Sam checked the group a final time. “OK,” he gave his last instructions, “remember to keep moving. Don’t stop regardless of what happens. Keep it two abreast. Stay close together, but not too close. Try not to bundle up too much—a group will draw more attention than two or three people traveling together. And don’t look at anyone. Anyone talks to you, ignore them and keep on moving, no matter what they say. Anyone gives us any trouble, let me do the talking.” He glanced at Ammon. “You’ve got Kelly, right?”
Ammon reached out for her hand. “Got her.” He smiled down.
“Luke, you stay with me. Mom, you stay with Mary. Azadeh . . .” Sam hesitated just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Azadeh, you understand the problem?”
She looked at him and nodded.
“Try not to let them see your eyes. Keep your head low. Keep your hair tucked up and don’t speak—that’s the last thing you want to do. If they recognize the accent, it will set them off. Stay by me. If I get distracted or have to deal with someone, then hang onto Luke.” He took a step toward them. “Keep on walking. Stay close. We’re going to be OK.”
The group looked at him and nodded. He was obviously their leader, and they were prepared to do anything he said.
Mary gestured toward the street that lay beyond the metal door. “Some of them have guns.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, they do.”
“If there’s any problems?”
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Dupree. I can take care of them.”
“Not all of them, Captain Brighton.”
Luke put his hand on Mary’s arm and laughed. “Hey, look, I’ve got a plan. If anyone starts shooting, everyone jump behind me. I seem to be impervious to bullets. All of you hide behind me and I’ll take ’em for the team.”
Sara frowned. Sam laughed. Mary didn’t understand. Ammon slapped him on the back. “Good plan. I like it. You stay in front of me.”
Sam pulled the drinking tube on his CamelBak®, took a sip, and gestured to the others. “The last thing we want to do is advertise the fact that we’ve got food and water, so tank up now,” he said. Everyone drank except for Mary and Sara, who insisted they weren’t thirsty, then tucked the drinking tubes away, hiding them beneath their clothes. Sam looked at them a final time. “Ready?” he asked.
“Go for it, baby,” Luke answered.
Sam turned and pulled back the metal door.
* * * * * * *
The streets were dark and smoky, both from the small fires on every corner and from the huge, high-rise fires that were burning downtown. The wind had shifted from the west, blowing cold air and smoke across the city. Exiting the apartment building, with its soot-covered brick and filthy hallways, Sam moved across the parking lot toward the street. The others followed in pairs, ten or fifteen feet between them. After crossing the cluttered parking lot, Mary looked back. This had been her home for almost thirty years. Will I ever come back here? she wondered. Something told her that she wouldn’t, and she sighed, half from nostalgia, half from relief.
Reaching the street, Sam turned south, the shortest distance out of the city. All around them, crowds huddled together: men and women, young and old. Where are all the children? Sam wondered with a chill. Some of the men eyed them as they passed. Sam had on his uniform, which seemed to help. Unlike back in Washington, D.C., when everyone had been asking him for help or information, here they seemed eager to ignore him, letting him pass. Moving from the shadows of the buildings, the family walked across the street. An old man, his face lost in the utter blackness, stepped suddenly toward them, almost running across the street. Stopping in front of Sam, he turned, cursed and shouted, then turned and ran again. Sam didn’t slow but kept on walking. Stopping at the street corner, he looked up and tried to read the streets signs, but it was too dark. Catcalls emerged now from the darkness. “Hey, there!” men called to Azadeh. “Come on over here, little girl. Got plenty more of this!” Azadeh kept her head low, barely looking up. Luke pulled her close, putting his arm around her.
“Little man gots himself a woman.” Bitter laughing from the dark. “Git over here, man-child. I’ll give you something you can show her later on!”
A group of young men drew near. Sam stepped closer to his mother. Someone spat. He felt the light spray on his face, warm and wet. A shot rang out farther north. The whites of several eyes moved in that direction. Mary moved up beside Sam and nodded quickly to show the way.
