by J. R. Rain
What a creepy prick. Maybe Kingsley will kick the crap out of him, too.
Anthony heard two of them on the shelf below his, scrabbling along the metal unit beneath him, their claws clicking and scratching. They might not be good climbers, according to Matthews, but they might have seen him using the metal support beam—
And they had. The structure shook some more and he heard them climbing, up, up, up. And when the metal shelf beneath his feet sagged, Anthony knew he was no longer alone on this narrow upper platform, a platform that was not more than three or four feet wide. To jump down from this high would result, he knew, in some injury or another. Maybe a broken ankle. Besides, he didn’t know where he would land, or on what. So he stayed up there.
A sudden snapshot of light revealed that, yes, there were two of them on the shelf with him, advancing toward him. He saw one actually drool—and click its long, curved claws. Each creature was so hulking and thickly muscled that he knew, without a doubt, they could tear him from limb to limb.
But not without a fight first.
He reached back and removed the two silver-tipped arrows from his back pocket.
***
“There, Mommy!”
“Where?”
“That building there, the one behind the others, the one behind the barb-wired fence.”
I saw it—hidden far enough off the street to go unnoticed by just about anyone other than its neighbors.
I yanked the steering wheel hard, cut off a big rig that would have flattened all of us, and shot up a driveway into a mostly-empty parking lot. Allison and Tammy screamed. The three Lichtenstein monsters didn’t so much as scream, as grunt irritably.
I continued giving it gas, aiming for the chain-link fence.
“Hang on,” I said.
***
Anthony held his ground, an arrow in each hand.
He felt small and insignificant and more scared than he’d ever felt in his entire life. The two little arrows in his hands were laughable, especially when Anthony found himself looking up into the twin pairs of slowly approaching yellow eyes.
The shelving unit shook and shuddered. From above, he heard the shark cage creak as his traitor of a math teacher no doubt found a better position to watch the creepy show below him.
Another flash of light.
Anthony almost wished he hadn’t seen the flash of light, that he hadn’t just seen the sheer size of the creatures directly before him. If anything, the beasties were too wide to allow for more than one to approach him at a time; they had to line up single file.
And what he saw made his stomach do a flip. A long line of drool hung from the first creature’s mouth in front of him, like a dog waiting for a treat. Except that Anthony was the treat. Anthony had never, ever thought of himself as food before, but now, he did, and it sickened him.
The set of amber eyes directly before him lowered, and the boy knew the creature was crouching, getting ready to attack. Anthony crouched, too, in a fighter’s pose, and when the yellow eyes sprung forward, Anthony dropped to his back and thrust one of the arrows up. He could not have been more pleased—or horrified—when the arrow sunk deep into the beast’s flesh. Anthony kicked his feet up, bucking hard, and sent the creature up and over him. He heard it crash far, far below, howling and screaming and not very happy at all.
Anthony was certain he hadn’t killed it. The arrow, if anything, had lodged deep into its guts, which was a nice payback for what they had done to him.
Directly before him, the second creature inched forward.
***
The fence didn’t crash down flat like it always did in the movies. Truthfully, this was my first fence-crashing party, and I really hadn’t known what to expect, especially driving a damn minivan.
What did happen would just have to be good enough. The fence buckled forward, but the van got hung up on it, back tires spinning. No matter—the building wasn’t far away at all.
I gave Tammy strict orders to stay in the van. I commanded one of the Lichtenstein monsters to stay with her and protect her. As luck would have it, the one I commanded had been the one Tammy had been staring at earlier.
I would worry about that later.
With that, I was out my door in a flash, scrambling over the fence, with two of the monsters and Allison following...
***
This second werewolf was more cautious—it seemed aware that Anthony was holding one of the silver-tipped arrows.
As it approached, Anthony felt the shelving shudder again and again. More creatures were climbing up. The problem was... Anthony had just the one arrow. That, and he was only thirteen and these were freakin’ monsters. Oh, and he was fighting blind.
Where was the burst of light when he needed it?
He didn’t know. He also didn’t know what brought on the light, and from where it came. It was just there, willy-nilly, on its own. It seemed random, too. But now, weirdly, the lights were coming more often and staying longer. In the beginning, they had been mere blips.
Still, a fat lot of good that did him now, especially when one of the beasts was closing in on him now...
The light, he thought. I need the light.
The second werewolf lashed out a clawed hand—faster and more powerful than Anthony was prepared for. It caught Anthony on his upper right arm and sent him spinning over the wide shelf. He would have spun right off the edge if he hadn’t caught one of the metal support beams. As he gasped, blood poured free from what he suspected were three or four really deep gashes. His arm, he was certain, was now useless.
He held it against him, and wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t let himself. He couldn’t. Not now, and maybe never again.
Anthony watched the yellow eyes moving in their sockets, scanning him. Then the eyes squinted, and the creature let loose with a bladder-emptying roar and leaped forward.
