by Thom Erb
“Now, you've done it, you daft sod. Put yourself up a tree. Bloody good work, I say.” He stared down at the throng of Arcadia Falls' dead citizens. Elton reached into his vest, relieved to find the comforting metal flask, took a pull, and placed it back. The driving rain pelted him and the thunder unnerved him. He shook off the cold and took a deep breath.
“Alright, old boy, now what?” he murmured to himself and turned around. Elton Rees Habersham had seen many horrific things in his life. Being delegated as a watcher of the orbs led to a very welcoming and calm life for the Keeper of the Eternal Flame. Predictable shift work allowed him to spend most nights at home, reading a good book and drinking some high quality, aged beverage His destiny lay with the Child of Light and that was signed centuries ago. However, the sight before him was more than his forty-eight year-old heart could bear.
It seemed that every single occupant of Arcadia Falls Cemetery that had two legs stood before him in the lower parking lot of the elementary school. Once peacefully dead men, women, and children now shambled and staggered in the school's parking lot and playground. The rainstorm washed down upon the throbbing multitudes of undead. In unison, their glowing red eyes glared at Elton. The dark calls for the children filled the night air, and the unnatural fog covered the dead in a thick layer of yellow. He was perplexed to see that even the harsh rain couldn’t wash off their hell-spawned gaze.
Elton absently felt for one of his bags. His glasses fell to the end of his slender nose, and he pushed them back up. When his hand came up empty, he recalled what he was looking for, now lay on the rain-slicked blacktop among the angry dead.
He frustratingly considered what magics he had left, and if he even had the strength, energy, or components to do anything to get himself out of this dreaded pickle.
Elton unlatched the clasps on the other satchel and pawed through the myriad of items one by one, deciding if they were of use. His soaking wet hand found purchase on his Keeper's codex but with the continuous downpour, even though the pages were well protected, he didn't trust his luck as of late and decided to look elsewhere for his escape route.
The chilling calls from the Pawns of Orcus taunted and called from below. Elton tried to put them out of this racing mind and focus on getting into the school.
There, at the very bottom of the satchel, his fingers found a small white stone.
“Oh, you lucky, lucky monkey, you.” He laughed loudly, and it only served to rouse the dead below. Elton guffawed even louder.
It was the simplest and most obvious of spells, but Elton was grateful.
“Oh, Great Creator, protect the righteous and hold fast the dead in their unholy deeds.” In the ancient language of the Council of Fourteen, Elton spoke the incantation and held the white stone in one hand and traced his slim fingers in the precise somatic gestures.
A small white wisp began in his hand and quickly blossomed into a large bright flash that swallowed up the entire school.
Then it softened but hung in the air, pushing out the odd-colored fog.
“Now there, my sweets. Let us pass, if you please. Nighty, night,” Elton said, climbing down from the safety of the mighty oak, landing among the mass of motionless dead. The rain still battered down upon the parking lot, but Elton sauntered over to his lost satchel, snatched it up, slung it over his shoulder, and casually walked to the set of green doors on the elementary school.
“Let's just hope the spell lasts long enough.” Elton sped up, trying to outrun his own self-doubt.
34.
Who's Behind The Door?
Arcadia Falls Elementary School.
Arcadia Falls, New York.
The fire doors loomed before Warren like a death sentence. Behind him, the annoying wail of George Jones and growling of big-block motors filled the hallway. The smell of rot and thick exhaust permeated the school.
“Not good.” Warren’s voice broke.
“Hey, hey, hey, big boy, we're comin' for you.” One of the Cro-Magnon DeRueter brothers shouted. Warren couldn't tell the difference as all the sound was mixing into one mumbled noise.
Maico growled at the exit door.
“I agree, buddy.” He looked around, saw a door to his right, and ran and tried to open it.
Locked.
“Shit, oh shit,” Warren said.
The laughter grew closer.
“So, who do you think gets the chubb-oholic first? You or me? Ohhh, or one of those meat-bags?”
Their footfalls echoed off the cold walls and joined the music.
“Something tells me, Rocky, we ain't lucky enough to catch him before the biters do.” Wilbur chuckled.
Warren felt adrenaline pulse through him like an energy bolt. He knew by being able to recognize the voice, the rednecks were getting way too close.
