The Missing Boatman Part 45

Snow swirled past Fear and Lucy, and the wind howled around them. They both felt the vibration in the air. There was no mistaking it. A train of such terrible power was coming that neither of them had any control over it. And it was coming fast, like some prehistoric shark catching a scent of spilled blood across miles of ocean. Fear had no problem whatsoever with the situation. He fixed Lucy with the coldest of stares.

And ran for waiting Celica.

Lucy watched him go with a swelling sense of terror inside. She knew that Fear was playing with her now, but she could do nothing to stop it. This time, fear was a motivator.

"Hurry," she called out to Danny. She opened the back door for the men before slipping in behind the wheel of the sunbird. The feeling of approaching doom was intensifying. She was breathing faster now. Something very bad was going to happen soon. "Please hurry!"

Danny almost swore. The man he was fumbling for was deep in the snow. He grasped the edges of a coat and pulled. There, in the twilight of the fire pumper's headlights, he saw the Stickman's face. He had found the b.a.s.t.a.r.d that had placed his friends in the hospital. The Stickman was unconscious and in his grip.

Danny's hands sought his throat.

"Hurry UP!" wailed Lucy from the driver's seat. Her voice made him look back. She was clawing at the air, gesturing for him to return to the car. There was something frightening about it.

"Come ON!" She shrieked, looking around wildly.

Then, Danny noticed it.

The wind had stopped for some reason.

"Come on!" Lucy screamed hoa.r.s.ely.

From where he lay on the road, broken and ruined and bleeding and still not dead, Maia's eye's flicked in the direction of the scream. The lady knew how to scream, Maia thought through his blizzard of pain. He had never experienced such agony while in human form. He supposed it was a taste of what would come once he returned to whence he came. That brought a chortle from his crushed ribcage, a pitiful rattle of a sound that caused the Minion's black blood to ooze from the corners of his mouth.

"Now!" Lucy continued to shriek.

Danny wanted nothing to do with this human sack of s.h.i.t in his hands. He wanted to kill the f.u.c.ker right now. He bared his teeth and held onto the Stickman's neck, thinking it would be so easy to squeeze, just squeeze with all of his might and see what would happen to the killer in his grasp.

Then, the car was behind him.

"Get in!" Lucy screamed at him, her eyes wild. "Get in before it's too f.u.c.king late!"

Danny looked at the wild woman behind the wheel of the car. She had backed the thing up almost on top on him.

And he did something that he would not understand later. He listened.

He released the Stickman's throat and hauled on his shoulders. He hoisted the little wall of a man out of the snow and practically threw him into the back seat of the car. He placed both of his hands on the roof.

"Oh s.h.i.t," he heard the woman say weakly.

The words made him pause. And look. Back in the direction of East.

There. A man. A big man.

Danny's face slackened.

He was naked from the waist up and as heavily muscled as any bodybuilder in their prime. He seemed to take shape out of the deep blackness of the highway night, and he walked up to the first fireman lying on the road. The newcomer wore heavy workman boots. The kind with steel toes.

When he got close enough to the first fireman, he kicked the unmoving man's face in. Danny heard the crunch of metal on bone.

"Jesus Christ!" Danny blurted, holding onto the roof.

"Get in!" Lucy begged him with red, wet eyes.

The fireman on the ground moaned in agony. He could not get away. The bare-chested behemoth stomped on gloved fingers. The scream that it produced did not impress Pain in the least. He wanted more. This plaything was almost spent it seemed, but nowhere near dying. Nowhere near at all.

"Please," Lucy begged in a hoa.r.s.e pitying voice.

It was enough. Danny jumped aboard the car and pulled the door shut. He landed on top of Stickman coming back to his senses. There was recognition in his eyes, but he still did not have the strength to protect himself. A second later, he was slammed against the back seat as Lucy gave the sunbird a heavy shot of gas. She could not remember ever being so close to physical danger. In fact, she knew it was only the pain of the near-dead Minions on the highway that had saved her, distracting the monstrosity's attention long enough so that she could make her escape. She cursed Fear. He knew. Weeping over the steering wheel, she promised she would have a stern talk with that one.

