The Dark Ones

by Anthony Izzo

  Engel watched the trucks and vans outside the mill gate. The people surrounding the vehicles pointed frantically. A woman screamed. Some ran, while others screeched away in vans and cars. It didn’t matter, for there was no escape.

  As the cloud whooshed forward, he grinned.

  Jenny Chen was nervous. From the armory’s eastern turret she scanned the town’s main road with a set of binoculars. The lone ribbon of highway was empty. She hoped to see Frank coming down the road. A pair of headlights, anything.

  The sun had dipped behind the hills, and she had been so caught up with preparing for the attack, she had not noticed the slippage of time. They had three dozen Guardians stationed on the armory’s four turrets and roof. But the most important person was still missing: Reverend Frank.

  Something has gone wrong.

  She hung the binoculars around her neck. Then she climbed down the hatch that lead to the old commandant’s quarters. She passed through the turret and found her way to the ornate oak staircase that lead to the hallway. She followed the hallway until she arrived in the main hall. The lights had been dimmed. Guardians and riflemen stood at the slitted windows.

  She saw Ruby of Ruby’s Diner fame at one of the windows. Ruby was a Guardian and carried no gun. Her weapon was the Light, more deadly to the Dark Ones than any firearm. Jenny crossed the hall and tapped Ruby on the shoulder.

  “Frank’s not back,” Jenny said. “I need you to take a team and go find him.”

  Ruby covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, dear. Such a nice man.”

  “Get some people together. You know where the Warlords clubhouse is?”

  “Up at the old inn. He went by himself?”

  “Digger was with him.”

  From behind her, Jenny heard heavy footsteps. She turned and found Dan Longo standing behind her. He gasped for breath. His ponytail, ridiculous on a man over fifty, hung askew. Sweat stains had formed on his T-shirt. The man wouldn’t be running any marathons soon.

  “What?” Jenny asked.

  “Just ran from the roof,” he gasped. “There’s a cloud over in the direction of the mine. Spotted it with the binoculars. They’re coming.”

  They had little time. Jenny turned to Ruby. “Get moving.”

  The tiny redhead gave her a salute and ran off to gather a search party.

  Jenny turned back to Dan Longo. His breathing had settled down. “Alert everyone. The attack’s started. I’m going to the roof.”

  Jenny had returned to the east turret. There were five other Guardians with her, two men and three women. She looked at each of them, bundled in Carhartt coats and turtlenecks and knit caps. They needed the warm clothing, for the wind began to snake through the battlements as if trying to force them off the roof.

  She looked through the binoculars, again at the main road. The cloud, as black as the starry sky, rolled down the hill and had nearly reached the first houses at the edge of Routersville.

  God help them. God help us. She’d had her chance to leave, take off with Derek to Seattle. He had been the best thing to come into her life. Smart, kind, and compassionate, he was the type she would have married. If not for being cursed—or was it gifted—with a strange power. If she were in Seattle, she would not have to face the attack and the blood and death it would bring. That was selfish. She was special, as were all the Guardians. And right now they were the last hope.

  She peered through the lenses again.

  One of the men, dressed in a brown Carhartt and matching bib overalls, said, “What do you see?”

  The cloud had stopped short of the first houses. Now, shapes stepped out of the fog and spread out across the road. Dozens of winged beasts rocketed from the cloud and headed skyward, flying abominations from the bowels of hell. They rose higher and higher, circling over the town. They screeched and wailed, perhaps anticipating the killing to come.

  Having seen the things emerge from the cloud, the man said, “God help them all.”

  “I’m not sure even He can,” Jenny said.

  “John, look at this,” Helen Klump said.

  John Klump rolled his eyes. He snapped his newspaper shut.

  “What is it?”

  “Just come look.”

