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The Second Coming

“Beautifully written, dark and eerie vision of an apocalyptic future.”

— Margaret Weis, New York Times Bestselling Author

"David H. Burton is a dark new talent in the genre. This one will make you leave the lights on for a week!"

— Cathy Clamp, USA Today Bestseller

by David H. Burton

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Acknowledgements

Then he told me, "Do not seal up the words of the prophecy, because the time is near.

Let him who does wrong continue to do wrong; let him who is vile continue to be vile; let him who does right continue to do right; and let him who is holy continue to be holy.

Behold, I am coming soon!"

Prologue

“

Sadie. Poor Sadie.

“

Water.

Two years since everything went to shit.

And poor Sadie.

Soon the winds will come.

Everything stopped.

“

Yet never again.

“

At any cost.

“

Chapter 1

How dare they judge him.

At least for now.

Arrogant was more like it.

Now it was just plain ridiculous.

“

The fool could think what he wanted.

“

Any lower and he’ll be licking his own boots.

“

At least for now.

In remembrance of Catherine and her beloved Ben.

“

Not my truth the truth

They were in for a surprise.

Miguel. The breathing was unmistakable.

“

Except this time

“

Bloodcraft.

“

Cursed indeed.

“

Chapter 2

Perfect.

“

Blood.

The fucking bird hated him.

“

Still nothing.

“

Oh, shit.

“

Silver?

“

Witch Hunter.

“

The price had to be paid. It was always in blood.

“Kill the old man and woman.”

Perhaps there was enough.

“

She could have it.

A female voice.

And they, too, would pay. They would all pay.

Chapter 3

“

Damn.

“

What could he say?

“

They would pay. They would all pay: the Reverend, Billy Chapman, and that Hunter— her most of all.

“

Chapter 4

A bear maybe, or a wolf.

Maybe not a wolf.

Fools.

“…

“

Far too much commotion.

“

War with the Confederation.

Perhaps it was time to leave.

God, he’s aged.

He already knew.

“

She wasn’t a bad lover either.

“

What was eating at her?

“

Of course, there was that shared night with Billy.

She would definitely be dancing.

Chapter 5

“… delapsus ordo…”

“… tua sum domine…”

“…te obsecro ...”

Liesel.

“

Is that what’s eating at her?

“

Something was brewing in that mind of hers.

“

Forgive? Maybe not brewing; more like fermenting.

All in time.

“

At least someone on horseback who was still alive.

“

No room at the inn.

“

Stupid ghost. What good was summoning it if it wouldn’t do your bidding?

“

Fucking bird.

“

Not this time. He got lucky once.

Oh God!

She would pay. They would all pay.

“

There could be thousands in a place like this.

“

Is she insane?

“

Careless.

He’s simple.

“

No need for that here.

“

What had Lya summoned? And was it still back there?

Next time she might not be so lucky.

“

Chapter 6

Eat, sleep, hunt, and fuck.

It was time to leave Haven.

“

’

“

Careless.

“

The Wendigo.

“

- We are one, Soul Runner.-

Go away.

- We are one.-

At least the rain was warm.

“

If only they knew the true horror.

“

Someone else.

“

-Repent!-

“

Chapter 7

“

- Murderer! -

Why had he come to her?

Fools.

“

Heretic?

“

She has lost her wits.

“

Futile gesture.

“

Oh, God.

Chapter 8

Not very dignified.

“

Fucking cryptic answer.

“

Child?

Both?

“

What?

“

She would die?

How was that possible?

What was she thinking?

“

Third leg, indeed.

“

Did he know about the incident that caused it? And, better yet, did he know how to get rid of it?

The Peace Maker had lit a fire all right. A God-damned forest fire

“

Damn.

“

“’

“

Freedom.

“

Strange.

“

One woman?

But what did it mean?

“

Two as one?

She escaped Him.

“

Chapter 9

“

Restraint?

“

Jealous already?

“

To Sephirah. Lest we forget your courage.

Wasn't this what the Virgin had shown him?

And he was to find this child?

What?

Lastborn.

Was this a wise choice?

“

Chapter 10

“

A Bible?

“

Who was he? For that matter, what was he?

“

It wasn’t worth the risk.

Chapter 11

How would he find this child among the Confederation? And for that matter, did he really want to?

Could he bring himself to kill this child?

It was becoming a burden.

“

Empty.

Death.

Blood traitor.

“

Good.

“

Ten miles.

Wolfen.

father.

“

Puck?

-Help. Else we all perish.-

“

At any cost.

“

-No, child. That is enough. -

She has no one, Churchman

Did the old woman know the girl's mother was dead?

For our God is a consuming fire.

Wasn’t that the point?

Others have ignored the truth, so why should he be any different?

Perhaps if this friar gets there first. Perhaps …

The Archangels are awakened.

Liesel. Yes, that is my name. Sometimes.

Diarmuid.

“

The Westwood.

She would pay.

“

If he does not learn to deal with it, it will destroy him.

She has great power as well, and the skill to wield it.

Devil spawn.

If this is any sign of what is coming, the others will need to know.

Chapter 12

“

If anything, she would end up saving his pretty behind.

Too quiet.

“

Time to dance

It was time to become one with the Great Mother.

A Witch Hunter.

Damn!

No matter. He would be hers.

It was time to put an end to this. There might be others.

No supplies.

“

The Hunters would hang them anyway, so why not die fighting.

And what of her second soul Would she finally have peace?

My people.

“

The woman was good.

“

Damn!

She would destroy them all.

This one will die well.

“

Die!

