The Feet of God

32 - DARK PASSAGES

Reapers was running around like cockroaches on a hot griddle.  They was throwing lit bottles out the holes where the windows once had been, and rifle shots echoed in the air.

Through the smoke and chaos I caught a glimpse of Moses’ soldiers surrounding a small blackened lump on the ground.  When the explosive blast blew off the rooftop it apparently propelled a flying weathercock into the forehead of Moses Remington, not a stunt double using prosthetics or computer-generated special effects.  There lay’n in a heap was the celebrity movie star himself, not acting this time, but gushing real live blood.

Fire and debris blocked the front door, and outside I heard the hissing sound of another bombardment, so I threw Ma on the floor behind the overstuffed chair and dived on top of her.  This explosion was even louder than the last.  Reapers screamed and flooded out the back of the house.  Flames rose up everywhere.  I wasn’t sure how many seconds we’d have before the next explosion, but I knew we couldn’t stand too many more like that last one.

I grabbed the old woman by the shoulders and stood her up.  “Ma!  Hey, Ma!”  She was in a state of shock.  So I hauled off and slapped her.  “Whattaya say we go have a drink?  Right now.”

She shook her bald head, sagging feathers laying to the sides.  “Sounds like a splendid idea.”

Hand in hand we felt our way through the dust and shattered wood toward the bookcase in the parlor.  I pulled it open just enough for us to duck through and begin our descent to the subterranean chambers.  “I’m afraid we lost,” I told her.

“You can’t lose if winning doesn’t matter.”

“If it makes you feel better,” I added cheerfully, “Moses got brained by the weathervane when the roof blew off.  Not sure if he’s dead, but it was pretty gross.”  I spied a faint smile on Ma’s face.

We reached the bottom of the stairwell and Ma grabbed the first bottle she could find.  Once she tore it open and swallowed a proper amount she was kind enough to toss a bottle my way.  With our jangled nerves we just stood there for a moment staring at each other.

“What would Krishna Merman do now?” I asked.  I prayed she had a good answer.

“We’ll pack some supplies and head out that way,” she pointed toward a far recess of the cave in the shadows.  “I didn’t get this far in life without an exit plan.”

This was good news.  I was pleased to hear she had some kind of prearranged escape route planned.

Ma grabbed a hand truck and started stacking cases.  Not for the first time, I was amazed at her reserves of strength.  “Get busy,” she demanded.  “There’s another one of these over there.”

So I started loading up the other hand truck until we had four cases of whisky each.  As we started off down the tunnel another bombshell hit above, and the lights flickered as debris fell from the ceiling.  While smoke started to fill the room the aerial blitz seemed to stop.  During this moment of ceasefire we could hear voices and people throwing aside lumber and shit as they began to invade the skeletal remains of the farmhouse.

“Come on, newbie Reaper,” Ma showed the way.  “It’s time to get outta Dodge.”  She led me down a long, dark passageway.

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