The First Church (23 page)

“And what will you do if I tell you to run, James?” Luke asked.

“I will run, sir,” James answered.

“Basically, what are you supposed to do, James?” Luke said.

“Whatever you say, Grandpa.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“Extremely so,” Luke said.

“Remember what the ghosts did to you at the Church,” Brian said.  “And remember what you saw in the graveyard, okay?”

“I will,” James said in a low voice.  “I will.”

Luke shifted the bottle of whiskey in his hands, felt the cool glass beneath his fingers, and once more he wondered what they would find in the house.

Chapter 57: Ten Indian Rock Road

Shane had been watching the house for half an hour, and no one was in it.  A Camry had been parked in the driveway when he first passed by an hour prior, but it was gone.

He hadn’t seen any ghosts either, but then again he could only see a couple of windows.

Miles Cunningham, the man with the skulls, had left.

Probably with another ghost.

Shane sighed and glanced into the back of the truck.  The trunk the Gottesmans had dropped off was there.  On his
lap,
he had a pair of white, cotton gloves.  Brian had the other pair.  Shane had already unlocked the container and made sure it could be opened easily.

He swallowed nervously and felt sweat build up at the base of his skull.

Shane knew what the dead were capable of.  He knew what these particular ghosts were capable of.

And none of it, absolutely
none of it,
was good.

The sound of an engine caught Shane’s attention,
and he turned towards it.  A moment later, Brian’s car came around the corner and pulled up behind Shane’s pickup.

Brian, Jim, and Luke got out of the car.  The blind man held a bottle of Black Label whiskey.

“Damn, Luke,” Shane said, grinning, “you must like your whiskey.”

Luke smiled.  “Love my whiskey.  Breaks my heart having to share it with the dead.”

The men chuckled, and Jim smiled.

“Well,” Brian said, “this is going to be interesting.  We’ll have to go into the house and pretty much stay together.  Shane and I will be carrying the box.  Jim, you’ll obviously be leading your grandfather.  Luke, just don’t drop the whiskey.”

“I won’t,” Luke said.

“Since we’re looking for a fallout shelter,” Brian continued, “we’ll be going down into the basement.  Shane and I will go first.  If anything happens, I’d rather it be to us.”

Shane nodded in agreement.  “Let’s make sure nothing does happen.”

“My grandpa already went through what I need to do,” Jim said.

“And what’s that?” Shane asked.

“Whatever he tells me to,” Jim answered.

The men shared another chuckle.

Shane turned to Brian.  “Ready?”

“Not at all,” Brian said.  “But let’s get it done.”

Together they pulled the box out of the trunk, and it was heavy.

“For as much as this weighs,” Shane said, feeling sweat form under his arms and along his spine, “this damned thing better work.”

“It will,” Brian said.  “But it definitely isn’t good for my heart.”

“Hey,” Shane said, “I’m not giving any mouth to mouth if you keel over.  Just letting you know.”

“Fair enough,” Brian said with a chuckle.  “Fair enough.”

Shane took the lead and crossed the street.  Indian Rock Road was sparsely inhabited, and he hadn’t seen any traffic while he had waited.  A few houses were further up, but nothing close to number ten.

Small blessings,
he thought.

When they reached the side steps, he and Brian put the box down.

“Don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock, do you?” Brian asked.

“I do,” Shane said.  He climbed the steps, opened the screen door, held it in one hand, and kicked.

His boot landed solidly just at the deadbolt with enough force to rip the lock free of the frame.  The wood screamed in
protest, and the door whipped in and ricocheted off the interior wall.

“I said ‘pick’,” Brian said with a smile.

“Oh,” Shane said, grinning.  “My bad.  I thought you said ‘kick.’”

“Well,” Brian said, “that works, too.”

“I’ll check it out,” Shane said.  “Be right back.”

Shane left them on the side steps and entered the house.  He flicked on the light and looked around.  The place was in the process of being repaired, and whoever Miles Cunningham was, he was a good handyman.  The floor was torn up, but the subfloor had been leveled.  The drywall was bare of paint, but it looked as though it had been
mudded properly.

Too bad he’s crazy,
Shane thought.

Shane went directly to a pair of doors, one across from the other, just on the other side of the kitchen.

The first door opened to a bathroom.  The second led down into the basement.

Jackpot
, Shane thought.  He turned on the basement light.  In spite of how carefully he walked, each stair squeaked loudly.  When he reached the cement
floor,
he saw the basement was empty.  A few bare bulbs were suspended from the ceiling and a water heater stood off to one corner.  Beside it was a cheap, pressboard door.

Shane walked to it, opened the door and looked into the furnace room.

Now, if I were a paranoid man, living in the atomic era, where would I hide my end of the world bunker?
Shane asked himself. 
Behind the furnace, of course.

He went to the old machine, peered around the aged metal and caught sight of an open doorway.

Beyond it was a room full of shelves, most of which were empty.  But Shane did see some militaria, and he knew he was in the right place.

Shane quickly slipped back up the stairs and to the others.

“Did you find it?” Brian asked.

“I did,” Shane said.  “Behind the furnace in the basement.  We’ll have to bring the box all the way down as close as we can.”

Brian nodded.  “Luke?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“When we get down there, we may or may not have the ghosts greet us.  If we do, I think our best bet is for you to hold up the whiskey and tell them your name,” Brian said.

