This guy had been a big biker in life. The man had to have stood six fiive. Whatever damage Erna had done to him had been extensive. The biker’s arm dangled from its side, sinew and muscle falling in flaps from his shoulder. His neck had been broken, so his long large head had trouble keeping on his shoulders. More than that, the tall man had a huge chunk of his stomach and intestines missing, completely gone. In fact, his hips were nearly detached from the rest of his body. Only the dead man’s chest struggled to rise.
Looking around, John grimaced. The bags had fallen over upside-down. It would take too long to right it, looking for another stake. He’d need to kill this thing quick.
There. The grubby re pole used to break windows was within reach. His fiire-house brother, Ronny had used it against the blood sucker from before. It lay between himself and the struggling biker. John rushed to it. Sticky to the touch, covered with bits of his dead friend, the wood was easy to grip with one hand. Using his injured side as balance, John poised the spear under the biker’s jaw, then rammed it up through pale flesh. The point burst out the top of its skull like a toothpick popping from an ugly chick’s shell. Dee shrieked, making John whip around.
She crouched down like a panther ready to attack. Her body became like a line backer beginning a run into the offfensive line. Her black eyes locked onto John’s. He had no more weapons.
This was it.
Dee screamed again, barring her fangs. The snowmobile’s runners lanced Dee’s body using its full force to crush her with its sharpened hood. John struggled to follow the violence. Douglas perfectly squared offf on Dee pinning her with the metal-serrated blade. He and Cray had soldered the metal onto the snowmobiles front last night. Their work was efffective. Douglas had pinned her body on the spike.
Dee yowled in pain trying to rip at Douglas, using her sharp nails to rend his flesh. Rabid spittle flew from Dee’s mouth. Doug tried to avoid her, but the wild bucking of the creature knocked him clean offf the machine. He rolled into the snow seconds before the snowmobile hit the thick brick fiirehouse wall exploding into a fiire ball. The force of the explosion tore Dee into many grisly pieces.
Her torso remain pinned by the body of the heavy snowmobile. She screamed as it burned her, her lost soul yowling as it faded into the blowing wind.
John staggered over to Doug as he recovered from the impact.
“Thanks.” Gasped John. “Sorry, I’m late.”
John watched Dee thing become ash in the flames.
“Is this real?” John stared at him. Doug had no answer.
Another snowmobile slid across the iced-up parking lot. “Don’t worry. She’s with me.”
“Great. At least, that’s real.” John grimaced, his head spinning.
“Hold up.” Doug motioned to John as he weaved uncertainly on his feet.
“Heh.” John said. “I got it.” Honest John nodded. Doug reached him as the wounded paramedic collapsed onto the ground, swept away by white dreams.
Chapter 33
Doug let John retch as much as he wanted. Clearing the stomach was good for soldiers. An empty vessel could be fiilled with clarity. He had always liked it when nervous men under his command out on patrol had gotten it out of their systems so they could focus on the killing at hand. The heart beat faster, your eyes steadied and the body became alert.
John had been covered with a blue tarp. Desperately, the paramedic kicked it offf him. There were two water bottles lined up near his head. Guzzling them down, he glanced around uncertain where he was.
“Don’t miss the bucket this time. I drug you in here. You’re safe.” Doug was checking the straps on a weapons bag. Mavis strode in. John looked at her trying to understand what she was wearing. The old lady looked like some old painting of Joan de Arc, with that thin chainmail and sword she wore. She pufffed away on a cigarette.
“Mavis, come with me. I’ve got to check on the Y. Lef t some people over there. Want to check on them. You follow on the machine.”
John got to his knees. He could see movement outside. He shouted.
“Hell with that. Why is she still moving?”
Doug spat. He didn’t acknowledge the woman afiire against the wall. He explained.
“She’s one of them. It’s a fiilthy creature. Understand?” John shook his head. Even if he killed a thousand of those things, he would never get what was happening. “Dee would always flirt with me in the morning when I got cofffee. What happened to these people.”
Doug placed his hand on John’s shoulder.
“You’re in shock. Ignore her. It’ll pass.”
