Three worlds collide, p.39
Three Worlds Collide, page 39
Michael had just a moment to decide. He looked down at the door handle and realized that he would have to pull the door open to get a shot off. Instead, he decided to swing around and aim up and over into the nearest broken window of the hallway. He turned around and took a step out into the courtyard. His foot caught an empty can on the ground, sending it tumbling noisily end over end into the basketball court. He paused and cursed, knowing ABCs would be watching over the window ledge.
Michael swung back around the column and poked his head in/out of viewing position through the window. The light from the door ABCs had opened momentarily blinded him. Two quick shots struck the glass as Michael pulled his head back just in time. He heard shuffling and struggling, more little screams as ABCs dragged Elena into the room. Then the door closed audibly behind them, the light fading to a thin glow around the seams of the doorway. Michael looked back through the cracked glass and saw shadows moving in the light that shined through the gap under the door.
Frantically, he waved for Sean to come over. Michael stepped out and pointed over the windowsill facing the door. “He went into a room. You can see the outline of light around the doorway.”
Sean looked up and nodded.
“I’m going to push the door open,” Michael continued. “If you have a shot, take it.”
Sean nodded and moved to take up position, aiming over the windowsill. Michael went back inside and grabbed the hallway door handle. He pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. The scene at the end struck him like a wrecking ball. A dim light shone from a room at the end of the hall, illuminating the motionless forms of Clay and Jackie. A guard was slumped against the wall. Michael wanted to go see if he could help but something told him they were probably lost. He could save a life right now. He looked up at Sean and flattened himself against the wall. He reached his arm out and pushed open the door to the lit room, then quickly stepped back into cover behind the wall.
“Clear,” Sean whispered. He pulled the gun from over the windowsill and ran around through the door to stand beside his brother in front of the doorway. The well-lit room was empty. Wooden doors of a hatch had been thrown open. ABCs was in the tunnels with Elena. All had been lost.
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Michael looked at Sean, then turned to look down the hallway at the fallen forms of Jackie and Clay. “Go get Martha and the med kit. See if you can help them.”
Sean nodded and ran out of the hall. Unwilling to concede defeat, Michael moved into the room and raised his Glock as he walked cautiously toward the hatch. He gave himself a narrow line of sight and walked an arc around the opening to check if it was being covered from below. Then he stepped back and lowered to his stomach, sliding himself up to the opening as flat as he could. He stopped just short of looking in and listened. He heard Elena’s cries from down the tunnel. He listened a second more and they seemed to be fading. ABCs was moving through the tunnel away from the hatch. Maybe he could steal in without being shot.
Michael poked his head over the edge and gave a quick look around. It was dimly lit by a string of lights. Scanning around, he didn’t see anything, so he swung his legs over and set them on the steps of a homemade ladder and lowered himself down, wincing from the pain of his wounds as he moved. Standing in the tunnel system, he was stricken for a moment. He’d read all about them but scarcely believed the stories. Now he stood in one. So many souls had passed through here as they were taken to and from a life of misery.
Resolve welling up in him, Michael’s training as an officer took over. He raised his weapon and moved through the tunnel in the direction of Elena’s voice.
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Martha hustled across the dilapidated basketball court, shuffling through trash and debris that had been scattered all over. Sean followed closely with the med kit, his rifle slung over his shoulder. When they got to the door, Sean reached in front of her and pulled the door open. They hurried down the hall toward the dim light, slowing as they passed the fallen form of the guard.
Martha paused, clearly shocked by what she saw. Jackie had begun to stir as they knelt next to her. Her face was covered in blood and a gash across her forehead had begun to scab. Martha steeled herself, then knelt and surveyed her injuries. She found the bullet wound under her arm. Jackie moaned as she rolled her over onto her back. Martha gasped loudly at the sight of Jackie’s wounded leg. Shaken, she gathered herself, found the sanitary towels, and started cleaning the wounds.
