Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  "Jason, are you okay?" Stephen asked.

  Jason groaned and slowly turned himself over, mumbling something to Badger. Stephen focused his concern on his son.

  Blood filling its mouth, Moloch uttered a soft command. The air around it began swirling, blackening into a dense cloud. The gases quickly enveloped it, obscuring it from view.

  Feeling the sudden surge in power, Stephen turned, a spear of dismay plunging into his stomach. He had screwed up. Desperately, he launched another attack, but it was weak and bounced harmlessly off Moloch's protective cloud.

  The gases surrounding Moloch were tar-black, nothing inside was visible, but the walls of the cloud bulged ominously. There was movement within, inhuman shapes pressed against its outer edges, seeking release. The cloud boiled and buckled as its innards gained strength. Then it split with a wet, fleshy sound and the guts of hell spilled out.

  Misshapen creatures, only barely human in form, crawled, slithered, and stumbled from the opening. Twisted wreckage of bodies poured forth. Headless bodies streamed onto the court, faces staring out from the bellies. Twisted arms reached and clawed for sustenance; fingers pointing, eyes staring from their tips. Legless bodies oozed from the cloud, arms dragging the torsos along, intestines dragging out behind. Drool dripped from ruined slashes that once were mouths.

  "Kill him," Moloch cried. "Kill the one on the ground." His minions shambled toward Jason. Eyes glowed with promise.

  Chapter 33

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  Backed into a corner of the fence, Badger closed his eyes and shook his head. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be. But when he opened his eyes, it still was there. He bit his lip until blood dribbled down his chin. And it still was there.

  What the fuck was going on? What happened to Benton? What did this have to do with the child murders? Why the fuck did Jason know this beast?

  He watched as Jason pumped thirteen rounds into the creature's chest, only to have it pull its fucking heart out and fix it, for God's sake! Badger looked at his own .357. What once seemed so powerful and deadly now looked like a squirt gun.

  He simply couldn't accept it. This shit didn't happen in real life. Even Stephen King couldn't come up with something this fucked up.

  Badger recognized Stephen's voice when it came from out of nowhere and spoke to the beast, but it only convinced him that he had totally lost his shit. When those huge balls of whatever-the-hell-they-were appeared from nowhere and kicked the living shit out of that ugly fucker, Badger figured he'd gone down that long, lonesome road.

  The battle rose around him, but Badger, trapped within his own amazement, failed to understand the danger. He saw Moloch's bolts of desperation ricochet off the barrier and fly around the courts in a deadly frenzy, but did not comprehend the danger until one bolt ripped through his right shoulder.

  He sank to his knees as the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh filled his nose. Although the pain was almost crippling, it also cleared the cobwebs out of his head. Whatever this creature was or wasn't, it sure as hell was real and it sure as hell was deadly.

  Picking up his gun with his left hand, he scuttled over to Jason. His friend lay facedown on the courts. Badger saw him stir slightly.

  "Jazz, Jazz, wake up," he said, shaking his partner vigorously. "You've got to do something."

  Jason rolled over slowly, his eyes opening, but still unfocused.

  "Jazz, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Badger asked.

  "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," Jason mumbled. "Where am I?"

  Badger began to answer when he heard Stephen's voice interrupt. "Jason, this is Dad. Are you all right?"

  Wait a second, old man, Badger thought, don't take your mind off that thing over there. He ain't dead yet.

  Badger looked up and saw the black cloud start swirling around Moloch.

  "Oh fuck," he said.

  Jason rose to a sitting position and looked around, a dazed expression on his face. Badger thought his friend's expression made him look as if a bulldozer were rumbling through his head, leaving deep, jagged tread tracks. Jason looked into Badger's face and his expression changed to one of alarm.

  "Shit, do I look that bad?" Badger said, then turned his head to watch the black vapors swallowing Moloch.

  Jason followed Badger's gaze just in time to see the cloud burst open, spilling its horror.

  "What are they?" Badger whispered, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

  "The souls of the damned," Jason answered. "They used to be human, just like us."

