffled to comprehend, but audible never-the-less. My hair stands on end from the building static charge. Something’s coming. Something so unmistakably evil that it’s as tangible as the pages of this book.

  As if on cue, every screen in the city flickers on. Even the electronic billboards show the black and white lines of a video without picture. Dozens and dozens of empty displays blink on with only the hissing sound. Large crowds are gathering below. They silently stare at me without fear, anger, or judgment. They actually seem devoid of any kind of emotion at all. It’s as if they’re blank canvasses just waiting around to be painted. They don’t even change when the mysterious screens begin filling in line by line.

  The slow reveal is far worse than anything that could be waiting on the other side. My eyes dart manically between buildings as if one of them already has the complete picture. The creature gradually forms from the bottom up. By the time it reaches the snarling jaw, I don’t need (or want) any more to appear. The slender chin and glistening teeth could only belong to one person.

  The Keeper.

  I watch as the face contaminates every screen in sight like a virus. Although it’s not really possible, his piercing eyes seem locked on me. They look right into my soul and pull out my greatest vulnerabilities. His penetrating stare leaves me wanting to crumble down to the ground, melt, and blend in with the dirty concrete.

  Quinn’s unnerving rage is gone as well. She’s spinning, watching the screens, just as speechless as I am. Neither of us know where to go from here. The massive faces leave us trapped on a virtual island by the snarling man.

  “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Flynn” cracks the Keeper. His tone is not nearly as approving as the words would imply. I instinctively launch into a joke about compensating with the size of his screen, but he doesn’t react to it. Even though he ignored me in Vegas, this seems different. He’s delivering a speech instead of having a conversation. I shout several more pointless, totally random things at the screen to confirm my theory he really can’t see or hear us. I don’t know how this information helps, other than make me feel better, but it’s good to have anyway.

  I let Quinn in on the discovery and she couldn’t care less. She’s mindlessly rubbing her locket in the same worried way as usual. The wider the circle, the higher the stress level. She’s almost tracing the rim at this point.

  For some reason, the Keeper isn’t nearly as threatening as he was back in Vegas. This sounds more like a recruitment pitch than the “I’m going to watch you die” speech. I wonder if this is all flattery to lure us out, or maybe something more?

  A sudden thump, like a fallen statue, crashes next to me. An abrupt wind and several little pebbles pelt my ankles. At first I thought it might have been a gun shot that barely missed, although I find nothing by looking around. In fact, I find no one at all, including Quinn. Then I look by my feet…

  Quinn’s down.

  Chapter 36: Troublemaker

  Should I scream or cry?

  Both sound equally great.

  A mad scramble ensues to drag the limp body away from the edge. There’s no blood, and her breathing is steady. The only thing my relentless shaking has achieved so far is causing her hair to sprawl across tightly closed eyes. Nothing about her tranquil face reveals any kind of pain at all. By any normal measure, besides being in a coma, she’s fine!

  I continue searching high and low for a clue to the terrifying new mystery. What’s happening now??? There are no cuts, bumps, or bruises. Nothing is out of place. The only hint of injury is the almost dried spot of blood in the very center of her palm. How this pin-sized prick even stands out in the first place, I don’t know. It’s so insignificant that it couldn’t possibly be the cause of a total collapse like this.

  Could it?

  I know I really need to move on to find the real source, but something keeps drawing me back to the insignificant spot. There’s a biting suspicion that makes my eyes linger on the perplexing spot for longer than they should.

  Then I find it. Maybe…

  Circling her palm is an indentation about the size of a coin. The familiar ridges, firmly embedded in the wrinkles of her skin, lead directly towards the tiny hole like the rings on a target. They’re right where she was holding that damn locket!

  I rush to find the little pendant laying innocently by her side. It’s flipped over and all I see is some writing, “Patris amor. Amor patris”. The words certainly couldn’t have caused it, so I treat the delicate locket like a ticking bomb ready to blow any minute. I watch it dangle from the end of my shaking finger. It spins slowly as the sun traces its smooth valleys and ridges. The thing seems built from a solid block of steel. There are no cut marks or seams. There’s no beginning or end to the flowing inscription. It’s as if the metal formed around the elegant words. The thing has survived living in the scorching desert with a crazy man, yet there aren’t even any scratches on it!

  It takes several careful rotations to finally find the one piece that doesn’t belong. And it’s the flash from the tip of the needle that eventually gives it away... Poking out of the center is a thin spike, no larger than a thorn, and barely thick enough to be visible. That son of a bitch POISONED HER!!!!!! I knew something was wrong with that creepy bastard! Who else would be standing in the middle of a Goddamn desert, in a suit and pimp hat, with a fat-ass owl? Son of a bitch! Son of a bitchin’ bitch bitch!

  The insults flow fast and loud. My hands twitch at the thought of wrapping them around his wrinkly neck and twisting until it pops! I wanna walk back across that inferno just to shove that big round bird all the way up his crazy ass!

  Keeper doesn’t pause his monotonous speech throughout my meltdown. He doesn’t take a breath, or skip a beat, while giving a long list of reasons for all the shitty things they do. The yammering voice, combined with a comatose kid, drives me to launch into a profanity rich collection of insults at the floating head. This time he reacts to them.