“You don’t sound especially confident,” Luke said.

“Probably because I’m not,” Brian said.  “We’re going to need Jim down there, just off to one side.  We can’t leave him up
here because we need to carry the damned box and he needs to help you.”

“I’ll be okay,” Jim said in a small voice.

Shane looked at the boy and remembered his own fear as a child.

“I know you will,” Shane said after a moment.  “Just listen and do as you’re told.”

“I will,” Jim said.

“Ready, Brian?” Shane asked.

“Yup.  Gloves?” Brian asked.

“Might as well,” Shane said.  He and Brian took the white gloves out, put them on, and then they picked up the chest again.

Wordlessly,
they brought it into the house, navigated the stairs, and managed to get the container into the furnace room.  Luke, with Jim’s assistance, followed them and soon all four stood together.

“Alright,” Brian said.  “Let’s do this.  Luke, Jim, stay here.  If we yell, Luke, offer it up.”

“I will,” Luke replied.  “Jim, stand by the door, please.”

“To the shelter?” Jim asked.

Luke smiled.  “No, my dear boy, by the one we entered.”

Shane looked over to Brian and asked, “Are you ready?”

The man nodded and the two of them went into the fallout shelter.

Brian looked around, let out a surprised laugh and took an item off one of the shelves.

“What?” Shane asked, glancing over at Brian.

“Here, catch,” Brian said, and he tossed the item to Shane, who caught it easily.

It was a pair of brass knuckles, except they were made out of what looked and felt like iron. They had sharpened points hammered into the metal. “What the hell were these used for?”

“Trench warfare,” Brian answered. “Looks like they’re made out of iron though. Keep ‘em. They’ll come in handy.”

“How do you figure?” Shane asked. “You can’t actually punch a ghost.”

“You can with iron,” Brian said. He held up his right hand and wiggled the index finger. There was a wide iron ring on it. “Trust me. Just put them on.”

Shane shrugged, slid the iron knuckle-dusters on over his glove, and turned his attention to the skulls.

Chapter 58: The Contest Begins

Luke could hear the fearful, labored breath of James.  The heavy, nervous tread of Shane and Brian as they entered the fallout shelter.

Luke stood in his darkness and held onto the bottle of whiskey.  He shifted his grip, conscious of the sweat on his palms.

“There,” Shane said.

And suddenly a horrific scream erupted.

The two men yelled in surprise and anger.  Shane yelled out in Japanese, and it was answered in kind, and furiously.  With a deep
breath,
Luke added his own, raised voice to the cacophony. 

“I am Lieutenant Luke James Allen,” he said, pitching his voice deeply, the words slamming into the concrete walls.  “I bring a gift to the men of Imperial Japan.”

A coldness wrapped around Luke, and he knew they were there.

The dead surrounded him, pressed close.

Cold fingers touched his eyes, traced the scars they found.

“Marine,” one of the dead said.  “War.”

Luke could only nod and hold up the bottle of whiskey.

The hands fell away from his eyes and Luke breathed a small sigh of relief.

Luke uncorked the bottle of whiskey, took a good, long drink from it, then he wiped the bottle’s lip with his sleeve. His hands shook as he held it in front of him. A moment later, a chill swept over him and someone took the bottle from him.

One of the two ghosts laughed and said, “Whiskey.”

The other replied in Japanese. There was a pause and then Luke felt the bottle being pressed back into his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, and took another drink before holding it out once more.

As the bottle was taken from him a second time, Luke faintly heard Brian speak to Shane.

A single, sharp word was spoken.  A second voice snapped a reply Luke could not understand, and then a terrible, icy grip took hold of his heart and squeezed.

Chapter 59: Jim Sees Too Much

After his grandfather had yelled out his own name, Jim saw two
ghosts appear.  They stood on either side of his
grandfather, and they reached up and touched his face.

Jim watched, unable to look away as they examined his eyes and spoke to one another softly.  He caught the word ‘Marine,’ but nothing else.

Jim watched as his grandfather opened the whiskey, took a drink of it and held it out.  The first ghost took it, drank, and then the second did the same before he gave it to his grandfather again.  Once more, his grandfather drank, and then the first Japanese ghost took the bottle of whiskey again.

From the hidden room,
Jim heard Brian speak to Shane. 
One of the Japanese soldier’s spoke and the other replied angrily.

The first soldier thrust his hands into his grandfather’s chest.

His grandfather gasped, collapsed to his knees and fell slowly to the left.  The entire time the ghost kept his hands
in
his grandfather’s chest.  He sank down to the floor and never looked away. 
Something rattled loudly as his grandfather breathed, and then he stopped.

His grandfather lay still on the cement floor as the ghost withdrew his hands and bowed.

The ghost with the whiskey uncapped it, brought the mouth of the bottle to his nose and seemed to smell it.

Brian and Shane hurried out of the room, each with a skull. 

The dead turned to face them, but it was too late. 

The skulls were dropped into the open box unceremoniously,
and the lid slammed closed.  The ghosts
disappeared,
and the bottle crashed to the floor.  It shattered and glass shards and drops of whiskey struck Jim, who stood silently by the door.

“Oh, damn,” Brian said, hurrying to Jim’s grandfather.

Shane locked the box and stepped away as it rattled on the floor.  Screams of rage, which sounded like nothing more than the plaintive wails of kittens, slipped free of the confines of the chest.