by Jon Steele
Then came six bells.
“Or maybe not,” Harper said.
Then three bells, then six again; again and again. Krinkle pulled at his beard.
“Sorta adds to the general strangeness of the place. I’m not surprised you blew it up once.”
Harper listened to the sound of the bell.
“That’s not Marie-Madeleine,” he said.
“Who?”
“Biggest bell in the tower. She calls the hour.”
“You know the bells by the sounds they make?”
“You hear Marie-Madeleine once, you never forget her.”
“So which bell is ringing now?”
“It’s Clémence.”
. . . clémence, clémence, clémence . . .
Harper and Krinkle looked at each other, checking if they both heard the same voice. It was coming from somewhere in the nave. A girl’s voice; soft, spiritlike. They turned slowly around. Nobody.
“Where are you?” Harper called.
“In the shadows.”
. . . the shadows, the shadows, the shadows . . .
The voice was coming from the Lady chapel, off to the left. They turned. Nobody again. They glanced at each other, the both of them reaching inside their coats for the grips of their killing knives.
“Why can’t we see you? How are you moving around?”
“I’m not moving. It’s a game I play in the cathedral at night.”
. . . cathedral at night, at night, at night . . .
They listened for steps. Nothing.
“Why is Clémence ringing?” Harper said.
“Because when she’s not the execution bell, sometimes Clémence is the warning bell.”
. . . the warning bell, warning bell, warning bell . . .
The sound was coming from the south transept now, by the side doors.
“What warning?” Krinkle said.
“Bad things are happening to the children.”
. . . to the children, the children, the children . . .
“What children?” Krinkle said.
“The ones like me.”
. . . like me, like me, like me . . .
The voice was floating down to them from the triforium now.
“What is happening to the ones like you?” Harper whispered, letting his voice drift through the shadows.
“They’re dying. That’s where Monsieur Gabriel is. He’s trying to save them.”
. . . save them, save them, save them . . .
The sound had circled around to the ambulatory behind the altar. Then came a sepulchral voice wrapped in a French accent.
“You are too late. The Dark Ones are finished.”
Harper and Krinkle turned around. Astruc was leaning on his elbow, his eyes wide with terrible visions.
Krinkle moved next to him. “C’mon, brother, talk to me. What do you know, what the fuck have you done?”
Astruc looked up at him, sneered. “I am not your brother.”
“In that case you won’t mind some of this,” Krinkle said, kicking Astruc in the guts.
The priest curled into a fetal position, held his stomach, gasped. “‘Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning. Rachael, weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted because they are no more.’”
Astruc’s head fell to the stones. Krinkle looked at Harper.
“That’s from the Book of Jeremiah.”
“It’s also in Matthew’s Gospel. The Magi trick Herod, leave Bethlehem a different way after visiting Christ. Herod sends in a kill squad; every male child under two years old.”
They stared at each other long seconds, till Krinkle finished Harper’s thought.
“The slaughter of the innocents.”
Harper turned slowly around, his eyes searching the shadows.
“Where are they dying, the children like you?” he said.
“Everywhere.”
. . . everywhere, everywhere, everywhere . . .
“How do you know?”
“I saw it from the belfry. That’s why I started the warning bell. I saw it.”
. . . i saw it, saw it, saw it . . .
Clémence sounded through the nave, drowning the voice with sorrow, with grief. Harper let go of his killing knife.
“And after you saw it, you came down here. Because the belfry is profane, the nave is sacred. You came here to hide from the bad shadows.”
“But they will come, they will find me like they found the others.”
. . . the others, the others, the others . . .
The voice was coming from the south transept. Harper turned slowly around, his face lit in the shaft of tubular light.
“Be not afraid, I know who you are. I’ve seen you from my balcony, in the old city on Rue Vuillermet. I see you when you call the hour to the north.”
“You haven’t come to kill me?”
. . . to kill me, kill me, kill me . . .
“No,” Harper said, “I’m here to protect you.”
Then slowly from the shadows and into the light came a small form dressed in a black cloak and a black floppy hat. The form walked toward them, its eyes locked on the floor stones till it came to the edge of the crossing square. The form stopped, parted its cloak, and revealed a lantern burning with a brilliant spark of flame. The form looked up, and Harper saw a young girl’s face and a pair of emerald-colored eyes.
“Bloody hell.”
It was the new one . . . le guet of Lausanne Cathedral.
III
IN THE NUMBING SILENCE CAME AN AWARENESS OF LIFE.
Katherine opened her eyes, turned her head, saw broken glass and burning debris over Main Street. Then she saw the Ford Explorer, two hundred meters away. It’d been blown off the street and tossed through the front of the candle shop. She saw Corporal Fassnacht hanging from the rear passenger door. He wasn’t moving.
“Max! Jesus, Max!”
She tried to get up, but someone was on top of her, talking to her.
“Don’t move, Kat.”
“Get off me!”
“There could be a secondary.”
“I don’t care, get off!”
