Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2)

by Gary Williams

  Scott had taken it somewhere to meet the cult members.

  Still tied to the side at the end, however, was Tolen’s Bayliner.

  Curt remembered that Tolen hid the keys under the back deck.

  He returned to shore, again trudging through the water slowly eclipsing the backyard. His phone rang. He answered without looking, assuming it was Tolen.

  “Tolen, where are you?”

  “Mr. Lohan, my name is Tiffany Bar. I work with Samuel Tolen. Do you know where he is? I’m unable to reach him.”

  Curt was caught off guard. “No. No, I don’t. He was going to the camp along the river that I believe you told him about. I spoke to him briefly, but now I can’t reach him either.”

  Curt picked up the concern in Tiffany Bar’s voice. “That’s not like him,” she paused. “I know you’re working with him, so I wanted to let you know that I’ve picked up a heat signature on the river. It appears to be a boat heading into Trout Creek with a single occupant. Also, there are two more crafts up the creek with multiple passengers in each: one boat has five people, the other one contains two. They appear to be unmoving, anchored perhaps. By the way, what in the hell is going on with the river down there? I heard it’s rising on the outgoing tide and areas are being evac’d?”

  “I wish I knew, Ms. Bar. I’ll pass the information on to Tolen when I see him.”

  “Ask him to give me a call. I want to make sure he’s all right.”

  Curt hung up.

  At least he now knew where Scott was headed and where the cult members were meeting him. He had to act fast. He deposited the boat key in his pocket and, using his flashlight, found a large stone in the garden. He went to one of the back windows and hurled the stone as hard as he could.

  Moments later, he came out the back door carrying a double barrel 12-gauge shotgun, a box of shells, and a flashlight.

  “What are you doing here? Where are Kay, Scott, and the kids?”

  The female voice startled him, and he nearly dropped the weapon.

  “Jesus Christ, Sherri, you scared the hell out of me,” Curt gathered his composure. “There’s no time to talk right now. They’re in danger.”

  “Danger?” she said. Even in the faint light, Curt could see Sherri’s face turn white.

  “I’m going to do everything I can,” Curt said, walking past her lugging the heavy weapon.

  Curt could hear Sherri coming after him, and he felt a tug on his shoulder. He turned around.

  “What is going on?” she shouted with as much fear in her voice as anger.

  “Sherri, I swear, if there was time to explain, I would, but every second lost is jeopardizing lives.”

  “Where are you going? Where is Tina?”

  Curt turned and started jogging through the water. “She’s being held hostage up Trout Creek. I’m taking a boat there now.”

  “Held hostage by whom? I’m coming with you.” He could hear her splashing behind him.

  He started to turn and argue, but time was of the essence, and he knew it was useless. He moved out onto the dock, guiding the flashlight ahead. “Let’s get to the boat.”

  “Curt, so help me God, when we’re in that boat, you’re going to explain to me what is going on.”

  Now aboard Tolen’s Bayliner, as the moon escaped from a bank of clouds, Curt started the motor. His cell phone rang. It was Tiffany Bar calling again.

  “This is Curt,” he answered over the noise of the motor.

  “Mr. Lohan, I’ve picked up another heat source on the river. It’s tremendously hot, coming past the Shands Bridge at about 45 miles per hour and headed in the direction of Trout Creek. It appears to be underwater, and frankly…I don’t have any earthly idea what it is. I’ve never seen something organic that hot. It’s at least 240 degrees.”

  “Oh shit,” Curt knew exactly what it was: the Serpent…and it was targeting Scott.

  CHAPTER 61

  Out of breath, Samuel Tolen reached his house on foot. He was shocked to see that the tide was encroaching all the way into his front yard. Curt’s Mustang was gone, but Fawn’s car was there. He entered the house and found it empty. He realized they may have tried to contact him, but with his phone broken, he couldn’t retrieve his messages.

  He went to the land line, and it contained one message. It was from Tiffany Bar.

