The Final Rule (13 page)

Worthless. Guilty. Coward. Pull the trigger, Jon. Pull the trigger because you don’t deserve to live.

Jon shoved himself from the chair and backed away.

The man stood. His ratty jeans and flannel shirt threatened to slide off his shriveled body. But there was no weakness in the way he moved. “I am cruelty. I am hate. I am agony. I am the angry man who beats his son. I am the bigot. I am the pain you feel when you bleed. That’s what I am, Jon. And so much more.” The air between them crackled with ozone. “And. I. Have. Infected. Millions.”

The Big and Terrible
.

“I’ve been waiting quite some time to make my presence known. As you can see,” the old man opened his arms. “The average soul cannot withstand my glory. They shrivel and die and the body goes with it. But every so often there is someone, man or woman, who possesses the will and strength to bear me. A person who can carry me into the world. Deliver me to the masses. And lead them in my name. You are that man, Jon.”

“I’m not going to help you.”

“Of course you are, that’s why you’re here. You’ve wanted to help me since the moment you heard my voice for the first time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Jon.” The old man’s bones creaked with every step as he circled Jon. “Don’t you remember? The grief. The anger. The drive to escape. You left because you were searching for something. Something you needed more than you needed to live. You were hunting for someone to pay for what happened to all those people.”

Jon couldn’t deny it. “Myself. I only wanted to punish myself.”

“Yet you couldn’t. No matter the guilt, no matter the pain, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull the trigger. You fought, Jon. You fought hard enough to survive. Now why is that? Why did you allow yourself to live when you deserved to die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ahh—but you do. Now think.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe I wanted to live after all.” But he hadn’t. He’d gone through the motions, he’d wallowed in his grief, he’d yearned for someone to hurt for what they’d done. Now that Jon was forced to face it, he knew it was about more than his brother, more than the people he’d failed in his job, or the warehouse. It was everything.

Everyone.

The world had failed far worse than him.

Someone else’s hand had wielded the belt, committed crimes, killed his best friend, the detectives and those little girls. Jon had failed in stopping it from happening, but he didn’t do the deed. Other people had.

And Jon wanted to punish them for what they’d become. For giving into that voice in their head.

For being weak.

If he could resist, why couldn’t they? Why did the world want to fester with so much hate?

It did, because people wanted it.

Knowing that—accepting that—made Jon want to give it to them.

He could teach them how to suffer. How to drown in the cesspool they’d created.

After all, he was an expert.

Lenny’s father laughed. “That’s right, Jon. You didn’t deserve to pay with your life. They did. All of them.”

“No.”
Yes.
The backs of his knees hit the chair. “That’s not what I wanted.”
They deserved to die.
“Quit putting words into my head.”

“But it’s true. You know it’s true.”

“You’re the one who made them do those things. You.”

“I did.”

“Then you’re the only one who deserved to die.”

“But you didn’t give in. When I spoke to you, you were strong enough to resist. Unlike the rest of them.” The old man stopped in front of Jon. “They were weak.” The scent of rotting meat followed his words. “Tell me, what did your daddy do with pigs too pathetic to breed?”

Jon tried to swallow.

“Say it, Jon. You know you want to.”

“They were animals. Livestock. We raised them for meat. They weren’t people.”

“You raised them to survive.”

“Yeah.”

“You raised them to make better livestock.”

“Better pigs made better meat.”
Better people make a better world
.

It wasn’t the statement that made Jon tremble. It was the fact that the words were his. “No.”

“Quit lying to yourself.”

It could only be a lie. It had to be.

“But it’s not. You know it’s not. You feel it deep down. A fire so hot the mere thought of it scorches your soul.” Lines of black pulsed under the old man’s skin. “How does that fire tell you to punish the weaklings that give into the dark seed inside them?”

Danny lay on the floor with a hand raised. The belt whistled through the air on its way down. The leather lashed his skin and the mark it left behind was smeared with blood. But he wasn’t the only one who suffered at the hands of those who weren’t strong enough. There were the victims of crimes. There were the forgotten in the streets. Then there were those little girls falling though the air and hitting the ground like sand bags.

