Chapter Eight

1

 

     In the distance a pulsing light snared Heather's observation. It drew her toward a building whose height was concealed by thick patches of vapor. With peeling paint and scorch marks it appeared to have been more than abandoned. She approached the broken front window display and gazed inside. Dense nothingness stared back at her in rich deep shades. She then went for a door hanging by a single hinge.

 

     She gave a swift momentary look, rubbed her lips together and reached for the dreary brass knob. Another glance over her shoulder ensured her vehicle was no more than a sprint away as she opened the door, cringing as the hinge screamed in protest. She jumped back as all at once it gave way and fell in a cloud of dust. Holding her chest she slid her eyes from it to the gaping hole now revealed.

 

     "You must not entertain madness," came a voice.

 

     Startled she jerked to see wide sapphire eyes gaze up into her own. A hand over her heart, she took a moment to steady its thrashing beat and took a deep breath. She was about to explore reasons as to why such a question might be raised when she leaned closer.

 

     "Who are you," she asked. Her tone was unsteady and stung by a note of dread. It was almost as if her corneas were consumed by the bright color of her irises. As her stare lingered and shifted over her face she took a step back.

 

     The powdery white face tilted to one side. Its cheeks blazed pink while ruby lips pulsed with each word formed. "You do not have to concern yourself with that now, but address me as Dagger or The Doll. My business is the amulet."  She gestured to the arcane marriage between elements and glass, steel and rock dangling from a cord around her neck.

 

     Confused Heather felt it, fingers surprised at something there as they tightened and pulled.  As the cord snapped it fell though oddly enough did not shatter as it met asphalt.  Instead it rolled as if being pulled by a unseen string that ended at the woman's feet.

 

     Heather's vision blurred as sight and sound came in short waves. From corner to corner the wall opposite her bulged inward. Shoe prints surfaced, disappeared and then resurfaced again. Like a page ripping from a book the plaster gave birth to a gaping hole and from its depths growls manifested as she wondered what might spring out of the abyss.  For whatever reason the woman and odd atrocity were nowhere in sight.  How did it come to be around her neck in the first place and what did that Dagger Doll woman want with it?  Regardless she had to admit she somehow felt lighter now.

 

     She leaned against a wall. Its stucco rippled upon her touch and as her eyes opened they burnt cherry embers. Images ran together like watercolors. Steam billowed from her nostrils. She collapsed onto her hands and knees. Her skin stretched tight as her back arched. Light flexed colors, raced through on orbs that swarmed from her gaping mouth, and then expired as shadows overtook her. Sweat beaded, popped and rolled down her fair flesh while her muscles writhed and danced wildly. Then she fell limp.

 

     As light crept around her she found strength to stand and survey her surroundings as they unraveled.  Squinting she saw the door hanging by a pair of rusted hinges. Another gust of wind slammed it closed. An alternative flash illuminated the infuriated heavens and then another. Each flare appeared to somehow usher her closer and closer. Now inches away she shivered. Her teeth chattered. A shaky hand reached for the insipid wet knob. As she grasped it her fingers slipped. She tightened her hold and gave it a quick hard turn.

 

     By this time the echoing images returned in short bursts. A spark entitled life to a certain sphere of dirt. From nothing life was born. At first they were shiny, slithering creatures stirring in a swampy soup of their own insignificance, but as time went on slowly from their sleep they woke. Entering the dark space faces pressed into her conscious. She closed the door behind her. The force of her light shove sent wood splinters across an already littered floor.

 

     Casting a look over her shoulder she examined the thick fissures. As another blaze of illumination caught her face and lit up its murky features two void eyes stared unresponsively. Slowly crimson cinders flared in the cavernous black depths. Purple veins sprawled from each corner and across sickly white skin.

 

     Yes, she thought, at last she was home as a stream of inferno engulfed the door behind her. Its orange crackling flames flooded the ceiling overhead from which a mouth yawned and exposed a long rope of green tongue. To her left, a wall birthed bulging eyes. They blinked and shifted as she ambled further inside.

 

     Smooth wet skin fizzed under her lips. It broadened to additional patches of flesh gallant in its youth and perfection. Little by little her features began to sag. They swam in a forming lake at her feet. Once the very last drip had dropped she looked out a window with a new set of eyes. Their generously proportioned egg shaped corners glistened. It was from here she caught sight of past atmospheres and outlying cosmos.

 

     When the remote stars failed to preserve her inquisitiveness she turned to once more acknowledge the room. As her shadow stretched from corner to corner comprehension poured into her.  Again reality weaved a birthed anew; a abandoned street with overturned cars and miles of rusted fence.

