Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (86 page)

“Good-bye, John.”

Chapter
52

John stole a restless sleep that night, as
much as he could with the dead as roommates. When the sun rose the next
morning, his joints ached and his head felt like it had been stuffed with
cotton. Reaching out with his right leg, John corralled an
automatic weapon, useless though it was in his captive state. He hung
there, his hands through the wall and tied together from the other side. John
wished for any sign of life.

The first day slid into the second one, piling up time and
thought into a mixture of vision and dementia. John’s thirst
overtook his hunger and the uncomfortable feeling of sitting in his own waste. The
smells of the room, while pungent, faded into the fabric of the experience. For hours on end, John tried pulling his wrists free of the plastic
zip ties. He felt the warm blood running down his forearms and dripping
from his elbows.

On the third day John watched an infant crawl around on the
floor, eating bugs slithering through the eye sockets of the dead men. It murmered to him through the voice of his mother in unintelligible
words. Even in his state, John understood that death by dehydration was
approaching rapidly.

The morning sun landed on the driveway and danced around the
room, filling his vision with traces of light and sound. The
beams dispelled the demons of the night. John looked up and saw a figure
coming down the steps. He put his chin to his chest to avoid the harsh glare on
his eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” John asked.

“I came to apologize.”

John recognized the voice.

“I sold you down the river, my man. I
didn’t realize you had it in you. You’ve got the spirit. You
are the voice of the dissident, the fire of rebellion.”

John sniffled and shooed a buzzing fly by blowing at it. The figure stepped out of the light and stood in front of John.

“Sully?”

“Yeah man, sort of. I’m kinda caught between places ‘cause I
gotta set my wrongs right, if ya know what I mean.”

Sully pulled the edges of his Keepers of the Wormwood vest
together. He stroked the long, red beard and flipped his hair
back over his shoulder.

“Are you dead?” asked John.

Sully laughed.

“Are you?” he replied.

“I don’t know. I think it’d be better if I
was.”

“Why is that?” Sully asked.

“I did wrong by my wife. I was taken
advantage of, but I should’ve known better than to put myself in that
situation.”

Sully cocked one eyebrow up.

“So you’re pissed because someone got one
over on you?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Doesn’t sound like you give a shit about what you did to
your wife.”

“I guess that’s because I didn’t do
anything to her. The guilt disappears when someone leaves you for dead.”

“Where did she go?” asked Sully.

“She’s joining the Covenant.”

Sully whistled high and long.

“Sucks for you, bro.”

“If you’re my subconscious, please let me die. I’m tired of dealing with all the bullshit.”

Sully replied to John with a mockery of a military salute.

“Dude, I can’t move on until I straighten
shit out. Do you want out of here or not?”

John laughed and his dry lips split. His
swollen tongue did its best to answer Sully.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Set me free,
Sully, set me free.”

“Don’t be a dickhead about it, John. I got something for
ya.”

Sully pulled a black patch from his front pocket. He held it up in front of John’s face and smiled.

“Official Member?” asked John.

“That’s right brother. I meant to get you a
pledge vest, but that seems pretty pointless now. Seeing as how I’m the
President of the Keepers of the Wormwood, I think I’m authorized to make you an
official member.”

Sully tucked the patch inside John’s jeans’
pocket.

“Thanks, man.”

“You earned it, bro. Listen man, I gotta
go. I think there are other people I need to visit before they release
me. Watch your ass.”

Sully smiled at John and walked toward the steps.

John turned to face him and said, “Sully,
you’re really dead, right?”

Sully smiled and waved to John.

“See ya, brother.”

Sully walked out the door and took the blinding light with
him.

John closed his eyes and let his arms droop as far as he
could before the pains and cramps would kick in again. He heard a muffled voice
and the steps creaking under the weight of another visitor. However,
John did not care. If the Covenant had arrived to finally send him to
Hell, he was ready for the ride.

Chapter
53

Epilogue

The Harley Davidson Softails rumbled along
the smooth, sleek asphalt. The black ribbon of highway shot out from
under the riders and pierced the jet-blue horizon. They tasted the driven
desert sand and felt it crunch in their teeth. Lazy clouds
looked down at the riders and ignored them with quiet indifference.

“Thunderhead moving through the canyon,” the lead rider
shouted.

“Got about three miles before we kiss it,”
replied the other.

The rolling red sands of what used to be the American
Southwest blanketed the road on both sides. The double yellow
line painted down the middle of the interstate represented the only remnant of
civilization.

A ramshackle gas station appeared on the horizon. As the
riders approached, they saw the telltale signs of desertion, including the red
Sign painted on the door. Dust covered the browned glass and
sand drifts climbed the side of the ancient pumps.

The two Harleys downshifted, protesting with the throaty moan
of a lower gear. The man in the lead cut the engine and
drifted to a stop in front of the nearest pump. He removed a ragged
leather sack from his saddlebag and fished around inside until he located a
wrench. With precision and dexterity, he began to disassemble the pump. The other rider drew a sawed-off shotgun and kicked down the flimsy,
steel door of the office. When he returned, he carried two five-gallon
gas cans, and two cans of soda.

The man working on the pump had a scruffy
goatee braided under his chin. Long hair spiraled out from under his
helmet back to a loose ponytail. It caressed a Keepers of the
Wormwood patch sewn to the black, leather vest. His partner’s
clean-shaven face and bald head remained behind the double barrel.

“How far do you think we are?” asked clean-shaven.

He let the gas cans drop into the dust and
shoved the blade of a pocket knife under the tab of the soda can, prying it up.
The can hissed as it expelled the carbonation of another era. He tossed
the can back, feeling the burn on his throat.

“Seven, eight hundred,” answered goatee. “Another
day or two of riding and we should be there. You have a way of
fastening those cans to your hog?”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

The man nodded and finished stripping away the rubber
gaskets on the main line. He placed the tube in his mouth,
inhaled, and spat out a mouthful of gasoline. The other biker ran over
and shoved the hose into the first empty can, allowing it to fill.

They topped off the gas cans and tied them
to the back of the second Harley. The empty soda cans sat on top of the
pump, an eternal monument to the lost culture. The bearded
rider dropped the hammer on his bike and it roared back to life. He
yelled back to his partner over the chattering pistons.

“The storm’s gettin’ closer. Let’s
see if we can out-ride it.”

Alex nodded and swerved into the right
lane, a bike length behind the man in the Keepers of the Wormwood vest.

Before he accelerated on the long stretch of interstate, the
bearded biker reached down with his right hand and placed it over a rectangular
patch on his vest. John’s callused fingers traced the fraying
embroidery that read, “Official Member”.

###

AVAILABLE NOW!

Thirty years after the First Cleansing brought an end to civilization, a band of revolutionaries sets out on a quest to make a final stand for their freedom. Led by their enigmatic and seasoned patriarch, John Burgoyne, the tribe known as the Chapter of the Phoenix marches the treacherous highway stretching from Pittsburgh to Cleveland, unaware of the forces aligning against them.

The story continues in,
Man's Ruin
...

Acknowledgements

Thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me. If you enjoyed the book please leave a review on Amazon. It can be brief (20 words) and written in a few minutes. Authors depend on reviews from readers like you. And if you really enjoy my work, send me an email at
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review, good or bad.  Illustrator Kate Sterling may have singlehandedly popped
this novel with her stunning cover.  Carolyn McCray provided expert
guidance and kept me from hitting the panic button on a number of occasions. 
Robert Reed and Katy Sozaeva edited this book, giving it new life.  I thank you all.

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