The Burning Time (24 page)

“I miss you, too. We all do. But do not grieve for us. Things are not the same for the dead. We...we have each other, and we have the comfort of knowing we’ll all be together again, one day. For the living, death is a dark mystery filled with fear. For us, it is simply a...another place. A temporary separation. Remember that, my love. Someday, when your work in your world is done, your family will be waiting for you.”

I love you, Clara.

“And we will always love you. But do not let that stop you from finding happiness in your world. Without it, you are not as strong as you could be. Love is your greatest power, John. Accept it. Give it. And use it.”

I don’t understand.

“You will, son,” his mother said. “But we cannot talk any longer. Take what you need and be on your way. When you have defeated our enemy, come to us and we will speak again.”

Wait—

A sound like a door closing reverberated in John’s mind. He called out to his family, but no one answered.

Good-bye, then.

He opened his eyes, unaware he’d closed them. Wiped cold tears from his face. In the dark of full night, the cemetery was unnaturally still, as if the spirits of his family had ordered the birds and insects to cease speaking as well.

Perhaps they did
. Who knew what kind of power the dead had? He glanced at his watch, saw he’d been sitting in the graveyard for over an hour.

Time for me to be on my way.

He scooped several handfuls of dirt from his mother’s grave, sealed the bag, and dropped it in his jacket pocket. If all went well, he could be back in Hastings Mills by lunchtime the next day.

When he got into the Mustang, he took a deep breath. For the first time since he’d left Danni and Mitch, he felt his resolve returning, and with it his confidence.

“Thank you,” he whispered to his family.

As he pulled away, he felt them smiling.

John Root pressed himself against the wall of the gas station, trying to avoid the rain that had gradually grown from a drizzle to a full-blown downpour over the past thirty miles. He’d made several attempts to get through to Danni, but the house phone was still out of service and no one was answering her cell phone.

Not a good sign. I really need to—

A man appeared, his clothes the same gray as the rain. “Don’t bother,” the man said, nodding his head toward the pay phone.

“Is there something wrong with the service?” John asked. He shivered, but not because of his wet clothes. Behind the stranger, the pumps were empty except for John’s car.

“The service?” The man laughed. “Ain’t no service in hell, John. You should know that.”

Before John could respond, the stranger melted away, his clothes and body flowing into oily gray puddles that quickly blended into the water already pooling in the parking lot.

“That’ll be forty-three even.”

John jumped at the voice behind him, but it was only the gas station attendant looking at him, an odd expression on his face. John realized he’d been staring at the ground, his mind numb from watching Christian’s apparition dissolve.

“Sure,” he told the attendant and followed him inside. After he paid for the gas, he wandered through the mini-mart, picking up candy bars, pouring a cup of hot coffee, drinking it, and pouring another. He told himself he was just taking time to dry off and warm up before continuing his trip north. But deep inside, he knew the real reason for delaying getting back into the car.

He was terrified.

What if he sends a phantom truck at me? Or puts a herd of deer in the road?
That’s all it would take to make him swerve into oncoming traffic, or over the side of an embankment. Christian had the power, even at this distance, to create any illusion he wanted.

And I’ve got nothing but hastily-made charms and potions.

That’s more than Danni and Mitch have.

John gritted his teeth, ashamed he’d been worrying about his own skin while two people he cared about were in danger.

You can’t leave them alone. Christian will find a way through your spell, given enough time. You can’t let that happen.

I could die.

There’s worse things than dying to save the people you love.

He imagined his mother frowning her disapproval at him. Better to die trying than let people get hurt or killed because of his indecision.

John tossed his cup in the trash and headed out to the car.

*   *   *

Danni woke just as pre-dawn light transformed from black to gray. Not for the first time, she wondered why people bothered to put in basement windows that were so small you couldn’t fit anything larger than a shoebox through them. They didn’t provide enough light to see by, and they certainly weren’t decorative.

The damn things don’t even open.

Holding back a groan as she rose from her makeshift bed of blankets over cement, she prepared to slip past the still-sleeping Mitch and head upstairs to the bathroom.

A sudden change in the light stopped her in her tracks.

Something’s outside the window.

Any other day, she’d have assumed it was just a neighborhood cat or dog strolling by. But these weren’t normal times; anything could be outside the house. Ducking quickly to one side so she was out of view from the window, Danni counted to ten and then peeked up at the small square of glass.

Two distinctly un-human feet were just visible in the dim light. She wasn’t even sure if she should call them feet. They looked more like the paws of the monsters in the werewolf movies Mitch loved to watch. Long and hairy, with equally oversized toes that ended in curved, black nails very reminiscent of a hawk’s talons.

She wanted to believe it was only a dream. Werewolves didn’t exist.

And Hell Hounds don’t attack little boys. And preachers don’t cast evil spells on people. This ain’t no dream, Danni!

Her feeling of disconnect from the real world grew worse when one of the feet started tapping on the ground, the way an impatient person will do while waiting in line at the grocery store. She pictured the werewolf standing there with its arms crossed, biding its time until she or Mitch was foolish enough to go out.

She was still trying to decide what to do when the feet disappeared, only to be replaced by something far worse.

A face straight out of hell.

As horrible as it was to look at, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the terrible visage staring in. It was repulsively fascinating. Fat, quivering pustules poked through the short brown fur of the thing’s cheeks and forehead, each one threatening to burst open and splatter poisonous fluids on the glass. Its teeth seemed randomly shaped, as if it had pulled tusks and fangs and molars from different animals and shoved them haphazardly into its oversized mouth. A piggish snout sniffed the air constantly, nostrils opening and closing with each breath.