The sunbird sped away from the fire truck and the scene that was unfolding.

Maia heard the car speeding away. They had escaped. He f.u.c.king knew it. They had escaped, yet again. The Ent.i.ties had a fortune about them that was enraging. He slowly blinked, hearing the sudden wail of Edwards. Then, it was Saunders, closer now. Maia tried to breath, tried to take a calming breath, but he could not. His rib cage felt like a shattered egg sh.e.l.l, kept only together by pink flesh and tissue.

Then, he felt the presence nearing him.

Maia sighed. It was not supposed to end this way. There was supposed to be War. There was supposed to be h.e.l.l on Earth. He was supposed to witness it all. It was not supposed to end this way. He attempted a snarl at the cruelness of it all, but it hurt too G.o.dd.a.m.n much.

Then, the shadow was over him.

Maia's eyes watered.

And the thing known as Pain smiled upon him.

From the cover of the forest, holding his axe before him like a holy symbol, Grey Northman watched impa.s.sively. He watched as the bare-chested giant of a man pulled the fire chief apart with his bare hands. First, the thing pulled both arms out of Maia's shrieking body, then the legs, twisting them this way and that, working them against the joint until they tore free like dead pieces of chicken. Then, the man went to work on Maia's crotch.

Grey Northman watched it all, unflinchingly. He recorded his brethren's suffering in his mind. He listened to their cries and moans of pain. It would motivate him later, those sounds and images. He was told that Maia could potentially fail. His Master had foreseen this happening. Maia suspected that Northman had coveted leadership in his little coven of h.e.l.l raisers. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Northman had been sent to ensure that the War would still happen. Northman had been sent in case of Maia's failure.

Grey Northman was Plan B.

Northman eyed the fire truck. He could probably steal the red beast while the thing was still feasting on the agony of his brethren. If he was quiet, he might still survive. Northman corrected himself. Of course, he would survive. He was not like Maia. He would be careful. He was the last of Maia's group now. He had to be careful. He had to survive.

To ensure the death of a world.

Chapter 62.

Somewhere in the night, Tony came awake and was instantly alert. He had finished boarding up the five windows on the bottom floor of the cabin (he considered it lucky that there were only five) and sat down on the couch. Only for a moment, he told himself, only for a moment. But then, he was waking up. He had been seduced by the softness of the couch, and Death had let him. He glanced over at the other end.

Death was snoring like a rusty buzz saw, the near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels cradled in his arms. If it were any other time, Tony might have laughed.

But there was a b.u.mping at the door.

It was low, as if whatever it was had just fallen. Or maybe it was just a little zombie. A dwarf zombie. Then, it started to rise upwards towards the gla.s.s of the window. Something heavy hit the side of the door, and made Tony sit up straight. He stared wide eyed at the darkness. He blinked and swore and remembered he had a flashlight. He went for his pockets and hauled out the palm sized self-generating flashlight. He began squeezing and releasing the grip of the light where a sizeable b.u.t.ton stuck out. The light only flickered, and the short brazen bursts of light panicked Tony. Then, he saw there was a switch on the flashlight. He thumbed it, and the light remained. He got to his feet in a hurry, waving the ghostly beam around the cabin as if he were trying to attract the attention of any low flying aircraft. He pinpointed the beam on the door.

On cue, something big struck the door, hard. Gla.s.s broke, but the wood inside held. Tony gasped loudly and went into a combat ready crouch. He felt his pockets, again. He had the two knives he took from the corpses. The bat was on the couch. The hatchet, the mean looking one that looked more suitable for hacking up flesh instead of wood, was on the floor next to the bat. How did it get there? Tony lunged for it and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up with his right hand. He whirled about and lit up the door. His heart was going wild now, and he could see his breath in the silver light.

Something hit the planks, again, and the wood bulged inwards.

Tony's breath hitched in his throat. It was like that movie where the kids got caught out in a haunted forest. Except, these woods weren't haunted. They were f.u.c.king zombiefied. Another punch thrown at the planks covering the window made the wood tremble. Then, another. Then, there was a storm of pounding on the entire house. It seemed as if someone had set up a line of pitching machines and decided to let go right then and there. But that wasn't the worse of it.

