We watched through the broken
window of Spagnoli’s Fish Market as Ryan Beachard slowly ascended the massive
pile of rubble that was once the South Street Seaport Mall. He took one last drag of his cigarette before
flicking it into the water.
Sarah stood to my left holding my
calloused hand in her strong fingers. Her
grip tightened when Ryan reached the peak of the mountain of debris.
Pei Ling Chen stood to my right, her
hand intentionally grazing mine from time to time. It was both exciting and aggravating.
Light flashed in the distance. Ryan had cast the summon spell, as we called it.
Depending on where it was when summoned the thing could show up in anywhere
from a few minutes to a few hours. Ryan
knelt down and rummaged through his messenger bag, searching for another
cigarette, I guessed. He threw a Camel
into his mouth and lit it with his Zippo.
Suddenly the ground began to shake,
and a massive waterspout erupted as a towering form rose out of Upper New York
Bay.
Ryan’s eyes followed the shape as
it rose to 20 stories above the water.
The cigarette fell from his mouth and sparked against his coat before
being lost in the rubble. The creature stood
on three crab-like legs, each the width of a redwood tree trunk. Hundreds of tentacles flowed out of its torso
like the tendrils of a marine plant. It
crawled toward the Seaport.
Ryan appeared to be frozen, which
was no surprise. He wouldn’t be the
first person who had ventured as far only to be driven mad by the sight of the towering
abomination. But I knew Ryan, and I knew
that his mind was stronger than the others.
After a moment, he raised his hands
toward the sky. Ryan drew shapes in the cool
autumn air as he spoke the arcane incantations.
The thing saw Ryan with crimson eyes
that roiled to the surface of its gray, corpse-like skin, only to burst and
disappear like bubbles in a boiling pot.
It was no longer the spell that called the thing to Ryan. It was the promise of live meat.
When the ritual ended. I held my breath. The thing stood in the water, pulsing and
writhing. The spell didn’t seem to have
an effect on it.
“Damn it,” I said and kicked the
wall.
“Shhh!” said Sarah.
Now it was the creature’s turn to
attack. It swung a thick tentacle at
Ryan, the pallid limb curving through the air like a train falling off a
cliff. Ryan crouched, bracing for the
inevitable, but before he could be devoured by one of its mouthed suckers the tentacle
was deflected by a bell-jar of solid energy surrounding Ryan.
Pei Ling perked up. “Interesting,” she said in her thick Chinese
accent. “A force-field.”
I saw Sarah leer at Pei Ling from
the corner of my eye.
I exhaled, but my relief was
short-lived. The thing beat on Ryan’s
glass house again and again until it shattered in a blinding display of
light. When the light of the magic
faded, Ryan was gone.
The thing backed away from
shore. It climbed the remaining tower of
the Brooklyn Bridge where it perched like an eagle waiting for prey to scurry
out of hiding.
Our party was silent as we negotiated
the rubble strewn about Wall Street. The
strong smell of decaying flesh radiated from the ruined buildings. We hadn’t the time or manpower to clear the
rubble and dispose of the dead, and so the corpses were left to decay where
they fell. One thing people never
imagine when they envision a post-apocalyptic world: the god-awful stench.
I looked back at Pei Ling who was holstering
her nine millimeter in order to climb over a crushed BMW SUV. Guns, like most conventional weapons, are
useless against the monsters. Their
hides are either too thick or their bodies are ethereal. We carried them in case we ran into any people
that might try to steal our supplies—maybe even eat us.
Pei Ling smiled when she caught my
gaze. I smiled back. Our stare lingered too long. When I looked forward I was met by Sarah’s
scowling face. I could tell this would
come up later.
After an hour we reached the 2, 3
subway station. Three months ago, when the
buildings were intact, the same trip wouldn’t have been more than a ten minute
walk. We took flashlights out of our
backpacks and shuffled down the stairwell.
Three months ago we would have ridden a subway train to Pennsylvania
Station. Now we walked through the
tunnels.
“How’d it go?” asked Jeffrey
Pilaster as we made our way up the static escalator.
“Bad,” I replied. “The spell didn’t hurt the monster. But it did create some kind of barrier around
Ryan.”
Pilaster put his hand to his chin
and stared pensively through his cracked glasses. After a moment he whispered, “Protect
self…. I thought it was ‘project self’. Did it save him?” he asked with reserved
hopefulness.
