Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  Jason looked at his watch. Quarter to five. School wouldn't start for another three hours. Teachers and such wouldn't start arriving for another two. That should give him time to finish things once and for all.

  Taking the keys from Badger's pocket, he walked slowly to the car, still parked in front of the office building on the other side of the woods. He drove to the tennis courts and lay Badger across the backseat, making sure his friend was in a comfortable position. It never occurred to him that Badger was beyond feeling.

  He climbed in the driver's door and started to turn the key. But when the door closed with a solid, final thunk, the cold realization finally descended upon him. Tears burst in his eyes and his body was hit by a wave of sobbing. He rested his head against the steering wheel and cried loudly, not caring if anybody heard. He cried for five minutes, deep, racking sobs that made it hard to breathe. When it was over, the hurt was partially cleansed. He sat up, wiping the wetness off his red, puffy cheeks with the back of his hands. Sniffing back the remaining tears, he started the ignition.

  Suffering, that's what Moloch said he wanted to inflict. Well, he got his wish. Jason felt a large gaping hole in his heart that would be impossible to fill.

  He could only hope Moloch hadn't carried out his threats against Alex. He didn't believe Moloch would kill her only to leave her to be found later. It would be much more cruel to do it in front of him. So Alex might still be alive. Or was that just desperate hope?

  He was stopped at a red light on Lawrenceville Highway when the world disappeared around him, blackness enfolding everything but the interior of his car. A pair of frigid silver eyes formed over the passenger's seat. Jason raised the golden aura but held his place, not shying away from the apparition.

  "Hello, Jason," Moloch said. "I just thought I'd let you know that I'm over at Alex's place. We've had a wonderful conversation. I feel like a part of the family now."

  "You bastard. Is she still alive?"

  "Of course. I wouldn't hurt her, at least not as long as you're not here. Don't worry. I'll wait until you arrive to start the festivities. Oh, by the way, your father's here, too, but I'm afraid he's not in such good shape."

  "What have you done to him?" Jason demanded.

  "Me, personally? Why I've done nothing. Your friend, Anson Quintard, says he thinks it's either a heart attack or a stroke. But he admits he's not sure."

  "Quintard? What's he got to do with this?"

  "Oh, he's my little helper these days. You know what? I think he hates you as much as I do and he's just dying to watch what happens to you."

  Moloch laughed. "But enough of that," he said. "The end result is that your father isn't long for this world. Then again, neither are you or your pregnant bitch. So take care and we'll see you soon."

  The world cleared and Jason heard the loud honking of a horn as an impatient driver behind him wondered why he wasn't moving for the green light. He slowly accelerated. His mind was racing, but not about what Moloch said; he expected as much. What surprised him was the way he felt when Moloch appeared. The swell of power within him was instantaneous and took on added strength when Moloch's words made hatred rise inside him. Yet it wasn't like the rush of energy he had felt on the tennis courts. Yes, it was strong, monstrously so. But it had a dark edge that left a nasty residue on him, like the time as a boy when he had stepped on that dead cat on the side of the road.

  What does it mean? he wondered. Why was the power different this time from the last? His gut told him the distinction was important, perhaps crucial, but it still escaped him.

  Moloch obviously was laying a trap, expecting him to just walk in on the pretext of saving his father's and Alex's lives. He was going to try to save Alex and his father all right, but he'd be damned if he would follow Moloch's game plan. He had an idea of his own.

  Turning on Mountain Industrial Boulevard, he drove toward the massive complex of one-story offices and warehouses lining both sides of the road for miles. Behind the complex were acres upon acres of flat, empty land, the trees bulldozed to make way for buildings still in the planning stages. It was a vantage point offering a wide-open view for several hundred yards in any direction.

  Pulling into an entrance of the complex, he drove until he reached the last open piece of land, a red-clay plot about five hundred yards square sitting a quarter of a mile behind the other buildings. At the edges, the field sloped up about ten feet to row after row of Southern pines. Trees surrounded the field on three sides; only the road side was open. Jason pulled the car to the curb and stepped out, then walked slowly to the middle of the field.

