Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Do you think the front doors are still guarded?” David said. He spoke in a whisper, but it sounded incredibly loud in the sudden quiet of the storage room. “Maybe Officer Mayes left to join the others at the gate.”

  Cakey motioned him onward without answering.

  They made their way through the storage room into the kitchen and then into the club. The nightclub was dark and empty, bottles and glasses—some empty, some half full—scattered across tabletops and on the floor. The stink of too many people lingered in the air. Cakey walked over to the front doors, leaned against them for a moment, then turned and nodded at David. When David shrugged, he tapped his ear and held up two fingers—two guards outside the front doors. Cakey picked up one of the smaller tables, moving delicately to avoid making noise, and set it against the doors.

  They went down the steps into the back hallway and around the corner to the apartment door. David looked through the back window in passing and saw the dumpster, unmoved. A hint of orange light flickered above the rooftops in the distance. The alarm continued its ceaseless cry, muffled only slightly by the window. Cakey opened the door to the apartment. It was dark upstairs, but David heard the distinctive snore of Gooty—a sound somewhat like running a dull knife over granite.

  Cakey pressed a finger to his lips and made as if to tiptoe up the steps. But then he laughed, shrugged it off and tromped upstairs. When he got to the top, he flicked on the lights, stomped his feet on the floor and clapped his hands.

  “Wake up, friends! The world is ending! Wake up!”

  David followed him up. The small apartment had the musty smell of sleeping people and stale farts mingled with the odor of greasepaint. Gooty was sprawled out in the middle of the room, on his back, his mouth hanging open. Karl lay along the wall, his head propped upon a tightly-rolled bundle of clothes. Telly had fallen asleep sitting in a corner, his hands clasped on his belly, and Annabelle was curled up on her side under the table. None of them awoke at Cakey’s initial outburst.

  Cakey walked over to Gooty and drew one foot back, as if he meant to kick him. Then he seemed to think better of it and moved over to Karl, giving him a solid kick in the side of the leg. Karl grunted, thrashed and his eyes flew open.

  “Wha…did…?” he cried, his voice thick with sleep.

  Next, Cakey went to Telly, plucked his hat off his head and tossed it in his face. Telly sputtered and awoke with a start. Then it was Annabelle’s turn. Cakey pounded his fists on the table until she rolled over, cursed loudly and crawled out from under. David seethed—he wanted to rush across the room and knock Cakey away from her. Instead, he sighed and he turned away. A small window sat at the top of the stairs. He leaned against the glass. Behind him, Gooty’s snoring came to an abrupt end.

  “Get up, Goot,” Cakey said. “All of you. Rouse yourselves from gentle slumber, so we can discuss the end of the world.”

  “Oh, what are you going on about, loco?” Gooty snarled.

  “Someone muzzle Cakey,” Karl said. “It’s too late to listen to this.”

  David saw a glint of chrome as a car rounded the corner and pulled into the parking lot, a wide vehicle with twin crimson ribbons flapping from the corners of an ornate tail fin. Two guards appeared from the front of the building and walked to meet the car as it slowed to a stop just beyond the dumpster.

  “What is that awful siren sound?” Telly said from his corner.

  “That, my friend, is a city alarm,” Cakey said. “The end-of-all-things alarm.”

  “What’s happening out there?” Annabelle asked, stifling a yawn.

  David watched a back door of the car open. Officer Mayes tipped her head as Councilman Peavey stepped out, draped in a nightshirt instead of his crimson robe. They spoke for a moment, although, of course, David couldn’t hear them.

  David turned back to the others. Cakey was on the verge of giving one of his dramatic speeches, stepping up on the chair and raising his arms.

  “We’re in trouble,” David said, interrupting him before he could begin. “Peavey and that Mayes woman are out there, standing beside the dumpster where we put the bodies.”

  “Whoa, whoa—wait,” Telly said, standing up, rubbing furiously at his cheeks. “Bodies? What is going on?” Cakey tried to speak, but Telly held up a hand to stop him and pointed at David. “Kid, you tell us. My mind is still too soupy to deal with a Cakey explanation.”