I shook my head. “The thing made short work of it.”
Pilaster furled his brow and
exhaled a deep breath. He pulled a pack
of Pall Malls from his breast pocket and withdrew two cigarettes. He put one in his mouth and handed me the
other. I was about to light the end when
Sarah swooped in and snatched it from my mouth.
“These are disgusting,” she said as
she crushed it in her hand.
I rolled my eyes.
I turned back to Pilaster. I could tell he felt guilty. “It’s not your fault, Jeff,” I said. “You have to keep trying.”
He nodded and then walked back to
his apartment with his head down.
“Have a pleasant evening, Arthur,”
said Pei Ling in her formal speaking style.
She headed toward the ticketing booth for radio duty.
“Have a pleasant evening,” I parroted.
Sarah and I entered our home—the former
Penn Station Taco Bell. I shut the metal
gate and turned around to find Sarah standing only inches behind me.
“Don’t think I don’t see what’s
going on,” she said acerbically.
“Don’t think, you don’t
see,” I said, counting the negative conjunctions on my left hand, “what’s going
on.”
“If I find out you’ve been messing
around with that little Chinese tart,” she said, her finger wagging at my nose,
“I’m going to cut your balls off, Arthur—just like I’d do to a dog that can’t
stay in the yard.”
“I love you too, honey.”
Sarah shoved me into the security
gate. The slated door buckled under my
weight.
The friction between us was nothing
new. During the two years we were
together our arguments had grown increasingly personal and violent. One night, after a memorably vitriolic argument,
I had made the decision to leave Sarah.
But before I was able to muster the courage to end it, an urgent TV news
report broke.
Something had been smashing houses
to smithereens during the middle of the night in a small Hamlet just outside of
Providence, Rhode Island. It was
something so huge it could completely demolish a small building, and yet there
wasn’t a single eyewitness account. It
was a curious and frightening account, but it was only a sample of things to
come.
In the days following several
creatures began to appear near an abandoned radio station near Providence. They tore into our world by the dozens, destroying
everything in their path. The military attacked,
but their efforts were futile. There was
in-fighting over territory. Eventually
the creatures spread, first across the country, then the globe.
Sometimes a disaster will bring
people closer together—it did for us. We
used each other as crutches to limp on through the dark times. For a while we were civil again, but you can
get used to anything. After we adapted
to life beneath the “feet” of the Ancient Ones the old problems reared their
persistent heads.
I lifted the gate halfway and ducked
beneath it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” said
Sarah said.
I turned back. “Ryan’s memorial service—I need to spread the
word.”
“I’m sure you do,” she replied
sarcastically.
I left Taco Hell and walked down
the connecting concourse toward the ticketing office. My
steel-toed boots echoed down the corridor.
A few months ago the hallways would have been strewn with sleeping
refugees—the stores and offices triple, even quadruple-bunked—but the halls were
empty now, and a few of the stores were even vacant.
My knuckles rapped on the private sign stuck to the door of the
ticket vendors’ lounge.
“It’s me,” I said.
There was a muffled reply, “Come
in.”
I entered the office and quietly
shut the door behind me. Pei Ling was
seated at a desk running through bands on the CB radio. She looked cute in camouflage pants and a
wife-beater.
“Anything?” I said picking up her
clipboard. She had written the time and several
radio frequencies. Next to each
frequency were the words no transmission
written in perfect calligraphy.
“No. I reported today’s activities, but no one
responded.”
We kept in touch with other pockets
of resistance. We would transmit our
efforts over the CB and note any significant broadcasts that came back. Our hope was that someone somewhere might
discover the creatures’ weakness. We had
yet to hear anything useful.
“Maybe they’re busy,” I said,
trying to sound optimistic.
“Maybe,” she said standing up.
Pei Ling stood. She threw her arms around my neck and gave me
a hard kiss. “Baby, I missed you so
much! Did you miss me?”
Women,
I thought. It had been less than an hour
since we last saw each other. “Of course
I did,” I said with a smile.
I stared into her wide brown eye
and tried to forget that we were on the verge of extinction, if only for a
moment.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” I
told her.
“I understand.” She immediately began peeling off her clothes.
What a woman, I thought, as I followed
her lead.
Twenty minutes later we lay sprawled
on the floor with only our clothing between our sweaty bodies and the cold tile.
“Baby, when will we be together?”
Pei Ling asked as she combed her fingers through my chest hair.