 

     So you see, Heather, you were always a part of this atrocity as it gave you the very flesh you wear today.  It has all lead up to this moment.  You were born for this very reason. 

 

     "I can always fight," Heather strained as she slumped against a fence.

 

    Fight?  Fight for what?  Your cause is a joke.  Why continue to endure this agony?  You have the opportunity to be something great.  You have the chance to become time and space.

 

     "Not if I am dead," she said as she staggered to her feet and charged for a broken section of road.  "You are right," she panted as the foggy abyss came closer and closer.  "I am destined to die."

 

     And she leapt.  

 

2

 

     Darkness scraped across a mist of eternal uncertainty. Pressing from its uneven rolls a scaled face twisted toward the glowing orb in the sky. In swirls of sickened shades the mass swelled. Destra admired this though not for long. With a bow of her head and flicker of her tongue she darted forward onto broken cobblestone stretches littered with destruction.

 

     "Why do you continue to hate," a voice waft to her slanted ears and as she turned she hissed. The Doll stood wide eyed and brilliant in shimmering light.

 

     "You have no power over me," Destra hissed. "Leave me so that I may harness this darkness for my own reasons."

 

     The Dagger Doll opened her fist to reveal the amulet. "Your reasons are ill conceived and doubt filled," the Doll responded. "Why can't you accept things for how they are?"

 

     "Give me that," she demanded. "And you forget," she hissed from a distance, a thunderclap splitting the heavens in an unrelenting wave, "that I am immune to your promises of paradise. Besides, our definition of the word strangely differs."

 

     Something in her pristine blue eyes magnified and before Destra had a chance to shield herself from the onslaught of angelic images she writhed in the grasp of something mighty and free from corruption. A golden gate yawned. On either side of the gleaming poles wings spread. They reached from endless end to endless end. Their feathers were decorated in jewels that cast great images of their own. She hissed under their blinding righteousness, her plated skin turning hard as stone.

 

     In the hollow sockets eyes retreated only to reemerge like balled up wads of tinfoil and Destra knew then the power of the light now encasing her, but with a downward thrash of her tail she was freed from its grasp and once more among shadows.

 

     "Henry will sort it out soon enough," the Doll beamed and faded along a whisper of wind.

 

     Destra's grimace returned. She hadn't forgotten Henry, the nurse woman and that traitor Dyne. How could she? He was grit caught under her tongue and though she tried to spit him out he was there to sour her taste buds. She shifted against tall jagged wall. Rising upward on her tail she watched lightning as it raced throughout billowing gray puffs of cloud. There was no denying the fact this was her undoing. The Doll obviously wanted her to know about this plan, but as hard as she tried to foresee the full scale of it most of its details remained a mystery.

 

3

 

     He pulled her behind a slab of rock. It sat fixed in the ground like a huge tooth. His stomach gurgled angrily as his hand brushed blades of grass. The pinching sensation had spread to his jaw. He climbed to his feet, clutching the useless flashlight as he used the rock behind him as a guide. Lisa followed without hesitation, her arms wrapped about her as if to give herself a hug and together they walked. They did not know where they were heading only that they must end this nightmare once and for all. Neither one spoke for the longest time. It was as if to speak would somehow draw the monsters in around them. It was as if their voices were the calls that they listened for.

 

      Henry patted her shoulder and instantly she stopped long enough for him to swing his pack, open it and fish out a weapon. After he returned the heavy bundle to his back, the loops tight on his shoulders, they recommenced. He did not bother to ask her if she needed anything. On her own back she carried a great deal of supplies she accessed whenever need be. They had made sure to load as much as they could carry when Dyne and Dagger Doll presented them with a full arsenal.

 

      His pace slowed. Lisa tugged on his arm; their eyes met and in that moment the world around them became filled with clamor. Lights rushed every which way as heat cascaded over newly forming streets. Buildings sprung up from virtually nowhere, broken and beyond repair. This was a city he once knew, he discerned as he watched it come back to life.

 

      Henry grabbed Lisa by the shoulder and they darted into a shop. Its door hung by only one hinge and as he swung it open it buckled and fell with a crackling thud. Its fractured pane shattered into a thousand crystals. It was sort of pretty to watch as the light from the fires cast a low hue through them, but Henry had no time to regard nonsense. He shook his head to disenchant himself from the lure and yanked her inside. It certainly wasn't any better inside then it was outside, but all the same it was exactly how he remembered it.

 

     Henry padded his flashlight against his knee. The light it cast expired slowly. He pushed the orange switch into the off position. He rubbed his chin with the butt of his gun and stared straight into shadows snaking up and down the hallway. His heart sped as a shimmering mass slithered into a room. In that brief moment he saw ten eyes open across its quivering body. They blinked at him, corneas as black as coal, and then it was gone. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight, and gestured down the corridor.

