No, this couldn’t be allowed to happen.
Fritz had to think quickly, to act with lightning precision. If a connection was open, then he could use it.
Use it to send something back.
He immediately had something in mind, a crude spell but one not lacking in a certain amount of brutality. It could very well do the trick.
All he needed was some fresh human blood and an important internal organ.
His eyes fell to the corpse of David Carroll, lying upon the cold stone floor. Hopefully, he hadn’t been dead too long for his internal workings to prove effective.
Fritz pounced upon the corpse, using the large entrance wound put there originally by the Cardinal to find what he was looking for.
He shoved his hand into the hole and into the chest cavity, searching for the man’s unbeating heart. Finding the hard, muscular organ, he wrapped his fingers around it and gave it the most savage of yanks, ripping it free and out into the open.
With the words of an ancient spell upon his lips, Fritz brought the dripping heart to his mouth.
And began to consume it.
• • •
Using a series of pins blessed by the Holy Tailor of Nice, John pinned back the flesh of the demon creature to expose its internal workings to the air.
He was reaching for another of his tools, a kind of small and intricate divining fork that would enable him to find any remnants of magick within the demon, giving him the ability to trace it back to its source.
Everything was moving pretty much exactly as he’d hoped.
He should have known that was a bad sign.
As soon as he poked the divining tool into the exposed inner workings, he felt it, a surge of something that pushed him back as it spread out into the world around him.
“Shit,” John Fogg muttered, eyes already darting around him.
Anticipating.
He heard it almost at once, faint tapping at first, which started to grow louder and more insistent by the second. He turned in his chair toward the windows. The curtains had been drawn to prevent any natural light from having a negative effect upon his demonic specimen. The sounds behind the curtains were becoming increasingly more violent.
He got up from his chair, pulling aside the curtain to reveal what was happening.
Insects. Thousands . . . maybe hundreds of thousands swarming around the house, practically blotting out the sun in the sky. This wasn’t good, and it was only going to get worse.
John turned from the window, about to dash toward the door to call to those downstairs to look for cover, when the windows exploded inward.
A storm of buzzing, biting insect life.
All filled with the intent to kill him.
• • •
Fritz saw what he had created. The windows into the room where John Fogg was performing his magickal dissection exploding inward, a living storm of insect life flowing into the room to do his bidding.
To kill John Fogg once and for all.
He slumped back against the wall, weaker now than he had even been before. Fritz needed to feed, to drain the life force of a living thing, or his body would begin to suffer the effects of his hunger and begin to decay.
Pushing off from the wall, he felt satisfied that the spell would do its job, and he would finally be free of the irksome bother that was John Fogg.
Now, if something could only be done about the man’s wife.
• • •
Magickal spells were truly not John’s forte—he wasn’t a magician or a sorcerer by any means, but occasionally, when necessary, he could whip up something that he’d read in an old book or scroll, something that could potentially save his ass.
This was one of those times.
The spell was to increase the density of his aura, to protect his person from the swarm that wanted to bite, sting, rip, tear, and burrow beneath his flesh.
It was as if he had been covered in a quilt, a heavy covering of insects landing upon his body, but as of now, they couldn’t bite through to the flesh beneath.
As of now. John had no idea how long he or his spell might last. He hoped and prayed that it would be long enough to survive.
Blinded by the covering of flies and wasps over his face, he tried to move toward the door but failed miserably, falling hard upon the floor. The impact served the purpose of killing many of his tiny attackers, but in a matter of half seconds, there were even more of the hateful insects to make up for those who had been slain with the fall.
The perpetual hum in his ears was increasingly distracting, making it hard for him to focus and maintain the aura spell that was keeping him from death. John tried to block it out, muttering beneath his breath over the drone of the angry bugs.
John thought he heard something, the sound of his door being opened, and clawed at his face, trying to clear the insects away so that he could see.
Griffin stood in the doorway, mouth agape.
“Jesus Christ,” the man said, closing the door behind him as he charged into the room.
John wanted him to go, to find Theo. Maybe there was something that she could do.
His vision was obscured again, thick-bodied flies landing one after another on his face, covering his eyes.
Griffin had pulled up the throw rug from the floor and was coming at him with a scream. John braced for impact as the man started to beat him with the heavy rug like he was putting out a fire.
Surprisingly, it had a good effect, the insects flying off to swarm about the room, or lie crushed upon the office floor. John tried to help, pulling at the bugs and swiping them away while Griffin continued to slap him with the rug.
The insects had started to attack Griffin, his wild flailing holding off the swarm—for now.
“Get out!” John managed to blurt over the incessant droning of insect wings.
“Get Theo,” he then said. “Spell keeping them from getting to me, but I don’t know how much longer it will last.”
He could see Griffin’s understanding of the situation, and knowing that there was likely little more that he could do . . .
