Pestilence Rising Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Michael was eight and I was six years old. We huddled in the back yard, over a ditch by the fence in which a small creek sometimes formed after prolonged rain. Potent sunlight filtered through the tree branches over our heads.

  “You killed it.” He poked a dead toad with a stick.

  We were fighting - the two of us - just moments before that. My father had given him a candy bar. I had received nothing, as usual. Michael always got the treats.

  “Did not! I didn't even touch it.”

  The toad's skin had run black with the sickness, but I didn't know what it was yet. I had no idea what a monster I was.

  “You killed it like you killed her.”

  Our mother died in childbirth, so he had always blamed me for her death - an idea he got from my father, who had implied just as much when he was especially unhappy with me. Until the moment with the toad, he hadn't made a solid connection to my role in her demise. Neither had I. Her death was little more than a story to us until we both saw, then we understood.

  “Her skin was black, the doctor, too. I heard Dad tell Grandma Bez.”

  “Stop lying.” I pushed him.

  “As soon as you came out and started crying.”

  “Take it back. That's not true.” I held the tears at bay, but Michael didn't. His flowed freely down his red face.

  “You make people die. I loved her.”

  He had often teased me about his time with our mother before I spoiled everything. He claimed he could remember, though he was only two when I came into the world on a wave of misfortune. He had never accused me so outright before, not with such vehemence. He shoved me down, ran into the house screaming for our father.  

  I stayed behind, staring at the animal at my feet, confused. If I had killed our mother and the toad, why hadn't anyone around me died since the day of my birth? I had many questions and no one to ask. I knew only that this evil had come from me, and it would come again if I lost my temper.

  So I sat to wait for the emotions to simmer down. Experience told me that if I went into the house while they were both upset - and Michael's distress always made Dad angry - then I would get a beating, not a someone-call-the-cops beating but severe enough that I had the good sense to avoid it. I was afraid for what might happen to Michael and Dad, as well.

  “Sorry.” I said to them, the toad and her.

  Celeste stirred in the passenger seat. She had fallen asleep with her body positioned, so the jagged and bleeding tips of her ruined wings weren't compressed between her and the seat. I was surprised she could sleep with such a seemingly dire injury. I could only imagine the violence required to rip the wings away.

  She was beautiful, though, her skin smooth in the glow of the car gauges. I didn't understand how anyone could be cruel to her, no matter what she thought of us.

  Hours into the drive, I turned on the radio to keep myself awake. Every component of my surroundings participated in a conspiracy to lull me to sleep as I drove, the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers, the persistent shower of rain and the deep thrum of the engine, even the quiet in lieu of pursuit by the Center. I cranked the air conditioner, figuring that a blast of cold air might keep me going for a while longer.

  I hadn't seen any headlights from other cars in a while when an odd reflection appeared on the windshield. The image of a woman with long, straight hair and dark eyes formed there like a projection. Tattoos covered her skin from her neck down her arms. She observed me as if through some window connecting our worlds.

  “Wake up.” Thinking I must be caught in some lucid dream, I smacked myself across the face.

  A quick scan of the truck interior revealed nothing that might create the reflection. When I turned back, she was still there.

  “That’s it. I’m hallucinating. I give up for the night.”

  I veered into the parking lot at the Mountain View Motel just before the Missouri state line. Interesting name seeing as it had no mountain and no view. The building looked like it was constructed in the 80s and painted in the 70s. The walls were brick, the trim goldenrod, and the lighting was barely sufficient to illuminate the stairways and ancient vending machines.

  If we had any good fortune coming our way, Gideon had also given up for the night. He had to sleep at some point, right?

  I nudged Celeste, “Hey. You want to go sleep in a bed?”

  “Naules kershet.” She spoke in her language. I guessed it was the angel equivalent of a request for a few more minutes.

  I dragged the backpack into the front seat.

  “Come on. I know waking up sucks, but you'll thank me when you get to stretch out.”

  The interior of the place was just as dingy as the exterior. Where the yellowed walls met, a television blared a Three Stooges rerun. A man in a fedora, sitting in a tweed recliner with its back to us, roared with laughter, seemingly competing with the volume of the television.

  Cigarette smoke clouded the lobby, the source being a peroxide blonde with a Virginia Slim perched neatly between her knobby fingers. Her other hand paged through a PennySaver open flat on the desk. She rolled her eyes when we walked in.

  “Can you take a debit card?” I asked the queen of customer service.

  “Extra ten dollar fee.” She smacked her gum at the end of the statement to punctuate it.

  “Fine. We need two beds, please.” I handed her the card.

  Just as with the whole escape route through the park thing, I had also prepared financially for this inevitable run. I started an account that I kept secret from the Center. I never harbored any illusions that my employment would keep me safe from them.

  The fact that no one inquired about my account since I opened it two years prior gave me hope that they hadn't yet discovered it. Or maybe they just wanted me to believe I'd gotten away with it, so they could use the account to track me.