  “Tolen, I can’t get you on your cell. I’m tracking something hot in the river. It’s big. Very big, and it’s moving toward the northeast heading for Trout Creek where two boats are anchored. It’s organic, and like nothing I’ve ever seen. One other thing: you asked me to look for a correlation between the victims whose bodies were found and those missing and assumed dead. Those whose bodies, or partial remains, were found—Clarence Little, Jack Turner, Kira Compton, Joe Redman, and Reggie Tinney—all had their appendixes removed. For the ones who are missing and we haven’t found a trace—Dr. Lila Falls, Tonya Turner, Rufus Tinney, and Barton Rifold—they all still had their appendixes. Weird correlation, I admit, and it may not mean anything, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  Tolen hung up, deep in thought. Curt had mentioned the emerald’s reflection had struck Scott, which meant the Serpent would come after him, and it appeared Scott was on his way to meet the Cult of the End up Trout Creek.

  So what did having or not having an appendix matter to the creature when it consumed someone? And why did it only regurgitate those without an appendix?

  He had to get on the water, but he remembered that he’d left his Bayliner docked at the riverhome where Scott Marks’ family had been staying on the other side of the river.

  He had to get to his boat and up Trout Creek. The Cult of the End had already proven to be vicious murderers.

  Don’t let them meet. He considered the possibility that the message had been some sort of warning against turning the emerald over to the cult members.

  Tolen ran into the garage, grabbed the keys to the Camaro from the peg board, and punched the button to raise the garage door. He slid into the muscle car and turned the key. The engine roused to life as the dual exhausts rumbled the inside of the garage. He smashed the accelerator and the car took off like a shot.

  CHAPTER 62

  Curt depressed the lever and the boat gained speed. With the moonlight now coating the river, visibility had dramatically improved. The riverhome was not far from the entrance to Trout Creek. Curt aimed for the main channel to avoid running aground on the shoal at the near side.

  Sherri, sitting beside him on the bench seat, spoke loudly over the noise of the motor. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Over the next few minutes as they entered the mouth of Trout Creek and navigated up the waterway, Curt did his best to catch Sherri up on everything that had happened. After the events of last year with the Fish, Curt had a feeling that she wouldn’t question his sanity.

  And she didn’t…very much.

  ****

  Tolen raced through the center of town where traffic was remarkably sparse. Anyone evacuating had already done so. The rest of the populace was hunkering down. Long time riverside residents didn’t run from a higher-than-usual tide, although in this case, Tolen thought they should. The river was cresting at an alarming rate. His only way across it, other than going an hour out of the way, was via the Shands Bridge.

  He feared the tumultuous river surge that awaited him there.

  He brought the Camaro screaming down the south end of town and took a hard left onto State Road 16, ignoring the red traffic light. The wheels squealed as the ’69 Camaro fishtailed, with tires spinning off blue smoke, until they caught on the pavement. The car bolted west on State Road 16, flying past the smattering of businesses that now occupied Lee Field. Ahead, several police cars sat on the right at the Military Museum of Northeast Florida, their blue bubble lights sent brilliant strobes into the night sky
. Tolen never slowed, instead punching the gas. The vehicle roared and surged past the squad cars doing no less than 110 miles per hour.

  In the rearview mirror, Tolen saw not just one, but both cars come out of the parking lot after him, lights flashing. Now he could hear their sirens.

  It didn’t matter. He would have to outrun them.

  State Road 16 narrowed to a two-lane road and banked to the left. Ahead, he would find out if the Shands Bridge was still accessible. If it wasn’t, he’d never make it to Trout Creek in time.

  The Camaro hugged the road, and Tolen never slowed. When he came around the corner, the situation was worse than he could have imagined. A series of barricades had been placed across both lanes of the road at the foot of the bridge and were now partially submerged. The tide had eclipsed the bank, and a sheet of water reflecting the moonlight barred Tolen’s way.