“

-Fool!-

“

-Fool!-

“

-Mine!-

This was insanity.

“

Stubborn fool.

Chapter 13

When will you open up again, Little One?

And then what? Kill a child?

“

Guilt. A gift from God, and one of the mightiest weapons of the Church. That, and fear.

The fish. The symbol used before the cross.

If only he knew.

Firstborn? Nymph? Sidhe?

“

What should I tell her?

A spell?

“

If she wants the truth, then I will give it.

“

Lya!

“

He had to know.

Wick.

“

And to escape.

“

And Elohim said, 'Let us make man in image.’

“

Not anymore.

“

But ye shall destroy their altars, break their images, and cut down their groves: For thou shalt worship no other god: for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.

“

The ecstasy.

That was enough.

ever. He was tainted.

“

Yes.

“

Pan’s flute.

“

No. Never again.

“

Not that spirit.

How much sin could he wash away?

Why?

Had she even received them?

Would the Pope know what to do? Did he? And could he bring himself to do what was required?

“

Both the sun and the moon reside in those eyes. If only…

“

I would miss you, Little One.

“

Is this the last time I will set eyes upon your face, my Rosa?

“

Chapter 14

He’d roll around in his own shit if he wanted to.

Lya.

That woman would pay.

“

She should have been killed.

Lya.

Why had she been tracking them for so long?

Was she the one who made the deal with the Westwood? And if so, why? What did she stand to gain?

Too many questions.

Dearly.

She would sacrifice almost anything to learn how.

“

Hoof marks? Did an army of Witch Hunters precede them?

Did she know something about this?

What he wouldn’t give to be at an inn perhaps with Diarmuid

“

Demon?

“

What was that smell?

Burnt flesh.

How many had died?

“

Or maybe worse.

-Mine! Mine!-

Was her past coming back to haunt her?

“

Just fucking great. Nobody’s talking.

“

-Soul leech!-

It was heavy.

What price did he offer?

“

-Please let us find her.-

“

An army?

“

“…

“

The woman’s a diviner. She can summon the elements.

The miners are witches.

“

Stubborn fool.

The wonders of this world.

Where is she?

“

Oh God, no!

“

Was I wrong to bring her? Was he right about the Pope?

Perhaps it was for the best.

“

-Mine. Mine. Mine.-

Not surprising with wolfen scouring the land

Not this time.

*Orenda.*

Wolves.

*Orenda, we have been expecting you.*

*You are surprised that I speak to you in this fashion. Few are so gifted. I sensed your dance through the woods. What do you want of us, two-foot?*

I need your help for a young woman. She has been taken by Witch Hunters.

-Mine! Mine!-

Night.

*The fate of two-foots are not our concern, but you have been marked by Fang.*

Marked?

*Fang has my respect and devotion. She will have my help, as will you. At first light we will return.*

Chapter 15

Now that Haven is lost.

Where would they go after that?

It made him uneasy?

“

…waiting….

“

Who was he kidding?

“

What good would it do?

What had he done, bringing a little girl on such a trip?

“

Little One, what have I done?

Stone.

I know thy works, and charity, and service, and faith, and thy patience, and thy works; and the last to be more than the first.

Notwithstanding I have a few things against thee, because thou sufferest that woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols.

And I gave her space to repent of her fornication; and she repented not.

Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds.

And I will kill her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.

Ave Maria.

“

Little Badger

“

…mother… it is cold.

Child…

“

Chapter 16

“

*Summon us. Use us.*

She deserved it.

*Call upon us. We offer knowledge.*

Who are you?

*We are Legion.*

*Take us unto yourself. Call upon us. We can sever the link your sister created.*

Lya created? Had she now the gift of Sight? Had she known they might be separated and she would need to find him again?

How dare she do this to him?

*We are Legion.*

Come unto me.

-Hold on, child. Do not let it overwhelm you. Concentrate on the Hunter.-

-Surrender to it.-

-Let go. I will help you.-

No.

-Let go. Surrender to it, or it will kill you. Trust me, child.-

Who are you?

-One who watches over you. Now let go.-

-Good. Now, focus on the Hunter.-

You did this to me!

I hope you die.

-You do not want her death on your hands. Find the link to the Wormwood and sever it. Let go of the anger. Let go of the pain. She is as Diarmuid once was.-

Her time would come.

Feel my pain.

*Call upon us. Use us.*

-Sleep, child.-

Was the world changing?

“

But what had changed?

“

A private joke.

If the dog was sleeping, let it lie.

“

Where was the falcon?

*Be ready. I will return.*

Shit.

The woman whose fucking soul was living inside her.

Did Lya have anything to do with the woman in the cave? Or for that matter, did the Lastborn-woman? Would saving one of them get rid of her?

-It’s her!-

Not this time.

*We have seen the girl. She is surrounded by two-foots, tens of hundreds of them. Most smell of witchcraft and death.*

*We leave now. *

“

*We are close. Your footsteps must be lighter here. Orenda, you are with me. The others follow Bane.*

*You were sensed. We must leave. Quickly.*

“

*Whatever message you need sent, we will deliver. Decide your next move and come to us when you have need.*

“

*Orenda, you cannot rest now. The Hunters come. They bring the girl. You must rise.*

*This gift is temporary.*

“

*They bring the girl to the river. We wait in the shadows, Orenda.*

-It’s her!-

-It’s her! It’s her!-

Shut up!

“

*More come. We will lead them astray, but you must go. You are marked as one of my own, Orenda. Word will go through the land. You will always have aid. Be well. And remember, the gift is temporary.*

“

-It’s her!-

“

Humans.

