The Telling

by Mike Duran

  Zeph pursed his lips in thought. “What else would she do, Tam? Is there somewhere she would go, someone she would want to see before leaving?”

  “I dunno.” As her eyes wandered the apartment, Tamra’s heart raced. “She was always off investigating this or that. I kept telling her to be careful. I knew this would happen!”

  “Think, Tam. If she knew you were coming back for her, she probably didn’t go far.”

  “Right.” Tamra tried to calm herself. “She talked about Camp Poverty, but that’s quite a walk from here. And she talked about Easy Dolan. He seemed to know a lot about things.”

  “Like the Madness of Endurance?”

  Tamra straightened. “Yeah.” Then she said, “C’mon.”

  She picked her way through the cluttered apartment and led them to the Back Nine. They paused at Easy Dolan’s door, looked at each other, and Tamra knocked.

  Thumping sounded behind the door, and it opened.

  Easy leaned on his cane, squinted at the pair, and then a smile burst across his face. “Why, you’re Miss Annie’s granddaughter.”

  “I am.”

  “And this must be …” Easy’s eyes widened, and a slight grin creased his features.

  Tamra said, “This is Zeph.”

  “Pleased to meet you, young man.” Easy nodded toward him.

  “Same to you, sir.”

  Tamra noticed a hint of reservation in Zeph’s tone and, rather than look at him for explanation, trained her attention on Easy. “We’re looking for my grandmother. Have you seen her?”

  “Miss Annie? Pshh!” Easy swept his hand through the air. “Ya never know where to find her. Always snoopin’ around. I keep tellin’ her to be careful. But does she listen?”

  “You’re right about that,” Tamra said.

  “Come on in,” Easy stepped aside. “I might be able ta help ya.”

  Tamra hesitated for a split second, and during that second, as she tilted slightly forward, Zeph snared her arm.

  “I think we’ll keep looking, sir.” Zeph pulled Tamra toward his side.

  She did not need to question Zeph’s action. Tamra stared at Easy, studying his features, trying to identify the intangibles they had just discussed. And trying to identify what had spooked Zeph.

  “I do believe I can help you out.” Easy’s smile seemed to grow even bigger. “C’mon in and warm your bones.” He stepped back even further and gestured inside, as if he were rolling out a red carpet.

  The apartment door nearby opened a crack, and a shadowy figure peered from behind it. A sickly sense of ambush overwhelmed Tamra. She turned to see a shadow moving across the wall behind Easy. Someone else was in the apartment with him. And she doubted it was Nams.

  “No, thank you.” Zeph turned and steered Tamra into the hallway. “We’ll just keep looking.”

  “You sure?” Easy’s voice rose.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, don’t go gettin’ yourselves in trouble, now.” Easy issued a dry cackle.

  Zeph and Tamra did not look behind them. They hurried down the Back Nine like speed walkers, turned the corner at the atrium, and stood with their backs to the wall, panting.

  “He knows something,” Tamra said. “Something’s happened to my grandmother!”

  Zeph nodded. “Do you remember what Weaver said about Fergus’s father?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “If his father was a part of this, if he knows something …”

  “Laurel House. He’s in the convalescent home.” Tamra hurried down the opposite hallway. “C’mon.”

  She had been in Laurel House only once. Annie always curled her nose in disgust when the place was mentioned. The thought of shriveling away in such a facility was antithetical to everything the rambunctious woman stood for. She vowed she’d rather die running than live sitting still. Just the reminder of her grandmother’s feistiness sent anxiety coursing through Tamra’s limbs.

  They followed the walkway over the bridge, through the bristlecone pines, and Laurel House came into view. Perhaps it was an unconscious act, but Tamra glanced at the sky as they approached. The cloud cover had remained thick all day, casting a melancholy mood. Soon nightfall would set in, and Tamra Lane did not want to be caught anywhere near that old mine when it got dark. She had to trust that Annie would use her intuition, investigative prowess, and maybe even her Swiss Army knife to keep herself safe.

  Tamra greeted the first nurse they saw, a plump, pink girl pushing a cart of bedding.

  “Excuse me,” Tamra said. “We’re looking for Mr. Coyne.”

