American Blackout (Book 2): Slaves Beneath The Stars Read online

  64

  Devil’s Howl

  Cricket didn’t go directly to the house but to the largest barn, with the doors pushed wide open. The Halloween lights dimly lit the hayloft and the old chest where Hank stored the Nativity set.

  She had a strong urge to see Christ in the manger, on display in the dining room atop the sidebar. Perhaps they needed colorful stars hung over the doorways. Yet Cricket was uncertain how many days remained before Christmas, while a year ago she had counted down the infamous shopping days with precision. Would she know Christmas Eve when it arrived?

  The horses moved toward the fronts of their stalls.

  “What’s the matter, fellas?”

  In the first stall there was no hay or grain, and the water bucket was nearly empty. Her tiredness vanished; adrenaline pumped directly to heart and brain. One horse whinnied loudly as she started to leave.

  “I know you’re hungry. But I promise I’ll be back soon. With carrots, too!”

  She was walking out and suddenly turned and faced Dante. His eyes were large and profound, but not fearful. The horse had seen something else in its surroundings. Had her mother been giving comfort to these great animals in a time of horror? Undoubtedly she was, for Cricket felt the pressure of another human being, flesh pressing into time and space, the presence of her own mother. She cried and went to Dante and hugged his fine head, leaving her tears on his warm skin.

  Unsteady from the explosion of feelings, Cricket walked slowly to the smaller barn, still sensing the presence of her beautiful mother.

  Inside the barn, she grabbed a small flashlight Hank kept on a cement block just to the right of the door. The cows stared at her with peaceful eyes. They had been fed.

  She didn’t move from the entrance, the flashlight in her left hand, the Colt in the other. Tools, a small tractor, and the hayloft remained unchanged, and no shadowy forms leapt across her beam.

  She kept the flashlight and walked out. The bunkhouse was dark and so was the main house, except for a candle in the living room.

  She aimed for the bunkhouse. Its door looked more like the dark mouth of a cave. She didn’t expect to find Oakley and Forrest sleeping. They had to be patrolling, possibly with Lawrence. The farm had never felt so empty.

  As she neared the bunkhouse, the door took shape, magically appeared like she’d been given special access to another world, a mythical realm populated by the likes of Stan the cat, who came running out at high speed. Cricket screamed without volume, her voice burnt from hours of fighting on the run. The cat aimed for the orchard, a shadow fleeing into the dark.

  The door was not entirely closed, and she pushed it open, shined the flashlight, and found a world of death. Her trusted, brilliant men who kept their flying machines flying were frozen, as if celebrating a joke. Oakley’s head was thrown back in laughter, and Forrest was facedown on the table, his dinner spilled across the surface—a slapstick moment. Her flashlight revealed what her gut had told her—it wasn’t dinner that had splattered across the table due to carelessness. Forrest’s head-plant and Oakley’s frozen laugh, minus his bottom jaw, were the result of shotgun blasts.

  Heart pounding, she turned quickly and twisted her knee, moaning loudly. She stumbled out the door and fell onto the ground, and the pain shot up her leg. As she looked up at the farmhouse, her instinct was to run and crash through the front door, daring the monster to battle. Instead, she lifted herself slowly and took a step to test the torqued knee. She wasn’t going to be jogging tonight.

  65

  When the Monster Finds You

  Cricket stood to the side of the door and waited, listening for movement, for voices inside the house. She pushed the door open with the toe of her boot and used her shoulder to swing it open farther. From the dark kitchen she could see the candle’s glow and shadows fluttering over the living room wall. The floor squeaked with each of her footsteps, and she heard someone whispering. She stayed along the kitchen counter and glanced out the window as the moon escaped the clouds, timed with a violent wind that struck the house. The pasture and woods became distinct again.

  Cricket raised the Colt with both hands. Someone was in the next room. She neared the entrance and a shot ripped the edge of the door frame.

  “Stop! Don’t hurt the children!”

  It was Sister Marie who screamed at her.

  The left side of her face stinging with slivers of wood, her eye partially closed, blinking with tears, she yelled hoarsely, “It’s me!”

