Crucifax (46 page)

The crowd had thinned out some, but the floor was strewn with corpses, some in flames that sent up plumes of smoke that reeked of spoiled meat and burning rubber. Smaller fires were bursting out around the room as flames were spread to piles of cushions and blankets and wooden crates stacked in corners against the wall.

Mr. Brubaker was kneeling beside his dead son, hacking at the smoke and wailing tearfully as his wife pulled on Wayne's legs, trying to drag him over the floor, saying, "We've got to get him to a doctor, to a hospital!"

J.R. stepped over bodies and hunkered down between them, putting an arm around Mrs. Brubaker.

"Look, Wayne's dead," he shouted. "You'd better get out of here. The smoke's getting—"

"This is your fuckin' fault!" Brubaker shrieked in a mad, shrill voice, shooting to his feet and pointing a thick finger at J.R. "I don't know what you done, but you fucked up, mister, and I'm gonna have your ass for it, understand? I'm gonna—"

J.R. hurried away, knowing he had no time for Brubaker's hysterics, but the big man came after him, his words slurring together in a senseless babble. J.R. heard Mrs. Brubaker call her husband and was relieved by the hint of sanity and order left in her grieving voice. Brubaker's screams crumbled into pathetic sobs.

J.R.'s flashlight beam shone in the haze of smoke like a glowing sword as he searched for the reverend, calling his name repeatedly. He had to step around three bodies that had fallen one atop the other. The top one, a naked girl, bony and pale with stringy blood-tangled hair, reached out and clutched his pant leg, trying to turn herself on her side. Startled, J.R. turned the beam on her as her eyes rolled back in her head. She tried to speak and blood bubbled out of the long black opening in her throat, then her arm fell limp away from him, her head dropped forward and she was silent.

He wasn't sure, but J.R. thought she'd said, "Daddy…"

The flashlight beam fell on a dilapidated wall, slid along its length—

—and caught a glimpse of long platinum hair disappearing around its crumbled edge.

"Mace," J.R. growled, hurrying after him. Remembering the reverend, he stopped again, turned, and shouted for him.

The others in the room were no more than darting shadows in the smoky orange glow. He wiped his watery eyes with the heel of his hand, calling one more time. When he did not hear the reverend's voice reply amid the remaining screams and cries, he hoped he'd already gotten out but feared he was hurt or dead in the fire.

J.R. rushed around the end of the wall, shining the light ahead of him. He spotted the back of Mace's head bobbing rapidly as he clanked down some metal stairs.

There were more bodies beyond the wall, and he had to slow down to avoid tripping. His light passed over a black, charred corpse sprawled in a corner, and he immediately looked away and hurried down the stairs.

The dreadful, threatening sounds at the bottom of the stairs made him stop halfway down.

Two dozen golden eyes sparkled up at him from the foot of the stairs, and his light glistened on sharp yellowed tusks. He moved the beam through the room and saw more of them all over the floor and crouching among the pipes that twisted from the low ceiling. Across from the stairs he saw the hole in the wall Lily had spoken of, and peering through it with a satisfied grin was Mace.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment. J.R. felt his testicles pull up inside him, saw Dara again, her eyes so confident and cold as she drove away with his sister.

Mace laughed a dry, bone-clacking laugh and said, "You lose, big brother."

Then he was gone, his laughter washed away by the rushing hiss of the sewer.

Smoke curled through the beam of light as the creatures, two and three at a time, hopped over the edge of the hole and followed Mace into the sewer. He felt the knife's hard, smooth handle in his palm as he slid it from beneath his belt. Holding the blade outward and screaming like an attacking animal, J.R. charged down the stairs, ducking his head low to avoid the pipes.

Like monkeys from trees, three of the creatures dropped on his back as he passed beneath them, tearing their teeth and claws into his coat, releasing long, guttural squalls, their breath warm and moist on his neck. As he ran down the stairs J.R. slammed himself against the rail and felt one of the creatures drop off. Two more pounced from above to replace it, and a few steps farther down he turned and threw himself back hard against the wall, felt bones crunch against his back. Two of them let go, and J.R. went on, swinging his shoulders until another dropped off. The remaining creature clung to his left shoulder, and he paused a moment to swing his right arm back, felt the blade of the knife pierce thick flesh, and heard the creature's wounded squeal as it fell away.