He spun around, back against the locked door, and prayed for something, anything.
Bright lights illuminated the hallway, back toward the gym and the outdoor entrance. Two long shadows cast against the wooden gymnasium doors.
“Well, shoot. Maybe the dead'uns will leave at least a little bit of the kid to play with,” Rocky DeRueter cackled. Its barbed sound pierced Warren's ears like a dozen rusty nails.
The sudden, ear-cringing scraping of metal on stone preceded the taunting shadows that filled the end of the hallway where Warren stood, still against the wooden door.
The stench of the redneck twins filled the air and Warren slammed his fist into the door. His arm struck something on his hip, and he felt like a complete idiot.
He looked down and saw his father’s Ka-Bar knife in its sheath on his belt.
“Mr. Brennan, you're a fucking moron.” He cursed himself and freed the Marine-issue blade but still felt the overwhelming dread as the brothers sauntered toward him.
“Will,” Rocky said with a joking lilt.
“Yeah, brother?” the elder DeRueter replied. His deep baritone voice joined the scraping of a blade down the ceramic tiled wall.
“I wonder if the Brennan kid is like Stretch Armstrong? Ya know, if we cut him open, does he have all kinds of red jelly oozing out from his fat ass?” Rocky chuckled, and his brother joined in.
Wilbur DeRueter halted.
Warren could make out his gaunt features and closed his eyes.
“Hold up,” Wilbur said.
Warren opened one eye, spotted the redneck standing still in the hallway, and turned his gaze to the wall across from him and smiled. A door.
Not wanting to curse his already bad luck, Warren just ran for it and slammed into the wooden door. He fought not to laugh as the door knob turned and it opened with ease.
Thank you, Warren thought as he read the plate on the door. - Custodian Closet. He laughed and opened the door.
Warren yipped, eyes grew wide, as the door flew open and the stench of rotted meat and decay filled his nose. Something came at him, slamming him in the face. He frantically grasped and swung at it and caught the handle of a mop, feeling like a dumb ass. The embarrassment only lasted a second as a thrashing form lunged at him, sending them both crashing to the cold floor.
Warren's hand smashed to the floor, sending the knife flying off to clang against the fire doors. “You've got to be kidding me?” Warren thrust his forearm underneath the snapping jaw of what he could make out from the name tag on the grimy overalls was Mr. O'Connor. Red burning eyes bore down on Warren, and thick black tears poured down the man’s rotted face, landing on Warren’s cheek.
Warren screamed.
The two galumphing rednecks' mockingly laughed like demented hyenas and chilled Warren's blood. His chaotic scream filled his mind and escaped, and his rage echoed, matching the DeRueter brother's taunting howls.
Mr. O'Connor eyes burned a hot red, yet something deep in those ebony orbs spoke to Warren, causing them both to cease their deadly struggle.
The dead janitor's, rotting mouth moved as if to speak. There was a heartbreaking desperate sadness within them. Warren tried to mak
e out what the dead man tried to say.
“What the hell, tubby?” Rocky protested from a safe distance. “Come on now, this shit ain't entertaining. Goddamn, I've seen better fight scenes from that homo Jean-Claude Van Damme. Jesus. Do something.”
“Take `er easy, Rock. Leave `em to it,” Wilbur ordered.
Warren and the undead janitor's bodies were locked mid-struggle, yet the old man looked as if he were begging Warren. No! Warren felt a harsh shiver ripple through his entire body.
The dead man mouthed, over and over again, “I'm so sorry!” Cold black tears followed each slow and pain-filled syllable.
Before Warren's scrambled brain had time to comprehend, the dead janitor snapped free from his sullen malaise and lunged down at Warren's face, false teeth barely missing, coming up with a maw full of cold air.
“Yee-goddamn-haw!” Rocky hooted.
Wilbur clapped. “Now that's what I'm talking about.”
The undead man's fingers tore into Warren's shoulder, and his foul breath filled his nostrils. Warren struggled to keep from throwing up.
Focus, dammit, Warren shouted inside his racing mind. Remember your training, dummy. He shoved the dead man up with his elbow and reached with his other hand for the knife.
“Shit.” He grunted, remembering he dropped the blade.
