They passed a flat-bed truck, its bed filled with planks of some white-something, all precariously tied down with what looked like old rope.
Suddenly, Coleman turned to him. He still wasn’t frowning. It was seriously creeping Jake out. ‘Jake, about your grandmother—’
Jake held up a hand. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to do anything, in fact, but sit there and be furious. ‘It’s okay, Coleman. I’m okay—really.’
If Coleman heard him at all, he gave no sign. ‘I feel like it’s important you know something,’ he said. He thought for a moment as he tried to form his thoughts into words. ‘Miss Meunier—Stella… she was never any good at showing her emotions. She wasn’t the “touchy-feely” type, like most people—and that’s okay. Some people, they just lose that function, you know? Like a button on a remote that’s worn down through overuse.’ He hesitated a moment before speaking again. ‘That thing with your folks? When you experience grief of that caliber, it changes you, Jake, takes something away from you.’
Jake wondered where he was going with this.
Coleman let out a breath. ‘Look, I guess what I’m trying to say is, just because she wasn’t around much, doesn’t mean she didn’t care about you—hell, you were practically all she’d ever talk about around HQ. It was actually pretty annoying.’
Jake frowned. He just couldn’t picture it. It seemed so un-Stella like. ‘For real?’
‘Uh-huh. “Jake” this, “my grandson” that. Hell, one time for your birthday, she even made us drive her all the way over to your foster folks’ place. Made us wait until you were out, then sneak in and leave a present for you.’
Jake whirled around in his seat, gasping. ‘Rolling Thunder?!’
Rolling Thunder was the name he had given for the ten-speed he’d found resting against his bed waiting for him after returning home from ice cream toward the end of his eleventh birthday. He’d always assumed it was Kyle and Kathy that had bought it for him; some last-minute surprise gift to round off the day—they sure as heck never claimed otherwise. ‘That was you?!’
Jake blinked as his vision became suddenly blurry. He looked out the window, all of a sudden feeling like a massive ass. ‘Thanks, Coleman.’
Coleman said nothing, just continued to drive the Prius, his face about as full of expression as a salmon at the fish counter.
Jake thought that was about right.
*
It was another painful thirty minutes before they were able to make it back to the Tainted Goose.
They pulled up out front, the Prius having to cut across a half a dozen cars in order to do so, inciting a procession of indignant beeps from those caught in their path.
Immediately, Jake could tell that something was terribly wrong.
The place was empty—and not just of customers, like it would have been this time back over at Pete’s. Looking through the glass, he could see that everyone; all the many workers he’d seen the previous times he’d journeyed through here; the cooks, waiters, and so on, were all gone. In their place now lay a tastefully lit yet barren restaurant, so painfully absent of people Jake would not have been surprised at all if it turned out the place was haunted. It just had that vibe about it.
‘Something’s not right,’ he said, his face pressed almost right up against the window. ‘It’s empty.’
Coleman did his usual trick with his forehead again. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the demon-gun. Under the Prius’ interior lightning, it looked even bigger than normal. ‘Okay—wait here.’ He made to climb out—
Jake grabbed his arm. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard me. You’re staying put. There’s no telling what the state of things are down there. We could be walking into Hell—literally.’
‘All the more reason for me to come along, then.’
‘You’re not trained, Jake. You’d just be in the way. And there’s too much on the line right now for me to have to worry about you at the same time—ergo, you stay.’
Jake shook his head. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘That’s right. I’m branch head, remember? For real, this time. You don’t have the authority to be telling me what to do.’ He nodded, his mind on the matter already made up. ‘I’m going.’
He knew it was a crappy tactic and all, throwing his position in Coleman’s face like that. That was a Jeremy move. Regardless, there was no way he was going to just sit in the car and wait while mommy and daddy went to take care of business—and not just because of the Tainted Goose’s potential ghost situation, though that was admittedly still very concerning. Coleman may have had the experience, but they were far too short on numbers right now to be splitting up. That never ended well. Christ, it was like the guy had never seen a movie before.