Not fully, though. There was an interesting mix.

Her powers are impressive, but tainted.

Change is coming. Watch for the Lastborn girl.

She requires rest.

A new power to match the old, perhaps?

At least one, within the encampment. One who was watching.

*The Hunters come. *

More will die before the day is out.

Good luck to you, Orenda. May you return from the Forgotten Realm.

-Fool!-

Chapter 17

But a run to where now?

May the Gods keep them.

Soul for soul, life for life, blood for blood.

Life mixing with Death.

Orenda walks the Forgotten Realm.

Soul for soul.

What did it mean?

The answer would come.

Where am I? Who am I?

What is this place?

How do I know that?

How do I know that? What happened to the trees?

*I am.*

Where am I going?

It bleeds.

Do I know him?

The Church.

*Brahm.*

Is that my name?

*Orenda. Be free.*

I must free her.

-My soul to your soul. We are one, Soul Runner.-

*Brahm!*

No, I am not Brahm.

-And I am not Sephirah.-

We are Orenda.

-We are Orenda.-

“

Fear?

“

Had they not asked their price of him yet again?

“

Would anyone have noticed, or even cared?

At least for now.

The Witch Hunter.

“

Could it be true?

“

Could she read it?

“

Chapter 18

“

Heretic?

“

I’ve got to get this thing out of me before I become her.

“

The Soulstone Tablet.

“

Yet there was one, one who was watching.

“

Too many rose petals.

If his eyes open any wider, they'll fall out.

“

Imp!

“

Mason.

“

Chapter 19

“

Until the night she met Sephirah.

“

My soul to your soul. We are one, Soul Runner.

Could she eventually take over her body?

“

Chapter 20

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.

I will find her trail again.

The same woman that butchered my Sephirah.

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.

No matter.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Lya

I come for you, my child.

His shame is not mine.

Perhaps it would ease the guilt.

New Memphis.

“

Stupid gull.

“

-Lya. Can you hear me?-

*Yes. I hear you. What craft is this?*

“

-The Tongue is not a talent of the craft. We can communicate through the gull’s mind. Pay attention to its thoughts.-

-Something tracks us. I have left a message with the gull to get help. We will discuss this later.-

“

Fucking gull. Fly!

“

Something from the Westwood.

*Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.*

What is that thing?

“

Chapter 21

Had they known of her when they took the two of them in?

Who was he? And for that matter, what was he? Why did his mother give them up?

Lya knew them all.

Where did she learn such spells?

“

If Gwen had known about his mother, why had she treated him so cruelly?

“

Chapter 22

Not again.

“

Was it the horse?

What I am I supposed to do?

One of her own.

It had to be.

One of her own.

What was he supposed to do?

What was going on?

What was he supposed to do with it?

*We are yours.*

-We are yours.-

They are mine! I am in control

I am Little Badger.

I am in control.

No!

Was this how Lya felt? This powerful?

Die!

Two more.

Five.

I am Little Badger.

Ten.

“

No!

“

No!

-Hold on, child! Hold on to your will! Do not let it take away your spirit. It is your own to command. Fight it!-

Little Doe.

-Fight!-

-Good!-

Does he slumber still?

He breathes. He will wake soon, as will the others.

The Tree of Peace.

May the gods keep them.

Foul creatures.

This was a slaughter.

“

We must bury them all and burn the demon flesh.

Chapter 23

At least it was better than that fucking dress.

“

Imp.

“

Strayed?

“

Charleston.

“

Mother. Father.

What would they think of this?

When a man's ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him.

No more

The Church of the Ascension.

Demon.

“

The being from the Westwood.

I need help!

Mason, I need you!

-My love!-

“

Chapter 24

“

Something like a demon, but stronger.

Was it him?

“

And in whose hands should she be?

Thank the Great Mother. Help at last.

Where was the Peace Maker?

“

-We are one, Soul Runner. We are in this together.-

“

-The Horned One.-

“

-Yes.-

Almost anyone.

With pristine wings.

Assassin.

Chapter 25

Or might never again.

What cruel joke was this?

“

Mason? Hasn't he seen enough?

“

Where are we?

-I will not kill you, Soul Runner. My Sephirah lives within you now. But you must still pay the price.-

“

*Seventeen!*

The clan leaders will come. They will all come.

*It has been some time, old friend.*

-Night. Bane. Are you ready?-

. *Where is this boy?*

*In time.*

*Are you sure about this? We will have only one chance.*

-Yes.-

“

This being’s power is great.

“

He should be dead.

“

An angel?

-No!-

-Don’t lie to him! He will know.-

Don’t lie to him.

-Soon we shall be free.-

Chapter 26

Is he with them?

It’s hopeless.

“

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.

I should kill him.

Lya.

Sorceress.

Seventeen.

“

You could never love her like I did my Sephirah.

“

Seventeen.

Paine.

“

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen

“

Seventeen.

“

I should cut out his Sighted eyes.

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.

“

Too early.

Lya

Angel.

“

Twenty yards.

Ten yards.

What is that?

Hundreds of them.

-Whore.-

“

Dïor.

Fang. Night.

One last look.

The Westwood.

-He is coming!-

Chapter 27

“

Diarmuid.

“

-Don’t tell him.-

“

-Go after my children! They are in peril!-

“

-Down!-

“

Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire.

Why?

Is he here?

“

Good.

-Get them!-

-I must speak.-

I have found my bastard child, but this is not the Beast.

Heretic?

“

Aloysius?

