Faithful Shadow (29 page)

Joe took his place in the hallway, his back to the door of the room they’d rigged. The door was open a crack, easy to throw open in a mad dash. It probably made more sense to keep it open, less between him and his only escape, but that was also the problem. He needed something pressed to his back, a reminder that he wasn’t completely vulnerable. He felt deaf over the beating of his own heart, signaling to the beast like a living metronome. The dark stairwell to his right was lit only with a few flashlights set up on the floor. The lobby was a vast series of dark shadows, dancing over the hardwoods by the flickering flames of the fireplace. Joe wished he’d brought a searchlight, anything to help push back the shadows.

The waiting gave time to calm his heart, collect his thoughts and maybe even make peace with his demons. This may very well be his last stand. Waiting in the hallway of an abandoned inn, his only light, his only real protection, given off by four cheap flashlights. But the flashlights didn’t seem to faze the creature all that much. Joe looked down at the stairwell and saw a dim light beginning to spill in through the window. Had they been waiting so long that the sun had begun to rise? Joe closed his eyes, a brief moment feeling like an eternity, but the force of exhaustion outweighed his frazzled mind. He quickly opened them, knowing the creature would be standing right before him, taking full advantage of his temporary vulnerability. But there was nothing there, just an empty hall.

“Any sign?” Fred poked his head out into the hall.

“Nothing.” Joe looked left to right, seeing more of the hall as the sun’s light poured in through the thin rectangular glass in the emergency exit of the stairwell. “It’s watching us though. I’ve been feeling its eyes all night.” Joe looked out to the lobby, squinting to see into the darkness. “I know it’s out there. But I don’t know what the hell it’s waiting for.” Joe thought he saw something running across the lobby, a quick black blur; quite possibly a piece of glass reflecting the approaching sun. “Maybe it’s gone now.”

Joe turned his attention back to Fred as three black fingers reached down from the ceiling and gripped Fred’s chest, flinging him into the wall. In a flash, Joe pulled the flare from his belt and ignited it. But before he could turn and sprint through the room, the dark shadow dropped from the ceiling, pushing hard into Joe’s chest. Joe went sailing into the wall, the wind knocked out of him from such a hard strike. The pain in his back was excruciating, surging up his spine like a bolt of lightning. Joe caught his breath and looked down to his empty hand, searching for the flare, but it was gone. He fell forward onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the door, his mind drowning in fear and pain. Quickly he glanced over his shoulder at the creature as it crouched over Fred, tearing into him like a child digging through a piñata for that last piece of candy. Joe looked into the room and saw the flare had rolled to the opposite corner of the propane tanks.

“Run!” Dale yelled into the hall.

Joe looked from Dale’s panicked face to the dark figure as it turned, looking directly at Joe with its piercing green eyes, marking him. It opened its mouth in a slow snarl, pieces of Fred dangling from its fangs. That had been enough to get him moving, shaking him from the daze. In a second that was stretching out to be the longest moment of his life, Joe visualized his scramble from the door to the flare. It was successful in his mind, but the momentum he needed to turn and dive out the window would be lost. The creature would surely be on him long before he could toss the flare and make it out safely; the bright flame burning its way down to the bottom, filling the room with thick red smoke. It was now or never. Joe pushed off from the floor and ran into the room, feeling the creature’s presence right behind him. If he went for the flare it would kill him.

Moving on pure instinct, Joe ran for the window, increasing his speed. He reached into his coat pocket as he leapt toward the window. In midair, Joe pulled the flask from his inside pocket and hurled it between his feet into the room. The antique maple bottle shattered a few feet beside the flare. The alcohol splashed over the flame, building a bridge across the floor to the gasoline and propane tanks. Joe looked through his feet as the creature reached out to him, its claws scraping the bottoms of his boots. Then the room exploded in flame, propelling Joe out into the open air like a lawn dart. He landed twenty feet from the open window, colliding with the cold ground, sliding seven feet along his right shoulder. There he came to a rest, rolling onto his back with a long moan. His eyes shut, overtaken by the pain from his shoulder and the force of the impact with the earth. Lying on the ground, the sun making its way over the trees, Joe slipped into darkness.

“Joe?”

