On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  Dana Plough was livid with her husband for cavorting with such a reprehensible class of people; the type of people that would trick a naïve young woman. A woman who hadn’t the skill to be anything but a glorified gofer, or to have any aspirations to be anything more. “If I don’t have that baby back in my arms in the next ten minutes, you’re going to know what Hell is. And it ain’t that crap you do.”

  “We’re going after him,” Satan started to place a hand on her shoulder but quickly yanked it back after the look that was shot his way.

  “We’ll help too.” Famine was anything if not gung-ho about the chance to do some more riding.

  “He headed south,” said The Death.

  “No, he went north,” corrected Conquest, much to the dismay of her fellow Horseman.

  “Oh yeah, I guess I’m a bit discombobulated today.” The Death’s plan of attack with trickery was being foiled by everyone around him. He had plotted and schemed for the better part of week, a time table he thought was an adequate time to save the world from total domination.

  Satan turned to Dana Plough, who hadn’t let the pure discontentment waver from her stoic face. “I’ll go get the van.”

  “Yeah, you go get the van.” The ice that fell off her words would have frozen a rhinoceros in its tracks “We’ll wait here.”

  *****

  “I think they’ve all gone?”

  “Who?”

  “Satan and the rest of them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Well, we need to be positively sure. He’ll have our asses if we stop fighting. It is the reason we’re here.”

  “But I’m so tired.”

  “Try to find out if they’re gone. All right?”

  “Yeah, he’s gone. I’m positive.”

  “So can we stop fighting now?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Thank goodness, my arms were getting tired.”

  “Look at my robe! I’ll never get all this blood out. Demeter, get the sleigh ready.”

  “Right boss.”

  “What is it with you people and all your talking today?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I swear when we get back there’s going to be some major spankings doled out. And not the fun kind either.”

  “Why don’t you leave him alone?”

  “Don’t think you’re not too big to put over my knee mister. By the way, is it true what they say about you guys?”

  “Perhaps I’ll let you find out sometime.”

  “Saucy!” blustered St. Nick.

  *****

  Barnaby adjusted the rear view mirror to catch the sight of the flashing blue lights of twenty state troopers. The sun was setting over the ocean, giving the world an eerie sense of beautiful calm, as the ‘borrowed’ Chevrolet Monte Carlo raced down the Coastal highway.

  A helicopter circled overhead brushing the leaves of the trees like a comb-over’s bad attempt at vanity. Barnaby squeezed the steering wheel as the car whirred around a sharp corner, the basket on the passenger seat swept from side to side.

  He watched the caravan of police cars, following a safe distance behind. “What am I doing?” he asked himself, shaking his head is the sheer disbelief of the mess he’d gotten into.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to ease the vice that had begun to press against his eyes; headaches were just one of the wonderful side effects of the week.

  The car whizzed past the green mile markers keeping score of how long he’d saved the earth. The tires left their furious marks with every heedless curve over the blacktop. The smell of low tide from the beaches sifted through the vents, filling the car with the foul stench rotting algae.

  The item in the basket began to cry, Barnaby glided a soothing hand over the cherubic cheeks of the little traveler. Its blue eyes filled with the reflection of the new moon that had crept from behind its blanket of the red and orange sunset. The car skidded through the warm night air as it raced to a destination unknown to by its driver. The blues and reds of the pursuing hunters lit the sky like fireworks, with the order of shoot to kill.

  *****

  Buck Sterling was not his given name, but the man born Gilpin Dipple thought it was more apt of a name to get him the lucrative anchor job he’d strived for. He was currently not on any list for possible promotion and was toiling away as the eye in the sky traffic reporter for San Bernadino’s fourth-rated local news cast. He had covered his fair share of car chases and this one was another ho-hum run of the mill chase, except for the fact that a stolen newborn was involved.

  This was the type of breaking news story that may get him recognized by the big boys; Dana Plough was a high-profile newswoman and with celebrity angst comes great ratings. As the helicopter whirred over the speeding cars he bided his time until the moment arose to come front and center as the voice of the biggest car chase in California history, apart from that other one [You know which one].

