The Last Hellfighter by Flowers Thomas S

Author:Flowers, Thomas S. [Flowers, Thomas S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror | Vampires
Publisher: Darker Worlds Publishing
Published: 2018-08-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

"I need to get back to Mina."

"How long can this—storm last?"

"I don't know. But I can't wait forever. I need to know she's okay."

"I understand, but..."

"What?"

"In this storm...how will you see where you're going?"

Ben stared ahead. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew James was right. The dust storm, if that is what this storm was, had been going for at least an hour or more, or so it felt. Completely shutting out the sun as it roared and screamed around them, blanketing the sky in a sort of harped mist of dirt and sand.

Wisps of earth blew through the vents inside the blue Chevrolet causing James to cough, a look of desperation contorted his face. "Ben, don't go."

"I have to."

"Mina is home. She's fine."

"You don't know that." At this, Ben pulled a rag from his pocket and wrapped it around his mouth and nose. He looked at James who seemed on the verge of panicking. "Stay here, okay. Don't breathe too much of this stuff in. Wait it out. I need to make sure Mina is okay. I've got...I don't know, a bad feeling I guess. Whatever it is, I can't sit here and wait with you."

James looked around at the endless thick rolling brown as it whipped around the pickup. He looked back a Ben and nodded. "If you feel like you're getting lost, come back to the truck, okay?"

Ben agreed with a nod and then opened the driver side door. Climbing out, he slammed the door shut as quickly as he could. The wind and dirt whistled by him, blowing through his tough hair, grating against his dark skin. It was hard to see, especially having to squint through the blowing sharp grains. He looked back through the driver's side window at James who now looked like nothing more than a dark shadow.

The sooner home the better, he thought, and started down the road.

He walked several paces, he was sure, though it was hard to tell how far he'd really gotten in this mess. The wind was constant. And the dirt and sand unceasing. The whistling reminded him of the mortars that fell in France, except here it never stopped. The high pitch just kept going and going.

He took a few more paces and stopped.

There was something ahead.

No.

To the side.

No.

Behind.

No.

Everywhere. It—they were everywhere.

Red glowing eyes flashing around him through the dust storm. And a laughter he had not heard for nearly fifteen years. A cruel, gravely laugh, the kind children trick themselves into hearing, the sound coming from an open closet or from under the bed, a sickly giggle, malicious and hungry for flesh or bone or blood or all.

"No..." Ben whispered.

And just as quickly as the storm had appeared, the dust and dirt drifted away, and the sun shone brightly through in rays of light until all there was was blue cloudless sky.

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