Christopher's Blade

by Ron Ripley

  Joyce shrugged off her pack, fished out some food and a canteen, and a small chemical heater for her meal. It wouldn’t give off enough of a heat signature to boost her own. Plus, there are plenty of deer out here bigger than I am.

  She smiled and considered her situation as she ate. It was getting close to mid-afternoon. Soon, she would need to find a place to camp.

  I should stop here for the night, she thought. Enough room to pitch the tent. Whatever team Worthe sends out next can’t be far behind, and I don’t want to get caught out in the open. Or trying to make camp. No, this is good.

  Happy with her decision, Joyce removed her snowshoes, stuck them upright against the tree and enjoyed her meal.

  ***

  Marcus and Alex stood in the chapel. Elaine was outside, the dead woman looking far stronger than Marcus ever remembered. The boy sat on one of the pews, smiling and swinging his legs.

  “How are you feeling?” Marcus asked, finishing his examination of the salt which served as Nathaniel’s prison.

  “Good,” Alex replied. His grin broadened. “Do you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Marcus asked, limping to the pew and sitting down beside the boy.

  “The energy,” Alex said. “It’s everywhere in here. In the Village, too. I don’t think Worthe realizes it. There’s so much electricity in the air!”

  The boy was beaming.

  “I can’t say I feel it,” Marcus said, grinning, “but I can certainly see you do. What of the dead, do they feel it, too?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “Have you seen Elaine? She almost looks alive. It’s the same with all the Huron warriors and the Frenchmen, too. Even the ghosts in the houses are a little more lively.”

  “Do you know where it’s coming from?” Marcus asked.

  Alex nodded. “Yeah. Christopher’s house. It’s like someone turned on all the lights there. I can see it glowing when I look at it.”

  Marcus never saw the house glow. Not even at night.

  “Is it a good thing?” Marcus asked carefully.

  Alex considered the question before he answered, “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s pretty great and all, but if the ghosts can feel it, then it means they’re getting stronger. It’s a good thing for our friends. Not for Christopher. He’s dangerous enough as it is.”

  “Who is? Santa?” Timmy asked, stepping into the chapel.

  “No,” Alex said, giggling, and then he repeated what he had told Marcus.

  “Hell, this is bad news,” Timmy said.

  Marcus waited for some sort of joke to follow, and when none did, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Whenever Worthe wanted to put a ghost on steroids,” Timmy said, “he would turn up the generators. They’re in every house. The generators create extra energy so the dead can feed off them. I mean, that’s what he told us, anyway. Kid, you say you can see it coming from Christopher’s house?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “Every once in a while, I can even see some of the ghosts from the other houses. They come out to, well, I guess to get a taste of the energy at Christopher’s. He doesn’t let them in. They leave him alone.”

  “Huh, go figure,” Timmy muttered.

  “Well, this is certainly unwelcome news,” Marcus said. He got to his feet, happy he didn’t wince as he did so. “I think it might be best for us to return home in light of this new information.”

  “Okay,” Alex said, hopping off the pew happily. He skipped ahead of Marcus, past Timmy, and settled in beside Elaine for the walk home. As the dead woman and the boy got a head start, Timmy turned to Marcus.

  “Do you think they’ll attack us?” Timmy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Marcus said. “It is not a question I would like answered. Not until we’re home and safe behind a closed door.”

  “I know the Huron dead told us they couldn’t do much against other ghosts, but do you think they would at least be able to slow one of them down if Alex was being attacked?” There was genuine concern in the man’s voice, an emotion Marcus hadn’t thought his son capable of.

  “Again,” Marcus said gently, “not information I would care to discover at this time.”

  Timmy nodded his agreement, then called out, “Hey, kid! Wait for us!”

  Alex paused and waved.

  A moment later, the old man appeared.

  ***

  Alex saw the flash of fear on Marcus’ face before he felt Elaine tug on his arm. With his heart leaping in his chest, Alex turned around to see what frightened Marcus and alarmed Elaine.

  A small, old man stood less than twenty yards away. Alex knew he was dead not only because of the old-fashioned clothes he wore, but because both eyes were missing. Blood dripped down over his cheeks and settled in his white beard. Part of the man’s scalp flapped against his forehead while the dead man fussed with a delicate, short, gold chain hanging from his vest pocket.

  The sight of the man’s missing eyes chilled Alex, reminding him instantly of Derek.

  A smile crept across the dead man’s face, and he said in a soft, cooing voice, “I can feel you. Oh, yes, I can. All the way over here. Your warmth sends ripples out through the cold air, boy.”

  Elaine moved to stand in front of Alex, but Alex shook his head.

  “Go home,” Alex said, his voice quaking with fear. “Go home and do not come out again.”

  The dead man sneered at Alex. “You can’t tell me what to do, boy. I am your elder, and while you may be the sweetest of meats, you have no hold over me.”

  The dead man’s tone caused Alex to tremble even as it brought a wave of anger rushing up through him.

  “I said,” Alex spoke tightly, “to go away.”

  The dead man winced, shook his head as if to free his mind of the aftereffects of a punch, and snapped, “You’re going to come with me. I’m lonely.”

