Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

room. In the middle of the area was a small gas-powered generator with a mess of wires protruding towards stacks of milk crates that were arranged like desks. A great hearth stood against the far wall, though the mantle and other adornments had all been torn out.

  The adjacent walls were pasted with clusters of maps. Dozens of large-scale metropolitan charts were nailed into the faded floral wallpaper. Together they covered half the world. Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., Boston, New York, Zurich, Geneva, Rome, Moscow, Jerusalem, Belgium, northern France, southern England, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Syria, Lebanon, the Arabian peninsula, Egypt, Libya, Morocco, Nigeria, Ethiopia, South Africa, Tibet, India, Pakistan, the Baltic, Bavaria, Berlin and countless smaller renderings of unidentifiable cities all hung with unfamiliar German vocabulary and numeric coding notated on them. As Will interpreted the meaning of each, his jaw began to sag. It was as if the Second World War had never ended.

  He moved down the hall, past the treacherous stairs, beyond a cracked print that hung crooked on the wall and went on until he reached the back of the house. Two more rooms were open on either side. The first was a nightmarish kitchen of tarnished and scattered instruments of butchery. The second was a garbage pit with heaps of filth. Will gagged and held his nose at the sight of both, which punctuated the air with the unsavory deterioration of canned rations and spoiled eggs.

  As he turned he saw a basement door flung wide open underneath the staircase. Assured that there was nothing else worth discovering on the first floor, Will made for the cellar steps and away from the stench. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He flipped on the flashlight function, which sent an unwelcome stream of light into the hallway. For the first time, Will could see the ravage of time and the tragedy of a miserable occupation. There were smears, there were chunks of unidentifiable gray matter, there were rat holes in the corner boards, the wallpaper was ripped up, and all around were the most convincing signs of a squalid tomb that any demon might take pride in haunting. Again with a hearty gulp, Will shined his light down into the basement and began his descent.

  At the bottom, the floor was fractured and sandy. Like the house above, it split into different sections. The central room was filled with makeshift shelves screwed into the mortar. They were stacked with crusty paint cans, hand tools, body work to a vehicle that had long been out of production, mason jars filled with nails and spider meals, oil lamps and empty wine cases. Avoiding the dirty artifacts, Will went into the next room.

  It was empty but for one horrific article. In the middle was a canvas military stretcher with three tightly buckled belts at intervals. Besides it were tall hooked poles on wheels that Will recognized as supports for IVs from his stint in the hospital. The pouches were gone, but the plastic tubes were still woven around and fanned out across the floor. Next to them, a short mini-fridge was plugged into another generator.

  Will’s beacon continued to scan the room. He crept up to the stretcher, which was stained from decades of use. There were a few reds flecks beneath it on the floor, presumably the blood of Vivienne. Suddenly, the image of her screaming and crying alone in this gruesome dungeon seized Will’s imagination. He hurried back to the cellar steps, chased by his own dread. Doubled over, holding back the urge to vomit, a wet cough sputtered out into his hands.

  As if calling in response to his outburst, Will heard an eerie moan echo from deeper down in the crypt. He flashed his light into the declining basin. The integrity of the crumbling foundation degraded beneath the middle of the sagging house. Bowed floor boards overhead bent into the storage rooms. Retaining walls and door frames were cracked and split beneath the weight of the home, which caved inward. Collapse appeared imminent.

  Again, the raspy sound of fading life rustled in the stale air. At the end of the dank corridor dust swirled around. Will held firm, staring down the end of his beam. Something stirred up the floating particulates. Another sigh of strangled anguish puffed out a cloud of miniature debris into the atmosphere.

  Will approached with his light held out stiff and a clenched fist, ready to swing at the first object to invade his line of sight. His knees cracked as each foot pained to lift and secretly press again in the dirt. In almost suspended locomotion, each leg raised up from the floor, extended outward as if controlled by feeble strings, and drifted back down. Each angled limb reeled out mechanically. He inched along, his progress marked only by a faint teeter of his mass upon the fulcrum of his planted ankle.

  He could hear the noise within reach. Still, no other physical presence revealed itself. The desperate sigh remained concealed behind the wall of the next nook. Will leaned against the wall, sure that he was not alone. With a quick lurch he swung around and brightened the unknown space.

