by C C Sommerly
“Do you have any weapons?” I asked.
“What…what?” He mumbled.
“Something pointy, or one that goes bang, you know, those things you can use in self-defense.”
Right, I am definitely not getting anything from his shell-shocked self. Lovely. I creep down the closest aisle trying to avoid the glass on the floor. Luck was with me because the aisle I turned down has some camping supplies. I looked for matches or a lighter. I found one of those long lighters for lighting a campfire. I veered across to another aisle. Hair spray. If they have it, I’m golden. A surprising number of demons were injured by fire. Guess they were the really bad ones — at least that was my theory. What kind of overlord had creatures that were hurt and possibly killed by the very place they lived? Oh, that must be Satan. Yep, Mr. Big Baddie Himself. So many of them were stuck in an internal fire pit in Hell. No wonder so many tried to escape to earth. I shouldn’t say I blame them, but I do. Demons belong in Hell and not running amok here on earth. They hurt, maimed, and killed enough people that no matter how much the Demon Delegate tries to make them sound like fallen angels and just misunderstood, I wasn’t buying it.
Luck was still with me, as I snatched up a couple bottles of hair spray stashing them in my cargo pockets. I’d use them if could. I would prefer some distance between me and the demon; although, that’s what the pointy thing was for — close combat a.k.a., dagger style. The screaming quieted down and was replaced by what sounded suspiciously like wet slurping. Please don’t let it be eating someone. I had nightmares for weeks the last time I saw someone eaten alive by an insect-like demon. Just because I was a trained killer didn’t make me heartless. Seeing someone liquified and gulped down like some sort of human slushie would disturb anyone. This certain type of demon was known to feed this way.
As I approached a door to what was either a back room or storage, the door swings open and a body was thrown at me. It was a guy close in age to me, who looked like a deflated balloon. His bones and everything internal were liquified and eaten.
Gross, another one of those insectoid demons that resembled a winged roach. I disliked roaches almost as much as rats. The only plus was that they were super susceptible to fire. I held out my lighter, darn thing wont light.
The demon stood before me and slapped the lighter out of my hand sending it careening down towards one of the aisles. Before I can get my lighter back, he was on me and trying to stab me with his barbed mouth that was basically a built-in straw. Once it gets you with that thing, it borrows through your throat and digs in deeper. It secreted a numbing poison that started the human slushie process. At least the dead guy didn’t feel pain, his screaming earlier was from terror and not pain.
But I didn’t get this far to be dinner to Mr. Nasty, I thought. I grabbed his leg and pulled hard, flipping him onto his back. I rolled onto my feet and sprinted down the aisle for my missing lighter. I made it several steps before he grabbed me by the back of my shirt and hauled me against his bug body. I thrust my knife into his mouth thing, and it screamed, loosening its hold on me long enough for me to get the lighter. Oh, it’s on Mr. Nasty.
Turning towards the demon, I raised the lighter and managed to get a flame this time. As he launched himself at me, I sprayed the hair spray, creating a mini flame thrower. The sounds coming out made his previous scream seem like a whimper. Windows and glass bottles broke from the screeching. I felt my ears and nosebleed. Thankfully, he sank to the ground, a blackened and well-done demon. Good. I kicked him to make sure he was really done. Wiping my hands on my pants, I head out to the other passengers.
I walked outside covered in demon guts. I was really getting sick of the slime factor. It smelled and was sticky like tar. These clothes were done for and I even had gunk in my wig. Now, what was I supposed to do to fix that? It wasn’t something I could wash out, so I’d reek by the end of the trip.
Before I could board the bus, scared passengers blocked the door.
“It’s gone, anyone need anything? I’m sure the store clerk would be happy to sell us what we need after getting rid of Mr. Nasty,” I said.
A tall goth guy stepped forward and asked me, “Are you some kind of demon?”
“Do I look like a demon?” I replied.
