Genesis of Evil (23 page)

“Sorry,” Gerhart wheezed. “I must have lost my mind for a minute.” He hauled himself to his feet, reached down and pulled Archie up. Then they stumbled to the hearse where Claudette was mopping a still-panting Maurice with a handkerchief.

“You okay?” Claudette asked as they approached.

The two men slumped against the hearse until their breathing slowed.

“Archie, let me have your phone,” Gerhart said.

Roberta Valentine rolled over and stared with bleary eyes at the clock as the phone rang for the fourth time. Concluding that the noise wasn’t in a dream, she reached out and lifted the receiver. “This had better be important,” she mumbled into the instrument.

“Trust me, it is,” Gerhart said.

Roberta sat straight up in bed, instantly awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Bobbi, we’re at the mall. I need your help in the worst way.”

“The mall? What are you doing over there? Who’s we?”

“Me and the spookhunters. Can I come and pick you up? I don’t want a lot of cars around here.”

“Spookhunters?”

“I’d rather explain in person. Can I come and pick you up?” he repeated.

“Sure, if you need me. Give me ten minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bobbi. You’ll understand.”

Roberta hung up the phone, blinked her eyes and swung her legs out of bed.

“We’re in deep trouble,” Gerhart said as Roberta climbed into his car. “If that thing in the mall gets any stronger we’ll never be able to get rid of it.”

He told her the plan as he drove.

“I’m not that strong,” she said, shaking her head. “The biggest thing I’ve ever moved in my life is the refrigerator when I want to clean under it. A truck weighs more than a fridge. Guaranteed. Besides, what’s to keep that thing from doing to me what it did to the truck driver?”

“We don’t think it’s smart enough to make the connection between you and the truck,” Gerhart explained. “Curran’s problem started with a headache. The minute you notice anything like that, block out your thoughts and we’ll get the hell out of there.”

“Can’t it just stop the truck if it gets too close?”

“Maurice says the thing is a mind controller. As far as we know, it’s never done anything related to machinery or buildings. Just people. We think if we can get the truck moving we can get the job done.”

“Gerhart,” she pleaded, “I can’t let anybody know I’m telekinetic. They’ll never leave me alone.”

“These folks will. They’re from the institute I told you about. They understand this sort of thing.”

Roberta shivered and hugged herself tightly. “All right, I’ll do my best. But to be honest, you’ve scared me almost to death.”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t. If it’ll make you feel any better, we’re all scared to death.”

As Gerhart drew to a stop next to the hearse, Archie ran up with one of his electronic boxes.

“Gerhart, we’ve got trouble. Look.” He pointed across the hood of the car at the mall. A sickly red translucent dome floated above the roof of the entry. It pulsed like the heart of a huge malevolent animal.

“What the hell is that?” Gerhart asked, horrified.

“The demon is really gaining strength. We all started to feel it just after you left. It was trying to work its way into our thoughts. That’s why I’ve got this,” he said, waving the instrument in the air. “I’ve tuned it to act sort of like a radio jamming device. It seems to be confusing the thought patterns of the demon. At least it’s working for now, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

“Okay, Bobbi, are you ready to give it a try? Bobbi?”

Roberta stared, transfixed, at the mall. Her face looked totally bloodless in the glow of the dashboard lights. She turned and looked at Gerhart for a moment, then focused her gaze on the truck that continued to idle noisily in the darkness.

“I’m ready,” she said with a catch in her voice.

She settled down in the car seat and focused her concentration as the rest held their breath and watched.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she narrowed her world to exclude everything but the truck. The others leaned forward in an unconscious attempt to boost her power.

The truck stood still.

After several minutes Roberta fell back against the seat and took a deep breath. “I can’t do it. It’s too heavy,” she said. Then she closed her eyes.

The spookhunters stood silently around the hearse and looked alternately between the exhausted woman and the mall.

“Maybe there’s another way,” Gerhart said. “Bobbi, do you know how to drive a stick shift?”

She opened her eyes and frowned into the darkness beyond the windshield. “Not with these legs,” she said in a hard voice.

“I didn’t mean that. You don’t need to physically drive. There’s a driver in place.”

Roberta slowly rolled her eyes around to meet his as the meaning of what he was proposing came to her. She swallowed hard. “You want me to use his corpse to drive the truck?”

“Don’t think of it as a corpse.” Maurice interjected. “It’s just an object. Curran is gone. He doesn’t need it any more.” Maurice swallowed noisily. “Please try.”

Roberta sat with a hand over her mouth and stared at the truck.

“You know the principles behind a stick shift, don’t you?” Gerhart asked.

Roberta nodded. “But how will I know where to put his…the…hands and feet?”

“Do you feel resistance when you move something?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Then you’ll have to experiment. Let’s start with the gas pedal. Give the right foot a little push. If nothing happens, move the foot one way or the other.”

“Okay,” she said. “I see what you mean. Let me try.”

They fell silent. Roberta narrowed her eyes and tried to picture the controls in her mind. After a minute the truck’s engine raced, then returned to idle. “I’ve got the gas!” she said.

“Great. Now try for the clutch.”

“Just a minute. This is complicated. I’ve got to keep the right foot in place while I…there. Got it! No, that’s the brake, isn’t it. Okay. A little left. Yeah, there’s the clutch.”

Everyone was sweating profusely despite the cool breeze from the Gulf. “The shift is next,” Gerhart said. “I don’t know what the pattern is on this truck, but first gear should be all the way to the left and either forward or back. One position will be first gear, the other reverse. Give it a try.”

The engine revved again for a moment until Roberta caught her lower lip between her teeth and regained control of Curran’s right foot. “I’ve shifted into something,” she said.

