Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  She made her way forward. “Are you—?”

  Beauty touched his hand, and his index finger fell off.

  “Rook!” she yelled.

  “A little busy!” he shouted back.

  Tomahawk, though, took a moment to glance over his shoulder as Beauty knocked another finger off. He tapped Rook on the shoulder.

  “No, seriously, you need to see this!”

  Clearly annoyed, Rook turned around as the pilot’s hand… fell off. You had to give it to the zombie’s work ethic. He tried to steer the helicopter with his knee.

  “Take over!” Rook ordered Tomahawk, as Beauty did her best to stabilize the joystick.

  * * *

  “I can’t! I’m not qualified,” Tomahawk responded, squeezing off a few more rounds into the rapidly approaching winged demons.

  “Why not?” Rook asked, firing equally as rapidly. “You can drive a car.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Tomahawk protested. You didn’t “drive” a chopper.

  “Well, somebody had better do something!” Beauty yelled as the pilot’s knee collapsed at a ninety-degree angle, and his nose fell onto the dash.

  Rook glanced over. “Do you really want me to try?”

  Given that the last time Tomahawk tried to teach Rook to drive, it ended in a totaled Subaru and seventeen stitches, Tomahawk handed his gun to Angela. “Just squeeze the trigger.”

  The woman looked askance, but took the weapon.

  Tomahawk gently attempted to move the pilot from his seat, but first an arm fell off, and then the head rolled off and hit Rook in the ankle.

  Rook glanced down, then kicked the head out of the chopper. “When I catch up with Vlad…”

  If they caught up with Vlad, Tomahawk thought as he unceremoniously dumped the pilot’s torso and legs out of the pilot’s seat. Tomahawk took the stick, but the zombie pilot made it look easier than it was. They pitched forward, and then back. Tomahawk tried to stabilize their flight. Making matters worse, the demons had caught up with them, jostling the craft off any course Tomahawk tried to set.

  Then Tomahawk realized that there was no more shooting. He glanced over his shoulder to find Rook smiling. Never a good sign.

  “This is a military chopper, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Clearly, from the markings and instrumentation, it was. “Yes. And?”

  “Then let’s put the taxpayers’ money to work.”

  Tomahawk did his best to work the joystick and use the weapon’s controls, but his effort was doomed.

  “Here, let me help,” Beauty said, as she went to get into the copilot’s seat, but Fanny jumped in first.

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Fanny, I don’t think—” Tomahawk tried to warn her, but the girl already had the safeties off and was getting ready to fire.

  “Now, rather than later!” Rook demanded.

  “That’s funny! That’s almost the name of a candy!” She replied with great glee.

  Beauty tried to move her out of the seat, yet Fanny refused to budge. Tomahawk struggled to level out their flight as Fanny flipped a switch and began firing.

  “Take that! And that! And that! You meanies!!!”

  At first, the beasts scattered upon the buffeting wind. But pretty darn quickly, they realized that Fanny had the enthusiasm, but very poor aim. Boldly, they struck at the craft until they parted, revealing a demon double their size, covered in armor.

  Before Tomahawk could say anything, Fanny switched to the missile.

  “Oh, so you think you’re the big boss?” She fired a missile, but missed by twenty feet.

  “No!” Tomahawk yelled as he tried to stop her hand from firing the second missile.

  “Kowabunga!” Fanny yelled, releasing not just the second but also the third missile—extremely wide of their mark.

  Beauty wrestled with the girl. “No. That’s our last one!”

  But it was too late. The missile rocked the chopper as it launched. Their last hope was sailing away.

  * * *

  Angela turned to Rook as his gun clattered to the grating and slid out the open door.

  “Deliterea!” he shouted as he closed his eyes.

  As the helicopter tilted right, Angela lashed a hand out, catching Rook before he nearly tumbled out the door. Angela had him only by the belt as his body stiffened. She wrestled with getting Rook inside the helicopter as the veins on his temple bulged and his numerous cuts began to bleed. His hands were outstretched, as if trying to guide the missile.

  Which did not seem to be working too well. The demon boss screeched her victory.