Sean had moved over to Clay, who wasn’t showing any signs of life. He lay on his side. His face covered in blood from another open wound on the side of his head. Sean looked down and saw his blood-soaked shirt. They had only one vest and decided Michael should wear it since Clay found it too stifling. Knowing he’d probably have to resort to hand-to-hand combat with Evan’s assistance, Clay had passed on the vest. Sean checked and found a weak pulse.
Sean turned to Martha. “He has gunshot wounds in the side of his chest and stomach. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Look to see if the bullets came out the back,” Martha said.
Sean rolled Clay to him a little. “It looks like it, but there’s so much blood, I can’t really tell.”
Unaccustomed to treating combat casualties, Martha had to gather her thoughts. “We have to stop the bleeding. From what I understand, most people can be treated for the injuries but it’s loss of blood in the field while they wait that usually gets them.”
Sean nodded and reached into the duffel for the clotting gauze and gel he would need to dress Clay’s wounds. He and Martha worked in silence for several minutes doing the best they could to patch up Jackie and Clay.
Jackie had begun to wake up, groaning as Martha wrapped her arm with the gauze. As if from a deep sleep, Jackie jolted. Her eyes shot open wild and feral. She squirmed on the floor as if still fighting. “Calm down, dear,” Martha said. “We are cleaning your wounds.”
“Whe-where is Elena?” Jackie asked.
Martha did not reply.
Sean looked over, hesitated, then decided full disclosure was best. “ABCs pulled her into the tunnels.”
Martha had only a second to glare at him before Jackie reacted.
“No! Oh, God. We have to go after her.” Jackie tried to push herself up, but fell back, eyes unfocused as the room spun around her.
Martha clasped Jackie’s shoulders. “You’re in no condition. Besides, Michael has gone down after them.”
Jackie groaned again, her head hammering from the pain. She continued to move her arms defensively. In the bustle, Clay had begun to stir. He was still lying on his side as Sean finished dressing his wounds. “I think I have all the bleeding stopped, is there anything else I can do?
Martha looked at Clay. “I don’t think so. Best to leave him still until Michael returns.”
As if aware he was the topic of discussion, Clay rolled over on his back and opened his eyes. Sean leaned back in shock when he saw the faint white glow emanating from them. Clay still had his connection with Evan.
“Jackie,” he uttered in a tinny, otherworldly voice.
Jackie froze, not recognizing the garbled voice at first. It did not sound like Clay. “Help me up,” she implored Martha.
“Dear, I don’t think...”
“Please!”
Martha complied by grabbing the hand of her uninjured arm and placing her other hand behind Jackie’s head. She lifted her up to a seated position and helped slide her over to Clay/Evan. Jacquelyn looked into his eyes and saw staring back at her blurs of white light as Evan cycled in and out of Clay’s consciousness.
“I’m not sure how long I can hold this,” Evan spoke through Clay in that same tinny voice. “We did everything we could, but he just couldn’t...” Clay coughed. Bloody saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Jackie reached out to him, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Evan. We lost Elena in the tunnels. Michael is searching for her.” At the admission, she dropped her head on Clay’s chest, sobbing softly.
Evan reached out with Clay’s arm and rested it on her shoulder. “He will find her. He must. You have to... You have to have faith. I know that now.”
Clay coughed again as the light in his eyes faded. Jackie sensed the departing and slid herself closer. Racked with regret, she cried out loud, “There’s so much I want to say. I wish I’d done more for you. I’m so glad you came back to help us!” She moved her face in front of his, nose-to-nose, and with support from Martha, put her hands on either side of Clay’s face as if giving Evan one last look into her deep blue eyes. She pushed her forehead gently against his as the lights in his eyes went out, and Clay’s arms fell limp to the floor.
Jackie sobbed as she spoke, “I’ll always remember you for this, fighting the wickedness in this world even from beyond death.” Martha and Sean put their arms around Jackie, shedding tears of their own for Clay and Evan.
As they huddled together on the floor, a family forged in the trials of life, noises from around them seeped back in. Sean lifted his head as he heard what sounded like thunder in the distance—a low constant thrumming.