  “Coyne. Right down that—” The nurse turned and, upon seeing Zeph’s scar, stopped. She cleared her throat, looked away, and continued. “Right down that hallway.” She pointed around the corner. “7, um, 8. 708.”

  Tamra thanked her, and they began to leave when the nurse asked, “You’re not with that other fella, are you?”

  Zeph and Tamra cast puzzled glances at each other. Had Little Weaver come by? Or had someone else beat them to the punch? Before they could query, the nurse said, “Tall guy, kinda sullen. Ross, or … no—Roth.”

  “Roth?” Zeph furrowed his brow.

  “Been a frequent visitor lately. Said he was a close associate of Mr. Coyne. But, I dunno, if you ask me, he’s kind of weird.”

  “In what way?” Tamra asked.

  “Keeps odd hours, for one thing. Amy said she found him standing at Mr. Coyne’s bed at two the other morning. Shows up at weird places too. I found him out back at the Dumpsters one day. Not sure what he was doing, but he scared the daylights outta me.” Her cheeks turned even pinker on this admission.

  Zeph looked at Tamra, who said, “Yeah, that is weird. We’re not with him, but we’ll be sure to keep an eye out. Thanks.”

  They turned the corner and began scanning the room numbers. The smells of the convalescent home set her stomach on edge, as did the apparent spiral of their situation.

  Zeph spoke softly. “That was the guy Lacroix and his partner said I should watch out for.”

  “Roth?”

  “They said he was with the government. He kicked them off my case.”

  “The government?” Tamra stopped in her tracks. “What is going on here? And if those detectives were off your case, what were they doing at your house?”

  “I called them, remember? Whoever Roth is, he’s tied in with all this. And I doubt he wants folks snooping around. Besides, if he’s really with the government, then he probably has a lot of resources at his disposal.”

  Tamra refused to ponder the possibilities. She pointed across the hall to Room 708.

  An old man lay with his mouth open inside, eyes twitching under buggy lids, as a television set cast garbled noise. Zeph led the way and surveyed the room before slowly walking in with Tamra behind him.

  A window was open, but its curtains remained listless, showing only the sunless autumn sky. Someone lay huddled under a sheet in a nearby bed, their back turned to the room. As Zeph and Tamra approached the bed, the old man’s eyes fluttered open, and he seemed to rouse from sleep. His mouth moved, but only spittle and garbled sounds emerged. By the looks of it, they would not be extracting information from this man.

  “Mr. Coyne?” Zeph approached the bed, studying the man’s face. “Mr. Coyne?”

  As Zeph did this, something caught Tamra’s eye. Fluid of some sort lay puddled under the other bed. She reminded herself that this was a convalescent home. Nevertheless, she stepped closer for inspection. A frail spine showed from under the blankets, the body unmoving. She leaned over the person. Whoever it was, he did not appear to be breathing.

  Tamra turned to tell Zeph.

  He was hunched over the old man. He had grasped Coyne’s head in both hands and was studying the man’s skull. Zeph looked up. “Something’s been done to him. These scars—he’s had some sort of … lobotomy.”

  When he said this, something rustled behind Tamra and she jumped. An arm slipped out from under the shee
t and dangled limply.

  Tamra gasped and Zeph rushed over and flung the sheet back.

  “Oh my—” Tamra removed her hand from her mouth. “It’s Fergus. The custodian.”

  The bloody pillow on which his bulbous head rested required no explanation.

  Zeph looked to the door. “We need to get outta here.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

  “Like who? Easy? The director? The guy on the walkie-talkie in the tram?”

  Tamra’s stomach dropped.

  “He’s been swapped,” Zeph said. “Someone’ll probably be by to dispose of his body. So I’m guessing there’s another Fergus around here, one who’s very much alive.”

  “But—we need help.”

  “C’mon.” Zeph went to the door.

  Tamra remained looking from the dead body to the old man. What had been going on here? All this time Nams had been warning her, and here they were in a convalescent room with a lobotomized physicist and his dead son. If only she’d listened to her grandmother when she had the chance.

  They hurried into the hallway, but as they did, Tamra and Zeph hit the skids.

  At the intersection of the hallway, the nurse was talking to two men. Even from behind, Lacroix and Chavez were unmistakable.