  He looked at his watch. Half past five. At this time of the morning the office complex was empty. People wouldn't start arriving for another two hours. Things would be over by then.

  He was strangely calm. It was all coming down to this. One way or another, things would end right here, right now. There was something peaceful and settling about the thought.

  He reached into his pocket. He didn't need to check to see if anything was in there; he knew there would be. He pulled out the disappearing ball trick.

  Holding it in the palm of his hand, he gazed at it for a moment and smiled thinly. With the briefest thought, he vaporized the toy.

  "Here we go," he said out loud.

  He opened his mind and called.

  Chapter 40

  « ^ »

  Why won't my heart stop pounding? Quintard asked himself every couple of minutes.

  He sat on the couch in Alex's apartment, but knew he wouldn't be able to stay there long. Within seconds, he stood and walked across the room, then went to the kitchen to get a drink of water, then walked back to the living room and sat down. All the while he rubbed his hands together or ran his fingers through his hair. Each time he looked at the floor and saw Stephen Medlocke lying there unconscious with a near-gangrenous jaw, his stomach verged on expelling its contents. He wished Moloch hadn't insisted on bringing Stephen along, but was hardly in a position to voice a negative opinion.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  He looked at Moloch, who stood by the sliding glass doors, watching the sun rise through the trees. If he didn't know better, he'd think the creature's face was blessed with a look of contentment. Then Moloch spoke.

  "This is truly a beautiful world," it said, and Quintard couldn't tell if it was talking only to itself.

  Moloch turned away from the window.

  "I shall take great pleasure in ruling it," it said.

  Quintard tried to smile, but all he could dredge up was a grimace.

  "Don't worry," Moloch said, spying the expression. "You shall be in a position of authority with anything you wish. Those who help me are rewarded."

  "Thank you," Quintard croaked.

  Moloch nodded and Quintard decided to press matters a bit further.

  "What exactly do you have in mind for the time being?" he asked. "With Medlocke and this woman, I mean."

  Without looking at Quintard, Moloch answered matter-of-factly.

  "I intend to kill them both," it said. "I thought you understood that."

  Bile burned the back of Quintard's throat, but he continued his questioning.

  "Why exactly do you want Medlocke dead?"

  Moloch turned and pointed at the M on its face. "I assume you've noticed this?" it asked. Quintard nodded. "It was given to me by a Medlocke over five hundred years ago. It was the Medlockes who first brought me to this world then cast me out like a dog. I never forgot nor forgave. The Medlockes have prevented me from my rightful inheritance of this world for too long. Jason Medlocke is the last in the bloodline. Once he is erased, my path is clear."

  "What about the woman?" Quintard said. "What does she have to do with it?"

  "She is pregnant with Medlocke's child. I cannot take the chance that another Medlocke son will be brought into this world. Sons carry the power to stop me."

  "Suppose it's not a boy? Suppose it's a girl?" Quintard asked.

&n
bsp; Moloch smiled, its teeth glinting in the golden morning light. Quintard thought the combination of the beautiful morning sun and the deadly teeth was the most terrible thing he'd ever seen.

  "Boy or girl, the woman must die," Moloch said. "Killing the unborn child is only part of the reason. I intend to kill the woman while Medlocke watches. I wish to make him suffer to the depths of his soul. I wish to hear him cry out in anguish and know the fate of this world rests on his shoulders—and he has failed."

  Quintard had never much believed in God, had tried not to think much about it since killing his father. But if there was a devil, then this creature was it. And he knew if he helped it, his soul was lost. More so than it already was.

  He only wanted to ruin Medlocke's life, to bring him to his knees. And so help him God, he never meant for the woman to end up a casualty and, so help him God again, not a baby.

  He suddenly found himself believing strongly in the burning fires of hell and didn't want to spend eternity there.

