Bad Moon Rising

of Val and slammed Eddie’s arm against the doorjamb. The gun fired and the bullet missed Mike’s head by inches.

LaMastra grabbed Eddie by the collar and Crow shoved his chest and they hurled him out into the hallway. Eddie slipped on blood and went down hard, sliding five feet on his ass. LaMastra kicked the gun out of his hand and screwed the hot barrel of his Roadblocker into Eddie’s temple.

“Don’t fucking move,” LaMastra warned.

“Mike, what’s going on? Crow asked. “Val, somebody…what’s this shit?”

Mike pressed past Jonatha and Newton. “Crow…he’s the one that’s been chasing me on the road. He’s the one I told you about.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s sure,” Val said. “He told us all about it. Eddie even came into the store once.”

“He’s the Beast of the Apocalypse!” Eddie looked pleadingly at LaMastra. “He’s the one responsible for all of this. You have to let me—”

“Crow…?” LaMastra asked.

“Keep him there. Val, Mike, tell me what’s going on. Make it fast.”

They told him a very abbreviated version of what Mike had learned from the Bone Man. They both spoke loud enough for Eddie to hear. While they spoke Crow became aware of Mike’s eyes, and a chill rippled up his spine.

“Holy shit,” he said. He glanced at LaMastra. “Vince?”

“You call the play, man. I’m not emotionally invested in this bozo. Just say the word.”

Crow turned to Eddie and squatted down. “You heard what Val and Mike just said. You got fifteen seconds to give me a reason not to let Vince paint your brains all over the floor.”

“I am the Sword of God.” He said it as if it explained everything.

“And you think this kid is the Antichrist?”

“He is.”

LaMastra nudged him with the shotgun. “One twitch of the finger, Crow, and we’re done with this shit.”

Val came over and knelt down. “Eddie, I want you to listen to me. Mike is not the Antichrist or any other kind of evil. He’s an innocent boy who is as much a victim of all of this as we are. You’ve been lied to by Ubel Griswold, over and over again.”

“No! Satan is the Father of Lies and—”

Val slapped him across the face. “Listen to me, Eddie Oswald; if Mike Sweeney is evil, then you’re a dead man.” She straightened and turned to Mike. “Mike…kill him.”

Mike said, “What?”

“Go on, kill him. If you’re the goddamned Antichrist, then kill this fool, so we can get the hell out of here.”

Mike stood there, holding his shotgun loosely in his hands. “No, I—I mean, can’t we just tie him up or something?”

“Some Antichrist,” LaMastra muttered, mostly for Eddie’s benefit.

Mike came over and gently pushed Crow and Val aside. He knelt down in front of Eddie.

“Careful, kid,” said LaMastra, then to Eddie he said, “And you behave.”

Mike laid his shotgun down. “Mr. Oswald…when you were in the store the other day you came looking for me, didn’t you? You thought it was me, but then you came and met me and I could tell that you weren’t sure. Well, I have to tell you that I don’t give a rat’s ass if you live or die. I really don’t. You’ve been trying to kill me for a month now, and I didn’t do anything to you to deserve it. Everything in my life is shit. Everything. My mom’s a vampire and my dad…well, my dad is the kind of guy you should be going after. If you were really on some kind of holy mission to rid the world of evil, then you should be standing with us rather than against us.” He leaned closer. “I could kill you. They’d let me. They’d do it for me if I asked.”

“Damn skippy,” agreed LaMastra.

“Our friends have been dying. My best friend, Brandon, tried to kill me just five minutes ago. I’m probably going to die sometime tonight; and if not tonight, then sometime soon. So, I don’t have a lot to lose.”

Eddie’s eyes kept trying to meet the stare of Mike’s gold-rimmed red-blue eyes, and each time they fell away.

“Look at me,” Mike said.

Eddie looked at the floor.

“I said look at me.”

It took visible effort, but Eddie finally raised his eyes to meet—and hold—Mike’s stare.

“I have every reason to kill you. No one will say ‘boo.’ I have every reason to kill you, but one.”

Eddie licked his lips. “Wh—what’s that?”

“Because I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re not a little boy. You’re not—”

“Human? No, I think I left that kind of thing behind. I’m born from monsters, Eddie, but I’m not a monster. Look me in the eyes.”

Eddie looked for as long as he could.

Mike leaned over, stretched and picked Eddie’s pistol off the floor. He offered it butt first to the big man.

“Hey, kid, what the hell you doing?” LaMastra barked, but Mike shook his head.

“Put the gun down,” he said to the detective. “Please, just put it down. I want Mr. Oswald to see that he’s free to make up his own mind.”

LaMastra looked at Crow, who hesitated and then nodded; LaMastra moved the barrel away and down, but he didn’t like doing it.

“Mr. Oswald,” Mike said, “I’m giving you a chance here to do the right thing. We’re fighting against these monsters. We could use your help.”

Tow-Truck Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed for what seemed like an eternity, and everyone could see the warring emotions as they passed like clouds across his face. His eyes were watery, his lips trembled.

“I…I’m sorry,” he said weakly. Mike smiled at him. “I’m so sorry!”

And he whipped his pistol up toward Mike and fired.

It was Willard Fowler Newton who saved Mike’s life. Why him and not the others was a question none of the survivors could ever adequately explain. It was as if an invisible hand shoved him hard from behind and he lurched into Mike and knocked him out of the way even as Oswald was pulling the trigger.

Then the world exploded as LaMastra, Crow, and Val all fired simultaneously, each from point-blank range, all of them shooting to kill. Oswald’s body was plucked off the ground and torn to red rags.

Then everyone was crowded around Mike, who lay half inside Weinstock’s room.

“Mike!” Crow saw blood on him and started pulling at Mike’s shirt, looking for the wound. But there was nothing.

“I’m okay,” he said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “He missed.”

“Thank God!” Val turned to Newton, who had fallen down and was sitting against the wall. “You saved his life!”

“Finally a hero,” Newton said with a small smile, and then he pitched over on his side as blood poured from his chest.

“Christ,” Crow said, “Newt’s hit.”

“No!” cried Jonatha, trying to push past, but Val pushed her back as she and Crow tore at Newton’s clothes. They found the entry wound high on the right side. It was well away from the heart, but it was bleeding freely. Crow pressed his palm flat on the hole.

“Mike,” Crow yelled, “see if you can get Saul out here. He can tell us what to do.”

When Mike didn’t move, Crow looked at him. “Come on, damn it—he took that bullet for you. Move your ass!”

Val touched Crow’s cheek. “Crow…honey…Saul’s dead.”

Crow closed his eyes—first lightly and then he squeezed them shut, not wanting to look at the world anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, and it wasn’t clear if he was expressing sympathy for Crow’s grief or apologizing for