by Jerry Hart
But there was a chance Owen was in danger. Plus, the orb couldn’t very well stay in Jason’s possession.
“What if the zombies attack us?” he asked Curtis.
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Doug wasn’t completely assured by Curtis’s words, but he got out of the truck anyway. He got some mud from his side of the road and marked his face the same way Curtis had done his.
They checked each other’s work carefully, making sure the mud wasn’t too thick. Then they started walking toward the farmhouse slowly, the way they had seen a few zombies do earlier.
“Crap! I just thought of something,” Curtis said quietly, barely moving his lips. “You look just like your brother. What if Michael recognizes you?”
“He won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because Michael’s dead. Owen said so.”
“He said he thinks he’s dead.”
“Good enough for me.”
They were only a few feet from the crowd of zombies now. Doug’s heart was hammering in his chest. He hoped to God he was right about Michael being dead. Even if he wasn’t dead, who’s to say Doug and Curtis weren’t zombies now? Would the evil brothers care otherwise?
This made Doug a little more comfortable as they slowly joined the mass of zombies in the yard. Since they were in the back, Doug and Curtis couldn’t see what was going on in the front.
The faux zombies glanced sideways at each other, wordlessly contemplating what to do next; they were too afraid to speak. Curtis did a whirly thing with his eyes, which Doug took to mean, Go around the back of the house? Doug responded by scrunching his face slightly, which meant, Maybe.
Curtis rolled his eyes in frustration. Doug didn’t care. He wasn’t the leading type. He would do whatever Curtis planned. He trusted the big guy.
Just then, Curtis did something unexpected. He started walking forward, through the crowd of zombies. Doug tried to keep his face blank like the others, but inside, he was screaming, What the hell are you doing?
And then, before he knew it, he was following Curtis through the crowd. He kept his face blank and didn’t even risk looking at any of the zombies. None of them seemed to notice anything. They didn’t move a muscle as Curtis and Doug pushed past those they couldn’t maneuver around. Doug’s heart nearly stopped when a little-girl zombie fell to the ground after Curtis bumped into her.
Now they were near the front, or where Doug liked to think of as the “second row.” They could see the house perfectly. Someone was there whom he recognized. It was Chris. His hair was greasy-looking and he was wearing the black hoodie and jeans.
Doug chanced a sideways glance at Curtis, who did the same. He’d noticed Chris, too. Suddenly the front door opened and Jason walked out onto the porch. He was wearing a white suit with a cream-blue necktie. He looked much nicer close up than he did through the binoculars. He was holding the orb in his right hand, and the orb itself was glowing fire from its center.
Jason stepped off the porch and started pacing back and forth in front of the crowd.
“All right, minions,” he said to them. “Here’s what I want you to do. We need to get those things out of the ground. I want you all to hijack those two giants and use them to retrieve the scepters. Kill anyone who gets in your way. When you’re done, bring the giants back here.”
He stopped pacing right in front of Doug, though he kept surveying his minions. Even though Doug had a zombie between himself and Jason, he didn’t feel at all safe. Something was wrong.
And then Jason looked right at him. Doug kept his eyes straight and his face blank. Owen had never mentioned whether Jason and Daniel had ever met, but Doug knew without any doubt that Jason recognized him.
Jason finally took his eyes off him and addressed the crowd. “Do not fail me or I will be very angry. Go, now!”
The zombie crowd turned and began walking in the opposite direction. Doug and Curtis began to follow, the unspoken plan being to split off from the crowd once they were out of Jason’s sight and circle back to the house. Before Doug could get a few steps away, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He froze in place.
“Not you,” Jason said. “You come with me.”
With his back to Jason, Doug felt confident enough to fully look at Curtis to see if he knew what was going on. Curtis kept walking, though. He hadn’t missed a beat.
Doug felt like he was going to throw up as he turned and followed Jason into the house.
* * *
Since Doug was behind Jason, he let his eyes take in as much of the house as he could. There was electricity, and Doug wondered how that was—if this was Owen’s house, then no one had lived here for years, according to Cullen.
Doug and Jason were passing the staircase and going down a long hallway. Doug’s heart lifted when he saw D standing in the living room, though his eyes were dark. Apparently, he was powered down. As he and Jason continued down the hall, Doug noticed a table on the left side adorned with pictures. There was an old couple in all of them, with no children in any. Perhaps this wasn’t Owen’s house after all.
There was a dark room at the end of the hall and Doug thought that was where Jason was leading him, but Jason walked right past it. That didn’t stop Doug from looking into the room. For a brief moment, he saw a ghostly figure in the darkness. He couldn’t tell what it was.
And then the figure moved, and Doug saw that it was a face looking back at him. He quickly looked forward again. What was that? A zombie? Michael?
Owen?
Jason led Doug to a room just past the kitchen. No good was going to come from this, Doug thought. Jason flipped on a light and Doug quickly surveyed the room. It looked like a garage, but it was very spacious. There was a tool rack on the far wall, a basketball hoop in the middle, a weight bench in the far corner, and a worktable against the wall closest to the entrance, where Doug and Jason stood.