  Zeph shoved her back into the room. “Don’t know about you, but I’m not up for talking with these guys.” Zeph pointed to the window. “You know how to hike, don’t you?”

  Coyne’s eyes followed them across the room. Zeph wrestled the screen off the window, helped her out, and then followed. As he straddled the window, he looked back at the old man and said, “If anyone asks, we weren’t here.”

  Coyne raised a trembling hand toward him, before letting it fall back to the bed.

  Zeph climbed out, and they stood side by side, looking into the foothills.

  “Weaver said something about Camp Poverty.”

  “It’s an old ruin, or something,” Tamra said. “A historical site of some sort. Up above Marvale. I’ve never been there.”

  “Can you get us there?”

  Without answering, Tamra hurried down an embankment onto a thin trail that wound its way into the mist-shrouded mountains, aimed straight for the old miner’s camp.

  Chapter 60

  Nams!”

  A hellish star had risen inside Annie, a flaming chaos collapsed in upon itself and cresting the horizon of her imagination, draining away the feeble particles of hope from her being.

  “Nams! Wake up!”

  The words ripped Annie from that dark place. The shadow inside her fragmented at the familiar voice.

  Annie woke to pain. She slouched with her back to a cool block. Her leg stretched unnaturally before her, and her shin oozed thick blood. Her temple throbbed, and she wondered if she’d been hit. However, the greatest of Annie’s pain was the realization that she was still bound in the bowels of Camp Poverty, and that her granddaughter was now here.

  Tamra hunched over her, wrestling the gag from Annie’s mouth. She tossed it aside, and Annie coughed weakly.

  Tamra hugged her with such force that Annie cried out. “My hands! Ow! Ow!”

  Tamra gently released her.

  “Is it …” Annie tried to focus her eyes. “Is it really you?”

  “Of course it’s me!” Anger lanced through her granddaughter’s teary eyes. “I thought I told you—” Tamra straightened and looked aghast. “Who did this? And what’s going on out here?”

  “He’s still alive!” someone shouted.

  It was Zeph. With Tamra’s help, Annie sat up enough to see him huddled over Little Weaver’s body. The pile of corpses was smaller, but the fleshy, acidic odor remained. Easy’s body had been rolled onto its side.

  “My knife.” Annie wrestled weakly against her restraints. “It’s in Easy’s pocket.”

  “Oh my—” Tamra grimaced at the bodies. “Then who is that back at his apartment?”

  “It’s an impostor.” Zeph approached the corpses with his hand over his nose. He fumbled at Easy’s body, patted his pockets, and then removed the Swiss Army knife, gagging as he did so.

  A knot the size of a duck egg crowned Little Weaver’s forehead. He sat woozy. One lens of his goggles was shattered, and his hands were bound behind him like Annie’s. Zeph used the knife to loose the Indian and then hustled over to free Annie. She gasped as the binding released and brought her hands around, wincing as she did so.

  “It’s a trap,” Annie said, massaging her wrists. “They want you to go up there.”

  “Who?” Tamra asked. “Who’s doing all this?”

  “Roth.” Little Weaver rose unsteadily. “NOVEM was a success.”

  “Then that’s what this is all about.” Zeph’s gaze drifted about the dank subterranean compound.

  “The journal,” Little Weaver said. “It reveals everything. The military conceived of an army of interlopers. Legions of ubermen conjured for their bidding.”

  “An angelic army.” Zeph stared off into space.

  “They had no idea the forces they had unleashed,” Little Weaver said. “Subject X was one of the first swapped—General Walther Roth.”

  “Subject X,” Annie said. “The one in the dossier.”

  Little Weaver nodded. “Roth knew Fergus had the gift. And with the angelic tongue deciphered, the seraph sensed it was only a matter of time. All Fergus and his father wanted to do was contact the dead mother. Instead they punched a hole in the Third Column and released the damned.”

  “Then this …” Tamra stared at the basin and the vats of acid. “This is what happened to all those bodies.”

  “The government was summoning dark angels,” Little Weaver said. “Experimenting on them and then liquefying the evidence. Who knows how much DNA fills the sewers here? When Roth was swapped, he told his superiors to terminate the project. They had no idea what they were dealing with. And those who did, Roth managed to silence.”