The question had become a recurring
theme to our tryst.
I sighed. “I don’t know, babe. Sarah—”
“You do not love her anymore?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no
words came out.
“Then you should leave her.”
“It’s not that easy.” I said frustrated.
“If you are not satisfied with a
relationship, then you abandon it.”
“Sweetie, it isn’t like before—when
you broke up with someone and never saw them again. We work together—live together—I see her
every day. She sees you every day.”
“It is exactly the same as before. We are the architects of our own
happiness. You just have to take
action.”
“Believe me, if I left Sarah and
started up with you she would do everything in her power to make our lives
hell.”
“The world is not already
hell? What more can she do than already
has been done?”
I raised my eyebrows and sighed. “I have to get back.”
The next morning there was a
pounding on the security gate. I raised
the door.
“I found another one,” said
Pilaster holding up the ancient leather-bound tome. It was early morning, but he was already
smoking a cigarette. “You have to get
everyone together for the lottery.
I massaged the bridge of my nose
and let out a tired breath. “Later
tonight,” I replied. “They’ll cast
tomorrow.”
“But the thing is still out there,”
he said pointing east.
“Can we have a moment?” I snapped
at him. “Ryan’s body isn’t even cold yet. We’ll send someone tomorrow.”
Pilaster looked at the cracked
concrete floor and nodded.
“Alright.” He paused. “Tomorrow.”
He left and I shuttered the
door. My stomach was grumbling for
breakfast, which would undoubtedly be tortilla-related.
“You should send Pei Ling,” my wife
said, surprising me.
“What do you mean I should send Pei Ling?” I glared at
her. “I don’t send anyone. Chance
does.”
“Don’t give me that horseshit. You run the lottery, don’t you?”
I stared at her uncomfortably.
She flared her eyes at me.
“So I should just pick Pei Ling and
let her get killed?” I said flabbergasted.
“What is wrong with you?”
“You’re going to kill someone. Does it matter who?”
“I don’t kill anyone! It’s up to chance—it’s a god damn lottery!”
Sarah took two steps toward
me. “Someone has to die, Arthur. Why should you care if it were Pei Ling?”
The icy calm in her voice sent a
chill through my body. I shook my head
as I backed away. “I have to go,” I
said. “I have work to do.”
I left our apartment and made my
away around Penn Station. I pounded on
security gates and office doors alerting the people that there would be a
memorial service followed by a lottery.
After Ryan’s memorial service,
which was officiated by Pilaster, the group congregated in front of the
staircase in the main concourse. The
numbers seemed thinner than ever—30, 35 maybe. Had some deserted us?
I headed
to a fire extinguisher cabinet bolted to the side of the stairs. I pulled a key from my jacket pocket and unlocked
the padlock. Inside was a large Folger’s
Coffee can. Normally the case wouldn’t
be locked should someone need the extinguisher in the event of a fire, but I
had fixed a padlock to the door to keep people from tampering with the coffee
can. (The fire extinguisher was on the
floor beneath the cabinet.) Taking the
can I wove through the crowd and hopped onto the third step of the staircase.
Looks of anxiety and despair adorned
the peoples’ faces. Pei Ling stood in
the back leaning against the door of an Auntie Anne’s pretzel shop, her arms at
her side. Sarah stood on the other side
of the room, arms crossed and glaring at me.
“Friends!” I yelled. The people stopped talking and looked at
me. “Thank you all for coming.”
“Why do we bother?” shouted someone
in the back. I strained to see who, but
the light from the barrel fire wasn’t strong enough to illuminate his
face. “We just end up getting ourselves
killed!”
There were supportive rumblings
from the crowd.
“Friends, please! I know you are all tired
and frustrated, but we are getting closer to finding a spell that will banish
the Old Ones.”
“How do you know that?” shouted
Ryan Beachard’s sister. She had the same
pale skin and curly blond locks that her older brother had.
“The translations—”
“Pilaster can’t read Arabic for
shit!” shouted another voice from the shadows.
From the corner of my eye I could
see Pilaster lower his head.
“Mr. Pilaster is doing all he can. It’s only a matter of time before we find the
right incantation! This struggle has an
end!”
More rumblings sounded, this time
in my favor.
“What else can we do but keep
trying?” I said.
“We could leave!” shouted another
faceless voice.