“

The boy was of his seed, but not the Beast?

And she brought forth a man child, who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron: and her child was caught up unto God, and to his throne.

His own sister had been responsible?

“

I am Little Badger. Serve me.

“

Triune?

*A triune has three forms; three as one.*

I want his cursed soul!

*Then have this one lead you to him.*

And I want my sister. She will pay for this.

*Your sister has been plotting for years. Patience is useful to those that wish revenge. Take your time. Prepare yourself for her.*

So be it. Her time will come.

“

Chapter 28

We are one.

-We are Orenda.-

You should be dead.

*Let me help thee.*

Who are you?

*Once I was called Nahash.*

*I can give ye power.*

*I can give ye all that thou desires.*

*I will spare thy companions.*

Not like Little Doe

*I can end thy guilt. I can promise ye control.*

*I can give ye knowledge. Eat of the tree. Your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.*

*I can help thee against thy sister.*

What do you want?

*I need a new body. This one hungers greatly and I wish to leave this land.*

Come unto me.

All was clear now.

“

This was easier than I thought.

“

Perhaps I will ask her.

Someone needed to be sacrificed. Something needs to take residence in Dark Wind’s body.

-Use us.-

I should have killed her.

“

-It is time. The ships await.-

“

Excellent.

“

Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.

I can smell it.

“

Sephirah must be saved.

“

Good.

-Ghoul.-

What will it do?

-Steal the soul from his body if he has not paid its price.-

Then I must stop it.

-You cannot. The deal is set. Once a deal has been sealed in blood, it is almost impossible to break.-

An innocent?

No!

No. I will call him back, resurrect him.

-You cannot.-

But another did once before.

-Parlor tricks. Once a soul has moved on, there is no bringing it back.-

Could she do something?

No. I will go to her.

Save me

-Save yourself.-

-You are weak.-

No!

Please.

I am.

*Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.*

“

Good

And she will die.

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33 A.D.

By David McAfee

CHAPTER ONE

Jerusalem, 33A.D.

I’ll need that, he thought as he reached for it. He couldn’t afford to leave a single piece of clothing behind. He stuffed the tunic into his bag and turned to regard a large chest on the wall opposite the bed. He reached down and flung the lid open, breaking one of the hinges in the process, and started grabbing more clothes. I’ll need that. And that.

I won’t need that. Ephraim tossed it over his shoulder, where it shattered on the hard floor. He didn't pay it any attention as he picked up a short, fat bladed knife. I’ll need that, too. It joined the many tunics in his bag. Just as he picked up a pair of worn breeches, a noise outside his door caught his attention.

What was that? khopesh.

The wind, he told himself, and returned to the task at hand. He had to hurry. They were coming.

Bachiyr race had many methods by which to extract information, even from one of their own. All of them brutally effective. If they caught him, they would find a way to make him talk. Sooner or later Ephraim would tell them anything they wanted to know, the only real question was how long would it take to break him.

Former predator, I am not like that anymore.

khopesh, which he had wielded for over a thousand years, though the style of blade had largely gone out of use eight centuries ago. He reached a tentative hand up to the sword, but his fingers froze before they touched the handle. Ashamed, he pictured the faces of his many victims, heard again their anguished screams, and saw their mouths stretched wide in agony. The smell of their blood returned to him, sending an unwelcome rumble through his belly. Far from the pleasure these memories once brought, Ephraim now felt only shame. How many? He wondered. How many have I killed with this very blade? He had no idea, but the number must surely be huge.

“

Please hurry, Malachi, Time is running out. They are coming.

coming, as Ephraim feared. They – or rather, he – had already arrived. If he had looked up, he might have seen the dark shadow hiding among the lighter ones in his ceiling, but he never so much as glanced upward. His visitor thought lack of sustenance to be the cause of Ephraim's inattentiveness, and he shook his head in disbelief. From his dark vantage point, he watched the scene unfold, memorizing the layout of the room for future reference.

Bachiyr – he’d hoped to discover his superiors mistaken. The longer he waited on high, however, the more he came to realize they were right, and the angrier he became.

They are always right, I should have known better than to doubt. Just because he’s a friend—

We must know who the traitor is in league with. That is of utmost importance, Theron.

Patience, he counseled himself. Not yet. Waiting was the essence of his craft. He was a professional. If you wanted to put a fine point on it, he was the professional. The Lead Enforcer for the Council of Thirteen, albeit newly appointed. These days, that mostly meant he acted as their primary assassin, although every now and then the Council sent him for capture rather than elimination. But those occasions were few.

then the fun would begin.

“

Malachi the butcher? A human? Bachiyr

“

told them, Ephraim? Dear God, what were you thinking?”

“ make

“

never cared. One of their own had betrayed them, and thus he must die. Ephraim would be executed, along with any co-conspirators, be they human or otherwise. Theron’s very existence proved that. After all, why would a forgiving Council need Enforcers?

khopesh like Ephraim’s, Theron’s sword was of a more modern, almost Roman design. The straight, thick blade, relatively short for a sword, was designed more for piercing than cutting, though it was certainly capable of both. He hadn’t planned on using it when he left the Halls earlier, but Malachi’s strength and size presented a very real threat. Since he would need to face Ephraim, as well, speed was a primary concern. That meant using the blade. Theron hadn’t become Lead Enforcer by taking chances. The human would die first, then he would deal with the traitor.

khopesh He knows it won’t help. He already knows how this must end.