Coleman stared at Jake from half in-half out the door, looking like he wanted to comment. Finally, he exhaled. ‘Fine. But you stay with Moss—understand? I’m serious, Jake.’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, dad…’
They climbed out and quickly made their way inside, stepping in one at a time, Coleman at the front, then Eliza, Moss, and finally Jake.
To Jake’s horror, it was even more haunted-looking on the inside than he had feared.
The place was indeed empty. No staff, or customers anywhere, and not a single suited person in sight.
Jake looked around. Before, the dim lighting had given a welcoming impression, a feeling of calm and tranquility. Now it just made everything look off and sickly, and… wrong, somehow, like in the short time between now and his last visit the place had contracted some terrible disease. The phantom aroma of recently cooked food hung heavy in the air, sweet and meaty and lovely.
Coleman stepped forward, gun raised to his chest. He glanced at the ground, eyes darting everywhere.
‘What are you looking for?’ said Jake.
‘Bullet casings.’
‘Why are we looking for bullet casings?’
‘To see for signs of a struggle?’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’ He looked around at Eliza, who was standing by a wall bearing a mural of what Jake thought was supposed to be a large, filth-riddled goose. ‘Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘No. But whatever happened here, it sure cleared everybody out in a hurry—look.’ She gestured toward the tables, where plates of half-eaten food lay in abundance, growing cold.
Coleman stared for a moment. Jake could almost see the gears turning. Then he grunted. ‘All right. Let’s go.’
They made toward the elevator—
‘Moss!’ shouted Jake.
He was bent over a table, pawing at the remains of somebody’s leftovers, shoveling great clumps of it into his mouth with his giant hands.
Guy’s got the munchies. Jesus, spare me.
‘Would you please cut that out?’
Moss made a guilty face, then belched. ‘Sorry, boss.’ It came out “So-ee ’oss”, his mouth still all full of food.
God help them.
It was the Prius situation all over again as they squeezed themselves into the elevator, Jake pressed up against Eliza’s side in a fashion he would have found somewhat arousing if not for the fact they were all very likely on their way to what was sure to be certain death. He had to settle for laughing at Coleman instead, who was fighting off a suddenly lively Moss, the guy clinging to him like a wet shower curtain. You’d have thought an organization with apparently infinite resources (not to mention a workforce the size of the White House’s) would have had the foresight to install an elevator capable of carrying more than four people at a time. Apparently not.
The elevator hummed as it brought them down, the faint sound of some piano ditty—apart from Coleman’s protestations—the only sound to be heard. Nobody talked, the full implications of what they were about to do suddenly dawning on them as they raced headstrong toward the bottom, and, no doubt, their destinies. Jake caught a whiff of Eliza’s hair; some fruity, citrusy smell, one that, eve
n in their current perilous state, he still had to admit, he found pretty appealing.
After what felt like eons, the doors finally parted—
They all gasped.
Jake wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting to find down here—certainly nothing good, if their luck so far was anything to go by.
But this… Jesus, not this.
‘Oh my God…’ he whispered.
There were bodies everywhere. On the floor, slumped against the walls—one body even flung through the window that made up Arrivals’ security checkpoint, hanging over the frame like a jacket thrown over the back of a chair. Each bore huge holes, big enough to fit your fist through. Jake knew exactly what kind of gun made holes like that.
Coleman and Eliza immediately darted to the bodies, began feeling around for pulses, even though—to Jake, at least—that seemed kind of redundant.
‘That sonofabitch,’ cursed Coleman, pushing himself to his feet. ‘They blindsided them. Waited until they were through the checkpoint before turning, and…’ He trailed off, suddenly lost for words. ‘That sonofabitch!’