Anthony nearly curled into a ball right then and there. But he didn’t curl up. Instead, he did his best to predict where the next swing was coming from and, judging by the fact that the first had been a powerful right roundhouse, he guessed a blow would launch from the creature’s shoulder, a straight shot that was probably meant to remove Anthony’s head from his shoulders—except that Anthony had already ducked under it. And as he ducked, he lunged forward, and drove the second arrow deep into the creature’s chest.
The reaction this time was different. Two massive paws dropped on Anthony’s shoulder, limply. The creature threw its head back to roar, except no sound came out. Instead, the thing dropped to his knees, or haunches, whatever they were called. Anthony stepped back as it pitched forward... then rolled off the top shelf, to land heavily with a heavy, bone-crushing thud far below.
I killed it, he thought. I really killed it.
Anthony wasn’t sure how he felt about killing it, but he was glad that he was still alive.
But now, he was without arrows.
***
I was the first to arrive at the building, which looked completely abandoned. No big rigs, no cars, no activity. If any sound was coming from within, I couldn’t hear it, which made me suspect that bastard Matthews had soundproofed the building.
With the pounding of footsteps behind—heavier pounding from the two Lichtenstein monsters, and the not-so-heavy pounding of Allison—I cast my thoughts outward. Not just my thoughts, but my inner eye, utilizing a sort of radar/sonar I’d somehow managed to discover years ago. The all-seeing eye expanded in all directions at once, even down twenty or so feet below me, too, if I chose to focus my attention in that direction. I didn’t. Instead, I focused in the direction of the building before me.
Little, if anything, could block such sight, as I’d proven to see through cave walls and even the earth itself. In this case, I plunged through the thick cement walls, through additional padding, and soon found myself in an empty room, an office perhaps. Beyond it was a hallway, and beyond that... I couldn’t see. I had reached the limits of my “seeing.”
B
ut the clear view of the office was enough. I told the others to take hold of my hands and arms, anything they could grab. Allison took a hand, and each of the Lichtenstein monsters grabbed hold of an arm.
Once done, I summoned the single flame.
***
Anthony didn’t want to die.
He also didn’t want to die in darkness, torn to shreds by monsters that he couldn’t even see.
At least give me a fighting chance, he thought. Give me some light!
He just needed to see that beautiful burst of random light. Just one more time. And he needed it to stick around longer, too. Just a few seconds longer—just long enough for him to defend himself.
Anthony wasn’t afraid of the werewolves. Not anymore. They were strong and fast, yes, but there was still a chance—the smallest of chances—that he could fend them off until help came.
And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his mother was coming for him. He just needed to give her time.
I need time, he thought, as a new set of yellow eyes appeared on the shelf before him. Time and light.
How and why did the flash of light appear? And it wasn’t really a flash, was it? No, it was more like a rocketing, squiggly laser beam of light. But it was enough to see, just briefly.
Could he make it appear? He didn’t know—and it was all so frustrating.
“C’mon, dammit, where are you?” he muttered, recognizing that he was already at the very edge of the shelf. More yellow eyes below him, and yellow eyes in front of him, advanced. Each pair represented a fierce, mindless monster of nightmarish proportions.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he whispered. “Where are you?”
In response, he finally did see a light, but not the light he’d expected. No, in the center of his mind, somewhere just behind his forehead—and most definitely in his imagination—he saw a single dancing flame.
Great, he thought. Just great.
Yes, his imagination had given him light, but a useless one. He figured it would disappear, but it didn’t. It just stayed right there in his thoughts, dancing and flickering. He could see the flame—and he could also see the yellow eyes approaching directly ahead. Soon, they would realize he was weaponless. Perhaps the creatures weren’t quite as mindless as he thought. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself in the darkness, not with just one good arm.
And there was that damn single flame, lighting exactly nothing up at all. No, that wasn’t true. Something—someone—had stepped into the flame. The flame in his mind. Something really, really bright. It was a man. Kind of. A man surrounded in blazing white fire, standing within the single yellow flame. And the man was holding two flaming swords. Anthony was sure of it. He was also sure he was losing his mind.
But strangest of all... the man seemed to be looking at Anthony, seemed to be waiting... for something. Now, Anthony felt a beckoning, a calling, a yearning to go to the flame... to go to the man in the flame.
How to go to it, he didn’t know.
But going to it—whatever that meant—felt better than standing here and getting torn to pieces by creatures he still couldn’t see.
“Go,” he heard his father say in his head. “Go now!”
Anthony felt the pull, felt the connection to the burning man in the flame... he felt himself moving toward the flame, toward the man inside, a man Anthony felt an odd kinship with, for reasons he didn’t get, and didn’t have time to think about.
The werewolf attacked. And not just one, but two or three of them, bounding over the wide ledge, snarling and scrabbling...
As they came at him, Anthony did two things at the same time: he leaped backward into space—and rushed toward the flame in his mind, toward the fiery man with the fiery swords...
