Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 42

It was dark in the parking lot, the shattered bulbs of the overhead street lamps still not repaired from the night before; another sign of decay for the town. Glass crunched underfoot as John made his way towards the battered old sedan. Roddy looked up expectantly but said nothing as he recognized the look of despair on John's face. The man looked beaten down, drawn, and tired. Roddy leaned over and popped the lock on the driver's side door for him.

"Didn't go so well, huh?" Roddy asked.

John ignored him and sat down heavily behind the wheel. He stared through the cracked windshield at the station, at the darkness hanging like a cloak over the building. Shadows elongated down the walkway, and John shivered as foreboding rippled through him; goose bumps marched up and down his arms.

A vision of a bloody and broken Detective Wilkes popped into John's mind and he shivered again, his teeth clicking and chattering loudly in the confines of the car. He felt like he was suffocating; the panic rising in his chest was constricting his lungs, strangling him, so John rolled down his window and leaned his head out into the night air. 

Minerva gently gripped his shoulder.

"Ignore what you're seeing, John. Don't let the shadows into your head."

John heard screams hiding in the sound of wind-rustled leaves in the trees that ringed the parking lot, and he tried to ignore the premonition, focusing instead on the very real pain of the rubberized edge of the window digging into his chin.

"They are all going to die," John whispered, and he knew it was a certainty; he felt it in his soul.

"Not if you stop the Old Ones." Minerva's voice was firm. "There's still time."

The wind whipped at the car, picking up momentum as it rained down leaves on the roof. John looked around at the brown lawns, the falling leaves and at the gloom that hung in the air.

Everything is dying.

A heavy branch from a towering oak tree next to the car snapped with a loud crack and crashed next to John's window. The twisted branches poked through, like gnarled wooden claws, raking at his face. John started the car and gunned it in reverse, dragging the branch a few feet before the wood finally gave way with a groan. He whipped the wheel around and the car lurched out of the parking lot.

John probed at his wounded cheek as he drove up onto the lawn to avoid another section of trees and get back to the safety of the open road. John felt the sting as the wood penetrated, knocking against his teeth and tearing at his gums, but nothing was there now. No wound, no open flesh parting for his trembling fingertips. His hand came away warm and sticky with residual blood, but the wound was already healed and gone.

John kept an eye on the rearview mirror as he sped away, but nothing was in pursuit. There wasn't much of a warning this time, no hum or whispers, just the twisted visions still bouncing around inside his head. Time was running out.

"It's just one friggin' thing after another!" Rattle shouted as he hunched down in the seat, running a shaking hand through his beard.

"Man, I just want to go lie down and not get up." Roddy's voice was weak, the trauma of his day finally settling in.

"Boys, let's get back to the cottage," Minerva said. "We need a timeout."

"We're gonna be okay, everything's gonna be okay." John kept repeating it as a mantra as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. The horror, the evil of the last few days was slowly eating at each of them, breaking down their defenses and peeling away the armor.

It's too much! John thought, his anger rising up again as he looked around at his friends. They were his family now. The last four days felt like a lifetime already, and he'd grown close to each of them -- Roddy, Rattle and Minerva. Now his family was in danger. How much more could they all take? They were all bonded by blood and hardship, and John couldn't bear the thought of the suffering ahead. Saving the world seemed to be the least of his priorities.

"Fuck it!" he shouted as his mood spiraled further down into darkness. Minerva's gaze bored into the back of his skull and he gripped the steering wheel tighter as his thoughts raced.

If I can barely even save them, then what does it matter? Why should I care about the rest of the world? It's a savage place filled with savage people...what's the point? Evil raised the ante and is gonna take the whole pot...why fight it?

John didn't consider himself to be a particularly good man, not bad, but not good either. The universe sincerely screwed up in choosing him to be a Guardian, a hero. Heroes were noble and pure, right? Not filled with self-doubt and callousness.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do?" John yelled and slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel. The car skidded sideways and he yanked the wheel hard to the right, settling into his own lane again. It wouldn't have mattered; there wasn't any other traffic on the road.

"We fight," Rattle said. "We fight Them until we can't fight anymore...until we beat Them back to wherever the hell it is They came from." The old man's eyes burned with determination.

"Or die trying," Roddy said glumly.

"If that's what it takes." Rattle's voice was barely a whisper.

"We fight them," John repeated, the realization that this was it, all there was, hardening his words like stone.

As if reading his mind Minerva said, "That's right. This is it...all there is. That's the point."