Martha sat up also, thinking she heard movement from the room to her left. She stood, leaving Jackie hunched over Clay, and moved to the door. She pressed her ear against it as Sean stood and moved over to the window to look outside. Martha heard murmurs. She looked down to find a bolt lock. Without thinking, she turned the bolt and opened the door to find two women standing together in the near corner.
“It’s okay,” Martha said. “He’s gone.”
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Evan was torn from the scene at Little Guantanamo. His connection with Clay had been severed. He now found himself In Between, some distance from the shores of the Ocean of Tar.
With the gray mountains behind him, he moved toward the ocean. Unsure why, a sense of urgency drove him. As he neared the shores, he could see the wound in the glassy surface oozing black sticky liquid. It was now under siege by an untold number of malevolent entities. Hundreds of them swirled below the surface, thousands below them, faces twisted in rabid fits, running themselves into the gash, testing it. After impact, wild eyes would sink down, dazed after each attempt, leaving room for those below to make their charge.
Thump.
Thump, thump.
He could feel the impacts all around, like punches landing in his metaphysical energy.
Thump.
Thump, thump.
Thump.
Evan stared down in horror. He had no weapon, no idea how to stop them. He knew the wounded glassy surface would not hold much longer.
Thump.
Thump, Thump.
Chapter Seventeen
ABCs made slow progress in the tunnel. Clay/Evan had absolutely battered him. Working together, they had beaten his face into a bruised and bloodied mess. One eye was swollen shut. Parts of his neck and back were locked in cramped pain caused by Clay’s vicious tackle. What could have kept him moving after three shots to the body?
ABCs hadn’t paused at the hatch. He just took off down the tunnel. He wasn’t sure if someone had chased him. He kept moving as quickly as his battered body would allow. Once underground, the strength he’d gained from the mist waned. Something his Shaman had said about the energies of the red mist that existed everywhere, floating a few feet above the earth. Maybe underground, he couldn’t connect as well. Whatever. He was about to walk out of this mess. He’d lost everything in the taking of this little girl. He told himself that he would get his price for her as he continued to move through the tunnel.
Elena had begun to tire. Although she still resisted him, her cries became less frequent. ABCs moved through the tunnel with brutal purpose. His wounded right hand clenched Elena’s wrist and the other held the handgun in front of him. The forks—the place where the tunnels split and then split again—were not far. If he could make it to that point, he was sure no one would catch him even if they were stupid enough to follow him down.
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Dewey wasn’t sure how long he had sat at the forks of the tunnel system. There were random gunshots from the direction of the hatch, but they sounded distant. He looked down, the ash had gone out at the filter of the cigarette between his fingers. Did I pass out? In the distance, he heard more gunfire. Someone was near the hatch. Were they coming down? He pulled himself up and paced around the fork. At the point it opened up at the first fork, the tunnels formed a T shape. He might be able to hide behind the bend of the T. Maybe he could see which way to go. But not without being discovered. There was nowhere to hide. Unsure what to do, he knelt down in the corner of the fork, out of view of the oncoming single path. Then, from the direction of the hatch, he heard a high-pitched yelp. And another one. Then the distinctive growl of a low curse. Shuffling.
The Alphabet King was in the tunnel. He had the girl. Dewey cursed his luck and shifted nervously on his haunches, then a flash came over him. He remembered the wide scared eyes of the little girl. He pushed down a knowing of what lay ahead for her if ABCs made it through the tunnels. More cries, struggling. Shuffling footsteps getting closer.
Dewey’s mind began to race when he heard ABCs approaching him with Elena. A few things became clear. He had little chance of survival. But maybe he could make it right. Like the story he learned as a boy about the ‘good thief’ who had lived a life of crime until the day he was to die. That man accepted his fate and was forgiven on his final day. Maybe he could save a little girl, and in doing so, save his own soul. He dismissed the thought. He wasn’t a church guy. He was a coward, not a hero, he reminded himself.