A short, gray-haired grandma glared at me. She said, “Some of them look pretty normal, Dave.” She pressed the goth guy, Dave, back and away from me. “Not sure we should let it on the bus. Are we safe?”
At this point the bus driver stepped between me and the mass of passengers. Frowning, he turned his back on me and looked at them. “She has a ticket and is getting on the bus. She saved all of you, all of us, and has just as much right to be on the bus. You should ashamed of yourselves. Let her through,” said Lyle McDonald with glare.
The group split up enough to make a path for me to walk through. Several of the passengers looked down in red-faced shame. Others pulled their children behind their back like I was contaminated. Whatever, I thought.
Chapter 11
The days passed in the awkward silence and hushed voices. It was probably the quietest bus ride the driver ever had and all because the passengers were so scared of me that they huddled in their seats, whispering if they spoke at all. When I caught one of the passengers looking me, he shifted his eyes away and duck their head. Not that I needed praise or thanks, but the hostility was hurtful and stung. I saved them from that demon and rather than being grateful, they were fearful — like I was a monster and not the demon.
The five-day trip continued to be broken up by short rest stops and a few transfers as the old passengers left and new ones came aboard. The new passengers would complain about the smell and be told about the demon encounter and then would ignore me in the same fashion as the existing passengers. At this point, I couldn't care less what waited for me in Cody. I wanted this wig off and away from these ingrates. The one benefit of the demon encounter was that the gross guy next to me no longer leered at me or attempted to talk to me. He looked positively green by the end of the trip. My sense of smell had long ago become immune to the stink in my wig. I tried to wash it in the bathroom sink, but it was like super glue and just as hard to wash out. He had a more sensitive nose than me. Good.
As we got closer to Wyoming, the destruction from The Great Sundering was more apparent.
Chapter 12
Yosemite was in many ways Ground Zero for the Demon Apocalypse and just one of countless portals that opened during the “Great Sundering” thirty years ago. It was literally the edge of where hell intersected with earth. The actual and literal “Hell” discussed in the Bible with demons and the Devil – although, the Devil had yet to make an appearance. Demons were horrifying enough. The kind of inspired fear that turns your bowels to water. Although, it took a while for us to figure out it was much worse than a natural disaster, we first thought it was. It started as an explosion at Yellowstone National Park. The super volcano under the Park blew and tore through the entire upper United States, wiped out Canada and left the U.S. in a half circle-like crater. We lost millions of people in both countries that day. Alaska became an island and the chaos that ensued ensured easy avoidance of detection by the demons. The ash and smoke from the explosion blocked out the sun, creating a semi-Ice Age, which killed off even more people. Crops and animals died out.
Yellowstone was only the start. There were reports of cenotes, those practically bottomless ponds and lakes in Mexico, boiling over and monsters crawling out of scorpion demons, slug and insect-like demons, and others that looked like fallen angels, Other volcanos exploded created similar portals to the Yellow Stone one, or as we now called it “Hell’s Edge.” Even smaller canyons and crevices became an escape route for eager demons.
The first initial reports of demons were dismissed as hallucinations caused by toxic fumes and gases from the explosion and other natural disasters occurring. Once, we figured out that there was something more going on, demons had pillaged, plundered, and raped their way t
hrough the world. And for many of us, with the proof that demons and the Devil existed, we eagerly waited for the appearance of Angels and God. If one was shown to be true, then surely the other one was.
Chapter 13
“We are near Cody, Wyoming for those of you departing on this stop, enjoy your stay. For those of you that are continuing, there is a 10-minute stop at the Wyoming Buffalo Company,” said Lyle McDonald “This store is a great place to get some summer sausage or jerky. And other goodies.”
