Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (18 page)

"That's possible?" Sanger asked, genuinely surprised.

"It is, but to ensure that victory I need more than the spirits from the Black. I need those who stand the most to win. I need the damned, and to get them I need Brennus. That is why I entered the Blood."

"Wait, you came here of your own
choosin
'?" Sanger asked.

"Does that demonstrate my, what did you call it? Mettle?"

"It demonstrates that you're a crazy fool," Sanger said with awe, then smiled. "I like that."

An unholy chorus of howls broke out as the statues inside the fountains sprang to life. The hollow-eyed demons trans
formed from stone into the fur-clad shadow banshees. Before Damon could react, a dozen monsters descended on them, knocking out their legs and pinning them to the ground.

Damon didn't bother reaching for the poleax. He knew it would do no good.

While four banshees held his arms, a fifth sat on his chest leering down at him, staring with empty eyes.

"What is your purpose?" the demon shrieked in a hor
rific squeal that sounded like shattering glass while strings of thick drool dripped from its mouth into Damon's eyes.

Damon blinked it away as he forced himself to stay focused . . . and sane.

"I seek the spirit named Brennus," he answered.

The demon looked to the others, and they all began chattering like angry monkeys.

"Bring me to him," Damon demanded.

The demons fell silent.

"There is no reaching Brennus," the figment on Damon's chest hissed.

"Why? How can that be?"

"He has been imprisoned."

Damon deflated. It was a wrinkle he hadn't expected. How could a spirit be imprisoned if he were already in the Blood?

"You will not see him, unless you are able," the banshee asked.

"Able to do what?" Damon shouted, grasping.

"To free him."

Marsh and Cooper landed together in a tangle of arms, legs, and netting.

No sooner had they stopped tumbling than they quickly fought to free themselves and jump to their feet, ready to take on any of the Roman soldiers who were brave or foolish enough to follow them into the Blood.

None appeared. Their allegiance to Damon had its limits.

Realizing they were alone, Marsh and Cooper gave each other a quick nod to acknowledge that all was well and turned to get their first look at the Blood. They were faced with the same image Damon had seen . . . the wreck
age of the Roman Colosseum. As impossible as that vision appeared, it wasn't as impactful as the oppressive feeling of dread that overwhelmed them both, compounded by the constant chorus of agonized moans.

Coop tugged on Marsh's arm. He wanted to get moving.

Marsh nodded in agreement and the two walked quickly away, weaving their way around the piles of shattered lime
stone that had fallen from the Colosseum walls. Shadows darted everywhere, just beyond the edge of sight. Marsh sensed a presence on top of one of the rubble piles and spun quickly, but saw nothing. Without a word he picked up the pace. Neither said it, but they both wanted to be out of the confines of the Colosseum as fast as possible.

When they finally passed the outer wall, they stopped and stood together, scanning the horizon, getting their first view of the limitless decay of so many lives that was the Blood.

"It's just . . . tragic," Marsh said in a small voice.

"
Are these visions?" Coop asked. "Is this what the poor bastards remember from their lives?"

"It makes me feel, I don't know, empty," Marsh said.

"Seriously. No wonder they're all moaning. Where is everybody, anyway?"

"I think they're everywhere," Marsh replied.

Once their eyes adjusted to the dark, they clearly saw spirits wandering about. There were untold numbers, all lost, aimless . . . and hopeless.

"That's who Damon came for," Coop said. "If he got those spirits in the Black all fired up about taking control of their lives, convincing these losers should be a no-brainer."

Marsh pulled the crucible out of the pocket of his hoodie and held it for security.
"
And what if he finds this Brennus character?"

"Go back, Ralph," Coop said firmly. "No harm, no foul."

Marsh stiffened. "I didn't say that because I was scared."

"You should be," Coop replied. "I sure as hell am. And this place is about as sure as hell as it gets."

"Let's find the Watcher," Marsh declared.

"I don't even know where to start."

Marsh surveyed the horizon. "The Watcher said that we'll find our way."

"That's a little cosmic for me. I'd rather have a map. Or a GPS."

Marsh stayed focused on the dark distance, looking for a clue that might help guide them.