  Inside Alex’s stomach, the fear transformed into anger, hate joining the mixture and spinning up within him. His flesh grew hot, and he felt himself begin to tremble.

  A broad smile appeared on the dead man’s face as he misconstrued what Alex’s reaction meant.

  “Yes,” the dead man hissed. “You’re going to come with me. I’ve been lonely for such a long time.”

  “No,” Alex said firmly, and the dead man took a step back. The smile on the ghost’s face flickered, vanished, then reappeared.

  “Stop wasting time, boy,” the dead man said. “Perhaps, if you’re good enough, I’ll keep you with me after I kill you.”

  “No!” A wave of energy raced out of Alex, and he could track its progress as it threw snow up from either side of it. The force struck the dead man and knocked him down. In a tight, angry voice, Alex said, “I told you to leave. Now, you don’t have a choice.”

  In his mind’s eye, Alex imagined squeezing the dead man. As he advanced on the ghost’s prostrate form, Alex saw the dead man’s gaping sockets were spread wide, his mouth opening and closing with all the delicate grace of a dying fish. The ghost shuddered and shivered, his body condensing irregularly as if a giant fist were wrapped around it, tightening slowly.

  On the fringes of his vision, Alex saw a few of the Huron warriors gather. Within a minute, more arrived. Guy and Brother Michel approached, too. Behind him, Alex heard the distinct footsteps of Marcus and Timmy.

  Alex’s breath shuddered as he concentrated on the ghost before him.

  “I told you to go,” Alex hissed, his voice shaking. “You didn’t listen. Now, you’re going to go away forever.”

  With all the rage he could summon, Alex tilted his head back and screamed.

  ***

  Abel watched the ghost of Trent Petersen explode on the monitor.

  Down the only street of the Village, the delicate Queen Anne which had once housed Trent, shuddered and imploded.

  He destroyed him, Abel thought, blinking numbly. How? How is it even possible for him to accomplish such a feat?

  Excitement rippled through Abel as he picked up the radio
and said, “David.”

  “Sir?” David responded a moment later.

  “Contact Alfor,” Abel said. “Tell them there’s a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus if they have a team here in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Sir?” David asked.

  “Do it,” Abel said sharply. “An opportunity might well pass us by.”

  “Of course, sir,” David said, and he ended the call.

  Smiling, Abel turned back to the monitor. He held a glass of ashy water and said to it, “He’ll be quite the prize, won’t he, my dear?”

  He didn’t wait for Meredith to respond. She was, after all, reduced to only teeth and ashes.

  Chuckling, Abel drank her remains greedily.

  Chapter 39: Lost

  Erica Schomp sat in her room, half listening for the professor’s alarms to sound. They rang earlier in the day when something had occurred in the Village. He didn’t share with her what it was, but she could tell by the tone of his voice he was excited.

  A short time later, someone knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” she said, forcing herself to sit upright.

  She wasn’t surprised when the door opened, and David walked in. The man looked haggard, his face thin with dark circles beneath his eyes.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” she said without enthusiasm, motioning toward the chair Jane always favored.

  “I’ve got bad news,” he said after a moment.

  “I don’t think there’s anything like good news anymore,” she replied with a bitter bark of a laugh.

  “Jane’s dead.”

  The two words struck her, stunned her. Then, without any control, Erica picked up an empty beer bottle off the table and hurled it at David. He dodged the bottle easily, but he winced at each of the vile names she called him.

  When she finished, he sat in silence, his jaw set in a grim line.

  Erica seethed, clenching her hands into fists. She wanted to stand up, to strike David in the face and shatter his teeth. She knew how to cause as much pain and destruction as possible.

  Instead, she closed her eyes and asked the one question she didn’t want an answer to.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” David said. She heard the lie in his voice and was thankful for it.

  Erica nodded. A long, painful silence developed between the two of them. More than ten minutes passed before she finally said, “What now?”

  “We get the subject back,” David said. “I need your help.”

  “To do what?” she scoffed bitterly. “Hell, David. The professor already took Jane from me. What’s next?”

  “This isn’t the professor asking,” David said coolly. “This is me.”

  “Fine,” she said, swallowing back another angry retort. “Tell me what you need.”

  “A letter,” David said. “Professional. I need it to describe the subject, what her physical injuries are, and what she might possibly be diagnosed with in order to have law enforcement hold her for us. I want her history to be referenced as the delusions of a madwoman. Is this something you can do?”

  “Sure,” Erica said. “Might take a day or so. I’m not exactly in the best of moods. Can’t really rip one of those off and make it sound professional.”

  “All right,” David said, getting to his feet. “Thank you.”

  “What was the professor all ramped up about?” Erica asked tiredly. “I only ask because I need to know if I’m going to sleep at all tonight.”

  “You will,” David said. “We’ve got an advance team coming in from a private company. They’ll be taking over some of our duties.”

  “Too little too late,” Erica said bitterly.

  David only shrugged, exited the room, and left her to grieve in silence.