I grabbed my duffle bag and kept it on my lap. I was determined to get off the bus first — if possible. This wig needed to come off. After five long days, I finally found myself at Cody, Wyoming, population 10,000. I was the only person getting off at what the outside store signs said was “Western Specialty Foods and Gifts”. It doubled as the bus stop. From what I could see, the whole town was on a single street. I could walk to anything I needed. The single text message on the burner phone said that I should look for a warm welcome. I’m assuming that was code for a welcome center or something similar. At least, I hoped they had a welcome center here. I walked past the large fake cowboy that some of the bus passengers were posing next to and asked the clerk about the city’s welcome center. “Just a short walk, half a mile or so west on the main street. Can’t miss it, if you tried darling,” he said.
The buildings lining the main street looked like the wooden structure you saw in any old Western movie, complete with that wooden porch with railing for shoot outs. Minutes after leaving the store/bus stop, I step into the nearly empty visitor center. A man behind the counter shouts a greeting with a warm smile and twinkling eyes.
“Welcome to the best museum west of Kansas City,” he said. “And, we have the largest collection of Winchester rifles in the world,” he adds with a wink.
I studied the man while I thought of an appropriate response. He looked like an anorexic Santa Claus with a mustache instead of a beard that cradled his reddened cheeks.
As I approached him, he continued undeterred, “Is this your first visit to The Equality State?”
“Can’t help but notice your bag. Are you visiting our fine town Miss?”
The combination of stress, uncertainty, and sadness over the loss of my military career boiled over. This cheery man was too much. Was how he wanted to play things by acting like he didn’t know why I was here? I was directed to this middle of nowhere location and he wants to be all friendly. I am so over this cloak and dagger crap. I appreciated the “friends” getting me out of D.C. I wanted answers though and the small talk was only irritating me.
“Why don’t you tell me why I’m really here? Because I am not going to make idle chit chat with some cowboy in the Welcome Center when I was promised answers to all the spy worthy crap you guys pulled to bring me out here.”
The warmth drained out of his eyes, replaced by a colder and more calculating gleam. The smile completely slid off his face. “Well, since you are in such a rush, by all means, let me take you to the back.”
I followed him past displays of souvenirs and knickknacks into a curtained off room in the back. From there, he pulled back an animal skin rug to reveal a trap door because why not? I’m not sure why I was expecting something more normal like stairs or, even crazier, a person to greet me in this back room. He tugged on the trap door, which reveals a dark gaping hole in the ground. Lovely, more tunnels or whatever. A rickety ladder that had seen better days is the only way down. Handing me a flashlight, he said, “Take it to the tunnel and when the tunnel makes a fork, stay to the right. Continue to take the right path when given a choice.”
I descended the ladder and as my head sunk just below the trap door, the Anti-Santa slammed it. I ducked and slipped down the remaining ladder rungs to land heavily at the bottom. Jerk. I brushed myself off as best as I can and felt for the flashlight that I dropped in the fall. Finding it, I flipped it on, grateful that it survived the fall. The tunnel was long enough that I couldn’t even see the fork that the cowboy mentioned. I should have asked more questions about this. How long was I going to travel?
I continue down the tunnel, which is surprisingly dry. While I would normally be on high alert for my nemesis, rats, my odor would be more than enough to keep any living creature at a distance. The Welcome Center Cowboy did not seem to notice though.
Chapter 14
Silhouetted against the brightness of the tunnel opening was a man. Once, my eyes adjusted, I could see just how young he was. He was more teen than man, met me at the tunnel’s exit. He had a baby face and caramel colored eyes that widened when he saw me.
The dusty grit and sand threaded its way around my ankles, but I wasted no time getting things going. I was tired and wanted to get settled. “You can’t be the boss. Where is he, so I can finally get some answers?”
Extending his hand for a shake, he said, “Hi Teagan, I’m Thomas, but you can call me Tom. Welcome to Old Trail Town, our own ghost town, but ghosts rarely make appearances.”
“Hold tight. How do you know my name?”
Ignoring my question, he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “I’m the official ‘greeter.’ Works for me since I like people and what’s not to like. I get to be the first one to meet all the newbies”.