“

me?” In that instant, Theron determined he would make Ephraim’s death as unpleasant as he could manage. He threw his sword to the floor and willed his claws to grow. In a few moments his fingernails grew long and thick. The brief but intense pain in his fingertips was worth it. He would rip the traitor’s head from his shoulders. “You should worry about saving yourself, old friend.”

“

E on Ephraim’s ring, and snapped it in two. He unrolled the letter and read every word, but it didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already surmised. It was only a letter to Malachi. Apparently Ephraim had wanted the butcher to be prepared in the event of his death, but in the end it proved too little, too late. Now both lay dead, and Theron had his answers. He dropped the paper onto Ephraim’s headless torso and went to the back of the house to find a shovel. He would need to bury the bodies so they would not be found, at least not before he completed his business in Jerusalem.

Visit David McAfee on the web at http://mcafeeland.wordpress.com

DRUMMER BOY

By Scott Nicholson

CHAPTER ONE

The Jangling Hole glared back at Bobby Eldreth like the cold eye of the mountain, sleepy and wary and stone silent in the October smoke.

“Th’ow it.”

Bobby ignored Dex’s taunt as he squeezed the rock and peered into the darkness, imagining the throbbing heartbeat that had drummed its slow rumble across the ages. The air that oozed from the Blue Ridge Mountain cave smelled like mushrooms and salamanders. He could have sworn he heard something back there in the slimy, hidden belly of the world, maybe a whisper or a tinkle or the scraping of claws on granite.

“Th’ow it, doof.”

Bobby glanced back at his heckler, who sat on a sodden stump among the dark green ferns. Dex McCallister had a speech impediment that occasionally cut the “r” out of his words. Dex was so intent on pestering Bobby that he failed to note the defect. Good thing. When Dex made a mistake, everybody paid.

“I hear something,” Bobby said.

“Probably one of them dead Rebels zipping down his pants to take a leak,” Dex shouted. “Do it.”

Vernon Ray Davis, who stood in the hardwood trees behind Dex, said, “They didn’t have zippers back then. Nothing but bone buttons.”

Dex sneered at the skinny kid in the X-Men T-shirt and too-tight, thrift-store jeans that revealed his pale ankles. “What book did you get that out of, V-Ray? You’re starting to sound like Cornwad,” Dex said, using the class nickname for Mr. Corningwald, their eighth-grade history teacher at Titusville Middle School.

Bobby hefted the rock in his hand. Though it was the size of a lopsided baseball, it weighed as much as the planet Krypton. Probably even Superman couldn’t lift it, but Superman wouldn’t be dumb enough to stand in front of a haunted hole in the ground, not while he could be boning Lois Lane or beating up Lex Luthor.

Dex and Vernon Ray were thirty yards down the slope from Bobby, in a clearing safely away from the mouth of the cave. Not that any distance was safe, if what they said was true. The late-afternoon sun coated the canopy of red oak and maple with soft, golden light, yet Bobby shivered, due as much to the chill emanating from the cave as from his fear.

“I’ve been to the camps,” Vernon Ray said. “My daddy’s got all that stuff.”

“That’s just a bunch of guys playing dress-up,” Dex said.

“It’s authentic. 26th North Carolina Troops. Wool pants, breech loaders, wooden canteens—”

“Okay, Cornwad,” Dex said. “So they didn’t have no goddamn zippers.”

“Daddy said—”

“Your daddy goes to those re-enactments to get away from you and your mom,” Dex said. “My old man drags me along, but you always get left behind with the girls. What ya think of that, Cornwad?”

During Dex’s bully act, Bobby took the opportunity to ease a couple of steps away from the mouth of the cave. The noise inside it was steady and persistent, like a prisoner’s desolate scratching of a spoon against a concrete wall. The Hole seemed to be daring him to come closer. Bobby considered dropping the stone and pretending he had thrown it while Dex wasn’t looking. But Dex had a way of knowing things.

“Bobby’s chicken crap,” Vernon Ray said, changing the subject away from his dad and deflecting Dex’s attention. “He won’t throw it.”

Good one, V-Ray. I thought we were on the same side here.

Dex tapped a cigarette from a fresh pack, then pushed it between his lips and let it dangle. “Ah, hell with it,” he said. “You can believe the stories if you want. I got better things to worry about.”

Relieved, Bobby took a step downhill but froze when he heard the whisper.

“Uhr-lee.”

It was the wind. Had to be. The same wind that tumbled a gray pillar of smoke from the end of Dex’s cigarette, that quivered the bony trees, that pushed dead autumn leaves against his sneakers.

Still, his throat felt as if he’d swallowed the rock in his hand. Because the whisper came again, low, personal, and husked with menace.

“Uhrrrr-leeee.”

A resonant echo freighted the name. If Bobby had to imagine the mouth from which the word had issued—and at the moment Bobby was plenty busy not imagining—it would belong to a dirty-faced, gaunt old geezer two hundred years dead. But like Dex said, you could believe the stories if you wanted, which implied a choice. When in doubt, go with the safe bet. Put your money on ignorance.

“To hell with it,” Bobby said, throwing extra air behind the words to hide any potential cracks. “I want me one of those smokes.”

He flung the rock—away from the cave, lest he wake any more of those skeletal men inside—and hurried down the slope, nearly slipping as he hustled while feigning nonchalance. One more whisper might have wended from the inky depths, but Bobby’s feet scuffed leaves and Dex laughed and Vernon Ray hacked from a too-deep draw and the music of the forest swarmed in: whistling birds, creaking branches, tinkling creek water, and the brittle cawing of a lonely crow.

