FORTY
Father Ross sat in shock with his knees tucked up under his chin as he watched the destruction come to an end. Time was a nonsense as he sat there for what could have been seconds or hours for all his shocked brain could comprehend.
Although the house, Minx and Davis were gone from sight he was sure he could still hear the producer screaming and that sickening cackling laugh from the creature. Gradually the voices faded at last as did the searing heat from the hole that had claimed them. And Ross thanked Christ for it.
“Father!” A woman’s voice shouted over the sound of a distant gunning diesel engine.
At first Ross thought it was the crazed woman at his side, but when he turned she was gone. He looked around in a daze through the thick acrid smoke that was now engulfing the whole sorry scene, until he saw a large tour bus with tinted windows pull up alongside the half demolished grandstand at the perimeter of the clearing.
Of all things, a zombie appeared to be hanging out of the bus’s side door waving at him from across the chaos and for a moment Ross thought that maybe this whole damned event had actually sparked off the apocalypse.
“Father,” the zombie woman shouted. “Father, come on!”
Ross got unsteadily to his feet and made his way numbly through the surreal scene around him in a stupor, barely registering the nightmare he was walking through. Those able to run, walk or crawl away had long since vacated the field leaving only the twisted dead and dying behind as a testament to the horrors they had caused.
As he approached the bus he realised the zombie was in fact one of the show’s demonettes, the girl who had led him to the stage, what seemed like a lifetime ago now.
“Canadian, not American,” he said hoarsely, which won a smile from the cheerleader.
“That’s right, Father! Come on get in, we need to get the hell out of here. The cops and probably the whole Spanish army are on their way.”
She held out a hand and as Ross took it she pulled him inside.
The doors hissed shut behind him and the bus lurched off, winding its way through the mayhem.
“Sit down before you fall down, Father,” the girl told him and he slumped down into a seat next to her. “Thought you were dead in there,” she said and hugged his arm.
“Me too,” Ross said vacantly. He took in the other passengers on the bus. He recognised the driver straight away. It was his Russian minder from the hotel, Rubin if he remembered correctly. The big man’s face was set in grim concentration as he drove.
He counted five other Demonettes huddled together near the back of the bus. Several others, production staff he assumed were sitting either in groups or on their own, some staring blankly out of the tinted windows half catatonic with shock like refuges from a war zone.
What looked like a small triage area had been set up by the bus’s kitchen. Where Ross could see a large man tending to a young woman who from where he was sat seemed to have what looked like a bloody towel wrapped around her neck.
She was pale but conscious, nodding gently to whatever her saviour was saying to her. He shouted something in what sounded like Russian down to the driver who nodded and shouted back in the same language.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ross said to the Canadian as his gaze came to rest on her. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“Craziest thing I ever fucking saw,” she said.
“Amen,” Ross replied and was actually touched when he saw her smile at this. “What’s going to happen to all those poor people back there?” He added suddenly remembering the dead and injured he had just sleepwalked passed. “We have to help them.”
“Don’t worry, we called the cops the moment it all kicked off.” Her face took on a haunted look. “A lot of people died here tonight.”
He nodded and put a comforting arm around the girl. It was true, a lot of people where dead. And those many more who had survived would be scarred both mentally and physically for life.
He had come here tonight to end demon time, and more by luck than judgement he had done so, or at least played an unwitting part in its destruction. But at what cost? Just as Minx had said, none of it was his fault, but still so many lives either cut short or damaged forever because of his being here.
The road they were on seemed to smooth out and the bus picked up speed.
“Guess I’m out of a job,” the Canadian girl said after a while.
“Guess so.” Ross replied. And as they drove on in silence the young priest contemplated on what was next for him. Could he really go back to his normal life after what he had witnessed here tonight? Not to mention his encounter with Hauser and the dead creature in the box back in Mexico.
No, that old life of ignorance was over now. For better or for worse. Suddenly that small village so many hundreds of miles away came into his mind’s eye. They were so much a like now that place, its inhabitants, and he. All touched by a darkness that had threatened to engulf them forever, yet they had survived, either directly by or just by mere mention of his name, thanks to a cantankerous old German.
Hauser. Thought of the old man made Ross smile despite himself. Although he had only known the man briefly, he had felt, perhaps even more so now, an affinity with him. After all who in this world knew better than they what lurks within the periphery of the worlds gaze? Kindred spirits now more than ever.
“What are you smiling at Father?” The Canadian girl said from beside him.
Ross turned to look at her. She was an old soul in a young body who, in her own way, and like everybody else present here tonight had been touched a little by the supernatural.
“I’m Shane,” he said.
“Mika,” the girl replied.
“Have you ever been to Mexico, Mika?” He asked. It was out of the blue but seemed perfect all the same.
She looked taken a back for a split second then smiled. “No,” she replied. “But I don’t have a passport either.” She added. “I think it’s burning up back there somewhere.”
“Don’t worry,” Ross said thinking of Mendez and his resources, after all that man owed him a lot. “I know a guy.”