It took every ounce of focus for Joe to lift his head, feeling the ache in his neck traveling down his spine. He saw Dale waving his hands over his head as he ran toward him. Beyond him Joe could faintly see the smoke drifting out the window. He dropped his head back to the dirt with an uncomfortable thud. The headache was unbearable, stabbing the backs of his eyes while pressing down on his forehead. There wasn’t a body part that didn’t ache.

“Oh my God.” Dale dropped to his knees, taking Joe by the hand. “Are you okay?”

“I think that remains to be seen.” Joe coughed, wincing from his bruised ribs. “What happened?” Joe closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.

“Well, we certainly blew the hell out of the room and sent you sailing through the air; like an Olympic shot-put throw. Just look at the distance. But we’re not entirely sure the thing has been destroyed yet. There’s still too much smoke and debris.”

“What about the Inn?”

“Arnold’s putting out the remaining flames. Thankfully the damage was contained to the room and the hallway. Nothing some deep cleaning and a good carpenter can’t solve.” Dale pulled on Joe’s hand, placing his other hand behind his back to steady him. “Are you able to stand?”

“Help me.”

Dale stood, pulling Joe along with him, careful not to touch his arm. Dale ducked beneath Joe’s good arm, stretching it over his shoulders for support as they walked. It hurt his legs, his knees buckling and cracking beneath him. The muscles in his shins and calves were cramping, begging him to simply sit back down and give it a rest. Joe wasn’t used to moving on empty, pressing his body to the limits; especially since his limit had been reduced by his age and reckless lifestyle. He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since he was in his early twenties. He hadn’t liked it then and he didn’t like it now.

“What about Fred?”

“It tore into his jugular.” Dale looked at the ground, unable to look Joe in the eyes. “He died shortly after you blew the room.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I really am.”

“We’ve both lost so much.” Dale closed his eyes to suppress the tears. The faces of his departed men would haunt him until his final breath in this world. “We need to get your arm wrapped or you’re going to bleed to death.”

Dale led Joe, one limping foot after the other, through the emergency exit in the stairwell. He took the master key from his pocket and unlocked the first door on his right, leading Joe to sit on the bed. Dale hurried into the bathroom and grabbed some towels, holding them below the faucet briefly and returning to Joe’s side to put pressure on his wounds. Joe’s arm was broken and shredded pretty bad. It would never heal right, but a dysfunctional arm was better than death. Dale dropped the bloody towels to the floor and grabbed a pillow, pulling off the cloth to rip it into long strips, wrapping it around Joe’s arm.

“Anything else that needs some attention?”

Joe shrugged, grinding his teeth as he pressed down on the bed with his good arm, forcing himself to stand. He shuffled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t want Dale to have to see such a shadow of a man. Joe struggled with his shirt, pulling with all his strength to get it untucked, finding it surprisingly hard. Two good hard pulls and his stomach was exposed, laced with three- to four-inch scratches and bruises; nothing that required stitching or medical attention. He held up his shirt and turned to the side, looking over his shoulder at the reflection of his back. The flesh had gone black and blue, stretching up his spinal cord like a dark purple rash. This would surely be painful in a day or two. He looked up from his back and leaned in close to the mirror, turning his face to press his check to the glass. The torn flesh was looking infected, red irritated skin with a greenish tint. It would be ironic to have killed the creature only to be killed a few days later from some toxin surging through his bloodstream.

Joe pulled away from the mirror and lowered his shirt, thankful to be rid of such an awful sight. His pasty skin was such a contrast to the extensive bruising and speckled blood. He remembered being on the Kona coast when he was fifteen, running bare-chested along the golden sand, his complexion smooth and tan. He himself was nothing more than a shadow; a former, pathetic shadow of his younger self. Joe had seen enough, not wanting to feel worse than he already did, inside and out.

“That was pretty smooth back there.” Dale stood from the bed, rushing over to catch Joe as he stumbled. “You got it?”

Joe nodded, pressing his hands to the wall for balance. “Which part? The being shot from the window bit or sliding along the ground?”

“The whole turn and spin with a Molotov cocktail between the feet; I caught a glimpse of the whole thing just as it reached out for you, and then I nearly got my head blown off by the explosion. But it was worth the show.”

