C.H.A.R.O.N., page 19
“No pressure, but the river’s already over its banks. The dam hasn’t broken—yet. Don’t know how long that will last. Pete managed to get another call through—the dam’s overflow valves aren’t working right, so he’s got to adjust them by hand. He’s trying to reduce the pressure to keep the breastworks from failing. It’s not looking good. If you can do anything to better our odds, I’m all for it,” the sheriff told him.
“You’ve already done a lot,” Brent replied, looking at what Calabrese had pulled together as the clock ticked toward midnight.
Mike Sokolowski sat at the wheel of a huge dump truck loaded with road salt. Eight public works trucks ringed the area around the largest sinkhole, lighting up the rainy night with their powerful headlights.
Rainwater poured over the ragged rim of the hole, falling deep into the abandoned mine. The Miner Memorial’s granite cast a long shadow as if the dead knew where the cataclysm began—and where it might end.
Brent sensed Danny’s presence. A glance at Travis and his partner’s nod told him that the miner ghosts remained close, ready to help if called upon. Nonna looked grim and resolute in her black coat and hat. She held the coal sculpture in one hand and an iron knife in the other.
Father Prochazka’s bag held an assortment of items he had brought from the church for a doomsday reckoning. He had changed into a black cassock and wore a violet stole, fitting for Last Rites. Obsidian rosary beads looped over his belt, and a silver crucifix hung on a chain around his neck.
Travis still wore the black shirt, jacket, and jeans from the day before. Father Prochazka took a second stole out of his bag and sloshed toward Travis.
“I left the priesthood a long time ago, Padre,” Travis protested.
“Thou art a priest forever,” Father Prochazka quoted. “I stayed—and quit in all the important ways.” He put the stole around Travis’s neck. “For luck,” he added with a wry half-smile.
The alarm on Brent’s watch buzzed. “It’s time,” he yelled above the wind.
Travis gestured to the dump truck, which backed up as far as it dared toward the sinkhole before tipping its load. Tons of rock salt poured into the abyss, sluiced along by the thousands of gallons of flood waters that swirled and eddied around their feet.
Father Prochazka took a small reliquary from his bag and lifted it to his lips to kiss in blessing before he made the sign of the cross and tossed the holy item into the sinkhole. He began to chant the prayers that made up Last Rites, offering comfort, absolution, and release to the hundreds of souls trapped deep below in tunnels and shafts.
The familiar words of the Act of Contrition carried above the storm as thunder rolled and lightning flashed. He segued into the Apostle’s Creed.
Travis began the Rite of Exorcism, baritone to the priest’s tenor. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…”
The words seemed to take on new power, joined with the other litany, and Brent felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the rain. He knew their meaning by heart after having faced down demons with Travis. We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary…
Brent, like the other deputies, stood ready to hold off any interruptions. He gripped his shotgun filled with salt rounds and tried not to vibrate from the combination of cold, fear, and exhaustion. The deputies had their weapons in hand, including iron rebar, just in case all of the tulpas had not been banished, or ghosts from the pit returned for vengeance. They looked as weary and terrified as Brent felt, but they stayed at their posts against an ancient, immortal foe.
Nonna spoke her spells in a strong, sure voice, Italian interweaving with Travis’s Latin. Her iron knife cut into the coal figure of the Shubin, paring away layers of the black statue.
A wild howl came from the depths of the pit, unlike anything Brent had heard before. Part wounded creature, part enraged shriek; no one could mistake it for anything human.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brent glimpsed a figure slipping through the crowd, moving ever closer to the edge of the shaft.
Despite the cold, Vinnie wore only a t-shirt and jeans under a clear rain poncho—and a vest packed with explosives.
“Get the hell away from the hole,” Calabrese shouted.
“I can’t! That thing…the creature—it’s in my head,” Vinnie yelled back. “My dreams, my thoughts. All the fucking time!”
“Let’s talk—” Calabrese attempted.