Time passed in a way he’d never felt before. The horror of ABCs rushing toward him while simultaneously taking an eternity to arrive. The cries had died down. Maybe they’d turned back. Then he picked up on the sounds of labored breathing, the quick pants of a frightened girl, feet sliding along the ground as she was surely being dragged against her will. Dewey shrank into the corner as they approached. ABCs walked past Dewey in a huff as he entered the fork and made to turn into the tunnel opposite him.
In a split second, Dewey saw ABCs’ battered face from the side. Everything slowed. His eyes fell to the little girl, a grimace on her face as she fought her captor. ABCs paused at the opening of the other tunnel and turned to Dewey.
Suddenly, a sense of purpose welled up from inside him. Dewey knew he was at the end. He would die here. The energy of his soon departing spirit welled up from the depths of his being and threw him forward in a desperate lunge for the arm holding Elena.
Sensing the movement, ABCs turned and tried to deliver a quick blow down on Dewey’s head, but it only glanced off him. Dewey latched his hands around ABCs’ forearm and wrenched on him as hard as he could, twisting his hands in opposite directions, pulling, and stretching the skin of his arm to the point of sharp pain.
ABCs bellowed in agony. On impulse, his hand released Elena as he focused on swinging at Dewey, who somehow dodged his panicked swings with the gun. Elena fell back on her butt. Dewey turned to her as he struggled to hold on and gave her a small smile. He’d never felt more alive. “Go!” Dewey yelled.
Elena scrambled to her feet and stumbled back a step but paused.
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The Alphabet King looked shocked. He kept looking back and forth from Dewey to Elena, confused by her inaction. He had finally struck Dewey hard enough for him to release his forearm. He now held him by the upper arm, but he still squirmed under ABCs’ grip, and he struggled to keep the gun pointed straight down through the top of Dewey’s head. “Stop moving!” ABCs demanded.
“Why didn’t you run?” Dewey pleaded.
She said nothing. With her feet planted and arms straight by her sides, hands made fists as she stared down at the dirt floor of the tunnel, long hair fallen around her face.
“One more word and you are dead,” ABCs said to Dewey. “You can still be of use if you are smart.”
Dewey tried to speak but was interrupted by Elena, who shuddered in her stance. They both turned to look at her—an instinctual response. A soft orange glow emanated from between the strands of her hair. Her head jerked up in a strange sudden motion and locked in with ABCs’ pulsing red eyes. “Do not harm him,” she demanded with a slightly garbled voice not entirely her own, as if her childlike vocal cords were attempting to create sounds they were not yet mature enough to articulate.
ABCs shifted in his stance, then looked down at Dewey. “Get back against the wall over there. Do not move.” Then he turned the gun on Elena.
She tilted her head, eyes feral orange, upper lip curled in an adult expression of disgust. “You would shoot and kill me again, poco hefe?”
ABCs could only stare, confused.
“Think,” Elena implored him. “After the things you told me, I do not believe that even a man possessed as you are by evil can shoot and kill an innocent child.”
ABCs stared at the dirt floor while she spoke. She speaks as a woman would.
“You were once an innocent child yourself, weren’t you, Little Armando?”
His head shot up at that. “Carmen?”
“It is time you remember, once again, what happened in the desert those many years ago.” As Elena spoke, she seemed to draw nearer to his psyche, although she did not move. ABCs tried to resist but could not, like he was being drawn into the gravity well of her energy field. He had no power to withstand... the innocence of a child...
𓂓
Clutching the Cackling Coyote’s pants, Armando stood to face the woman with the snarl of violence still distorting his face. She struggled to keep herself propped up, wincing in pain. He stepped toward her and she cowered in fear.
Armando saw her suffering, remembered her stories of hope shared around the campfires, and his expression softened. He stepped back and looked around to find his shoes and dressed himself. He found a blanket and knelt down beside the woman. Her lower leg was bloody. Her foot at a grotesque angle, bone sticking out the side where blood leaked.
