The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  “Well, this is where it gets good. I got out of work around midnight and freaked out when I got his message on the answering machine. Hopped my happy ass back into the Camaro and headed up to the city. You'd be proud, man. I made it to the train station in twenty-nine minutes flat.” A weary smile creased his face.

  Warren laughed. “Nice.”

  “I got to Louie’s Cordial and the dickhead was nowhere to be found. Something tells me he’s back to his old business up there.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me?”A sharp pain burst in Warren's lip as his teeth bore down on them. Business, alright. Drug business, he thought and fought not to verbalize. “Where’s his highness now?”

  Dex shot him a look and motioned with his hand downward. And Warren heard the loud snoring from the bedroom.

  Barry Lee was one bad ass, short-fused guy. Six years in the Air Force, mixed with an out of control anger issues and slight drug addiction, made him the wrong guy to piss off.

  “What did you end up doing?” Warren said.

  “I drove around his usual spots and came home. Just get back to bed and his drunk-ass comes staggering in with a couple of chicks from the strip club, I guess.”

  “Let me guess, the strippers are in there, too?” Warren shook his head.

  “Bingo. And damn, they didn't stop partying until around nine o'clock this morning. Well, that's at least when one of the bimbos ran into the bathroom and yakked her guts out. Good times at the Lee estate, my friend.” Dex yawned and jumped as if he remembered something.

  “Oh, holy crow. I almost forgot. Have you seen the news?” Dex whispered.

  “No. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Holy shit, man.” Dex ran into the apartment, motioning for Warren to follow.

  “You have to see this.” He tossed his book on the coffee table covered with empty beer cans and full ashtrays. Picking up the TV remote, he sat on the worn couch.

  “Have a seat, man. You won’t believe this shit,” he said.

  Warren watched the television and waited.

  Dex turned up the volume as the morning Channel 13 anchor spoke.

  “To all in our viewing area, there have been several terrorist attacks across our country. We have early reports of other such attacks worldwide.” The dapper newsman delivered the chilling news as if he were relaying a traffic report.

  “The C.D.C. released a brief statement that, while it's far too early to speculate, the attacks seem to be biochemical in nature, but they are extremely optimistic they have been able to contain it and are making necessary precautions to contain the directly affected areas.” He finished with a plastic smile.

  “What the hell, man?” Warren said to the television.

  “Oh I know. Messed up, huh?” Dex nodded and lit a cigarette.

  “I'm sure they'll take care of it, right?” Warren asked, his gaze never leaving the newscast.

  “Hell yeah, man. No doubt. The government has all kinds of plans in place for shit like this. These news gadflies just like to drum up drama for ratings. Besides, you only live once, right?” Dex laughed and Warren could sense it was tainted with a little splash of doubt.

  “Right. I've read about those too. Still, maybe—” Warren was cut off.

  “Hey, man, any chance of a little weed?” Jack asked, peeking through the doorway, smiling all the while.

  “Never mind that shit. Get your ass in here and grab Arnie, too!” Dex said.

  “Aww, man, okay.” Jack waved Arnie in.

  Arnie sat on the other couch, and Jack sat on the floor, both taking swigs from their beers.

  The small apartment went silent as the four teenagers watched the nightmare unfold. A shroud of shock enveloped the room. Their fear over adulthood disappeared as the promise of a bright future was now gone.

  The talking heads listed the attacked sites: New York City, Washington DC, Chicago, Los Angeles, London, Paris, Moscow, Egypt, Seoul, Tokyo, and other major cities. All had been attacked with the same mysterious chemical release. Each station had its own version of the truth, but all stated that a Muslim terrorist group had claimed responsibility for the heinous acts.

  President Ronald Reagan was scheduled to address the nation at six that evening, and the official comment from the press secretary was to remain calm. Everything was under control but strongly suggested going home and staying tuned in for further instructions.

  Dex broke the thick and eerie silence. “Guys, I know this is far away, but you need to get home.” He snuffed out his cigarette.