“No! All it does is scream in my brain. It wants blood. Death. We’re linked. And until I end this, it will go on forever.” From the depths, the Shubin screeched again.
“We’re out of time.” Vinnie pushed past, shoving Calabrese out of the way. In two strides, he reached the edge and launched himself over the side.
Father Prochazka shifted to the final portion of the blessing. “Through this holy unction may the Lord pardon thee…”
Travis’s voice rose as he neared the end of the exorcism. “…te rogamus, audi nos!”
Nonna bellowed a war cry and cut off the head of the coal figure before slamming it to the ground with all her might, bringing her heel down on it hard, watching it splinter and be washed into the sinkhole. “Essere andato!”
The ground shook with the force of an explosion deep in the pit.
Lightning arced from the sky, striking deep into the sinkhole, knocking them all off their feet and tossing them away like rag dolls.
Brent struggled to his feet and reached out to give Travis a hand up, wondering if he’d been hit with the psychic shockwave of Vinnie’s suicide. Even without Travis’s extra abilities, Brent’s head throbbed, and his heart pounded.
Don’t die on me, Danny’s ghost ordered. Don’t you dare die on me. I will throw you back from the afterlife myself.
The sinkhole widened, forcing everyone to scramble back and away from the yawning pit. Mike Sokolowski abandoned the dump truck, fleeing on foot as the ground beneath the rig crumbled and the vehicle fell into the mine. Flood water poured inside, sweeping leaves and debris along with the torrent. The rain showed no indication of easing, although the thunder and lightning grew more distant.
Brent knelt next to Father Prochazka. The old priest groaned and sat up. “Whaddaya know? I’m not dead,” he marveled as Brent helped him to his feet. “Even I might be able to get a homily or two out of this,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.
“Is the creature gone?” Calabrese asked, finding his voice.
Travis and Nonna frowned in concentration while Brent reached out to his brother. Danny?
There are a lot fewer ghosts. The creature has gone so far away I can barely sense him.
“The mine ghosts that remain do so as guardians,” Travis said after a moment. “The Shubin is weak and has retreated. I don’t think we’ll see interference from him for a long time.”
Brent nodded in agreement, not quite ready to explain about his ghostly informant.
“The spell I placed on the coal will bind him inside for a long time,” Nonna added. “I dare say he may prefer the depths after learning that we can be…unwelcoming.”
“You think that explosion is going to make us the next Centralia?” Calabrese asked Mike.
“Dunno. Maybe. But there’s a lot of river flowing into that hole and all the other sinkholes—that might save our bacon. We’ll monitor. Not gonna worry about it today,” Sokolowski said.
Calabrese unholstered a flare gun and shot into the sky. He looked to the others. “Liz and her bunco/bowling group organized a rescue on shortwave radio and walkie-talkies—they’ve been waiting outside the tunnel until we were sure the spooks weren’t going to stop them.” He turned to Sokolowski. “We ought to have trucks that can handle the mud ready just in case because that road is going to be a mess.”
“I’m on it,” Sokolowski said. “And I’ll get an update on how we’re doing on getting back power and cell coverage.”
“Thank you,” Calabrese said, looking to everyone who had turned out to help but resting his gaze on Travis, Nonna, Brent, and Father Prochazka. “I have no idea how you did what you did, but it worked. You saved us.”
“I think we all worked pretty damn hard to save each other,” Travis said. “But right now, I’d wrestle a hellhound for hot coffee and dry clothing.”
“We’ll get you four where you need to be and take it from here with the cleanup,” Calabrese said, indicating for some of the men with trucks to stay and watch the sinkhole while the others headed off to other duties.
The Crown Vic looked no worse for the evening’s adventure, still where Travis had parked it. He dropped off Nonna at the library and Father Prochazka at the rectory so Calabrese could get back to the emergency efforts and promised to check in with them again in the morning.
Brent shivered even with the car’s heat turned on high. He didn’t know whether that was from nerves or the temperature.
“You’re quiet,” Travis said after a few minutes.
“Soaked, half-frozen, and newly traumatized. Although for us, same shit, different day.”
