The Conch Shell of Doom (35 page)

Ignoring the sand that flew in his mouth, Franklin brought the blade up, ready to stab Mr. Lovell in the back. Franklin should’ve been elated, but something felt off. Not even Mr. Lovell was putting up a fight. At the least, he should’ve tried to teleport away. Franklin made himself stop thinking and strike.
 

Wait!

The blade stopped inches from its target.
What the hell?
It wasn’t Mr. Lovell. Whoever was about to die had a full head of hair. Mr. Lovell lost all of his in the fire. So who was about to take a knife in the back? Franklin flipped the person over. Shock and disappointment poisoned his soul. He stood and looked up at the sky, wondering which deity should be cursed out first.
 

“Come on! Why do you keep screwing with me?”
 

“Dude, are you sure you’re in the right place?” Percy smiled up at Franklin. “Pretty sure you just got taken to school, sucker.”

Franklin should’ve seen it coming. He spit sand out of his mouth, and kicked at the sand, furious with himself. They played him for a fool. Deckland O’Halleran had never surrendered to anyone in his entire life. He still wanted to fight after his ear was ripped off. It was Franklin that ran away, and he was singularly focused on killing Trenton and Mr. Lovell that questioning why Deckland gave himself up never entered into the equation. The whole thing had been an elaborate trap to draw Franklin into danger, and he’d stormed into it like a mouse chasing gourmet cheese without a moment’s hesitation.

Percy got to his feet, patted sand off of the coat, and then put the hat back on. The smile on his face broke Franklin’s spirit. He’d been played by a buffoon. What did that make him?

Something the size of a nickel pressed against the back of his head. A gun barrel. Without having to be told, Franklin opened his hand, letting the blade fall to the sand. One of Lovell’s cronies snatched it up.

“You know, for once, I’m glad I got out of bed early.”

Turning to see who’d gotten the better of him, Franklin closed his eyes. “And the hits just keep on coming.”

Portman’s service revolver was aimed at Franklin’s face. Jackson’s was trained on Julie and the kids, despite their hands being up and their weapons in the sand. Knowing that Percy, Portman,
and
Jackson got the better of him was the ultimate insult. Had he really gotten so slow, so rusty, that those nincompoops got the drop on him that easily? Maybe he really was as stupid as he’d been made to look.

“Didn’t we tell you to get the hell out of dodge while the gettin’ was good?” Portman asked.

“And now there’s a mandatory evac,” Jackson said. “Pretty stupid, ignoring that order.”

“That’s what I was doing,” Franklin said. “We all were. I just wanted one last look at the ocean before I left. Now that I’ve gotten it, I’m good with leaving town.” He motioned at Bailey and the others. “We all are. I just need my blade back.”

Portman cracked Franklin on the temple with the butt of the gun. He fell to his knees, head ringing like an alarm bell. The world spun around him. Something warm and wet ran down his face and then dripped into the sand. Blood.

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you right now?” Percy lit a cigarette. “It’s got to be at least an eight, right?”

Portman kicked Franklin over. “Strong nine.”

“I can roll with that,” Percy said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

Portman and Jackson bound Bailey and the others with plastic cuffs and then led them back through the woods toward the street. One of the people in black hoods had cut Deckland free, who now rubbed his wrists as he strutted toward Franklin.

“Played you like a fiddle, didn’t we?” Deckland cackled, a wry grin on his face.

“Dumbass over here already made that joke. So you get zero points for originality.” Franklin wasn’t about to let any of those goons see him sweat.

“Did he now? Well, what about this one?” Deckland cracked his knuckles and then sent his fist straight into Franklin’s crotch. “That’s for wastin’ a fine bottle of scotch, you heathen.”

He fell to the ground, the intense pain thumping through his body in waves. The deep hurt made his stomach heave, and he threw up only feet from where Tim did earlier. Deckland, Percy, and the others laughed at him. Franklin shook his head, disgusted with himself for making such a scene.

“Really?” Bailey asked. “You had to hit him
there
?”

Deckland grabbed Bailey’s face with one hand, almost covering the entire thing. “You’re lucky I don’t snap your neck, you twat.”

Bailey stiffened, his complexion turning three shades whiter. Franklin wanted to help, but it wasn’t the time, especially since he was still cuffed. The only thing the moment seemed like an appropriate time for was prayer, maybe.