  Then Rook’s eyes snapped open and the missile turned on a dime, hitting the armored demon in the wing. The thing wasn’t mortally wounded, but neither could it fly. The swarm panicked, banking out of their way and fluttering down to their fallen leader.

  The helicopter leveled out as Tomahawk seemed to get control. Rook, though, slumped in Angela’s arms. She guided him into the helicopter.

  “I’ve got you,” Angela murmured as she lowered him to a sitting position. Fresh from the spell, Rook’s eyes were pained. Yet, there was an innocence about them—as though he were simply too tired to put on the jaded routine.

  The rest of the group cheered as they flew up and out of the Devil’s Punchbowl. Instead of smiling, though, Rook frowned. The mask descended once again over his features.

  “What?” Angela asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Angela cocked her head. Maybe she had only known him the better part of a day, but she already knew that look. Beauty must have noticed it, too.

  “She asked you, ‘What?’ “

  “I said, ‘nothing,’ “ Rook emphasized.

  Fanny turned around in the copilot seat. “I can feel it, too. A pressure. Like when I stick jelly beans up my nose, and then try to sneeze.”

  “Close enough, Fanny,” Rook said. “I think the barrier’s sealing must have—”

  The helicopter was buffeted by the blast of a wave from an enormous explosion at the nexus. Suddenly, they were traveling at three times the speed that Tomahawk was already having trouble controlling. The nose of the chopper tilted down, nearly vertical, as everyone slid toward the front. Fanny practically stood upright, with her feet against the windshield.

  “This is so awesome!” she said, giggling.

  Straining against gravity, Angela stared out the window as a mushroom-shaped cloud formed over the valley. Only the smoke was blue, with flecks of red. Then as suddenly as the blast wave hit, it was gone. The helicopter slowed, the clouds parted, and stars twinkled overhead—as if nothing untoward had happened this evening.

  “Is it over?” she asked Rook.

  As he tenderly probed a wound on his side, Rook replied, “It had better be.”

  “Well, um…” Tomahawk said as he struggled with the controls. “Hate to burst your bubble, but um… we are out of fuel.”

  “Then land!” Rook ordered.

  “Seriously, dude,” Tomahawk said as he strained against the joystick. “What do you think I am doing?”

  The chopper skimmed over treetops as Angela clutched the back of the seat. She was no expert, but there was no way they were going to maintain altitude for much longer.

  “Rook…” Beauty stated, but he ignored her, so Angela went over. “Is it just me,” the Arranger asked, “Or is Chad not looking so hot?”

  Actually, Chad looked very hot. Too hot. As though his skin was burning alive. The portal symbols twirled and spun, faster and faster. Before they could get Rook’s attention, the helicopter lurched again.

  “That’s it!” Rook yelled and got Fanny out of her seat. “Bring Chad over!”

  He patted Fanny on the shoulder. “Just roll when you hit.”

  For such a young, seemingly fragile soul, Fanny just nodded, and then dove out the window as they skimmed the ground. She hit, but she rolled. Tomahawk helped Beauty with Chad as they, too, jumped. Rook grabbed Angela’s hand as the chopper do
ve nose-first into a tree. As the gas tank exploded, they leapt out the door.

  “Have faith,” he whispered in her ear as they sailed through the air.

  They should have been caught in the blast. They should have been singed to their core as flames coursed around and between them, but the worst that happened was a warm flush over her body. Then Rook turned in midair so that it was he who took the brunt of the impact with the ground. He hit shoulder first as they plowed into the soil.

  It took her a moment to realize that they really and truly were not scorched.

  She gazed down at Rook. “Thank you.”

  The tiniest smile played at the corner of his lips. “I was just returning the favor.”

  He had done more than that, and they both knew it. His eyes searched hers. Was she just vulnerable, or did she wish he would reach out to her?

  Angela would never know as Fanny clapped, pointing to their blazing wreckage. “We need to blow more stuff up! It’s so pretty!”