  Warren nodded. “You’re coming with us right, Dex? And what about Barry?”

  “Don't worry, man, I'll get Barry up, and we'll meet you at your house in an hour or so,” Dex replied.

  Arnie joined the conversation. “Um...yeah...we should get...outta here. Jack, drop me off, then you can run Warren home. Okay?” His large eyes stared at the beer stained carpet.

  “Ah come on, dudes. Let’s just have a few more beers. All this shit will work itself out. After all, how bad can it be?” Jack let out a hyena-like laugh.

  They turned and looked at him in unison.

  “Jack, this isn’t just some kind of ice storm or piddly-shit thing, man. This is for fucking real.” Dex’s raised his voice as he stood up.

  Warren always looked at Dex as the leader. He was smart and witty. A voracious reader on all subjects, he was well-versed in just about anything. When he spoke, the gang usually listened.

  “You need to get your shit together and get these guys home. NOW!” Dex pointed toward the door.

  “Dex is right, guys. Let’s boogie,” Warren said.

  Warren was the first to head for the door. Arnie and Jack followed, but Jack shook his head and chuckled in disbelief.

  “Warren, we'll see you in a bit. Make sure your folks are okay. Lock up the house and stay close to the TV or radio, alright?” Dex winked and smiled. He lit another cigarette.

  “Will do, man. See ya real soon.” Warren offered a reciprocating smile.

  Main Street was normal, Mayberry on a Wednesday. The traffic was a bit busier with more cars because of the early school dismissal. But other than that, all was good. Warren smiled at that thought and stepped to the car.

  “Everyone is overreacting, man. Nothing is going to happen. That shit is way downstate. We're good,” Arnie said.

  “Probably,” Warren said, hoping he was right. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Jack’s booming thrush mufflers broke the eerie silence of Main Street. The black car made a sharp left turn onto Mill Street and stopped abruptly at Arnie’s house.

  They made a promise to call each other within the hour. Warren watched Arnie waving at them as the Cutlass’s tires screeched and sped away down Mill Street.

  The ride to Warren's house was silent and fast. Jack didn't say anything and Warren didn't feel much like talking. The whole thing could be just over-hyped media stories. He was well aware of the news being glory hounds and doing anything to sell a story. He kept telling himself that during the ten minutes it took to reach his house.

  “See ya, man,” Jack said as Warren got out of the car.

  “Yeah. You too. I'll call you,” Warren said.

  The afternoon sun burned behind the hill as angry-looking storm clouds encroached from the east, and the sounds of Black Sabbath's “Die Young” blared from the car's speakers.

  Warren paused. He tried to laugh off the irony as the dark clouds rolled in and it began to rain.

  9.

  Genocide

  Wewelsburg Castle

  Wewelsburg Township,

  Paderborn, Germany.

  May 1985.

  Professor Gustav Moltke had traded his three thousand dollar Armani suit and lab coat for something far more fitting as a High Priest of the Lord of Hell. Standing in the dimly lit control room, the tall man stood head to toe in a black tunic and cloak, lined with blood-red trim. Gustav chuckled at his reflection. He knew he'd always had a flair for
the dramatic, and some might say, narcissistic, which only made him laugh louder. He adjusted his vestments and kept an eye on the monitors displaying the triumphant signs of the destruction of man, and it made him swell with pride. Watching men, women, and children tearing each other to shreds and dining on each other’s flesh made him strut like a peacock in the stone control room.

  “At last, our plans have come to fruition!” Gustav spoke proudly.

  On all the screens, chaos reigned. Mass hysteria filled the black and white monitors while television network news anchors tried to make sense of the attacks that rendered the world into the depths of chaos within a few days’ time.

  On another screen, a gray bearded and disheveled anchorman cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses when handed a sheet of paper from off screen. Studying each screen intently, relishing in all he observed, Gustav could do nothing but smile. His eyes wide in sensual satisfaction.

  His second in command, Mr. Hayden, sipped from his wine glass. “Those fanatical primitives were actually successful in their plan!” he said in gleeful disbelief.

