Consequence Page 8

  Toby wanted to move. He needed to get his ass in gear and get away before Chuck returned. Toby rolled over the bed and fell to the ground with a thud, which caused some of the blood from the bullet’s fragmentation to roll into his eyes. He wiped it away, but it was still hard to see, and it stung. Toby searched for some sort of weapon to fight back but couldn’t find anything nearby.

  Toby stood and took a few steps, and the world tilted again. He leaned against a tree for support and waited for the scenery to stop spinning.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Chuck asked.

  The tomahawk lay in the dirt next to an overturned cooler. He scrambled over to it and snatched it up. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  Brock ceased making noise as Chuck pulled him along like a ragdoll. The grin on Chuck’s face grew impossibly wide. He pointed toward Toby with his free hand.

  “Might want to watch out behind you, buddy,” Chuck said.

  A wave of cold crashed into Toby from behind. He rolled to the side and came to his feet to meet his attacker. The swift movement sent his equilibrium into a tailspin, and he almost fell back onto the ground. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay upright.

  Dave stood where Toby crouched moments before. Like Chuck, Dave’s hands were grotesque claws, capable of crushing bone and ripping flesh. Dave’s smile matched Chuck’s in every way.

  “Hiya, Toby,” Dave said.

  The world no longer tilted at odd angles, and he could see straight. Even though the blood clouded his vision, adrenaline coursed through his body.

  Primal survival instinct kicked in, and he pushed everything else to the back of his mind. Toby feinted with a high strike and when Dave brought an arm up to block, Toby shot low and twisted his hips into the blow. The blade of the tomahawk bit into Dave’s knee with a solid crunch and dropped the man to the ground. Toby brought the weapon back around and planted the weapon into the back of Dave’s skull. He kicked out and sent the man’s body into the side of the truck. Without missing a beat, he turned and ran toward Chuck and Brock.

  “There’s the fire!” Chuck said.

  The Viking dropped Brock’s leg and crouched low. The grin on the man’s face widened as Toby closed in.

  Toby raised the tomahawk up. Before he struck, something slammed into him from behind. It was as if a Mack truck hit him doing over eighty. He crashed to the ground and rolled. Whatever ran into him twisted the weapon from his hand and threw it off into the distance. The thing grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up. Long claws broke the skin and bit into the muscle near his triceps. He yelped in pain and tried to get away from the thing’s grasp.

  “Quit being such a pussy, T.D.,” Chuck said. “Besides, you smashed his head in. I think he deserves to give a little payback, don’t you think?”

  Dave pulled Toby in close. A fetid stench slapped Toby in the face. Dave’s grin stretched even further and his jaw distended. A crack and snap rattled in the back of Dave’s throat, and he opened his mouth wide like a snake. He lifted Toby off the ground with both hands and lowered him toward his open maw.

  Toby struggled to break free. Dave’s teeth grew pointed before Toby’s eyes and extended outward. A long, rope-like, tongue shot out and wrapped around Toby’s neck. His struggles intensified.

  “Dave,” Chuck said. “You know you can’t.”

  Dave’s head turned toward Chuck, and the fiery luster in the man’s black and orange eyes dulled. He slumped his shoulders, deflating at the man’s words. If it were possible, Toby swore Dave started pouting. Dave reeled in his tongue and let go of Toby. He slammed into the dirt and rolled to the side.

  “Go ahead with this one though,” Chuck said and kicked Brock’s form.

  Brock let out a quiet grunt of pain and rolled onto his back. Dave grabbed him and lifted him up into the air. Brock dangled like a fish on the hook. The dangling turned into the thrashing when he opened his eyes and realized what was happening.

  Brock tried to say something, but the man’s scream cut the words short. Toby pushed himself to his feet and fought through the aches. He did his best to rush toward the two, but Chuck stepped in his way. The Viking planted his boot in Toby’s chest and kicked him back onto the dirt.

  “Stay,” Chuck said and pointed a finger at him. “Good dog.”