"Nothing," Coop said dismissively. "No arrows. No bea
cons. No signs saying 'This Way to the Watcher.' How are we supposed to know where to go?"

"Follow me," Marsh ordered, and began walking.

"To where? We can't just start wandering around."

"This feels right," Marsh replied, and walked on with confidence.

Coop followed, but wasn't as certain and kept glanc
ing back toward the remains of the Colosseum. "I wish we could, like, leave a trail of bread crumbs or something."

The two passed through timeless remains of shattered lives. They walked across a footbridge that spanned a foul-smelling canal in what looked to be the remains of Venice, Italy. On the far side they passed through a doorway and stepped into a classroom that was packed with adults, all sitting in children's chairs, staring vacantly ahead . . . at nothing.

Coop shuddered. "I thought this place was supposed to be all fire and pitchforks. It's more like we're walking through the nightmares of these poor bastards."

Leaving the classroom, they stepped into a wide-open desert where the bone-white sand glowed bright in con
trast to the deep purple sky. Huge piles of rusted, damaged musical instruments were buried in the soft sand. Pianos were upended, a harp with broken strings lay grotesquely twisted, countless rusted horns poked up from below, never to be played.

The two stood on the edge of the expanse, staring in wonder.

"There's no end to it," Marsh said, awestruck. "These souls have to live with the horrible memories of what their lives had become."

"I think I'd rather deal with fire and pitchforks," Coop said.

They soon found themselves walking down the street of a small town, passing broken and burned storefronts, inside of which were the dark souls who'd frequented them in life.

"My god," Marsh said with a gasp. "It's Stony Brook."

Coop looked around with renewed interest, trying to find some sign that Marsh could be wrong.

"Why are we seeing home?" Marsh asked.

"Why not?" Coop shot back. "I'm sure plenty of people from Stony Brook end up here. I can think of a few who deserve to."

"I'd go out of my mind," Marsh added.

"You wouldn't be alone. These spirits just seem . . . lost."

Marsh and Cooper stared for a moment at the men and women who wandered the streets of Stony Brook, help
lessly trapped in a memory that could only taunt them with images of a life that would never again be theirs.

"Keep moving," Coop said. "This is way too depressing."

They left the corrupted image of their hometown to pass through many others that weren't recognizable, all while constantly crossing paths with hundreds of aimless souls. Every so often a spirit would look to them and open his mouth to let out a chilling moan that added to the white noise of sorrow and lament.

"Tell me you know where you're going," Coop said. "If I have to take much more of this, I'm gonna start wailing too."

"I don't know how much farther," Marsh answered. "But we're headed the right way. Don't you feel it?"

Coop shrugged. "I don't like anything I'm feeling right now."

They soon found themselves in a wooded park. A bro
ken and burned gazebo had fallen on its side, never to host another performance. Black fountains spewed glow
ing neon orange water. Twisted bicycles lay haphazardly on the dark grass, their bent wheels spinning slowly with haunting squeaks.

"We're getting close," Marsh announced.

"Seriously? The Watcher hangs out in a haunted park?"

Marsh turned onto a worn footpath that meandered through drooping trees. After a few turns the path emp
tied into a large clearing where a broad pond was waiting. The water glowed orange, the same as the water that sprang from the fountains. An island loomed in the dead center, upon which was built a clock tower that stood three stories high. Near the top were four white clock faces, one on each side of the tower. Each showed a different time. Beneath it, the tower walls were made of glass to reveal the clockwork within. A giant pendulum swung incessantly, moving the gears and creating a mechanical whirring sound that merci
fully helped to drown out some of the moans.

"That's the first thing we've seen that isn't a wreck," Coop observed. "Do you think the Watcher is in there?"

"One way to find out."

A narrow, rickety wooden walkway was built from the shore and spanned the few yards of pond water to end on the island. Coop took the lead and strode for it. He was about to set foot on the first plank, when Marsh grabbed him from behind.

"Wait," he ordered. "We're not alone."

They had been so focused on the mysterious clock tower that they hadn't realized they were slowly and quietly being surrounded. A half-circle of spirits had appeared between them and the surrounding forest. There was a mix of people of every age and race who stood shoulder to shoulder, their
dead eyes focused on Marsh and Coop as they moved slowly
toward them.

