Dastardly Bastard(56)
“He never got to me. For whatever reason. I didn’t let him take me. I came here on my own.” She knew what she was saying was the truth. If it meant saving these three, possibly more, she would let them go. She could be the one to stay behind. She had giant tracks to follow… and a boyfriend to find. “You caught him, Mark. You were so brave. I remember crying for you. You’re a hero.” Justine watched the man float off, being sucked away into a bright blue sky.
“We’ll find you, Justine. I don’t know how, but—”
Justine smiled. “I know. Now go on.”
Mark wavered, flickering like a dying light bulb. And then, he was gone.
“That’s that, then.” Justine sucked in a long deep breath. She kissed Trevor’s ring, letting her lips stay much longer than she’d intended. Turning back toward the crushed section of road, Justine felt she was taking her final steps toward the end. She didn’t know if she would survive, but something had to be done. She was glad she’d let Lyle, Mark and Donald go. It wasn’t their fight. If the Dastardly Bastard wanted her, then damn it, he’d have to take her.
43
THE GIANT’S TRACKS LED HER into the woods of Rifle Park. Lyle had given her the name of the place, told the group about the bonfire at the middle, and something resounded in her at the thought of it. Following the path of fallen timber and packed earth, she went through an S-curve. The monster had taken a zigzag approach, destroying everything in its wake. More than once, she had to climb trunks, sharp branches pricking her arms and legs.
If what Mark and Donald had said was true, she shouldn’t be able to feel anything, or at least should be able to ignore it. The pain in her legs was worsening, and the scratches continued to bleed. She could be hurt. She thought maybe it was because she had jumped into the chasm. Everyone else had been taken against his or her will. She’d volunteered.
“Smart move, dipshit.” Justine laughed at herself. The outburst was a brief glimpse of the insanity of the situation. There she was, traversing a trail that some glued-together monster had taken, trying to find a shadow that could destroy a person with nothing more than a memory. For the umpteenth time, Justine wondered how she was supposed to fight the thing when she finally unearthed it.
She smelled smoke. The acrid fumes rolled through the trees. Thick gray tendrils snaked around her body, swallowing her whole. Though she could no longer see where she was going, she pressed on. One word kept popping up in her mind: bonfire.
What she found yards ahead shouldn’t have been surprising, but the simplicity of the sight caught her off guard. An orange flame blew in a smoky updraft. The fire was made of silk, not actual fire. The image reminded her of one of those wacky flailing inflatable arm guys car dealerships had. The base of the bonfire was cardboard, flimsy and creased in places where it had been folded over onto itself. Justine thought the scene looked more like a child’s rendering of a bonfire than the actual thing. Gray and black smoke leaked from somewhere behind the picture stand. She half expected the plume to take on a form, but it never did. At that point, it wouldn’t have surprised her to find a butt-naked leprechaun standing back there behind the vision, picking his toenails while he asked where she might have put his gold.
Justine skirted the faux bonfire, going around behind it. A plywood frame held the thing together. A staircase led underground. The steps were cobblestone, ancient and browning. Smoke rose from the entrance, pouring out around Justine. She tried to cough, but nothing came of it; her throat was dry. Justine waved a hand in front of her face, and the smoke cleared enough so she could find her footing on the first step. Oak banisters ran the length of the stairway, and she slid her hands along them as she made her descent.
The back of her legs screamed with every step. Justine dug down deep, willing her feet to continue. She wondered why breathing wasn’t a problem. The plumes of smoke encased her, offering no oxygen. She should have collapsed long ago.
After what felt like an eternity of steps, the stairway finally ended. The air was clearer at the bottom. Smoke rose, covering the ceiling of the new room she found herself in and escaping back the way she’d come.
In the middle of the chamber was the real bonfire. Embers flitted off it like lightning bugs. Along the rock walls, archways led to God-knew-where. From each, soft voices wafted. They whispered words in languages she didn’t recognize. As she went around the fire pit, Justine found a podium of granite, not unlike the rock face back on the chasm’s trail. The stone had been polished to a mirror finish, and the light gray rock shined with firelight. And behind the podium…
The Dastardly Bastard of Waverly Chasm does gleefully scheme of malevolent things…
“Welcome, child,” the Bastard hissed, not looking up from His work. Even bent at the waist, the Bastard’s dark form loomed eight feet tall. Black hands worked on something, a slippery sound coming off them. The Bastard sighed and rose to his full height.
“My God,” Justine gasped.
The entire body was covered in an inky darkness. Waves of lesser dark came off of him, dissipating into the air like cigar smoke. He moved like a flipbook cartoon, jagged motions that left shadows where he had once been. It was as if there were two of him—one corporeal form, followed by an ethereal part. Justine knew they were shadows. And they numbered in the hundreds.
Beware, child fair, of what you find there. His lies how they hide in the shadows he wears…