Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (65 page)

John took off his clothes and at the same time, Alex
stripped the soldier closest to him. Within a minute, Alex had thrown the camo
to John. John tossed the black garments and white collar to Alex, who placed it
on the dead soldier. He pushed the soldier’s cart toward John and slid it in
between the others.

The vest fell on John’s shoulders as another priest
descended from the church above. He stood next to Alex, at attention. He hoped
Alex knew what to do next.

“Doctor, how is John the Revelator?”

The priest stepped around and gazed at the face of the one
he believed to be John.

“He is still out. I would like to take a closer look at him
in my office. Can I have this soldier escort me? He seems to be doing much
better and wishes to serve the Lord again.”

The priest beamed with admiration at Alex.

“Of course, doctor. Wheel John to the back door and I will
send the freight elevator down. You can load him into a Humvee and I’ll have a
driver take you there.”

“No need. This soldier can drive it. We can’t spare another
man in the battle with the Infidels.”

“Yes, you are correct. The light of God has illuminated your
soul and it warms my heart. I will let Father know of your plans.”

“I feel the love of the Lord.”

Alex felt the salty blood on his tongue as his teeth bit
into his lip.

John grabbed the cot with the dead soldier dressed in black
and wheeled it toward the elevator. The priest turned and ascended the steps. Alex
and John stood motionless next to the elevator as the motor roared to life. The
soldiers had finally tied the church’s electrical system into the generators
and sent the freight elevator down. John pushed the gurney inside and Alex shut
the door. As the elevator began its return trip back up, Alex spoke.

“When we get to the top, get us into the vehicle. If anyone
stops us or looks at us with a second glance, open fire and run for the Humvee.”

“The last gun I fired was a cap gun,” said John.

“Then you’d better be ready, because that machine gun has a
hell of a lot more kick.”

The elevator door opened and Alex saw him. Father’s
vestments flowed and billowed, flickering candles all around. Alex vowed to
bloody those garments. Father walked toward Alex, paying little attention to
the man in fatigues to his right.

“Where are you taking John the Revelator?” Father asked.

“I’m taking John into my office, for closer observation. I
have electronic equipment there that will allow me to monitor his heartbeat and
other vitals. I can bring a portable generator.”

A single bead of sweat popped out on Alex’s forehead and ran
straight down the bridge of his nose.

“We can bring it here for you, Doctor.”

“Umm, yes Father, I have no doubt that you could. However, I
am unsure of John’s condition and would not want to lose him in that cold, damp
basement.”

Father paused and glared at Alex. He turned in the direction
of John, and addressed him, but kept his eyes on Alex the entire time.

“If this man does anything out of the ordinary, anything,
send him to meet the Maker.”

“Yes Father,” John replied, garbling his words in an attempt
to disguise his own voice.

“I have seen the light, Father. I serve the Lord.”

“Let’s hope you are truthful as well as subservient.”

Father turned to speak to another priest. Alex looked at
John and exhaled a sigh of relief. They left the front door of the church and
had three other soldiers help them carry the cot down the steps, putting the
dead soldier in priest’s clothing into the back of the Humvee. John jumped
behind the wheel and Alex sat in the passenger’s seat. One of the men at the back
slammed the tailgate with his fist twice, alerting John that he should pull
out. As the vehicle turned on to East Eighth Street, Alex threw his head back
and rubbed his forehead.

“Take it all the way to Shaker, and don’t stop for anything.
The men that drive these would run down their own grandmother for a spritz of
holy water.”

John chuckled and took the suggestion.

Alex motioned John to the curb on Shaker Road, a mile from
Shaker Square. John saw red pentagrams everywhere. The Humvee coughed to a
halt, and the men got out and walked around back through the shattered door. John
followed Alex into the dark veterinarian’s office.

“If they haven’t already discovered us, they will soon. Grab
as much of the drugs as you can from those two cabinets and throw it in this
bag. Meet me back here in two minutes. I need to grab syringes and surgical
tools.”

“Where are we headed next?”

