by Jobe, David
The Broken City
By David Jobe
The Broken City
Copyright © 2017 David Jobe
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher and/or author. All characters featured in this novella are the property of David Jobe.
COVER ART BY Edward Hale
https://www.facebook.com/zeesguy0204/
COVER FORMATTING BY Alie Knopf
https://www.aknopf.com
EDITING BY Matt Crowder
https://www.theediting.ninja
ISBN Number: 978-1982051501
Flabisham Publishing
Publisher’s Note:
The Broken City is a work of fiction. All names, characters and places are the products of the author’s imagination, used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons living or dead places, locales, events, etc., is purely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
First Printing 2017
Dedicated to my mother, Wanda Brandt.
You are missed.
Part One
Chapter One
When the Man Comes Around
Chris Taylor knew as soon as he saw the sloping hill that he was inside another vision. In previous dreams, he had marched up the hill to find a dead woman sitting under an enormous tree decorated with puppets hung from the branches by their strings. He stood at the bottom looking up. He could see that something had ripped the tree from the ground with such force the dirt had exploded outward. The scene reminded him of an exit wound in a skull. Large chunks of dirt and grass littered the surrounding area. Bits of charred wood scattered the landscape. It looked like the tree had exploded. He had seen something like this before. Then, it had been the blackened wood from a single house littering two streets in the form of pine and oak shrapnel. He tried to remember how many had died in that furnace explosion, but the details drifted away like clouds on a breeze.
Over the hill, he could hear the sounds of people screaming. He knew a riot in progress when he heard one. You only have to live through one of those to never forget the awful sound. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before navigating up the hillside. With each step his feet pressed into wet ground, the sound of the moist earth sucking at his shoes. Though night obscured the color, he had no doubt he was stepping in blood. As he neared the original location of the tree, he could see a large black silhouette rising from an earthen crater. Blast marks emanated from the center, spiking out in all directions. As the smoke cleared enough, he caught sight of a large black cauldron that bubbled with milky white goo within. He saw a semi-liquid hand rise from the churning concoction, only to collapse back into the boiling brew. A fire raged beneath the cauldron, bright blue flames hugging the underside of it. Someone or something had heaped the shards of the tree under the cauldron to burn as the kindling. From the filmy liquid, a face half emerged, screaming out in silent horror as the eyes dissolved and the face quickly followed.
“What in the hell?” The stench from the thing made Chris gag. At the previous explosion they had discovered bodies, but even the most burnt had not cast off an odor as pungent as the one that assaulted him now.
“It’s fat rendering.”
Chris turned to look at the speaker. It stood at the crest of the hill that Chris had not yet made. Its formidable back to him as it watched whatever transpired beyond. At random intervals the sky beyond would light up in bright yellow or red, followed by more screams of anguish. Gunfire sounded, lighting the area up in strobe-light effects. The creature remained motionless against the sounds of death and destruction.
“I know you.” Chris moved to stand beside the stone creation. He could see that the creature’s stone skin had deep cracks in it, running away in spider-web patterns from places where whole chunks had been gouged out.
The creature turned to face him, its features hinting at sadness Chris had not expected to see. “You don’t. You really don’t.”
“No, I do. You are some sort of construct that is controlled by someone.” Chris’s mind raced to remember the names the news had used but drew a blank.
The creature frowned. “I am controlled by no one. My master is dead.”
Chris blinked. “Am I to save them then?” Chris’s visions had always seemed to be about savings someone. “What is their name? Where can I find them?”
The stone figure looked at him for a moment, as if taking time to mull over his questions.
Chris used the figures contemplation to look over the construct. It appeared as if someone had carved a medieval knight out of a smooth white stone. It wore a crest on his left breast that had taken some damage. Whatever it had been, now all Chris could see was a star with six points. The symbol looked familiar, but again his mind refused to find the part of his memory where the information might be.
Instead of answering him, it looked back over the valley below, drawing Chris’s attention there as well. “Something is about to happen.”
Below them stretched what had once been a parking lot. In the backdrop, he could see the factory or warehouse he had seen before, except now it lay in tatters. Steel beams jutted upward from concrete piles, most now holding up wriggling bodies. Someone had been taking people, or things, and impaling them on the rising spires of jagged steel. The last time Chris had seen a riot, it had been between two warring factions. Though the fighting had been intense, the sides had been easy to discern. Here, only chaos appeared to rule. Creatures and people slammed into each other, both on the ground and in the air. Winged monstrosities fought with angelic figures while raging behemoths plowed through smaller more normal sized. Chris watched as an enormous distorted monster reached up and pluck an angel out of the sky with one of its many twisted arms. With one mighty turn of its body, it flung the struggling winged person onto a waiting steel spike. Another scream joined the chorus. “What am I watching?”