  At forty-six, John Klump was the only dentist in Routersville, and by default, the most successful one. He had made enough money to build a four-thousand-square-foot home on the outskirts of the town proper. It was done in rustic style, the cathedral ceilings crossed by huge timbers. After a day filled with root canals, halitosis, and one nasty, pus-filled abscess, he wanted nothing more than to sit in front of the stone fireplace and read the paper. Now his crackling fire would have to wait as he got up to appease his wife.

  She stood at the window seat, one knee propped on the red cushion. Hands cupped around her eyes, she pressed her face against the glass.

  Klump joined her at the window. She took her face away from the glass.

  “What did you want to show me?”

  A worried look crossed her face. The muscles around her eyes twitched. The same thing happened when she got nervous before going to the doctor.

  “I’m scared.”

  He didn’t know what could be so frightening. The scariest thing in Routersville was the plaque on the residents’ teeth. Nevertheless, he pressed his face to the window.

  A dark mist hung in the air. It rolled down the main drag, uncurling like a huge rug. In the mist, a figure moved, short and squat; it carried what looked like a spear. Klump squinted, trying to improve his vision.

  “Kill the light,” Klump said.

  Helen did, and the room matched the shadows outside.

  Klump continued to watch, hands cupped around his face. More of them moved through the fog, some with limps, some impossibly large, all of them with weapons.

  He was about to turn and tell Helen to call the cops. A large, dark shape appeared in front of the window. Klump gasped and backed away. Panic started to set in, gnawing at his brain. They needed to get to the van in the attached garage. That was all. Then they could drive out of this. The cops would handle it.

  The form in the window cocked back its arm.

  “What is it, John, what is it?” Helen asked.

  Its fist punched through the glass with a clink and spat shards onto the window seat. The fist was fish-belly white and did not bleed. The hand should have been cut to shreds.

  “Get to the van, Helen. We’re getting out of here.”

  Jeannie Maldonado stepped out of a pool hall on Routersville’s main drag. The crisp air was refreshing, for the pool hall had smelled of smoke, beer, and sweat. She found no takers in the pool joint. Tonight she wore a flannel shirt with the buttons opened to the chest. Under that, a tank top with a nice swell of cleavage showing. She’d squeezed into size eight jeans and tucked them into cowboy boots. At thirty-eight, hooking was getting old. But she still had it. Still knew how to make a man moan and twitch.

  She dug into her oversized purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a pink lighter. She flicked the lighter, stuck the smoke between her lips, and lit it. Leaning against the building, Jeannie pulled a drag from the cigarette, then blew a curl of smoke in the air.

  Footsteps echoed from her left, down Main Street. She looked down the street. Across the width of the road, a line of men approached. They appeared to be armed. Was this some kind of gang? Routersville didn’t have gangs, just the Warlords when they came through on their bikes. Behind the men a black cloud rolled backward, away from town.

  She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. It would be smart to get moving the other way. She wished she had a car, especially since her apartment was ten blocks from the pool hall.

  A screech, like a giant bird, filled the air. She looked up. Overhead a huge winged creature climbed high, turned in midair, and dove. Coming right for her. It was no bird, that was for sure.

  Panicking, she looked around for an open store, an alley to duck in. The street offered no escape
. The pool hall seemed a mile away.

  She turned to run and the last sound she heard was the rush of air as something swooped upon her with terrible speed.

  Jenny watched the cloud roll back. The Dark Ones advanced up Main Street, as if the cloud had been their mode of transportation and was now leaving. She heard the breaking of glass and the roar of a shotgun. Through the town, screams echoed up and down the street as the Dark Ones smashed in doors. Those unfortunate enough to be inside were dragged out and slaughtered. Above the town the winged ones dipped and dove toward street level. Jenny watched in horror as a woman was plucked from the sidewalk, carried upward, and ripped nearly in two by the clawed beast.

  A van sped on Main Street. She thought it might be Doctor Klump’s vehicle. It swerved, tires squealing, to avoid the throng of demons in the street. The driver lost control and the van rolled over, skidding into a lamppost with a loud CLANG! A group of Engel’s soldiers scrabbled on top of the van and dragged its occupants from the now-shattered windows.