Griffin dove for the door, throwing it open to escape out into the hall. Cassie was standing there.
“Daddy?” the little girl said, stepping into the office space. “What’s happening? Why are there so many bugs?”
John could hear the panic in the child’s voice.
“Get her . . .” John tried to scream through the buzzing and humming. “Get her out of here!”
“Is that John?” she screeched. “Is that John covered in bugs?”
He clawed at his face to see Griffin trying to get his daughter out the door, but she was fighting him, squirming from his grasp and running into the office.
“I gotta help!” she yelled.
“Cassie, no!” Griffin took her arm and cried out, pulling his hand back.
Through the swarm, John saw this, the way the man was holding his hand. It was if he had been burned. And then he recalled a story told to him by Elijah, and how the man’s wife, the little girl’s mother, had died.
The child was a pyrokinetic.
And John got an idea.
“Cassie!” he screamed, pushing himself to his knees.
He could see through a haze of flying insects that the child’s body was now radiating heat, that the bugs were burning up as they tried to swarm upon her.
“Cassie!” he called to her again, trying to get her attention.
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you burn away the bugs?”
“I don’t want to hurt you!” she screamed.
There was fire dancing at the tips of her twitching little fingers.
“You won’t,” he told her. “I’ve cast a spell protecting me from being bitten . . . I think . . .”
“Cassie
, no!” her father screamed from the doorway, his hands flailing wildly to swipe at the bugs flying at him.
“I say yes, Cassie!” John said to her. “I say help me . . . use your talent . . . burn them . . . burn the bugs away!”
“I can’t!” she said, waves of heat now radiating from her body. He could see that her clothes had started to singe from the intensity of the heat thrown from her tiny body. “Daddy said . . .”
More and more of the insects were flying in through the broken window, descending upon him, attacking Griffin in the doorway.
“Tell her, Griffin!” John screamed over the voices of the angry insects. “Tell her that it’s all right!”
Griffin remained silent, arms beating the air as the child stood there, her body throwing off greater and greater amounts of heat.
“Griffin!” John screamed one last time, finally feeling his inner strength beginning to fail. It wouldn’t be long now until the insects were touching his skin.
“Daddy?” Cassie cried, looking to her father.
John dropped to the ground, feeling the weight of the bugs growing heavier as they continued to cover him. It was almost as if they knew their time was coming, that soon they would be able to partake of his flesh.
“Do it!” John heard Griffin yell. “Go ahead, Cassie! Do it!”
“Are you sure?” she cried.
“Do it!” John screamed, his strength just about gone.
There was a sudden rush of searing air, and his skin beneath the spell of protection grew painfully warm. He was able to see again, the insects covering his face and eyes burned away to ash.
She was a sight to behold, the little girl standing there with tongues of flame leaping from the tips of her fingers. It was almost as if the fire were alive, somehow obeying her commands, as the tendrils of flame moved through the air, incinerating all that they touched, as well as burning away the insects that still clung to him.
The heat had become more intense, his skin beginning to sear, which told him that his spell was fading, and just in the nick of time.
The child was still standing there, arms outstretched as fire danced around her body, searching out any strangling insects that still flew about the office.
“Cassie,” he called out to her, curling himself tight upon the floor as tongues of flame lapped above his head. “Cassie, we’re good. You saved me! You did amazing!”
The child didn’t appear to hear, the fire swirling about her seeming to grow in intensity.
“Cassie!” Griffin’s voice boomed. “Pull it back—now!” he commanded.
That seemed to have some sort of effect, the child’s body suddenly twitching, her fugue state broken, the heat and fire dispersing into the air.
“John?” she asked, turning her focus to him.
“Yeah,” John said, getting to his feet. He brushed at his arms, the hair there singed and falling way. “I’m good . . . thanks.”
An enormous smile spread across her adorable features as her father came to her, pulling her into his arms.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, checking her over.
“I’m good,” she said, still beaming. “I saved John, didn’t I?”
“You most certainly did,” John said. “And I want to thank you for that. You did amazing.”
“I’ve been practicing,” Cassie said. “Could you tell?”
“I could,” John told her. He remembered then what he’d been doing, and what had likely triggered the attack and went to his desk.
The specimen was nothing more than blackened ash.
So close, he thought. Damn it all.
“John?” Cassie called to him. “I did do good, right?”
John looked away from his burned and shriveled clue, to smile at her.
“You did great, Cassie,” he told her. “You did great.”
12
Doug Elden breathed in the cool, forest air deeply and at that moment understood the concept of what it was like to be nestled in the bosom of the Lord God.
But the brief sense of euphoria was fleeting as Pete Timilty let one rip, causing a raucous response of cheers, hoots, and the sounds of pretend vomiting.
So much for being one with God and nature.