“Nonna and Father Prochazka came through in a pinch.”
“They all did. Feisty little town,” Brent replied. “I can see why people like Chris and Liz stay.” He paused. “Do you think it’s over?”
“From the spooky stuff? Yeah,” Travis replied. “Maybe not forever, but for a good long while. Long enough for it to be someone else’s problem.”
“I think we should take the long way back to Pittsburgh. Maybe stop in Gettysburg, see the battlefield.”
“You want to take a medium to one of the most haunted places in the state?”
“Good point. How about Hershey? Chocolate factory, free samples?”
“Works for me. If it’s got ghosts, they’re probably in a food coma,” Travis said.
Brent knew that the banter was proof of life, their way of reassuring themselves and each other that they had made it through another battle. They usually patched up wounds and ordered takeout, so the idea of bingeing on chocolate sounded like a memorable change of pace.
“Looks like everyone’s still at Fisher’s,” Travis said as he found a spot at the edge of the lot. “Let’s see how they fared in the apocalypse that wasn’t.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dim lighting told Travis that Fisher’s was still on emergency power. The crowded bar felt subdued, a reminder that its patrons sought refuge instead of entertainment tonight.
“Well? How’d it go?” Chris asked when they made their way inside and found their table reserved and waiting for them.
“It took all of us, but the tulpas are gone, and the Shubin is bound,” Brent replied. He was starting to feel both the exhaustion of a high-adrenaline, life-or-death fight and the bruises from having been thrown around by the explosion.
“Did everyone make it back?” Chris gave him a look.
“Everyone except Vinnie. He went full fucking supernatural suicide bomber,” Brent answered.
Travis knew his partner was wrestling with guilt over not being able to stop the man’s death. “He cut off the Shubin’s mental connection, so between his death and the explosion, it probably did help stop the monster,” Travis pointed out, trying to give Vinnie his due and ease Brent’s self-recrimination.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Chris said. “Battles have casualties. If this ends South Fork’s bad luck streak for a while, it’ll be a lot of lives saved.” He plunked down a shot of whiskey in front of each of them without waiting for an order and added one for himself. “On the house.” He raised his in a toast and clinked glasses with them. “And don’t worry about driving—looks like the rain’s slacking off finally. We can walk home. You earned it.”
Travis felt the alcohol burn down his throat, warming him after the cold, wet night. “How’s the crowd handling everything?” The vibe was moody for having just dodged a deadly disaster.
Chris shrugged. “I don’t think people believe we’re out of the woods yet. River’s still rising. The last we heard from Pete, the dam controls still weren’t working right. And we haven’t accounted for the missing.”
“There’s a lot of damage. Think people will stay?” Travis looked around at the customers who sat at the bar or huddled at tables. Despite having their town crumble beneath their feet or wash away, they seemed to share a sense of quiet resolve.
“I plan to. I figure that most everyone else will too. After all, it’s home.”
Chris kept Fisher’s open until daybreak. By then, electricity had been restored, the rain had stopped, and the receding flood waters meant those who had taken shelter at the bar could go home to examine the damage.
Despite napping for a few hours in the booth, Travis felt bleary-eyed when they made their way to Chris’s house. He peeled off his still-damp clothing and collapsed into bed, not waking until nearly noon to the smell of coffee.
“There are sweet rolls in the oven, plenty of fresh java, and cell signal is back,” Brent called from outside his door. “Chris and I have already showered, so the bathroom is all yours.”
Travis lingered under the hot water, letting it sluice away the sweat and ash, loosening tight muscles and soothing his battered soul. He dug clean clothes out of his bag, hoped his thick socks would keep him from noticing his still-wet boots, and joined the others in the kitchen.
“Brent recapped the detail of how it went down last night,” Chris said. “Thank you. Looks like it was a good call to bring you in.”
“Glad we could help,” Travis replied.
“So…what now?” Chris sat back and sipped his coffee.
