The clouds looked painted up there in the blue sky. The sun wasn’t moving. There was no wind, not a bit, and in Colorado, there was always wind. Not on that day, at 4:56 on a Friday afternoon.
He pushed through the doors and walked back into the bank. He remembered the smudge he’d seen in the corner, where they had a tall, tree-like plant in a basin. He wasn’t sure if the plant was real or not, but he had the idea that someone might have watered it at some point. Watering plants was a thing, right?
Jack saw the smudge, like a bad painting in the corner, behind the tree. But the closer he got, the more the smudge turned into something else—streaming light, energy, a rip in the world. And a woman reaching out for him. She was the only thing moving, but she was moving horrendously slow, like a glacier on valium.
The pain in his skull had intensified, and he grimaced. Ouch. Yes, he was going to get a migraine. The woman’s arm brushed the plant, and it started to fall, but in slow motion.
His vision doubled, and he saw the plant, and he saw the woman, a middle-aged woman with hair that was plastered into a blond helmet from too much hairspray. He started toward her, and that’s when he saw the thing holding her, this thing...
It was far taller than the woman. It had a humanish-shape covered with rock-gray skin. Its arms and legs were impossibly thin, as if it only had bones there and no muscle or blood vessels. Or anything else. Its feet were huge with far too many long, thin toes, like spider legs. Its hands were equally long, and they crawled. The thing’s chest was layered with powerful muscles. Its neck was corded and knotted and thick right up to its nightmare head. It had a mouth—open and wet and black. But the rest of the thing’s face was horns, two big horns starting above its mouth to wrap around and around like a ram’s horns.
It had a rank, chemical smell, like if you fried rancid bacon in ammonia at high heat. Whatever that creature was, it both looked and smelled like the most literal of hells.
Hugo Mundi’s words came back to Jack. The horns...and his mother...who had worked in the bank but had disappeared. And there was a nametag on her chest. Evelyn.
This was crazy Hugo’s mother, and she was being held by the Horns.
Jack felt like someone was whacking him between the eyes with a hammer. What was she doing there? And, yes, her clothes looked like they were from the 1980s, or at least what middle-aged female bank tellers were wearing back then. Annie’s description had been good—big blond hair and lots of blue eye makeup.
His first thought was, Maybe this is a little over my pay grade, and his second thought was, Fuck that! He pulled his Beretta and fired at the face of the horned thing because if anything needed to die, it was this monster holding this terrified woman.
He put a circular hole in the demon’s left horn. It hissed at him. “You, human thing, how can you stop the Tempus Influunt? I wasn’t done yet with her...with her...with her.”
Those last two words echoed in the streaming light around the thing.
Jack dashed forward and took hold of the woman’s outstretched hand. He pulled her back with his left hand and fired into the demon with his right...two in the chest and one in the head. Only this time, the bullets hit the skin and sprinkled onto the floor, doing zero damage to the creature.
Evelyn went tumbling onto the tiles behind him. “Oh, dearie me. What is going on? I need to get home and check on my little Hugo.”
“Forty fucking years too late for that shit,” Jack growled.
“You think in years, child of Adam. While the Interim exists between the eons...between the eons...between the eons.” Horns finished up that cryptic shit and shot forward, raising its long claws. It basically had steak knives for hands.
Jack didn’t know why his first shot worked while the others had bounced off the thing. However, he did know if he wasn’t careful, this thing would filet him—unless he got in close and killed the monster first.
He didn’t retreat but sped forward. He grabbed the right wrist of the monster. Jack’s flesh crawled at feeling its weird, stony skin. Jack pushed his gun into the thing’s face and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening. The results were satisfying. It wasn’t like the monster was going to take a high-velocity round in the face without consequences. The thing staggered back and vanished.
The smell of gunpowder hung in the air, the smoke frozen. The sound, however, ripped through Jack’s ears. He had to shut his eyes against the pain.
Evelyn from the 1980s wasn’t helping him with her squawking.
Was the monster gone for good or just taking a break from the fight?
Well, one asshole down, two to go.
Jack stomped over to one of the bank robbers and grabbed his shotgun. The minute he touched the barrel, the entire world went careening back on course, but Jack had the guy’s weapon in his left hand. It was the easiest thing in the world to bash that guy in the face with the stock. The face mask offered zero protection. Jack was pretty sure he’d smashed out some of this fucker’s teeth.
The would-be bandit went down shrieking in pain. That sounded good.
Evelyn threw her hands up above her head and went running right into the other guy. She spoiled his shot, and Jack was glad for that.
Jack still had his Beretta in his right fist. He turned and fired twice, hitting the shotgun guy in the chest and clipping