  Jenny turned away. The sight of it was too much. More screams of agony rose up in the air. She wanted desperately to mount an assault, take the Guardians to the streets and meet the Dark Ones head-on. But their numbers were too great, and without the Stone, the attack would result in their defeat. They stood a better chance inside the armory, waiting for Frank to arrive.

  If Frank arrived.

  In her father’s living room, Laura Pennington stood next to her daughter, gazing at the television screen. On the screen, the massive cloud that had hovered over the steel mill now rolled toward the camera. A reporter dressed in Channel 7’s standard blue jacket eyed the cloud nervously. He looked as if he were deciding to continue reporting or run for his life. The cloud whirled across the lot and reached the fence. A voice off camera urged everyone to run. The cloud rolled closer. The reporter broke into a run, but the cloud overtook him. The camera dropped to the ground, giving an eye-level view of the blacktop. The audio continued for a moment, and a high scream—it could have been that of a man or woman—pierced the speakers. The feed then cut back to the blond anchorwoman, whose hands shook as she straightened her notes.

  Laura put her arm around Sara and squeezed. “I’m turning it off.” She stepped forward and hit the power button. The screen went black.

  Laura glanced outside. It had gone as dark as the blank television screen. In the distance, a chorus of sirens wailed.

  “I was going to call the police about the murder you described, but I think we have bigger problems right now.”

  Sara turned to her. Tears formed in her eyes. “We have to leave.”

  “We’re safer here.”

  “They’ll find us,” Sara said.

  “Who?”

  “The ones who are looking for me.”

  Sara began to chew on her lower lip. Laura was beginning to worry that the girl might crack. “Who’s looking for you, honey?”

  “The ones in the cloud.”

  “There’s no one in that cloud. It’s freak weather.”

  “Then why did those people scream?”

  That Laura didn’t know. “They’re scared.”

  Sara looked at the television screen, as if to confirm it were turned off. “That last scream was someone in pain.”

  Laura couldn’t deny that. As an emergency room doctor, she had heard the screams of those in agony, and the scream on the television fell into the category of pain. “Even if we leave, we have no idea where that cloud is headed. We might drive right into it. We’ll button up the house, go to the basement.”

  “They’ll find me.”

  Laura gripped the girl’s shoulders, hard at first, then relaxed her hold. Sara winced. “I’m sorry. No one’s out to get you.”

  “You don’t believe me,” Sara said.

  “What exactly are you trying to get me to believe?”

  Sara backed up. Laura’s hands slipped from her shoulders. “There are things in that cloud. I drove the cloud and the things inside it away at a rest stop in Ohio.”

  “What things?”

  “Deformed men, creepy looking. It somehow ties in to my power, gift, whatever you want to call it.”

  Now Sara had gone from nervous to completely obtuse. “The boat left the dock, hon. I’m afraid I missed it.”

  Sara rolled her eyes, as if Laura were the thickest human being on the planet. “I’ll show you. Back up.”

  Laura backed up, crossed her arms. Outside, a host of sirens had joined the initial cacophony. She flinched as a loud boom echoed in the distance. It sounded like an explosion. “Hurry up and show me. I’ll feel better in the basement.”

  Sara closed her eyes and raised her left arm, hand open, palm up. At first, nothing happened, and then a tiny pinprick of white Light appeared in her palm. The Light grew in size, to a dime, then to a quarter, then to the size of a softball. Laura squinted. It didn’t hurt her eyes, but it was certainly bright. The white glow filled the living room, and was reflected in the television screen. Sara’s face was bathed in it, making her skin appear almost translucent. In the glow of the Light, she was beautiful. Laura heard herself gasp. She had never seen anything remotely like it.

  Sara let the Light glow a moment longer, and it faded gradually, disappearing from her palm. Opening her eyes, Sara said, “Now do you believe me?”