Bobby joined his friends and sat on a flat slab of granite beside the stump. From there, the Hole looked less menacing, a gouge in the dirt. Gray boulders, pocked with lichen and worn smooth by the centuries, framed the opening, and stunted, deformed jack pines clung to the dark soil above the cave. A couple of dented beer cans lay half-buried in a patch of purple monkshood, and a rubber dangled like a stubby rattlesnake skin from a nearby laurel branch. Mulatto Mountain rose another hundred feet in altitude above the cave, where it topped off with sycamore and buckeye trees that had been sheared trim by the winter winds.

He took a cancer stick from Dex and fired it up, inhaling hard enough to send an inch of glowing orange along its tip. The smoke bit his lungs but he choked it down and then wheezed it out in small tufts. The first buzz of nicotine numbed his fingers and floated him from his body. Relishing the punishment, he went back to mouth-smoking the way he usually did, rolling the smoke with his tongue instead of huffing it down. His head reeled but he grinned toward the sky in case Dex or Vernon Ray was looking.

“We ought to camp here sometime,” Dex said, smoking with the ease of the addicted. He played dress-up as much as the Civil War re-enactors did, though his uniform of choice was upscale hoodlum—white T-shirt and a windbreaker that had “McCallister Alley” stitched over the left breast pocket. Three leaning bowling pins, punctured by a yellow starburst indicating a clean strike, were sewn beneath the label. Dex’s old man owned the only alley within 80 miles of Titusville, and about once a month Mac McCallister was lubed enough from Scotch to let the boys roll a few free games.

“It’ll be too cold to camp soon,” Vernon Ray said, constantly flicking ash from his cigarette like a sissy. Bobby was almost embarrassed for him, but at the moment he had other concerns besides his best friend maybe being queer.

Concerns like the Jangling Hole, and whoever—or whatever—had spoken to him. The wind, nothing but the wind.

“Best time of year for camping,” Dex said. “I can get my old man’s tent, swipe a couple six-packs, bring some fishing poles. Maybe tote my .410 and bag us a couple squirrels for dinner.”

“There’s a level place down by the creek,” Bobby said.

“Right here’s fine,” Dex said, sweeping one arm out in the expansive gesture of someone giving away something that wasn’t his. “Put the tent between the roots of that oak yonder. Already got a fireplace.” He booted one of the rocks that ringed a hump of charred wood.

“I don’t know if my folks will let me,” Vernon Ray said.

“Your dad’s doing Stoneman’s, ain’t he?” Dex dangled his cigarette from his lower lip. “Since he’s the big captain and all.”

Stoneman’s Raid was an annual Civil War re-enactment that commemorated the Yankee incursion suffered by Titusville in 1864. The modern weekend warriors marked it by sleeping on the ground, drinking whiskey from dented canteens, and logging time in the saddle on rumps grown soft from too many hours in the armchair.

If they were like Bobby’s dad, they spent their free time thumbing the remote between “Dancing With The Stars” and “The History Channel,” unless it was football season when the Carolina Panthers jerseys came out of the bottom drawer.

“Sure,” Vernon Ray said, voice hoarse from the cigarette. He flicked his smoke twice, but no ash fell. “Mom will probably go to Myrtle Beach like usual.”

“The beach,” Dex said. “Wouldn’t mind eyeing some bikini babes myself.”

There was a test in Dex’s tone, maybe a taunt. Perhaps Dex, like Bobby, had been wondering about Vernon Ray. “What ya think, Bobby? A little sand in the honey sounds a lot better than watching a bunch of old farts in uniform, don’t it?”

Bobby’s gaze had wandered to the Hole again and he scanned the crisp line where the dappled sunlight met the black wall of hidden space that burrowed deep into Mulatto Mountain. As Dex called his name, Bobby blinked and took a deep, stinging puff. He spoke around the exhaled smoke, borrowing a line from his dad’s secret stash of magazines in the tool shed. “Yeah, wouldn’t mind some sweet tang myself.”

Dex reached out and gave Vernon Ray a chummy slap on the back that was loud enough to echo off the rocks. “Beats pounding the old pud, huh?”

Vernon Ray nodded and took a quick hit. He even held his cigarette like a sissy, his pinky lifted in the air as if communicating in some sort of delicate sign language. Vernon Ray, unlike most of the kids at Titusville Middle School, already had a hair style, a soft, wavy curl flopping over his forehead. Bobby wished he could protect his best friend, change him, rip that precious blonde curl out by the roots and turn him into a regular guy before Dex launched into asshole mode. When Dex got rolling, things went mean quick, and Vernon Ray’s eyes already welled with water, either from the smoke or the teasing.

“I heard something at the Hole,” Bobby said, not realizing he was speaking until the sentence escaped.

“Do what?” Dex leaned forward, flicking his butt into the cold, dead embers of the campfire.

“Somebody’s in there.”

Dex twisted off a laugh that sounded like the wheeze of an emphysema sufferer. “Something jangly, maybe? Bobby, you’re so full of shit it’s leaking out your ears.”

Vernon Ray looked at him with gratitude. Bambi eyes, Bobby thought. Pathetic.

Bobby put a little drama in the sales pitch to grab Dex’s full attention. “It went ‘Urrrrr.’”

Dex snorted again. “Maybe somebody’s barfing.”

“Could have been a bum,” Bobby said. “Ever since they shut down the homeless shelter, I’ve seen them sleeping under the bridge and behind the Dumpster at KFC. They’ve got to go somewhere. They don’t just disappear.”

“Maybe they do,” Dex said. “I reckon those wino bastards better stay out of sight or they’ll run ‘em plumb out of the county.”

