• • •
The second he saw Ed watching the other Nephilim drink the well water, Rory knew he had to act. After a few reassuring words to Anna and Myrtle, he ran in a crouch off the porch and around the rear of the store. He paused briefly at the west corner of the building and poked his head out. Through the alley between the general store and Back In Time Antiques, he could see Ed watching the Nephilim at the well.
Continuing in a crouch, Rory snuck along the side of the building until he reached the general store’s water hose. He quietly picked it up and aimed it at Ed. Earlier, they had unwound the hose and put a nozzle on the end. He turned the water on full blast, took the nozzle in trembling hands, and crept to the edge of the building. Ed was still looking toward the well.
Rory grabbed the nozzle, taking a deep breath to ease his nerves. He pointed the hose at Ed and furiously turned the nozzle open. An arc of water blasted from the hose, out into the street, and hit Ed directly. He arched his back, the veins in his neck throbbing as an ugly snarl ripped out of his throat, rocking with fury down Main Street. The spray of water bobbed as Rory’s hand shook more violently.
Ed raised his hands as he flung himself around in the direction of the water, his anger cutting the air. Rory stared into the evil eyes and felt his soul ripped by its impact. But even though the water continued to spray Ed, he didn’t fall. He didn’t shrivel or hiss away like Rory had expected. Instead he continued to slice Rory open with his eyes, working their hypnotic magic, while the water evaporated quickly off his skin and clothes.
Rory averted his gaze, but still felt a sickening feeling take him over, not because of Ed’s power, but because he knew their plan wasn’t working. The water was doing little to immobilize Ed.
We’re in deep trouble, he thought, backing up. The hose lowered as if by its own will, until the stream hit the ground at his feet. He reached down automatically and turned off the water and pulled the garrote from his pocket, knowing that it truly would be suicide to attack Ed now. Just then another sound pierced through his panic. “Oh no!” he muttered.
CHAPTER 63
Across the road, Clinton was stricken by the same high-pitched scream that panicked Rory. Clinton instinctively ducked back behind the shelter of his car. Brewster, however, continued to look up the road with an amazed look on his face. “What’s he doing?”
Clinton hurried to look around the old man. Mick was plodding toward the well. Ed howled out and gestured at him, trying to communicate with the spirit inside the boy. But Mick continued on. He reached the well and, ignoring the bodies around him, stooped and drank from the trough. A moment later he flung himself away from the water, scratching at his throat. Awful choking sounds split the air.
“I don’t believe it,” Clinton whispered.
The Nephilim at the well writhed and screamed in agony while another left Ed and went toward the water. Some stood nearby like zombies, silent, awaiting an order, while others were retreating behind the café and the antique store. Mick gurgled one last horrific time and dropped motionless near the well.
“Mick,” Nicholas cried out softly.
A menacing stillness fell over Main Street. Clinton stole a glance across the road. Rory stood motionless, the garrote still in his hand. Myrtle and Anna both stared wide-eyed down the road, mouths open in shock. Nicholas gaped at Clinton, his face contorted in fear.
Ed contemplated Mick. The other Nephilim waited, hands at their sides, swaying slightly. Then Ed slowly turned and looked down the road at the Jeep.
“What’s he waiting for?” Clinton whispered.
A horrific cry bent the air. Ed raised his head skyward and a bloodcurdling sound emanated from his opened mouth. The shriek continued, forcing Clinton to cover his ears. It was a scream filled with evil, such a vile sound, like nothing he’d heard before. He fell back behind the car. Nicholas huddled on the ground near the front tire, covering his head. Clinton wanted to reach out to him, but he couldn’t compel himself to move to the boy. He felt the sweat break out all over him, and he physically quaked with fear.
Then the cry stopped, and the sudden vacuum of sound was just as unsettling. Nicholas looked up, still cowering by the car’s front door. His lips moved but no sound came out.
“Why is he screaming like that?” Clinton whispered to Brewster, who was still crouched over the rear end of the car, watching.
“Mick was a necessary one, fire,” Brewster said, his voice filled with a stunned kind of awe. “Ed knows now he can’t win.” Then his voice became ominous. “And that makes him even more dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s pissed,” Nicholas answered bluntly.