  Jason paused. "The poor bastards. What must they have gone through to wind up like that? How they must have suffered," he said as his eyes filled with tears.

  But the crying lasted only a second. As the first tears trailed down his cheeks, Jason's body arched backward, his arms stiffened, slapping his palms to the ground to keep him upright. The golden aura flamed to life and Badger gasped, falling backward onto his ass.

  Oh Christ! he thought. I can't take much more of this. How much do they expect me to handle?

  Badger watched as the tears on his friend's face turned to glittering diamonds, then evaporated. Jason's hair moved and danced like Medusa's snakes. He brought his hand up before his face and turned it forward and back, an expression of wonder in his eyes. The golden light flowed in and out of Jason's skin, the blood vessels and capillaries glowed with inner power. Jason flicked his fingers and multicolored sparks burst from their tips, falling to the pavement in glittering cascades. He looked at Badger and smiled.

  "It's never been so strong," Jason said with awe. "But it's different somehow. It's more pure, more… more holy. What brought this on? Why is it so strong, so different?"

  "What is it? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Badger asked with equal parts fear and amazement in his voice.

  Jason saw his partner's horrified face and a look of sympathy and concern crossed his own. He placed his hand on Badger's shoulder.

  "Don't worry, pal," he said. "It's okay. It's good. This is the little family problem I was telling you about. It's sort of a birthright, sort of—"

  Jason's words were interrupted as a sphere of energy exploded to life only a few feet away and slammed into the creatures with a meaty thump. Body parts flew helter-skelter. Arms, legs, heads, eyes, rained on the asphalt. There was no blood; these creatures had bees drained eons ago.

  A thump on Jason's right shoulder caused him to look down. A three-fingered hand was attached to his arm, fingers clamped around his bicep with unbelievable force. The nails sliced through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, biting into the muscle. The pressure tightened.

  "It's still alive," he said. "It can't die."

  "Bullshit," Badger said, bringing the barrel of his gun to bear only an inch or so from the hand.

  Jason gently pushed the barrel away and shook his head. Gazing benevolently at the diseased intruder on his arm, his eyebrows knitted briefly. The hand dissolved into dust, which floated gently to the ground.

  The pair stood up. Body parts littered the ground all around them. Dismembered arms, their hands still attached, pulled themselves toward Jason and Badger from all sides. Legs kicked and jumped in fish-out-of-water fashion. A few feet to their left, a head lay sideways on the asphalt, red eyes staring directly at Jason. The jaw opened and closed, teeth clacking together. When it opened, centipedes swarmed out of the mouth.

  The remaining creatures lay in a disorganized pile near where they emerged from the cloud. Those with legs still intact wrenched themselves to standing positions and began shuffling toward Jason. Those without flopped back and forth, trying to fulfill their duty. They did it all without saying a word, without grunting or groaning. To Badger, the silence of their unending efforts was more terrible than the creatures themselves.

  "I think we'd better protect ourselves," Jason said. The golden aura around him increased in intensity and extended to cover Badger. A gentle tingling scooted along Badger's skin and he jerked slightly at the feeling. It was weird, b
ut soothing, like the friendly arm of a loved one around your shoulders.

  "Good idea, Son," Stephen's voice said from nowhere.

  "Dad? You're here?" Jason said, looking around.

  "Jesus, what a fucked-up family," Badger muttered.

  "Yes, I'm right here," Stephen said, ignoring Badger's comment.

  "Where?"

  "Let's just say here in spirit if not in form."

  From behind Jason, the booming report of Badger's gun interrupted the conversation. Four feet in front of Jason, the head of one of the misshappen creatures vanished in a meaty spray. The body danced and spun, falling to the ground, where it jerked itself into a sitting position and tried to stand. It tumbled over.

  Jason turned to face Badger, who stood about three feet back, a smoking pistol in his left hand.

  "I think you better get your head out of your ass and pay attention to the situation at hand," Badger said. "There's a lot more of those things. Plus, the big daddy over there seems to be making a comeback."