Katherine kicked against Officer Jannsen, heard her moan in pain. “Awhh.”
Breaking free and getting to her feet, Katherine saw a piece of jagged glass embedded in Officer Jannsen’s leg.
“I’m sorry, Anne.”
She ran down the street.
“Kat, wait for me!”
“Max! Max!”
She dodged chairs and pieces of tables, shards of glass, body parts, and blood. Fire trucks rushed from the station, an ambulance rounded a corner, sirens wailed. Something caught Katherine’s foot and she went down, held out her hands. She landed hard, scraped the skin from her palms.
“Shit!”
Katherine rolled over, saw a woman’s body with its head blown off. Katherine stared a second, trying to make sense of it . . . Molly, it’s Molly.
“Holy fuck.”
She got up, ran for the Explorer.
The motor was off, sides and doors peppered with shrapnel, bulletproof glass shattered. Luc was still in the shotgun seat, slumped over the heads-up display, bleeding from his head. Katherine listened, whispered, “Max?”
Nothing.
She ran to the right side of the truck; it was pressed up against a brick wall. She ran to the back, tried to open the hatch. It was locked. She kicked it.
“Fuck!”
She came back around to the open rear door, grabbed Corporal Fassnacht by the shoulders.
Suddenly, hands took hold of Katherine from behind, spun her around, and slammed her against the truck. It was Officer Jannsen.
“No, Kat, I’ll do it.”
“Let go of me!”
>
“Listen, I’m trained for this. If Max is badly injured and you move him the wrong way, you could kill him.”
Katherine bit her lip.
“Okay.”
Officer Jannsen pulled at the corporal, and he fell to the pavement. He’d caught a chunk of shrapnel in the back of the neck, and the lower part of his legs had been sliced off at the knees; he was gone.
Katherine looked in the Explorer. Max’s car seat was empty.
“Where . . . where is he?”
Officer Jannsen nodded to the backs of the front seats; they’d been peeled away and were laying on the floor.
“The panels are blast blankets. Sebastianus must have seen it coming, threw Max to the floor and covered him.”
Katherine focused her eyes, saw the floor was covered. She reached in, pulled aside the blankets. Max was on the floor, clutching his rubber hammer. Seeing his mother, not understanding what was happening, he broke into tears.
“It’s okay, Max, Mommy’s here . . .”
Just then the air was sucked from the sky again. Officer Jannsen grabbed Katherine, threw her onto the backseat, jumped in.
“Down!”
Another flash of light.
Shock waves slamming shut the door.
A growling roar and a sideways rain of glass and steel.
Quiet.
Katherine raised her head, saw the fire truck and ambulance in flames, more body parts and blood scattered all over the street. Through the shattered glass of the Explorer’s windows, the world appeared a thing smashed to pieces. Then Officer Jannsen’s voice:
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t know. They’ve never gotten through the defenses before.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
Officer Jannsen jumped into the front, checked Luc’s pulse.
“He’s alive.”
She reached into the glove compartment, took a yellow-colored auto-injector, rammed it into his thigh. She climbed behind the steering wheel. She tried to start the motor. Once, twice . . . each time the radio kicking in with crackling chatter before shutting off.
“. . . Zulu Alert . . .”
“. . . no contact . . .”
Third try the motor turned over, the radio blared.
“. . . do you read? This is Control for Blue Four. Defensive perimeter compromised for thirty seconds, enemy kill squads taking form on compound grounds. No contact with Grover’s Mill. All comms down.”
Officer Jannsen put the truck into reverse, but the undercarriage was stuck. She changed to four wheels, rocked from first to reverse, pressing the transmit key on the steering wheel.
“Blue Four to Control. Are the defenses back up, over.”
“Blue Four, roger, but we have no operational control. What’s your status, over.”
“Suicide bombs in town, mass casualties. Corporal Fassnacht is dead, Luc is alive. Swan Lake and Blue Marble with me. Proceeding to Control. What is your status, over.”
“Kill squads attacking from six-zero and three-three-zero. Repeat, enemy attacking from six-zero and three-three-zero, over.”
“Is the house under attack, over.”
“Negative, but we will not be able to keep them back. There’s hundreds of them, Chef. Maybe thousands.”
“You sent out a distress call?”
“Affirmative, but no response. Repeat, no response.”
“Regroup at the house. We need to get Swan Lake and Blue Marble into the safe room.”
“Understood. Will order guards to fall back to Defense Profile Delta to cover your approach, over.”
“Defense Profile Delta, roger.”
“Request ETA, over.”
“As soon as possible. Just fucking hang on. Out.”
“Roger, out.”
Katherine, looked back out the window, saw shreds of black mist oozing over the street, wrapping themselves around the dead.
“They’re here,” she said.
Officer Jannsen looked back at Katherine.
“What?”
“My nightmares from the cathedral, they’re here, and they’re real.”
Officer Jannsen saw the mist.
“Listen to me, Kat. Those are devourers, they can’t hurt you, you’re alive.”
“What about the other ones?”