  “They are fools, however. They think they were cleansing the world of the infidels and bringing about the end to their jihad,” he mumbled, staring, engrossed,

  Gustav finished his glass and leaned on the computer desk and smiled. “Ah, yes, my friend, but little did they know their own people were not going to be immune! For they, too, will die and rise again to serve a greater master than their pathetic Allah.” His hypnotic voice trailed off and was lost among the cacophony of news anchors all singing the same harmony of the end of the world.

  “You have done well my child!” A dark and low, growling voice came from over Gustav’s shoulder. “In time, the world will be ours and the reign of God and his sheep will be over and darkness shall rule the land.” Gustav spun on his heel, startled, and without looking up, prostrated himself upon the floor in genuflection.

  “Yes, master, I am so pleased to have served you.” Gustav’s words came softly, reverently, but the man’s broad chest and raised chin, chased away any thought of weakness or doubt.

  “Rise, child, and witness the new master of this realm!” the deep growl ordered. The sound of leathery wings echoed off the command center’s cement walls.

  Rising to his feet, “M’Lord, their Sanctity Virus will spread exponentially, and one-by-one, city after city will fall and the dead will rise. Your followers will rise and reclaim what is rightfully yours!”

  “We have been victorious!” he added, grinning from ear to ear and raising his head to greet his master’s gaze for the first time.

  Gustav’s face turned pale, and his eyes grew wide as he looked upon the visage of his demonic master, knowing full well soon he would receive the gift he had been promised.

  “Let us not be blinded by our own bravado, good priest,” the Dark voice warned. “There are important matters you need to address. The last of the Children of Light need to be found. Have you located them yet?”

  The big priest felt piercing fear ripple through his body like a million tiny, barbed needles. He took a long breath and let it out.

  “Of course, master. We've been working on that tirelessly for months now. I have a few leads on the last seven. I will soon be sending out your Mortem Eques to find them and bring them to me.” Gustav regained his composure and raised his head to peer into his master's red eyes.

  “Good. Good. I am to assume that the one they call, the Child of Fire is one of the seven who is escaping your so exuberant search, Herr Moltke?” the dark master mocked.

  Gustav hesitated. He knew the bleak answer and dreaded his master's reaction. So far, the plan to punish the living and to send this world into the abyss of the land of the dead was right on track. Save the one gaping hole. While capturing four of the Children of Light had been successful, three still remained at-large. And the high priest of Orcus truly trembled to deliver this egregious news.

  Gustav dropped to one knee and hung his head. The shimmering image of Lord Orcus peered back through the dimensional portal and Gustav felt the heat emanating from the void.

  “A thousand apologies, my master. We have searched tirelessly to find the Child of Flame. And we even have a source deep within the High Keeper's Council and still it all has been to no avail. But I swear to you, on all that is unholy, I will bring forth the Light so that you might relish extinguishing it yourself.”

  The room filled with such an intense heat that Gustav felt as if he himself was ablaze. He dared not move and tried to ignore the searing heat.

  Long moments passed.

  “Servant, you know the breaching ceremony requires at least three of those lowly Children of Light, least of which is the damned Child of Flame. Do not kill them. Their blood must be shed in unison to shatter the walls of our dimensions. Do not fail me, fleshling. If you do, pain will be but a whisper of what you will feel before you die,” the dark voice shouted and, with that, the portal closed, leaving the high priest prostrate on the cold floor of the castle compound.

  10.

  Metal Health (Bang your Head.)

  Brennan's House

  Arcadia Falls, NY

  Late April, 1985.

  Warren dialed the last digit of Dex's phone number and heard the all-too-familiar, redundant clicking of the dial as it spun back in place. Looking around the kitchen to make sure his dad or brother Andy hadn't come back early from fence duty, as his Sgt. York of a father relished calling it, he walked down the long hallway toward the back door until the curled cord yanked his arm back.

  Peering through the storm door window, he could see the burly form of his father and brother testing the chain-link fence that surrounded the backyard as well as the rest of their property. Rain poured on them, and Warren was more than content to watch them get soaked.