Was he for real? Dear god, I was moderately impressed with their operations until now when they send some kid to greet me. I could have knocked him out with a throat punch or just sat on him since his reed-like body wouldn’t take much to subdue and if I was trying to harm the kid, I would have done it. The people who helped me escape had no way of knowing how safe meeting me was, so it was risky that they trusted me not to harm him. Not that I went out of my way harming innocents, but I was on my guard, so I tended to strategize ways out of confrontation or how to handle threats.
At my silence, he started babbling. “Sorry, the Boss likes to meet all new arrivals. Wants them to be greeted all properly,” he said.
“Well, by all means, show me the way, Mr. Greeter.”
God, I seriously want to get this over with, the sooner the better. First the non-Santa and now some pimple-faced teenager.
“Right this way, Teagan. I’ll take you to the Boss.”
“Does he have a real name and why couldn’t he meet me himself?”
“Ummm…I will let him explain. I always mess it up when I try, but I can tell you about our town.”
“Sure, why not?”
I followed Thomas along the main street as he rattles off facts at an auctioneer’s pace. Missing more than I hear, I manage to glean a tiny bit about the ghost town’s history as he points out the centuries-old houses, a general store and saloon. The ghost town was not actually part of Cody and was located five miles from it. Its distance made sense since I walked that tunnel for hours until meeting up with this kid.
“Many of us wanted to use the actual saloon in the ghost town, but we were told this was protected even if it’s a tourist location. Speaking of tourists, we even have a train ride for the kiddies, see the track going around and between the houses.”
Yeah, lovely. Super special a train ride in a ghost town. Bet that was popular come Halloween. He continued escorting me through the outpost with a rambling dialog launched in a rapid staccato of observations, helpful tidbits, and warnings. With something to focus on, his previous nervousness was absent, and he became rather talkative.
Two men came out of one of the houses. The taller and lankier one gave us a questioning look but doesn’t stop. Tom nodded at them before they continued on their way.
“Is that normal? Do you get new people here so often that no one thinks to question them or make sure they aren’t a threat? Or is it just assumed that I’m a tourist.”
Shaking his head, he said, “We all knew to expect you. Your arrival was on the board for weeks.”
“For weeks? Are you sure it’s been weeks? I’ve only known I was coming here for a matter of days. How did you all know about this before I was even kicked out of the Marines?”
He stammered but could not seem to get anything coherent out.
“Ask the Boss. I, I don’t know how to say it. But he can tell you more about the ghost town. You entered the Welcome Tunnel, which is named after its location and is a lesser known tunnel.”
Who names a rarely used tunnel a welcome tunnel? Was it because it was connected to the Welcome Center?
“But here at The Underground we have multiple tunnels for our people. Having more than one tunnel makes it easier to hide the comings and goings of the same people at such a small location, which would draw attention.”
Nearing the edge of the ghost town, my guide escorted me to one of the furthest buildings that looks no different than any other house we passed. After all this covert and well-planned escape, I assumed the location of the Boss was something more than elaborate or secure or just more than what this was.
“Look, before we go in, you better explain this underground thing. I sloughed through sewers, several miles of tunnels, and now you are again talking about going underground.”
He stuttered, “Me and my mouth. Nothing to ask the Boss.”
Of course, it was. How convenient.
We stepped inside the house, which was completely unimpressive. The interior was plain and contains only a table, two spindly chairs and a rug near the unlit fireplace. A tallish guy with a lean body, shaved head and light green eyes dressed in a suit was seated in one of the chairs. The suit looked ridiculously out of place in this Wild West of a place. Meeting my eyes, his piercing gaze sends shivers through me. It was a purely predatory gaze of a man that you did not mess with.
“Here is the new arrival sir. Told you what time she’d arrive today. That’ll be $20.” The Boss reached into his pocket and held out the money.