“Okay, let up on the clutch. Easy. Don’t kill the engine.”

The truck lurched backward a few inches.

“Just a minute,” she said. “Must be the other way.” Roberta squinted and leaned slightly toward the truck.

With a roar from the engine the huge machine suddenly leaped forward and rolled toward the mall. Everyone took a deep breath.

“Which way do I shift the levers?” Roberta asked.

“Leave it where it is,” Gerhart said, “but steer a little to the left. We need to get the truck in the center of the entry.”

The pulsing red dome above the mall grew brighter. Archie yelped like a dog that had been kicked, reached down and twisted a knob on the meter he held in his left hand. “Give it some gas, Roberta. That thing is getting pissed off.”

Roberta concentrated on speeding up the truck as she labored to keep it on course. Her fists were so tightly clenched that blood oozed from the indentations made by her fingernails, but she was oblivious to the pain. The dome above the mall entry was now a bright scarlet and appeared to be solid. The parking lot alternated between red and black as the truck, now a hundred yards from the mall entry, crawled across the asphalt in first gear with its engine roaring.

The engine coughed and sputtered.

“Oh, shit,” Claudette said quietly.

The truck’s engine regained its tempo for a moment, then burped once more and died.

“Push in the clutch,” Gerhart yelled. “There’s a slight downgrade. It’ll roll the rest of the way.”

Roberta shoved in the clutch pedal. The truck lost speed. Everyone held their breath as the huge machine crept forward into the ring of eerie red light that spewed from the very walls of the building. Archie twisted an earlobe. Claudette stood behind Maurice with her arms about his waist while he cracked his knuckles. Gerhart fingered the rifle he held in his hands.

And then, as if in slow motion, the nose of the truck pushed through the wall of the entry and the sound of breaking glass and bending steel rolled across the parking lot toward the tiny group of onlookers. The truck, barely moving, continued to thrust its way into the mall until the last of the trailer disappeared into the blackness.

Roberta collapsed across the front seat of the hearse, gasping as if she had run ten miles. Gerhart pulled the night vision goggles over his eyes. Then he snapped the butt of the rifle up against his shoulder and emptied the magazine with even, timed pulls on the trigger as he aimed the rifle methodically from left to right in small increments. It was too dark for the rest of the crew to tell if he had hit anything or not. Gerhart handed the empty rifle to Archie then turned and ran to the hearse and fumbled beneath the front seat. The scarlet dome above the entry now covered the entire mall and the pulsations were accompanied by a sound like the breathing of some giant creature. Bolts of lightning snapped and crackled about the edges and the light became so intense they could no longer look directly at it. Gerhart reappeared carrying a strange looking pistol. He broke it open like a shotgun and shoved a shell into the breech.

“What’s that?” Claudette asked.

“Very pistol.”

“Very what?”

“It’s a flare gun. The guy that invented it was named Very,” Gerhart said. He aimed the gun at the mall and squeezed the trigger. The flare arched into the air and ignited, then landed several yards in front of the entry. The light from the flare illuminated the inside of the building. Gasoline poured from the bullet holes in the body of the tanker and covered the floor.

“You hit it,” Roberta yelled. “Why didn’t it blow up?”

“That’s just in the movies,” Gerhart said. “It’s not the gasoline itself that’s explosive, it’s the fumes. Now we’ve got fumes.” Gerhart reloaded the flare gun and fired once more, elevating the muzzle slightly to throw the flare a little farther. This time the flare landed inside the entry, next to the truck.

There was a blinding flash as the gasoline caught fire. Flames licked up around the shiny trailer and thin smoke rolled out of the building.

“Don’t look!” Gerhart commanded.

They turned away in unison. The world was suddenly as bright as if the sun had landed directly on top of them. The explosion that followed shook the ground. The ugly, scarlet umbrella that hung above the building disappeared as it was overpowered by a fireball of vast proportions that rolled toward the heavens.

As the fireball floated higher, the air above the mall turned a hideous purple and the night was ripped apart by a sound like the shriek of a huge tornado. Everybody clapped their hands over their ears just before being blown over backwards by a blast of oven-hot air that jetted across the parking lot from the burning building.

High above the mall, for only an instant, floated a huge, shapeless apparition with glowing red eyes.

And then, as suddenly as it all began, the horrible light, the noise and the wind were gone.

And there was only the snapping and crackling of the burning building to be heard.

Chapter Twenty-One

January 19, 2005

A great deal of prose was written in the newspapers and magazines about the bizarre happenings at the Trinidad Mall. It didn’t take much to convince the authorities that the whole thing was simply a series of improbable coincidences. No one questioned Don Curran’s motives in driving a stolen semi filled with seven thousand gallons of gasoline into the mall, thus blowing it to pieces. He had, after all, lost both his wife and his only child within a short period of time. It was enough to unhinge anybody.

Several insurance companies squabbled with each other over who was responsible for what. There was the company that insured the mall, of course, and the one that covered the truck. Then there were life insurance policies on both Curran and Hicks as well as the firm that had written the policy on Birrell’s boat. A lot of folks figured the entire fiscal mess would never be straightened out.

The few citizens of Trinidad who did know what had transpired weren’t talking. Even to each other. But they spent a great deal of time looking over their shoulders whenever they went shopping.

A lot of people in Trinidad had seen Archie Maybury’s hearse but hadn’t paid much attention to it. There were a lot of antique car shows around the Florida panhandle throughout the year and the hearse was, as any fool could plainly see, an antique. The motor home driven by Maurice and Claudette was just another tourist vehicle.

Byron Skjelgaard knew more about the spookhunters than anybody else, but it didn’t do him any good. He tried desperately to sell more stories to the tabloid press, but the sensationalism waned.