The eyes were the worst. Dark, round, and perfectly human, the twin orbs radiated intelligence and a calculated cunning that assured Danni the thing knew exactly what the situation was in the basement.

Danni didn’t have time to contemplate the irony of wishing the creature had only been a werewolf. The reality was so much worse all she could think about was finding a place to hide herself and Mitch until John showed up.

Except there was no place left to go.

As if it could read her thoughts, the demon turned its head in her direction, even though she knew it couldn’t see her, and gave her a big, toothy smile. Then it rose up out of sight.

Danni counted to twenty. When neither feet nor face reappeared, she hurried to Mitch’s side and woke him up.

“Get up, little brother. Now.”

“Huh?” Mitch rubbed scrawny fists against his eyes and fumbled for his glasses. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Something’s outside, though. I think we better get ready in case it tries to break in.”

“Ready, how?” Mitch’s eyes, already magnified behind his lenses, went even wider as Danni’s words finally cut through his sleep-fuzzy thoughts.

“Find something to use as a weapon. Anything. And stay away from the windows,” Danni added.

“I have to pee.”

“So do I. Try not to think about it.”
Easier said than done,
she thought. She crossed her legs and concentrated on a mental image of John.
Please be close. I can’t take much more of this.

*   *   *

A wave of water splashed across the windshield with a sound like someone pounding on a bass drum. John’s hand twitched on the steering wheel, sending the car dangerously close to the edge of the road. He over-corrected and swerved toward the double yellow lines separating him from the oncoming traffic, the car threatening to hydroplane on the flooded surface. By the time he got the Mustang centered, his heart was beating in time to the windshield wipers, their rapid
thump-thump-thumps
indistinguishable from each other.

A glance at the speedometer showed he was doing seventy-eight, much faster than was safe, considering the drenching rains that had followed him up the coast.

John’s eyes felt like someone had rubbed salty beach sand into them, leaving them dry and crusty. He desperately wanted to rub them, but he was afraid to take his hands off the steering wheel. Too many times over the past ten hours he’d seen things that weren’t real, visions of things in the road. Each time he’d gritted his teeth and kept the Mustang on course, relying on the fervent hope that no person or animal would be foolish enough to be out in the storm.

So far he’d guessed right each time, as the car sailed through the gray-colored images without so much as a bump. But there was always the chance...

Another shape appeared ahead, this time much larger. A car, half on the road and half off, its back end down in the muddy river that used to be a culvert. John fought the temptation to jerk the wheel to the left, where just then a tractor trailer was approaching, its headlights, giant white orbs, streaking through the semi-darkness of the early morning.

The stranded car loomed larger. If it was real...

It can’t be. It’s just another trick. God help me, please let it not be real.

But what if it was? He’d only have two options. The first, barrel into the vehicle at better than seventy-five miles per hour, one multi-ton behemoth impacting another. He hoped his death would be instantaneous. Otherwise he’d be half-alive when the inevitable explosion incinerated him.

The second choice was no better. Cut the wheel to the left and plow into coming truck, which would be like ramming a locomotive engine. Different scenario, same result.

He had to make a choice.

What if it’s the car that’s real and the truck that’s the illusion?

Gripping the wheel tighter, John closed his eyes and counted to five, praying he’d get past three.

One. Two. Three...

He opened his eyes, unable to stand not knowing.

Clear highway ahead of him. The big rig thundered past on his left, solid as a mountain.

Nice try, Christian, he thought through his relief. But I’m still here, and I’m coming for you.

Without warning, the rain stopped and the early morning sun appeared, as if he’d crossed over some kind of dividing line. The sudden brightness, almost as dangerous as the rain, made him squint, and his foot eased up on the gas for a moment. Then it pressed back down.

This time, John let the speed climb to eighty.

Hold on, Danni. I’ll be there in an hour.

Two miles from the Hastings Mills exit, John slowed the car down to the posted legal limit. Although all he wanted to do was get to Danni and Mitch as fast as possible, he couldn’t take the chance of getting dragged back to the town jail. Even if Showalter and his officers weren’t presently under Christian’s spell, the man was likely as not to pull John over out of spite or sheer cussedness.

The moment John crossed the town line, he felt a change. The pleasantly warm summer air turned oppressively hot and humid, and almost immediately he found himself laboring to breathe.

An agonizingly slow ride through the northern part of town showed Christian’s presence was as strong—perhaps even stronger—than before. All the lawns were brown and dead. Several houses had broken windows. The streets and playgrounds were empty, save for one small boy sitting in a basketball court, methodically burning patches of fur off a kitten.

Each passing minute increased John’s anxiety. Were they still safe? Had his wards held? What kind of dangers would he have to fight his way through to get inside?

So it was a huge relief when he pulled into the driveway and found the lawn empty. No angry mob waiting to stone him. No hellhounds or strange creatures prowling the perimeter.

Wary of a trap, John parked as close to the house as he could, and slowly exited the car, a bottle of thrice-blessed Holy Water in one hand and a handful of powdered John-the-Conqueror root in the other.

Approaching the front door, he felt a tingle against his skin that let him know his wards were still there.

“Danni? Mitch?” No one answered him. Stones and rocks of all sizes littered the porch, but although the siding was dented and chipped, none of the windows were broken. He looked through the living room window. Everything appeared normal. He called out again. Still no reply.

John’s nervousness returned. If nothing had gotten inside, why weren’t they answering? Could Christian have found a way around the protective spell?

The basement!
He chided himself for not thinking of it before. It was a logical place to hide while Christian’s followers attacked the house. If they were down there, they probably couldn’t hear him. Which created a new problem. How was he supposed to get into the house if all the doors and windows were locked?

John considered his options. He could keep calling for Danni and Mitch and hope they heard him. Or, he could simply break in.