“Leave him alone.” Percy moved in between the Irishman and his prey. “Mr. Lovell doesn’t want any of the kids hurt.”

Deckland let go of Bailey, who fell back against a tree. The ginger’s intimidating gaze fell on Percy. “That so?”

“Yes, it is, my freakishly large friend. You see, one of these lucky contestants is going to be our virgin sacrifice.”

Bailey looked around at his friends. He knew Alexis wasn’t a virgin. Same with Marshall. Tim always cited his stupid “ninja code” whenever the question came up, leaving Bailey as the only confirmed virgin in the group.
Great
. Nobody mentioned that the Awakening was about throwing a virgin into a volcano to please some god.
 

Wait. Volcano? In Mooresville? Like, it could be right beneath our feet?
 

Bailey’s anxiety ran wild. Would he get thrown into a freakin’ volcano? It was too much. His body shook, shouldering some of the overwhelming fear for his brain.
 

“Dude, do you really think any of us are virgins?” Marshall said. “It’s 2016. We all got laid when we were, like, twelve, so go find some other patsy.”

Not that it helped, but it was nice to see Marshall stand up for everyone. Every now and then, he’d drop the tough guy act and prove that deep down he was a decent human being. Without those little moments, Bailey and Tim would’ve stopped hanging out with Marshall a long time ago.

“Seriously,” Tim said. “I was born in 2000, got my ninja skills in ’07, and lost my cherry in '09.”

Deckland didn’t believe a word that came out of Tim’s mouth. “So you lost your cherry when you were nine?”
 

Tim seemed shocked. “You didn’t?”
 

Julie’s upper lip curled in disgust. She shook her head, as if she were saying, “oh, boys.” Alexis mimicked her every move, like Julie was a big sister. Bailey was too afraid to shake his head or joke about sex. He focused on keeping his shoulders stiff so the rest of him wouldn’t shake.
 

“Please.” Percy shook his head. “You’re all so full of it. Even I didn’t get laid until I was eighteen, and you guys don’t even have half the sex appeal.”

Marshall laughed, until his eyes fell on Deckland, who snarled. That shut Marshall up pretty quickly.

“Can we compare conquests at a later date?” Portman asked. “Some of us would like to get home and watch Braves baseball while we still can.”

Jackson pulled Franklin to his feet, and everyone resumed the march toward the street. The clouds grew so dark it almost provided enough cover to escape. Bailey tried to shout instructions to make a break for it, but his throat squeezed shut. They made it to Percy’s car before Bailey could say the words out loud.
 

Alexis and Bailey were shepherded into the back seat. The car reeked of marijuana. Not that Bailey ever tried the stuff; it was only an educated guess. Marshall and Tim tried it once, but Bailey chickened out at the last second. Getting caught with alcohol was one thing, but weed? His parents would’ve killed him. Heck, his parents wanted to kill him period at that point. The thought made Bailey laugh, relaxing his body.

Percy slid into the front seat and started the car. Metallica’s
For Whom the Bell Tolls
blared on the radio. He looked in the rearview mirror, messed with his hair, and then popped a joint in his mouth. He drove with one hand and used the other to spark up.

Welp! That answers the question about the smell.

Percy sort of sang along with the music. He kept tune, but his voice sounded like a shrieking woman. “
Duh nuh nuh nuhhh, duh nuh nuhhh
.”

Bailey hoped Franklin, despite the situation, had everything under control. If he was as old as he claimed, then he should’ve forgotten more about escaping than Bailey knew. The only question left was how. A smoke bomb? Calling down a storm of frogs? The possibilities were endless. Franklin could have anything up his sleeve. Alexis gave Bailey a comforting smile. Perhaps she thought the same thing he did?
 

“
For whom the bell tolls
!” Percy’s voice hit a high pitch that made him cough.

Bailey tried to string together a coherent thought while Metallica shredded his brains. Why didn’t he make a move on Alexis during her dark period? Considering what she said last night, chances were better than average something would’ve happened. But no. Bailey had to be the friend. The nice guy. It really was true about them finishing last. Or, in Bailey’s case, finishing by becoming the host for some evil cult leader.

They made their way to the beach near Bailey’s neighborhood. Percy parked the car on the side of the road, the beach only two steps over the sidewalk. Bailey glanced at the shoreline. A large group of people milled about, wearing black robes. He reminded himself they were in capable hands with Franklin, but it was hard not to get worried.
 