  Dave’s jaw popped and opened wide, and he moved Brock’s head toward his gaping maw. Brock twisted out of the way and lashed out. He landed several blows to Dave’s chest and neck, but the thing wouldn’t let go.

  “Toby!” Brock said.

  Toby lunged forward and tackled Chuck to the ground. He let loose with a quick combination punch to the big man’s head. Chuck laughed through the ordeal and then flung Toby off him as if he were a bug.

  Toby flew through the air and landed several feet away. Something popped in his shoulder, and pain crawled through his chest.

  “You don’t stop, do you?” Chuck asked.

  Dave put Brock’s head into his mouth, and the man’s cries muffled. He bit down. Blood spurted from the creature’s mouth, and Brock kicked his legs. A stifled scream escaped Brock’s mouth but died when Dave jerked his head to the side. The snap of bone and tear of flesh echoed through the night and bore into Toby’s psyche. Brock’s body went limp. Dave dropped the twitching, headless corpse to the ground.

  Dave’s neck bulged impossibly wide, as if he were a bullfrog. Two bloody lines tore in the man’s neck lengthwise as Brock’s head journeyed through. For a moment, it looked as if the head got stuck, and the splits grew wider. Brock’s face appeared under the stretch of Dave’s neck, just under the skin. Toby wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. As impossible as it sounded, he almost thought he could still see Brock’s mouth moving. Yet, amongst more wet cracking noises, the bulge disappeared. The bones in the thing’s mouth cracked and grated as it reformed to normal size. Dave turned to Toby and smiled. Brock’s blood stained the man’s face and chest. Dave patted his stomach, which distended as if he were pregnant.

  “Tastes like chicken,” he said.

  Chuck rose and walked over to Toby. He lifted him off the ground and whisked some dirt off his shoulders.

  “Look on the bright side, T.D. At least you don’t have to make the long dark journey through Dave’s bowels,” Chuck said.

  “Fuck you,” Toby replied.

  “You’re not my type.”

  Dave looked like he was about to say something but cocked his head to the side. Chuck followed the action, as if they were dogs responding to a dog whistle. Both of the things shuddered in unison and then turned to look at Toby.

  “This is going to be fun, buddy. You get to see,” Chuck said.

  Chuck dragged Toby away from Dave and positioned them with a good view. Dave stood in the glade and raised his arms up above his head as if in offering.

  The woods fell silent. Nothing moved. No birds cried, and Toby thought his heart skipped a beat. Chuck cocked his head to the side again, and his smile deepened.

  “Dave,” Chuck said. “You screwed the pooch.”

  Dave looked from the sky over to Chuck. His face was still twisted in a horrible grin, but the fire in his eyes dimmed.

  Trees in the woods snapped as something large moved through them. The earth rumbled with a slight tremor. Everything fell silent once more. Moments later, black oily smoke rose from the ground all around Brock’s headless body. It seeped up like a dense fog. The smoke swirled over Brock like a small hurricane until it gathered all its essence from the surrounding area. Then, it spiraled into a miniature twister and entered through the neck wound.

  The body jumped and jerked around on the ground as if electricity coursed through its veins. Toby wanted to get away, but he stood awestruck. In a matter of seconds, all of the dark substance entered Brock’s body, and the black fog was no more.

  “Watch
this,” Chuck said.

  Brock’s decapitated form shot to its feet. It staggered over to Dave, somehow navigating without the need for vision. Dave still stood with his arms raised to the night sky, but he watched Brock’s body like a hawk.

  “I-I didn’t know,” Dave said.

  Brock punched a hand through Dave’s stomach and then wrenched his head out. Blood and bile poured from the wound and splattered to the dirt. Even from a distance, the rotten smell of viscera made Toby gag. Dave fell to the ground and clutched at his midsection. He tried to keep his intestines from rolling out but failed, and they slipped out onto the dirt in a wet mass.

  Brock raised the head to his neck wound. The skin on his face was pink and irritated, and stomach acid plastered his hair and beard.