***
An explosion of white light.
One moment he had been falling in darkness, and the next, he was falling in pure white light—the same white light that had been shooting out in beams from the man in the flame. The man in his thoughts.
Anthony had little time to understand what he’d seen or what he felt. He only knew that the ground was coming up fast... and he was going to land square on his back. Maneuvering in a way he’d never thought possible, with control he never knew he had, he flipped his legs up and over his head.
He landed smoothly, effortlessly, on one knee and one foot, his right fist anchoring the ground before him.
His blazing white fist.
***
We were halfway down the hall when we saw the explosion of white light; it poured through the doorway at the far end of the corridor.
I picked up speed, leaving the others behind...
***
Anthony stood, keenly aware that white light was radiating from him, touching everything, especially those hulking creatures who shied away from the light.
Most curiously, Anthony saw that he now towered over these very same monsters. And, yes, they were monsters. Frightening to behold, the things of nightmares.
Except Anthony didn’t feel fear. He suspected the fiery man had never known fear. The fiery man who was also him.
He also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that two fiery swords were sheathed along his back.
He reached for them now, withdrawing them expertly, smoothly, swinging them once, twice, and holding them out before him... two fiery white swords held by fiery white hands.
His hands...
***
Never had Anthony felt so strong, so alive, so invincible. And never had he been so confused, either.
He held up the swords before him. Each crackled with living fire. In fact, there was no boundary between his hands and the swords. Where his fiery hands stopped, the swords began.
Beyond his hands, aglow in white light, he saw two or three of the werewolves shying away, holding up their own hands—or paws, whatever they were. Anthony wasn’t sure how werewolves normally looked, but these three seemed confused. They also seemed smaller than he remembered, maybe because he now towered above them.
Towered might not have been accurate. He certainly towered over the boy he had once been. As far as he could tell now, he was a head or two taller than the tallest of the werewolves.
How tall he was now seemed less important than what he was. And what he was, he hadn’t a clue. Should he be scared? He didn’t know. He didn’t feel scared. If anything, he felt... eager for battle.
Very, very eager.
He’d worry about what he was later. For now, he was ready for battle. No, he was hungry for battle.
Although he had never practiced with swords before, except on a friend’s Wii—much less these fiery swords—Anthony knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what to do with these weapons, how to strike with them to protect himself, and, most importantly, how to attack with them.
Now, he lowered his hands—and sensed his enemy’s anger. The very air around him crackled with the anticipation of an imminent attack. How he knew this, he didn’t know, and didn’t question it. Not now, and not in this moment.
Anthony grinned, and felt his lips of fire curling up.
Yes, let them attack.
***
I wasn’t entirely prepared for what I saw as I rounded the long row of industrial shelving. Hell, no one could have been prepared for it—a massive, burning entity.
It vaguely resembled an angel, or a demon, or something in between. It wielded two impossibly long swords as deftly as if they had been an extension of its own arms. Maybe they were. After all, the entity and swords were all made of the same pale fire, fire that crackled and sputtered like the surface of the sun, had the sun been white. And like a sun, it emitted its own brilliance, touching everything in all directions.
But the entity wasn’t alone. No. In fact, it was surrounded by massive, brutish, muscled, crazy scary-looking creatures that most certainly belonged in nightmares and not in the real world. And nowhere to be seen was my son—I prayed like crazy that it was a good thing.
The others
reached me now, with Allison coming up next to me. I caught sight of her pretty face glowing in the white light, her mouth hanging open, sweat on her brow. The Lichtenstein monsters appeared next on my left. They gave no reaction to the burning entity, even as their scarred faces glowed in the burning luminescence. Sherbet came up last, holding his chest and praying under his breath. I didn’t blame him.
A hulking, nightmarish creature dashed forward, leaping high into the air, its claws bared, lips pulled back to reveal two rows of hellish teeth. The burning man slashed upward, flicking his wrist so fast that I almost believed I imagined it. What I didn’t imagine was the werewolf’s head that veritably leaped from the creature’s shoulders and rolled across the open floor, coming to a stop against what appeared to be a single chair with handcuffs attached to the arms.
More of the werewolves sprang forward—and Allison grabbed my hand, pulling me. But I didn’t move, couldn’t move. I stood, transfixed. More creatures dropped from above, although none seemed aware of our presence just yet. All were dealt with swiftly and efficiently. More heads leaped free. Some bodies were rendered in half, and almost all lost limbs in the process.
One creature fled the fire entity—and charged toward us. Allison raised her hands, braced herself. I braced myself, too. I knew the kind of witchy power she could yield. But the two Lichtenstein monsters were already moving, springing forward. One tackled the beast down low, while the other tackled high. The three rolled and rolled, and when they stopped rolling, there was a dagger hilt projecting from the creature’s chest.
It was all terrible and fascinating—but never once did I stop looking for my son, who was nowhere to be found. Nowhere at all.
