The Dead Pools by Michael Hesse

Author:Michael Hesse [Hesse, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781078338707
Published: 2019-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Atlanta, Tuesday 08:00

We didn’t have the warehouse’s address, but it turned out that we didn’t need it. All we had to do was get close enough to pick up on the dread. Southeast of the airport, the air started getting thick with it. It was subtle at first, all we noticed was a growing apprehension. We dismissed it as paranoia, too close to the jail perhaps, or the growing knowledge that our own government was looking for us.

Jitters. Nerves. That’s what we thought at first, but once we turned off I-85 and headed east along the Perimeter, we knew it was something more. Someone or something had saturated the area in a deep, dank fear.

Dreads are unusual spells and not ones we usually encounter. Most people react to a dread without any conscious thought. Their gut tells them that something is wrong and they simply avoid the area. It’s simple and logical, so much so that you don’t think twice about it. That alley is too dark, the men lounging around the doorway are suspicious, whatever. Most people probably congratulate themselves for being so aware of their surroundings. It’s also as false as a politician’s smile.

Dreads steer people away from places or things without an obvious sign. It’s a great way to hide. But they can have unintended consequences as well. It can act as a sort of beacon for broken souls, drawing them ever closer, like moths to a flame. And the longer it operates the more it prods and pulls at those whose interior landscape mirrors the darkness of the spell. I’ve even heard that some goth clubs pay to have low-level dreads cast over them to give them an eerie, creepy feel. It takes all types.

Whoever laid the dread upon the warehouse laid it on thick. Outside the industrial park silent figures stood along the fence line like scarecrows. Most were disheveled street people, but there were also gangbangers and executives standing silently beside each other, their hands grasping the metal mesh, staring across the deserted yard. That sent a cold chill down my back faster than anything radiating from inside the barrier.

Three guards huddled together near a pillbox designed for one at the entrance to the Morehead Industrial Park. They looked nervous as we pulled up, but also relieved. Stevens leaned out the window and flashed his credentials.

“That’s got to be a little creepy,” he said jerking his thumb back towards the silent watcher along the fence.

“It’s like a fucking zombie movie, man,” the guard replied. “Me and the boys are about this far from walking off the job, but there ain’t nowhere else to go.”

“You always have this much security up front?”

“Man, you don’t know what it’s like back there,” the guard insisted. “Everywhere you go it feels like someone’s watching you, then you turn around and see one of them standing at the fence. Last week we found a suicide in the back. Half the staff quit, but I’ve got a family to feed, so I keep coming back.

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