  A female news anchor cut in on the Stooges to report that the Mississippi River was close to breaching its banks in some low-lying areas. Fedora man let a string of obscenities at the interruption to his regularly scheduled programming.

  “Flash flooding has been reported in several surrounding counties. If you encounter flooding, move to higher ground immediately. Do not attempt to travel through high water. Please report flooding to the National Weather Service.”

  Celeste said, “It will get much worse in the coming days.” She yawned.

  I had fifty bucks in my wallet. I slid a twenty dollar bill across the counter, “If anyone comes looking for us, we aren't here.”

  “Gee, thanks, big spender. My lips are sealed.” She went back to her PennySaver.

  “Why was that woman so angry?” Celeste asked on the way to our room.

  I shrugged, “Life didn't turn out the way she planned? Who knows?”

  The room was past the vending machines in the hall, at the back of the building. Not many cars were parked in the rear lot. Beyond the edge of the pavement spread an ocean of darkness, a farm field. Maybe the motel had some kind of view, after all.

  Most of the windows we passed were dark. In fact, the place seemed mostly deserted, which was fine by me. The less attention we drew, the better.

  I ran the key card through the slot in the door, and the ensuing click gave me a sense of relief. Here we would find respite from the chaos.

  The idea that I should move the truck from the front of the motel crossed my mind, but exhaustion hastily dismissed it. Should Gideon get close enough to the motel before we checked out, the location of our truck wouldn't matter. Front or back, he would find it, and there was some comfort in admitting that particular futility, probably because it removed me from the responsibility of acting.

  Our room was reasonably clean. The style of decor from the lobby carried over, everything worn and circa the seventies. It smelled like must and stale cigarette smoke as if the woman at the counter had followed us. The furniture was worn down from the many previous travelers, but I was happy to see it,
just the same. We were out of the rain, out of the car. We might even get some sleep.

  I barely had the energy to turn out the light before I collapsed into the bed. I lay awake, on my side, facing Celeste. She fell asleep instantly, of course. She had never woken up completely after leaving the truck.

  An angel. My life would never be the same. I would never be the same. This possible proof of the existence of our deity was too much to process with my depleted energy. I closed my eyes.

  The woman from the glass and I were alone together in a place that looked like a cave. Shadows cast by a fire slithered along the wall, creatures circling. She spoke to me in words I couldn't understand, their meaning just out of reach. When I told her I didn't know the language, she became more insistent. She came for me through the edge of the flame, put her hands on my face, and heat surged into my veins, bringing with it nausea.

  I woke in the motel, shaking like I had a fever. I couldn't have been asleep long because the sky outside was still dark. Celeste slept peacefully in the bed next to me.

  Disoriented, I staggered to the bathroom, switched on the light, and hung onto the sink for support. Emotional pain weighed down the beating of my heart with the intensity of all the bad shit that had ever happened to me, my dad's resentment, the loss of the mother I never knew, the lonely nights, my brother going missing, Gideon and the Center. A wave of misery hit me, and I fell to the floor and vomited the remnants of a protein bar into the toilet.

  I caught my breath, then slumped back against the wall to wait for my stomach to stop lurching. Thoughts whirled. Fear that I'd contracted a virus, that I was suffering an intense mental breakdown, those made sense. Others didn't, like the woman in my dream had attacked me. Could the sickness turn on me? Could a ravager ravage himself? I grappled for an explanation for what was happening as the nausea subsided.

  I wiped my face as I stood, trembling, to rinse my mouth.

  The woman appeared in the mirror. I spun to face the stained shower curtain, pulled it back. Empty bathtub. I had to get out of the motel room. The notion of fresh air held promise.

  I put on my shoes as quietly as I could to keep from waking Celeste. I pulled on my jacket and took the prescription bottle from my pocket. I swallowed a pill without washing it down.

  Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Puddles in the parking lot were deepening. I made my way to the vending machines I'd seen in the hall, thinking a carbonated beverage might soothe the firestorm in my stomach.

  My madness chased me. Her reflection there was clearer and larger. She'd moved closer to her side of the glass. I didn't check for her presence behind me because she wouldn’t be there. Her game didn't abide by simple rules like that. She smiled at me again.

  “What are you?” I asked her like the nutcase I was apparently becoming.

  The symbols on her arms and chest, tattoos of glyphs, writhed and blurred and flickered, causing the bile to rise up my throat once more. I backed away. I wiped the sweat from my brow with both hands, and when I looked back, she had disappeared.

  Too long since I had taken my meds - that was the problem. The Center gave me the pills to balance my emotions, so I wouldn’t accidentally ravage anyone. Anxiety had taken hold. How many hours since my last dose? The meds wouldn't work if I didn't take them regularly.

  Instead of heading back inside, I went out, into the rain, into the parking lot. Being close to other people didn't seem like a good idea. I needed to get a grip.

  My hand in my pocket found a plastic bag.

  Please let that be what I think it is. I pulled out the bag. There was a joint and a lighter inside. Praise be unto herbal medicine. I never thought of myself as needing weed, but something to dull the razor edge of my nerves was necessary.