  Somehow, someway, the angry man heard me. His speech takes a sudden hiccup before coming back far more agitated. He still isn’t talking directly to me, but his big recruitment speech is clearly over.

  Quinn’s still motionless on the ground and nothing will wake her. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this sleeping problem either. The first round of hypnosis was a real pain in the ass, this one isn’t looking much better.

  A new rumble comes up through the floor like a minor earthquake has started. I peek over to find an entire horde of vampires climbing the side of the building like the silent man did. The Keeper’s patience has obviously come to a very abrupt end. It seems there’s no more time to diagnose the mystery illness here, so I’ll just have to scoop up the mostly dead girl and figure it out later.

  I head toward the open staircase with the sound of another chase to keep me company. Most of the actual steps are skipped, instead leaping from landing to landing, floor to floor. Quinn bounces hard over my shoulder with each new jump. It’s not ideal, but there’s no other choice than to protect her head and keep on going. That system works great until they start coming up the stairs too!

  Can’t go down.

  Can’t go up.

  Going sideways.

  I crash through a security door leading into a hallway where every door is individually numbered: 412, 413, 414, 415, etc. Some have personalized welcome mats so I would guess they’re apartments.

  The way I see it, I can keep running and get trapped in a tight corner, or get into a room that could at least be a choke point. Maybe we could luck into finding a place to barricade ourselves in? Or maybe even a fire escape to crawl down? Long story short, there seems to be way more choices inside.

  So which door?

  Duck.

  Duck.

  %#@$’ it…

  Goose.

  My hip makes quick work of the flimsy lock. The door flies open
and scares the hell out of the two ladies waiting inside. I slide in while trying to extinguish their screams before they attract the horde outside. “Shhhh shhhh shhhhh ─it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  One of them is holding a new born baby tight up against her. My usual instinct would be to lash out to shut them up, make them fear me, except the innocent baby is keeping my claws locked. Even the monster isn’t that big of a monster. So, other than fear, what’s the only other emotion I can possibly appeal to?

  Greed.

  The glistening gold coins silence the crowd the moment they slide out. It won’t buy me much time (pun firmly intended) so this needs to be quick. “I’m Quinn and this is Hayde… err… I’m Hayden and this is Quinn.” So much for a speedy resolution.

  One of the ladies is in the kitchenette with a bottle. The other is on the couch with its young owner. For some reason the baby doesn’t seem troubled by me at all. He’s stuck with wide eyes and pursed lips as if I’ve interrupted him midsentence. He looks to be more intrigued than anything.

  The smaller of the women, who had been making the bottle, returns to her wife and baby. When she sits next to them I notice they’re both wearing matching oversized sweatshirts and PJ bottoms. The only major difference is one shirt has a dog, while the other is a cat.

  “I know this looks bad, but we’re not going to hurt you. My friend and I are in a world of trouble. There are people right outside looking for us and we didn’t do anything wrong. Actually, we’re running from the same people who killed this girl’s family. We’re desperate and will gladly pay for your help.” If the money doesn’t work, maybe sympathy will.

  A forceful hand bangs on the door at that exact moment. Screams to be let in are flowing through the thin wood. The ladies take advantage by scanning up and down to find any kind of hole in our story. We’re battered and bruised, so if they’re judging on looks alone, I like our chances. Precious seconds tick by without any kind of response to the group. I hold the gold coins up and mouth the word please. Appealing to their sympathies alone isn’t enough when our lives are on the line. There’s no trust with a stranger, only mutual self-interest.

  The smaller lady in the cat shirt opens her mouth ─only to close it again. She leaves us all in suspended animation until piping up in a strained voice, “We… we’re feeding our baby. Hold on.”

  She stares at me the entire time. We never lose our uneasy visual truce while scooting out of the cramped living room. The closest exit ends up being their windowless bedroom. So much for having a backup plan.

  I gently nudge the door closed and lock it behind me. I’m not sure what protection the weak wood will offer, other than making me feel better, except it doesn’t even do that. Quinn is quickly laid across the bed so I can return to listening to the events unfolding outside. I lean my ear against the wall just as the front door is forcefully thrown open. The knob slams into the wall as the mob starts shouting at the ladies. Almost instantly the newborn cries at the top of his lungs. After that the conversation is hard to hear, but I get the most important part, “There’s no else one here.”

  Chapter 37: Dream On

  I finally get to expel the stale air I’d been clinging to when the front door slams shut. Still fearful of a trap, I barely crack the door to make sure they’ve actually gone. Thankfully the ladies are the only ones waiting for me. Although, they’ve relocated to the kitchen with shiny new knives in hand.

  “Sit” they command. I slowly do as they say while putting my hands up to further diffuse the tense situation. “No problem. I told you, we don’t want any trouble.” My promise doesn’t seem to make them feel any better. They still have the protective scowl of distressed mama bears.