“Where?”
Katherine pointed to the swirling black mist.
Officer Jannsen wiped her eyes with her bloody hands, saw twelve shapes take form and step from the mist. Long daggers in their hands, slashing at the throats of the bodies in the street.
“Goons,” Officer Jannsen said.
Katherine felt herself wobble at the word.
“What is it, Kat?”
“I saw myself in the cathedral with the man who wasn’t there. The way I saw them in my nightmares. He called them ‘Goons.’ Jesus, they’re real, my nightmares are real.”
Officer Jannsen nodded toward the blast blanket. “The blanket fits between the back and front seats to form a compartment. Cover Max; we’re getting out of here, I promise.”
Officer Jannsen turned to the steering wheel, rocked the Explorer harder. Katherine looked at Max; he was crying in shuddering sobs. She saw the sketchbook on the seat, lay it on the floor next to Max.
“Here you go, honey, you can read about those silly pirates. And I’m going to cover you so we can play hide-and-seek, okay?”
She pulled the blast blanket over him, heard his muffled cries.
“Maman, maman.”
“It’s okay, honey, we’re playing hide-and—”
The rear hatch window crashed apart. Katherine spun around, saw a man with dead black eyes crawling into the Explorer.
“Anne!”
Then the side window exploded inward, powerful hands reached in and locked around Katherine’s throat . . .
“The child, give us the child that we may feast on his flesh and blood!”
Before Katherine could scream, Officer Jannsen was reaching back with her Glock.
“Don’t move, Kat.”
Two cracks, and bits of supersonic steel whipped by Katherine’s face. The goon’s head snapped back and it squealed, its fingers loosening from Katherine’s neck. She fell to the seat, rolled over, and kicked the goon from the door as two more rounds exploded over her head. She heard another death squeal. Officer Jannsen dropped the Glock on Katherine’s chest.
“Ten rounds left, make them count. Let them get close, two shots to the head between the eyes. Understand?”
“I’ll try.”
“There’s no trying now, Kat. You were right. All your nightmares were real. I’ve been trying to protect you from them. But now you need to fight with me to protect Max. He’s all that counts. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Yes.”
Officer Jannsen turned back to the steering wheel, floored the motor: rrrnnnn, rrrnnnnn. The tires caught traction and the truck jumped back. Officer Jannsen shifted gears, stomped on the accelerator, and the Explorer raced from the burning town. Max was wailing under the blanket. Katherine stuffed the Glock in her belt, pulled up the blast blanket.
“Come here, honey. Mommy’s got you.”
“Kat, you should keep him under.”
“No way . . . he’s a wreck, he can’t breathe down there.”
“Then lay him on the seat and cover him with your body. Put the blast blanket over the both of you.”
Katherine did, dug through her pockets, found his pacifier.
“It’s okay, honey, we made another funny tent, isn’t that funny? And look, Mommy has Mister Gummy. Where’s your book . . . here it is. Let’s look at some pictures. Oh, look, here’s that big fat c
aterpillar.”
Max settled a little in his mother’s arms, sucked on his pacifier, making little choking sounds in his throat. He looked at the sketchbook, tapped Pompidou the Flying Caterpillar with his rubber hammer. “Pomdoo.”
“That’s right, silly old Pompidou, and now we’re going home, and we’re going to go for a ride in the yellow submarine, okay?”
She poked her head from under the blanket, saw Luc coming to, pulling himself up.
“Are you with me?” Officer Jannsen said to him.
“Ich bin bei euch.”
“Is our heads-up display still working?”
Luc pressed buttons, flipped switches. “All we’ve got is radio contact with the house and local radar. No comms to HQ.”
“Get the Brügger and Thomet, give me your sidearm.”
Luc pulled his Glock, loaded a round, handed it to Officer Jannsen. He picked up the submachine gun, made it fire ready.
“What happened?” Officer Jannsen said.
“Just before the bomb, Control radioed flash traffic,” the guard said. “Time warps went down in Berlin, Toulouse, Lausanne, and Hong Kong. Light scans picked up thousands of goons taking form and overrunning the orphanages.”
“Status?” Officer Jannsen said.
“Offline.”
“All of them?”
“Ja, Chef.”
Katherine watched Officer Jannsen swallow hard, watched her mouth form silent words. Mein Gott.
“What’s he talking about, Anne. What orphanages?”
Officer Jannsen didn’t answer.
“Hey, Anne, remember the part about you telling me what the fuck’s going on because we’re getting fucking married?”
Officer Jannsen checked the dashboard, watched the radar sweep from side to side.
“There are three orphanages in Europe, one in Hong Kong. They’re for special children we care for.”
“Children like Max? That kind of special?”
“No, children like Marc Rochat.”
“What?”
“There’s no time to explain, we have to get you into the safe room.”
They came to Carson Highway. Officer Jannsen stopped, checked the radar. There were blips running left and right across the screen. Katherine looked both ways down the road, saw nothing.
“What are we waiting for?”
“Traffic.”