  “I don’t know what I believe,” Laura said. “What was that?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I started to be able to do it about a year ago. I think of light and warm places and it appears. That time I didn’t have to think as much. I must be getting better.”

  Laura looked at Sara’s arms. With a T-shirt on, there was no place to conceal any type of device. Her hands were empty, and she doubted there was any technology short of Hollywood special effects that could produce such a light. And Sara would have no reason for trying to fool Laura into thinking she possessed magical powers. “What else can you do with it?”

  “The things—the men—that are after me? It will kill them. I can fire it like a gun.”

  “Anyone else know about this?”

  “David, probably Reverend Frank. They’ve never approached me about it, though.”

  Laura’s head spun. The light display was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. “Where did you get this power from?”

  Sara shrugged. “We should get to shelter. They might be here soon.”

  Laura hoped her father was safe, holed up inside from the coming storm—or whatever it was. They had to make provisions to protect the house. She instructed Sara to check all the windows and doors on the first floor, make sure they were locked. Laura went upstairs, through the bedrooms and into the master bath, and did the same. Satisfied the windows and doors were locked, Laura went to the kitchen and found a flashlight in the drawer. Then they proceeded to the basement.

  The basement was cool and dry. Her father had left it sparse. The only items, other than a washer and dryer, were a set of golf clubs and a rolled-up garden hose. Those, and a worn blue sofa set against the wall. The two women sat on the sofa. Sara moved close, and Laura put her arm around the girl, hoping to provide some comfort. She trembled slightly.

  “We’ll be okay,” Laura said, and Sara responded with a weak smile.

  She just wished the basement door had a lock. Sara’s story of deformed men in the fog didn’t seem so silly after the girl had displayed the ball of Light.

  CHAPTER 17

  Their meals finished, Milo and Debbie had joined the crowd at the bar. A throng of people packed around the Alligator’s bar, necks craned to view the television. On the screen, the anchorwoman reported that the fast-moving cloud had reached the downtown area. Reports of screams, car accidents, and things seen moving in the fog were pouring in from reporters in the field. Milo was acutely aware of the silence in the bar. It was the only time he had heard such silence in a watering hole.

  Debbie, standing at his side, tapped him on the arm. “Dad, should we go?”

  Outs
ide, he heard a shriek rise, hit an impossibly high pitch, and then die. “I think we’re better off inside.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  His first thought was terrorists, that Al Quaeda or some other group of maniacs had released a chemical attack. He didn’t want to cause a panic by suggesting that option, so he said, “Don’t know.”

  Outside the deep thrum of a car engine filled the air. Milo turned to see a green pickup truck swerve, jump the sidewalk, and smash into the bar across the street. Glass exploded onto the sidewalk. Smoke rose from the truck’s hood. The driver stumbled out, holding his face. He staggered across the street, and now the crowd turned to watch from the Alligator’s front window. The man barged through the door. He was sobbing. He took his hands away from his face. The skin came away, stuck to his hands in gummy strands. Ragged holes, surrounded by scorched skin, revealed white bone underneath. He looked as if he had washed his face in acid. Milo felt his stomach lurch. The crowd backed away; the man remained in the center of a loose circle of people.

  “It’s the fog, it huuurrtsss.” The man fell to his knees. A stream of vomit shot from his mouth. He collapsed forward, and was still.

  Milo scanned the faces of the crowd. A guy in a black T-shirt turned from white to green. Some of the girls covered their mouths. The bald bartender hurried away, presumably to the bathroom. He got ten feet from the bar and splashed vomit all over the plank floor.

  Debbie moved closer to Milo. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. It reminded him of nights when she was little and ran into their bedroom, afraid of thunder and lightning.

  “Dad?”

  Milo had no idea. He shook his head. He took one more look at the dead man, then glanced at the door. It was open, and from outside came the smell of something rotting. Thinking it prudent to shut the door, he took his arm from around Debbie’s shoulders and closed the door. He then clicked the brass dead bolt shut.