The shelter had been shut down through the insidious self-righteousness of civic pride. Merchants had complained about panhandling outside their stores and the Titusville Town Council had drafted an ordinance against loitering. However, the town attorney, a misplaced Massachusetts native who had married into the fifth-generation law firm that had ruled the town behind the scenes since Reconstruction, dug up some court rulings suggesting that such an ordinance would interfere with the panhandlers’ First Amendment rights.

Since the town leaders couldn’t use the law as a whip and chair, they instead cut off local-government funding and drove the shelter into bankruptcy. Vernon Ray had explained all this to Bobby, but Bobby didn’t think it was that complicated. People who didn’t take the safe bet lost the game, simple as that.

“Even a bum’s not stupid enough to sleep in the Hole,” Vernon Ray said. “Cold as a witch’s diddy in there.”

Dex grinned with approval. “That why you didn’t th’ow the rock, Bobby Boy? Afraid a creepy old crackhead might th’ow it back?”

“Probably just the wind,” Bobby said. “Probably there’s a bunch of other caves and the air went through just right.”

“Sure it wasn’t the Boys in Blue and Gray?” Dex said, thumbing another smoke from the pack. “Kirk’s See-Through Raiders?”

“Like you said, you can believe the stories if you want.” Contradicting his bravado, Bobby’s gaze kept traveling to the dank orifice in the black Appalachian soil.

They should have stuck to the creek trail and not followed the animal path into the woods. The trail was the shortest distance from the trailer park where he lived and the Kangeroo Hop’n’Shop, a convenience store run by a family that Dex called “The Dot Heads.” Bobby wasn’t sure whether the family was Indian, Pakistani, or Arabian, though one of the daughters was in his English class and had a lot of vowels in her name. Dot Heads or not, it was the closest place to buy candy bars and football cards, not to mention sneak a peek at the oily, swollen breasts flashing from the magazine covers.

Half an hour before, the boys had made their ritual Saturday visit, flush with pocket change collected over the course of the week. While tobacco had become a controlled substance on the order of liquor and Sudafed, even in the tobacco-raising state of North Carolina, not all packs were kept on shelves behind the cash register.

A promotional two-pack of Camels, shrink-wrapped with a lighter, was perched on the edge of the counter by the ice cream freezer, and as Bobby had paid for a Dr. Pepper, Dex swept the package into the pocket of his windbreaker. Bobby caught the crime out of the corner of his eye, but the middle-aged woman at the register, who had a slight mustache riding her dark, pursed lips, was focused on counting pennies.

“Let’s smoke ‘em at the Hole,” Dex had said, once they were out of sight of the store. Neither Bobby nor Vernon Ray had the guts to protest.

The Jangling Hole was half a mile’s hike up rocky and wooded Blue Ridge terrain. Bobby had been there before with his two pals—after all, who could resist the most notorious haunted spot in the county, especially during Halloween season?—but they usually just eased around it and went to the headwaters of the creek where you could hook rainbow trout all year round, because no wildlife officers ever hoofed it that far back into the hills. That was back before Budget Bill Willard, the famous local photographer and artist, had bought the property and posted “No Trespassing” signs all over it.

Dex had knocked down the first such sign he’d seen, unzipped his trousers, and urinated on it. Then he’d cajoled his reluctant merry band of pranksters to the Hole. After Dex had dared him to “th’ow” the rock, Bobby had no choice but to march up to the crevice, which was as wide as a pick-up truck. Nobody in his right mind would go near the cave that harbored the spirits of—

“Bobby?”

At first he thought the voice had come from the cave, in that same reverberating whisper that reached into his ears and tickled the bottom of his nasal cavity. But it was Dex, arms folded, chin out, squatting on the deadfall like a gargoyle clinging to the edge of some old French cathedral.

“You going to pretend it was them Civil War ghosts?” Dex said, letting one eyelid go lazy as if suggesting they could play a good one on Vernon Ray.

“I’m bored.” Bobby’s mouth was an ashtray, tongue dry as a spider web, nicotine ramping up his pulse. He’d wished he’d saved some of the Dr. Pepper, but Dex had knocked it from his hands as they’d crossed the creek.

“What you guys doing tonight?” Vernon Ray said.

“Your momma,” Dex snapped back.

“I claim sloppy seconds,” Bobby said, though his heart wasn’t in it.

“For real,” Vernon Ray said. “Think you can get out for a movie?”

“What’s playing?” Dex said, faking a yawn and showing his missing molar.

“Tarentino’s got a new one.”

“We can’t sneak into that, dumbass,” Dex said. “It’s rated ‘R’ for racks and red blood.”

Bobby was about to suggest a round of X-Box, anything to get away from the cave, when Vernon Ray held up his hand.

“Shhh,” the curly-haired boy said. “I hear something.”

Bobby couldn’t help sneaking a glance at the Hole, wondering if Vernon Ray had heard the whisper. Dex groaned. “Jesus, not you, too, V-Boy.”

“Serious.”

“That’s the roaring of your own fat skull.” Dex stood and looked down the slope into the woods, where the animal path widened. He blinked and flung his cigarette away as he turned and bolted.

“Over here!” came a shout. The rhododendrons shook along the edge of the clearing and a man in a brown uniform burst out, breaking into a run. Bobby caught the gleam of metal on the man’s belt.

Cop. Crap.

His heart jumped against his ribs and fluttered like a bird in a cat’s mouth. His dad would bust his ass good if he got in trouble with the law again. Dex headed for the back side of the mountain, where the steep slope bristled with brambles and scraggly locust trees, cover fit for a rabbit but little else.