  He pointed the barrel of the pistol at Moloch, still leaning against the fence. A green film hugged the creature's body, and through it, Jason could see the wounds on its body healing themselves.

  "Not again," he said. "Dad, isn't there any way to kill it?"

  "Destroy it utterly," Stephen said. "Even it can't survive without a body."

  "How?"

  "I'm not sure. It's something we'll have to figure out together."

  A vengeful laugh came from the other side of the court. Moloch stood, its body whole again.

  "How touching," it said. "Father-son togetherness. The babbling of fools."

  With a wave of its arms, the cloud reappeared, emptying its guts with a fresh batch of creatures. Only this time their numbers were tripled. They descended on Jason and Badger like ravenous wolves. Badger's gun fired five more times and five more fell, but ten more took their place.

  The aura protected them both, but the sheer weight of the brutes forced Jason backward. He stumbled into Badger, who was desperately trying to reload. The two went down in a heap.

  Creatures fell upon them, biting and slashing.

  Chapter 34

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  Stephen watched helplessly as the creatures attacked. He couldn't destroy them without taking a chance of destroying Jason and Badger. What could he do?

  Moloch's voice entered his mind.

  Feeling helpless, Stephen? Perhaps a bit left out? Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about you. In fact, I've brought you a little gift.

  A greenish glow formed at the end of the hallway in Jason's apartment. Unable to focus his mind in two places at once, Stephen left the tennis courts, speeding down the spiritual road until the blue aura of his spirit descended again into the apartment and reentered his body. He knew Moloch, as powerful as the beast was, wouldn't be able to launch separate attacks at him and Jason. The creatures were a diversionary tactic to keep Jason out of the way while Moloch dealt with him.

  Stephen stood and faced the diaphanous glow, which slowly approached him. As it did, it assumed a human shape. Two outstretched arms appeared, reaching. A head formed, but there was no face. Stephen gave ground as the thing came closer.

  "Honey, what's the matter?" a woman's voice said. "Don't you recognize me?"

  Stephen felt his knees turn to soup. He thought he might fall. The voice. It was Maureen's.

  "Baby, it's me. I've come back to you. Don't you want me?"

  Sickness filling his stomach, Stephen watched as the face took shape. The straight, aquiline nose, the full, lush lips, the bright blue eyes. Her blond hair fell about her shoulders in the loose, easy cut Stephen remembered with love. Her breasts swelled inside the sweater she was wearing, the cashmere he bought for their twentieth anniversary, the one he took such joy in rubbing his hands along before yanking it off in a burst of passion.

  Oh my Lord, Stephen thought it is Maureen.

  No, you stupid bastard, it's Moloch, a voice inside said.

  He backed down the hall, arms stretched to either side, fingers scraping the walls.

  "Kiss me, Stephen," she said. "I want you."

  "Get away from me," he said. "I know who you are. You're not Maureen."

  "But I am," she said. "I'll show you."

  Crossing her arms at the waist, she pulled the sweater over her head. She was naked underneath, and her breasts, wet with perspiration and swollen with desire, rose and fell with each breath. Her nipples stood erect.

  Dropping the sweater to the floor, she reached down and unzipped the skirt she was wearing. It sank softly from her hips. Moist drops glittered in the golden-blond triangle between her legs. The musky odor of arousal filled the hall.

  "Make love to me, baby," she moaned, her hands running up and down her body, in and out.

  Stephen felt himself getting erect. Oh God he wanted her. It had been so long. He still loved her so much. He reached for her, his mouth longing to meet hers.

  Their hands touched and she smiled. Her mouth was full of fangs.

  "Surprise," she hissed.

  Her arms shot out and clamped around his throat, almost crushing his windpipe. Fireworks popped in front of his eyes. Her nails dug into the back of his neck and Stephen knew it would only be a few seconds before he passed out.

  With power born of desperation, his arms flew upward, catching hers inside the elbows, forcing them apart. Fingernails ripped bloody trails along the sides of his neck as he pried her hands off. Stephen staggered backward, taking air in great whooping gulps.