  Franklin lay slumped and bound to a wooden rocking chair. Will rushed in and dropped to his knees. The phone fell as he attacked the ropes with jittery hands.

  “Ben, wake up!” Will called with a muffled command.

  The chair tilted forward as Franklin initially resisted. His head twisted back. Will could see his pupils contract confusedly as he slowly recognized the young man.

  “Vivie,” Franklin sputtered.

  “We have her, she’s safe,” Will assured. “Come on, get up. We have to get out here.”

  Will slid the ropes away, and Franklin toppled out of the seat on to the ground. The immortal convulsed on all fours, as his mind awakened. Will retrieved his phone and shot a message to Washington.

  As Franklin began to stand, Will grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up. He slung his arm around his shoulder and hauled him out towards the cellar steps. Will navigated in the dark, unable to shine a path and carry the groaning bulk. They fell against walls and bumped into the shelves as they stumbled along together.

  A welcome sight ahead appeared in the punctual form of Washington. Light in hand, the general stampeded down the steps and landed in the basement with a thud. Upon seeing the other two, he joined Will in hoisting Franklin up the stairs. Careful to monitor the dubious sturdiness of each step, they eventually reached ground level. Franklin slipped out and rested against the wall where he paused to process what was happening.

  The rumble of a large engine blasted from the driveway. Its headlight pierced the windows and interrupted the men’s momentary relief. Will and Washington jumped at Franklin and lifted him back upon their shoulders. They scuttled through the hall, bowled into the cots in the dining room, and back out by the door they entered.

  Franklin flopped into the grass. He roiled in agony from the sudden abuse of his weakened body. Clawing and kicking, he failed to stay upright on the loose gravel in the garden. Washington tried to steady him, but Franklin’s wild flailing kept him off balance as strange sights viciously expelled the visual side effects of his solitary confinement.

  A cry of angry voices announced the discovery of the remains of the fallen vampires. Looking back, Will could see more lights flick on inside the house. He and Washington gripped the ailing Franklin one final time and lugged him through the tree line.

  We Fight, Get Beat, Rise, And Fight Again

  Sunlight pried Will’s eyelids open. They flicked then squinted as he threw his arm up to block the intrusion. He was stretched out awkwardly in an armchair, bent sideways with a sharp pain in his neck. The founders were similarly distributed in what Will recognized as George and Martha’s hotel room. The suite previously occupied solely by the Washingtons was draped with exhausted bodies strung out on chairs and sofas. Yawning and cracking his limbs in successive snaps, Will extended his arms out and rolled his head around his shoulders.

  Greene was cross-legged in a chair, his chin ready to slip from his palm. Jefferson sat with his face resting against his clasped hands, looking deep in thought with a straightened posture. Wayne was laid out on a loveseat. His legs hung over the arm rest. Adams was reclined in the chair next to Will. Looking out the window, Will spied Washington and Hancock standing stalwartly on the balcony, quietly viewing the
sunrise.

  Without opening his eyes, Jefferson mumbled through his hands, “What time is it, Will?”

  Will reached for his phone. He pressed it on and found 3 missed calls from Mom.

  “Damn, it’s eight thirty,” Will answered begrudgingly. “I was supposed to be home hours ago.”

  The door opened, startling Will and drawing up one of Jefferson’s eyes. Madison and Hamilton bumbled in carrying a box of coffee, cups, milk and a sack of bagels. They clumsily made their way through the room, deposited their purchases on the central table and began unpacking the plastic cutlery.

  Adams stirred, “What the devil are you two doing?”

  “Thought you might be hungry,” Madison greeted.

  Hamilton added, “Heard you gents had quite a row last night.”

  Jefferson grumbled monotonously, “We did, indeed.”

  “Sorry I missed it,” Hamilton replied.

  “As am I,” Wayne called out from his vertical position on the loveseat.

  “Got poppy seeds, onions, few others things,” Madison offered.

  “Splendid,” Jefferson mumbled sardonically.

  “Any word yet?” Hamilton asked.

  “Nothing,” said Adams.

  “I suppose that’s a good sign,” Hamilton assumed.

  Adams leaned forward from his cushion,