Jason sat on a stool at the table, never taking his eyes off Doug. A long, horrible silence fell on the garage. Doug continued his zombie performance, concentrating on the tool rack. Jason’s gaze was burning a hole in his face, though, and Doug knew it was only a matter of time before he cracked.
“You know,” Jason finally said, “when I first saw you outside, I thought I was looking at a ghost. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?” He waited for an answer that would not come, then he said, “But Daniel is dead. My brother killed him with his bare hands, so you can’t be him—you’re alive. What are you—his twin?”
Doug still didn’t answer, though he was getting angry. He didn’t want to hear about his brother’s final moments from this monster. If he heard any more, he would go insane.
Jason spun around on the stool, looking at the ceiling. “You know, this scene is very familiar, except my brother was sitting at your brother’s worktable, and Daniel was standing where you are. The exact same distance away.
“And you know what Michael did? He smacked your brother clear across the room. He tossed Daniel around like a doll. He had your brother begging for mercy.”
Doug held back tears as best he could, but sooner or later, they would flow and wash away his muddy make-up.
“Then, to top it all off, he threw Daniel to the floor as hard as he could, causing his insides to explode. How does that make you feel?”
Doug didn’t answer, though he didn’t see the point in keeping up the act. Jason clearly knew something was going on. He was just trying to find a way to prove it.
Now Jason was looking around the garage for something. And then he seemed to find it because he strode across the room excitedly, like a child running to get his favorite toy.
Doug looked sideways to see Jason grabbing the barbell from the weight bench. There were quite a few forty-five-pound plates on it. Who the hell was this old geezer who lived here? Jason picked up the barbell effortlessly with one hand and brought it back to Doug.
Doug knew it was hopeless, but he held his hands out anyway. Jason gently placed the barbell in his waiting hands, and the moment he let go of it, the weight pulled Doug to the ground. As soon as he fell, he started crying. Not because he was in pain (though his arms felt like they had been pulled off), not because he knew he was going to die now. He cried because he knew there was no way he could avenge his brother’s death.
No one could. Doug was going to die alone in this garage and no one would know. Owen wasn’t here; Doug knew that now. He could feel it.
Jason kneeled down and ran his fingers through Doug’s brown hair, as if trying to console him. “Why do you cry?” he asked quietly.
Doug was sobbing so hard he didn’t think he could answer. Finally, he said, “Why are you doing this?”
“You know, when people found out who my dad was, they tried to kill Michael and me. Does that sound fair to you? The world is unfair.”
“You’re making it unfair,” Doug spat.
“How so?”
“You killed my brother. That’s ‘how so.’”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Then Michael! It doesn’t matter. You’re taking away everyone’s free will and making yourself ruler of the world. Why?”
“Because the world is unfair,” Jason repeated. “It’s unfair while everyone has their freedom, so it only seems logical that once that has been taken away, everything will become fair.”
“For whom?” Doug asked, practically hysterical.
“For me!” Jason growled, pushing Doug away from him. He walked over to the basketball hoop while Doug wiped his tears from his face. “I want to show you I can be just,” Jason said as he bounced a basketball in front of him. “Join me.”
“No!”
Jason threw the basketball at Doug. He threw it so hard it was just an orange blur. Doug felt it as it struck his shoulder. He screamed at the sharp pain there.
The ball rolled back to Jason, who scooped it up. Doug’s vision was fading, but he looked up at his attacker, who was holding the orb in his left hand and the basketball in his right, like he were weighing the two.
“Last chance,” Jason said, looking at his hands. “I don’t want to kill you.”
“I would say yes,” Doug said, causing Jason to look up at him, “but I’d be lying.”
Doug grinned. So did Jason, as he threw the basketball right at Doug’s head.
* * *
This time when the basketball rolled back to Jason, it was covered with blood. It left a red trail on the concrete floor. He didn’t bother picking it up. He didn’t even look at Doug’s body on the ground. He simply walked past it to the door. He had things to do, a world to conquer. Maybe even several worlds, if he was lucky.
As soon as he got to the door, though, he was met with a blow to the face. He staggered backward and tripped on the barbell.
* * *
“Gotcha!” Curtis said. He was holding his huge fists up in front of him, ready to fight.
He nearly dropped them when he saw Doug, blood flowing from his right temple, lying on his side on the floor next to Jason.
“This was my best shirt,” Jason said. His white dress shirt was covered with the blood dripping from his nose, which was bleeding freely. He stood up slowly, staring fiercely at Curtis.
Curtis raised his fists again, regaining his composure. There was nothing he could do for Doug now except kill Jason. If he could. What if Jason was freakishly strong like the zombies? All his life, Curtis refrained from fighting anyone, always afraid he would seriously hurt his opponent. Maybe even kill them.
Now, he was praying for that outcome.
“Where’s Owen?” he asked Jason.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“How about your brother? He around?”
“He’s indisposed at the moment.”
Curtis shook his head. “Well, I got all I need out of you.”