  Sister told Ethan to lower his weapon.

  Struggling to see, Cricket limped into the dimly lit room and faced Ethan, who still held his pistol raised. The girls were huddled around Sister Marie. Everyone screamed something and Ethan shook, still pointing the gun at her.

  “Lower the gun, Ethan, it’s me! Cricket!” Her voice was deeper, bruised.

  Sister held on to Lily and Lee Ann. Caleb was missing.

  “Who else is here?” Cricket asked.

  The girls started to whimper, and Ethan pointed toward Hank’s door with his gun.

  “Don’t point with your gun,” Cricket demanded. She felt blood trickling down her cheek and was having difficulty focusing with her left eye.

  Head lowered, Ethan raised his right hand and pointed at Hank’s bedroom door.

  “Cricket, you’re hurt,” Sister said, and the girls openly cried, saying Grandpa was dead.

  “Who did this? Anyone else in the house?”

  “I don’t think so,” Ethan said. “We never saw anyone. Except Grandpa.”

  “We don’t know where Caleb is,” Sister said. “A while ago he went to check on the horses. The boy’s so upset about Hank. Lawrence took his in-laws to the Clines’ before all this terrible business, left Oakley and Forrest to look after us. Haven’t seen the mechanics since he left. I pray Lawrence will be home soon.”

  “Ethan, get me a wet washcloth from the kitchen.” Cricket turned her head toward the door, and Ethan holstered the gun and moved like he again had his purpose. She grabbed him as he passed her.

  “You’ve got to improve your shooting skills. You should have had me on the first shot. But you were defending everyone. You get points for that.”

  He nodded and apologized. She pushed him toward the door and moved toward Hank’s room.

  Sister said, “After some time passed, and Caleb hadn’t returned, Ethan was walking out the door when two shotgun blasts kept him with us. I’m hoping those two fine men are patrolling.”

  She couldn’t tell Sister what had happened to Oakley and Forrest with the children there. Whatever had happened to Hank was enough.

  Cricket turned the doorknob, and it rattled in her hand as if a train nearby were sending a shudder through the house. But no train blew sorrowful notes in the distance.

  On the stand alongside Hank’s bed a single candle burned, its wax building down its side, softly mounding on the wood surface. Hank lay on his back staring at the ceiling, his left temple shattered and dispersed along the bed sheet. The bullet entry was from the right, a small hole where some blood leaked. The pillow had dark burn marks.

  The killer had sat in the chair next to the bed and rested his hand on the pillow, inches from Hank’s skull, and pulled the trigger. She imagined the bastard talking to Hank for a while.

  Cricket was praying the entire time that she observed Hank, not losing sight of God or the danger in which they all remained. The bottle of honey on the opposite nightstand got her attention; the lid was off. Most of the jar had been poured over Hank’s exit wound.

  Doctor Claw had done this. This wasn’t another bit of insanity; this was mockery of the lowest order. She heard the devil howl, calling it a real knee slapper; Christian, heal thyself, the punchline.

  She walked along the foot of the bed, tears blurring her injured eye. She asked Hank a question: There’s no sign of struggle, Hank. Were you drugged? Sleeping when the monster found you, or did you bargain with Claw, still believing he’d keep his word, li
ke allowing everyone else to live? Your life for theirs?

  In the living room Ethan handed her the warm towel, and she leaned against the wall and held it to her eye. Between the compress and tears, her eyesight slightly improved. Lee Ann ran from Sister’s side and hugged Cricket and cried against her.

  “I lost another father,” she said, and her sister, Lily, was in agreement, shaking against Sister Marie.

  “We need help,” Sister Marie said.

  “There’s three of us who can shoot,” Cricket replied.

  “Four,” Lily replied. “I’m almost as old as Ethan. I can fire a pistol.”

  “Me, too,” Lee Ann said. “But I’m so sad, I might shake too much.”

  Sister Marie said, “You don’t have to use a gun, Lee Ann. There’s enough of us here to cause a lot of trouble for someone meaning to do us harm.”