The much taller zombie jumped forward, his hips, now straddled Warren's wide midsection, and Warren used the freedom to shift upward with his legs, sending the dead man's upper body sideways. Warren rolled with it.
The thrashing janitor grasped and clawed at Warren, tearing his shirt and jeans. All the sorrow and begging washed away in his dark eyes. Warren remembered and a lump grew in his throat.
“For shit’s sake, damn it,” Rocky protested.
The undead man snatched a hold of Warren's shirt and yanked him to his growling teeth. He growled three words that caused Warren to shudder.
CHILD OF LIGHT.
His eyes burst a rich red and hurled itself up at Warren, tearing into this T-shirt and ripping a piece e.
Warren rolled away and felt a sharp sting burning at his back. Coming to his knees, the sharp end of the broken mop handle lay in front of him.
“Ah, no way, man, No way. Let's shoot this Boss Hog-looking-piece-a-shit.” Rocky's shout bounced off the tiled walls.
A voiced filled Warren's mind. “Now, child!”
Warren didn't know why he reacted, he just did. He snatched the mop handle and kicked the snarling janitor in the head, causing him to roll away, smashing into the closet door.
The DeRueter brothers gasped, and Warren heard them mumbling to themselves, and he knew there wasn't time. He ran to O'Connor and shoved his sneakered foot down onto his protesting neck and swung the mop handle, burying it deep into the dead janitor's eye socket before twisting it.
The sadness burning in its deep sockets flickered back to hatred again, then went dark as the dead man finally fell lifeless on the cold floor.
Warren dropped to his knees on top of the janitor— exhausted, confused.
Tears filled his eyes, and he had no idea why, but a sudden heaviness filled him, and it felt as if the entire weight of the elementary school had fallen on his shoulders.
35.
Panic
Arcadia Falls Elementary School.
First-floor stairwell.
Arcadia Falls, New York.
Dex, Arnie, and Frank sprinted down the hallway to the south stairwell that led to the first floor. Dex’s heavy boots only touched every third step down. Dex knew Frank could easily keep up, and Arnie did his best, but he was carrying one hundred and fifty pounds more than the others. Arnie huffed and puffed as he descended the steps.
As they hit the second floor, an explosion of white light filled the two large windows of the stairwell. It illuminated the entire landing, blinding them all.
“Damn, what the hell was that?” Arnie cursed, rubbing his stinging eyes.
The harsh light dissipated, but a strange whitish-blue haze took its place.
“No, clue, man. Lightning? Whatever. Let's go.” Dex took one step and froze.
He recoiled at the sight of a pile of tiny, decaying bodies that littered the landing.
Frank covered his mouth. “Who the hell would do this sick shit?”
The large pile of rotting, maggot-filled bodies looked to be that of kindergartners or first graders. Their desiccated and mutilated corpses didn’t move. There were no glowing eyes or biting teeth like most of the dead things they'd encountered since the bombs.
Dex and Arnie’s attention went back to the odd light that still washed out the tan colored tiles of the landing.
“Dude, what the hell?” Arnie looked to Dex for answers.
“I don’t know man, but we got to keep moving. I hope those fuckin’ rednecks didn’t get to him yet.” Dex stepped over the dead children and teachers as they raced down the stairs. Arnie followed him.
They reached the first floor and all was dark save the white haze that seeped through the entry way by the gymnasium doors of the long hallway, and from the exit door behind them that led to the playground.
A machine gun-like burst of thunder rattled the school and mixed with what Dex thought was laughter and someone screaming. The screaming voice sounded very familiar.
Dex peered through the two, thin vertical windows in the door, and his heart warmed, and he felt a wide smile break across his face.
“What is it?” Arnie and Frank both asked, fighting to peek through the other window.
Frank shoved Arnie. “Come on, dude.”
“Guys, it's Warren. Goddamn.” Dex let a weary, yet grateful laugh escape. It quickly ended when he saw two men surrounding his best friend, and it looked like they were carrying shotguns.
“No shit? Let's go get him.” Arnie said, pushing Frank away from the window.
Dex tried to push the doors open and was met with the harsh clang of metal on metal. Looking down, he saw the thick chains wrapped around the door handles.
“No! Son of a bitch,” Dex punched the door.
Dex's heart sunk as he watched the taller guy put a pistol to Warren's head.