  “I…I…” They were all staring at him in various states of wakefulness, but Annabelle’s dark gaze, even red-rimmed with sleep, caused him to struggle for words. “Sick people…Hess, maybe…hundreds of them climbing…climbing the—”

  Telly sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Forget it. You’re no better than him. Cakey, what’s going on out there?”

  “The kid said it,” Cakey replied, hopping down from the chair. “Hess, our most recent nemesis, he of the split lips and the dull gaze, he of the homemade silly hat and the folksy dialect, has somehow rounded up an army of the sick, the outcast and the destitute, and they have climbed the walls of the city. Despite the firing of countless rounds of ammunition, it seems the sheer numbers of them have overwhelmed the poor gun-rubes of Fayette. Fires are burning, guards are being torn to pieces. The blood, the hatred, I daren’t describe it.”

  “And what’s this about bodies in a dumpster?”

  “Eh…well, David and I, we caused a little trouble with the locals, so they will be gunning for us, as well. In short, we are all kinds of doomed.”

  Telly and Karl traded a look.

  “All of this is for real?” Telly said. “This isn’t another crazy Cakey story?”

  “I won’t believe it from him” Gooty said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “David, is it true?”

  David nodded and turned back to the window. To his horror, he saw Officer Mayes and her fellow guard righting the dumpster. It fell back in place with a crash, revealing the sprawled bodies of Cooper and Findley. Councilman Peavey rushed to their side and bent down to inspect them. Findley gestured weakly with his hands, and David saw his mouth move. Peavey looked at the building, and his gaze rose to the apartment window. He locked eyes with David. Hard little eyes, like glass beads, set in that melted blob of a face. Peavey pointed at the window and barked something at Officer Mayes.

  “He saw me,” David said.

  “Who saw you? Hess?” Telly asked.

  “No, Councilman Peavey,” David said. “They found Cooper and Findley under the dumpster.”

  “Under the dumpster? What is the kid talking about?” Karl said. His voice was still as thick as mud. “What are either of you talking about? Can I go back to sleep, please, or do I have to listen to this?”

  Officer Mayes stepped forward, drew the rifle off her back and aimed it at the apartment window.

  “Get down,” David screamed and sank to the floor. When he did he lost his grip on the pistol and dropped it. It clattered across the floor toward the stairs

  The window shattered, bits of glass raining down on David’s back. Annabelle screamed and lunged back under the table. Gooty covered his head with his arms, as a bullet hit the ceiling, and the plaster burst apart.

  “Down the stairs,” Telly cried, picking up his hat. “Everyone down the stairs.”

  Cakey was the first to move. He fell on his hands and knees and crawled toward the steps, snatching up David’s pistol in passing. Another bullet hit the ceiling, and a large section of plaster fell near Gooty. Telly flung open the trunk, grabbed up his makeshift shillelagh and headed for the stairs. Cakey was there, but instead of going down, he pushed David aside and crawled to the window.

  “Down, down, all of you,” Telly said and ran down the steps. Gooty went after him. Annabelle stayed under the table, and Karl was still trying to make sense of things.

  A bullet shattered the light, plunging the room into darkness. David crawled toward the stairs, bits of glass on the floor cutting into his palms. He looked back toward the window and saw Cakey there. Cak
ey raised the pistol over the sill and fired down indiscriminately. Below, Councilman Peavey shouted at the guards, but the sound of the pistol drowned him out. David descended the steps, tumbling and rolling. Cakey kept firing until he’d emptied the magazine. Then he dropped David’s gun and pulled his own gun out of a pocket. He stuck it out the window, fired another half dozen shots and screamed.

  “Welcome to the ever-night, gun-rubes! Welcome the crumbling precipice and the river of blood and the breaking of the world!”

  In reply, Officer Mayes sent another bullet through the window and into the ceiling. David reached the bottom of the stairs, picked himself up and stumbled into the hallway. Telly stood there in the dark, waving at him and calling for the others. Someone bumped into David’s shoulder, knocking him into the wall.

  “Sorry, amigo, sorry,” Gooty said, stepping past him.

  Karl came next, stooped over, feeling his way along.

  “Cakey, Belle, get down here,” Telly said. “We gotta go!”