  A green dumpster in the far corner of the lot seemed like a good place to be alone. I crossed the lot, keeping an eye out for security or the police, but out in the boonies, no one really cares what you do. I stuck the joint in my mouth and cupped a hand over it to light the end.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep drag and immediately felt better. Soon, I would be level enough that I could go back inside and sleep until it was time to run again. My rattled nerves calmed as the world fell back into order. Another drag pushed the stress farther away.

  As I stared into the night, my mind wandered to the assignment presented to me by Celeste. Michael. Did he deserve a rescue? When we were kids, he made a full-time hobby of causing me problems. He hated me. Interestingly enough, I didn’t hate him.

  Would he even want me to save him? With my luck, I would travel all that way, screw up my entire life, and he would be fine. He wouldn’t need my help. Hell, this whole drama with Celeste could be a lie. Just a way to destroy what little stability I’d established for myself.

  My vision adjusted to the darkness, and I saw how vast the field before me was. The expanse stretched out as far as I could see under a night sky heavy with cloud cover. The ground, covered in rows of green sprouts, rose and dipped so that rainwater gathered in some parts. In the distance, in a stand of trees, a single light shone. A house?

  I detected movement near my feet and looked down to find the woman still haunting me. Her reflection floated in a wide puddle in the dirt where the pavement ended. My pulse quickened. Her image was brighter than before. Her expression had gained a certain hungry quality. I took another hit off the joint with the hope of making her disappear. No such luck.

  She motioned toward the field.

  I listened for the sounds of Gideon’s men descending on the parking lot, in case this vision of her was a warning. The parking lot was just as quiet as before. I looked back to the water. She was still there.

  Against all good sense, I stepped down from the pavement into mud to venture into darkness. I wouldn't go far; I told myself. She wouldn't leave me alone until she got what she wanted.

  I held my eyes to the ground to avoid falling into the ruts. A shadow darted behind me, a coyote. Another passed in front of me, a scrawny thing, more scraggly than intimidating. As they went about their coyote business, more joined them. They didn't seem aggressive. They didn't growl or bare their teeth. They didn't even really seem to notice me.

  The illumination in the trees ahead moved. The orb swayed, dodged trees, and then entered the field to drift toward me. The color of it brightened from golden yellow to almost white, and all of a sudden, it burst into particles like stars.

  When I looked down to see what my canine companions were making of this scene, I found them seated around me, not looking at the swath of earthbound stars but at me, as if waiting for me to offer command, their eyes glowing.

  The galaxy floated in the air around me with voices like whispering and singing, some of them laughing. I put out my hand, and they swirled around my fingers, grazing my palm with their warmth. I had never felt so free and welcome by anyone, but these strange beings, this was an embrace from a force I didn't understand but was still somehow a part of.

  Then I heard the woman's voice, “Never fear what you are, Hunter. They've lied to you.”

  “Who?”

  The stars shifted in a river around me in waves that rose and fell, dimmed and brightened.

  The woman continued, “You don't need drugs. You don't need them to confine you. Control was always yours. You need only to believe.”

  I was jolted from the stars by a rough shove that landed me in the mud. I blinked in the sudden darkness, threw myself onto my back.

  Furious, Celeste loomed over me, “Why did you leave the room?”

  “I went to the vending machine.”

  “This is not the vending machine.”

  I rose, brushing off my pants. The coyotes were gone, as were the stars.

  “You scared them away.”

  “Who?” She scanned the field.

  “The stars.”

  “There's nothing here. I cannot protect you if you're going to wander off while I sleep.”

  “I never asked
you to protect me.” I started back toward the motel room. Celeste trailed after me.

  “My life depends on the success of this mission. Your protection is part of my order. If I have to confine you, I will.”

  That threat sounded disturbingly Center.

  “So what if I decide that my brother isn't worth the trouble? He isn't, you know. All he ever did was torment me.”

  “You're in as much danger as he is.”

  “I am now, thanks to you.”

  I waited until we were in the room before continuing the conversation, “How do I know that what you say is the truth? Why should I trust you?”

  These were questions I hadn't even thought of asking before she pulled me away from my communion with the stars and coyotes. I was bitter about having to leave it behind. The bizarre meeting had planted a need in me, like I had come close to finding what my life was missing. I belonged. And she yanked me from it to scold me like a child.

  “God has sent me -”

  “Anyone can say that. How do I know you're an angel? How do I know you aren't just another crazy like Mr. Rainbow Pants back on the train platform?”

  “I don't know what proof I have to offer. You just need to have faith.”

  “Faith? Why is that always the go-to answer for religious types? I need more compelling evidence than whatever the hell that is sticking out of your back.”

  I hadn't even considered the possibility that she might pose a threat in ways aside from inciting the wrath of the Center. I would need to keep an eye on her.

  “Don't bother me again until morning.”

  I returned to bed without another word to her. After all that happened, I thought I might have trouble sleeping, but I didn't.