  Seeming almost embarrassed, Rook moved Angela away from him so that he could hastily rise. Feeling awkward herself, she scrambled to join the group. Fanny might be a tad too exuberant, but she wasn’t exactly inaccurate. The helicopter wreck did light up the dazzling night sky.

  * * *

  Beauty watched the chopper burn. “Vlad is so not getting the second half of the deposit.”

  Beside her, Rook tried to look innocent, which never, ever worked for him. “What?”

  “Well… you see…” He said kicking a clod of dirt with his boot. “I paid in full…”

  She waved him off. “No worries. I’ll just cancel the check and—”

  Sheepishly Rook admitted, “In cash.”

  All right. After everything that they had been through, it shouldn’t matter so much that Rook had just wasted over a quarter of a million dollars. Yet, almost soothingly, it did bother her. It meant that they were alive to bicker another day.

  Of course, that didn’t get Rook off the hook.

  Beauty grabbed the contract from her purse and tossed it into the air. “I’m the Arranger, but does he let me arrange?” She glared at Rook. “No, he doesn’t.”

  Rook tried to console her as Fanny picked up the contract.

  “But Beauty, Vlad sent us a damned zombie! And not even a fresh one! I’m sure you can… I don’t know. Sue him for breach of contract or something.”

  “Well, in Vlad’s defense,” Fanny said as she pointed to the papers, “This doesn’t say anything about the pilot having to be alive—”

  Rook tried to “shush” Fanny, but Beauty nodded her pink weave knowingly. When would Rook learn? “Um-hmm.”

  “Guys,” Angela said as she knelt next to Chad, “Beauty was right. Chad’s not looking great.”

  Okay, Beauty would rather have been wrong about that. Really wrong.

  * * *

  Tomahawk felt sorry for the guy. Chad had just wanted to learn a little bit about dark culture, probably as some kind of rebellion against his blue-blooded family. Instead, he ended up a Hellgate in sneakers.

  Everyone gathered around as the seal morphed and melted deeper and deeper into the guy’s chest.

  “Tommi, did you decipher those hidden icons?”

  “Hello?” Tomahawk answered. “Got a little distracted.”

  Not waiting for Rook’s retort, Tomahawk went to sort through the wreckage for his laptop, but Fanny skipped up to him. “Figured you’d need this.”

  Yes, at times it really was nice to have a Seeker around.

  “Ouch!” Angela said as she jerked her hand back from Chad. “His skin is practically boiling.”

  Tomahawk sank to a cross-legged position and opened his laptop as Chad’s skin began to resemble a lobster. Unfortunately, the student roused as Tomahawk entered the new symbols into his computer’s database and asked for a translation.

  “What’s happening?” Chad screamed.

  Rook turned to Beauty. “Can you give him something?” But Beauty indicated the burning wreckage.

  “We lost it all in there.”

  Chad screamed as his clothes caught on fire. The group scrambled back as Chad erupted in flame, his body consumed within a flash. Within moments the only thing left was a charred outline in the grass.

  Not sure if it really mattered, Tomahawk read the results.

  “Yeah, those symbols were a countdown. It was preordained that after three openings, the seal would self-destruct…” As Rook became more agitated, Tomahawk added, “Sorry.”

  Although what would it have changed, really?

  CHAPTER 11

  “So no Virgin and no Hellgate?” Rook repeated, trying to make sure he got the full brunt of exactly how screwed they were.

  This news changed everything. Chad had been programmed to be a three-hit wonder. He wasn’t truly a Hellgate. He was, kind of, the free shuttle that got them from one place to another.

  They had all been played, and played big time. Whoever was pulling the strings and could manipulate a coven of Shivate priestesses to dig up a Hellgate, conjure a Tainted Dragon, and fake a Virgin conception was bigger than anything he had faced. Worse, Rook had no idea of the endgame. Had they wanted to start Armageddon, or was that only the tip of a very deep and wide iceberg?

  And what role had he just played?

  Before he could stew much more about how his incredibly crappy day had just gotten worse, Fanny came up next to him and put her head on his shoulder. She looked down at where Chad used to be.

  “Don’t you think we should say something?”

  “What? He was crispy-fried.”