“Shi...” Dex's word trailed off as the two rednecks continued drinking and watching on.
“Hey, is that...?” Frank looked with one eye through the window as Arnie fought him off, “...your uncle?” he asked turning to Arnie.
Arnie shot Frank a puzzled look and cupped his hands around his eyes to peer through the window. “What the hell you talking about? My uncle? Really? Very funny, just because I'm rela—” He paused, and a long, cold moment passed while Frank and Dex waited. “Shit...that's my Uncle Wilbur,” Arnie admitted, stepping away from the doors.
“Well, your Uncle is about to shoot Warren in the fucking head,” Dex shouted at Arnie.
“My cousin Rocky is there, too.” Arnie's words came out in a pensive whisper.
“Oh, hell, a VanLaken family reunion. Why doesn’t that surprise me? Just wonderful.” Dex grabbed at the thick chains.
Frank kicked and punched at the metal security doors, his wide face growing red with rage.
The laughter continued down the hallway as the tall one Arnie called Uncle Wilbur knelt and punched Warren in the face, shoving the barrel of the revolver into his cheek. Dex frantically searched around for anything to help get to his best friend.
“It's not my fault, guys. I mean, really, I—”Arnie started, slinking back against the wall and leaning against the fire extinguisher.
Dex rubbed his face, frantically looking for a way through the doors. “Now's not the time, man. Seriously, are you going to make this about yo—” He stopped when he saw what Arnie hugged like a life-raft.
The huge, metal fire extinguisher hung from the concrete wall.
“Arnie...brother...” Dex ran to his friend and hugged him. “Love you, dude.” He snatched the extinguisher from under his friend, causing Arnie to fall to the floor.
Dex smashed th
e extinguisher into the lock again and again.
Frank laughed as Arnie stumbled to his feet. “Love you too, man,” Arnie said, confused.
“Dumb-ass,” Frank said and took turns with Dex battering the lock on the door.
Dex just hoped they weren't too late.
36.
Friend of the Devil
Arcadia Falls Elementary School
Art Room-Second Floor
Arcadia Falls, New York.
“Mr. Lee. Mr. Lee, wake up.” The soothing voice came from a distance.
Barry Lee's world was black. An all-encompassing nothingness surrounded him like a thick, quilted blanket their mother gave him.
“Rise and shine, Mr. Lee. Your work has just begun. We need you.” The velvet voice came closer, grew warmer.
The acrid smell of fire and an acidic stench of sulfur assailed his nostrils Oddly, it filled Barry with welcoming ease. He embraced the darkness, slowly giving way to a growing, slithering in his veins, his blood. A burning, golden light warmed him before his waking eyes.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Lee? You have long called for the Master, now your calls have been answered. Now is your time to shine, young man.” The smooth voice slowly spoke, in and a sea of warped colors, now became visible, right before Barry's eyes.
Ambient light flitted through the cracks of various objects in front of the classroom's windows, painting the robed figure in an odd, shadowy light.
“Who the hell are you?” Barry asked, fighting to sit up.
The Grey-robed figured placed a gloved hand on Barry's bleeding cut on his forehead. “All questions will be answered, Mr. Lee. All in good time. The Master needs warriors such as you. Are you ready?” The figure pulled away and, instantly, Barry felt no pain in the cut on his head. In fact, he felt as if he were eighteen years old again. Way before the years of booze, fighting, and drugs took their toll on him. He caught himself giggling as the robed figure stood over him.
“How the hell did you do that shit?” Barry asked, taking a foggy inventory of his body, seeing what was broken and what was still workable. The cloaked figure stepped backward and folded his hands into the sleeves of his long robes. “It's quite simple, Mr. Lee. You answered the Master's call. There is a war being waged, and now is your time to serve. Now is the time to fulfill your destiny and become a ruler of men. All the power you've always dreamed of is there for you to reach out and grasp. I know you grow weary of this world's ineffectual class structure, and how you seek desperately to be free. Free of your earthly bonds. No one can judge you. No one to stand in your way any longer. Be born again, son of Orcus. You've made the blood pledge, Mr. Lee. Now is the time to claim your rightful place in the True Master of this world’s war. Will you stand and fight, or die like the other living dogs of your realm?”