A second, more terrifying howl confirmed this.
“He’s lost his chance at enlightenment again,” Brewster said.
As the last strangled sounds of Ed’s screaming echoed off into the mountains, he turned and stalked away between the buildings.
Brewster leaped to his feet. “Get him!” He ran behind Rory’s Jeep, surprisingly quick. He raced by the general store porch, eyes burning.
• • •
When Rory heard Ed’s terrifying screams, he threw caution aside and ran back around the store to check on Myrtle and Anna. He had just come up on the porch when he saw Brewster running by. Rory let out a string of curses. “You want to get killed?” he yelled out.
“Go after him! He can’t take on Ed alone!” Clinton screamed from across the road.
“Stay out of sight,” Rory ordered Anna as he leapt off the porch. He barely heard her muted “Be careful!” as he raced after the old man. Brewster had already disappeared between the buildings. Rory followed, glancing quickly over his shoulder as he went. The remaining Nephilim were focused on the ones that had perished at the well.
As he dashed around the corner of the antique store, Rory spotted Brewster, already halfway up the hillside, stooped down next to a large evergreen tree. Up on the crest of the hill Ed appeared, a silhouette against the higher mountains. He stood for a moment before disappearing from view. Rory went crashing up through the trees, oblivious to the noise he was making until Brewster turned around and fixed a steely glare at him. Rory slowed down, motioning for Brewster to wait for him. But the old man started hiking up the hill, running through the trees like a veteran soldier in pursuit of his prey. Rory kept up as best he could while marveling at the old man’s agility.
Rory soon topped the rise, cautiously making his way through a small meadow of aspens. Ed was up ahead, climbing the next rise, traversing his way past golden mine tailings. He neared the old Luckless Lady mine, taking the path around the dilapidated shack, stirring up rock debris as he went. Brewster was further down the hill, closing the gap between them.
Ed suddenly stopped in front of a tunnel entrance and turned around. Rory sprawled on the ground, his nerves tingling with anticipation and fear. He hoped Ed couldn’t see him through the trees. The thought had no sooner split through his mind than he saw Brewster look around, as if he might try and run for the shelter of the shack. But it was too late. Ed rushed at Brewster, and was upon him in seconds.
Brewster swung his shotgun like it was a baseball bat, slamming the butt end into Ed’s chest. Ed staggered back, but did not fall. He grabbed the shotgun and pulled, causing Brewster to fall into him. Rory got up to move forward, at once wishing he had a weapon of his own to shoot Ed, but also knowing that he didn’t want to spill his blood. He had to get near enough to strangle Ed. That was the plan. Rory cursed under his breath, then darted forward, fearful of drawing attention to himself, but equally fearful of what Ed might do to Brewster.
“Oh no you don’t,” Brewster’s scraggly voice carried through the hot air. He remained locked in battle with Ed. They staggered for a few feet, locked in a dangerous dance, creating a small landslide of pebbles and dirt. Brewster fell to his knees, shrieking curses at Ed. Rory faltered as the scream melded into one of intense pain when Ed reached out a hand and locked it aro
und Brewster’s neck.
That got Rory moving again. He emerged from the shelter of the trees when he heard Brewster yelling again, and he realized that the old man was bellowing at him. “Stay back! I got him! You take care of the others!” Rory hesitated.
Brewster wrenched Ed’s hand free, and Rory heard him drawing in great gasps of air. But Ed and the force within him remained undaunted. He continued to struggle with Brewster, both staggering backwards into the mine, snarling like rabid dogs. Brewster took another step and fell with Ed on top of him. The darkness inside the mine sucked them away. Rory lost sight of them, but he could hear their fighting. Then the sound of an explosion ripped from inside the mine, terrifying in its hollow intensity.
Rory stole out of the trees and ran to the mine entrance. Brewster yelled once more. Then complete silence. Rory stood in the entrance, breathing hard. The smell of gunpowder assaulted his nostrils. The shotgun went off, he thought. Were either of the men hit? He stared down the tunnel, his hands shaking violently. All he could discern was his ragged breathing. He wanted to shout to Brewster, but was afraid of calling attention to himself. He waited a few moments, staring into the darkness. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped at it, clearing his vision.