  But Fanny’s frown tugged at his heart, so Rook took a deep breath and did the best that he could. “Chad. You were… Well, you were kind of whiny and really annoying, but we are sorry you are dead.”

  He looked down at Fanny, who solemnly nodded. At least she appreciated it. Beauty was still pissed about the helicopter, but honestly, getting a zombie wasn’t on any of their radars. And Tomahawk was too busy screwing with his computer to care. Only Angela stood by Chad’s funeral pyre and held Fanny’s other hand.

  A chill coursed over Rook. Too many times that burning pile of ash could have been any of them. He shouldn’t care about that. Emotions only slowed your reflexes, yet here he stood mourning a guy he didn’t even know yesterday.

  “Rook,” Tomahawk said, “I guess Savage is over being pissed at us. The Cabal is sending me some streaming video of—”

  Rook waved him off. He was bruised, battered and hungry. Whatever it was could wait. “Whatever. Just have Savage send us an airlift, with, preferably, a live pilot.”

  A tree just over the ridge looked perfect for leaning against. He started to make his way there when Tomahawk taunted him. “Remember how you said we didn’t have a Virgin?”

  Rook turned on his heel, still a little suspicious about what Tomahawk was talking about. “Yes…”

  “Well,” Tomahawk stated as he turned to screen around for Rook to see. “They must be having a blue-light special on ‘em.”

  The screen showed a world map with tiny blue lights popping up all over the globe. The others gathered round to watch the spectacle.

  “Each one represents a report of an immaculate conception.”

  Rook struggled to take it in. “But there’s—”

  “Hundreds, maybe thousands,” Tomahawk responded.

  Beauty shook her head. “What could they possibly need with so many babies?”

  “No,” Rook said, getting everyone’s attention. “There’s only one.”

  Fanny pointed at the screen. “But look how many there are.”

  “Rook’s right,” Tomahawk agreed. “I bet 99 percent of those are like Angela. A smokescreen.”

  * * *

  Angela’s hand went to her belly. She had so little time to get accustomed to her pregnancy, yet in some small way she missed it. Or at least the idea of it. To rebuild a family would have required it to have been a normal pregnancy. She was relieved not
to be the center of the maelstrom they had just survived.

  She looked down at all those blue dots. Each one represented a woman whose life had just been changed forever. Had they all experienced such loss as she did? Were all born of such tragedy?

  And were they as lucky to have people like Rook, Beauty, Tomahawk, and Fanny to look out for them? Angela still understood perhaps a sliver of a fraction of a percent of what was going on, but she had seen with her own eyes how Rook stood between heaven and hell to protect humankind. That kind of made up for his more “difficult” personality traits.

  Suddenly, Angela realized that all eyes were on her. She removed her hand from her midriff and pointed to the dots. “So they are playing ‘find the needle in a haystack?’ “

  “More like a Virgin-palooza version of Where’s Waldo?,” Rook replied. That look of mischief was back in his eyes.

  “From what we know of Angela’s situation, I think I can write an algorithm that can weed out about 80 percent of the false-positives.”

  Still, there were a lot of blue dots.

  Tomahawk typed furiously but his laptop beeped loudly, his battery bar flashing red. He closed his computer. “Well, once I get power, I can. But we are definitely going on Virgin Vigil.”

  “So we’re done with this mission?” Fanny asked.

  They all looked at Rook.

  “What,” he said. “Do I look like your boss?”

  The others all responded, “Yes.”

  “Fine,” Rook conceded. “Yes, Fanny, we are officially off the clock.”

  “You know what that means?”

  Angela watched Rook sigh his fake sigh for Fanny. “I have no clue.”

  “S’mores!” Fanny shouted as she ran toward the smoldering helicopter.

  Rook called out. “But we don’t have the supplies.”

  “I betcha we do! I betcha, betcha, I bet!”

  He went to go after Fanny, but Angela caught his arm.

  “Let her go.” When Rook turned to her, Angela finished. “What is it you said? Have some faith?”

  Fanny popped her head back out of the wreckage holding a box of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, and some chocolate bars.