by D. C. Gomez
Chapter 6
In the military, I considered myself a morning person. I loved getting up and doing physical fitness with my company. Ever since taking this job, working out with the team was my least favorite part of the day. Being in the army was not a job. They had nothing on my new lifestyle as Death’s intern. I referred to the current state of my life as a job, since it was more comfortable than just saying my existence. I tried to explain to myself why our workout sessions were so painful to me, and today was entirely clear. I dragged myself out of my comfy bed at five a.m. after an all-night research session, to be at this goofy park at five forty-five. Constantine had to be a soldier at some point in his long life, because being on time meant we were late.
That was the reason the four of us were standing in an empty parking lot at Bobby Ferguson Park on the Arkansas side of Texarkana before the sun was up. This was crazy; I was staring at stars. This was the first time Constantine and Eric had picked this specific park for training. Most of our sessions were usually inside. Due to the new threat, or Constantine’s desire to punish us, we were going to practice cross-country defense maneuvers. From what Bob tried to explain, this would consist of running, jumping, squatting, and dodging things around the mile-and-a-half trail. I looked around the place, and it seemed spooky. The park bordered the Four States Fairground and the campus of the University of Arkansas Community College.
The Fairgrounds was the home for the local fair that took place each year. They also hosted some events, including some WWE. I missed the year that John Cena was in town. I’d been to the Fairgrounds a few times, but I’d never been to the park. To be honest, I didn’t realize it was an entity. I needed to start paying more attention to the different locations in Texarkana. From what I remembered of the area, there was a lake with a fountain in the middle, a gazebo, and some picnic space. Now that I thought about it, Texarkana—Arkansas and Texas—had a thing for parks with fountains. I leaned against Bumblebee, trying to stretch. We all rode out together. No need to draw extra attention to us.
“Why am I even here? I could be expanding our search for those necromancers,” Bartholomew complained as he finally stepped out of Bumblebee. Constantine had dragged Bartholomew with us. Usually, Constantine gave Bartholomew a pass on physical fitness, since he was our computer genius. But with his increased moodiness, Constantine decided a little fresh air would help his spirit. I doubted he needed air this fresh.
“Bart, sunshine is good for you. Besides, nobody is here yet.” If that was Bob’s best attempt at cheering him up, he failed miserably. I turned around to contain my laughter as Bartholomew glared at Bob.
“It’s not even daylight. I could break my ankles.” I had to admit Bartholomew had a point.
“Stop your whining, Bartholomew. You’ll be fine.” Constantine climbed up on the hood of his car and stretched. “Besides, there are no necromancers within fifteen hundred miles of here. I’m pretty sure they didn’t migrate overnight.”
I hated that fact. After hours of searching, Bartholomew had found nothing. We had no strange movements from any of Constantine’s usual suspects.
“I don’t know how he’s going to handle the College Bowl when he hates the outside world and people so much,” Bob said softly to me. He had walked over to my side of the car while pretending to be stretching.
“I’m thinking tunnel vision. Bartholomew is good at blocking things out when he focuses. Besides, did you notice how competitive he has become?” I replied, as we both took a careful glance at Bartholomew.
“I didn’t think he had it in him.”
I had to agree with Bob. This was a new version of Bartholomew.
“Where is Eric, anyway? It’s not like him to be late.” Bartholomew was not going to stop complaining any time soon. On the other hand, he was right. I guessed Eric’s date kept him up late as well. Ugh, I could puke.
“Calm down, big guy. He’s just pulling in. He probably went to the gazebo area instead of this side.” As Bob tried to calm Bartholomew down, I noticed the place was pretty extensive. I wondered who was in charge of coordinating the location. We were parked near the entrance closest to I-30.
Eric parked his Ford F-150 right next to Bumblebee. I never asked Eric if he named his vehicles, but he looked too serious for those kinds of things. I had no idea how he did it, but Eric looked terrific this morning. His brown hair was tousled, and he even looked taller than six feet.