Percy put some drops in his eyes to hide their redness. He’d done it so many times there was no need to even look in a mirror. Alexis and Bailey refused to get out of the car. Neither even bothered to get unbuckled. Franklin probably had a plan of escape, but that didn’t mean Bailey and Alexis would go along with those jackasses like good little robots.

Percy tugged at Alexis. “Come on. Would you rather Mr. Lovell made you get out?”

“Just let us go,” Bailey said. The door next to him was yanked open, making him jump. Portman leaned in close.

“Need some help?” Portman asked through the car, garlic breath and all.

Bailey noticed the cop kept one hand on his pistol.
Crap.
Getting shot wouldn’t do much to help them escape. He glanced at Alexis and nodded. Both peacefully got out of the car. Marshall, Tim, and the others were already standing on the sidewalk. Bailey looked to Franklin, hoping for some kind of sign that he had a plan. Instead, the man’s eyes darted down toward the pavement, sending a fresh tremor through Bailey. He prayed Franklin was only pretending to be defeated. Otherwise, someone, most likely Bailey, was about to be offered up as a sacrifice to some stupid god that probably worshipped lampshades.

As they walked onto the beach, the crowd of Mr. Lovell’s followers stepped aside, opening a path to a normal, everyday card table set up in the sand.
 

Percy laughed. “Was it that hard to find something decent?”

“It’s the best we could do for a sacrificial altar,” Mayor Benchley said. “Besides, my oak table was too heavy to carry.”

Bailey’s parents stood to his right, also wearing black hoods. Both of them had a vacant look in their eyes. They must’ve still been possessed.

“Mom?” he called out, hoping she’d recognize him.

Wanda slowly turned her gaze to Bailey. “Trenton is coming. Hail the conquering king.”

Nope. She’s still bonkers.

“Hail the conquering king,” the rest of the crowd chanted in unison, including Marshall’s parents.
 

“Wow. You guys make me proud to be your son,” Marshall said. “Every single day.”

His father narrowed his gaze. “All hail the conquering king.”

Bailey heard a very phlegmy cough behind him. His body tensed up. It was Mr. Lovell, still in his overcoat, Conch Shell of Doom in hand. He walked past Bailey and then gave Percy the shell.

Mr. Lovell glanced around the group. “Where is the Blade of Hugues de Payens?”

Thunder clapped so hard, Bailey felt it in his chest. Portman pulled the blade out from behind his shirt. Mr. Lovell pulled off a glove. He took the weapon in his bare hand, pointing it at Franklin.

“Just think if you’d been a few inches to the left back at the Copper Canyon.”

“I could give it another go right now, if you’d like.”
 

Franklin tried to reach for the blade. Portman kicked Franklin behind his knee, making it buckle. He fell to the sand, groaning at the surprise hit.

“Ain’t no time to play hero.” Portman laughed.

Franklin got back to his feet, patting the sand off his clothes. “I guess it ain’t no time to play fair either.”
 

Mr. Lovell
tsked
Franklin, then turned toward the crowd, holding the weapon up in the air. “This blade is the only thing that can destroy our master.”

People booed and hissed. One woman yelled out to destroy it. Bailey wondered if these people really hated the knife, or if they were under some kind of spell, like his parents.

Mr. Lovell motioned for them to quiet down and then took off his hat. Bailey shook at the sight of the man’s scarred, bald head. Would
Bailey
end up like that if they sacrificed him? He wished the entire experience was an acid trip gone wrong, and he’d wake up in a few hours with one heck of a story to tell, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. The shit was real, and it stunk worse than a year-old rotted egg.

“The blade is only dangerous in the wrong hands.” Mr. Lovell focused his gaze on Franklin. “In the right hands, it can set Trenton Maroney free.”

“Wonderful,” Bailey said under his breath, while the crowd cheered. He did
not
like the idea of that golden blade piercing his flesh. Needles were bad enough, but a knife? Awful. Hopefully, if he was dying today, it would be quick, but the mystical blade mess could go out with the tide for all he cared. What if they took their time with Bailey? Let the blood pour out while stomach acid ate away at his insides? Bailey took a deep breath and told his brain to cut it out. Things were stressful enough.