  Ethan looked to Cricket. “All of us were in the barn, getting ready to feed the horses, when we heard the shot.” Guilt for not protecting Grandpa Holaday strained his voice. There was more to the confession when he interrupted himself, pointing out the window: “Caleb!”

  66

  A Terrible Thing

  Caleb stood at the edge of the yard that touched the western pasture. Next to him was the tall scarecrow from the woods, Doctor Claw, dressed in plastic scraps that covered his duster. Thin, long pieces fluttered like tentacles upon the wind. The moonlight illuminated the many pieces blowing spastically. Translucent flesh.

  “Ethan, come with me.” Cricket limped toward the door. “Everyone else stay.”

  Sister Marie said, “Cricket, your knee…”

  She ignored Sister and headed outside. Once in shouting distance, she yelled over the wind, “Doctor Claw, let that boy go!”

  “Go? He likes where he’s going. With me. At my side.”

  “Caleb, you’re in danger,” Ethan yelled.

  Caleb screeched, “Science is king, not religion. You’re stupid, Ethan.”

  Cricket walked closer, gun at her side. She moved alongside Ethan, lowering her voice.

  “Don’t you dare shoot unless your brother is away from that monster.” Ethan stiffened, his eyes grew large, and she realized too late that Ethan’s imagination might classify Claw as superhuman. “I mean a monster like a big jerk. He’s dead meat, Ethan. Just remember—calm hands, clear heart, clean kill.”

  The boy nodded and pointed at Claw, who carried a pistol-grip shotgun.

  “You killed Hank, your friend. Why?” Cricket shouted across the yard, battling the wind that whipped the plastic skin of Claw’s into a frenzy. One length, a large piece, attached at his chest, flew up and completely covered his face.

  “For spreading the virus of your religion.”

  The scarecrow turned to Caleb, who was saying something to him. Caleb’s voice grew loud, and Cricket heard fragments of the boy’s bemoaning the old man’s death and the world of bees.

  “You’re surrounded,” Claw yelled over the wind. “I have forces at my command like the hunters after you tonight and those on Halloween that I brought here and then killed with your help.”

  “You’re a killer! You killed the minister, the Hilltop woman, and now Hank!”

  “All true.”

  “You’re Ajax,” she screamed, wanting to take off his head with her Colt .45.

  He laughed and coaxed Caleb to chuckle, too, but the boy said nothing and hung limp on the end of his long arm, fluttering with plastic skin.

  He bellowed, “You’re obsessed. But you should know the truth. As bad as I am in your eyes, Mr. Ajax is a thousand times worse.”

  Diesel started barking, perhaps confirming others were nearby or just really fed up with Claw the monster. Everyone studied the pasture and forest behind the doctor for potential attackers.

  “Hank was harmless when he kept his terrible religion to himself, but he was infecting the children. I did it for the children. He was inviting death the same way my wife did. I wanted the children to see the world of superstition stripped away. To show them there is no God that comes to our rescue. That many of us die in terror on a dark night without fulfilling our lives. Children, we die alone.” He turned to Caleb and then addressed the three huddled around Sister and Cricket. “Only we can rescue ourselves. Children, you must know that I would never harm you. This lesson is for you. I’m a scientist, and perception is the only thing holy in this world.”

  Cricket and Claw now stood close enough to each other to fire a gun with deadly force. She sensed he wouldn’t let her approach further. She needed Caleb to run. She felt he would, but she needed to be ready.

  “Caleb,” Ethan called out. “The doctor did a terrible thing. He killed Grandpa Holaday.” His voice cracked. “I’m going to miss him. You will, too. He loved us.”

  The girls started crying, saying they were going to really miss Grandpa Holaday.

  Caleb went to run from Claw, and the man grabbed him with one of his many arms, for now he looked unnatural, some eight-armed relative of Kali, full of terror. The boy struggled on the end of Claw’s long arm. She couldn’t take the shot. He had the barrel of the shotgun aimed at Caleb’s face. The boy went limp, and Claw pulled him in close.

