All Hell (16 page)

He plants his seed of doubt. Fortunately, I saw how well dealing with him worked out for my pa. I take my hand off the bar long enough to give him my answer in the form of my middle finger. If that’s my last gesture, so be it. Then I lean forward and pray that my velocity will carry me through the flaming portal before I get burnt to a crisp. Balzuzu shrieks. I pretend it’s the roar of a crowd and I’m Evel Knievel. Then I scream like a girl and launch myself into the ring of fire.

The bike plunges into the abyss like a guided missile. The surrounding heat envelops me. But at the velocity I’m going
, I make it through before I get too singed. Then the world flips upside down. For a micro-second I’m falling up then the gravity reverses and I’m forced into a hard 180-degree flip by the unyielding law of gravity. The twist is too sharp, too disorienting. I can’t hold onto the bike and now I’m falling down, helplessly heading back into the hellhole. My mind briefly registers Balzuzu coming toward me as I’m dropping. His eye narrows as he gleams his prize. His disgusting goat mouth registers a high degree of satisfaction. His fat clawed hand reaches up for my tiny body.

Then there’s a flash of light, a quick whooshing sound, and I land hard on the ground, face planting into dirt that wasn’t there a second ago. I spit soil and grass from my mouth. I turn my head and I’m looking right into
Balzuzu’s eye, which is only a few inches from my own. I scream, a gasping aaaah, stand up, backpedal, and stumble right into Miguel’s arms. The gateway to Hell is gone replaced by a clear circle of fertile brown soil, the only thing fresh in the middle of this dilapidated graveyard. The top half of Balzuzu’s head is laying there, his partial horn jutting up from its amputated scalp. A top row of sharp triangular teeth bite the ground. Next to the empty socket, the one remaining eye stares blankly, devoid of any presence of life.

Miguel releases me. He casually walks over to Balzuzu and gently closes his eye. Then he looks skyward, kneels next to it, and draws a cross on his chest, before bringing his palms together graciously thanking God.

I cautiously approach, shaking the cobwebs from my confused noggin, giving my brain time to adjust to what just happened. “You closed the gate,” I say to Miguel.

“Yes,” he replies with a nod.

“And Balzuzu?” I ask.

“See for yourself,” Miguel says, stepping to the side.

I reach down, grab the severed skull by the horn. “Holy…”

Miguel smiles. “I don’t think he’ll be bothering any of us for quite a while.”

Chapter 29

We’re back in town. It looks like a small war-torn nation. Cars are flipped. Windows are broken. Buildings are empty shells. The town church is merely a remnant. People are wandering about, not sure what to do or where to go, their lives irrevocably altered. Others are more purposeful, rushing to help the wounded, carrying them into triage tents which were erected in my absence on every block.

The National Guard is present doing what they can. The Marines have arrived as well, securing the town’s perimeter so no one comes in or out, doing mop up duty making sure every nook and cranny is all clear. In the park, the bodies of the unlucky are lined up awaiting a proper funeral. Across the park i
t’s the opposite, zombie bodies are being tossed in a pit by men in Hazmat suits and burned. The werewolves are gone. Balzuzu’s skull top is in my backpack. I ask five people before I get the right answer as to where to find my pa. He’s in a medical tent just off Main Street.

We walk inside, pushing aside the canvas flap. It’s sparse; a dozen beds, two doctors in lab coats, portable medical equipment.
Not bad for short notice. Pa is sitting up in one of the beds getting a drink of water from an overweight nurse. One arm is in a sling. His left leg is bandaged and elevated on a blanket. A soft brace wraps around his neck. He sees us, starts to jump out of bed, and winces as his body reminds him that he can’t. We rush over to him before he stubbornly tries again.

“It’s over,” states Miguel.

Pa looks at us in disbelief.

“We won,” I add.

“Obviously,” says Miguel, wryly.

“That’s impossible. He’s too powerfu
l. He’ll just come back,” Pa says with a shake of his head.

