The Dark Side of Heaven

by Gord Rollo

  20

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” the witch screamed, her shrill voice echoing in the cavernous throne room.

  “I wish I was, my lady,” Luther said softly, trying his best to diffuse the volatile situation and keep the witch’s wrath to a minimum or if that wasn’t possible, then at least make sure it fell on someone other than himself. “Freddy Smithers, the little British man who works at the crossroads directing--”

  “I know who the bastard is. Get on with it.”

  “He just radioed in and said he’d been attacked by two black soldiers, a white guy with a Scandinavian accent, a skinny woman and a boy. Sound like anyone we know?”

  “How can that be, Luther? How the fuck are they way out at the crossroads and we’re still wasting our time sweeping the fortress?”

  “I don’t know, but unfortunately the news gets worse.”

  “What could be worse?”

  “Freddy said they held him at knifepoint and threatened to cut his head off if he didn’t give them directions to the gates of Heaven.”

  “Don’t tell me he told them?”

  “What choice did he have, my lady? He didn’t tell them everything but apparently he’s given them directions to Glacier Lake.”

  “Dammit! If they wake up the Ice Angels, we’re screwed.”

  “What do you want to do? Shall I rally the guards and have them give chase.”

  The Scarlet Witch took a moment to consider her options. “Screw the guards. They’re obviously useless. Send out General Krall and the top battalions of my army to hunt the troublemakers down. I know I can trust them not to screw things up. Wake up Balthazar too. I’m going to personally watch my ghouls tear those brothers to shreds.”

  Luther bowed deeply and went to exit the room. “Right away, my lady.”

  “Wait Luther…there’s something else. Bring me the guards who were stationed on the bridge earlier; the two men who said they’d had a nice quiet night. Apparently it’s time for a refresher course on what happens around here to people who lie to me.”

  21

  Without a watch or the presence of the moon, stars, or the rising sun, telling time in the afterworld was nearly impossible to determine but at a guess Tyrone would say it had to be early morning by now, his group of ragtag escapees having walked for several hours now. Back at the crossroads, Freddy had assured them they only had to cover ten or twelve miles to find Glacier Lake but the little man had either been lying or perhaps just underestimating the distance they had to travel because so far there was no body of water in sight. Mind you, the road they walked along now wove through a fairly thick forest filled with tall, massive-leaved trees the likes of which Tyrone had never seen before and made it increasingly difficult to see what lay ahead of them. There was the golden sky above and the winding road ahead – that was about it. The temperature had been steadily dropping too, the overbearing heat of the fiery pit around Tartarus Fortress long forgotten and making the group – especially Huong and her boy, Gia – wish they had some warmer clothes to wear. They only had what items they’d worn on their backs when inside the prison though, so there was no sense complaining about it.

  Tired and having nothing left to say to each other, they walked on in silence. Although it went unspoken, the tension in the air was rising, their escape from the fortress certainly discovered by now and the witch’s effort to find them surely underway. Tyrone wasn’t the only one who constantly looked behind them, everyone wondering how much time they had left before someone caught up with them. It wasn’t a matter of if; it was more a question of when. The marine just hoped they’d get lucky and find the lake before it was too late.

  Around the next bend in the road, the forest thinned and cleared, the path descended down into an open grassy valley still covered in pockets of wispy grey fog. There was a red brick building in the center of the flat area below surrounded by a bunch of smaller wooden outbuildings and a dozen or so makeshift canvas tents. There was an obvious organization to the chaos down below, almost a military feel to the lay out of the small town but there was no one in sight, the village looking run down and completely deserted. Even from this distance Tyrone could see that the main brick building was in ruin, the windows busted out, the roof sagging inward, and one of the outer walls collapsed and strewn across the untended lawn. The dilapidated community did little to cheer up the mood of the weary travelers but what lay in the distance several more miles behind it certainly did. A huge body of water filled the horizon for as far as Tyrone and the others could see. Its shoreline looked shrouded in fog, or perhaps even a layer of snow, but way out in the open water, huge birds flew in ever widening circles, dropping down into the chilly water every now and then having either spotted some food or perhaps in search of a drink.