“Damned if I know. Do you know a good place to ‘hail the
riff’?”

John grinned.

“As a matter of fact, I do. The Jigsaw Saloon on the West
Side books stoner rock bands all the time. There isn’t a better place in
Cleveland to ‘hail the riff’. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Get your shit and meet me in the Humvee. Think of how we’re
going to get across the Innerbelt and I’ll tell you why we’re heading that
way.”

“I ain’t leaving until I find my wife.”

“If she was in the Heights area, she’s dead.”

John stepped into Alex and seized him by the collar.

“John! Is that going to help us? I’m not trying to be cold,
just realistic. She’ll be the first we come back for, okay?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll meet you in two minutes.”

The two men set about their tasks while the dead soldier
waited for them in the back of the Humvee.

Chapter
13

“Sons of Liberty rise and toss the Covenant to the fire. They
are not doing God’s will.”

“You heard it twice?”

“Yeah. I stood by the radio for as long as I could, and
that’s what I heard.”

“And you say you heard something else a bit later?”

“Hail the riff. You know where, Sons of Liberty. Get there
soon. Two horns up.”

John looked out the window as the dark, empty eyes of the
houses stared back at him. He considered the broadcasts, turning them over and
over in his head.

“Is there a radio in this thing?”

“No, but I grabbed one off my receptionist’s desk.”

“Turn it on and see if you can pick up anything.”

Crackling static filled the vehicle as Alex turned the knob
on the old AM/FM radio, a safecracker searching for riches in the form of
invisible airwaves. The blip of a man’s voice broke the wall of interference. Alex
backed the dial until the voice popped through again.

“…nothing more than sadistic murderers in a bizarre Holy War
of the 21
^st
century. Rise up with the Sons of Liberty!”

The static took control once again. Alex turned the knob,
ready to fly further up the dial.

“Wait. If it isn’t a live broadcast, it’ll probably repeat,”
John said.

An angry down-tuned guitar roared to life from the puny mono
speaker, then faded back into nonexistence as the voice returned.

“Citizens of Cleveland and the United States of America,
lend me your ear. The situation is dire. Monsters slaughter friends and
families while our way of life stands on the brink of extinction. Within the
past week, a right-wing Christian Fundamentalist organization took control of
our national forces. Led locally by a priest known simply as ‘Father’, they
mobilized the entire US military in an attempt to eradicate any that do not
subscribe to their rigid beliefs. The destruction is probably happening in
every major city of our great land. They call themselves the ‘Holy Covenant’. The
Holy War is designed to root out and destroy anyone that is not part of the
Covenant. We believe that the first phase of the takeover is coming to an end. Nobody
knows for sure what will follow the ‘First Cleansing’, but rest assured, they
will not stop until all of America is under their heel. The church labels us of
different faiths, or no faith, as Infidels. They break into our homes and
murder our families in the name of God. The red pentagram signifies the residence
of an Infidel.

“Brothers in the cities closest to us, such as Pittsburgh
and Columbus, have shared similar stories. The military has usurped
communication and transportation. In addition, they have taken over the major
electricity feeds, with the Covenant controlling the switch. Our scouts
estimate 70 percent of our citizens killed or imprisoned by the First
Cleansing. We gained scraps of intel from soldiers and priests captured in the
fighting. Although they refuse to divulge much, even under extreme torture, we
do know that the Holy Covenant thinks it is fighting the Final Battle of good
vs. evil. In their eyes, when Jesus returns, they will go with him and leave
the Infidels behind in a burning, smoking ruin of a civilization.

“However, we are not ready to lie down and die at the hands
of the demented faithful. A band of resistance has formed and is organizing. We
have sent cryptic messages out in the hopes that the Covenant will not be able
to identify our gathering place. We are the Sons of Liberty, and we will take
this country back. Please find your way to our base. Drive, walk or crawl and
bring any that wish to resist the Covenant. Find the Temple of Doom where the
sun sets on the Old West. This is where we gather.