  Tolen slowed, fearful he wouldn’t make it. Driving through more than a couple feet of water would stall the car. Then he remembered the left bank that bordered the asphalt just before it reached the start of the bridge was marginally higher than the roadway. The problem was, he had nothing to mark his position visually once he went off the road. Even the bridge guardrails, at least at the foot of the bridge, were submerged, only crowning above the water when the bridge ramped up in the distance. He would risk driving down the embankment into the river if he were only a few feet off the mark.

  Knowing that the police would soon round the corner and reach him, Tolen didn’t hesitate. Creeping forward, he steered the Camaro to the left, blindly driving into the water, trying to recall in his mind exactly where the elevated bank ran without going too far. The water nearly overwhelmed his vehicle as he pushed it forward, trusting his memory regarding the embankment. He sensed the change in feel as the car tires left the road and drove onto the shoulder. Once, then twice, the engine sputtered, and Tolen questioned his decision. Thankfully, the car elevated as he found the higher ground. The beams from his headlights skimmed over the surface of the water.

  Agonizingly slowly, he approached then passed the barricades on his right. How far they had been placed in front of the bridge was impossible to determine. It was an ominous sight to be limping through the water in an automobile with the wide berth of river before him and only a portion of the bridge lifting from the dark surface in the distance ahead. He feared the vehicle would fall off the shoulder into the deep channel at any moment. If he turned right too early to get back onto the lower roadway, the vehicle would choke out from the river water. If he went too far on the left shoulder, he might miss the bridge entirely, either rolling into the river proper, or turning into the guardrail that was obscured beneath the surface.

  He concentrated, trying to recall how far the shoulder ran. He had to fight his instincts to steer right too soon onto the safety of the roadway until he was sure he was at the foot of the bridge, close enough to where it began to ramp up. He continued on, picturing the roadway in his mind without the water and in the daylight. He and his father had fished here for mullet from shore on many occasions during his youth, but he was struggling to recall with precision the exact contours of the shoulder.

  Suddenly, the Camaro angled downward and the headlights partially submerged, sending light knifing into the water. Tolen braked. He recalled a low point in the shoulder just before the start of the bridge. Hopefully, this was it, but if he was wrong, not only would he stall the car out, but he might drown if the vehicle slipped down the embankment. Tentatively, he pressed on, sweat sprouting on his brow.

  The vehicle eased forward and, sure enough, the earth beneath the car swelled, and the Camaro rose back up. He felt a flood of relief.

  Behind, the flashing lights and sirens of the police vehicles came into view and closed in on him. Tolen remembered with clarity that the dip in the shoulder was just before the start of the bridge. Now past it, he cut the steering wheel to the right and eased forward. A tortured metallic noise on the left side of the Camaro told him exactly how close he had come to missing it. The vehicle was rubbing against the inside of the guardrail that lined the bridge. When the long, tortuous scrape of steel ceased, Tolen turned slightly to the left, aligning the car with the visible section of bridge ahead. The vehicle rose and escaped the water. He gunned the engine, and the Camaro lurched forward, quickly picking up speed with a growl, climbing up the elevated roadway onto the bridge and out of the water.

  Tolen looked in the rearview mirror. The two squad cars had stopped well short of the waterline.

  He didn’t blame them.

  CHAPTER 63

  Scott saw the faint outline of the two boats against the dark shore. Without the moonlight, they would have been invisible. His pulse was racing. He knew he was taking a tremendous risk that they would release Kay, Cody, and Tina once he handed the emerald over, but if he could just get them free, get them to safety, it was worth his life.

  He swallowed hard as he slowed the craft and idled ahead to meet them. The creek was still and tremendously swollen. He had no idea what was going on with the river, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He had to remain focused. These men were killers.