“And go where? To the Mountains in the north, where the monster
floats above a bed of timber and bones? South,
to the grotto of the dreaming god? On
the radio an army Lieutenant claimed there’s a whole city of humanoid fish
creatures on the west coast. Should we
try there?”
The rebels were beginning to lose
steam.
“This isn’t a problem we can run
from! We make our stand here, now.
There is a spell that can exile the monsters. Dr. Pasqual was certain of that. We just have to keep trying until we find
it.”
A few heads nodded. Some people sighed in resignation. They knew I spoke the truth. The things were everywhere. All we
could do was scurry between the cracks beneath their feet, like the rats in the
subway, until we found a way to defeat them.
“Remember we’re not just doing this for ourselves. We are doing this for the world. Now, I’m
going to draw a name.” I reached into
the coffee can and withdrew a scrap of paper.
I read the name, which had been
written by the entrant herself. “Karen
Wooster,” I said definitively.
A girl gasped.
“No!” cried her father, Robert
Wooster.
I pursed my lips and looked at the floor.
“Not my Karen,” he said. “Draw again!”
“It’s a lottery, Robert,” I said
holding up my hands.
Unlike Pilaster, I had given up on
feeling guilty. I’d always been the one
to draw the names, but the selection process was based on chance. If I didn’t draw the names, someone else
would. And if it wasn’t Karen, it would be
another. These were the rules the group
had agreed upon in the beginning.
Robert paused, his face smeared
with anger and desperation. “Then I’ll
do it. I’ll go in her place.”
I looked into his eyes. “You can,” I told him. “But are you absolutely sure you want
to?”
“It’s my daughter,” he said
indignantly. “Of course I’m sure.”
I shook my head. “Then meet with Pilaster tomorrow at dawn to
learn the spell. We’ll head out at noon.” I addressed the crowd. “The lottery is settled. You can all go home.”
The crowd slowly dispersed to a
coda of grumbling and whispers.
The only other person who had ever
volunteered to cast a spell was an NYU professor named Doctor Victor Pasqual. Pasqual had access to NYU’s Bobst Library, a
repository for rare texts, which he frequented to indulge his personal interest
in the occult. It was here that he found
the ancient tome.
Although the readings in the tome
fascinated Pasqual, he had never believed them to be anything more than ancient
folklore. But when the creatures started
to appear, and the doctor saw that their anatomy was strikingly similar to the diagrams
and descriptions logged in the tome, he concluded that the book was rooted more
in reality than superstition.
Realizing the tome was the key to
unraveling the mystery of these eerie new creatures, Pasqual seized the book
from the Bobst Library and felt into the subway.
After stumbling through the underground
for days, scouring for a safe haven, the doctor happened upon our encampment
under the ruins of Madison Square Garden.
Like most refugees, we took him in and gave him a place where he felt safe.
It wasn’t long before Pasqual began
conducting experiments based on the readings in the tome. I had never believed in magic before I met
the doctor, but with the book he was able to do impossible things. He could reanimate dead rats. Make shadows speak in tongues. Once I even saw him turn a dog inside out by
merely speaking a few arcane syllables.
(He swore the dog was an accident.)
After months of research Pasqual
thought he had found a spell to bind the Old Ones. He was so certain of his discovery that he insisted
he be the one to cast it and, I think secretly, the one to get the credit. While the thing was busy destroying the
Brooklyn Bridge, Dr. Pasqual marched out onto the balcony of the South Street
Seaport. He shouted the incantations in
a tone fat with undeserved triumph. But
magic is often vague and unpredictable.
When he concluded the spell a flash
of light flared around his body. The
thing raised—what I could only assume was its head—and looked directly at the
Doctor. With only a moment’s hesitation it
leapt toward the seaport. Terrified
Pasqual clumsily descended the staircase, but it was too late. The thing whipped the building to pieces with
its innumerous tentacles.
Twenty of us had escorted Pasqual
to Seaport, eager to see the monster destroyed—only seven of us made it
back. The good Doctor was not among
those able to count their blessings that day.
It was stupid to let the Doctor
cast the first spell being the only
person among us who could read Arabic.
We realized that as soon as the thing charged the Seaport. Fortunately the doctor had at least enough sense
to take on a protégé in the months leading up to his becoming a creature hors
d'oeuvre. Pilaster may not be an archaeolexicologist, but he’s better
than nothing. Maybe Ryan Beachard would
have disagreed, but I don’t.