  Some of the dark oily substance leaked out of the open gash and jumped up toward the head. It billowed out and consumed Brock’s face in its entirety. After a few moments, the head and neck connected with a sick crack. Wisps of smoke escaped Brock’s nose and mouth, and it oozed out of the open wound where the head sat on the body. The dark smoke danced around the neck, as if keeping it attached.

  His eyes opened. Unlike Chuck and Dave’s eyes—a mix of black and red—Brock’s eyes were completely red. Brock looked around, but his head moved out of sync with the rest of his body. He shot his gaze to Toby.

  Brock walked around Dave, who gathered all his intestines up and stood. Chuck lowered his head and stepped away.

  Toby wanted to run, wanted to get as far away from the scene as he could. His legs didn’t work though, and he found himself stuck.

  “It has been too long. Too long to be trapped in the earth,” the Brock thing said. Black smoke puffed as he spoke, floating into the night air.

  The new voice sounded like a mashup of several different ones, Brock’s included. Brock’s speech warbled like an old phonograph. It grated against Toby’s nerves like a scratched blackboard. Brock turned toward Toby.

  “You will take us to your kin,” Brock said. “It has been many ages since I’ve consumed one of your ilk.”

  Toby shut his eyes as the thing spoke, but the sensation of worms crawling in his ears brought even worse images to his mind. Brock stood next to him. One moment he was yards away, the next, close enough that the deep, bile-saturated smell of Brock’s breath wafted onto Toby.

  “I think I’ll enjoy this, user. I can taste your fear, and it is sweet,” Brock said. “I can feel the chaos of your thoughts, and it pleases Him. And your power… If my skin could tingle, it would. Small still, yet it grows with each passing moment.”

  Toby tried to shut out the creature’s words, but they forced their way into his mind. The voice seemed to crash into his skull from all sides, even from within. He screamed to try and block it out, but it made no difference.

  Through the veil of bedlam, a slight warmth smoldered at his fingertips. It started as an itch, but it grew in strength. All the questions left Toby’s thoughts until the heat scratching at his hand dominated everything. He connected with the forest and its life.

  There was a small copse of trees behind him, no more than twenty yards away. Their energy, rooted deep in the dirt, crawled toward him. They were eager to answer his call. Golden energy blazed around his hand, lighting the dark glade like a torch.

  The nearby vegetation wilted and smoldered as Toby sucked the power from it. In an ever-growing circle, the flora drooped to the dirt as if in obedience.

  Chuck turned away from the amber brilliance. Dave rolled to his side to shield himself but lost a knot of guts when he did. Brock’s red eyes raged under the gleam, but he stood his ground.

  With the strength of the trees behind him, Toby broke away from Brock’s influence and took a step back. He raised his hand out in front of him like a gun, and the light flashed stronger for a moment. The heat of the energy singed his hand and made it difficult to maintain.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Away,” Toby said.

  The power flickered and faded with each word, but it still swirled around his hand like a nimbus. He didn’t expect laughter to follow.

  Brock guffawed at him and took a step closer. Toby’s light dimmed at the man’s presence. The pain in his hand spiked and almost drove Toby to his knees.

  “Little man, your fledgling powers do not frighten one such as me,” Brock said. “I’ve battled with beings powerful enough to destroy you with a thought.”

  Brock opened his mouth wide, and the black smoke spewed forth. It rushed at Toby and consumed his hand and arm like a plague of locusts. The heat of the light extinguished under the smoke, which was replaced with a bitter cold that ate at his bones. It was as if a thousand bees stung his arm, and he fell to the ground with a cry.

  The smoke crawled up his appendage and onto his chest. All at once, he couldn’t breathe. Then, the sensation dissipated, and the darkness slithered away from his body and up Brock’s legs. It crept up the man’s torso and left tiny wisps in its wake. Bit by bit, it disappeared into Brock’s still open maw. When the last of the smog vanished, Brock clacked his jaw closed.

  “I could taste it. The trees. You,” Brock said. “Ambrosia.”

  Toby could breathe again, and he took in a lungful of air. The skin around Toby’s arm was pale and shriveled. His fingers looked like prunes, as if he’d been in the bath for too long. The nerve endings in his hand screamed at him with each tiny movement. Yet, the pain in his chest throbbed. Toby ripped his shirt open. A black spot, centered on his chest, beat in rhythm with his heart. He tried to rub it away, but touching it sent waves of pain through his body.

