Page 173 of Corpse Roads
With a nod, I extract the knife she stashed in my pocket and hold it tight. Enzo purses his lips and plunges forward, pulling a small torch from his vest pocket.
The closer we inch, the quieter it becomes. Even the sound of the stream drains away. Evil clings to each vine-covered brick. It’s an oozing pyroclastic cloud that consumes us all.
Gun raised, Hunter moves to the left, beneath the shattered window high above us. Shards of glass are still buried in the rotten leaves slowly putrefying beneath our feet.
Raw slabs of carved stone mark the entrance. Creeping up the small incline, I almost run into Enzo’s back. They’ve both halted, staring ahead in silent concentration.
“What is it?” Brooklyn hushes.
Hunter cocks his gun. “Door’s open.”
“So?”
He moves aside so we can see what’s painted on the slab of wood. I recognise the Holy Trinity instantly. It’s dried and flaked in places over time, but the dark-brown liquid can only be one thing. I know blood when I see it.
Stooping to duck past the macabre welcome sign, Enzo leads the way into Pastor Michaels’ hunting grounds. Hunter keeps casting me apprehensive looks, but I ignore him and step inside the chapel.
“Oh,” is all I can muster.
It’s been methodically and catastrophically trashed. All the remaining furniture and stained-glass windows are destroyed. Not even the altar stands anymore. It looks like a bulldozer passed through here, intent on obliteration.
After sweeping through the empty living quarters and main worship room, Enzo declares the place clear. Hunter and Brooklyn don’t lower their guns. It’s pitch-black in here. The darkness can hide malevolent intentions.
Pulling my own torch out, I follow the path my bloodstained feet took. Every now and then, a red smear marks the stone floor. I can just make out the print of my own toes.
“Harlow,” Hunter calls out. “Not alone. Show us where it is.”
I point the light ahead, through an arched doorway with nothing but clinging shadows beyond.
“Follow me.”
Sticking in a close formation, I somehow find myself leading the pack. Dread and nausea have melted into numb acceptance. I was always meant to end up back here. This basement and I have unfinished business.
With the narrow staircase in sight, the first waves of a stomach-churning stench hit us. It’s ripe, rancid, so thick you can taste the individual notes of death on the tip of your tongue.
“Motherfucker,” Enzo swears. “That’s a body.”
Muscling his way to the front, Hunter steps in front of me. “I know you have to go down there, but I’m going first. No arguments.”
I gesture for him to go ahead. Swallowing hard, he takes a final breath of semi-clean air and plunges into the basement. With every inch, the smell grows. Demons are festering down here in the dark.
The steps groan beneath my feet, underscoring Hunter’s silence as he reaches the bottom. He doesn’t move another inch.
“Hunt?” Enzo calls urgently.
“Yeah,” he responds in a flat voice. “It’s… um, clear. He’s not here.”
But something is, the devil whispers.
Hunter steps aside to let the rest of us down. The slanted beam of light from his torch cuts through the bleak nothingness. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. The outside world has spoiled me with all its freely available light.
“Harlow,” Hunter warns. “Don’t look.”
It’s too late. My feet move without being told, guiding me back to the cage where I spent thirteen years of my life. It’s smaller than I remember it. This entire basement is. My home has shrunk, or I’ve grown.
But this cell doesn’t belong to me anymore. Its new inhabitant swings from a rough hunk of rope tied into the perfect noose around her skeletal neck.
Skin, fat and muscle have melted into a black, foul-smelling sludge that clings to a soulless skeleton. Standing outside the broken cell door, I spot the gold wedding band that’s fallen from her finger and hit the ground.