  *****

  The van caught up with the motorcade of blaring sirens, closely tagged by three horses and a big purple dinosaur. Juliet was in the rear, attempting to reinsert the IV into Henry’s arm that had jostled out, covering the back windshield with fluids.

  “Take this next exit!” Dana Plough screamed and swung her arms wildly, covering Satan’s view for an instance.

  “But we’ll get off the highway. We need to follow the car.”

  “Fine! I’ll do it!” She grabbed the steering wheel and the van went careening at seventy miles an hour down a darkened ramp toward a parallel side street. The van raced side by side with Barnaby. The smaller street straightened off as it whizzed through the underpass of the curving highway.

  *****

  The Sleigh, pulled by six white horses that had until a few years ago lived a happy existence as mice nibbling their existence away on delicious hospital food, roared inches above the pavement. The Norwegian St. Nick snapped the reigns as the others in the back held on for dear life. The sixteen that had withstood the tests of steel were clinging to one another, terror etched upon their wind-burnt faces.

  Ketty grasped Jeremiah’s hand as the sleigh bucked and scuttled in its hurried attempt to catch up to the frenzied procession. They all hopped on, eagerly wanting to see how this whole thing played out, plus Santa had ensured them all it would be a lovely ride, like a honeymoon carriage ride through the streets of Rome.

  Agent Number Six covered his eyes and held on tightly as the sleigh bounced several feet in the air as it dodged a wayward palm tree. “I can’t believe I survived a war only to be killed in a high speed wooden sled accident.” He screamed, the wind muffling his anxiety. “Look out for that tree!”

  “I don’t need any backseat drivers, thank you very much. I’ve driven this thing through rougher terrain than this.” St. Nick lied about that one.

  *****

  The van screeched as its right tires left the ground as it took the onramp at full speed. Satan’s eyes bulged out of his head as he clung for dear life onto the steering wheel. Dana Plough, with her nails embedded in the faux leather dashboard, screamed “Faster, Faster!” as the van now had a three mile cushion in front of Barnaby.

  A ways up the road a blockade of cop cars held sway, waiting for the Monte Carlo to arrive. Satan pulled over onto the median and watched as the still wobbly Dana Plough jumped out of the van and rushed to stand at the head of the whirring wall of sirens.

  *****

  “The car is traveling at terrific speeds still, the wall of police cruisers following close behind. This is one of those car chases where everyone is watching with baited breadth to see how many innocent people will die in a fiery explosion of twisted metal.” Buck Sterling shouted through his head mic, the wind ripping through his newly coifed mane, to the millions of Californians glued to their television sets.

  “Can you tell if the baby is still okay?” the voice of Carole Hill, news anchorwoman, came over his set.

  “I�
�m not Superman Carole. I can’t see through lead.”

  “Well, neither can Superman.” That one hurt Buck, as he knew the chase had been picked up by every national news cast and he had been bested by someone who was his main competition [In his mind only. In all honesty the weatherboy at Hillside Middle School in Logantown, MN had more of a chance at breaking into the national scene than he did].

  “Carole, I’m seeing an interesting turn of events developing right before my eyes.”

  “Does it look like the chase is ending?”

  “No. It seems that a man in a flying recliner has pulled up even with our channel 6 chopper.”

  “Did you say a flying recliner Buck?”

  “Yes. It seems to be a Lay-Z-Boy. And it seems to be equipped with a pair of sidewinder missiles.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m hearing you right, Buck.”

  “I think you are, Carole. I think you are.”

  Earl gave a wink and nod to the gaping Buck as he hovered next to him in the Earlinator Mach Two: now with cup holder. A cigar dangled out of his mouth as he adjusted his aviator glasses. This was the proudest day of his life; not only had he’d been the only supplier of the biggest little war ever fought, but he was getting his products national exposure.

  “Funtastic!” he said to himself, “Now let’s show these mothers what this baby can really do!” He pressed on a joystick that jutted up from the armrest and took off like a bolt of lightning. Buck could hear the man whooping a big ‘Yahoo!’ as he flew past, leaving the helicopter in its dust.