“Sorry, everyone. I left the vests in my place and had to run back to get them.” Eric was running over to open his tailgate as he spoke. Bob gave me a wicked smiled. I just shrugged my shoulders. Luckily Bartholomew was in no mood to asked clarifying questions.
“Eric, that’s great. I was worried you might forget them,” Constantine replied, like that statement made any sense to him.
“OK everyone, there are three vests in the back. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which one is yours. Just look for your size.” Eric walked over to the driver’s side of his truck and pulled out his flak vest. I was seriously worried that those vests were armor-plated.
Bob, Bartholomew, and I went over to the truck and found our designated vests. My fears were confirmed. The vests had armor plates in them. They weighed at least twenty pounds.
“Oh God, what is in this thing? How much does this thing weight?” Bartholomew didn’t wait long to express his feelings on the matter.
“Ever since you had your birthday, you’ve become an irate young man,” Eric, with a lot of humor in his voice, told Bartholomew. “I’m afraid to see how the teenage years hit you.” Bartholomew was a valentine baby. Eric was right. In the last three months, Bartholomew had become angrier. I blamed Constantine for encouraging him to sign up for the College Bowl. Now we were all paying for it.
“I’m not irate. I’m just inquisitive.”
“You’re whiny. Suck it up and get a move on.”
I guessed Constantine was sleep-deprived as well. He usually only chastised me, never Bartholomew. Bartholomew put his head down and grabbed his vest.
It took us a few minutes to get into our vests and get moving. Bob had to help Bartholomew with his. My body went into muscle memory, and I was able to lock mine without even looking. I wasn’t sure where Eric got them from, but they were military issue.
“OK everyone, the goal is to work in coordination as well as endurance. I’ll take point. The rest of you follow me and do as I do. This is going to be a challenging course.”
I had no idea why Eric sounded so cheerful—unless he’d had a great night. Bob gave me a huge smile. I walked up to Bartholomew and just rolled my eyes at the whole scene.
“Ready to die in a new and creative way, Bart?” I gave my voice the most positive sound. That made Bartholomew laugh.
“Great day to try,” Bartholomew replied with a huge smile, and I winked at him. He was starting to look more like his old self. Maybe Bob and Constantine were right, He needed to get out of the house more.
Coordination and endurance was an understatement for our workout. By the time we had made it from our end of the park to the other side, where that stupid gazebo was at, I was covered in sweat. My thighs were burning, not to mention my shoulders. According to Eric, each vest had plates to mirror our weight and give us a challenge. Unless the challenge was ways to avoid dying, the vests were winning. I thought I was joking when I told Bartholomew about our new creative way to die. But no, this was real. We did lunges across the terrain, followed by ski jumpers, then some weird version of mountain climbers. Maybe Eric had created a super protein shake for himself with extra magic ingredients. Whatever the reason, the boy was possessed.
“I think I’m starting to feel it.” Bob was another one of those people that loved torture. So for him to say he was feeling it—this was brutal.
Constantine was following along at his leisure. With Eric’s insane moves, we were not advancing very qui
ckly across the terrain. Constantine had time to chase squirrels around, swat a few butterflies, and even jump over some puddles. In other words, he was having the time of his life. I wanted to choke the hell out of him. When we finally made it to the other side of the gazebo, Eric gave us a five-minute break to march in place. The sun was already out, and I was missing my cool stars.
“OK everyone, make sure you’re stretching your legs. We’re going to do some sprints on our way back.” Eric was still perky. I glared at him.
“Is that guy drinking from that stream?” Bartholomew pointed as he spoke. We all turned around to look at some guy leaning into the water. He did look like he was drinking—or trying to.
Before any of us could reply, the guy fell into the water. Eric took off after him, his cop training probably kicking in. Bob followed shortly behind. Bartholomew and I were too tired to move. So we slowly walked over, trailed by Constantine, who really could care less what most humans did at times. By the time Bartholomew and I were within fifteen feet of the little stream, Eric was pulling the guy out of the water. I had no idea how Eric managed to make that look so easy with his flak vest on.