Jake stared around at the bodies, all that spattered red. On the way over, he’d been able to stave off the crippling terror by pretending this all was nothing more than a game; some operational training scenario or something, where the stakes weren’t real, and the only blood to be found corn syrup. But now, presented with all that death, reality came rushing back like a flood.
This was the real deal. No matter how much smart-mouthing he did, or puns he made, they were about to walk right into the middle of it. They would very likely die—and that wasn’t even the worst outcome.
And yet, strangely, for what was possibly the first time in his life, Jake found himself not wanting to run away. His mind didn’t recoil, like normal, and his feet didn’t itch. Because this was his home, now, a place that—until very recently—had been Grandma Stella’s home, too. And now it was under attack. Was he really just going to stand by and do nothing why people attacked his home?
Feeling very much like a man in a dream, he suddenly stepped forward and, avoiding as much of the blood as he could, plucked one of the demon-guns from the floor. It felt heavy and wrong in his hands, simultaneously both exotic and foreign. It was like the thing had its own gravity.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ said Coleman, whirling on him.
‘What does it look like? I’m mounting up.’
‘No, you’re not. This isn’t what we agreed.’
‘The hell I’m not! Look around, Coleman! Look what they’ve done!’
‘Jake—’
He held up a hand. ‘No, Coleman. It was me who led them to Grandma Stella’s hideout. It’s my fault she’s gone. If I hadn’t been playing private dick, she’d still be alive. Now you want me to just sit back and do nothing while the people that killed her destroy everything she gave up her life—gave up me—to create?’ He shook his head. ‘No way.’
Coleman let out a deep sigh, looking suddenly exhausted. ‘Look, I get you want revenge, Jake—hell, we all do—but we’re talking life or death here. You can’t just—’
‘Let him have it,’ said Eliza from behind them.
Coleman tilted his head to glare at her, eyes blazing. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard me. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. You know it as well as I do. If we really want to do this thing, we’re going to need all the manpower we can get.’ She turned to look at Jake. ‘I say let him have it.’
Coleman was silent a moment, his brow once again drawn tight in a fierce frown. Finally, he nodded. ‘All right. But if you really want to bear-arms, you’re going to need something a little bigger than that pea-shooter.’ Before Jake could ask what he was talking about, Coleman turned and strode toward a room a little ways down the hall from them.
He held the door open. ‘Please—after you. Just remember these aren’t toys—and don’t blow your head off, for Christ’s sakes...’
Jake stepped toward the room, Eliza following closely at his rear. His mind raced with possibilities.
A machine gun. I’m going to get a machine gun—no, a bazooka!
He entered the room—
He frowned. It wasn’t quite the arsenal he’d been expecting. No guns or weapons lined the walls, no swords or machine guns—and certainly no bazookas. It was just some tiny room, completely empty, save for a little shelf that stood against one corner, filled with bottles of what looked to be cleaning products. Next to it on the floor sat a small, red mop bucket, the mop itself poking out of it and leaning precariously against the wall like a drunk a few too many sheets to the wind.
Jake blinked. ‘Hey, what—?’
The door closed with a bang, followed shortly after by the sound of a lock sliding home.
It was then the obvious dawned; he had locked them in.
‘Hey—!’
‘I’m sorry, Jake,’ came Coleman’s voice from the other side. ‘But I promised your grandmother that I’d keep you safe—not help guide you along in your rush to kill yourself.’
Jake stared at the door, his eyes like saucers. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But… I’m branch head! You have to do as I say!’
‘Not this time.’
‘Open the door! God, you are so fired!’ He pushed against it, just on the off chance. Nothing. He blinked. ‘Moss! Moss, open the door! That’s an order!’
‘Sorry, boss,’ said Moss. ‘But Mr. Coleman is correct. Arming you in your current state would be unwise.’
‘Well you sure picked a great time to sober up!’
‘I am sorry, boss,’ he repeated. ‘But do not worry—we will be back soon.’
And with that, they turned and walked briskly away, Jake listening to the heavy clap of their footfalls as they disappeared off down the hall.