  *****

  The sleigh hit an orange barrel that lined the side of the road and spun around 360 degrees. St. Nick wrestled the reigns and got the sleigh returned to racing down the road. “My bad!” he cringed. He peered back at his passengers as they picked themselves off from the bungled heap they had been thrown into. With all the commotion no one had noticed that Actor Jonathan Frakes was hanging precariously from a speed limit sign in the distance.

  *****

  Barnaby slammed on the brakes as the car came screeching to a tire-smoking stop in the middle of the highway. He brought the sunglasses that he had being wearing through the darkened chase to the bridge of his nose. He studied the wall of cars that blocked the path to freedom.

  Behind him, orders to stop and surrender were being blasted over loud speakers. He threw the car into park and revved the engine. A bemused curl progressed across his lips as he pondered the mess before him and the chaos that was behind.

  The baby started to cry again, kicking and punching the air around him. The child was starting to feel the overwhelming destiny it had been fated to deliver. Barnaby tapped on the steering wheel, desperately trying to come up with a way to get out of the predicament he had gotten himself into.

  There was no way he could go forward and going back was out of the question. To the left a four foot tall line of concrete cylinders separated the lanes and the right dropped to a thirty foot chasm of rocks and rushing water.

  “Let’s see, about a dozen or so behind us; Twenty, give or take, in front, and three helicopters; seems like we're quite the celebrated pair, you and I." he quipped to his fussy passenger. He wiped a pool of white spittle that had formed from the sides of his mouth and shrugged.

  The child stopped crying for a moment to let out a chuckle from under his cocoon of blankets. The coo was cold and calculating and sent chills up Barnaby’s spine. It seemed to him that the little one knew what was ahead for them and the baby was going to get a front row seat to the ass whipping for which Barnaby was in store.

  Barnaby turned on the radio and searched the stations for the appropriate music for the moment and what he was about to do. He stopped at Southern California’s number one oldies station and turned up the volume. R. Dean Taylor’s Indiana Wants Me rose up from the car’s custom made speakers as a wry smile formed on his face like a penny shaped by laying it on the railroad tracks.

  "And now, here comes the fun part." The rubber of the tires squealed as the Monte Carlo took off down the highway toward the barricade of police cars awaiting his eventual stop. He crooned along with the radio at the top of his lungs, playing the steering wheel as if he were the SLA’s answer to Buddy Rich. "Sing it with me kid!" Barnaby hit the gas and sped toward the wall of cars.

  The line of cops had their scopes set on the center of Barnaby’s head as the car raced closer to its seemingly intended end. As the car sped closer, the faces of the pending captors fell slightly; the realization came over them that perhaps the Monte Carlo was not, in fact, going to stop at what they had considered its predetermined destination.

  As the car rushed forward, one of the officers, a green-faced young rookie, gulped and thought just for a brief minute that he could make out the driver’s face, and it occurred to him as he was leaping into a ditch on the side of rode as the car plunged headfirst into the blockade that he could make out a slight grin.

  The car flipped three times and burst into a towering ball of flames as it hit the fortified wall of cruisers head on. Twisted metal flew through the air as the flames shot into space, scattering seared pieces of leather seating like snowflakes through the night sky. Several firefighters rushed to extinguish the burning car.

  Through the smoke and ashes they could see the woman in red sobbing, her knees buckled as she collapsed to the ground. Her hands pounded the pavement as she screamed in horror at the wreckage that lay before her.

  *****

  Satan rushed over and knelt down beside Dana Plough, holding her tightly in his sympathetic arms. He watched dolefully as the river of mascara streamed down her face.

  He stared at the smoldering heap of metal that lay crumpled in the middle of road as pillars of black smoke rose from the corpse of the Monte Carlo. The remaining Insurance Agents took their places at his side as they stood stoically over the shoulder of their emotionally tormented bosses.

