by K. M. Fawkes
She gave a low chuckle, her smile crinkling the already wrinkly skin around her bright eyes. “Well, honey,” she said. “For one thing, they were trying to shoot you, so I figured that you must have had some kind of falling-out.”
“Right,” he said. “I guess that makes sense.”
His chagrin drew another chuckle from her. “I’ll give you a pass. You’ve probably had better days.”
“You’re right about that,” he agreed, sneaking a look at her from the corner of his eye.
She had an old Maine accent that reminded him of one of his teachers from elementary school. She wasn’t dressed like it, though. She was wearing blue jeans and several sweaters underneath a bright pink waterproof coat.
He could see the different designs on her cuffs. The outer one was black with a kitten that looked out at him from her midsection. At least one of them was orange. The look didn’t match her age, which he guessed to be mid- to late-fifties. Of course, it wasn’t like she’d bought them. It had probably been a matter of looting whatever she could to stay warm.
Other than that, she looked perfectly normal. Her brown hair had gray threads running through it and she was comfortably round-looking. The skin at her neck was just starting to sag.
“I’ve had some run-ins with them myself,” the woman went on as she shifted gears and took the truck off-road, making Brad grab for the dashboard once again. He’d have to trust that she knew what she was doing; if they hit a snow-covered hole or tree trunk, the truck would be a goner. “Are you hurt?” she asked, looking away from the windshield for just a second.
He started to shake his head and then realized that his ear was throbbing. His fingers came away bloody when he touched it. He’d forgotten the bullet that had clipped him, though it wasn’t as bad as the one that had cut a trench through his shoulder the last time someone had taken issue with him. That one had formed an ugly scar that was still red and raised.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “Nothing vital got damaged.”
She reached into a small bag that sat between them and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here. It’s clean,” she assured him, then continued when he gave her a look. “I boil my laundry. You never know.”
It was her inadvertent use of his father’s old wisdom that made him take the cloth. It did look clean; he could say that much for it. He pressed it to his ear, wincing as he did so.
“Thank you,” he said. “So, who were they?”
“Just a buncha crazy people,” the woman said, her mouth twisting in distaste. “They run around thinking that the end of the world gives them a right or reason to do and take whatever they want.”
Well, that seemed pretty conclusive. The cult had been there. He hoped that they hadn’t had time to read the note, but logic told him that they had. Why else would they have nearly killed him? His last hope was that he hadn’t given them enough information to find him. The note had been vague and there were lots of cabins.
The one good thing that had come of the experience was the fact that he was pretty sure there weren’t that many of them. With the traps and defenses they’d added back at home, he could probably take them all.
“Hey,” the woman said. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry,” Brad said. “I was just thinking.”
“Must have been a doozy,” she said. “You’ve been quiet for ten minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. Then, something else occurred to him. “I don’t know your name,” he said.
She gave another warm laugh. “With the way everything has fallen apart, do you really think that matters, honey? You can just call me Auntie. That’s what everyone else does.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Brad.” She might not believe in the social niceties anymore, but he did. Like he’d told Sammy, the world would come back together eventually. He wanted to be known by his real name when it happened. “Thank you for picking me up. You didn’t have to stick your neck out for a stranger, but I’m really glad that you did.”
“Of course, honey,” she said, waving her hand. “We’ve all got to look out for each other now, with the whole world gone crazy.”
He nodded. “Do you mind if I ask where we’re going?”
They were traveling out of the territory he was familiar with and it was slightly unnerving to feel lost. He looked for landmarks but didn’t find much. Everything was blanketed in white.
“I thought I’d take you back to my place,” she said. “Trust me when I say that you’re not going to want to be on the roads for a while.”
“They’re not going to be happy that I got away, I take it.”
She nodded. “I’ll just say that they won’t stop looking for a bit.” Then, she smiled. “Also, I had pretty good luck with a batch of cider, earlier. I’d hate for you to miss that.”
Brad nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but he had his compass. He’d be able to get back home with no problem. And he wasn’t going to pass up the ability to make the cult think he’d gone in the opposite direction from home. Or that he was connected to someone he actually wasn’t connected with. If they went looking for him with Auntie, they’d find her group. He swallowed hard at the combination of relief and self-loathing that the thought brought him.
“Sure, that sounds fine to me,” he said, determined to turn his thoughts to better things.
It was odd to be back in a vehicle, for one thing. Especially as the passenger. He hadn’t ever really enjoyed being driven around. He liked to be the one in control. Right now, he felt like they were traveling at the speed of light, even though a glance at the speedometer showed a sedate forty-five miles per hour.
The noon sun was high in sky, reflecting off of the snow so strongly that he was beginning to get a headache when they got to where they were going. This was a lake house as well, but it was as fortified as Brad’s cabin. A massive fence surrounded the property, but it was set so far back in the woods that he probably wouldn’t have found it even if he had foraged this far west of his own place.
“Well,” Auntie said as she parked the truck, cut the engine, and carefully pushed the keys into the pocket of that almost painfully pink jacket. “Come on and have yourself a look around.”
