Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  Aaron was on his knees rummaging through a hall closet, still searching for his extinguisher. “I got hoses front and back.”

  Ron, who had been hovering at the threshold of the kitchen, tore off down the hall. Aerie dashed after him.

  Paolo paced by with the phone. “Oh yes,” he said. “It is very urgent. Very, very urgent. What is that you say? You are asking why am I so calm? Oh, that is just how I am. Please do send the fire trucks ma’am, and as soon as possible. I assure you, when they come they will find it burning.”

  Ron threw open the front door, prompting a barrage of automatic gunfire. Bullets ripped through the door frame. He jerked his body back and dove twisting to the hardwood. “Ah shit! They got me.”

  “Shooting?” Sari clutched her chest. “There is shooting? Why are they are shooting at us?”

  Aerie dragged Ron away from the door. Eleni rushed over to help.

  “Ron, are you okay?”

  He winced in pain. A dark stain spread down his jeans. “They fucking shot me in the ass.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said Sari.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” said Hollis, hiding behind a post. “Why did I ever agree to come to this bullshit jam?”

  “Is there another way to go out?” asked Paolo, calmly.

  Aaron looked up from the hall floor, all flustered and frazzled. “The patio doors out back. That way, through the den.”

  “Sayonara y’all.” Hollis waddled out of the room, hugging his sax case. Sari and Paolo scampered close behind him. They slid open the glass and escaped out into the night.

  Aaron scrambled over to the bathroom and turned on the shower, sticking a plastic bucket in the tub. “There’s another in the kitchen. We gotta wet everything down.”

  “Aaron, are you crazy?” said Aerie. “We need to get out of here.”

  “First I gotta save the sonant, and … bloody hell! That bass! A crack, I can explain.”

  “I think the fires gotten into the second floor,” said Mal, peering up into the loft. I see smoke up there. He supported Ron as Eleni used one of Aaron’s ties as a tourniquet on his thigh. “Eleni, what the fuck are you doing? It’s my butt that got hit. My leg is fine.” Eleni popped up and supported Ron’s other shoulder. Ron tried taking a step and cried out. “Oh man, it’s my hip, too.”

  “Hollis and the others went out the back,” said Aerie. “Looks clear that way.”

  “Gotcha,”said Mal as he and Eleni eased Ron into the den.

  The tempered glass of the patio doors shattered under a burst of gunfire. They dove behind a sofa, Ron howling in pain as they landed hard on the carpet. landing with a groan.

  “All clear, huh?” said Mal.

  ***

  As flames climbed the shingles, John backed away across the lawn, Mac’s gun trained on his chest, when the front door suddenly opened. Mac swiveled and let loose a burst of rounds.

  “Mac, what the heck? Don’t shoot them!”

  Mac swung the muzzle back around. “Shut up and get back to the road.” He kept the rifle pointed until John had done what he said.

  Jerry came over, shotgun slung casually over his shoulder, approaching Mac like a lion tamer trying to calm a rogue beast. “Hey Mac. That’s not necessary. Put that gun away.”

  “We can’t let them out the house,” said Mac. “You heard them. They’re a menace.”

  Cindy rushed to Mac’s side. They argued quietly, as Cindy clung to his arm. The wild look in Mac’s eyes dissipated somewhat.

  More gunfire sounded from the back of the house.

  “Who the fuck is shooting now?” said John.

  Jerry’s eyes went steely. “Come on!”

  They tore around the side of the house, keeping to the shadows. They found one of Mac’s goons crouched beside a wheel barrow, plugging away at the side of the house. The patio doors and corner windows were shattered and his bullets had torn a leather sofa to shreds. Smoke began to billow out of a window in the second floor. Figures could be seen through the kitchen window.

  “Jesus! Don’t they know enough to turn off the lights?” said Jerry as they picked their way through the rhododendrons. Someone squealed, causing Jerry to leap back.

  “Don’t shoot. Do not shoot us, please! We are only musicians.”

  It was Sari, huddled with two men John couldn’t recognize in the feeble light.

  “It’s okay,” said John. “We’re here to help.”