I take my backpack off my shoulders, open it,
and pull out the half head. It takes a few seconds before my pa fully understands what we have. I smile knowingly at him. Miguel nods in confirmation. Then Pa smiles and lets out a ‘Oorah’ that rattles every patient in the tent.

“How did you?” he asks.

Miguel gently places a hand on Pa’s shoulder. “Your son literally went to Hell and back.”

I shrug modestly. “Seemed like the reasonable thing to do.”

Miguel shakes his head.

Pa
laughs. “You certainly look like it,” he says. “You’re a Marine, Silas” he adds.

“I’m a Hill through and through,” I respond. I wait a second then
sigh in a way that tells my pa something he doesn’t want to hear is coming. I know what I’m about to say next is going to be painful to him. “I ran into Christian down there.”

My father’s jubilation is immediately wiped away. Fear, sorrow, and regret cover his face.

“He’s okay,” I start. “Tough as ever. He made the best of it. Got in some revenge of his own. He wanted me to tell you he doesn’t blame you for any of it. He wants you to forgive yourself.”

My pa,
one of the strongest men I know, completely breaks down. He weeps, uncontrollably sobbing. I don’t know what else to say.

Father Mi
guel firms up his grip on Pa’s shoulder. “Jebediah, it’s long past time to let the healing process begin,” he says.

Chapter 30

I spend the night at the house. I wash myself in the shower for over an hour. Father Miguel bunks with me as he has no other place to stay. In the morning, I shower again.

After a hearty breakfast, I pack a knapsack and take a hike through the woods into werewolf territory. I pass a few members of the pack. They eye me, always with
a little hunger in their stare… their natural look I guess. But they leave me be. By noon, I reach the main den. Rebel emerges from the cave to greet me. He shows me two rows of teeth which I take for a smile.

“It is
good to see you my small friend.” He says it with a grin, but I know he doesn’t call me that as an insult. He says it with pride. He was like me once and means it as the highest compliment, the littlest guy in the room who isn’t afraid of the biggest.

I nod. “You too, my rather large, furry, and quite scary-looking friend,” I retort.

His paw smothers my hands in one of the most one-sided handshakes I’ve ever had and he throws his other arm around me giving me a manly feral hug. “You do our kind true,” he says proudly. “Both our kinds.”

I nod my thank you. “Where’s Silver Joe?” I ask.

At first he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. Then he bellows, “Ha! So that’s what you call him. He’s inside the cave.” Rebel pauses. “He’s not in a good way. Balzuzu crippled him to a degree he is not healing properly from.”

“That’s… unfortunate,” I say respectfully. “May I go inside?” I ask.

“Of course,” Rebel replies. “You are welcome here like you are one of us.”

We enter the cave, going deeper in then I did when last I was here. Silver Joe is facing away from us, pacing slowly on a bearskin rug, using a walking stick to keep himself up
right.

“You smell much better today than yesterday,” Joe says, wit
hout turning his head. There’s bitterness in his voice, an edge of anger. I understand. He was the leader of his pack. He was strong, proud. Now he’s a cripple.

“You paid a heavy price for following me, for betraying Balzuzu,” I say.

Silver Joe turns, faces me, snarls. “So you came to thank me,” he says, harshly. A bead of saliva drips from his fangs. If he was able to, I’m fairly certain he would lunge at me.

“No,” I say. “It was you who started this war. It was you who conspired to free the devil. And let’s not forget, you did try to have me killed.”

Joe growls. Rebel steps forward, ready to protect me. Not that he had to. My Beretta is already in my hand, aimed straight at Joe’s heart, ready to fire a well-placed silver bullet if the need arises. Rebel sees it and smiles. I nod my approval and smile back. Joe backs down.

“So, why did you come?” Joe asks.

“I am a man of my word. I told you to leave the big red fuck to me.” I put the gun away, reach into my knapsack and pull Balzuzu’s head out by the horn.

“For real?” says Rebel, clearly astonished at my kill.