Pilaster had called a special
meeting to discuss the book. Six of us
sat at a fold-out table in a security office.
Six leaders—unelected and unqualified.
“This is the last spell,” Pilaster
said getting right to the point.
“What do you mean?” I said.
He grasped the tome by its covers
and shook it as if trying to fling the pages from their binding. “I mean this thing is kicked.”
“What are you talking about? The book is huge,” Sarah said, referring to the tome’s 1,000 plus pages.
Pilaster let out a brief
chuckle. “This tome is one part history
book, one part anatomy text, and one part grimoire. The spells are only sprinkled throughout, and
only a handful of them allude to being offensive.”
“If there are no more spells, then
what the hell are we going to do?” My heart stopped. “What am I going to tell them?” I said pointing
toward the main concourse.
“There may be hope. Pasqual’s journal spoke of another book that was
alleged to contain spells. It’s called
the Libris de Lumine. Literally translated it means the Book of Light.”
“And what’s ours called?” Sarah
said pointing to the book in Pilaster’s hands.
“This one,” he said stubbing his
finger on the ancient leather cover, “translates to the Book of Dead Names.”
“It’s called the Book of Dead Names?” Her eyes widened. “Jesus, I can’t imagine why nothing good has
ever come of it.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Where is this Book of Light?”
“According to Pasqual, Bauman Rare
Books was in possession of a copy when everything went to hell. It might still be there.”
“Yeah,” snorted Joe Cabot, “buried
under a pile of rubble.” Joe was a
former army Lieutenant, which made him our default weapons expert.
I thought for a moment. “Alright, we’ll cast the last spell tomorrow and
then head uptown to try to find the other book.”
“I have a suggestion,” Pei Ling
chimed in. “I think it would be
desirable to send two groups. That way
the monster will be distracted by the spell as the second team recovers the
book.”
“Good thinking,” said Pilaster.
An idea came to me. “Sarah, you lead the team to Spagnoli’s to
monitor the effects of the spell. I’ll
take another team to midtown to try to find the book.”
She looked at me skeptically. “Why you?”
“Because you’ve done the Seaport
run a dozen times, and I know the area around Bauman’s—my office was just
around the corner. Remember?”
Sarah’s brow narrowed, but she said
nothing more.
We set out the next day. My team consisted of four people: Joe Cabot,
Brendan Weller, a scavenger, and, of course, Pei Ling. Sarah was infuriated, but there was nothing
she could do. I had already picked my
role in the mission. Pei Ling was free
to choose which team she would aid.
We headed up 8th Avenue
through the A, C, E subway line. A few
trains plugged the tunnel, but they were deserted. When we reached 5th Ave & 53rd
Street we left the relative safety of the subway and headed above ground.
To our surprise some of the
buildings were still intact—a rare sight since the thing had made New York City
its playground.
“Bauman’s is only a few blocks
away,” I said examining a fell street sign.
“Smooth sailing,” replied Joe. He pulled a beige army cap from his back
pocket and pulled it over his shaved head.
Brendan looked at him anxiously, as
if Joe had just cursed our expedition with his hubris.
We passed a few stores as we headed
north on Madison Avenue. The front windows
were smashed. Clothing was strewn
about. The food taken. No surprise there. Raiding had become our new pastime.
Bauman Rare Books was relatively
intact. The glass doors were shattered,
and a few tomes were scattered across the marble floor, but compared to the
other shops Bauman’s looked newly renovated.
Literature wasn’t something you needed to survive an apocalypse.
We fanned out and began searching
for the Libris de Lumine.
As I climbed the spiral staircase
leading to the balcony, Pei Ling let out a scream. I bolted down the stairs and followed Brendan
and Joe into a back office. We found Pei
Ling frozen,her hands over her mouth. In
front of her sat a man’s decayed corpse.
There was a large splash of dried blood and brain matter on the wall
behind him.
“Are you alright?” I said, taking
Pei Ling by the shoulders.
Her focus broke away from the carnage.
“Arthur,” she paused. “Yes.
I—I am sorry I caused you alarm.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I would have screamed too—only the pitch
would have been higher,” I said with a wink.
“I should be used to these sights by
now.”
“It’s human to be scared.”
Joe bent down and pried the Smith
& Wesson Russian revolver that was still clutched in the corpse’s stiff hand. “Is there anything in this store that isn’t an antique?” he said dismayed by
the find.