When he reached the floor he screamed again, this time with fear as well as rage because they were scurrying up his legs, teeth snapping. Like a helpless drunk, he staggered in circles as he kicked his legs, knocked them away with his flashlight, and swept the knife downward again and again, cutting his own thighs as well as stabbing his attackers. Others continued to clamber through the hole to follow Mace.

The flashlight beam danced madly through the dark sewer until J.R. regained his bearings. Several yards down the walkway to J.R.'s right, the light fell on Mace's back. He was walking at a leisurely pace, his stride confident and unhurried, long arms swinging at his sides, followed by a scurrying column of his pets. More were coming through the hole behind J.R., and he started after Mace at a slow jog, hoping to stay away from them.

Mace disappeared around a corner, and J.R. picked up a little speed, not wanting to lose him. His lungs were on fire, and his mouth was so dry, his throat so thick, that each breath threatened to make him gag. His legs and back were stinging from the cuts he'd received, and he felt the warm, slow trickle of blood mixing with the sweat that drenched him beneath his clothes.

When he rounded the corner, J.R. slowed to a walk, then stopped six feet from Mace, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, smiling. His pets were at his feet facing J.R., eyes bright in the sewer's darkness.

"Looking for me, are you?" Mace asked.

J.R.'s chest heaved as he gasped for air, swaying with dizziness. He tried to lean against the wall, but there was no wall, just a rectangular passageway that led into cold, drafty darkness. J.R. wanted to shine his light through it to see what lay beyond, but he was afraid to take it off of Mace.

"You look exhausted, Mr. Haskell," Mace said.

The genuine concern in his voice confused J.R. for a moment, threw him off, made him feel unprotected, vulnerable.

"You should go home. Take a hot shower and go to bed. Get a good night's sleep. Don't worry about any of this. It's not your problem."

It took J.R. a few moments to catch enough breath to speak.

"You… you're not… gonna… get away with it… this time," he wheezed.

"
This
time? Sorry, guy. You must have me confused with someone else. I don't know what you're talking about." His smile dripped with smug sarcasm.

"I don't… don't know what you are, but… I know what you're doing."

Mace threw back his head and laughed. "And what's
that?
"
He took a step forward.

J.R. wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "You know what I'm talking about, Mace."

"No. No, I don't think I do. Why don't you explain it to me?" Another step forward.

J.R. moved back but heard a low, ominous growl behind him and glanced over his shoulder.

Countless eyes glared up at him from the walkway.

"The kids," he said unsteadily. "These kids… others … my sister… what you do to them…" His thoughts were not holding together; his growing fear was getting in the way of his words.

"Mmm," Mace purred thoughtfully. "And I'm not going to get away with it? What, exactly, are you going to do?" Another step.

"I know about you. Others do, too. It'll be harder for you the next time."

"You think you're the first one to figure things out?
Hah!
It never changes, big brother. They never learn. There's always room for me somewhere else." His next footstep slapped softly into a puddle.

"Not if word spreads."

"What will you tell them? You just said you don't know what I am." Step. "They'll think you're crazy." Step. "They'll think—"

"Stay back." J.R. held up the knife warily.

"—you're just another nut with an imaginary cause. Especially if you don't know what I am. So what are you going to tell them?"

"I'm serious. Don't come any closer."

"Do you want to know what I am, big brother?" Step.

"Goddammit, I mean it, don't—" He swung at him with the knife, and there was a dark rush at his feet as the creatures pressed in around him.

Without flinching, Mace held up a hand, and the animals were still. "Do you?"

J.R. swung the knife again, but moving like lightning, Mace's hand struck his wrist, and pain shattered through his forearm like splinters of glass. His fingers stiffened and dropped the knife; it clattered to the cement and splashed into the black stream to J.R.'s right.

"Do you want to know, big brother?" There was laughter in his golden eyes; he was enjoying himself.

J.R. wanted to move away from him but could feel the creatures at his heels, brushing against the hem of his pants. He shone the beam directly into Mace's eyes, but he seemed not to notice.