Brad followed her up the porch steps. No snow lingered here. In fact, all of it had been neatly swept off the steps and the wide boards of the porch. The broom was still leaning against the wall. Auntie grabbed it, rolling her eyes.
“I swear, no one but me can seem to put anything away around this place,” she muttered with a sigh. She pushed one of the keys into the lock and then swung the door open. “Come on in and please ignore the mess,” she said with a smile. “I don’t have a chance to keep the place as tidy as I used to. There’s so many of us, now.”
Brad stepped into the living room and glanced around. He would have ignored the mess if he’d found one, but not only was everything neat, it was polished to a spit shine. There was a big grandfather clock in the corner, its face so clean that he could see his own in it. The mahogany coffee table in front of the overstuffed plaid sofa shone like glass.
“Come on, honey,” Auntie said, and Brad followed her into a kitchen practically teeming with people.
There were kids of all ages and a few adults. All of them looked up at him briefly before resuming their tasks. Some were peeling potatoes. A woman in the corner was gutting a rabbit. The table she was working at was neatly covered with newspaper, but she had blood up to her elbows and a smear of it across her cheek. All of them were silent and none of them acknowledged the awkward smile that Brad gave them.
An older man walked in from the side door. “Hey there,” he said warmly as he gave Auntie a smile and pulled her against his side, kissing the top of her head. His warm brown eyes settled on Brad. “I see that you picked up a new stray again,” he said to Auntie as he held his hand out to Brad. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Brad,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “But I’m not
staying.”
The man’s hand tightened on his for just a fraction of a second as he looked over at Auntie. “He’s not staying?” he repeated. “You must be losing your touch if he’d rather wander the wilderness than stay here with us.”
She laughed lightly. “He’s just in for a cup of cider,” she said, pulling a mug out of one of the cherry wood kitchen cabinets. There were woodland scenes painted on them, lakes and trees and wildlife. It should have been cheerful, but there was something about the color choices that was…off. The scenes were so warm-toned that they seemed lurid, somehow.
“He had a run-in with some of those heathens,” Auntie explained as she turned back to Brad and gave him a smile. “Of course, I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay if you’d like,” she added as she opened a pot that had been simmering on their wood-burning stove and dipped in a ladle. A seriously delicious aroma rose up from the pot—cinnamon and clove and apple. Brad’s mouth watered just a little when Auntie handed him a steaming cup of the cider.
He had just raised it to his lips when he noticed something about the girl who had walked up to the stove and started dishing up bowls of stew. Her shirt hung a little loose on her skinny frame and it had slid to the side as she moved. Curving around her slender shoulder was the top of a brand.
Brad’s throat went dry. He looked at the couple standing in front of him, both of them holding mugs of cider and smiling at him. He’d jumped out of the frying pan and landed squarely in the fire this time, for sure.
“It looks like you’re a little crowded,” he said, trying to sound calm. He’d been oblivious. His life might depend on how well he could sell that charade, now that he’d finally realized what should have been obvious.
Auntie smiled and shook her head. “Don’t let that stop you! We’re all family here, honey. There’s always room for one more!” She looked around the room at the people gathered there. More had showed up since the girl had begun dishing up food and the room was beginning to feel very claustrophobic to Brad. “We picked up all of these poor people on the roads and now we’re stronger than we’ve ever been.”
He nodded, unsure of what to say. “I guess you have to be,” he finally said when they seemed to be waiting for a response. “With all those crazy people out there.”
Brad could feel sweat starting to pool at his lower back and he hoped that the fear that was slowly suffusing him didn’t show on his face. He didn’t really see how he could hide it; he was terrified.
“Were you out looting?” Uncle asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
“Yes,” Brad said, aware that he’d hesitated a bit too long. His panicked brain was too busy trying to work out what he’d walked into to make small talk. Were the people that had tried to kill him part of this group? Had it been a trap, designed to get him into Auntie’s truck? Or were they a random third party that wanted him dead? He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d pissed off lately, other than the soldiers, but he didn’t think that they would have been such inaccurate shots.
Furthermore, Auntie had been right there. Which meant that it was definitely a trap. But were they trapping him simply because that was what they did? Cults usually liked adding to their numbers, and Auntie had been very proud of the size of her “Family” just now. Or had they seen the note and simply left it in place, waiting on him to return as the note had said he would?
He didn’t know which option was the worst for his chances of survival and he sure as hell didn’t know what his next move should be. His instincts were screaming at him to run, but he knew that that would be a fatal mistake. There were way too many of them.
“You don’t want the cider?” Auntie prompted.
I don’t want you nutjobs to drug me, Brad thought.
He raised the cup to his lips and sniffed. He didn’t smell anything at all in the drink that could kill him, not that that meant a damn thing, really. He wasn’t a bloodhound. Nor was he an expert on sniffing out poison. What was a good excuse?
“It smells amazing, but I should have thought about what usually goes into cider—I’m allergic to cloves. My apologies. Anyway, I should probably hit the road. I’ve got a long way to go before it gets dark, and I don’t want to worry anyone back at my place.”