“Hey Bob, give me a hand. Let’s see if we can lean him against that tree so I can call an ambulance. He might be hurt or drunk.”
Bob didn’t get to reach Eric. The guy pulled himself out of Eric’s arm and went berserk.
“Oh, not again.” That was all I was able to say.
“Zombie!” Bartholomew screamed from my left side.
“Thanks, Bart. We noticed.” I pulled Bartholomew behind me and looked for a weapon. Bob was moving quickly to help Eric.
Our new zombie friend charged at Eric at full speed, drooling like a rabid dog. I had to give it to Eric—he didn’t look afraid. Eric dodged the zombie, who started swinging his fist. He didn’t have much coordination, but he was relentless and kept on coming. Eric managed to land a punch. His martial arts training took over because he quickly followed the blow with a kick to the chin and a roundhouse to the chest. The zombie went flying. His momentum carried him straight to the tree Eric had wanted to lean him against. The zombie landed with a loud thump that I was sure broke his neck. Constantine was hissing by my right side, looking like he was trying to protect us. Eric and Bob were slowly walking toward the body, but zombie-boy wasn’t moving.
“So, when do we call Death?” I asked Constantine. He looked back at me.
I didn’t need to turn around to know our fearless leader was now behind me. Everything got very still, and even Eric looked pale at seeing Death. “Now would be a great time,” replied Death.
“Hi, Boss.” Bob gave Death a big wave.
“Death, we can explain.” Constantine stepped in, looking rather calm for the situation.
“We can?” I asked him in shock. I hoped he could, because I was lost.
“I am curious to hear that explanation.” Death made her way toward the zombie. Eric was still standing over the body. “Do you mind if I take a look, Eric?”
“Not at all, sir…Please be my guest.” Eric was struggling to make complete sentences. He jumped out of the way and almost ran into Bob. That was interesting; Eric saw Death as a male. I wondered what he was looking at that had him so spooked. Before I could continue pondering, Death turned back around.
“Meet me at Reapers,” she said. Death’s voice was cold and short. Her demeanor changed and the hairs on my arms stood. I felt a chill run down my back. Before any of us could reply she was gone with the zombie.
“Oh my Lord, that was scary.” Eric was shaking all over.
“Thank you. I’ve been trying to tell Constantine that those zombies were spooky.” For a moment I felt validated.
“Not the zombie. I meant Death. How do you guys handle that every day?”
Great, Eric was talking about Death. I shook my head in disappointment.
Constantine spoke in a low voice. “This is not a normal case. Something is wrong. We got to go. Training is over.” We all looked at him, suddenly concerned.
“Constantine, what about the body? We need to file a report.” Eric recovered quickly and was back in cop mode.
“We’ll take care of it. We need to head back, and we’ll fill you in later.” Constantine took off the way we had come. The rest of us followed in silence.
Chapter 7
Our ride from Bobby Ferguson Park was quick and uneventful. We were all lost in thought. Not even Constantine spoke during the whole drive, and he was notorious for his ongoing commentaries. We looked like a funeral procession when we entered the loft. Death was by the glass windows, staring at the first floor—or at least I thought she was. I never considered how far in distance or time Death was able to penetrate. Those thoughts were too spooky for me to ponder. The odd thing was, she was holding a mug.
“I hope you don’t mind that I finished your coffee, Bob. You have a fabulous blend.” I had no idea Bob had his own blend of coffee. I was a tea and hot chocolate drinker, so I never asked.
“Not at all, boss lady. I’ll make some more.” Bob rushed to the fridge to grab his blend. I wasn’t sure why Bob kept his coffee in the refrigerator.
“How bad is it?” Constantine was not wasting time beating around the bush. He jumped on the dining table and got comfortable. Bartholomew and I looked at each other and then followed suit. We each took a chair on the far side of the table so that we could see everyone better.