 

      Lisa understood readily and drew her gun out from its holster around her waist. The girdle was tan leather and tattered like everything else they owned, but no less a valuable commodity. Together they pressed into the center, one foot in front of the other, and slowly turned into the room he motioned toward.

 

     The skeletal remains were old. Judging by the color Henry figured a few months at least. He spied a dozen skulls, ribs and femurs scattered transversely on a substance covered floor. As they entered the residue squished under their boots, made the sound of sticky tap being ripped off of leather, and then the stench hit them.

 

      He covered his mouth. A family of maggots squirmed in the corner. Their latest was a partially decayed hand. Thankfully shadows spared them a clear view. As he pressed to his right it quickly became the least of his worries. A trail of glop ended at the window sill. Inching closer, his stomach tied into knots. The pane was gone. It had been shattered long before they arrived. Tiny fragments of its memory crunched under his steps, though was mixed with ooze and hardly able to resonate sound.

 

      "Henry."

 

      Her voice made him jerk. His name sounded foreign. He turned to Lisa. The glaze look in her eyes made him sigh. She shivered, her eyes locked. He tracked her line of vision.

 

      "That's impossible," he heard himself croak.

 

      He should have seen before and approached the window sill. He aimed his gun where his other hand reached. If anything dared to make a meal of his fingers they wouldn't enjoy it for long. He twisted back toward Lisa, her face searching his as he opened the paper. He listened to its edges crinkle before rubbing his temple. The last thread of mystery faded. The words stung every inch of his body.

 

     "What did it say?" Lisa asked.

 

      "Heather is dead."

 

     "It's not true," she whispered. "It's a trick."

 

      He laughed once the message subsided and his thoughts were again his own, but in the distance undead moans forced aside whatever raw emotion he had. Together they raced toward the nearest building. Its hoary exterior bared sizeable fissures along burnt walls, windows all busted and gone, but in the midst of the chaos spilling forth from dark alleys and turns in the road, Henry reckoned it was their only refuge.

 

      The door opened in one kick and quickly he ushered her inside. Useless pieces of board lay strewn about the narrow passageway. He then signaled in the direction of a flight of stairs which they took to two at a time.

 

      They swung around the left bend in the foyer at which they spied another set of stairs. Something vaguely familiar about them slowed him.

 

      "Henry," Lisa whispered.

 

      Her voice woke him and together they climbed. He examined the next left passageway and then the right. The one on the right went so far and then curved. Together they paused. The sound of hammering and smell of sawdust was thick. Henry swiveled around. All that stared back at him was a solid concrete wall with brass pipes running vertical. A window with crisscross designs ceased their pathway which he found a bit unorthodox. He was no plumber but it just seemed out of the ordinary. He started to reach out to touch them, make certain they were real and not some illusion when Lisa's voice thrust his attention back to her.

 

      "Henry?" Lisa whispered.

 

      "Just stay close," he answered. His voice was also a low whisper.

 

      They crept to the end, make a sharp turn into a small square area and ascended a granite slope. Light shone bright from a jarred doorway. They peeked inside with weapons ready. A dark alleyway greeted them. They pressed slowly into it. Together they mounted steps then froze as reality began to twist and distort.

 

4

 

     The smell of rotten carcasses and burnt wood rushed over them. They turned a corner. Overturned cars heaved thick tunnels of black smoke as persons lay charred and hanging out their windows. The stench burnt Henry's nostrils. A part of him wanted to empty his bowels as his skin broke out in huge beads of cold sweat. Then the door came into view and he yanked it open. Passing boarded shops and wreckage, the stairs became their destination. A large dumpster to their immediate right gave off decayed vapors.

 

      Lights cascaded over them in golden richness. Henry saw Lisa kneeling. Her weapon raised and she fired. Her bullets forced its shoulder back by a few degrees where they hit, but caused no real damage. It turned, roared and then threw its head back in what appeared to be a deep chuckle.

 

      "Lisa," Henry yelled, "run into that building now!"

 

      Lisa dove under its tight swing, a mass of pitted flesh a blur as it soared over her just before Henry seized her by the arm and pulled her toward the dual doors up a flagstone pathway. Behind them the breath of the beast fanned their necks, its heavy footsteps pounding in their ears and then sanctuary as they squeezed inside.

 

      The doors ballooned inward, rattled in their frames as dust sprinkled from their hinges. The monster slammed its colossal body into them. He did not know if his legs could hold him any longer. They became unstable sticks of rubber on a floor that bubbled and threatened to slant.