“This message will repeat for as long as the Covenant does
not find the tower. We are not ready to die under ‘God’s hand’. This is our
country and we will fight for it to our dying breath.”

John pulled the Humvee to the side of the road, and killed
the engine and the lights. They reached an on-ramp to route 271.

“I know where they are.”

“The Jigsaw Saloon?”

“Has to be. ‘Temple of Doom where the sun sets on the Old
West’. The Jigsaw is on the west side and books stoner rock and doom bands all
the time.”

“What were the chances that two fans of heavy music end up
in this together?”

John smiled.

“How do we get there?” Alex asked.

“If we take the highway, we’re less likely to stick out,
especially at seventy or eighty miles an hour. But of course, if we are recognized,
all they need to do is block the highway ahead and we’re toast.”

Alex looked at John.

“They were calling you ‘John the Revelator’. Apparently they
think you’re some Pope-approved leader of the new apocalypse.”

John nodded.

“I guess if I were part of the Church I’d understand what the
hell that means, but I don’t. I have no idea why they think I’m their
man. For now, we need to keep moving.”

Alex shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

“You’re behind the wheel.”

John steered the Humvee away from the curb and accelerated
down the ramp and onto 271. Corpses of cars were piled seven high on each
shoulder, reaching the top of the sound barrier. From above, the scene looked
as if a child had been playing with toy cars. Black skid marks snaked across
the pavement, even in the dim light of the fading November sun. An arm or leg
hung out of some of the wrecks, painted in deep shades of red. Alex found a
rusty searchlight in the Humvee and positioned it on his window. The painted pentagram
appeared every hundred feet on the sound walls.

Twice in the first ten miles on 271 military vehicles sped
past them going the opposite direction, but neither bothered to communicate or
stop the renegade Humvee. John slalomed through the abandoned cars at seventy
miles an hour until he approached the intersection of 271 and route 480. There,
the 480 westbound looped around and underneath 271. At the point of the bend, a
massive pileup, dozens of cars, stretched across all three lanes. John slowed
their vehicle to a stop, killed the engine, and let the headlights illuminate
the grisly scene.

Both men stared into a wall of twisted, charred metal. Blistered
paint bubbled on panels of steel, making the cars look like the scaly skin of a
dragon. Doors flung aside revealed darkened interiors where people once talked,
laughed and sang together on the way to work or home from a party. Alex got out
and stood next to John. They looked to the right side of the metal mountain at
an opening extending three feet in width.

“There. Can we force our way through that?”

John put his hand over his forehead and squinted.

“Maybe. Let’s see if it’s open through to the other side. If
it is, we can get a running start.”

The men walked closer. They put their arms up to their face
as the unmistakable scent of burnt hair forced the men to pause and cough. Alex
stepped down and picked up a pink teddy bear dressed as a ballerina. One eye
had fallen out and the bear had dried blood on its foot. Alex straightened the
tiara and wiped grease from the plush fur.

“Wait here and make sure nobody bum rushes us,” said John.

“Who are you, P. Diddy? Nobody says ‘bum rush’ anymore.”

John flipped Alex the middle finger and maneuvered through
the first couple of cars.

One minivan was turned sideways at the end of the opening. John
calculated that the Humvee would be able to knock it out of the way – if they
had enough speed. He retraced his steps to Alex, who stood in the white beams
of the headlights. Night was falling, and taking the temperature with it.

“I think we can get through there.”

“Let’s go, Evel Knievel.”

“You dated my ‘bum rush’ comment by another decade. Nice,”
John said.

The men got back in the Humvee. John massaged the gear
shifter into reverse. It scraped, screeched, and sputtered. The worn
transmission obeyed the command of the driver, protesting the continued
backward motion. Back they went, until finally John turned around to face the
wall of twisted metal at a distance of three hundred yards.

“You may want to keep your arm inside the vehicle,” John
said.

Alex ducked low and covered his face with a jacket in
anticipation of flying shards of glass. The Humvee lurched forward, tons of
metal fighting against gravity. As it picked up speed, John slid down in his
seat and held the wheel.