The worse of it was the moaning.

Whoever they were outside, wherever they had come from, they moaned and sighed and groaned a terrible harmony that almost made Tony s.h.i.t himself. Already he was covered in sweat and trying to see everywhere at once. They were surrounded. Tony wondered wildly if any had managed to climb to the second level. There was a broken window up there, and he hadn't barricaded it. A gut-paralyzing lump of fear swelled up in him then. What if they were climbing up there right now? Tony waved his light at the staircase and cringed at the sounds of the dead. He brought the hatchet to his ear, c.o.c.king it for a strike. The boards on the door shuddered. He went to it and wanted so badly to put his back against it. There was nothing else to brace it with, so he stood there and watched the wood pulse with every connection from the outside. And still, they cried out from beyond the door, a howling that would turn a man's hair pure white. Tony gasped for breath again. He needed to get away. No! He needed to stay here. He needed to be ready. He needed- "Tony."

Tony spun about and there was Death, still lying on the couch, watching him with eyes that gleamed in the flashlight's glow. Black eyes with bright flecks of silver that reminded Tony of old vampire movies where, if you had a cross and believed in G.o.d above, you were just fine.

"I'm almost out of booze here," Death said, looking at his bottle. "G.o.dd.a.m.n shame, too. You think the Lord drinks, Tone? Well, he does. The old man can f.u.c.kin' drink. Don't let some priest shout out blasphemy to change the subject. They know what's up. He loves nachos, too. G.o.d, that is. Never would have figured that, would ya? The Lord has a hankerin' for Mexican food. Big time. He can't get enough. 'Specially round the hockey playoffs. Chews with his mouth open, too. f.u.c.k, I hate that."

Tony slouched, staring at the man on the couch. "Are you f.u.c.king high?"

Death shrugged and half smiled at him, then pointed at the door.

There were four fingers worming their way underneath one of the planks. Four fingers covered in black rotting flesh, the fingernails either broken or missing.

Shrieking, Tony lopped them off with the hatchet. Voices howled in agony. There were no more, so he looked back to Death.

"You're trying to take my mind off this."

"Course, I am, y'f.u.c.kin' r.e.t.a.r.d."

The pounding at the door intensified, distracting Tony. Another hand sought to slip in underneath the boards. Tony hacked it half off. The hand hung limp under the planks, dark bone and rotten flesh exposed in the light. Tony felt himself gag.

"Hey!"

Tony regarded Death on the couch with sick eyes.

"Don't you do it!" Death warned him with a finger. "Don't you puke in here. You push through that s.h.i.t, Tony!"

"Where are these things comin' from?" Tony moaned.

"Triad human trafficking. Whole shipping containers of people trying to get into the country. Sometimes, a few of the containers get forgotten and people die. The Triad dump the corpses near here. Ma.s.s unmarked graves."

Tony winced.

Death pointed at the other window. Tony hit the spot with his light. Another hand had inserted itself underneath the wood covering the window, and dark fingers with their tips tapering off into grey bone were seeking purchase. With one swipe, Tony removed two of the digits. A second chop and the other two dropped to the floor. The pounding on the house became louder as if the two men were trapped inside a drum. The walls of the cabin, thick and solid, would hold for however long it needed to. That was evident to Tony. The only weak spots were the windows. There were four of them on the ground floor including the small narrow one in the bathroom. Tony didn't know how many were upstairs. But if they got up there, it would not matter, anyway.

"Here!" Tony screamed and quickly pa.s.sed the flashlight to Death. "Shine it where I can see!"

Death directed the light at the window over the kitchen sink. The fingers of the dead come back were trying to wedge themselves up under the wooden barriers. The slow squeal of nails being forced cut through the air and frightened Tony badly, energizing him. He rushed to the window where a maggots' nest of fingers were trying to find a grip and began hacking furiously at them.

Then, he split one plank with an overzealous swipe.