“The end of times. Armageddon. Ragnarok. Sheol rising. Pick your religion, but it’s all death in the end.” They watched as a lone figure rose above the others, a majestic cape flapping behind it. The figure seemed familiar, though Chris found himself at a loss as to who it might be. He wondered if in these visions he was intentionally robbed of some of his memories. “There he is.” The moving statue spoke in reserved tones, but Chris felt a sense of awe in the stone man’s words. “The sixth cataclysm. The one that humankind will not survive.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a good guy.” Chris wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. “That’s one of ours.” It felt weird claiming that, but it felt right.
The creature gave a rumbling laughter that shook his massive shoulders. “He’s definitely one of yours.” It turned to gaze at him with empty eyes. “But today, evil wins. But not the evil down there that seeks to subvert science and humanity. No, today the ultimate evil calls checkmate on us all. Today, the darkness triumphs. Its long game finally paying off.”
Chris turned to look back at the floating figure, now filled with a sense of dread.
“YOU KILLED HER!” The flying man roared above the din of the battle. “FOR WHAT?! FOR THIS?!” The man slammed his hands together and then drew them apart as if he were stretching out bubblegum between them. In the center, all Chris could see was that no light touched whatever he summoned. “I’M TAKING IT ALL FROM YOU!” The man’s hands extended further, and so did the orb of swirling darkness.
A deafening blast shook the hillside Chris stood on, making him stumble on his feet, just barely managing not to fall backward. He looked up to stare at the stone creature. It
turned to face him, and as it did, pieces of its face broke away and flew toward the floating man. “You must stop him. There is no other way.” The side of the creature’s right eye socket broke away and sped off toward the black orb below.
Chris could feel the hillside start to slide, the ground moving toward the floating man.
“What am I supposed to do?!”
With half of its face missing, the stone creature made its final plea. It opened its mouth to speak, but half of its jaw crumbled and flew away. Then the rest of the creature shook apart and flew towards the growing black orb in the man’s hands.
Chris looked back at the man and could see that there were fewer people around him. As he watched, a young woman screamed and was sucked up into the swirling black maw of whatever the man had conjured. In the distance, Chris could see the skyline of Indianapolis. Great cracks appeared on the sides of the tallest buildings as they started to lean toward Chris and the floating man. With a thunderous crack, whole stories of a building broke away and hurled toward the man. Chris raised his hand as if to yell for the man to watch out, but his words became lost in the growling roar that built up around them. His outstretched arm became pained. He could feel something pulling on it. He watched as rips opened in his skin as his hand pulled further away from him. In a harrowing snap, his arm broke just below the elbow, sending his shattered limb rocketing toward the black sphere. He tried to scream, but then he felt his feet pulled from the wet earth. Spiraling, he flipped end over end toward the man and his creation.
Chris woke screaming in his room, flailing so hard he propelled himself out of bed and onto the cold linoleum floor.
Nurse Silvia Ray jumped as she finished zipping up the back of her nurse’s uniform. She gave him a perplexed look. “You were only out a few minutes.”
Chris pushed himself against the bed, looking over at the where Trip’s empty bed sat. “It was long enough.”
Silvia took a seat in the chair. “So, who are we supposed to save this time.”
Chris shuttered. “Everyone.”
“Is that all? And how do we do this?”
“First, I have to get out of this nuthouse.” Chris found himself rubbing the area of his arm where it had ripped away in the dream. It still gave a tingle as he sat there.
“A tall order in itself. And then what?”
“I think I am supposed to kill someone this time.”
Chapter Two
Empty the Clip
Red Cliffs National Park sat just north of Indianapolis, nestled back from one of the two major highways that cut through the state. Over two hundred acres of trees, pathways, and monuments. Dead center of the whole thing sat a small open-air café that looked out over the nearby green lawns that served as enjoyable picnic spots in the warmer months. Café Hangers did not see near as many customers in the winter months as it did in the summer, but its warm atmosphere and affordable, great tasting coffee ended up being the spot for hikers and joggers alike. Today was no exception. The place sat about fifty if every table was packed, but today it had about fifteen, mostly huddled in groups of two or three.
Only one sat alone, typing away at a keyboard and making a point to ignore the chatter that surrounded him. Stephen Holger did not see Lanton making the long journey down the quarter mile stretch of pathway that led to the stairs around Hangers. To either side of Lanton, well manicured green lawns stretched out for about two hundred yards.