“What you doing with this soldier?” one of the young men sneered at her. “You go on. Get out of here.”
The little group turned and ran. Kennedy Avenue. Columbus Street. East Chicago Avenue. Sam could smell the city all around him: Ispat Island, the fuel tank farms, the railheads, U.S. Steel—all were shut down now, but the smell of diesel, coal and filth still lingered in the air. Lake Michigan was behind them now. They came upon another corner. Another crowd was huddled in the middle of the street, chaotic, mean, and noisy, blocking their way. People turned toward them and started cursing. Sam felt a sick feeling roll inside him, his eyes moving desperately. Ammon jogged up and stopped beside him. “Take the alleyway,” he said. Sam thought, then nodded and turned into the alley. A couple of the strangers watched them disappear, then cut away from the group and followed. Moving into the deeper darkness, Sam pulled suddenly to the side and pushed against the wall, allowing the others to pass. “Keep moving,” he whispered to them.
Silence. Then heavy footsteps. Four men emerged from the darkness and stared at his family as they walked down the narrow alley. Sam watched them from his hiding place between two brick walls, the starlight just enough to illuminate their features. Dirty faces. Filthy clothes. They smelled of smoke and urine. “You see that white woman?” one of the older men sneered. “She don’t belong here. Gonna show her she shouldn’t be here.”
Sam stepped quietly out from behind the man and pressed his gun against the back of his neck, the cold metal pushing against the thin skin that stretched over his hairless skull.
“You’re talking about my mother?” His voice was cold and deadly. The man put his hands out, choking on his laugh. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sam would pull the trigger. The four men slowly turned around. Sam moved the pistol back and forth to cover them all. “On the ground!” he commanded. He was quick. He was efficient. He knew what he was doing, it was clear. “Down. Get your hands back. You boys know the drill.”
The four men dropped face down on the sidewalk. Sam patted them down quickly, extracting two short-barrel handguns, a couple of empty plastic bags, a crack pipe, a well-made switchblade, and a wad of cash. He held the cheap guns, feeling the light weight, short-hair triggers, and poorly balanced grips. Saturday Night Specials. He dropped one gun and shot it with the other, sending shattered pieces of metal scattering across the ground. Then he shoved the second gun in his pocket and kicked the nearest man. “Stand up,” he ordered. They all stood and he motioned to them. “Get out of here,” he said. They turned away and started walking slowly down the street. “RUN!” Sam yelled at them. They broke into a halfhearted jog.
Turning, Sam walked quickly down the narrow alley. His group was waiting, just beyond where he could see. Ammon’s gun was in his hand. “I had you covered,” he said.
Sam smiled and slapped his shoulder. “Come on,” he said, hurrying past.
Out of the alley. Another corner. He studied the street signs, then turned left. A huge Norfolk Southern rail center lay two miles straight ahead. They planned to make their way to the rail yard, then follow one of the railroad lines heading south, hoping to avoid the crowds on the streets.
Moving quickly, Sam felt a sudden shudder. He was growing anxious, the hair on his neck rising on end. The night was dark. Every street was crowded. He looked at his watch, its luminescent dial barely visible in the dark: 2:34 a.m. Didn’t these people sleep? Why did they love the darkness?
His hair prickled once again.
Something deep inside of h
im knew.
* * * * * * *
Balaam could have chosen any of a hundred. So many evil men around him, he could have chosen any one—they were so ready, so eager, their dead eyes waiting, their empty souls ready to step into the dark. Still, he took his time deciding. He wanted to select the perfect one.
