Goblins Page 19

  “Everything’s going to be all right if you do as I say. Tell people there are toxic fumes heading toward the island from a ship offshore, and evacuation is a must. Call the radio stations and tell them to broadcast it. Don’t mention terrorists or some of them country boys might want to stick around and fight.”

  Hale knew the story was preposterous, but with the current climate of goings on in the world, the public would air on the side of caution and believe it.

  “Okay, Hale,” Sherri said. “I’ll do it. But I’m really scared.”

  “Just take care of the calls as you move, and get off the island,” he said and ended the call.

  Hale thought about alerting Special Agent Howard. Tell him everything and get reinforcements. Have the man send at least one hundred agents. More if possible. But he knew that wouldn’t happen. The FBI would send a couple at most to investigate, even if he told them his entire police force had been wiped out. There’d be confusion and issues. He’d most likely be relieved of duty until the whole mess was sorted out. Sure, Special Agent Howard might buy the goblin story, but would his superiors? Unlikely. Not until it was too late. So he decided not to involve them, yet.

  Before leaving the woods, Hale went back to each corpse and collected the dead officers’ ammo magazines, along with another 9mm Glock, a .45 and a .357 Magnum. Doing this forced him to identify the dead. Officers Miller, Sacks and Gomez were from the Manteo Police Department. The rest were Sheriff Department deputies, all men Hale had known or at least talk to before. He felt the anxiety of loss coming on and crushed it. He wouldn’t crack now. Wouldn’t think about them. Not now.

  Loaded up, his pockets bulging and arms full, he walked to the road where the law enforcement vehicles were parked. Hale found the Manteo police car with its doors unlocked and dumped the guns and all but one of the 9mm magazines onto the back seat. He then loaded the magazine he kept into his own gun.

  About to climb into the driver seat, Hale realized he didn’t have the vehicle’s keys. He had to go back to the bodies. He pounded the Ford Interceptor’s steering wheel in frustration.

  Getting out of the car, he returned to the scene of the slaughter and rifled through Miller’s, then Sacks’ pockets, where he found the Ford’s keys.

  Thirty seconds later, he was back behind the wheel of the Interceptor. He shoved the key in and brought the engine to life. He slammed the car into Drive and peeled away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jed was sprawled out on his couch asleep when a pounding on his trailer door jarred him awake. He sat up, sending the two empty beer cans that had been resting on his chest to the floor where they clinked a little too loudly against their twin brothers and sisters. He groaned and put a hand to his throbbing head. Damn it, he hated being woken up when his body wasn’t ready to be. There wasn’t a clock in sight—the microwave not visible from the couch. But he knew it was too early to be answering his door for anyone.

  Sleep.

  He needed to get back to it. Maybe a shot or two of rum and he would settle back to dreamland quickly. Or vodka. Yeah, vodka sounded better. Chased with a beer. Then he’d sleep wonderfully.

  Jed had already forgotten about someone being at his front door when the pounding came again, followed by, “Jed Brewster. It’s Marcus Hale from the Manteo Police Department. I need you to come to the door.”

  Shit. Jed closed his eyes and tried to think about last night. What the hell had he done to warrant the cops coming out? The last thing he remembered was opening the new bottle of peach schnapps he’d purchased with some of his bottle return money. The rest of the evening was a blur. No, not a blur. It was simply gone, as if aliens had come down and sucked out his memory. If that was true, they sure visited him a lot. He laughed at the thought, knowing damn well it was the drinking.

  He glanced down at himself and saw that he was dressed, wearing the same T-shirt and sweatpants he’d had on yesterday. Good. It meant the cops weren’t here about another one of his streaking incidents.

  Next, he reached under the couch and pulled out his rifle. He checked the magazine and saw it still had the one bullet in it—his bullet. So the gun hadn’t been fired. That was good too.

  More pounding. “C’mon, Jed,” the officer barked. “I need your help. I know about the goblins. They’re as real as you and me.”

