Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

anyone who can brush that off so calmly.”

  “The city attracts all types,” Franklin nodded. “If I didn’t feel content to live amongst them I would have sequestered myself in a castle.”

  Tires screeched in the street. The home’s old windows rattled as some massive vehicle came to an abrupt stop just outside. Metal bearings dragged across a metal runner, the sound of a van door sliding open and then jamming against the bodywork. Franklin’s attention turned, surprised by the disturbance in the traditionally quiet neighborhood.

  A second later the living room window exploded, sending shards of glass ripping through the air. Franklin and Will both dove to the floor, throwing up their hands to cover the backs of their heads just in time to feel the spiny glass prick their skin. Something collided with the back wall of the room, thumping against the wood. It bounced and skidded across the carpet. Bowling up and slamming into his leg, it came to rest next to Will.

  As the glass continued to rain throughout the room in an undulation of noise, the moving door slammed shut on the vehicle outside. The engine revved and the tires squealed again as it sped off. Turning sharply at the street corner, rubber flapped as it drifted through the intersection. The sound of the engine bled into the ambient sounds of the afternoon.

  Will and Franklin groaned while lifting their heads up. Both looked at each other with frightened eyes, and jerked around to scan the room. Franklin pressed his hands down, pushed himself up painfully, and scuttled over to the window.

  The edges were jagged, and the wood frame torn up. Franklin’s face drooped in shocked horror as he ran his shaking fingers along the wreckage. Both hands then clenched into fists and vibrated rapidly. His whole body tightened up to fight off the onset of hyperventilation. That didn’t stop his perturbed lungs from wheezing.

  From the floor, Will emerged, rubbing his neck and brushing the dust off his arms. Each joint cracked as he ascended. His face dipped into his hands, which rubbed the crystals from his cheeks. Upon opening his eyes and staring through his fingers, he saw the object that had created the ruckus. A rock rested against his sneaker with a piece of paper tied around the center. He scooped it up and unraveled the bound note.

  “Give us the cup, and the girl lives,” Will read aloud. “What the hell?”

  At the window Franklin’s brows raised and his pupils widened. His head twisted around. When his shoulders followed he began to step slowly back to Will.

  “What did you say?”

  Will held up the note, giving Franklin a concerned look. Franklin’s eyes never lost sight of the paper as he approached and plucked it away. The note rattled in his hands as he read quietly.

  “How did they find me?” Franklin rasped. “Who are they?”

  “I’ll call the police,” Will declared.

  Looking up, Franklin exclaimed, “You can’t! Don’t!”

  “Are you crazy? Why do you keep saying that?” Will pressed. “What is going on?”

  “We can’t,” Franklin said softly, face still buried in the note. “What am I going to do?”

  “We have to do something! They’ve got your daughter!”

  “Vivie,” Franklin responded despondently. “Oh God. How did this happen? They knew me. How is it possible?”

  Franklin began to pace frantically, clutching his forehead, lips repeating the same impossible questions. Will listened to streaks of psychopathy leech into Franklin’s dull speech. The old man’s body continued to quake with an obsessive rage.

  “I have to call George. Where is John right now? He should be back now. Is James still in town? Wait no, he’s in D.C. this month, I think. Thomas, oh God, he could be anywhere. I have to warn them. Why Vivie? We were safe so long, why now?”

  “Ben,” Will interjected, “what is going on? We have to call the police.”

  Franklin turned, remembering the young man in the room. He rushed over, crazy-eyed.

  “Will,” Franklin pleaded, “you have to help. You‘ve seen them. You know who they are.”

  “I don’t know anything. I have no idea what’s going on! Who are they? Why can’t we call the cops? Tell me what’s happening so I can help.”

  Franklin sank into his chair, pounded his fists on the armrests and then covered his face with a groan.

  “Damn it,” he yelled.

  “I don’t understand,” Will said, forcing a calm inflection to cool the old man’s temper. “Tell me how to help.”

  Franklin looked up with realized dejection in his face. His mouth curled deeply, stricken by the knowledge that was forming in his mind.

  “Lord help us if old fate has found another quester. I don’t want to involve you, Will,” Franklin said, “but it isn’t my choice. I don’t know why, that’s just how it goes.”