"s.h.i.t!" Tony screeched.

The wood cracked from the force of the hatchet and Tony's arm. It was all that was needed. With the pressure building up behind it, the wood split apart a second later, and three arms snaked their way into the cabin. Upper torsos followed. One owner turned its half flesh, half skeletal face towards the gap, pressing its cheek and lower face into the shoulder of another zombie. The jaw of the creature mashed against the bone of its companion, and Tony watched as it came unhinged and cracked, hissing all the while. Tony backed away from the gap, his eyes rooted to the breach, his mouth hanging open in terror.

"TONY!" Death roared. "Move your f.u.c.king a.s.s!"

Tony moved. He stepped into striking distance of the nearest arm, angled away so it could not grab him. Tony brought the hatchet down and took the limb half off. He could feel the blade crunch through rotten bone like crusty wood exposed too long to the elements. He swung the hatchet again and took the arm off. The stump tried to pull back. The second arm flailed at him. He knocked it aside with his forearm and brought the hatchet down, removing it. The hideous face remained, glaring at Tony and hissing its grave-rotten breath. The smell caused Tony to stop in his tracks. His knees buckled. In that instant, another arm burst through the gap and grabbed him by the collar of his trench coat. It pulled him towards the hole. He looked up in time to see a hissing zombie trying to force its broken jaw apart so that it could bite into his forehead. Adrenalin fired and energized his limbs. He grabbed the hand holding him and bent it backward. It snapped with a dry crack. The fingers let go. Tony hacked into the arm with the hatchet, laying the flesh of the limb open. It retreated. Tony repeatedly swung the axe into the skull of the hissing zombie, shattering teeth and bone until the zombie seemed to fall away.

Only to be replaced by another.

Tony cracked the axe into the new zombie, right into its coal black face, and cried out when an eyeball popped out.

The screams got louder.

Then, Tony was fighting in the darkness.

Death swung the light to the windows near the door. Arms that moved like dark spider's legs managed to worm themselves into the cabin, using leverage to slowly work the planks apart. Wood and nails squealed at the invasion. Tony got there in time to hack off three of the arms in a savage flurry.

"It's like f.u.c.king Tetris, man!" Death roared with laughter from the couch.

"Do something!" Tony screamed as something black and thick and totally vile splashed on his face and upper body. The contact of the substance on his skin made him want to claw it off.

"I'm f.u.c.kin' paralyzed over here!" Death pealed, the flashlight beam going wild as he laughed.

Then the light was back on him and the battle.

Tony grunted and roared and chopped another arm off at the elbow. Blackness spewed from the end, and the zombie owning the limb actually tried to aim the blood at Tony's face. Tony freaked. He shoved the arm back and planted the hatchet deep into the shoulder of the spouting appendage. There were two more arms breaching the barricade, and Tony hacked away at them all with an energy he did not know he had. But now there was the carrion smell of rotting blood and meat on the floor of the cabin and on Tony himself. The stench was potentially gut heaving.

The beam from the flashlight flicked away.

At that same time, Tony heard the frightening sound of wood splintering, succ.u.mbing to the supernatural forces that had gathered beyond.

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit!" Tony screamed out in frustration. "f.u.c.kin fight fair!"

Fingers clawed at Tony's hair, grazing his scalp.

The light came back, and he saw a zombie trying to force its upper torso through a widening crack of the window. Its lipless grin was black and barren of teeth.

The sound of more wood splitting apart cracked in the air. The pounding on the walls went on as if there were hundreds more out there trying to get in. Tony twisted and tore away from the claws of the undead, swinging the hatchet back and forth, striking coal-black flesh wherever possible.

Then, the light went away again.

"We're losing it here, Tony!" Death updated him. "There are two trying to climb in through the kitchen window!"

"s.h.i.t!" Tony spat. He struck at the smiling zombie coming in through the window before him, cleaving the undead's skull in two. The creature's advance ceased almost immediately, dropping and hanging in the hole. Blackness splashed onto the cabin's floor.

But Tony killed one.

The thought gave him hope. Enough hope to fight back his fear.