  “The boy will learn all about the goodness of eliminating superstition. By the time he’s a teen, he’ll turn a scoundrel like that minister or Hank inside out, creating a new visual art for the ages.” Caleb gained back his strength and started to kick the scarecrow. “I’m the Man of Reason, children. The Man on Fire.” He brought Caleb’s face close to his and hissed, “You know that!” He shook the boy violently, and Cricket feared he’d snap Caleb’s neck. The boy answered his captor with a long scream and stabbed Doctor Claw’s leg with a small knife he had hidden.

  When Claw let go of Caleb out of pain and bewilderment, Cricket seized the moment. She fired three rapid shots and then ran toward Claw. The man staggered backward with the shotgun dangling from his arm. One of the bullets had nailed his leg, and he performed a jig, like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz when released from his stake in the field.

  Caleb had made it back to his brother, and Sister Marie kept her gun on Claw, both girls at her side.

  Nearly upon the scarecrow, Cricket pumped two more shots into his chest, and he fell onto his back, losing the shotgun. In the moonlight the many pieces of plastic, seasoned with his own blood, fluttered like moths around his body. The one large piece of plastic that covered his face beat against him as Cricket fired the remaining shots into his head.

  She limped back to the children and punched in a new magazine. Sister rushed to meet her.

  “Is he dead?” Lily asked Cricket.

  “Yes, very dead.”

  Cricket and Sister Marie scouted for the others Claw supposedly had led. But they found no attackers.

  “Can he come back to life?” Caleb asked. “He told me he was no longer just a man.”

  Before either woman replied, Caleb said, “Sister, he wanted me to hurt you.” He hugged Sister tightly. “Never, never could I do that!” The women exchanged looks of horror and relief.

  “He said there would be another scarecrow that would visit us someday.” Lee Ann sounded sad and grown up. Older than all the other children. “Maybe that’s not coming back to life, but that’s a promise I really don’t like.”

  “Okay, kids, follow me,” Cricket said, against Sister Marie’s objections. She led the kids to Claw’s body.

  They formed a circle and stared at the bullet-torn flesh and plastic. Cricket dropped to one knee and ripped a long piece of plastic off Claw’s dark coat. It was attached, like all the others, with black duct tape.

  “You see, a costume,” Cricket said.

  “Oh, Cricket,” Sister moaned, knowing where Cricket was headed. “This is a strange hour. Is this the right thing to do?”

  “It’s the right thing, the right hour.”

  Lily was shaking, and Ethan put his arm around her. Lee Ann held Caleb’s hand, and Sister kneeled and brought ou
t her rosary. Diesel circled the group, barking, encouraging the moment, aware that they were about to denude the monster.

  Cricket said, “Kids, I want you to pull off every piece of plastic from a very bad, very dead man, and throw them all to the wind. It’s just trash people tossed away.”

  Ethan knelt first. Without a word the children followed Cricket’s instructions, and the scraps flew beyond the pasture and into nothingness.

  67

  Something Wicked

  Overlooking the pasture where Doctor Claw lay dead, a singular shadow perched in the upper branches of a great oak. Ajax hadn’t come to watch a fool cast himself into hell; he’d come to observe the survivors of a murderous night. The nun was probably lost, but never say never. He smiled. The children ran on instinct and hormones and could very well be tempted. But the prize was the young woman: brave, beautiful, and bloodthirsty. This young woman would be his queen.

  She had seen him in this otherworld, yet she had no memory of the encounter. This otherworld had impinged on her daytime imagination, where Ajax came alive, racing after her wildly from the depths of time and space, what he would call the horror of existence—and one physicist, Doctor James Claubauf, would heartily agree.

  Before something like the wind drove Ajax from his perch, he saw the spirit of the doctor wandering in the moonlight. He pushed off from the limb, aiming for the frightened vapor.

  Ajax gave humble thanks to a greater power for such an unexpected gift.

  68

  A Question for God

  Close to Christmas, the children were given the task of finding the best-looking tree. “Cut it down, build a stand, and get it to the house,” Predator Jones had said.

  They had also been working on ornaments for those lost at the Holaday farm. Hank and the men, Forrest and Oakley, who had worked so well on the airplanes, were uppermost in their thoughts, all three buried at the highest point in the western pasture, close to the woods, their graves identified by three wooden crosses.