  “Let me see your hands,” a man from one of the boats shouted as Scott neared. He blinded Scott with a light. Scott shifted into neutral but left the motor running. He held up both hands, squinting, trying to see beyond the light. To the side, in a second boat tied to the first boat, he made out the desperate expression and disheveled hair of Kay clutching the children at her sides.

  It was a bald man in the closest boat who continued to order him. “Let’s see it!”

  “I’ve got the stone. Let them go, and it’s yours,” Scott felt his voice quiver. Even in the scant light, he could see the desperation in his wife’s eyes.

  “You’ve got no bargaining chip here, Marks,” the bald man said calmly. He motioned to his side. The biggest man Scott had ever seen in his life stood up. He raised a large hunting knife that gleamed in the moonlight. He lifted the rope that connected to the second boat with Kay, the kids, and two other men, and began pulling the vessel to him. “Now,” the bald man continued, “give me the stone or my cohort will take care of all three of them, starting with your pretty little wife’s neck.”

  An icy chill raced up Scott’s spine when he saw the size of the blade. The man was right. He had zero leverage. All he could do was give the men what they wanted and pray they kept their word. He reached his right hand into his pants pocket to grab the emerald.

  In an instant, the area lightened. Scott looked down at the water to see a radiant red light moving up from the depths. It quickly reached the surface, and something impacted the boat with tremendous force, splitting the hull and propelling Scott through the air, where he landed in the water against the boat that held Kay and the kids, slamming into the gunwale. Pieces of the vessel rained down around them, landing with large splashes.

  “Cut the rope,” Scott heard the bald man shout. The engine rumbled, and the first craft sped away, sending a rooster tail of water high into the air as it fled.

  Still stunned, Scott grabbed the side of the boat and attempted to pull himself up just as the water around him glowed red. Terror nearly consumed him. With all his energy, he lifted himself up, but he caused the boat to teeter. One of the two men standing near the side plummeted into the water. Scott heard wild screams and what sounded like a giant toilet flushing, then the cries abruptly ceased.

  “John? John?” the second man yelled into the water.

  Scott was barely perched on the side of the gunwale, threatening to slip back into the water, when Kay and the kids grabbed him, tugging to try and pull him in the boat. The second man turned with a look of terror on his face, and the area once again lit up bright red.

  The entire boat lifted just as Scott flopped onto the floorboard. Kay and the kids fell on top of him. In the melee, Kay’s scream was deafening. The boat settled harsh
ly back onto the water. Then there was another, masculine scream. Scott looked up through the web of bodies lying across him to see the second man plucked from the boat. The large black shape of the Serpent wiggled, lifting its massive maw, uttering a series of horrifying clicks. Scott could see the form of the man slide down the creature’s neck. In the next moment, a lump rose back up the neck, and the man’s remains shot into the air. The mass landed in the middle of the channel with vile plops, steam rising on impact in the dark night.

  Fighting every urge to cower in the bottom of the boat, Scott rose. The black surface of the water roiled around the boat, and the craft began to spin counterclockwise. Slowly at first, it picked up speed.

  What is it doing?

  CHAPTER 64

  Fawn was standing just inside the gate of the golf course when she heard the rotors slapping the air and saw a helicopter come swooping in low. It quickly descended and, using lights aimed at the ground, found a flat place on the course to land not too far from where Fawn was standing. She dashed to the helicopter and climbed aboard.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Mike said lightheartedly.

  “Let’s go,” Fawn said. She was in no mood for humor. “People’s lives are in jeopardy.”

  “What?” Mike asked. “I thought you said a little boy was lost along the river?”

  “Mike, I simply don’t have time to explain. Get us up in the air. I’ll direct you where to go.” Curt had explained to Fawn where Trout Creek was on the river.

  Mike huffed. “Buckle in.”

  Fawn fastened the strap. She knew her tone was harsh, and it was doing nothing to help their already soured relationship. She wished they weren’t thrust back together like this under such bizarre circumstances. He would understand the urgency when she had a moment to explain everything that had happened; that is, if he could believe it.