Jake spun his gaze on Eliza, eyes wide. ‘Quick—do something!’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know! Can’t you shoot the lock, or something?’
‘In a room this size? You got to be kidding. The splash-back would be horrific. We’d get all messed up.’
He fell back against the door, hands bunched into fists. How dare they lock him in—him, Jake? AKA—the boss. As if he didn’t have enough problems with mutineers as it was.
He slid down the door, suddenly deflated.
Eliza came and sat beside him. ‘You okay?’
‘Well, gee, I dunno, Eliza, let’s see; I’ve been kidnapped, held at gunpoint, interrogated, almost eaten by a variety of monsters now. On top of that, my grandmother—who was supposed to be dead—reappears out of the blue, tells me “oh, hey, yeah, by the way, JUST KIDDING”, before getting murdered for real. Now crazy cultists are rushing to open a doorway to Hell because of a thing some crazy scientist-guy just happened to have said once a gazillion years ago—all the while I’m trapped here in this goddamn broom closet because Coleman doesn’t think I’m qualified enough to wipe my own ass.’
He took a deep breath.
Man, that felt good.
‘Well, it could be worse,’ said Eliza. ‘At least you have me here to keep you company.’ She shot him an unconvincing smile—though, truth be told, just then her company was about the only thing still keeping him sane.
Jake blinked.
Then he was laughing—Eliza, too, just giggles at first, before suddenly breaking out in gales of laughter, the two of them cackling like witches, or hyenas, or, indeed, hyena-witches. After a moment, the laughter began to die off, but then Eliza snorted, and goddamn if that wasn’t just the funniest thing in the world.
Okay—so maybe “sane” was stretching it a little…
‘Ow,’ said Jake, once the laughter had trailed off to sniffles. ‘I think I just busted a rib.’ He turned to Eliza, still chuckling. ‘Do you—?’
He saw it as he was turning his head to look round at her; some small, metal grate in the wall’s top left-hand corner.
A vent.
&
nbsp; ‘Huh.’
Eliza turned to look round at him, eyebrow raised. ‘What?’
He nodded up at the wall where the grate lay.
She blinked. ‘Huh.’
They pushed themselves up and quickly stepped over to it. It wasn’t very big—barely more than a few feet either way.
Must be how they pump air into the place.
He bet it ran all through HQ.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he said.
‘That all this laughing’s made me need to pee?’
‘No. The vent—I think I could squeeze through.’
She looked at the vent, back to him, to the vent again. ‘Um, Jake, while you may indeed have the waistline of a supermodel, I don’t think you’re going to be able to shove your way through there. Hell, I don’t even think I could squeeze through there.’
Jake looked down at her waist, eyebrows raised.
‘I am not fat,’ she said.
‘Hey, I didn’t say anything—besides, big is beautiful.’
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, too. ‘I still don’t think you’re going to fit, Jake. And besides, what if you get stuck? You’ll be trapped.’
He swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that. Holy crap, what if he did get stuck?
He shrugged. ‘Only one way to find out.’
They pulled the shelving unit over to the wall where the vent lay and propped it firmly underneath.
Using the shelves for footholds, he shakily began to make his way up.
‘So, hey, I just realized this may be the last time we ever see each other—should things go wrong, that is,’ he said, turning to look back at her over his shoulder. Cleaning products rattled and fell in their dozens. It was a cleaning product massacre. ‘I mean it’s a pretty dangerous thing I’m about to do—and brave, too. I am hella brave right now, Eliza.’ He knew he was stalling, the realization of what it was he was about to do having suddenly turned his limbs to lead. And yet, even knowing this, it didn’t seem to stop him.
She frowned. ‘What do you want, a medal? Get your butt up there already.’ She pushed at said butt to help him along.
We Hunt the Night: (Tales from the Supernatural Frontline) (Imperium Book 1) Page 11