  Jed cocked his head, wondering if he’d heard correctly. His eyes went to the charred journal on his coffee table, the item surrounded by empty Chinese food containers, beer and liquor bottles, and remnants from previous meals.

  Jed shook his head. Sure, now he believes me.

  After seeing Hale, telling him about the goblins and then getting blown off, Jed went home. He’d wanted to be sober when the chief came to him about a plan for stopping the goblin king. But when no one showed, Jed figured he wasn’t believed. So, he decided to get wasted. If he was going to die by goblin hands, then he was going to be drunk off his ass when it happened.

  Sighing, he rose to his feet. When the room stopped swaying, he went over to the front door and opened it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Don’t shoot,” Jed said, throwing his arms up.

  Hale frowned at the comedy act, but was happy to see a familiar face alive. He smelled the booze escaping from Jed’s pores, the stink almost welcomed compared to the goblin tunnel’s.

  “Damn, Chief, you look terrible,” Jed said, staring him up and down. “Looks like an elephant shit you right out.”

  Hale ignored the man. He shoved past him and went inside.

  “Well, come right in, officer,” Jed said.

  The trailer was a pigsty and smelled of farts, urine and stale beer. Having been around odors much more worse recently, he didn’t think twice about the place’s condition and got right to the point. He told Jed everything, sparing no harsh detail. He wanted the man’s full attention.

  “They’re all dead?” Jed asked. He looked stricken and seemed to immediately sober up. “I can’t believe it. The goblins are real.”

  “Yeah,” Hale said. “More real than you want to know. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

  “Me?” Jed asked, poking himself in his chest with the forefinger of his right hand.

  Hale didn’t have time to waste trying to get through to the man. He needed him woken up. He slapped Jed across the face, then grabbed his arms and stared into his bloodshot eyes. “I need to know how to stop the invasion.”

  The man met Hale’s gaze, his face serious.

  “Jed, please,” Hale said, and shook the man, hoping to jar something loose in his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you came to me. But I do now. A lot of people are dead and more will die if we don’t stop them.”

  “Okay, Chief,” Jed said. “Of course I’ll help.”

  Hale released the man and stepped back.

  Jed told him what he knew.

  “So we need to blow up this portal?” Hale asked.

  “Yup,” Jed said.

  Hale wondered where he was going to get explosives. It wasn’t like the Manteo Police Department had grenades and rocket launchers or dynamite for that matter. He’d have to search out a construction site or wherever the stuff was normally kept. Then it would be a matter of actually obtaining it. He was sure there were strict requirements for the stuff. There was no way he was going to get whatever licensing or clearance he needed. At least not anytime soon.

  “Damn it,” Hale said. “How the hell are we supposed to get our hands on some explosives?”

  “What, like dynamite?” Jed asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got some.”

  “You what?”

  “Not here. I’m not stupid. It’s in a chest out back.”

  Hale didn’t want to know where the man had gotten the explosives. “Show me.”

  “Just so you
know, I inherited the stuff. It had been my grandfather’s. He bought a new batch when I was born. My dad kept it until I was old enough to know about it. It was for the goblins when they returned.”

  Hale was speechless as they made their way out of the trailer and around back to a shed. “You keep it in there?”

  “Yeah. I certainly ain’t keeping it in my trailer.”

  Hale shook his head and wanted to arrest the moron.

  “I didn’t keep much from my old life, but I did keep the dynamite. Thought I might blow myself up one day. You know, instead of taking a bullet. But I realized I couldn’t kill myself, so I just let the stuff sit there.”

  The shed didn’t even have a lock on it. Jed opened the door. Inside were two push mowers, gas cans, two wooden chairs, a table, rakes, shovels and a bunch of other junk, including an old leather-bound chest. It was about the size of a piece of carry-on luggage.