  ***

  They moved quietly, almost without noise. Their clothes were hardly noticeable, seeming to blend in naturally with the snow and the forest. Each of the four carried compact M4 rifles, the weapons wrapped in off-white tape to break up the outline of the machine against the snowscape. The men didn’t speak to one another, nor did they waste any movements. They were spread out, moving in a diamond-shaped pattern that afforded them the maximum amount of coverage to search for clues and to prohibit them from being killed quickly.

  Joyce knew they were hunting her.

  Earlier in the day the wind had shifted, carrying with it the sharp, acrid tang of cigarette smoke. It had been only a taste, but the smell was enough to alert Joyce of someone’s presence. She had double-checked her trail, then found a safe place to dig in and bury herself.

  For almost three hours, she waited. When she finally decided she had imagined the smell, she caught sight of the first man. Her initial reaction was to shoot him. It was a reaction she fought and was pleased she had made less than a minute later.

  Behind her, another man moved, his footsteps barely audible in the snow. Farther to the right, she saw another man, and then a third following in the tracks of the first.

  Four, Joyce thought, realizing with discomfort how close she had come to dying.

  The men tracking her didn’t carry themselves as individuals interested in taking prisoners.

  After they passed, Joyce waited for half an hour. Then, as she took several deep, cleansing breaths, the men appeared again.

  She recognized them by small idiosyncrasies. The way the first man carried his weapon, the way the third looked left twice and right once. They were in the same group.

  They know how I killed the first group from behind, Joyce realized. They’re not going to make that mistake. If they’re here, it means they found the woman’s body.

  A fresh team was on her trail. One familiar with the tricks she had displayed, and the abilities as well. Added to the new information was an understanding. Joyce was not to be taken lightly.

  How the hell am I going to get out of this? she thought, pushing aside a welling sense of worry. Are they going to keep sweeping back? How many patrols are there?

  It doesn’t matter, she answered herself brusquely. I need to get out of here. A road. Anything.

  Once the team was past again, she shifted her position and waited with her weapon out. Going on the offensive would be foolish, but she needed to defend herself.

  As the sun moved in the sky and time passed, Joyce finally believed the team wouldn’t return for a third pass. Not out of the question, though.

  She got to her feet, hid the evidence of her rest and left. A new sense of urgency propelled her forward and helped her to see and listen clearly. In the distance, off to the right, a group of young crows took to the air, screaming and yelling at the men who disturbed them.

  Thank you, Joyce thought and headed away from the complaining birds.

  Chapter 40: Information Control

  Eleven men and women sat at various tables in the mess hall. They were the only ones who were going to remain when the contracts expired. The others planned to accept the offer to break their contracts as soon as Alfor’s troops hit the ground. A few, like Ellen, hadn’t waited at all.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” David said, glancing around at everyone. “We are in a poor situation here. You have all heard of Christopher and his bayonet?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Excellent,” David said. “I don’t need to reinforce how dangerous he is. We’re going to establish some rules of engagement for dealing with Christopher, so listen up. First, do not engage him. At all. Your primary option is to run. I suggest you do exactly that. Second, if running is not an option, you radio in for assistance and open fire immediately. Third, if you happen to see him along the edge of the fence, shoot him.”

  “Is he the only one we need to worry about?” a middle-aged NCO named McGillicuddy asked.

  “No,” David said, his voice grim. “It appears the dead Indians have the option to get out of the Village. More importantly, Timmy is assisting them. Timmy is still under house arrest in the Village. If you see him at the fence, you have permi
ssion to shoot him. There’s one catch. The shooting can be done only with non-lethals. The boss still wants him alive.”

  “How’s he helping them?” someone asked.

  “He’s scalping the people they kill,” David answered. “He took Liam and Jose’s scalps yesterday.”

  Mutters of disgust and outrage were heard from the gathered men and women.

  “Most of you know Alfor is coming in,” David continued. “They are going to be taking over active patrolling and the next attempt to grab the child. Professor Worthe is still extremely interested in the boy. So, what it boils down to is this: avoid all contact with Christopher and Timmy. Do not feel like you need to earn a bonus and grab the kid on your own. Right now, people, this is about survival. I want to see as many of you go home as possible. I can’t express how much I appreciate you hanging out to see this to the end. Any questions?”

  McGillicuddy raised his hand, and David nodded to him.

  “David,” McGillicuddy said, his face reddening, “there’s an issue here that hasn’t been addressed. We’re kind of hoping you can clear it up for us.”

  “What is it?” David asked.

  “The professor,” McGillicuddy said hesitantly. “Some of us have seen the way he’s been acting lately. It, well, it ain’t right.”

  David stifled the resentment he felt boil within him. He knew the stressors running wild over the professor.

  “I want you all to listen to me,” David said after a minute, his eyes sweeping the room. “Listen very, very carefully. Professor Abel Worthe, our employer, is an extremely dedicated man. He has given his life over to the research and understanding of fear. If you can’t comprehend this outside of a military standpoint, then I’ll put it to you another way. We’ve all seen people crumble under stress. You know as well as I do that the major contributor to this is fear. Professor Worthe has taken extreme situations and put people in them. The information he has gathered will be of immense importance on the field of battle. I want you to think about that. Think about how it would be if every person beside you was able to master their fear completely.”