As the silence stretched out, he slowly stepped into the mine. His eyesight adjusted to the dimness and he could see the jagged edges of the walls where a century ago someone had hewn away the hard rock. Cool, damp air wrapped itself around him. He paused, surveying the blackness that yawned before him, as quiet as limitless night. He took a few tentative steps, his shoes grating on the uneven tunnel floor. With each movement, he was expecting Ed to leap out and snatch him. He held up the garrote and took another few steps, then halted. Blood pounded in his ears. He looked around, but the darkness grew before him as the light from the entrance faded. He strained to hear them. Nothing.
He shuffled forward a little more, then looked down for a visual guidance for his feet. His body went cold. In front of him was a gaping hole, falling away into bleak emptiness. If he had ventured a few feet farther, he would’ve plunged into it.
He sank to his knees with his whole body quivering. He moved to the edge of the hole and stared down, but could see nothing. He tilted his head. The utter silence was terrifying. He still desperately wanted to call for Brewster but remained fearful that Ed might be lurking in the shadows.
He waited and listened, hoping to hear something from Brewster to indicate he was alive, if not unharmed. He strained fearfully for sounds from Ed, too. But none ever came. Rory finally scooted backwards a few feet and stood up. They must be at the bottom of the shaft, he thought. The mental picture made his stomach queasy. Another thought hit him, how courageous Brewster was to sacrifice himself so Rory and the others could live. Rory smiled sadly, took one final look down the tunnel, then backed carefully out of the mine.
The bright daylight caused him to squint. He wiped again at his face as he looked around, wary of the possibility of other Nephilim. He saw no one, and with barely a moment to grieve for Brewster, he hurried back down the mountainside, sliding down the mine tailings, scraping his hands and knees in his haste. As he ran, the sounds of gunfire cut through the trees, and he thought he heard Anna yelling, but he couldn’t be sure.
Anna and Myrtle were shooting at the Nephilim. A very bad sign. “Please be okay,” he found himself praying over and over again, stumbling through the brush as fast as he could run.
• • •
Nicholas had huddled behind Clinton’s car since Ed’s vile screaming had ripped through the town. That sound, so inhuman, so evil, rattled him to his core. It was the same aura that had permeated the air on the night that Ed had taken Mick. Nicholas used all his mental strength to focus on something else, to will himself not to give in to his fright.
“They don’t know what to do.” Clinton’s voice cut through his terror-filled fog. Nicholas glanced up. Clinton was peeking over the back of the car. “They’re staring at the bodies at the well, and – ” His voice broke as he ducked down. “They’re looking this way.” He bent down and peered around the car. “They’re heading to the porch,” he whispered hoarsely. He turned to Nicholas. “You stay right here. If anything happens, you take the car and get Myrtle and Anna, and you drive like hell away from here. You hear me?”
Nicholas nodded mutely. He wanted to shout “Don’t leave me here alone!” but Clinton was already out in the road, shrieking like a crazed cowboy to draw attention to himself.
Nicholas stared up over the end of the car. Three of the Nephilim lumbered dangerously close to the general store porch. Myrtle and Anna edged away from the stacked chairs as the Nephilim kept on coming, lifeless, yet ominously real.
Clinton ran to the Jeep, stopping short when he realized that his shouting had worked. The Nephilim had turned their attention to him. The closest one sensed the danger coming toward him. Clinton raised his Glock and fired. The man dropped. After a second, a black spirit hissed from the body into the sky. By this time Clinton had turned to the others, but it was too late. A second Nephilim hurled himself upon Clinton, clutching at him with a meaty hand. Nicholas stared openmouthed when he saw who it was – his father! Clinton struggled with Gino, their bodies intertwined. But Clinton was losing ground to the stronger, otherworldly power.