We continued the search. After two hours we were about to give up when
I noticed a white book sitting atop a plaster plinth on the library
balcony. I lifted the book from its
resting place, my fingers trembling under its unnatural weight. This has to be the it, I thought. I can feel it.
“I’ve got it,” I shouted to the
team. Curious, I looked at the price
tag. Six thousand dollars. “Oof,”
I cringed. “Bill me.”
Just then the ground shook. Several books fell off their shelves, landing
haphazardly on the floor. An ornate vase
wobbled off a pedestal and shattered. We
looked at each other, eyes bulging with dread.
“Time to go,” said Brendan.
I stuffed the book into my surplus
army backpack and dashed down the spiral staircase.
We hustled outside and headed south
on Madison Ave. toward the subway. As we
crossed 54th Street we heard a roar that sounded like the
oscillating twang of a mammoth band of rubber.
It rumbled in the distance, and then grew louder.
Suddenly there was crash as loud as
dynamite. I looked up in time to see a strange
monster slam into the side of a skyscraper.
It looked like the dismembered head of an aardvark, but it had a shorter
snout that ended with mandibles. Its
head was encircled with a wreath of waving tentacles, each tipped with a long
curved spine.
The thing slid down the building
and smashed into the asphalt. One of its
tentacles flailed toward us. It landed
on Brendan, crushing him with the weight of an oak tree.
“No!” screamed Joe.
“Run!” I yelled.
But it was too late. A massive section of stone and glass detached
from the skyscraper. Joe tried to outrun
it, but that one moment of hesitation was enough to get him buried under a
mound of debris.
Pei Ling and I kept moving. Behind us we could hear the new monster
lifting itself from the rubble. As if
the situation couldn’t get any worse, the thing skittered out from behind the
New York Palace Hotel just north of 50th Street. When it spotted us with one of its bubbling
red eyes it let out a wail that fluctuated in and out of the human ear’s audible
spectrum.
“Don’t stop!” I yelled to Pei
Ling.
We raced the thing to the
corner. If we could make it one more
block we could hide underground.
The thing whipped a massive
tentacle across Madison Ave, blocking our path.
It took a step closer and raised its trunk-like leg. But before it could crush us underfoot the aardvark
creature soared overhead, crashing into the thing’s rubbery body. The thing was thrown onto its back, dragging the
barricading tentacle with it.
While the aardvark speared the
thing with its tentacles, Pei Ling and I rounded the corner and made for the
subway station. We darted down the stairs
jumped off the platform. As our feet
touched the track bed a loud thud sounded overhead. Then there was a crash as part of the street
caved in behind us. Pei Ling and I bolted
toward the tunnel as the cave-in spread like a crack in a car windshield. Dust
and debris ushered us into the pitch-black tunnels.
We had to stop and rest once we
reached Port Authority. I boosted Pei
Ling onto the subway platform. As soon
as I hoisted myself out of the track bed she threw herself into my arms and
began to sob.
“There are two now,” she croaked into
my polyester jacket. “Two.”
“I know, baby,” I said. “I know.”
I felt an urge to cry myself, but I didn’t dare fall apart for her sake
and for the sake of my sanity, which was now walking the edge of an abyss. “But we can stop them now.” I said, trying to reassure her. I patted the side of my backpack. “We have the Book of Light now.”
Pei Ling continued to cry. For over an hour we sat coupled together in anguish,
the domes of the yellow tactile paving digging into our knees. Her fears were valid. There were two of those things now, and
unless one of them was killed or retreated their fighting would completely
destroy what little of the city was left.
And as much as I wanted to whole-heartedly believe in the tome nestled
between my shoulder blades, I couldn’t—not completely.
We returned to Penn Station after
dusk. I was exhausted having had to
carry Pei Ling for most of the trip back.
I set her on the couch in the ticketing office lounge and covered her
with my jacket. I wanted nothing more
than to lay by her side and hold her until I drifted into unconsciousness, but
I had a relationship to pay homage to.
Reluctantly I headed back to Taco
Bell. Pilaster would have to wait until
morning. As I reached down to lift the
security gate I felt a strange feeling come over me. I found myself hoping that Sarah wouldn’t be there—wishing
she had somehow become collateral damage in the monsters’ battle. And when I raised the gate and found her
waiting for me expectantly with that familiar scowl on her face, I found myself
feeling deeply disappointed.
“Where the hell have you been?” she
said angrily.