  Cakey fired again, cackling. Then he appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Not sure if I hit any of them,” he said. He examined the pistol. “Glock 19. Magazine holds fifteen bullets. I should have a couple or three left. I’ll save ‘em for a clear shot.”

  “Where’s Belle?”

  “Getting our stuff,” Cakey said.

  “Tell her to leave the damn stuff and come on,” Telly said.

  But Belle appeared at Cakey’s side, carrying a t-shirt that had been folded into a knapsack and stuffed full. As she hurried down the stairs, the knapsack rattled and clinked. Cakey came last, prodding her with one hand, pointing the pistol over his shoulder with the other, as if he thought Officer Mayes might come climbing through the window.

  “Stupid rubes, what are they shooting at us for?” Telly said.

  “Once again, we have Cakey to thank for that, don’t we?” Gooty said. “Attacking city guards. Jefe, you should’ve stopped him from going outside. He can’t be trusted not to cause trouble.”

  “Now, look, I didn’t go out there intending to crack anyone in the skull,” Cakey said, as he reached the bottom of the stairs and closed the apartment door. “It all played out in a rather unfortunate way, but that’s neither here nor there. The whole city’s going down, and we’ll go down with it, if we stand here bickering. Boss, lemme take the lead, in case I need to take a shot at someone.”

  “Fine with me,” Telly said. “But let’s get out of here before they storm the building.”

  Cakey weaved his way through the line of people and led them down the short hallway into the Green Room. He didn’t bother turning on the light, so they moved through the rot-stinking room, shoes squishing on the carpet, in utter darkness. David kept bumping into Gooty, who was directly in front of him. At one point, his foot came down on a hard, rounded edge, which he was fairly certain was the dead man’s skull. He uttered a little squeak of fear and lurched to the side. A small hand reached out to steady him.

  “Whoa, careful,” Annabelle said softly.

  They crossed the room and ascended the stairs to the stage. Then Cakey drew back the curtain and ushered them through. Faint light from the tiny windows in the front doors illuminated the nightclub. It was a room frozen in time, still caught in that perfect moment at the end of the show, their props piled neatly just below the stage—Cakey’s knives, Annabelle’s dowel rods and a heap of broken ceramic. As they stepped down off the stage, Telly stooped down, picked up one of the knives and passed it, handle first, to Karl.

  “Best arm up, folks,” Telly said. “Looks like we might be fighting our way out of town.” He took a practice swing with his shillelagh.

  Gooty picked up a knife and slid the blade under a belt loop, then he picked up another and handed it to David.

  “There are some guns hidden under a pile of trash in the alleyway,” David said, taking the knife.

  “Guns?” Telly said, rounding on him. “Well, why didn’t you bring them inside?”

  “I brought one. Cakey brought one.”

  “You shoulda brought them all, kid,” Telly said. “We’re gonna need them. You knew we were in trouble with the guards!”

  “I…” David didn’t know how to respond without blaming Cakey, so he shrugged apologetically.

  “Now, now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” Cakey said. “I recall a certain very short clown who once thought it would be a good idea to head north from Port Shreve—this despite the warnings and protests of a certain Bubbles the Clown, who told him that such a route would take us too close to Tockland. Do you recall that?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Telly said.

  “Seems to me this Bubbles the Clown might be an expert on the dangers of Tockland, but the tiny little clown ignored her, and north we went. And haven’t all of her warnings proved true and then some? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, boss. That’s my point.”

  “But I also seem to recall a certain lunatic clown named Cakey going right along with the boss,” Gooty said.

  “The lunatic clown named Cakey trusted his boss,” Cakey said. “Let me say it again. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

  Annabelle came up behind Cakey and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, I was right, and I knew I would be, but will you shut up about it? Now is not the time.”

  Cakey smiled at her, all too self-satisfied, and nodded.

  “Alrighty, then, let’s go get those guns,” Telly said. “David, show us the way.”

  But before anyone could move, they heard a loud boom, as of metal hitting brick, from elsewhere in the building, and then the clunk of boots on a hard floor. Everyone tensed. Gooty drew his knife and held it up in front of him. Annabelle still had the knapsack in one hand, but she stooped and retrieved one of the dowel rods. As for David, the fire was burning, a twisted heat in his belly, and already his hands were shaking so badly that the tip of the knife blade swung back and forth.