Mavis called out, “Look at that crispy critter. Just won’t give up the ghost.”
Doug rolled his eyes. So much for calming anyone anymore, he thought.
“Nice spotting that, great timing.” Mavis pulled free her smaller blade, the size of a thin machete. Dee, mostly charcoal now, lifted what remained of her head, teeth barred. The old woman brought her blade down upon it. Bits of fragile skull blew apart disintegrating into the gusts. Both men watched. Then Doug grabbed John by the shoulder, lifting him up to his feet.
“Mavis. You stay here. Make sure all these others are dead. John’ll come with me.”
“I am?” He asked. Doug nodded. “You are. The Y was where I sent a survivor. Might be others alive there as well.
Maybe we can get more help.”
John winced at going out where more of those things were.
“Just be quick, guys. I just wanna get to the head bastard.” Mavis growled. John stared at the strange looking old woman. She pointed her blade at the men, shouting over the wind.
“Do your damn job right, you’ll get back here faster.” Doug punched John on his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re not offf the clock yet.” John just stood like a statue taking in the burning of Dee’s body. Doug yelled to Mavis, “Try to get the ambulance turned over, will you? Any good at hot-wiring engines?”
Mavis drew on her death-stick, nodding, flipping him the fiinger. She went inside the fiirehouse to secure the location. The burnt snowmobile was a black mess now. Dee’s torso popped offf into a shower of sparks. John kept staring at the glow as it shriveled away in the storm. Doug made sure the paramedic was zipped up, slapping a hat on his head.
“You gingers are tough. Here. Take this too.” He gave the paramedic a gun. No idea how to use one, John looked at the pistol in his hands. Doug patted his back. He helped John slide the machete through his belt.
“Try to keep up. We’ll move fast.” Doug and John walked past a tow truck with its bent make-shift plow buried in the drifts. Its driver’s door was open and bent forward away from its frame. A shame, Doug thought, might’ve been useful. Drifts had already gotten inside its cab. Whole engine block was probably frozen solid.
The YMCA was a mere 200 meters kitty-corner to the fiirehouse. Any other time would have been a piece of cake getting to the building.
But not now.
Without any type of cover, it was harder to cross Irving Park Road walking straight into Arctic headwinds. Gusts slammed into them like Furies trying to tear parts offf. The fiirst fiive hundred feet was slow going. Thumping over hardened drifts of packed snow, the men held hands preventing the other to skitter rolling away into the night. Visibility hadn’t improved. The fiirehouse was gone from view.
Doug pointed to the parking lot. There was a gap in the fence where links had torn away from their post. Doug held the fence open while John went through. The parking lot was full of white sarcophagi. It appeared as if the entire fiield was fiilled with tombs.
One bene fiit being offf the street, the fence cut down some of the extreme force of the winds. They took stock of their choice of egress. Doug thought he remembered a door offf the side here somewhere.
A body smashed out of the 4th floor window in the YMCA. The man barely screamed as he slashed through the ice pellets landing upon a nearby berth of white. The hole left by his exit sat like a black hole in a cyclops looking down at the
m.
John began to dart towards the crushed fiigure, but Doug stopped him, an arm across John’s chest. He shook his head. Instead, he pointed towards an open door on the side. Doug pushed John and they both ran towards the opening. Through the parking lot of dead cars buried too late to have been rescued or used before the storm hit. Most of their batteries would be dead, due to the extreme cold. Snow accumulation was lighter between the abandoned vehicles. They made good time approaching the building’s black maw.
Doug mistrusted and disliked everything out here. It felt like a trap. The door waited for them, listlessly hanging from one hinge. Both men expelled cold air running like maniacs. Drawing nearer to their objective, It was obvious Gray had bullied his way into the building. Patches of dark liquid stained the snow nearest the opening. On their right, an old man lay frozen in the snow. He looked to be torn apart. Doug wondered what his story had been.