“If it’s any consolation, he wasn’t a walking dead.” Death took one more sip of her coffee and placed the mug on the kitchen island. She turned to face the rest of us, waiting for the information to register.
“Does that mean we don’t have a zombie problem? That’s a good thing, right?” Bartholomew was optimistic, but by the look on Death’s face, we were in trouble.
“My dear, it’s worse. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t human. Whatever happened to him somehow fragmented his consciousness.” Death had turned back around to face the glass again.
“Death, what happened to his soul?” Constantine said the words very softly, almost afraid to ask.
“It’s gone.”
“Gone? Not again. Is someone stealing souls again? How is that possible if he was moving around?” I wasn’t in the mood for more angry witches.
“Not really stolen. More like not truly connected.” Death turned around, “Let me explain. This might be an oversimplification, so bear with me. When a human being dies, the mind and the soul forge into one, and they transcend the body. They become part of the higher consciousness. The mind grounds the soul to this world while the soul waits for nirvana. Hence the reason we can transport them to their next stage. In the case of this boy, his mind was gone. There was nothing there to direct the soul in the process, so the soul just vanished from existence.”
“Is that what happens to people who are in a vegetable state?” Bob asked from the kitchen counter as he poured Death more coffee. He handed Death her mug.
“Thank you, Bob. Not really. In a vegetable state, the soul and mind are still fully conscious while the body is the one not reacting. The process is still the same. In this case, something had altered the process and created an abnormal condition I can’t explain.”
The fact that Death couldn’t explain it was scarier than anything else.
“Just to confirm, you don’t have the soul?” Constantine asked.
Death shook her head. That was the reason she was upset. A soul was lost, and there was no way for us to find it. We were in serious trouble.
“How many more are there?” She was looking out the window again as she spoke.
“He was the third one I’ve seen, but the only one that died.” I volunteered the information since nobody else was going to.
“Complicated. They are vicious and dangerous, but if you kill them, their souls end up in limbo. We need to figure out what causes this and revers
e it. In the meantime, find a way to contain the victims and not kill them.” Death looked at us expectantly. “Unfortunately, Isis, your gifts will not work on them since their consciousness is gone.”
Oh, this was getting better and better.
“That’s all. For a moment I thought this would be hard. You wouldn’t happen to know who exactly is causing this, by any chance?” Constantine was dripping with sarcasm that apparently Death ignored, since she smiled devilishly.
“I can only think of one being capable of causing these results. Bartholomew, dear, do you mind connecting me to my sister Pestilence, please?”
Bartholomew jumped from his seat and headed for his command center.
“Big screen?” he asked as he approached the desk.
“Of course, nothing small for her,” Death answered as she walked behind him.
“Sister. Death has a sister?” I asked Constantine in the most urgent tone I could find while keeping my voice low.
“Of course. She is the oldest of four, duh,” Constantine replied like I was supposed to know this.
“Wait, what? Death has two more siblings?” I was dumbfounded. When did this happen?
Constantine walked over to me and slapped me on the head. “Ouch,” I yelled, not because it hurt, but for the principal of the matter. Thank God his claws were not out.
“Seriously girl, aren’t you Catholic or something? Doesn’t Father Francis have Sunday school classes for adults?”
He was looking serious. I was Catholic, but probably not a very good one by the looks of it.
“I’m so lost, Constantine, just tell me.” I wasn’t too proud to ask.
“You’ve heard of the book of Revelation, last one in the bible? Ring a bell?” Constantine was looking at me, focused as he spoke, so I just nodded. I was afraid to open my mouth and sound even dumber. “That’s a blessing. The four horsemen of the apocalypse are Death and the rest of the siblings.”
“Oh, God. Is judgment day coming? Is this the apocalypse?” My voice cracked, and I was on the verge of a panic attack. How did I miss this? If I worked for Death that meant the other three horsemen were also real. I was going to faint.