  As both men looked at each other, Franklin’s face showed continuing melancholy as Will’s revealed further confusion. A clatter in the alley outside the home caused them to jolt with fright. Subsequent murmurs beyond the walls and a muffled order ignited fear in Franklin who grabbed Will’s arm.

  “We have to get out of here,” Franklin chirped.

  A booming thud came from the kitchen as someone threw their shoulder into the back door. A crack sounded in tandem as the bolts held, but split the frame. Franklin wrenched Will’s arm, trying to drag the dumbfounded young man out of the room. A mix of disbelief and fear had glued Will to the floor.

  “Will, come on,” Franklin urged hoarsely. “No one can help us now, we’ve got to move.”

  Franklin bolted down the hallway, swinging his arm to beckon Will to follow. More movement in the alley, and a foreign-sounding voice shot the life back into Will’s body. He turned, suddenly conscious, and sprinted after Franklin who had flung open the cellar door. The old man toddled down the creaky staircase.

  “Lock it behind you,” Franklin called up to Will.

  Will twisted the latch, clamored down the wooden steps and rounded the banister like it was a preseason drill. Darting after Franklin, who was raiding the drawers of a workmen’s bench, Will discovered a basement that looked like a mad scientist’s laboratory. The tables throughout the room were a mass of tangled wires, various glassware, circuit boards and rusty tools. Worn furniture, stacks of faded magazines and what looked like half of an ancient printing press were illuminated by a set of swinging fluorescent lamps.

  Franklin slammed a drawer shut shouting, “Found it!”

  He waved a bulky iron key around in the air and rushed past Will towards an old wardrobe. From upstairs there came another rumble, and both men heard a thud on the floor boards above their heads. Shivering and sweating, Franklin moaned as he craned back around to jam the key into the wardrobe’s lock.

  “Gun safe?” Will asked hopefully.

  “Wouldn’t help down here,” Franklin advised. “We’ve got to escape.”

  “Escape? Where?”

  Franklin cajoled the lock open and threw back the doors to reveal a collection of dusty frock coats. Pushing them aside, he jumped in and began feeling around the seams between the panels.

  “We’re going to hide?” Will exclaimed.

  Another bump upstairs drew Will’s attention to the cellar door. He looked up the steps, searching for signs of an attempt to enter. Everything was quiet for a moment, until a metallic squeal split the air of the basement. Will spun around, his heart frantically pumping blood into his limbs, searching for the cause of the sound.

  He didn’t see Franklin. Will leapt over to the wardrobe, and gazed into a cavernous black space behind the coats. A hand reached out of the darkness, gripped him tightly around the wrist and yanked him inside.

  “Hold this,” Franklin’s voice sounded with a slight echo.

  A flashlight burst its beam into Will’s eyes, blinding him. Franklin flipped around, grabbed the edges of the wardrobe’s back board, and arduously slid it shut. They were sealed inside what felt like a tomb behind the old piece of furniture. Stepping away, Franklin allowed a steel gate to swing back. He snatc
hed the key out of his pocket and began to fiddle with the gate’s lock until the way was firmly closed.

  Immediately after, a second flashlight clicked on in Franklin’s hands. He pointed it over Will’s shoulder, revealing a long tunnel that sloped down into the Earth.

  “This way.”

  Beer Is The Proof

  It was clear from the burning sensation in Will’s lungs that the space was not ventilated. The tunnel shaft continued to narrow, allowing only one person through at a time. The walls were caked in dust, the archways overhead had lost their shape from the undulating pressures of the city above, and it was so barren that even spiders didn’t take up residence. There was seemingly no destination, no light at the end, but Franklin trudged on into the depths.

  Will’s mind was roiling with bewilderment. The transition from a perfectly normal summer day to a bizarre hike into an ancient abyssal crypt was a blur. He struggled to keep the details straight, but with each one that fell back into place another question broke apart the timeline in his mind. None of the things he had seen or heard made sense. They were like jigsaw pieces from different puzzles, fitting together but unable to present a cohesive picture.

  After about ten minutes, the passage opened up to form a niche. A group of barrels, roughhewn with jagged banding, were clustered together. Franklin laid down his flashlight and hopped up on one, wiping his face with his sleeve and coughing out the stale air.

  “Give me a few moments to catch my breath, Will.”

  The plump