Taking the lead, Doug rushed into the building fiirst. His shotgun was up, scanning the hallway. John followed in reaching to his hip for his machete. The instant vacuum of sound disquieted them. Weird to have been in the middle of so much roaring cacophony, the weather bufffeting their minds and bodies, then arrive here to stark silence. A small wave of ice pellets pelted them in gentle waves, akin to the ministrations of a geisha’s hand, thought John.
He held the long knife. Whatever reservations he had before were wiped away by the relief of having the sharp weapon in his possession. He no longer doubted himself.
The beating of their hearts, pulsing veins in their skulls was soundtrack enough to propel them along the darkened corridor. Their eyes began adjusting to the dim light.
Quiet overwhelmed them. An encroaching stink wafting from whatever lay ahead.
The entire hallway smelled like rotten meat.
“You up for this?” asked Doug. John shrugged, then moved fiirst.
Doug didn’t anticipate the paramedic would lead. Honest John took the lead walking into the dim corridor fiirst. Doug gritted his teeth. The hallway was dark. The only sound was an overhead light at the corridor’s end blinking on and offf. Doug found it odd that such a messed up light reminded him of the run-down offfiices back in San Diego. It was comforting in a way.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Offf. Then on again as it repeated the pattern.
Down the hall they went. Peering in and out of the rooms, there was no one there at all. Rumpled beds, clothing thrown on the floor, but no bodies A shriek pulled their attention toward a stairway o fff to Doug’s right. John looked towards the sound’s direction, then nodded. Once again, he ran to the steps fiirst. Doug winced, unused to being the second in a dire situation. They ran quickly up to the next level where the screaming was heard.
Both men turned the corner. There, the young men saw the Gray holding a shrieking old man in one hand. The huge creature was smiling as the elderly guy whacked away at his attacker with a cane. Gray slowly drew the geriatric man close to his mouth where he bit deep into his skull silencing the long wailing. The crunch of teeth on bone silenced the entire hall.
John blanched, freezing in place. Doug threw pieces of metal spinning tip over tip landing into the Gray’s shoulder. It didn’t matter. Blood flowed from the top of the old man’s head into the Gray's mouth. Doug watched as the huge man grew visibly larger as he fed.
Watching this abominable act enraged something in Doug. His doubts disappeared as his eyes took in every awful image. This was something for him to fiight. He allowed himself to react. No longer thinking of any limitations placed upon him by his religion or the niceties of polite society, Doug felt unleashed.
John began to advance, yet Douglas held him back. He had an idea. They instead ran the opposite way, back towards the stairwell.
“Leaving so soon?” Bellowed the Gray af ter them. As the pair turned the corner, they heard the thump of heavy boots on tile. Gray began to pursue them. Both men ran up steps three at a time. Fear propelled John while Douglas was leaping like a hunter setting his trap.
They reached the next floor running along a corridor lit by emergency power. All the doors were broken in, or laid splintered in the hallway.
John stopped, gulping for breath.
“You know where you’re going? Please tell me you do.” Doug kept moving forward looking in every room. The fiirst four were empty. The next one showed why. A pile of old men, their bodies ripped open, were stacked in front of them. Very little blood was left in the bodies. These were thin old bodies Gray must have amused himself with, since they couldn’t have had much blood to satisfy the fiiend.
John gasped as Doug rushed past him. He stared at the sad remains of human beings.
“They were in their pajamas.” He whispered.
“Listen to me.” Doug whispered. “Gray will do this to all of Chicago if he gets the chance.” Doug grabbed John by the collar dragging him out of the room. They retreated down the corridor. The Gray’s dark form appeared at the top of the stairway they’d just run up. The young men reached the opposite stairwell. Both were barely staying ahead of him.
“Why run? You’re both dead men anyway.” He called out. John and Doug ran up the fiinal flight of steps that led to the roof. There it was. Doug went for the fiire box, shattering its glass and removing the axe. He uncoiled the hose, pointing it down towards the landing below. A few quick turns and the hose sputtered to life with high pressured water. The timing was perfect. The Gray walked into the spray getting completely doused. Soaking wet, he still walked up the steps.