  But what could he do?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a small grunt from Moloch. The beast tilted its head to one side, as if it were listening to something floating by on the breeze. Moloch stood silently for about ten seconds, then nodded. It looked at Quintard.

  "Time to go. The mouse has thrown a wrinkle into the fabric of my plan. He is more wily than I thought. No matter. The end result will be the same. Go get the girl and let's be on our way."

  Quintard rose from the sofa and marched dutifully back to the bedroom. Alex still was in the bed, trapped there by the green bands of energy Moloch had wrapped around her. Her eyes, once wide with terror and puffy with crying, now were hard and hot. Fury rolled behind them.

  She looked at Quintard with hatred that surpassed anything he had ever experienced. He felt small and worthless.

  "You fucking worm," she said as he stood beside the bed. "You don't think it's going to let you live once this is all over? It doesn't like humans, much less need them. It's going to blast you into bloody chunks the first chance it gets. I just hope I'm around to see it."

  "I… I… I didn't know," Quintard said, saltiness welling up in his eyes. "Honest to God. This is beyond anything I planned. I don't even know where this creature came from. It was at Medlocke's apartment when I got there."

  "So you just fell in with it like a good little Nazi brownshirt," Alex said. "You're still scum."

  Anger rose in Quintard's chest.

  "And what would you have done?" he asked spitefully.

  "Let it kill you right there on the spot? No, Miss High-and-Mighty, you'd have done exactly what I did—anything to keep yourself alive."

  "How long are you going to keep up the charade?" Alex demanded.

  "I don't know," Quintard said, the heat expunged from his voice. "I just don't know. How can I compete with it? Tell me something that has a chance of working and I'll try it."

  Alex lay silently in her green cocoon. She looked hard at Quintard, her eyes taking a cutting edge, as though she were either sizing him up or getting ready to slice him to ribbons. Finally she spoke.

  "I still don't really trust you, but I don't think I have much of a choice," she said. "In the top drawer of this nightstand is a thirty-eight-caliber revolver. Jason gave it to me several days ago. It's loaded."

  Quintard's eyes widened in amazement and he scurried to the nightstand and pulled out the drawer. A blue-steel handgun lay inside He reached in and drew it out.

  "Put it in your coat pocket," Alex said. "And whatever you do, try to act cool about it."

  Quintard's hands trembled as he held the gun, turning it over in his hand, looking it up and down. "If it discovers this, I'm dead," he said.

  "If you don't use it, you're just as dead," she said.

  "Quintard!" Moloch's voice echoed down the hallway. "I said bring her in here."

  Quintard jumped so hard he almost dropped the pistol and spent a couple of heart-stopping seconds juggling it madly between his hands. Alex held her breath. She could already hear the gun going off as it hit the floor. But Quintard managed to get it under control before it fell. He pushed it deep into his pocket.

  "Answer it," Alex hissed.

  "I can't do anything about her until you do something about this green stuff around her," Quintard hollered. Fear gave his voice a shrill edge.

  The green bands disappeared and Alex got up slowly, flexing her stiff muscles.

  "Don't go chickenshit on me," she warned as Quintard escorted her from the room.

  Moloch stood in the middle of the living room. It looked sternly at Quintard as he and Alex entered.

  "I didn't like the tone in your voice when you spoke to me," it said.

  "I'm sorry," Quintard said. "I'm just tired. And I'm not ashamed to admit I'm scared, too. I have no idea what's happening."

  Moloch smiled. On another face, it would have been called benevolent. On its, it was only ghastly.

  "Don't worry about that," it said. "I know."

  It extended its arms in a semicircle.

  "Come, stand by me. We're ready to leave."

  The two moved inside its arms, both careful not to touch it.

  "What about him?" Quintard asked, pointing at Stephen.

  "He's coming, too."

  "Is he strong enough to make the trip?" Alex questioned.

  "Probably not. But he's going to die soon anyway, so it really doesn't matter, now does it?"

  With a bright flash they were gone.