  Hale didn’t know much about the explosives, except that when you lit dynamite, you ran. It also became more unstable the longer it sat around. The nitroglycerin leaked out and formed crystals that could easily detonate if handled wrong or dropped.

  Jed went to open the chest and Hale stopped him. “Have you handled dynamite before?”

  “Not really,” Jed said. “I’ve picked it up, but not for years. When I moved here, I didn’t even open the chest. Just plopped it down and went inside the trailer.”

  Hale told the man to step outside. If the stuff was unstable, he wasn’t taking anyone with him.

  As gently as he could, Hale clicked open the brass latch on the chest’s right. He took a second and did the same to the left one. Sweat had built along his forehead and back. Besides the shed being hot, he was nervous as hell.

  He opened the chest, slowly. An inch at a time, making sure he had a good grip on the lid. He didn’t want it crashing back down. The hinges creaked. An inch became two, then three, and soon he had the thing opened all the way. Old newspaper lay across the interior. Hale peeled back a few sheets of the stiff paper and saw the dynamite. There had to be around forty sticks. Some of the explosives looked okay, only faded in color. But other pieces appeared to be eroding.

  Hale swallowed and tried thinking of another idea, some place he could get new dynamite. Nothing came to him. What he had here would have to suffice.

  The chief had no idea how much of the stuff they’d need to destroy the portal. Jed told him the journal hadn’t specified an amount. If he ever wrote a new one, he’d be sure to put that in there.

  Hale decided the best course of action was to bring as much as possible. Carefully, he removed all the sticks of dynamite. He was happy to see no crystallization had formed on them or at the bottom of the chest. He then separated the sticks into two groups, one containing unstable-looking sticks and the other with unblemished outer shells. He was left with nineteen usable sticks of dynamite.

  Using a few of Jed’s clearly unwashed bath towels, Hale wrapped up the dynamite. He snaked the water absorbing cloth between sticks to keep them from rubbing against each other. When he was finished with the arduous task, he placed the bundles in the duffle bag that had been in the trunk of the police car. He told Jed to wait by the shed and then carried the bag of explosives around to the front of the trailer where the Interceptor was parked. He opened the back door and gently set the bag down on the floor.

  Hale hadn’t asked Jed to come along, but for some reason, knew the guy would. Regardless, he thought about hopping in the car and taking off. He didn’t need Jed getting killed. He’d seen enough of that already. But another set of hands—even a drunk’s—would be better. Jed knew the story. His bloodline had battled the creatures. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, he decided to see if the man would come along.

  BOOM!

  The explosion had come from around the back of the trailer. The dynamite had gone off. Hale sped to the backyard and saw Jed holding a stick of dynamite in one hand and a lighter in the other. A section of lawn was blackened about ten feet away. The man’s head was darting around. He looked scared.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jed?” Hale shouted.

  “They’re here,” Jed said.

  “Who’s here?”

  “The goblins. Two of them.”

  Confused, but not taking any chances, Hale drew his sidearm. “Jed, are you screwing with me, ‘cause this isn’t the time.”

  “No. One of the little fuckers tried sneaking up on me. But I showed him. Tossed a stick his way. The stupid shit caught it and was staring at it when it went off. Obliterated the little green shit.”

  “Where’d the other one go?”

  “Into that section of pine trees.”

  Hale didn’t want to stick around and play hide and go kill. He wondered why they’d come here. Unless the whole island was under attack, it meant the goblins were after him. Somehow they knew he was trying to stop them.

  “Jed, we have to leave,” Hale said.

  “But the goblin…”

  “Closing the portal is what’s important. We can always come back for the other one. Who knows, maybe if we close the portal, it’ll die.”

  Jed started making his way over to Hale.

  “You want to put out that lighter and put the stick on the ground now?”

  “Not really, but okay.” Jed put the lighter in his sweatpants’ pocket and set the dynamite down.

  “I’ve got you covered, don’t worry,” Hale said.