  “It’s the lake!” Tommy said, a boyish grin plastered on his thin face. “I never thought we’d make it.”

  “Me neither, bro,” Tyrone admitted, a smile on his face as well. He still had no idea where Heaven was or where he was supposed to lead them from here, but for now it was enough to see everyone happy again, hope replacing worry and fear at least for a little while.

  “Still a few miles off, though. We best keep--” Tommy was saying when an incredibly loud screech echoed across the open valley, an inhuman scream louder than a crack of thunder causing even the battle tested Marine to flinch.

  “What the hell was that?” Tyrone asked, eyes scanning the skies but not seeing anything that could have made such a terrible noise as that.

  “Oh no,” Henrik said, eyes on the sky as well. “I hope that’s not vat I think it is.”

  “This isn’t the time for guessing games. What is it?”

  Before the young Swede could speak, a dark shadow covered the group, a massive white monster soaring above the tree line and swooping down into the valley below. Atop the ugly beast, the Scarlett Witch rode in a saddle fitted between its powerful winged-shoulders, unleashing her own primal scream of joy as she spotted the frightened travelers below. She was wearing red armor, head to toe, her eyes on fire as she stared down at the fools who had dared defy her.

  “God help us,” Huong said, pulling her child to her side and averting his one good eye from looking at the flying nightmare above. “We’re doomed! We’re all doomed!”

  “Not yet we’re not,” Tyrone said with more bravado than he truly felt but nowhere near ready to give up on his charges. Turning to Henrik, he asked, “What is that thing? It looks like it’s made of stone?”

  “Marble, actually. It’s a gargoyle that usually sits high on Tatarus’ battlements, a living statue that keeps vatch over the fortress. Its name is Balthazar; her favorite pet. I’ve seen it tear apart a dozen men. There’s no vay to stop it, I don’t think.”

  Hearing his friend’s words, a memory flashed across Tyrone’s mind of him stumbling across an open air courtyard in Tartarus and seeing this monstrosity staring down at him from high on the wall. Back then – other than its eyes following him as he walked – it had only been an inanimate statue, but it was far from harmless now. Still, there had to be some way to defeat it. They’d come too far to be beaten now.

  “Okay, everyone down into the valley,” the Marine said, forming a plan on the fly. “Head for that crumbling building and get everyone inside. The brick walls will give us some shelter at least.”

  Without waiting to ask for permission, Tyrone scooped little Gia out of his mother’s grasp and took off down the hill carrying the screaming child. Huong started to protest but the Marine cut her off before she could say a word.

  “Move your ass, Huong. We don’t have time to argue right now. Run!”

  And Huong did. All of them did in fact, taking off and sprinting as fast as their tired legs could carry them, making for the red brick house down in the flat area of the valley but keeping their eyes on the sky to see if the witch and her beast was going to dive down on them. She didn’t though, for the time being content to circle overhead a
nd shout threats and blasphemous profanity down at them. Several minutes later, Tyrone and his charges crawled through a smashed out ground floor window and collapsed exhausted inside the crumbling brick building, safe for the moment but knowing they were trapped.

  “It’s all over, soldier boy!” the Scarlet Witch’s voice screamed down at them, her high pitched words easily heard by everyone in the quiet room. “There’s nowhere let to run, Marine. Nowhere left to hide. You’re all mine!”

  Through a gap in the sagging roof, Tyrone could see the witch circling the building every few minutes and could make out her shrill laughter even when she rode her grotesque friend high into the golden sky. The marine kept preparing to feel her steely knives touch his brain every time she flew by but the pain never came. Perhaps Henrik had been right that she needed to be in close proximity to someone before her psychic blades were any use to her. If that was true, it at least gave them some hope of defeating her and her nightmarish pet.