 

      Lisa knelt beside him when he toppled. He could not find it within himself to stand. His strength had been zapped, rational thought driven from his mind until the brush of her fingers against his cheek repaired his nerves.

 

      "We should go," Lisa said.

 

      Henry nodded. He motioned with his gun to the west side. His pace slowed in route. What lay beyond that door could be something completely uncharted. As his fingers graced the knob he sucked in a breath and yanked. A high row of silver lockers stared at him from the depths of a small room.

 

       Henry pressed into the West Offices with Lisa on his heels. The bookcase sported many great reads on its shelves, but only the note interested him. This one he did not even bother to free. He read as it dangled by a string taped to a gray strip across the binding of a handbook. He grazed his lower lip, his teeth sharp and letting a trail of blood follow in their wake. His tongue probed the copper taste. He pointed to the mini office in the upper left corner and slowly they advanced it.

 

    Death is never the end, the note had read.

 

      Henry paused, rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and idly watched as Lisa poked a pile of strewn folders and books with the tip of her boot. As the mess overturned his gaze drifted aimlessly. He was not looking for anything in particular and yet his eyes searched the office for something useful. What they discovered did not appease him. Amongst dull coins, torn leafs of paper and smashed glass was a silver framed picture. The family in the photograph was smiling and composed in a manner that suggested this was a cherished moment once in their lives.

 

      Lisa nodded toward a silver door. If his hunch was correct it would lead to the West Stairwell. Together they set in its direction. A shadow snaked along the long gray corridor. Overhead brown lights flickered, died out and then shone with maximum brightness. Henry shielded his eyes until they adjusted and even then he squinted. Their feet hammered on the wooden floor as they raced onward.

 

     They did not pause to look over the two statutes facing a huge one. Their focal point was on the door to the right. As they entered through it Henry slowed and swore under his breath. Their route was blocked by boards and debris. They doubled back to the steps. Breaking glass jarred his already frayed nerves and he pointed his gun downward as they slowly descended.

 

     Along the stairs they crept. Beneath their weight a wood plank cried out in a dull squeak. As they paused on the landing, Henry crunched into a tight squat and stared into the hall. Only when he was satisfied did he signal Lisa and they continued. However, even now at the end of the final step his stomach spit acid into his throat. He swallowed though the residue lingered and bite his tongue. The air was different here, smelt of decay and copper. It hinted at something primal, something forbidden to encounter and then from the corner of his eye he saw a scarred face emerge.

 

      Ice cold eyes penetrated him. They stared malice as a pair of torn lips creased into a smile. He jerked into frame, his movements erratic and jetting from side to side in an unpredictable pattern Henry could not follow. He raised his gun to take aim but before he could squeeze off a single bullet a silver blade slashed upward and nearly severed his ear from his head.

 

     Henry leapt back, shoved Lisa to the floor as the fiend took a swipe at her. Pain was the next thing he knew as he slammed hard against a wall, his breath driven from his lungs as he fell onto his hands and knees. Holding his sides, he gasped for air and spied his weapon out of reach. He tried to summon the strength to retrieve it, but the maniac's knee sent him reeling backward and seeing stars.

 

      Through blurred vision he watched as Lisa rolled free of one of the man's downward slashes. He stumbled toward them when he saw a mangled free hand wrapped around her slender throat. She rose off her feet, dangled like a doll and as the knife skimmed her jaw Henry's heart thundered in his ears.

 

      "Krosnos!"

 

     The three of them looked at once in the same direction. Fully embodied Dyne laced his fingers across his chest. His eyes burnt lilac crystals. He was tall, much taller than Krosnos. Henry thought for sure Krosnos would turn his blade onto him, but instead he lowered Lisa to her feet and slumped backward toward the window.

 

     Henry crawled to Lisa's side as she coughed and gingerly rubbed her throat. Pain ebbed and then flared between each and every rib. He followed her line of vision back to Dyne.

 

     Slowly Henry altered his stare to Krosnos and raised an eyebrow. Was that fear he spotted in his eyes or something else? He broke into a run and drove through the glass, sending fragments of it across the floor. Henry stared into the blackness that poured through, expected to see him return but instead the howl of dogs thrust him back into his current surroundings and he staggered to his feet.

 

     Dyne's extremely long locks feathered out behind it; deep purple roots followed by lighter lengths and even darker tips as he spoke, "I have a present." It was amulet burning brilliantly in his palm as it manifested from a swirl of smoke. "This is what you and Destra wanted to birth chaos, but you underestimated Heather's resolve." Now he looked past Krosnos and locked gazes with Henry and Lisa as he said, "Now Henry and Lisa! Release your fears. Look into the amulet and let it instill them in this monster before you!"