“Embrace what you feel. Let it fill you. Let it guide you. Welcome it and let me give you the power to cull the heard.”

Blue gray eyes, a soft smile filled Jon’s mind. Ellis’s scent replaced the foul air around him. His warmth washed over the anger in Jon’s heart. Yes, people had died in terrible ways but there were also the innocent like Ellis.

Rule number six.

Jon met the old man’s gaze. “No.”

“Well done. Once again, you have exceeded my expectation.” Lenny’s father grinned and the skin at the corners of his mouth cracked. “But did you really think you could keep me out?” He grabbed Jon by his neck and lifted him from the floor. “I called you, Jon. I called and you came.”

Jon clawed at the man’s wrist. Skin tore and black ooze covered his fingers.

“I don’t need you to accept me because you were mine the moment you set foot into this town.”

Numbness crept through Jon’s limbs and black spots clouded his gaze.

“Your strength will complete me, and with my words carried on your tongue the world will welcome me. In fact, they will beg for my presence.” The man held his other hand out to Lenny. “Give me your gun.”

Lenny looked at Jon. Even through the haze of tears, Jon saw the raw fear in Lenny’s expression.

“Pop, I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do, it’s not my fault it didn’t turn out.”

“I will not ask you again, son.”

Lenny’s hand trembled as he handed over the gun. His father raised it and pulled the trigger. Lenny was shoved back by the impact. Bone, blood and fleshy clumps slapped the wall. He crashed into the coffee table. One of the legs snapped off and rolled across the floor.

The old man released Jon and he fell to his knees.

Air scorched a path to his lungs.

The shadows around Lenny’s body shifted and for an absurd moment Jon thought maybe he wasn’t dead. Or worse, couldn’t die. Then the patches of black darkened, becoming pools of ooze.

Small bumps spread over the surface, rising until they became long threads. The tendrils slithered over Lenny’s arm erasing lines of his skin and stripping muscles from his bones with a hiss.

“Now.” The old man sat back down in his recliner and pushed the gun into the crack in the cushion between his hip and the arm. “You and I have a few things to discuss.”

“He was your son.”

“He was weak and incompetent. He’s failed me at every turn. I let him live far longer than I ever should have.” The old man leaned forward. “And now that I have the staff to the spear I don’t need anyone else.”

The carpet around Jon bled new puddles of oily fluid.

He ran for the door but streams seeping from the wood cascaded down the surface.

“There’s nowhere to run, Jon.” Lenny’s father folded his hands together. The joints in his fingers clicked.

“I will not help you.” No matter what the bastard did. Jon would die first.

“And you don’t have a choice. No one does.”

A black thread slithered across the nap carpet toward Jon. He stumbled into the bookshelf. Decomposing bits of paper rained down over his shoulders. Another shiny black worm lunged for his ankle.

He hopped backward on one foot. His hip connected with a standing lamp and it crashed to the ground.

The Big and Terrible
howled. “Looks like I get dinner and a show today.”

There was nothing but the remains of rotting furniture in the room. Nothing Jon could use as a weapon.

“Oh, Jon. Do you really think you can kill me?”

He hoped.

“That is not a power you will ever have and by tomorrow the one who does will be dead.”

Tendrils swarmed across the floor in Jon’s direction. He leaped back but caught his heel on the kitchen chair. His shoulders smashed into the floor and his legs were tossed over his head. Jon wound up laying on his side, his neck and head throbbing with the pump of his heart.

He was on the edge of unconsciousness when a cold slick line eased over his ankle and more clamored up the leg of his jeans.

Jon kicked at the wad of black threads. What should have been solid splashed over his shoes becoming individual globs reforming into a larger mass on the way up his calf. Again it hardened and strands spun out, binding his knees.

Jon was dragged to the old man’s feet.

More ooze slid across Jon’s throat, up his cheeks and to his mouth. He pressed his lips shut, but he couldn’t stop substance from slithering into his nose and ears. The taste of rot and death dripped down the back of his throat.