He kicked Jason’s legs from under him, then laid into his face with punches. Jason didn’t fight back.
Curtis was overcome by the urge to break Jason. He threw punch after punch, loving the feeling of his skull against his knuckles. He loved the meaty smack every time he hit his face. Why had Curtis always denied himself this joy?
And then the answer came to him. He couldn’t stop. He’d lost count of the punches he’d delivered. Though Curtis didn’t mind it in this case, had this been someone else, they would be dead now.
Could Curtis stop if he wanted to? This question nagged him as he continued punching Jason. Stop, a voice inside his head told him. Stop, just to see if you can.
But he didn’t stop. Jason’s head snapped this way and that. He was down on his knees now, bloody and bruised.
He’s a human being, the voice continued. You can’t kill him. Turn him in to the police.
He killed Doug, another voice said, though it sounded much like the first one. He deserves to die.
He’ll get what’s coming to him, the first voice said.
What the hell is this? Curtis asked himself. Two voices in his head were telling him what to do. The voices were his own, he knew. They’re my conscience, he realized. I’m not a murderer. I have to stop.
And then he did. He stood there, breathless and holding up his bloody, aching fists. His knuckles were bruised. He looked down at Jason, whose head was turned to the left. Curtis couldn’t see his face from where he stood.
Give him one more, Curtis’s bad side whispered.
Yeah, one more won’t hurt, his good side added.
Curtis drew back his fist, then shot it at Jason’s exposed right cheek.
The punch never connected, though. Jason had grabbed it mid-flight and was clutching it tightly. Curtis felt the bones in his hand breaking.
Jason turned his head and glared at Curtis with fiery eyes. His nose was bleeding and there was faint bruising on his cheekbones, but it was barely noticeable.
“This has been fun,” Jason said as he stood up, “but I’m afraid I don’t have time for you anymore.”
Then Curtis felt a sharp pain in his chest as Jason punched him with his free hand. Curtis flew across the garage and through the wall, landing in the kitchen in a heap of plaster and dust.
* * *
Jason grabbed the orb and walked into the kitchen, where Curtis was lying, his eyes closed.
“Feels good to let it out every once in a while, doesn’t it?” Jason asked.
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER 17
Jason was frustrated. He’d been staring at the orb for thirty minutes while his minions were off doing what he’d assigned them. They would be back soon. He was confident they would succeed in bringing back the two giants; they were strong and they were many.
But they were too strong, too many. Stronger than him, anyway. Jason knew he could control them now that the orb had been refilled with the venom of the leech, but that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable. He had to find a way to either reduce his slaves’ strength or eliminate it entirely, and there was no way he would be able to do that without the other half of the “supplement.”
That’s what Jason called it, for that’s what it was. He had been so close to getting it from Owen, but that boy was a wily one. Jason’s ribs still hurt from where Owen kneed him. With the silver giant outside the youngster’s house, Jason hadn’t had time to go back and finish what he’d started.
So here he sat, clueless as to how to fix his orb. He was in the study of the old couple that owned the house. Jason felt bad for killing them, but he’d needed a place to stay.
The Kamens, who’d been nice enough to take Jason and Michael when they first arrived in this world, had been startled when the brothers returned a few days ago. Seeing Michael beaten and unconscious had raised a few questions that Jason didn’t want to answer.
Earl and Dar
lene Kamen had been good people, and Jason had vowed to be kind to them once he’d taken control of the world, the same way Michael had to Les Huntington when Les promised to help find Owen in the first place.
See? The brothers could be fair. They only resorted to violence if they needed to.
But what was the use of taking over the world if your slaves were more powerful than you? Jason shuddered to think of all the things that could go wrong in the future if he didn’t fix the problem now.
But he couldn’t, not with only half of the consciousness that conceived the orb. Armenus had tried coming up with a solution by separating the supplement and studying each. Each half, however, had taken with them different parts of his consciousness. Both contained the strength of the leeches, but one had taken the concept of the orb, and the other took the instructions on how to use it. Jason knew which half Michael had gotten when they had explored Armenus’s ship years ago, and how Michael had muttered in his comatose state about the orb of power. Jason had to have it for himself. The power to take over the world was just too great.
But he felt incomplete without the other half of the supplement. It didn’t make sense to try and fix his minion problem with only half a mind. So he tasked himself with fixing the other problem he had: the invaders. There wasn’t much he could accomplish with them hovering over him the whole time.
He knew the invaders wouldn’t leave until they either got the orb or killed everyone so that no one could ever use it. And though he was eliminating one of those choices by having the scepters removed from the ground, Jason knew the invaders would just plant more.
No, these invaders had to be dealt with now.
He got up from the desk, taking the orb with him—he’d never part with it again. He went to the front porch and took a deep breath to clear his head. The sky was clear over the house; the invaders were elsewhere.
Standing on the porch, arms crossed on his forehead, Jason suddenly felt overwhelmed. He was in way over his head, but he couldn’t back out now.
Just then, he noticed something in the distance. It was about a few yards away, and to him it looked like a truck.