Moving through the crowded, filthy streets, he watched and listened, evaluating the darkness that emitted from their souls. Observing the empty mortals, he couldn’t help but smile. So many had already forfeited their sacred agency by violating their bodies with sludge, filth, alcohol, drugs and needles, and pain and deep despair. The addictions they had assembled were wide and varied: Sex. Violence. Pornography. Malignant and deadly thoughts. Hatred for a brother. Hatred for all men. It had taken a long time—the truth was, Balaam and his angels had been working on these mortals for generations now—but their work was paying off. This neighborhood was a cesspool of breeding evil, strong enough to steal the light from even the most innocent of the children who were born to them now.
Moving among the mortals, he considered and then selected.
He was a small man, thin, long fingers, a wispy beard. Dark eyes and angry mouth. A man who’d killed before.
Yes, he was the right man. “Come to me!” Balaam hissed.
The man was filthy and just coming down from the last trip of opium he would experience in this world. Better, he was full of a raging hatred that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Balaam looked at him, studying the deadness of his eyes. Yes, he would do what he was told.
“Come with me!” Balaam said again.
The man started walking toward the darkness.
“Bring others!” Balaam commanded.
The man stopped and turned toward his friends.
* * * * * * *
GO, GO, GO! the Spirit told him. Sam looked back at the others. They all felt it too, and, as if at some unheard command, they all broke into a run. Down the middle of street they ran now, heading west, toward a growing crowd. Ammon kept his arm around Azadeh; Luke held onto Sara and Sam, supporting himself against their shoulders, sometimes stumbling as he ran. Mary led the way now. She knew where she was going, and the others followed through the night. They passed through a wide intersection littered with cars, taxis, and city buses: East 169th and something else, Sam couldn’t read the street sign as he passed. They ran for blocks, their breathing heavy, the adrenaline surging through them, giving lightness to their feet. As they crossed a wide T-intersection, a huge building loomed before them and Mary drew up to a stop. “This is it,” she muttered through gasping breaths.
The building was tall and long, stretching almost the entire city block. A twelve-foot, razor-wire fence extended from the corners of the building on both sides. The enormous railroad yard was on the other side of the dirty building.
Sam hesitated, then ran up the cement stairs that led to the front door. He pulled on it. Locked. He returned to the group, his eyes darting back across the road.
They all looked behind them.
Something was out there in the dark.
RUN! They sensed the warning.
“This way!” Ammon cried. He led the group south. The razor-topped fence met the corner of the building. The dirt on the other side of the fence was black: old coal, blackened gravel, broken asphalt, and spilled oil, a hundred years of railroading spread across the enormous yard. A series of railroad tracks, it looked like there were dozens, glinted in the starlight, their shiny tops melting into the darkness as they extended left and right. Abandoned railcars and locomotives stood silent in the night. No one was around.
Ammon pushed against the fence. The chain links were high and tight. Sam moved beside him, pulled out a military Handyman®, extracted a set of wire cutters, and started hacking, cutting low, near the ground. The others gathered around him. The fear was rising, cold and real. A sudden sense of electricity sprung through the air, tart and tangy. Sam’s hand slipped and he cut himself against a strand of wire, the blood oozing around the back of his thumb and dripping from his palm. Ammon saw the blood and pulled back. He thought that he could smell the coppery metallic smell. Another chill ran through Ammon. Shaking his head, he grabbed the wire as Sam cut another section of the fence, holding the cut links back. The work went more quickly and a couple of strands of metal snapped from the building tension in the wire as Sam cut. When he guessed he had done enough, Sam moved to the side, pulled on the section, and motioned to Sara. “Go, Mom, go!” he whispered fearfully. His eyes were always moving, searching the darkness that seemed to swallow up the moonlight. Sara dropped to her knees. She’d already taken off her backpack and she pushed it ahead of her, then quickly crawled through the hole in the fence.
Ammon motioned to the others.
Sam held his gun tightly at his side, his back against the fence, his eyes glinting in the night.
Something was out there. Something he’d never felt before.
Something near.
Something evil.
* * * * * * *
Sam finally saw him. He walked low, almost like an animal, his knees bent, his head down, as if he were sniffing the ground. A shudder of fear ran through Sam. He pulled back the fence again. “Go, Mary. NOW!”