An itch in the back of his throat turned into a tickle. He fought back the urge to cough. Then the itch moved across the palate of his mouth. Pressure grew around his teeth and gums until his jaws were forced open.

Without a barrier, the oily liquid rushed in, clogging Jon’s throat. He clawed at his face. The ooze coated his hands and squeezed through his fingers.

Jon struggled for air only to have the oil fill his lungs. From there a burn crawled through veins. His muscles flexed with the tide of darkness rushing all the way to his bones.

The Big and Terrible
cocooned him, sucking the heat from his body. The tears pricking his eyes became salty drops of ice.

An insidious chorus craving death and discord exploded inside Jon’s skull.

The withered face of
The Big and Terrible
hovered over Jon. “Now go forth and kill Ellis Harper so we can bring the world to its knees.”

“You need to listen to the doctor, and at least stay overnight,” George said.

Ellis moved to the edge of the bed. “Are those my clothes in that bag or am I walking out of here in a hospital gown?”

George held up the bag and Ellis took it.

“I think you’re making a mistake.”

“I heard you the first ten times.”

“Half the police station is out looking for him. They even checked Lenny’s house.”

“And?” Ellis wasn’t sure what kind of answer he hoped for. There just seemed to be no good scenario when it came to Lenny.

George smoothed back his comb over.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. What about the Grove?” Just mentioning the place left Ellis feeling sick.

George shook his head.

They had to be missing something. But the pain medicine they’d given Ellis dulled his thoughts almost as much as it did the pain in his ankle.

Ellis eased himself out of the bed and George caught his arm.

“You don’t need to be walking on that sprain.”

“I have to get dressed. That means I have to stand up.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No offense. But I can dress myself.”

“And if you fall and break your arm you’re going to be here another six hours while they put a cast on it.” George cocked his smile to the side.

Ellis pulled out the boxers and jeans. “Fine. But let’s make this quick.” Just as Ellis was putting a shoe on his good foot a nurse walked in with a wheel chair. “Thanks, but I’ve got crutches.” He nodded at the set leaning against the wall.

“Hospital policy.”

“Don’t care.” Ellis hopped over and grabbed the crutches. He tucked one under each arm and swung himself out the door.

George hurried to catch up. “I don’t know what you think you can do. There’s already a half dozen cars looking for him.”

“I don’t know what I can do either, but I know what not to do and that’s sit around on my butt and wait.” They headed out the doors. Ellis stopped at the edge of the walkway. “Where did you park?” George pointed. Ellis said, “I think we should ride some of the old mining roads around Lenny’s place. He could have Jon hidden back there on one of them.” And Jon could be suffering or he could be dead. Ellis refused to think about the latter.

He got in the car.

“All the roads are being looked at.”

“They can’t search the mining roads. The only kind of cars the sheriff’s department has are sedans. We’d need a jeep or a four-wheel drive truck.”

George started the car. “I guess I could call Harry and see if we can borrow his Bronco.”

The clock on the dash read a quarter past five. It would be dark soon. The air was already cold, with the sun gone it would turn frigid. If Jon was out in the elements he’d die of exposure.

“It will be all right, you know.” George pulled out into the road and headed out of town. “We’ll find him.”

“Yeah. But the question is will we find him alive?” It seemed like anyone Lenny touched wound up a victim.

No, not a victim. Infected with this…

Plague.

What else could it be called? Because that’s exactly what it was. A few sick. A few dying. Something inside Ellis warned him it would get worse. Like any epidemic it would suddenly explode and people would drop dead in the streets. Only this kind of sickness didn’t just kill people. It made them do things.

The sedan rounded a corner. As it returned to a straight section of road a figure stepped out in front of the car. George slammed on the breaks. Ellis’s seatbelt stopped him from hitting the dash.

“Jesus Christ,” George said. “Damn kid. What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

Jon’s brother looked just like Ellis remembered. Tousled dark hair, overalls, no shirt, and bare feet.

“He’s got to be freezing dressed like that.” George put a hand on the door release.