  *****

  The Four Horsemen gave the wreckage a quick once over, shrugged, then headed back to their respective homes. It had been a long few days and they were all set for a nice long vacation. Famine, wars, conquest and deaths could be handled by the masses for now. In a few days perhaps they would feel like causing a little destruction, but right now they were content in letting humans do what humans do; whatever that was.

  *****

  Ketty clutched Jeremiah’s arm as she searched in the distance for Barnaby. Nothing stirred from inside the wreckage. “Do you think he’s--?”

  Jeremiah held her close and shook his head in conformed realization. She buried her head into his chest and cried. As the paramedics and fire fighters hurried around them she glanced up in the sky and watched as a tiny sleigh washed past. Its silhouette glowed in a heavenly spectral enchantment of the moonlight as it disappeared into the stars.

  *****

  Officer Jimmy Johnson waved his arms as he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I’ve got him. I’ve got him!” He pointed a shaky pistol at Barnaby who stood feet in front of him. He was dressed all in black and held the largest scythe that Officer Johnson hadn’t noticed a second before.

  Earl was standing next to Barnaby and was grinning from ear to ear at the tool he had just placed into his hands. The blade was five feet long and seemed to grab the light of the moon and slice it like bread.

  “Actually,” said Barnaby, his fore finger scratching under his lip, “Technically, I’ve got you.”

  Officer Johnson looked around and saw his, the last time he remember, attached upper torso lying a few yards away. His lower half was dangling from a tree branch above. “The bright side of this whole occasion,” Barnaby smiled at the confused trooper, “You were the only one to die.”

  *****

  The sleigh flew over the Pacific Ocean, waves crashed over its massive expanse, as water sprayed the riders. Santa tugged hard on the reigns, the horses taking off in a hurried gallop. “Pretty good night,” he concluded, watching the horizon zip by under the carriage. He flic
ked a stray sequin that dangled from his blood and soot-covered robe.

  In the back Guy-Williams held close to his chest a cooing bundle of blankets. A little hand reached out and latched gently onto his finger. Guy-Williams smiled, dangling a shiny silver pendant just out of the reach of the happy fingers.

  St. Nicholas smiled as he slapped the reigns and nodded contentedly to himself; it was going to be nice to have a baby around the house.

  THE END?

  *****

  TWO WEEKS AFTER THE BIRTH

  “All I’m saying is Gladiola is kind of a silly name, when you think about it.”

  “I didn’t tease you,” said Gladiola, nee The Death of Australia, New Zealand and Countries with a Population less than 500 Total People. The Death had been so proud of Barnaby’s name that he decided to give all his employees the joys of having a real moniker. The other deaths had pleaded with him to allow them to pick out their own names, but The Death would have none of it; he was having too much fun doing it himself.

  “You teased me at every opportunity you got.” Barnaby was having a good laugh at the others’ pain, much like they had with him.

  “Whatever.”

  Barnaby stood on the steps and looked over the sea of people that scurried about the Great Hall of Evil. Satan was throwing an almost baby party and everyone was invited. He hadn’t seen or talked to the Lord Prince of Darkness since the big day and wasn’t sure how he’d react when they finally came face to face. He ran a hand down over his face and tugged at his jaw. He blew out a sigh and headed through the crowd.

  They walked into the huge ballroom of Satan’s Palace. “Mr. Barnaby and Ms. Gladiola,” announced the butler.

  Barnaby clutched the bowl of jell-o he had brought as a peace offering. They made their way over to the receiving line where Satan and The Death were busy in conversation. He crept up slowly and offered a remorseful bow to Satan. He watched as Satan stared a Grand Canyon sized hole through Barnaby. “No hard feelings?” he gulped.

  Satan kept his stare locked into Barnaby’s eyes and The Death and Gladiola slunk away out of the reach of the danger. Satan smiled and placed his large hand inside of Barnaby’s.

  “No hard feelings.” Satan gave him a crooked little smile as Barnaby sighed in relief as he felt an intended hand slap him across the back. “It’s all in the past. Plus, I know he’s well taken care of. A kid could do worse than growing up with Santa Clause.”