He wanted to bite his tongue once the last words had left his mouth. He should have allowed them to think that he lived on his own.
“Ah, well. I’ll take you back in the truck after we show you around the place,” Auntie said.
“No,” Brad said quickly. Suddenly, it seemed like all eyes in the room were on him. He swallowed hard and tried to amend his statement so that it didn’t sound quite so harsh “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to waste your gas. It must be in short supply by now. You already saved my life,” he said with the most sincere smile he could put on. “You really don’t have to waste any of your other resources on me.”
“If that’s how you feel about it, honey,” Auntie said. “I won’t press you.”
“Thank you,” Brad said, stepping up and pouring the cider down the drain. When the liquid hit the stainless steel of the sink, there was a collective gasp. “What…?” he asked.
Auntie was frowning. “Around here, we’re careful not to waste what we have,” she said, her voice sharp. “If you lived here, you’d chop wood for a week to pay for what you just threw away.”
Joke’s on you, lady. I chop wood for weeks at a time, anyway, Brad thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I just didn’t think.”
“No,” she said coldly. “You didn’t.”
“Now, now, he didn’t know any better,” Uncle said to her, but Auntie simply turned away. He looked at Brad and said, “Well, let me walk you out, then.” As they approached the door and stepped out onto the porch, the man stopped and looked at Brad. “Before you go, there’s one more thing I want you to see.”
“Thanks but…I really need to hit the road,” Brad said, trying to sound firm and failing.
“No,” Uncle said. “You really need to come with me.”
His hand was heavy on Brad’s shoulder as he led him around the side of the house and then down into the basement. The gun in Brad’s waistband suddenly felt heavy. He really didn’t want to have to use it again, but he wasn’t about to get vivisected by a bunch of cult freaks, either.
The room the man led him into was even bigger than Brad’s own cellar, and had to span the entire house. But it wasn’t packed with canned goods and dried meat. It was filled with something very, very different.
Chapter 11
Shiny wooden pews lined half of the floor, spaced at obsessively neat intervals, a shelf on the back of each one. Each shelf had a Bible on it and another book that was bound in black leather. Brad couldn't see the title of it from where he stood.
Crosses hung everywhere, including four huge wooden ones in the corners of the room, all polished to that same high shine he’d seen on the coffee table in the living room. There was a person kneeling at the foot of each large cross, their heads bowed and their lips moving in fervent prayer. He couldn't make out the words. They didn’t sound like any language he’d ever heard, but it might simply have been because of how fast the supplicants were speaking. They barely seemed to take the time to breathe.
It took him a minute to realize that these crosses weren’t like anything he had ever seen before. In the exact center of each of them sat a five-pointed star. As he continued to scan the room, he began to notice an abundance of horned heads mounted at various points. They weren’t anything zoological that he was familiar with and he soon realized that they’d been carved from white ash wood. The detail was staggering. They must have taken the workman a decade or more to carve.
He looked at Uncle and saw cuts and scars on the man’s rough hands. Were these things his work? From the way Uncle was looking at him—a combination of pride and reverence—Brad thought that was a good guess.
Sammy would love these creepy things, Brad thought.
The thought gave him pause. Sammy would be fascinated. He’d be asking Uncle a million questions right now, if he were here. That was how easy it would be for the man to take the boy. Brad pushed the thought away. Uncle wasn’t going to get near Sammy, let alone have a chance to exchange carving advice with him—he’d make sure of it. And there were more important issues at hand, anyway.
Like the ins and outs of this religion, if it could even be called that. Were they Satan worshippers? He didn’t think so. Not with that number of crosses. But with so many pentagrams around, they couldn’t be Christians either, despite the Bible verses painted around the walls. Brad wasn’t particularly religious, but he’d gone to church on the major holidays with his mother. None of these verses looked familiar to him.
“How you are fallen from Heaven, oh Day Star, son of Dawn!” read one that had been painted in a bright blue. It swirled and flowed on the wall behind the cross that stood in the west corner.
“I saw Satan fall like lightning from Heaven!” read another, this one in red and painted behind the eastern cross.
“That one’s from Luke,” Uncle said, watching Brad read it. “Chapter Ten. Verse eighteen.”
“Interesting,” Brad said, trying to sound polite. He’d already pushed his luck by pouring out his cider. Who knew what would happen if he insulted their beliefs?
“We’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” Uncle said, stepping over to the cross nearest to him, ignoring the man at the base of it who was still muttering his prayers. Uncle touched the center of the cross, moving his fingers around the pentagram in the same slow, reverent way that a catholic prayed using a rosary.
“What is ‘this’ exactly?” Brad asked. “What have you been waiting for?”
Uncle laughed. “For Satan to be thrown down, of course.”
“What?”
“Lucifer,” Uncle said. “The Son of Dawn. He has been cast from above and now it all begins.”
“But…I thought that happened a long time ago.” Brad had no idea why in the hell he was arguing theology with a cultist in a basement, but here he was. “I mean, isn’t that the whole point? That God threw Lucifer out for trying to be better than God himself? That’s why he tempts us to sin. Because he wants company in Hell.”