“Thank you.” Joe smiled, proud he’d been able to accomplish the jump and provide some entertainment, however so painfully. “But that wasn’t a Molotov cocktail.” Joe lowered his head, looking out into the hall. “It was my glass flask.” Joe pushed off the wall, steadying himself on two legs that wobbled back and forth. Both knees felt ready to give out, but they held. “I guess you could say I used to be an alcoholic.” This was the first time he’d openly admitted to his addiction.

“Nothing like almost being eaten alive to help you appreciate the small things, huh?” Dale withdrew his smile and quickly redirected, not wanting to put any more uncomfortable pressure on him. “But we would have all died if you hadn’t had that flask.”

“Yeah, kind of ironic I guess.” Joe nodded, finding good in his actions for perhaps the first time in months. “I want to see it.”

Joe limped out of the room, turning the corner to pause a moment. Fred’s corpse sat slouched at the end of the hall, hidden beneath a tablecloth from the dining room. The cloth around his neck had turned a light pink. This man had died, while he had been spared. Why, he would never understand. Fred looked like a stand up kind of guy, decent sense of humor. He knew Fred was married. He’d seen the plain gold wedding band while they’d been sharing stories over ice cream. If there was a God, and sometimes Joe wondered, why would he deprive this man’s wife of her husband when he, himself, was such a loser? If everyone had a plan in life, Joe was wracking his mind to figure out what his was. He looked behind him at Dale, the sadness coming off him in waves. It was heartbreaking. Fred had been an important man to him, more than just someone under his command. He had been a friend. Joe kept walking, unable to linger between Dale and his departed friend. He felt responsible for it. The idea to lock them all in the Inn had been all his and no one else’s, even if that hadn’t been the case. Still, Joe didn’t want to interrupt Dale while he was grieving.

Joe turned his head from the smoke as it lightly drifted out of the doorframe. The wall had been splintered, littering the hallway with debris. Joe ducked down and peeked in through the hole in the wall, seeing the window and black walls. He gulped and stood, not sure if he wanted to see what he’d done. But this was something he had to do. Like looking down at a loved one’s departed form to identify the body, the need for closure and confirmation outweighed all other feelings. He took a deep breath and held it, reminding himself that this had been worth the countless inches of scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life; reminders of what it took to protect this park. Joe turned the corner and stopped, reaching out to grip the doorframe for support, but withdrawing his hand. He couldn’t touch the charred wood. The window was a window in name only. The glass had been blown across the lawn outside like razor sharp paper shredding. The walls and ceiling were black, coated white with the remaining foam from the fire extinguishers. Joe had been thankful they’d disconnected the sprinkler system. It would have put the fire out, but then they’d have damage in every room rather than just the one.

“Looks like you made an impression,” Dale joked without humor, pointing to the wall to the left of the window.

Joe limped up to the wall and traced a black outline of the creature, feeling the ashes between his fingers. There was nothing left. No body parts or bones, just an ash residue on the wall. His plan had been successful. They’d outsmarted the creature and lured it into its fiery death. Sadly, it had only taken two of his rangers and four of Dale’s men to take it out; God knows how many employees or tourists. But it was worth the staggering losses to insure this would be the end of it.

“So, what do we do now?” Arnold asked from the hallway, speaking over his shoulder as he looked down at the sheet over his fallen friend.

“First thing I need to do is have a seat.” Joe looked down at the sad remains of the bed, a broken wood frame and a burnt up mattress coated in foam.

Joe withdrew from the room with a deep sigh of relief. The mortal danger had been burned out of existence. Nothing coming after them now but the sunlight as it spilled through the numerous windows, moving across the wooden floor littered with blood and bodies. Joe took a seat beside the fireplace, taking comfort in its warmth. He looked from the dancing flames to the tablecloth over Stew, the fabric stained a dark maroon. He felt such conflicting emotions. Tears knocked at his eyelids at the loss of such a young man. But those tears were suppressed with angry words, cursing the youngster for being such a fucking moron. He’d been a dick to him from the start, calling him out on his drinking when he assumed no one could tell. Joe had told them all back at orientation that he would be pulling one dead body out. One of them would be reckless and stupid enough to end up on the slab. Unfortunately there had been half a dozen this year. It was heartbreaking, but also something he’d learned to deal with.