  “Where did your friend go?” by the end of their question, I’m already pointing at Quinn draped over the bed. She hasn’t moved an inch and I really don’t expect her to anytime soon. “She’s hurt. Poisoned, I believe.” This immediately deflates the shoulders of dog-sweatshirt lady with the baby. I get the feeling she’s holding herself back from running to help Quinn right now.

  The women were obviously in the middle of a casual Sunday when we interrupted. Cat pajamas lady is a brunette, almost my height, with well-defined cheekbones that plainly express her strong disapproval of me. Dog lady, on the other hand, is a petite blonde with a high ponytail that matches her more forgiving nature. They seem to be at the very beginning of their adult lives together. Photos confirm that college isn’t very far in the rearview mirror, and neither is their wedding. So this makes the second happy family we’ve invaded in the last few days. Awesome…

  The baby has slowed down his crying and the ladies have shown an interest in hearing my story. Although they still haven’t reached the lowering of knives stage yet. My mind is pulled in a thousand different directions while filling them in on the details. I’m trying to juggle Quinn’s mysterious condition, a plan to get out of here, listening for the mob’s return, and keeping these ladies happy. As a result the story comes out a bit scrambled, sounding like a lie, even though it really isn’t.

  I’m still in the process of attempting to win them over when the lights go out. The mechanical hums throughout the entire building grind to a sudden halt. Every fan, buzzing lightbulb, and whirring motor go instantly silent. In their place is the deep voice of the Keeper. “That was a very convincing disappearing act, Mr. Flynn. I could have my men keep searching for you, or I could burn the entire block down. Do I seem like a patient man to you, Mr. Flynn?” I make it to the window in time to see the subtle grin of satisfaction on his usually grim face. There’s a twinkle in his eye at the mere thought of burning down his own city.

  “You have five minutes to show yourself, but I’m going to blow up the first building in three. You don’t want to know what happens if I make it all the way to five.” It takes 10 seconds to comprehend the need to physically move. It’s clear where I have to go, though Quinn’s fate is a bit cloudier. That will depend entirely on these two strangers.

  I stagger away from the window with legs numb from shock. I’m trying to keep it together, but already fraying at the edges. One knee gives out completely, sending me crashing back into the coffee table. I’m stuck in a daze and drunk on fear. I seriously need to get my shit together and, at least, make it outside before falling apart entirely.

  “Ple…” My tongue gets stuck while pleading with the ladies. “Please.” is about as far as my mind can go. One of them approaches with kind eyes. I don’t even know which one. She gives the baby to her wife and takes my hand. Her gentle touch makes me want to break down, except the countdown has already started, and I’ve wasted a full minute.

  “I have no right to ask this, but I’m out of options-- her life depends on you all now. If I don’t go out there many people will die; including everyone in this room. You don’t know me, but you know that much is true.” I lay the three gold coins on the broken coffee table. Even though it’s slanted, somehow, the cursed treasures don’t slide.

  “Please.”

  During that last word I’m not looking at the women anymore. My eyes have been drawn to the helpless Quinn instead. She’s stranded here and there’s nothing I can do about that. All we’ve done so far is to kick the can further down the road, barely making it through each day. That ends here.

  I look back at the ladies who unexpectedly have so much depending on them. As usual the words aren’t there, but the sincerity is. “Please” running out the door one last time.

  Chapter 38: Let It Be Me

  By the time I make it to the hallway I have no idea how much time is left. I also haven’t figured out exactly what it is I’m going to do yet. My monster is the one who usually guides me through this stuff. This time it gets to be Hayden Flynn in control when it matters most. One thing’s for sure, I need to get as far away from here as possible. Would he make good on the promise to blow up these buildings? Don’t know for sure, but the chances seem pretty good. It’s also a solid bet he would sta
rt with the last place they saw me.

  Even before reaching the stairs my plan takes a hit. A small group of people lined up at door like bowling pins ready to be split. My legs hesitate for a second, before hitting full speed to plow right through them. Luckily, and for some weird reason, the entire group steps aside. I mean completely at once. As in, their feet move as one.

  They also wear the same blank expressions of the crowd outside. Looking at them is like staring into the dead eyes of a mannequin. There’s even more of the same waiting in the cramped stairwell. Several small groups have gathered to watch me in the same detached way. Every head follows in perfect unison as I run by. As extremely freaky as they are ―and they’re extremely freaky― they’ll have to be added to the list of things to worry about later.

  I finally reach the bottom of the stairs and fling open the door leading to the main floor. Another group is waiting; same dead look, same crooked neck, except they’re pointing as if to give directions. Which I follow with (almost) no hesitation.

  They lead me into another wall of people that cut off every direction except one. I again don’t fight the tide and just keep running. The story is the same at every turn. Every place I could need guidance, they’re there to show me the way. They never steer me wrong either.

  Without them: I would have gotten lost several times.

  With them: I’m standing at the exit to who knows what.

  I shove both of the grand doors wide open to accept whatever fate lies on the other side. That turns out to be rows of hundreds, no thousands, of people lining the street. There’s a mob on each side as deep as the eye can see. Familiar dead expressions and all. Carved down the center is a narrow lane meant only for one person ─me.