Dumbfounded I raised my hands to
the ceiling. “Where do you think? I was retrieving that god-damned book!”
“It doesn’t take all day to go to
midtown!”
“Oh,
you know. Pei Ling and I stopped into
the Ginger for a few glasses of wine, and then we got a room at the Hudson
Hotel.”
“You probably would have if you
could,” she said, taking a step toward me.
“Would you cut the petty jealousy?”
I shouted. “Half of our team died
today!”
“You think we all made it back in
one piece?” She said, getting up in my face.
“So what, it’s my fault?”
“I needed you there with me!” Her eyes glistened. “But instead you were with that little tramp!”
“This is crazy,” I said taking a
step back. “This is crazy. I can’t deal with
this right now. I can’t.” I lifted the gate. “Goodbye, Sarah.”
As I walked toward Pilaster’s
apartment, Sarah followed.
“Fine, go ahead!” She said. “Go to your little whore!”
“Don’t call Pilaster a whore,” I said
without looking back.
If anyone was lucky enough to fall
sleep, our exchange surely put an end to their good fortune.
I knocked on the door that
shuttered the Penn Station Starbucks. In
a matter of seconds Pilaster threw up the gate.
“Arthur,” he said, his eyes wide
with surprise. “I… I didn’t—”
“You thought I was dead,” I said
matter-of-factly.
“When I didn’t see you return, I—I
feared it, yes.” He peeked into the
hallway to see if anyone else was with me.
“Come in, come in. I’ll pour us
some coffee.”
The Starbucks hadn’t changed much
since Pilaster had moved in. The
interior’s earthen color pallet and rich wood floor made the room feel warm and
inviting. Pilaster had even left the
faux leather furniture scattered about in their original places. The only real difference was that the merchandise
was gone—either used or put into storage—and replaced by cartons of cigarettes
and arcane books—Dr. Pasqual’s legacy.
Pilaster ducked behind the Corian
barista counter and returned with two cups of cold brew.
“Remember hot coffee?” he said as
he set a cup in front of me.
I chuckled.
He took
a sip from his cup and then sighed.
“Arthur, I want to apologize to you—to all of you really.”
“What
do you mean?”
He took
off his glasses and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and
forefinger. “It’s because of me that we now
have another monster.”
“About
that….”
“The
spell that Robert cast—it opened a portal into their world. And another one came out.”
I
closed my eyes and kneaded my forehead.
“I know
I’m not the best translator,” he said looking away.
“You’re
all we’ve got, man,” I said with tired resignation. “If that book were in my hands, I wouldn’t
know what to do with it. With you we at
least have some hope. And that’s more than the rest of us can
offer.”
Pilaster
stared bleakly at the coffee swirling around his cup.
I
unzipped my backpack. “Maybe you’ll have
better luck with this,” I said and handed him the Book of Light.
“The Libris de Lumine.” He smiled softly. “You got it.”
“Yeah. At the expense of Joe and Brendan.”
“Oh,” he said gravely.
“That
just means we need to make this count.”
Pilaster
shook his head.
Suddenly
the demands of the day caught up with me, and I could barely hold my head
up. “Do you mind if I just lay here a
minute?” I said and lay down on the couch before he could answer.
“Go
right ahead,” Pilaster said turning his attention to the book. “I want to get to work on….”
His
voice faded as I fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes I found
myself standing at the end of a dimly lit subway corridor. I pulled out my flashlight and tried to turn
it on, but it wouldn’t work. I smacked
the end against my palm repeatedly when suddenly I heard a sickening roar. My blood froze. A writhing, tentacled shadow appeared on the
wall a few feet away from me. Something
was approaching from an adjacent hallway.
As the
shadow climbed higher and higher on the wall the roars grew louder. It rounded the corner, and I braced myself
for the sight of its horrible form, but I was surprised to see that it wasn’t
an Old One. It was Sarah dressed in a flowing
black ball gown.
“Sarah, thank god,” I sighed in
relief. “I thought you were one a
monster.”
She cracked a wicked smile and
shook her head. As she came closer her skirt
trembled and split into a cluster of oily tentacles.
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t move.
Sarah reached toward me with a
trembling arm that morphed into a tentacle covered in round mouths, each one
snapping its needle-teeth between its bruised and bloodied gums.
As she wrapped her tentacles around
me the mouths bore into my skin. Sarah
leaned in for a kiss, and as she did her mouth split into mandibles.