  “Don’t listen to her, guys,” Tyrone said. “We’re gonna be all right. There’s five of us and only one of her.”

  “No there’s not,” Tommy said.

  “Well, her and the damn gargoyle, sure, but--”

  “I’m not talking about the monster… I’m talking about them. Look!”

  Tyrone peaked out the window and his blood ran cold. Coming out of the forest on mass were hundreds of armed soldiers walking together in divisions of thirty to forty men. Each man wore old rusty chain-mail metal vests, matching high leather boots, and carried a long barreled rifle with a needle sharp bayonet attached on top. They marched in step with each other as if they were a highly trained and disciplined fighting unit, their faces emotionless, their milky eyes washed out blanks. It was impossible to count how many men they faced, and more were staggering out of the trees by the second, but at a quick count Tyrone figured the odds had just swung in the witch’s favor about 500 – 5. Not very good odds; even for a couple hardass Marines like Tommy and him.

  “That gang out there who I think they are?” Tyrone asked Henrik, nodding to the gathering horde outside on the hill.

  Henrik gulped back down his heart, finally managing to nod his head. “Ya. The Army of the Dead. Ve’re in big trouble.”

  “Who?” Huong asked, trying to get a look outside as well, and then gasped when she saw the size of the force they were up against.

  “The vitch’s soldiers. Empty shells who used to be men. She stole their souls and neither Heaven nor Hell vant anything to do vith them. They’re condemned to vander this plane of existence for all eternity now, fighting… killing… eating anyone and anything that gets in their way. They’re more like trained animals than men. They do whatever the vitch commands them to do.”

  “How are we supposed to fight an army like like?” Tyrone asked, directing the question at his brother, not at Hendrik who’d been speaking.

  “We can’t,” Tommy said.

  “Screw that, bro. A Marine never gives up, man.”

  “I’m not. I’m just being realistic. Shit, take a look around. You kidding me? Three men, a woman, and a one-eyed boy up against hundreds of trained soldiers, a flying monster and the Scarlet Witch. They’re even armed to the teeth and what do we got? Your ka-bar, a Swiss Army knife and a couple of electric stun sticks we stole off the fortress guards. None of that crap is any good unless we’re in close.”

  Tyrone decided to take the conversation private, reaching out to his brother using the strange mind link they’d developed. Simmer down, Tommy. You’re scaring the boy. None of that negative crap is gonna help us any.

  Neither is burying our heads in the sand. You gotta face reality, bro. That army will be all over us in ten minutes. We don’t stand a chance of getting out of here.

  You don’t know that yet. Their guns are old. Look at them. Everything they have is ancient. Half that shit probably won’t even fire.

  Yeah, and the other half will fill us with holes long before we can even get close to the front row of men.

  Maybe…maybe not. Don’t quit on me. There’s always hope.

  Hope? You serious? We don’t need hope, Ty; we need a freakin’ miracle!

  “Oh my god,” Henrik said, the tone of his voice distracting the brothers from their silent conversation. “There’s even more soldiers out there now. Look.”

  Tyrone walked over to the window and followed his Swedish friend’s trembling outstretched finger. What he saw nearly took his breath away. Rising out of the fog less than one hundred feet off to their left were a large group of men who looked more like wraiths than actual people. Their skin was grey and hung in loose folds on their face and exposed necks; their clothing was threadbare and ragged, with a great many homemade patches sewn onto the green and black garments to keep them from falling apart. The men walked stiff legged and slow, shuffling along as if they’d woken up and gotten out of bed on the wrong side of the grave. The morning mist that had been concealing their hiding spots was dispersing and out of the murky shadows a platoon of full armed combat veterans emerged, full auto M-60 machine guns in their arms and 600 spare rounds of 7.62 mm armor piercing cartridges joined together on disintegrating metallic linked belts crisscrossing their chests. One of them even carried a five foot long 3.5 inch rocket launcher, locked and loaded on his boney shoulder. Despite their disheveled appearance, these men had a steely determination shining in their eyes and had brought along enough firepower to kick some serious ass. Tyrone didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as these new arrivals in all of his days.