Doug had been the lead in these weekend camping trips for close to twenty-five years, in fact the other Scout Leader who was supposed to be with them on this trip—who had bailed when his wife went into labor—had been a member in one of Doug’s very first Boy Scout troops. Normally, the overnights required two adult supervisors, but the last-minute change had left only Doug to wrangle the eight ten- to twelve-year-old boys who had been looking forward to this camping trip for the last three months.
It wasn’t anything that he couldn’t handle alone. These were good kids, except for Timilty and his disgusting digestive issues.
They’d headed pretty deep into the Shawnee National Forest and found a fantastic spot to set up camp. They’d spent most of the day hiking, with a quick cool-off in a small pond, before heading back to camp to wind down for the evening with something to eat.
The day had been pretty much perfect, since they had not run into any other campers on their adventures in the pristine forest. Doug couldn’t help but think of the Bible stories he’d been taught as a child, about Eden and when the world was young.
He forbade the use of cell phones on his camping trips; all phones were placed in an old Crown Royal bag he’d found in his car. He had his own phone with him, but that was only for an absolute emergency.
But everything was going just right; the kids were all behaving and getting into the whole communing-with-nature thing. It was good, and Doug was again reminded of why he did it and how he hoped the boys would take something from this beautiful place and pass it on to their own kids someday.
Randy Davis was in charge of food tonight. It was going to be a hearty meal of Dinty Moore Stew, baked beans, and some individual Tootsie Rolls left over from last Halloween.
A meal fit for a king, Doug thought, watching as his Scouts flitted about, some helping Randy pull the meal together, while others horsed around, and some just talked.
He wondered what they were talking about, trying to remember what would have been of great importance to him at that age. Probably something about the latest video game, or maybe girls. He’d heard some comments here and there on their way up that made him think that the opposite sex might have been a possibility.
As long as it didn’t get vulgar, he was okay with it, though they were prepubescent boys, so he had to cut them a little slack.
He saw William McKay slap Devon Chin with a dirty T-shirt and cleared his throat loudly, just so they knew he was watching.
William glanced over quickly, and Doug shook his head disapprovingly. That deflated the potential for something worse, and the two picked up a wiffle bat and ball and started a two-man game.
“I think this is done!” Randy Davis announced, Big Steve Durnesky already sticking his spoon into the pot to try it out.
“Save some for everybody else, Steve-O!” Doug said jokingly, coming to stand behind the husky kid and slapping him on the shoulders. “Everybody ready for some chow?” he announced, looking around.
The Scouts were hungry, all moving toward the folding chairs and logs that they’d dragged from the woods for additional seating.
“Okay, grab some plates and help yourselves! Not too heavy on the helpings, want to make sure that everybody has some before dishing out seconds. And remember, we’ve got marshmallows, too!”
The marshmallows actually got a cheer that brought a smile to his face. It was the simple things that made something like this worthwhile.
The kids eagerly helped themselves, laughing and joking as they dished out their food onto heavy-duty paper plates.
“Let me remind you, no eating just yet!” Doug
called out, seeing some of the boys with their plastic forks halfway to their mouths.
They let out a sound the exact opposite of what the marshmallows received.
“C’mon now,” he said. “You know we always say grace first. This ain’t nothing new. Gather round,” Doug ordered as he filled his own plate with stew and beans. “This won’t take long.”
They all gathered in a circle, plates in hand, some rolling their eyes.
But this was something that he’d always insisted upon; a little grace before meals never hurt anybody, and besides, he liked to think of it as a reminder to the Lord God above that they were all down here, and that at least some of them were thinking of Him.
Doug looked to see if the boys were ready, then began.
“Oh Lord, we would like to thank You for this most glorious of days and allowing us to spend time in one of Your beautiful gardens. Thank You for keeping us all safe today and providing us with this food to eat.”
The sudden rumble of thunder seemed to come from directly above them. Doug glanced skyward, marveling at the strange color the sky had become as clouds raced past.
The sky growled once again as the winds picked up.
“Bless us with Your protection on this camping trip and . . .”
“Please don’t let Timilty fart anymore!” Michael Broom piped in, causing all the boys to break up.
“That’s enough of that, Mike,” Doug said. “Let me wrap this up.”
He couldn’t get over how dark it had suddenly become, and he had a suspicion that they’d be finishing their supper inside their tents.
“Bless us, oh Lord, with Your protection and hear our . . .”
The thunder was as if a bomb had been detonated above their heads, the force and volume driving them to their knees.
Doug looked around, seeing the fear in his kids’ eyes, and decided that it would be best to retreat for cover, at least until what was forming above them blew over.
“All right, guys,” Doug announced, climbing to his feet. “Amen,” he said, and all the boys responded in unison.
“Amen.”
Bolts of crackling lightning rained down upon the camp, striking the tops of the trees, as well as Doug’s SUV, both exploding into flames. The boys screamed in terror, running from the roar, flash, and fire.
Dark Exodus Page 18