  Zeph said, “Like the old man down in Laurel House.”

  “A sad tale indeed.” Little Weaver examined his shattered goggles. “For years they have operated in secret, blending into society. Roth made sure to facilitate Fergus’s ghastly séances. This ancient place has continued to serve their purpose, as you can see.” He touched the knot on his forehead and winced. “Fergus has finally been swapped. His angel has become mighty—a seer capable of summoning the black cherub. They go to the Rift now for their final consummation, to speak the incantation that bridges the worlds. We must hurry, or I fear this tale will have a sad ending.”

  “No,” Annie protested. “We can’t.”

  They looked at her.

  “Fergus has changed, become something hideous.” Annie closed her eyes and could see his bulbous head in her mind. “He’s a monster now. Don’t you see—they want you to go there. We’re the only ones standing in their way now. If they can kill us, no one else will know about this. And no one will ever be able to stop them.”

  Tamra nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been saying that all along—we should just go to the police.”

  “Well, if we wait long enough,” Zeph said, “the police’ll come here.”

  “If they are police.” Little Weaver looked at the pile of carcasses, then engaged her with his eyes. “Annie Lane, there is no other way. Some stories require such risk. Fergus wields the rune of the dark angels. The language of hell is his. Indeed, if we fail, they may never be stopped. Nevertheless, we must trust. We must trust one another. We must trust the Branded One.” He looked at Zeph. “And we must trust the Teller, the Author of this Great Tale. Ha!”

  Little Weaver’s words stirred Annie. He was right. She had been called to be a remnant, to stand in the gap, and could not allow the darkness to obscure it. Her leg might be broken, her hands aching into numbness, but she could still stand in the gap.

  “You’re right.” Annie nodded. “We have to try.”

  Something sounded in the bowels of the tunnel, a sharp echo that reverberated in t
he dark.

  “We must leave.” Little Weaver signaled for Zeph to help Annie.

  “Careful.” Annie grit her teeth as Zeph and Tamra positioned themselves on each side of her. “My leg, it’s—”

  They lifted her. Pain tore along her leg, a blistering fire that caused her to yelp. They eased Annie back to the ground. The wound on her shin was now oozing dark blood, and bruises riddled her skin. If it wasn’t broken, it would be if she walked on it. The chances of Annie being able to get to Otta’s Rift was about as likely as her being rescued by Miss Marple.

  “What’re we gonna do?” Tamra asked Little Weaver.

  Then Annie looked up. “Zeph. Don’t you remember?”

  He glanced into the tunnel and then knelt down beside her. “Remember what, Annie?”

  “When we first met?”

  “Nams,” Tamra scolded. “Not now.”

  “You were just a boy,” Annie continued. “I went to one of your crusades.”

  “Nams, we gotta get outta here!”

  “You prophesied to me.” Annie reached out and took Zeph’s hand. “You said, ‘You will be a remnant.’ That’s what you said. ‘You will stand in the gap.’ That was the word you gave me. It saved me, Zeph. Did you know that? It saved me. And that’s what I’ve tried to do—stand in the gap. Just like you said.” She smiled weakly. “So, how did I do?”

  Zeph stared at her. And something seemed to kindle in his eyes. He smiled, a charming boyish smile full of vulnerability and joy, a gesture so sincere no scar on earth could mar its innocence.

  “You’ve done great, Annie.” He squeezed her hand. “Now you’ve saved me.”

  Annie met his gaze. She nodded with satisfaction and settled back on the cold stone.

  Tamra looked at them. “Okay, we gotta go. You have to try to stand up, Nams. Now, c’mon.”

  As they hoisted her up, she cried out again, and the sound echoed down the dark tunnel. Yet behind it rose a terrible scratching, clawing, as if something were being dragged along the stonework.

  Little Weaver peered into the tunnel. “It is no wonder they left us here untended. We are not alone. The soul eaters awaken.”

  “Well, we’re not waitin’ to meet ’em. C’mon!” Tamra locked her arm around Annie’s waist, while Zeph managed the other side. Annie gritted her teeth as they struggled up the stone steps toward the platform and the heavy metal door. Searing pain raced up her leg, threatening to send her plummeting into that black, unconscious abyss with every step.