I screamed.
“Arthur!” said a voice from a
thousand miles away.
As I came to Sarah’s horrible image
faded and it was replaced with Pilaster’s mousy face.
“You’re having a nightmare,” he
said.
“Jeffrey,” I said. “Thank god.”
“Get up. I’ve found one. You have to call a lottery.”
I rubbed my fists against my
eyelids. “I’m on it.”
I had managed to get everyone together
shortly after dawn. As the crowd waited
I walked beside the staircase to fetch the coffee can. To my surprise Pei Ling was waiting for me.
“Pei Ling,” I said, looking around
to make sure no one was near. “What are
you doing back here?”
“Arthur, I just wanted to thank you
for taking care of me yesterday,” she said and handed me my coat. “Without you, I surely would not have
returned.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I can’t really talk, it’s time for the
drawing.”
“Of course. Good luck.”
Pei Ling smiled and headed over to the Auntie Anne’s pretzel shop.
Good
luck? I thought.
I leapt up the stairs with the can
tucked beneath my arm. The group was
down to twenty five people—the smallest number ever. The hopelessness in the air was palpable—the
latest deaths having crushed what remained of the group’s morale.
I explained that Pilaster had found
a new grimoire and that we would be drawing for someone to cast the first spell. Surprisingly I was met with no
objections. I quickly realized that the
group was complacent only because their spirit had finally been broken. There was no fight left in them.
“Come on now, people. I need you,” I said, trying to enliven them.
A middle-aged woman with a gaunt
face looked at me and plainly asked, “Why, Arthur? Why should we think this one will be any
different?”
“Because,” I said, “this one came from the Book of Light.”
Subdued curiosity dawned on a few
faces.
“A light to banish the things that came from the darkness!”
Their hopelessness seemed to
diminish at the mention of the book’s name, but it didn’t vanish
completely. The people had been defeated
too many times to allow themselves to get worked up.
“I’ll draw a name and they’ll cast
the spell this evening.”
Some people looked confused. Usually the spell would require more than just
an afternoon’s preparation.
“We don’t have any time to
lose. Those things are up there tearing
the city apart right down to the subway lines.
We have to act now before the Garden comes down on top of us.”
I caught a nod from Pei Ling.
I reached into the coffee can and shuffled
the ribbons of paper before choosing an entry.
I looked at the crowd, my eyes as
big as half-dollars. “Sarah Buckland,” I said in a state of
disbelief.
There were a few gasps from the
crowd. No one had expected me to draw my
own wife’s name. Whether by cheating or
pure chance, no one thought it would happen.
I looked at Sarah. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Sarah’s face showed no emotion,
which was surprisingly more unnerving had she become enraged.
Thunderous roars and seismic
vibrations accompanied the group on the way to the Seaport. Pei Ling decided to sit this trip out for
obvious reasons. Sarah didn’t speak a
word to me throughout the entire trek.
After we were situated in
Spagnoli’s I turned to Sarah. “Are you
ready?”
She nodded—nothing more.
“Look,” I said feeling guilty. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. But—hey—it could work this time. This is the Book of—.”
“Stop,” she cut me off. Sarah looked out to the mound of rubble that
was once a thriving tourist attraction. Without looking at me she said one last
thing. “You better pray the spell doesn’t work, Arthur… for your sake.”
She opened the fire door and
crossed the FDR Drive.
It was obvious Sarah suspected I
had rigged the drawing, and, although I hadn’t, I still held part of the blame. When I read the ribbon of paper, I vaguely recognized
the neat calligraphy in which Sarah’s name was written. Before locking up the coffee can I pulled out
a handful of entries. Sarah’s name was
written on each one. We are
the architects of our own happiness, I recalled Pei Ling saying.
Sarah could have tried to appeal to
the camp, but would anyone listen? She
said it herself—someone has to die. A
redrawing would only mean that one of them might end up taking her place.
As Sarah climbed the mountain of
debris, I thought about what she had said.
I didn’t think the first spell would end any differently than the
others. That would be too easy. But what if Pilaster’s expectations were
justified? What if the spells in this
book were different?
Suddenly I found myself hoping the
spell would fail. Because if the
creatures were destroyed, or banished
back to their far corner of space and time, it meant that Sarah would survive, and
she would return with a wrath more terrible than could be dreamed-up by any
moldy, old God.
-The End