The overweight cop was after him, wheezing, shouting at him to stop. Vernon Ray, who had fled down the path toward the creek trail, froze in his tracks at the command. While Bobby was still deciding which way to run, a second cop emerged, the brown-skinned store owner beside him.

“Is them,” the store owner said. The cop, a young guy whose cheeks were blued with stubble, put his hand on his holster, no doubt weighing the wisdom of drawing on a couple of kids.

As the second cop hesitated, Vernon Ray cut to the right, through a shaded thicket of hardwoods and jack pine. He was soon out of sight, though his route was discernable by snapping branches and rattling leaves. The cop took three steps in pursuit, and then apparently realized Bobby would be easier prey.

Bobby took a backwards step. As a Little League All-Star, he could dash ninety feet between bases with no problem, and the safety of the woods was only half that distance. Dex would get away clean, he was as slick as a snake in a car wash, but the swarthy cop would probably net Vernon Ray if Bobby fled. And Vernon Ray was Honor Roll, the pride of the trailer park and Bobby’s best friend.

“Hold it right there, son,” the cop said, though he was barely a decade older than Bobby. The stem of his sunglasses was tucked in one pocket, the lenses like a second pair of accusing eyes. Sweat splotched the cop’s underarms, and the badge caught a stray bit of sunlight as if God had signaled a secret moral message.

Bobby wanted to tell the cop he was innocent, to sell Dex down the river and take a plea, to beg the hairy-eared store owner’s forgiveness. But no words came, his feet had grown roots like the trees around him, and his senses were as heightened as they’d been during the first rush of nicotine. Had there been so many birds before?

The cop smiled in condescension and triumph, and Bobby blushed with anger. Titusville was full of meth addicts, lock bumpers, and check kiters, and Bobby was pretty sure Louise Templeton was running a trailer-park whorehouse three doors down from his home, yet the local peace officers had nothing better to do than hassle kids.

Of course, his jacket already had three lines in it, and though as a juvenile he’d had it all written off because the courts called him an “at-risk youth,” bad habits had a way of coming back to bite you on the ass.

“Don’t worry,” the cop said, reading the anxiety in Bobby’s eyes. “We just want to talk.”

“I make charges,” the store owner said in his high-pitched, thickly accented voice. “I run fair trade.”

The cop waved him back. “I’ll handle this. It’s only a misdemeanor, not a hanging offense.”

It was the same smug crap the probation officer, the school counselor, and the principal all dished out. They’d poke around for some reason to explain the delinquent behavior, and though Bobby had only a passing knowledge of Freud, he’d picked up enough to feed the crap right back. Unhappy home, poverty, what they liked to call “an adjustment disorder,” and the likelihood of substance abuse became not reasons to whip his ass into shape, but excuses for screwing up. Not only was his troubled streak explainable, it was practically expected. And who was he to disappoint so many others who had such a deep interest in his future?

The cop was close enough that Bobby could smell his aftershave, Old Spice or some other five-dollar-a-pint pisswater they sold at Walmart. The store owner’s pudgy fists were clenched, his dark face flushed with the anger of small-change violation. Hell, Dex could have paid for the smokes, that was no prob, Dex not only had a generous allowance but he was the biggest weed dealer at Titusville Middle School. He always had some spare jack in his pocket. But what the Dot Heads and the cops and the do-gooders didn’t understand was that stealing was just more fun.

And Bobby had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon than sit through a booking and a lecture and then Dad’s trip to bail his ass out of trouble again. Beat the hell out of X-box any day. And, he had to admit, an arrest would get him away from The Jangling Hole and the cold whispers and—

“Aieeeeeee.”

A scream ripped from the other side of the ridge, where the cop had chased Dex. It was followed almost immediately by a gunshot, the sharp report silencing the birds and riding up above the wind.

The young cop’s face erupted in what might have been shock, but Bobby saw just a little pleasure in it. The cop was as bored as Bobby, and “Shots fired” was almost as good as “Officer down” when it came to law-enforcement hard-ons.

The cop grappled with his holster and had his mean-looking piece in his hand by the time he brushed past Bobby and headed around the Hole. Bobby and the store owner were left looking at each other, neither knowing what to do.

Bobby shrugged. “It was just some smokes, man.”

The store owner stamped his foot and started jabbering a mile a minute in some exotic language, but he shut up quick when the second shot rang out.

Visit Scott Nicholson on the web at http://hauntedcomputerbooks.blogspot.com

PARALLAX

by Jon F. Merz

What happens when two professional assassins - one a Mafia hitman and the other a former German terrorist - kill at exactly the same moment in time? For Ernst Stahl and Frank Jolino the result is a psychic bond that slowly blossoms in each man's mind, enabling them to see into the other's world. Frank Jolino doesn't like what he sees, especially when he realizes that Stahl is headed to his home turf of Boston to kill a scientist who may hold the key to solving the world's deadliest diseases. But for Stahl, there's no other option. Virtually bankrupt and with his son in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant, he's got little choice but to take the assignment. Jolino has other ideas. On the run from his crime syndicate for refusing to kill his ex-girlfriend-turned-government-informant, Jolino sets a plan in motion that will bring the two men face-to-face and gun-to-gun...with no guarantees either will survive.

CHAPTER ONE

“

“Herr Stahl!”

“

Where the hell am I?

English?

He was in Germany – wasn’t he?

“

What the hell happened to me back there?

“

Visit Jon F. Merz on the web at http://www.jonfmerz.net