Nicholas didn’t know what possessed his legs to move, but before his fear could take root and stop him, he grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran in a crouch into the road. He knew of the art of invisibility, had learned it trying to keep his father at bay, and he employed it now. The extinguisher seemed a paltry defense, but he instinctively trusted Old Man Brewster’s plan. He fumbled quickly with the trigger, even as a snarling Nephilim scream cut through him. He froze. Another scream from Clinton jolted Nicholas. He ran around the back end of the Jeep and peeked around. While still trying to fight off Gino, Clinton clutched at a bloody gash in his side, his face contorted in pain and fury.
No! Nicholas thought, feeling a helpless rage course through him. One of the few people who had ever shown him true compassion was about to die. And even though he knew that some other force was in control, in Nicholas’ eyes it was his father who was threatening his friend. Suddenly rage from all the years of abuse welled up in him. “No!” he screamed. He raised the extinguisher and stormed around the Jeep. He glimpsed Myrtle and Anna, their faces a picture of surprise and consternation at his actions. He ran right up to his father and Clinton. Clinton struggled against Gino’s hands, trying vainly to stop them from closing around his neck. With no hesitation, Nicholas stuck the end of the extinguisher hose right into his father’s face and squeezed the trigger. Gino had no time for reaction. The chemicals from the extinguisher exploded right into Gino’s eyes and up his nose. He emitted a strangled scream and threw his hands at his burned skin. Nicholas caught Clinton’s slumping body and dragged him the rest of the way to the porch. Then he heard: a single shot and screaming.
“You both could’ve been killed!” Myrtle shrieked, grabbing them up in an awkward hug. Anna had big tears streaming down her cheeks. Her right hand still held the .38 Special, pointed out into the road. Gino D’Angelo was sprawled out in the road, motionless. Nicholas could see a dark spot on his chest. “I had to shoot him,” Anna shrieked. “He was coming after you.”
And then the thing they feared happened. A specter black as a starless night materialized out of Gino’s body. It hovered in the air like a putrid mist, seeming to stare at the group huddled on the porch. Then it shot swiftly skyward, a hot, seething mass that disappeared without a trace, leaving a tangible wake that crawled through their flesh.
“We can’t let them get away like that,” Myrtle shouted, visibly shaken. At the same time, Anna cried out as she finally took notice of Nicholas and Clinton.
“He’s hurt bad,” Nicholas said, collapsing beside Clinton’s prone form.
“What do I do?” Anna yelled. “I can’t stop them.”
As if the
horror of this wasn’t enough, another scream stabbed into them. But this one came barreling down the mountainside like a rockslide.
“Stay here,” Myrtle ordered Nicholas. She thrust his hands onto the wound in Clinton’s side. “Press down to try and stop the bleeding.” Then she was gone, running into the store. Nicholas tried not to notice the warm dark fluid that ran over his hands, tried not to think what that meant.
“They’re leaving,” Anna’s awed voiced startled him. Nicholas looked up at her. She had her revolver raised and was pointing down the road. “They’re leaving,” she repeated.
Myrtle burst out of the store, carrying a stack of towels. She pressed a couple of them onto Clinton’s wound and had Nicholas hold them there. They grew damp quickly.
“What’s going on?” she hollered, running toward Anna.
Before Anna could answer, a rustling sound came from around the corner behind them. She swirled around, aiming the revolver in the direction of the latest danger.
• • •
“Please be okay,” Rory whispered to himself again as he neared town. He’d made his way down the hillside, his eyes frantically scanning the landscape for trouble. He slipped up to the back of the general store and worked his way along the back wall. As he came to the corner, a cold scream shattered the air, crashing down the hillside like rolling thunder. It continued for long seconds, so gruesome he expected the skies to tear in half. And it was evil. He rubbed at the goose bumps that popped up on his arms. “Ed,” he whispered when the cry ended.
He gritted his teeth. The gatherer was still alive. But what about Brewster? Rory didn’t have time to think about it, for movement off in the direction of Back In Time Antiques took his attention. The Nephilim were coming between the buildings, disembodied people plodding with newfound purpose, heading up the mountainside in the direction of the scream.
Nephilim Genesis of Evil Page 30