She bent, her arthritic knees slow to move. Ammon stepped beside her, helping her through the fence. Kelly Beth held desperately to her hand, tears now in her eyes. She didn’t understand the urgency, all she knew was that a sense of darkness had taken hold of her. “Mama,” she pleaded in a whisper as Mary knelt down by the fence.
“Come on, baby,” Mary said as she reached out for her child. She motioned in the darkness. “Come on, baby, come with me.” Her voice was calm and soothing and Kelly Beth quit her crying. Crawling on their bellies, Mary and Kelly Beth moved through the small hole in the fence.
Luke was standing next to Sam now, looking back across the street. Abandoned cars and semitrucks filled the deep shadows. Sam saw him again, lurking behind one of the cars. White eyes. Yellow teeth. A tight and wicked smile. The wind gusted and he smelled it, a dank and burlap kind of smell. Wet dog. City garbage. Sam shivered as he stared.
The man lurched from the shadows, moving closer, running toward another car. Just before he got to it, he seemed to drop down to all fours.
Sam sucked in a sudden breath, an unspeakable fear welling up inside him, fierce and bone-chilling. The evil fell upon him, sucking the breath out of his chest. Then he heard the garbled gutter of the chant that was emitting from the dark. His heart froze. He didn’t move. His blood turned icy cold.
Kill them for the Master!
Kill them for the King!
Kill them for the Master!
Kill them for the King!
The stranger chanted from the darkness. The night grew darker. A suffocating sense of evil sucked up the dim starlight.
Then he saw the others.
A dozen strangers on the street.
Half of them were women.
All of them were moving toward them now.
* * * * * * *
They scrambled through the hole in the chain-link fence, Sam the last one through, then stood together on the other side, unsure of what to do. Looking back across the cluttered street, they saw them coming, bent men and hissing women, people filled with hate, lust and burning evil. Sam shivered. For the first time in his life, he was utterly terrified. He didn’t know this enemy, and it scared him to the core.
Turning, he started running toward the railroad tracks, moving into the open rail yard, black gravel slipping under his feet. He stopped suddenly. It wouldn’t do. There was no place in the open yard where they could hide. The others bunched up behind him. “Come on, Sammy!” Ammon whispered, lifting his handgun awkwardly. “Come on, we gotta go!”
Sam hesitated, then turned toward the building. “Follow me,” he said.
He ran toward the side of the rail building. It was dark and tall, four stories high, dirty brick, flat roof, white cement arches ov
er a set of eight-foot windows, an old administration building that was used for storage now. A row of narrow steps ran up to a tall, metal door. Sam ran toward it but stopped, knowing that it was locked. He turned and ran instead toward the nearest window. “Ammon!” he called as he ran. Ammon followed. Sam bent and picked up a rusted piece of rebar, holding it in his hand.
A sudden clang sounded from behind them. A stranger pressed against the chain-link fence, his dark eyes peering at them desperately, his fingers stretched between the metal links. “Kill them for the Master!” he chanted as he stared. His voice was thin, sarcastic and hysterical. His dark eyes wandered to the women. “Kill them all!” he sneered.
Another man ran up behind him and pressed his face against the chain-link fence.
Sam turned to the window. “Help me up!” he shouted. Ammon bent and grabbed his foot, bracing Sam against his knee. Luke broke away from the women and helped Ammon lift. Sam held the rebar over his head and broke the window. Large pieces of glass fell in huge sheets at his side, shattering across the ground. Sam used the rebar to break away the shards of broken glass from the window frame; then he reached up, found a handgrip, and pulled himself into the building.
Falling onto the dusty floor, he rolled over and looked around. The room was almost completely black and empty. He quickly turned and reached back through the window. Starlight filled the rail yard. The others were waiting, six feet below.
(Wrath-08)-Evil In The Darkness (2013) Page 11