  “Get behind some cover,” snapped Jerry. “There’s a rock wall over there. Get over there, now. All of you! Me and my shotgun are going to try to reason with this fellow.”

  Sari and the men obliged, but John stayed by Jerry’s side. Jerry didn’t seem to mind. “There’s some duct tape in my pack. Fish it out. Come running with it when I call you.”

  “Duct tape?”

  “Yeah. Fish it out.” Jerry went down on one knee.

  John found the roll of tape in the main pocket amidst a heap of shotgun shells and AAA batteries.

  Jerry strode off into yard, directly behind the goon, who was still taking potshots at the shadowy figures moving behind the building smoke.

  He tiptoed up behind the man and stuck the barrel of his shotgun square between his shoulder blades.

  “Drop it!”

  Startled, the man complied and Jerry kicked his weapon aside. He called back to John.

  “Now!”

  John came running with the duct tape.

  “Get his wrists and ankles, and when you’re done, take his gun.”

  “What? I can’t shoot. I never—”

  “Take it!” said Jerry. “It’s a deterrent if nothing else. I’m going into the house. Whoever’s in there might be afraid to come out, thinking somebody’s gonna shoot ‘em. Keep me covered.”

  John wrapped layer after layer of tape around the guy’s extremities until he was certain he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He ripped off one last piece for the guy’s mouth. The guy kept wriggling away.

  “Stay still!”

  “Come on. I got a cold, man. I need to breathe.”

  “I’m sorry. I gotta cover your mouth.”

  “I won’t yap,” said the man. “I promise.”

  John slapped the tape over his mustache and reached for the gun. It was heavier than he expected. It felt awkward in his hands.

  He got behind the wheel barrow and watched Jerry step through the jagged glass fringing the frame of the patio door. Three figures appeared, two of them limping badly. They were Aerie’s friends—Ron, Mal and Eleni. There was no sign of Aerie.

  Jerry stepped out, lifting Eleni into his arms. Ron staggered out after them, draped over Mal’s shoulder.

  “Got two hurt!” said Jerry. “You stay right here. Don’t go in. The smoke’s getting really bad. I’ll be right back, as soon as I get these guys somewhere safe.”

  “Did you see Aerie?” said John. “Did she make it out?”

  Mal shook his head. “They went back for the bass … and the birdie.”

  “Jesus! What the hell for?”

  Flames began to roar out of a second floor window. John spotted a garden hose coiled along the side of the patio. He rushed over and turned the valve on full and sprayed it into the house and onto the walls.

  “Aerie!” he called. “Are you in there?”

  ***

  Aerie crawled into the music room after Aaron. The heat and smoke had made it impossible to stand.

  Aaron crawled under the table with the bell jar, and disconnected the Tygon tubing that connected it to a vacuum pump. He grabbed a table leg and started to drag it towards the hall. Wood scraped against wood.

  “Oh, fuck. The kithara!” said Aaron. “I can’t leave that, either! That thing’s one of a kind. It’s a museum piece.”

  “One or the other,” said Aerie. “We can’t save it all.” Reaching the bass, she turned it on its back onto the soft nylon case and pulled it alongside her. Flames crackled in the loft, filling the cathedral ceiling
with smoke. It billowed down into the room, hot and acrid, stinging her nostrils and throat. “Aaron, we gotta go. The smoke’s getting bad.”

  Aaron shoved the table into the hall. He rose into a crouch, coughing through the smoke. “I’m going to get the kithara.”

  “Leave it, Aaron! It’s too dangerous.”

  He tried standing upright and dropped immediately to the floor, gasping and hacking.

  “The air … it’s fucking burning.”

  “Aaron, come on! We need to leave the house, now!”

  Several more bursts of gunshots sounded outside, followed by a shotgun blast.

  Aerie’s heart pitter-pattered. “Oh my God! What’s going on? They’re slaughtering us!”

  ***

  As sirens sounded deep down in the valley, John un-reeled the garden hose as far as it would go and let loose a heavy stream in through the broken windows and over the outside walls where flames had climbed the cedar shakes and were eating their way under the eaves on the second story.