  His hot breath fogged up the window. He wiped it away with a sleeve and caught his foot anxiously tapping the floor, waiting for Dex to pick up. They’d never showed up on the day everything happened, he'd spoken to Dex the day after they left the apartment, and his best friend had told him that he and Barry would be over in a couple of hours. Apparently, Barry was being a complete jerk, as per usual, and didn't want to leave the security of their apartment. Dex said that Barry had been feeling like crud ever since he got home from Rochester and just wanted to stay home. Of course, Warren was sure it was the drug addict’s withdrawal symptoms kicking his ass, and he knew that Dex felt the same way, but there's no way in hell he or Dex would dare speak about his older brother in such a vilified way. The spastic brute would've surely freaked out and started a fight.

  A sudden flash of lightning caused Warren to jump, almost dropping the telephone. He grabbed it and put it to his ear. He'd tried several times, but had no luck in reaching his friends by phone. After a long silent pause, the phone emitted the same annoying static disconnected tone he'd heard for the past few weeks. He tried to call Arnie and Jack a few times, and it always resulted in the same harsh buzz.

  Warren was worried. There were no two ways about it. Even though they still had electricity, it had flickered on several occasions and even gone out for a few seconds at times. He was certain it was only a matter of time before their luck would run out.

  He wanted to go find his friends. Make sure they were okay. Before the television stations went all ant-races on them, it seemed like all hell had broken loose. All kinds of crazy, horror movie crap that scared Warren to a sleepless mess. He was lost in worry and thought as a sudden voice caused him to jump.

  “Still no answer huh, Hon?”

  Dropping the phone, it shot back toward the base of the wall. Warren caught his breath as his mom stood in the kitchen with a weary, but a comforting smile on her face.

  “Oh, hey, Mom. Nope. Nothing. Just the same old, stupid buzzing thing.” Warren smiled and walked back to the table.

  His mom caught the recoiling phone and placed it back on the phone base. “I'm sure they're fine. After all, they're smart bo
ys, and maybe, staying home was the safest thing for them.” She smiled and gave Warren a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He oddly found himself embarrassed, but not enough so to make her stop.

  Pulling out a chair from the table, he sat down and took a sip of diet soda. “I know. But what the hell is going on, Mom? Everything is falling apart. We're stuck in this house, my friends are out there, and the weather is more schizophrenic than Sybil on a gallon of Jolt cola. People freaking out and attacking each other, biting them. I mean, just ...what's going out there? Did we finally piss God off, or is this really some nutso religious group of idiots or just random crap?” he asked, maybe to his mom, maybe to the universe, maybe to no one.

  A long moment of silence was torn away when a crescendo of thunder pounded above as it had done for the past week or so since the incidents began. His mom pulled out a chair and sat down and patted his arm.

  She looked deep into his eyes and a small smile grew on her face. “I don't know,” she said, her gaze never leaving Warren's watery eyes.

  Frustration filled him. His best friend was MIA, the world was in chaos, and the one person who he'd always thought held all the answers to any and all questions just told him she had no clue. It felt like the bottom of his soul dropped out and his gut hurt. He tried to rub the frustration away from his forehead, and his mother laughed, softly.

  His mom touched his cheek, and a comforting warmth filled his face, sending ripples of goose flesh all over his skin. Warren caught a glint of a tear in her bright blue eyes. “Oh, Warren. You've always been a worrier. Just like your grandfather.” Her gentle face widened into the calming Irish-smile he'd cherished as long as he could remember.

  “My dear, let's worry about the things we can change, not the sea of uncertainty we can't. God isn't to blame for all of this. Who knows what's going on there. All we need to know is that we have each other. Your dad and Andy are out there making sure we're safe, and when Dad comes asking for your help, you should be ready to help him,” she said.

  “Of course, I'll help. You know that. But he never asks me to.” Warren looked out the back door at the rain coming down harder now, the window lost to a mustard-tainting gray film that covered the glass.