  “Which door was that?” Telly said, speaking in a low, anxious voice.

  “Back hallway, I think,” Karl said, pointing with his knife to the steps in the corner opposite the stage.

  The booted feet stopped, and, for a moment, all was silent. Then a voice spoke from somewhere below.

  “By the authority of the council of Fayette, I order you to come out peaceably and surrender.” Officer Mayes, and did David detect a hint of a nervous quaver in her voice? He thought so. “Throw down any weapons in your possession and present yourselves immediately.”

  “That’s a bold request,” Cakey said softly, raising the pistol. He took a step toward the far corner, but Telly snagged a fold of his costume and shook his head.

  “Let me try negotiating,” Telly said. “You never know.” He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and shouted, “Hey, officer, why don’t you quit shooting at us!”

  “You assaulted two of our men,” came the reply. David gauged her to be about halfway down the back hallway, but it was hard to tell. Her voice came at them from two directions, because it also echoed through the Green Room. “You must answer to the Council for this crime. Will you surrender and face judgment?”

  “I offer you a counter proposal,” Telly said. “Go away, and we’ll leave town straightaway without causing any more trouble.” He paused, tapped a finger against his chin. “And we’ll throw in a full refund while we’re at it.”

  Annabelle gasped, Karl cursed under his breath, Gooty shook his head in disgust, and Cakey smacked Telly on the back of the head so hard his hat flew off.

  “Partial refund,” Telly corrected, retrieving the hat. “Partial!”

  David was shaking so badly now that his teeth chattered. He was the only one still on the stage, standing alone, feeling the poison in his guts. He took a step back and felt the rough cloth of the curtain brush against the back of his head.

  “A refund goes without saying,” Officer Mayes shouted. “You have to answer to the Council for your crime. Surrender now.”

  Telly hesitated to respond, an
d in the quiet couple of seconds that passed, David heard the distinct sound of a boot squishing in the wet filth of the Green Room carpet. He raised the knife and turned to the curtain, grinding his teeth to keep them from rattling. He thrust the blade at the curtain.

  “We are mere performers, ma’am,” Telly shouted. “Why waste your bullets on us, when you have so much more to worry about?”

  “You can’t have a lot of backup with you, dame,” Cakey said, taking another step toward the back hallway and gesturing into the shadows with the pistol. “Most of your buddies are busy dying down at the southern gate.”

  David heard a footstep on the stairs behind the curtain, the soft creak of someone moving lightly on old wooden steps. Telly and Officer Mayes continued their back and forth, but David heard none of it. Red fog had filled his thoughts, and whatever dam held back the poison finally crumbled. In the middle of yet another threat from Officer Mayes, David unleashed a guttural cry and leapt at the curtain.

  The blade caught on the cloth, and as he propelled himself through, the tip cut through and then snagged. His weight dragged the whole curtain down, breaking the support rod—a rather flimsy, hollow metal tube. The cloth wrapped around him like a shroud, and he fell blindly down the stairs. Halfway down, he slammed into a body, heard the clink of a rifle, a surprised grunt. The blade of his knife stabbed into something. Some kind of fabric resisted the blade at first, then parted like a rind. He heard a scream of pain right at his ear, a hand clutching at him through the cloth, as he tumbled into the Green Room. Somewhere in the wheeling madness, he heard the rifle fire, deafening him.

  He rolled off the body onto the damp carpet, felt water seeping through the curtain and his clothes, and he clawed wildly to free himself. He managed to fling the curtain off, but by then his shirt and pants were soaked. As he rose, he swung the knife in front of him, slashing at enemies he could not see, expecting another gunshot at any moment. Then he saw the body cast in the faint rectangle of light from upstairs. It looked like a heap of empty clothes. The rifle lay to one side, a hand, palm up and full of blood, beside it, but the face was turned away from him. David leaned down to poke at it with the knife and saw the crimson uniform, saw the ragged tear just above the nameplate, blood seeping out. And now the anxious sickness in his guts turned to real sickness, as bile rose in his throat.