  “Those aren’t soldiers, Henrik… they’re Marines! They look like they’ve been through hell but I think they’re on our side. Get over here and look at this, Tommy. Got a feeling your miracle might have just arrived.”

  Tommy moved over beside his brother and Henrik, while Huong and Gia looked out of one of the other main floor windows. They watched in awe as the platoon of obviously dead Marines fanned out in front of the brick house, putting themselves in between the Army of the Dead and the building Tyrone and his charges were sheltered in. Some of the Marines remained standing but most dropped to the ground and started setting up their weapons, laying out row after row of replacement cartridge belts and folding out the metal bipod legs on the barrel of their M-60’s.

  Both Tyrone and Tommy were thinking it, but it was Huong who finally said it out loud, which made sense seeing as it was her people who truly believed in all the stories that were going around about these guys. “It’s the Lost Patrol!” the tiny Vietnamese woman said, a simultaneous note of fear and reverence in her voice. “I never thought the stories could be true but here they are, right in front of my eyes.”

  Tyrone and Tommy exchanged glances, both speaking the same thought to each other’s mind. Can it be true?

  Tyrone had thought this settlement had a military feel to the way it had been laid out. This must be their home base. Somehow they had a way of slipping back into the natural world to carry on their infamous attacks on the terrified Vietcong but this must be where they return to all those times they reportedly vanished into thin air. It was incredibly hard to believe any of it but on another level it also made perfect sense.

  “The Lost Patrol?” Henrik asked, the only one here still in the dark.

  With the Army of the Dead closing in on them, there was no time to go into the myths and legends of the slaughtered Marine platoon at the moment so all Tyrone said to him was, “They’re friends of ours. They’re here to help.”

  “But it’s still five or six hundred of them against about thirty Marines. It’s not even close to being a fair fight.”

  Thirty-two, Tyrone thought, including Tommy and him. Those were odds he’d take every time. Tongue in cheek, his bravado back and fully primed now, he jokingly said, “Oh well… we don’t have time to let the witch bring in more men to even things up. Fuck her. She’ll have to make do with what she’s got!”

  The look on Henrik’s face showed that he clearly didn
’t understand the humor. Tyrone patted him on the back and said, “Never mind, my friend. Just keep your head low and watch what me and my boys can do. You with me, Tommy.”

  “You know it, bro. Let’s go!”

  Tommy was the first out the window, eager to join his fellow brothers in arms. Tyrone said to Huong, “Keep the boy away from the windows,” and then followed his twin into battle.

  The brothers scanned the platoon and quickly spotted the Staff Sargent in charge by the patches on his sleeve (three stripes up and one rocker underneath) and made their way over to him as quickly as they could. Above, the witch was still flying around on Balthazar but she was silent now, taking the new developments in but not nearly as smug and happy as she’d been a few minutes ago. She flew off back toward her troops, who were half way down the hill by now and closing the gap between them by the second.

  “Lance Corporals Tyrone and Tommy Banks, reporting for duty sir!” Tyrone said when they were face to face with the Staff Sgt. Up close, the commanding officer’s clothes were even more ratty looking than they’d noticed from inside, their combat fatigues ripped and torn and hanging in ribbons in some places. Through the gaps in the cloth, Tyrone could see the Marine’s grey skin; looking dead and rotted but his body still lean and mean and hard as a rock.

  “My name’s Brody, boys. Glad to have you alongside. We saw you were in a heap of trouble and figured you could use a little help.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I take it you know how to use one of these?” the Sgt. Asked, handing each of them a machine gun and six 100 round belts of ammo from a supply box at his feet.

  “Absolutely, sir. Tommy and I are both sharpshooters.”