“Myth of running water? Not useful against us. Tricks. Ha.” Doug ignored the annoying prick. He sliced open the ziplock bag hidden in his jacket. Filled with green chemicals, John held the hose still, while Doug tossed the bag down upon the Gray. The pitch was too high, the bag appearing to tumble in the air over the top of the huge man’s head.
Ironic then, that the Dark man quickly reacted, plucking down the flung bag. Sharp dirty nails slit the plastic open upon contact. Green fluid splashed upon his face, slathering his right hand, spattering his upper torso. The Gray looked confused, smiling at the benign uselessness of the attempt.
He began laughing at more human fecklessness. Water rained upon the Gray, mixing with the chemical. His body began to smoke and flare up. Small flames ate the flesh on his face. His hands oozed from the bones of his large frame. The realization hit that his body was being attacked by some new weapon.
“Adolebitque.” Doug calmly spoke in Latin.
John patted Doug’s shoulder.
“Got him.”
Doug refused to break focus. He had to see the Gray die in front of his eyes. Gray was a flame, but only his face and right hand. Flesh smoked. Frustrated that he could not shake the holy concoction offf his body, The dark man roared. The hose kept pressure. John and Doug watched the unholy monster burn.
Green drops fell onto Gray’s pants where the cube was kept. Immediately, the profane relic screeched as if in pain. Voices clamoring to be heard. The cloth shredded as Gray struggled.
Would it stop him? Doug asked himself as water pressure began to diminish, then suddenly stop. Both men watched as the Gray lif ted his arms. Most of Gray’s teeth were exposed due to his face having little flesh. Patches of black hair sizzled away, exposing white bone, His right eye had been burned away. Only nerves and thin muscle kept a hand clutching with undying agony.
These human fecal piles had hurt him.
“Kill you.” The vampire whispered. The black box kept safe in the Gray’s breech pocket clattered to the floor hissing as the holy water splashed down upon it. A chorus of thousands, perhaps millions of voices wailed, cracking plaster on the stairway walls. Gray’s plaintive wails commingled with them. John’s hands clapped against his head. It was agony listening to the wailing of lost souls.
The stairwell became an IMAX show in Hell. The squawking of bursting souls, writhing apparitions and evil, malignant forces spun around them. Gray hollered, swiping at swirling shadows, most of the victims he
’d taken over centuries. Orange shades, life forces crackling in pain spun around the stairwell overwhelming the trio’s senses.
Doug found himself defending against Lance, a classmate from eighth grade, bigger than anyone else in his school. His favorite trick was to come up behind you, then grab you in a headlock. He then would lean backwards pulling you with him. Doug found himself as he had years before: Choking in the embrace of this damaged personality. How could this be happening? Panic swept over him. Helpless in the arms of a stronger force.
He tore at Lance’s arms smothering him, biting deep into the spirit’s flesh. Lance released Doug from his memory. Rubbing his neck, Doug remembered hearing Lance had murdered a couple of hookers over on Maxwell Street, then died in prison years ago.
What the hell was this?
It had to be coming from the black box. Doug was certain of it. More spirits, thousands of them swirled around the stairwell, the howling of souls in agony too much to bear. It would shatter them both if it lasted much longer.
He saw the Gray was railing against his own demons. He had hundreds attacking him. The maimed vampire swiped at them all hate fueling his pent up rage.
Doug looked to John. The paramedic leaned against the far wall holding himself. Putting hands to console the man, John collapsed into Doug’s arms. Wild with grief, the paramedic looked up at him.
“I couldn’t save her. I did everything I could. My baby. Daphne, it was my fault.” Doug nodded. Each of them were facing ugly demons from their past. The God Damned box was from Hell. Malicious device fiilled with depraved souls. And the Gray wanted to open the damn thing here in Chicago.
A beserker-rage came upon Douglas then. “Kill you all.” Gray raved, grabbing at the box laying on the concrete, before returning it to his breech pocket. Douglas saw where the vile construct was kept. It had to be destroyed. He no longer cared about personal cost. Doug looked into the fiirebox where the hose had been kept. An axe, hammer and crow-bar had been left there by stafff, probably to save time when working was to be done on the roof.
Grayland: Chapter Three of the Dark Chicago Series Page 15