Mace reached for his hand, and J.R. threw himself to the left, into the darkness beyond the passageway, screaming when his light illuminated half a dozen long, pale faces, and cold, bony hands clutched at him, grabbing his clothes and scratching his face. Thin arms embraced him, and the powerful stench of body odor and decay reduced his scream to a sickened cough.

"Don't you hurt him!" a phlegmy voice exclaimed.

"… gives us food…"

"…our friend.

"Don't hurt him," Mace ordered. "Hold him, but don't hurt him."

Suddenly weak with fear, J.R. clutched the flashlight as if for life as the hands turned him around until he was facing Mace. The arms encircled him like- tentacles.

Mace moved forward until he stood no more than a couple inches from J.R. He crooked a finger beneath J.R.'s chin and lifted his face until their eyes met.

"Do you want to know what I am?" he whispered.

J.R. could not speak or move, could not take his gaze from those caramel-flecked eyes, although he tried.

Mace's hand cupped J.R.'s chin, almost lovingly.

"I am the weeds in your garden," he breathed, placing his other hand on J.R.'s cheek.

J.R. felt as if his insides were turning to ice.

"I am the moldy bowl of
goo
"—he chuckled—"on the bottom shelf of your refrigerator." He moved closer until his body was pressed against J.R.'s.

A memory came back to J.R., a memory of something Jeff had said, something that made him fear his life was over, "I am…"

His tongue
…

"… what happens

… it came out of his mouth like…

"… when no one…"

…
like a snake.

"… is paying any attention."

A snake…

Mace opened his mouth slowly, opened it wide, as if he were yawning, and J.R. saw his tongue move forward, saw sparkling reflections of light on the wet, pink lump of flesh, and he wanted to scream but had no breath, wanted to struggle but had no strength, and the moment that J.R. was certain would be his last seemed to go on forever until—

—the creatures outside the passageway began to squeal as if in pain, and there were footsteps on the walkway, hurrying closer, punctuated by panting breaths, and Mace's eyes rolled around in their sockets as if he were watching a fly buzz around his head, and he let go of J.R.'s face to turn around slowly as—

—the creatures were kicked aside, and someone came through the passageway, stepped forward into the light—

—"Kevin!" J.R. gasped—

—and lifted an axe over his head, eyes wide with rage—

—Mace said, "You don't want to do—"

—his scream filled with madness as he brought the axe down.

The heavy blade landed in Mace's forehead with the sound of a large melon being dropped.

Mace's arms flew outward at his sides, and he staggered backward with a guttural grunt, bumping J.R., and Kevin jerked the axe from his skull and lifted it again.

The arms released J.R. and reached for Mace; the pale faces screamed, and frail, filthy bodies pushed by J.R. to Mace's rescue, backing away again as Kevin swung the axe a second time, burying it in Mace's left shoulder.

J.R. shouted Kevin's name and stepped around Mace, who was falling backward, arms flailing to keep his balance.

"Okay, Kevin!" J.R. cried. "That's enough!"

"Noooo!" Kevin screamed, jerking the axe out of the huge gash in Mace's shoulder. "You were wrong, Mace!
Wrong!
I don't need you! I don't fucking need you!"

Mace slammed against the wall and slumped down to a sitting position as several of his pets dived, shrieking, through the air and latched onto Kevin, biting and clawing. He seemed not to notice and lifted the axe again.

J.R. backed away as Kevin screamed again, bringing down the axe and taking away a chunk of Mace's skull just above his left temple. He pulled back the axe, and the blade dragged noisily over the cement as he backed away from Mace, preparing to lift it again.

J.R. turned the light on Mace and thought he could feel the last threads of his own sanity unraveling.

Mace was lifting his sagging head; his forehead was caved in and opened down the middle, part of his skull was gone, and the gaping openings glistened blackly, but there was no blood. His golden eyes were bulging like a toad's, and he was smiling as he looked at Kevin, pulling himself to his feet, but—

There's no fucking blood!
J.R. thought.

"Kevin, Kevin, Kevin," Mace said admonishingly.

"Kevin, get out of here!" J.R. shouted as Kevin swayed back and forth, axe lifted over his head, creatures hanging from his clothes, others still leaping at him from the floor.