"Zombies," Coop gasped.

"No, spirits of the damned," Marsh corrected.

The spirits had cut them off from going anywhere but
out toward the island. Coop turned onto the footbridge and
started across, with Marsh right behind. Halfway to the
island he looked ahead and stopped suddenly.

"Uh-oh," Coop exclaimed.

Another spirit, a heavyset biker dude with a long beard
and a tattoo of a snake on his cheek, stood on the bridge
ahead of them.

"Trouble Town," Coop declared.

Marsh called out to the biker, "We're looking for the
Watcher."

The guy didn't react. No
ne of the spirits did. They sim
ply continued to inch their way closer, tightening the noose.

Coop pulled his black sword from his belt and held it
low, ready to fight.

"Don't go there," Marsh cautioned him.

"Me? They're the ones moving on us."

Marsh called again, "Can you help us? We're here to find
the Watcher."

This time he got an answer. Every last spirit opened
their mouth and let out a single, sustained moan.

Marsh and Coop drew closer to each other for support.

"What are they doing?" Marsh asked nervously.

"I think maybe Damon has already done some recruiting."

"So what do we do?"

"We get outta here," Coop answered.

He spun toward the biker and went on the attack with
an adrenaline-fueled scream.

"No, don't!" Marsh warned.

Too late.

The spirit didn't react or try to defend himself against the crazed guy with a sword who was headed his way.

Cooper didn't hesitate. He thrust the blade forward and skewered the spirit square in the chest. The spirit flinched, its moan suddenly cut off.

But he didn’t disappear.

"Oh this isn't good," Coop said with dismay.

The spirit stared right at Coop with dead doll eyes, then opened its mouth and continued to moan. Coop snapped. He pulled the sword out of the spirit and threw a punch to the snake tattoo on its ashen face. The biker staggered, fell over the wooden railing, and landed in the orange water of the pond.

"Coop!" Marsh screamed.

Coop turned to see Marsh on the walkway behind him, fighting off several spirits that were trying to pull him back toward land. Coop dropped the sword on the walkway and tried to free Marsh, but the spirits outnumbered them. With continual mind-numbing moans they grappled Marsh back to land while others descended on Cooper. Cooper swung and kicked but only managed to land a few satisfying shots. It was as if the spirits were numbed into feeling no pain. They swarmed Cooper and held him tight.

The crowd of spirits moved as one, pulling Marsh and Cooper away from the bridge and along the shore of the pond. Marsh and Coop fought to free themselves, but it was useless.

The spirits dragged them along the shore and into the orange water.

"Whoa! Wait!" Coop bellowed.

"Why are you doing this?" Marsh screamed.

The water was hot. Coop turned toward the island and saw the biker spirit surfacing from below, his dead eyes once again fixed on his prey, his mouth still open and moan
ing as orange water drooled over his lips.

The spirits pulled them deeper into the water.

"They're gonna drown us!" Marsh screamed.

Coop's mind couldn't comprehend what was happening. Could they be drowned? Could their spirits be destroyed that way in the Blood?

"Help!" Marsh screamed toward the clock tower. "Are you in there? We were sent by another Watcher!"

The spirits forced Marsh's and Cooper's heads under the glowing water. Marsh fought to get back to the surface and kept on yelling.

"Where are you?" he screamed, desperately hoping that the Watcher was within earshot.

The biker dude reached out for Coop, clutching his neck with strong, cold hands.

Coop was helpless against the big spirit's strength. He desperately tried to pull the guy's hands away, but it was no use. The spirit was driving him under the water.

Suddenly the moaning ended. A moment later the spir
its released their hold.

Marsh and Coop scrambled away from the spirits while tripping and splashing their way to shore.

"You okay?" Coop sputtered.

Marsh coughed, and nodded.

"What happened?" Coop asked.

"I think he did," Marsh said, pointing to the island.

A man stood on the wooden walkway. The light from the clock face was directly behind his head, throwing him into silhouette. He stood with his legs apart, staring down at the boys. His hair was shaggy, falling well below his ears. He wore a long, black coat over dark clothing.