“About as real as it gets,” I answer. I turn to Silver Joe. “You are free… as promised. All of you. Every werewolf is now free to choose his own path.” Joe reluctantly grunts his acceptance. I put my trophy back into my pack. “The treaty we have is no longer necessary. The people of Los Agros do not know the whole story. They are grateful for your help. You, any of you, are welcome in town anytime you want. I’m sure you enjoy the hunt, but if there is ever a shortage of game, they would be happy to provide you with supplies and food.”

Joe turns away. I’ve said what I came to say so I turn away as well. As Rebel and I walk away, I stop br
iefly at the gun rack. My pa’s rifle is there, leaning up against the old wood. I take it with me as I leave.

Chapter 31

It’s a week later. I’m at the local pub, The Pile Inn, with my pa and Father Miguel. It’s fairly crowded as it’s one of the few places that have reopened since the attack. It’s been quite popular with both the in-town crowd and the out-of-towners that came here to help us rebuild. We’re sitting at one of the round, stained-wood tables in the middle of the room. I chose this table for a reason. It’s the center of attention and it has an empty seat.

The waitress comes over, an aging blond named Gladys who’s been serving patrons in this establishment since I was a pup. The years and current events haven’t dimmed her spirit a bit. Her smile is as wide as her waistline. “Welcome Father, Jebediah. Good to see you again, Silas. Can I take your drink order?”

Miguel answers, “I’ll take a Killian Irish Red.”

“Make that three,” I add.

“Make that two,” my pa says. “I’ll just have water.”

Nice to see that my pa’s laying off the booze. I give him a nod of approval but say, “Leave it at three. I wasn’t ordering for you.”

“Oh, I could come back when the rest of your party is here,” says Gladys.

“He’s here now,” I say.

The front door to the pub opens and the room goes silent. Rebel walks in, tall dark and furry, walking upright on his hinds. A Marine by the bar glides his hand carefully to his holster. Martaan’s sitting next to him. He grabs the Marine’s hand, quietly letting him know not to do anything rash. Rebel steps forward, looking around as every single person in the pub stares at him with either anger, fear, or suspicion.

“How y’all doing?
” asks Rebel with a tilt of his snout. He turns to a particularly fear-filled woman. “Evening, Ma’am.” Then he strides over to our table and sits down. Gladys is frozen in silence, the smile vanished from her friendly face.

“I ordered you a Killian,” I say.

“Haven’t had a good brew in ages,” Rebel responds.

“This is my pa, Jebediah.”

“We’ve met,” says Rebel.

“And Father Miguel,” I add.

“A unique pleasure,” Miguel responds.

“And the lovely lady to your left is Gladys,” I continue.

“Please to make your acquaintance, sweetheart,” Rebel says.

Gladys repeatedly nods her head in agreement.

“It’s okay. He doesn’t bite,” I say. “Well, he does bite, but it’s still okay.”

“Aw, hell,”
says Gladys. “Caught me by surprise, that’s all. And after last week, I thought nothing would surprise me anymore. I’ll go get your drinks.”

“And this is…” In my head I call him Rebel, but now I realize I don’t know his real name.

“Cooper,” says Rebel. “Least I was. Is everyone still staring?” he asks.

I look around. Most are still looking our way, but when they catch me catch them looking they go back to being normal. “I think they’re over it,” I say.

Rebel takes the napkin off the table and puts it in his lap. “Good, then let me see a menu. I haven’t eaten a decent dead animal in a week. I’m starving.”

The meal goes as planned. I invited Rebel… Cooper… as an exercise in acceptance. The quicker all of us get used to each other
, the less chance there is for future misunderstandings. The meal comes. Not surprisingly, Cooper ordered his steak rare. Surprisingly, the conversation was pleasant. Cooper told us a bit more of his backstory. My father recounted some of his tales as a Marine. Miguel suggested they both need to come back to the church, when it gets rebuilt of course.

Then Miguel goes oddly silent, his eyes open
wide, his body frozen, as if he had been possessed. The conversation stops. Our looks become worrisome. Then, just as suddenly, Miguel exhales and is back to normal.