  Mac emerged from the shadows at the corner of the patio, accompanied by one of his goons. “Oh, look at the Good Samaritan,” he chortled. “Come on John, put down that hose. This is a holy fire. We’re letting it burn.”

  “You’re insane! There’s still people inside.”

  “I said put it down!” Mac raised his gun.

  “But this is murder, Mac. You can’t do this.”

  “The Lord Jesus has spoken to me and the Lord says He wants this house to burn!”

  “No way,” said John. “That ain’t Jesus who told you that. You’ve been talking to the devil.”

  “I said put that hose down and get away from the house!”

  Folks bearing candles came around behind Mac, Cindy among them. When she saw John, she came forward, wielding her candle like a can of pepper spray, her face all smeary, hair disheveled.

  “Look at his eyes!” said Cindy. “I think he’s possessed. The demons got him, too.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Cindy. I’m not possessed. I’m just doing the right thing.”

  “The right thing is to back away from that house and let that holy fire burn,” said Mac.

  “I can’t do that! There’s still folks inside.”

  “What the heck is going on here?”

  Mac swung his gun reflexively, lowering it when he saw Jerry striding out of the rhododendrons.

  “Jerry believes in the Holy Fire, don’t you, Jerry? You were the one who harvested this particular variety. Ain’t that so?”

  “Just a job. Not proud of it.”

  “Point is, we’re going to have to shoot you down John, if you don’t put down that damned hose, right now.”

  “Put it down, John!” said Cindy. “Please, put it down. We can’t get you help. Donnie, he can help you.”

  “I don’t need any damned help! You guys are the ones who need help. You guys are the only demons here.”

  John clung to the hose. Not for a second would he consider abandoning Aerie.

  “I said, put it down!” Mac hollered. “In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, I command you to put down that hose. We’re gonna let that Holy Fire do its work, sort the good from bad.”

  Jerry cocked his shotgun. “You leave John be. All he’s doing is trying to fix your mess. Now get out of here before I perforate your ass.”

  “You can’t threaten me! I’m doing the Lord’s work.”

  “I don’t know who you’re working for, but it’s no Lord of mine. Now get out of here. John and I got some rescuing to do.”

  “Look at him!” said Cindy. “The demons got him too!”

  “Straight to Hell, the both of you!” Mac swiveled his gun towards Jerry. John hit him with a burst of water knocking the weapon from his grip and extinguishing Cindy’s candle.

  Mac’s goon let loose with his Uzi, bullets tearing clods of turf as Jerry dived onto the grass and rolled. He settled to a stop long enough to get off a blast. It missed the goon, who dodged, but the edge of the pattern peppered Mac’s side as he scrambled to retrieve his own weapon.

  John tossed the hose aside and took hold of the weapon he had liberated from the other man. The goon tried again to take down Jerry as he scrambled away on his knees. John fired a short burst that caught him square in the chest. The man staggered and fell.

  Something exploded beneath John’s sternum, tearing through his back ribs. A pain more brilliant that a thousand suns roared through him. He collapsed into the wet grass, vaguely aware of a second shotgun blast knocking Mac stumbling into the patio furniture, his weapon clattering against the tiles, a spray of blood spattering the house, and then Cindy, vacillating before rushing to Mac’s side.

  Jerry crawled over to John, his bearded face peering close into John’s eyes. His hand reached under his jacket. Fingers probed his flesh.

  “You okay, guy?” said Jerry.

  “No,” John groaned. “But please … help … Aerie.” He stared at the burning house, powerless to move, trapped in a maelstrom of pain.

  Screams erupted from the front of the house. People came dashing into the side yard to get away from something. A deep and ragged bellow like a shredded foghorn sounded in the forest, loud enough to drown out the approaching sirens.

  ***

  Once the guns went silent, Aerie resumed dragging the bass into the living room. The carpet had somehow become soggy and there were puddles on the coffee table. This heartened Aerie. Might Aaron have a sprinkler system?

  “Mal? You guys still here?”

  No one answered. She could only hope they had escaped to safety, despite all those guns, but she feared the worst when she heard urgent voices on the patio, sobbing, moans of pain. She didn’t dare call out again, in case the shooters were still around.