Brent shrugged. “I guess we head back to Pittsburgh once the roads open up, back to our ‘other’ work.”
“This is really what you do?” Chris shook his head. “I mean, to be honest? I feel like you’re taking this whole thing too much in stride. Spells, magic, ghosts, shadow creatures…this is all normal for you?”
“Pretty much,” Brent replied. “Like Army ‘normal.’ You train, you go into situations, you get good at navigating hell. Things like what happened here come up, and we hope what we know can help.”
Chris was quiet for a moment, giving them both an assessing look. “Well, thank God for that. Because we were screwed, and you made all the difference.”
“Sometimes we win. Sometimes…” Brent’s voice drifted off, and he looked away.
“Have you heard any news about the dam?” Travis jumped in to shift the topic.
“Pete managed to shunt enough of the dam’s overflow to the emergency release pipes. It flowed into the river and made more flooding, but the breastworks held. Soggy basements are better than having the whole damn town wash away,” Chris said.
“The mayor put in a request for emergency funding to deal with the sinkholes and mudslides, fix the roads, replace the bridges. It’s going to be a while until that’s sorted,” Chris went on. “Mike and his crew are going to try to clear the debris from at least one of the roads so we can get people out who need help.”
“Did Liz’s rescue plan work? With the tunnel?” Travis asked.
Chris nodded. “They got here once the sun was up. The Johnstown police sent search and rescue teams through on ATVs. Liz is coordinating with some folks from Johnstown to take care of the people who’ve lost their homes with the flooding.” He smiled fondly. “She’s a force of nature.”
“You’re not going to let her go, are you? She’s pretty special.” Brent gave his old friend a look.
Chris grinned. “If I got reminded of anything this week, it’s that life is short. I’d like to spend the rest of mine with her—if she’ll have me.”
“You run the best bar in town,” Brent joked. “She’d be a fool to pass that up.”
“I run the only bar in town, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Travis’s phone rang, and he saw Tammy’s number. “Are you still in South Fork? Nonna made some coal charms for you. She wanted me to make sure I gave them to you. Can you stop by?”
“Sure,” Travis agreed. “She was badass. We couldn’t have done it without her.”
“She’s a humdinger,” Tammy agreed.
“How’s the crowd at the library?”
“In surprisingly good spirits. The library didn’t take any damage—thank Miss Liddie’s ghost. We had electric lanterns so when the lights went out, we read bedtime stories and had a sing-along, and then most people found a place to curl up for the night. Today, we’re figuring out who can go home and who needs assistance. But that’s what a library’s for,” she said, with a note of pride in her voice.
“I think that being a badass humdinger runs in the family,” Travis replied.
Tammy chuckled. “That’s high praise.”
“How’s the sheriff?”
Tammy sighed. “Not bad, considering he hasn’t slept in two days. Which means he’s grumpy as a bear, snapping at everyone, and calling in favors to get emergency resources. Liz has her whole bunco and bowling gang drafted to find donations for things to get the town back on its feet. It’s going to be hard but…I think we might be okay.”
From the way Travis had seen the community pull together, he didn’t doubt that.
Chris stood and rinsed out his coffee cup. “I should go to the bar, make sure there’s no outside damage, and then see how I can help with the clean-up. Take your time—you’ve earned a break. If you decide to go before I get back, just lock the door behind you, and please stop by the bar if you get hungry later. Oh, and just so you know, you’re always welcome here—even if we aren’t having an apocalypse.”
The house seemed too quiet after Chris left. Travis had noticed Brent’s silence but hadn’t wanted to ask in front of their host. “Are you okay?”
Brent nodded. “Yeah…I was hoping to hear from Danny. He’s been silent since the fight at the sinkhole. He only just came back—I don’t want to lose him again.”
Travis closed his eyes and focused his gift, looking for Danny’s familiar energy. “He’s still here,” Travis assured Brent. “Just tired. I think he pushed to come back harder and faster than he had the energy to maintain because he wanted to help. Don’t feel guilty—that was his choice. But now he needs to rest like we do.”