  Brock knelt close. The red in his eyes swirled like a whirlpool.

  “Now, it’s time to devour the rest of your energy,” Brock said. The dark smoke spewed forth again.

  Chapter Nine

  Doyle edged closer to the sinkhole. The abrupt drop made his insides swim in circles. He was never good with heights.

  The quake knocked the power out in the area, and shadows painted everything in sight. It would be hours before the sun rose above the Wasatch Mountains. Even so, it was a clear night, and the moon was out, which offered him a gloom-shrouded view of the debris.

  Rough-hewn walls of dirt and stone ran more than two hundred feet straight down. The wreckage of half a dozen houses lay broken below.

  He reached into a large, inner pocket of the duct tape trench coat and retrieved the Eagle Eyes glasses. Doyle checked the connections of the red and green wires along the length of the specs. Satisfied the chaos was in order, he put the glasses on, and a barrage of data streamed across the lenses. It was almost too much to keep up with, but he’d experienced worse.

  He scanned the pit and let the glasses do their thing. The specs were able to cut through the dark and revealed even more wreckage below. The destruction was worse than he thought. Some houses retained a semblance of shape, but most were just piles of lumber, brick, and cement.

  Doyle hated the cliché, but it was too quiet. He scanned the pit again and even a third time—each scan bore the same results, nothing.

  “Come on, show yourself,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

  Magnified images swooped into view as the glasses recorded and catalogued the scene. Doyle reached up to take them off when the glasses emitted a high-pitched chirp. His heart lurched, and he refocused on a brick house—or at least what was left of a brick house.

  “Zoom,” he said.

  The image magnified further. It showed him a wall past the debris, covered in an off-yellow wallpaper. It reminded him of a short story he had read once about a repellant, unclean yellow wallpaper. Most people thought that Charlotte Perkins Gilman simply wrote a story to bring light to certain issues; however, most people never realize what lives behind the thin wallpaper of the world.

  “Zoom.”

  The Eagle Eyes continued to zoom until the wall looked lik
e an alien landscape of some low-budget, made-for-television movie.

  Doyle let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. His head ached whenever he used the glasses too long, and today wasn’t an exception. He was about to take the glasses off again when movement caught his eye.

  The wallpaper shook, as if something slithered behind it. Doyle focused in on the movement and tried to see what made the paper dance.

  The glasses drew a schematic of the wall. A status bar streamed across the lenses and indicated the render was almost complete. As it neared the end, voices echoed from across the sinkhole.

  Six city workers decked out in yellow hard hats and orange safety vests stood near the edge. The Eagle Eyes took snapshots of all their faces and within moments pulled up dossiers on each of the people. As well as the regular data in a dossier, Doyle also had access to their date of death.

  Ten years ago, the Agency acquired the hand of the diviner, Robert of Oakdale Road. Doyle didn’t know much about Robert, but he did have the privilege of seeing the hand in action once. An intern put the picture of a person in front of the hand, and the hand wrote down all the information it could divine on the subject, to include date of death down to the minute. Doyle heard the hand wasn’t always accurate, but it was much better than the house odds at a casino. Supposedly, management kept the files of all agents restricted. It was unfortunate for the workers, because their date of death was to occur in the next forty-five minutes.

  “Not good. Not good at all,” he said.

  It wouldn’t do any good to warn them. Fate would see to it they met their end regardless of Bureau intervention. It would take a Class III Miracle to get them an extension, and Doyle was fresh out of those. The best he could do would be to follow them and confront their future killer.

  The workers secured ropes and put on harnesses; one by one, they rappelled into the sinkhole. One of the men pulled a radio from his hip.

  Doyle focused the glasses on the radio. The image magnified, and an outline appeared around the apparatus. Within moments, the glasses identified the make and model of the radio and displayed the information on the lens. The soft sound of static popped into his ear, and he was able to listen to their conversation.