  At least the gunfire had stopped, and she could hear sirens approaching and something else that was unfamiliar, something low and croaky and deeply resonant, like the mother of all basses.

  “Aerie! I need your help. This is too heavy for me. It’s getting hard to breathe in here.”

  “Leave it, Aaron. Forget it. We have to go! Follow my voice.”

  Glass shattered upstairs. There was a rumble and a roar. The upper story had flashed over.

  She heard table legs scraping against the hardwood. “It’s catching on a rug. I need help getting it through the hall. Help me.”

  Aerie filled her lungs with the clearer air, low to the floor, close to the musk of the damp carpet, and crawled towards Aaron. She was barely past the kitchen when the ceiling of the music room began to collapse. Strings twanged and snapped. Cymbals sizzled on the floor. A cloud of smoke boiled into the hall like a pyroclastic flow.

  Aaron screamed and fell as a pile of flaming debris collapsed onto him. Outside came more screams, more fear than pain. She held her hands up protectively over her head, clenching her eyes closed, preparing for the hurt.

  Another crash sounded, of a different sort, accompanied by a strange crunching, tinkling sound. She opened her eyes to find the smoke being sucked out of the kitchen into a large, clear space with a dusty vortex at its center. A sonant about the size of a human being spun into the hall, through the shattered door frame. It took in burning embers and smoke and flung out tiny white crystalline flakes, like a dry and brittle snow.

  “No! Get away! He’s mine,” yelled Aaron. “This one’s mine! It’s … it’s …” His voice trailed off.

  Aerie spotted him unconscious and limp, lying trapped under a beam at the entry of the mostly collapsed music room, before the smoke poured back into the void to obscure him.

  The sonant settled over the table holding the bell jar. The little sonant in the jar pushed against the glass with dusty pseudopods and tentacles. The rug beneath the larger sonant shriveled and cracked and sublimated away. The table legs crumbled, spilling the bell jar to the floor. The jar up-ended. It bounced off the floor without breaking and rolled on its side into the hall. The little sonant slipped free, looping and spiraling around t
he music room, carving wormholes of clarity through the smoke.

  Aerie crawled over to where Aaron lay and grabbed his arm. She tugged, but he wouldn’t budge. His leg was wedged firmly under a charred beam. The larger sonant began to move towards the front door, taking with it a pocket of cool, clear air. The small sonant began to follow, but reversed and circled back over to Aaron.

  The big sonant lingered, keeping the smoke and flames at bay as the char on the beam turned white, then clear, and then broke away in squarish bits like tempered glass. The solid wood then crumbled into dust. Aerie, coughing and gagging, pulled Aaron free.

  The big sonant grumbled. The little one curled back towards the door. Aerie followed, dragging Aaron into foyer, following the bubbles of clarity left in the sonants’ wake.

  She broke out into the night, rising into the crisp, fresh air that the stinging in her throat and lungs could hardly let her enjoy.

  The crowd had mostly vanished. A few stragglers were visible far down the road. A lone man with a gun appeared on the road, firing into the sonants. The bullets pass straight through, tearing into the wall next to Aerie. The big sonant veered straight to the man, its outer vortex expanding to swipe at the weapon, smashing the carbon steel into little pieces of shrapnel that tinkled against the blacktop.

  The man cried out, threw down what was left of his gun and ran off into the shadows. A fire truck led by a police cruiser careened up the main road, flooding the yard with their lights. Firemen leaped out of a pumper and started to haul hoses across the yard. They stopped dead when they spotted the sonants spinning in place at the edge of the road.

  “Jesus Christ,” said one of them. “What are they?”

  “Smoke devils,” said another, older man.

  “Holy crap. I never thought they were real.”

  The big sonant roared and tilted out of the lights, melting into the darkness and the forest beyond, the little one spiraling close behind.

  A wary policeman rushed forward to help Aerie pull the limp and unconscious Aaron across the lawn and out to the street.

  And there came John, around the side of the house his arms draped around a large man in cammie overalls and a younger man with short-cropped hair. He was barely able to put one foot before the other. The front of his shirt and one whole leg were sopping with blood. They laid him down gently in the grass. Aerie rushed to his side, still coughing and dizzy from all the smoke.