Lanton saw Stephen. Lanton moved with the casual ease of any other person that might be strolling the park at this early hour. Just a hundred yards away now. The tip he had received from the barista had been solid, and Lanton knew if he spooked Stephen, the possible Altered psychopath would be in the wind again. And if Lanton’s hunch were true, that would mean a lot more dead people that Lanton still had no idea how to prove this man had orchestrated. That would obviously not end well. Not even in the slightest.
Lanton surveyed the scene as he crept closer. Two women sat to the man’s left, bent over their coffees and shivering against the cold. Each wore tight-fitting runner’s clothes and had their hair done up in tight ponytails. To Stephen’s right, sat two empty tables, and then an older man sat, his gaze lost in a white styrofoam cup. There were far too many people here for his liking, but then again it did seem to allow him to approach the man unnoticed. Lanton wondered what the man was reading on his laptop, if it was even his laptop. Eighty yards now, but it felt like a world away. He had no idea what this man would do, or might do if cornered.
Somewhere above him and to the left he heard a low hum that reminded him of the lights at the station. That low hum as power coursed through those brain numbing lighting fixtures. He tried not to think of that, or the station, and especially not of Millie. He had gotten off the phone with her to let her know that he planned on having a nice chat with Stephen. See if he could make some sense of all of this. See if the connections Lanton saw were real or just in his imagination. Millie had not been pleased. She had been quite vocal about the matter if he was being honest.
“Stop thinking about her.”
Sixty yards. He was beginning to see the dark aura of the man. A dark aura only he could see. He made a point to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Forty.
“Officer Lanton, stop where you are.” Stephen’s head came up to level a gaze at him. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize you or something? I was there that fateful day the bulletproof kid got shot.”
Lanton stopped walking toward the man, a weird queasy feeling coming over him. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Stephen closed his laptop and raised a brow. “Do with what?”
“With the death of Brian Lockhart.”
“Why would I do that?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
Lanton shook his head. “I don’t know. I am just here to ask you a few questions.”
“Then why is your hand near your gun, officer?”
Lanton looked down and saw that indeed his hand was near his gun. Lanton cursed under his breath. That had not been intentional. In fact, that had been the opposite of what he meant to do. He raised his hands in the air. “I am just here to talk.”
Stephen eyed him for a bit, then seemed to decide on something. He looked around. Everyone had their focus on the two of them. When Stephen’s gaze fell on them though, they all returned to looking at their cups. “Tell me why you are really here.”
Again that queasy feeling swept over him, this time stronger than the last. “I’m here to arrest you.”
Stephen clapped. “See, that’s what I like, straight answers. And what pray tell are you planning to arrest me for? I haven’t killed anyone, so it can’t be murder.”
“Conspiracy to commit murder. Criminal mischief. Coercion.”
Stephen whistled through his teeth. “That’s an interesting list. What evidence do you have that I did any of this?”
“My gut.”
“Your gut won’t hold up in court. Why are you arresting me without any real evidence?” He crossed his arms again.
Lanton just stared at the man.
“Oh right. Tell me why you are arresting me without any evidence.”
Lanton swallowed, feeling his guts churn. “Because you leave a pile of corpses in your wake.”
Stephen laughed at this. He looked around again. “Let’s say this is true. Why put all these people in danger?” The two women in exercise gear closest to him started to get up. “You. Sit down. You too.”
Both sat down as a glossy look came over their eyes.
Stephen turned to face Lanton. “Tell me. Why risk it?”
Lanton felt dizzy. “Because you are a monster.”
Stephen frowned. He rose from his seat and began packing away his laptop. “A monster am I? Let me show you how much of a monster I truly aim. Take out your pistol you were so eager to use. Do not point it at me.”
The dizziness intensified, but there was nothing he could do a
bout it. He reached down and unholstered his weapon.
Stephen nodded. “Good. Now put it in your mouth, point it at your brain and pull the trigger.”
Lanton raised the gun and placed it in his mouth. Tilting the barrel upward so that the sight scrapped across the roof of his mouth he pulled the trigger. The gun gave a hollow click. Lanton smiled around the barrel of the gun. He removed the gun and placed it back in his holster. “You’re not as smart as I thought you might be. If I knew to come and arrest you, you’d think I would know why? That I might have some inkling what you could do.”
Stephen stared, eyes wide. For a moment he said nothing but then a slow smile spread across his lips. He tossed out a folding knife that he pulled from his pocket. “Take this and kill yourself.”
Once again Lanton felt the dizziness wash over him. He looked at the knife and then to Stephen. “You know, this song and dance is getting tiresome. I don’t think I will.”