  Chapter 41

  « ^ »

  Jason stood alone in the barren clay field, waiting for Moloch to appear. He moved constantly in a circle, making sure the beast didn't suddenly appear a foot behind him and brain him before he had a chance to react.

  As he kept watch, his mind turned over and over, trying to understand the new aspect of his power. It seemed essential to do so, but it was like trying to solve calculus with an elementary school education.

  Why did it feel so different under different circumstances? What was the key? The trigger? His father had never mentioned anything about varying shades of power.

  So far, he knew that each time he saw Moloch, a combination of disgust, horror, and soul-deep abhorrence filled him. The power almost invariably flamed to life at those moments. And there was no doubt that his body felt electric, a magical high-tension wire looking for something to latch onto.

  Yet that couldn't hold a candle to the other side of his gift, the one that had revealed itself when he set the soulless creatures free on the tennis courts. There was no comparison. In the first form, Jason felt powerful; in the second, he felt invulnerable, a holy archangel capable of bestowing either sustenance or retribution on whomever he pleased.

  He also knew the first time he had felt the difference was at the sight of those misshapen beings. His instantaneous revulsion was quickly tempered with pity and the power took on an added dimension. A sudden spark of understanding struck him. The change occurred when he felt another kind of emotion, one that sprang from compassion, not from hate. God, was that it? Was it that simple?

  A blast of cold air on the back of his neck told him the chance to explore this revelation was over. The golden aura enveloping him immediately, he turned to face Moloch.

  "Hello, Jason," Moloch said. "I've brought some friends."

  Quintard and Alex moved from inside the embrace of Moloch's arms to stand several feet to its right. To their left, the prostrate form of Stephen lay on the bare ground. The sight of his father's pale, barely breathing body almost knocked Jason to his knees. First Badger, now this. Oh God, how much could he take?

  "Oh, he's not dead yet," Moloch said with a slight cackle of pleasure. "But I wouldn't be making any long-range plans for him."

  Bitterness coating his tongue, Jason stared directly into Moloch's eyes. There was no compassion there, nothing human. Wrath made Jason's face equally stony, and his eyes began to match Moloch's in coldness.

  "I'll warn you only one time," Jaso
n said. "Let them go. This is between you and me."

  "Oh, I don't think so," Moloch answered. "This woman is carrying your child and I can't afford another Medlocke bastard in this world. Your father and I, meanwhile, have been enemies for too long for me to just forgive and forget. And Quintard is—how should I say it?—in my employment."

  "Is that true, Quintard?" Jason asked.

  His skin the shade of paste, Quintard just shrugged. Jason stared at him and shook his head solemnly.

  "You're lower than I thought you could be," Jason told Quintard. "But that doesn't matter. You're human; it's not."

  "Let him go, too," he said to Moloch. "Let them all go."

  "I believe the expression in this world is: Fuck you."

  Moloch walked casually over to Stephen's body. It looked down and smiled.

  "In some ways, I'm sorry to see Stephen die," it said. "He's been a good opponent. In others, though…"

  It reached out and kicked Stephen savagely in the ribs. Jason heard the bones crack like snapped tree limbs. Stephen rolled over twice, and his arms, which were lying by his sides, flew up in limp arcs. He ended up on his chest, dirt and gravel clinging to his face and matting his eyebrows and eyelashes.

  All the feelings of hate Jason harbored inside rushed to the surface. His arms whipped out and golden streams of fury flew from the fingertips.

  But Moloch was prepared. The green veil of protection flared around it and it counterattacked with an equally strong column of green magic. The two forces met in midair, barreling into each other with an impact that shook the air and left a ten-foot crater from which smoke rose in a wide, stinking swath.

  Jason instantly understood that Moloch's kicking of his father was a ruse intended to test him, to get him off step. But understanding came too late. Still stunned, Jason didn't react when Moloch whirled to face Alex, a greenish-yellow glow filling his hands.

  But she wasn't there.

  Moloch frantically scanned the open field. It took only a second to locate her—halfway across the field, aiming for Jason's car.