  She stepped up like a striking cobra, the back of her right hand cracking across the right side of his jaw, shattering it. He bounced off one of the walls, then careened backward into the living room, stumbling over his own feet and falling.

  Coming at him, she grabbed a chair from the dining room table and lifted it over her head. The dining room furniture was Stephen's wedding present for Jason and Sarah. It was solid oak and the chair weighed at least twenty pounds, but she held it as if it were made of toothpicks.

  Stephen raised his right hand and flicked his wrist. With a thunderous whoomp! the chair burst into flame. She tried to drop it but couldn't. The wood stuck to her hand in a welder's embrace. As her hands burned and the skin peeled back in charred strips, she looked at Stephen.

  "You cocksucker," she said.

  The chair quickly burned itself to ash, leaving two blackened stumps where her hands used to be. Holding them in front of her face, she smiled hideously.

  "I guess this means you don't love me anymore," she said.

  Unable to speak, Stephen sprang upright, spitting two molars onto the carpet. A stream of blood ran from the corner of his ruined jaw, already beginning to swell and turn purple. Hatred boiled behind his eyes, more hate than he thought possible of harboring. Moloch was making a mockery of his wife, abusing her memory. Stephen's face turned a violent shade of crimson as fury rushed into it. He felt lightheaded and the room began to swim.

  He charged.

  Her eyes opened wide at the unexpected attack and she took a step backward before his palms smashed into her face, breaking her nose in a crimson shower. A blue glow burst forth around his hands and covered her head in a sapphire shroud. For a moment, the light hooded her head, then sank into her skin like water into a sponge.

  Stephen looked at his handiwork and grimaced. Her nose sat sideways on her face, completely crushed to the right. The skin was torn free and one side of her sinus cavity was exposed. As she breathed, blood plumed out in a scarlet mist.

  She just laughed.

  "I think I want a divorce," she said.

  Stephen gave her a furious, cockeyed smile. Then he clenched his fist.

  The sound of splintering bone and ripping muscle burst through her ruined nose like a voice through a megaphone. Her hands flew to the sides of her head and her mouth opened to scream. Before she could utter a sound, her face exploded outward and, in a jet of blood, flesh, and bone, her brain rocketed from her
head. Stephen stepped to one side and the brain flew past him, splattering against the far wall, oozing down in thick, gray masses.

  "Laugh now, bitch," he mumbled through bloody lips.

  She stood there for a moment, her face gone, rimmed by the bloody edges of her skull. Then she toppled forward, spraying Stephen with gore.

  Wiping his face with one hand, Stephen sighed. His shoulders sagged. He still felt lightheaded and queasy, only now the feeling was compounded by nausea and a feeling of unreality. The room seemed miles away and he was having trouble concentrating. He still had something to do, but couldn't remember what it was.

  All he knew for certain was that the left side of his head hurt, a dull ache. Funny, he thought, it's the right side of my jaw that's broken, why does the left side of my head hurt?

  A piercing white arrow of pain jabbed deeply into his temple. The room turned black in front of him and he crumbled to his knees.

  One word scorched across his mind before he lost consciousness.

  Stroke.

  Chapter 35

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  Jason flinched as claws and fangs tried to tear him to pieces, only to hit the protective corona with terrible sizzling. Beside him, he saw Badger punch his right fist into the oozing face of what used to be a woman. Badger's hand burst through the other side, gelatinous mounds dripping off the knuckles. He groaned and jerked his fist out with a moist pop.

  Jason knew he and his partner would be temporarily safe from the physical attack, but the crush of bodies soon would suffocate them both. He must act.

  It was hard to ignore the desperate beasts, but Jason cleared his mind. His first inclination was to eradicate them into dust, destroy them totally, but considering that plan, he once again felt a pang of pity for the hapless things. This wasn't their fault. They were Moloch's pawns. But they didn't deserve this.

  Instead of annihilation, Jason suddenly thought of freedom, of release, of unchaining these creatures from Moloch's grip.