Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 47

The pressure changed in the car with a pop that John felt in his bones. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his arms peppering in goose flesh as the temperature dropped. A dark mist rolled across the field towards the car, carrying the sound of chanting and something more sinister. John shuddered as he heard his name whispered, all of their names called, in the hissing voices of the Old Ones.

"There goes the surprise," Roddy said dryly.

"Then let's go say hello!" John accelerated down the exit road towards the field.

Roddy lit two cigarettes, handing one to John as he shouted, "How do I look?"

"BAD ASS!"

"That's right!" Roddy tapped the Red Sox emblem on his sweatshirt twice, and then brought up the shotgun, pointing it out the side window with a war cry that echoed into the mist. Rattle joined in, adding his own voice to the charge.

Instead of staying on the designated path, John took the most direct route and plunged onto the field, the car bouncing and rocking over the uneven ground as it sped towards the mound. John plowed into the outer ring of the Shadow Army with a dull crunch, the bodies flipping up onto the hood only to dissolve away into mist. These were the newest recruits, still locked in the transition of flesh to shadow and obviously disposable to the Old Ones. The Shadow Army further in simply shifted away from the car, opening a path to the mound. John didn't hesitate, and the car shot forward.

"Don't hit the stones!' Minerva shouted and John whipped the car through a gap, slamming to a stop at the edge of the not-so-sacred place.

"That was too easy," Roddy said, turning in his seat to look at the advancing shadows, the silhouettes of thousands of "former" people jerking and twisting; closing in. The mist roiled and seethed around the car like high tide.

"It doesn't matter, we're in," John yelled, staring at the mound in revulsion.

The dismembered bodies of the murdered holy people, the Markers of Faith, were arranged in an intricate pattern that wound from the base to the top of the hundred-foot-tall mound; a trail of torsos, arms and legs that represented a symbol written in flesh and blood. The heads were stacked in a half circle at the top of the ancient barrow, a dark funnel of swirling energy erupting from their midst. The energy was screaming, deafening roars of oblivion and madness in the sound that knifed through the car.

"Fuck me." Roddy crossed himself as he stared at the funnel.

"It's started," Rattle said.

"You think?" Roddy countered darkly. He swiveled and faced Minerva. "I've been meaning to ask you something." She raised an eyebrow.

"What's the lizard in the jar for? It's been driving me nuts."

Minerva choked on a laugh; it almost sounded like she was sobbing. She put a shaking hand to her face and looked at him incredulously. "You're joking. We're about to attack the epitome of evil and you want to know about Skippy?"

"Call it closure. Skippy?"

"He was my pet, and when he died I didn't want to just stick him in the ground. He's been with me for the last twenty years."

Roddy nodded to himself. "Cool."

"Any questions about what we are supposed to do here?"

"Nope." He turned around and sucked on his cigarette.

"I love you guys," Rattle said quietly, almost whispering, and John felt a band tighten around his chest. It was frightening how much he cared for these people, and he knew he'd fight to the death to keep them safe.