  Five minutes after leaving Jed’s trailer, Hale pulled into the Manteo Police Department. The building was empty. Sherri had done her job. Hale went to the munitions locker and grabbed a shotgun and shells. He handed them to Jed.

  “For me?” the man asked, looking stunned.

  “I’d rather you have that than have you walking around holding a stick of dynamite.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Hale grabbed one of the M4 assault rifles and a few clips. He then grabbed a couple of energy drinks—the name Explosion written on the side and causing him to chuckle uneasily—from the refrigerator and candy bars from the vending machine.

  The next stop was Mickey’s Hardware. To Hale’s displeasure, the place was still open. Jed stayed in the car while Hale went inside. The Interceptor had a couple of flashlights in the trunk, but Hale wanted something that would free up his and Jed’s hands, so he purchased headlamps.

  “Mickey, you need to close up shop and leave the island,” Hale said. “There’s a damn chemical cloud heading this way.”

  “Hogwash,” the seventy-five-year-old store owner said. “There ain’t no chemical storm or toxic fumes. Government just wants our island for themselves. Well, I say fuck them. I’m staying.” He pulled a double barrel shotgun out from behind the counter. “Let them try and kick me out.”

  “Is that thing loaded?” Hale asked.

  “It ain’t for show,” Mickey said.

  Hale didn’t have time for this. “I can assure you that there’s danger heading this way. If it arrives, it’ll wipe out everyone on the island. That thief-stopper won’t do you any good.”

  “Is that all?” Mickey asked, referring to Hale’s purchase.

  Hale should’ve known better. The man was as stubborn as a mule in cement. There was nothing he could do short of dragging the man out of the store. But then what?

  “Okay, stay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Hale said as he headed out with the headlamps.

  He drove back to the dead end road where he and Jed prepared themselves. They each guzzled one of the energy drinks, Jed saying, “Really?” when he saw the name.

  They strapped on their headlamps and took the guns, Hale even giving Jed the other Glock and a few clips. The man was a drunk, but he knew his way around firearms from his time in the Army Reserves. Hale carried the duffle bag of dynamite.

  They marche
d through the forest and made it to the tunnel’s entrance unscathed. Hale had expected to be met with resistance, wondering what was up.

  The nauseating stench was still present. Jed didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, the man said nothing about it. Few words were said between the two as they traveled, both wanting to be able to hear if something was coming. Jed told Hale he was scared, but at the same time, said he was glad to be doing something good.

  They moved slowly, watching for outcroppings and crevices. When they reached Levy and Willows’ bodies, the goblin’s corpse was gone. Jed said he was sorry about the two police officers. Hale nodded, and they moved on.

  It was hard not to think about them. But he couldn’t let the sadness in, so he didn’t. It was also difficult to believe a person who had escaped such a place would return to it. But he had.

  When they reached Garnett’s and Patrone’s corpses, Hale knew they had reached the den area. The goblin bodies were gone. This didn’t surprise him. What did was the missing hovels. They weren’t there. The long stretch of tunnel had solid rock on both sides. Hale didn’t understand it, but then why should such a sight surprise him, he wondered.

  As he walked past the men’s bodies, Hale tried not to look at them, but his eyes had a mind of their own. Jed hurried past, almost sprinting, and had to fight the urge to puke.

  Hale was at his most nervous now. He figured the goblin king would’ve sent more of its brethren to the surface world. What was it waiting for? He asked Jed and Jed told him it probably had to do with the ritual. His grandfather had done research on the lore and found that the goblin king needed five children turned into goblins before it could send its army to the surface.

  Hale knew four kids had gone missing. Which meant there could be more goblins stealing kids while they worked their way to the portal.

  “Why can he send a few goblins out but not all?” Hale asked.

  Jed shrugged. “My grandfather guessed it was just how things worked in the other world. Like how we have physical rules of nature. Supernatural beings must have rules too.”