Appointed Night
by Mark Justice
Frank Neely heard the first blast and knew instantly what it was.
You couldn’t grow up on a farm in this county, in this state, and not recognize the sound of a shotgun. You just didn’t expect to hear one inside a hospital.
He dropped the mop into the bucket and heard the wooden handle bang against the yellowed tile. He’d pick it up later. Or he wouldn’t. His boss, the very fat and very bitchy Mrs. Henson, had been looking for a reason to can him and Frank suspected he’d soon be gone, whether he mopped the floor or not.
He heard the shotgun thunder again, followed by screams. It came from one of the floors above him.
He pushed open the metal exit door and ran up the stairs.
He reached the third floor landing and stopped to give his pulse and respiration a chance to slow down.
He placed his hands against the third floor door, as if he could feel what was going on inside. The metal was cool. He couldn’t hear anything. Hell, it might not even be the right floor.
The boom of the shotgun rattled the door. Frank felt the vibration against his palms.
Someone screamed. A woman. The shotgun fired again and there was silence.
Frank pushed open the door.
***
Emily had just entered the emergency room waiting area when she heard the screams. People were pouring out of the corridors: patients, nurses, even doctors. She backed away until she fell into a chair underneath a wall-mounted television that was blaring out the benefits of a revolutionary hair remover.
She sat there, catching her breath and watching the panicked exodus, until she grabbed the arm of a passing nurse. The woman was dressed in an orange flower-print uniform and her cheeks had the flush of high blood pressure.
“Let me go,” the nurse squealed. “You let me go right now!”
“What’s happening?” Emily said.
The nurse tried to pull her arm out of Emily’s grasp, but the younger woman was stronger than she looked. Finally the nurse blew air out of her nose. “Some psycho. He’s got a shotgun, and he’s killing them.”
“Killing who?”
“The pregnant women. And the new babies.”
The woman noticed Emily’s distended belly.
“Aw, hell, honey. Better find another hospital.” She managed to pull her arm free and she ran to the exit.
In a moment, the waiting room was empty.
Over the noise from the television, Emily thought she heard the distant sound of gunfire.
She started to stand up and was hit with another labor pain. It felt like her entire body was trying to turn itself inside out.
Find another hospital? Emily thought she would be lucky if she didn’t have her baby right there under the television.
***
I am Moloch, Prince of the Land of Tears.
He repeated the phrase over and over, like a--what do you call it--a mantra, as he did his work.
Moloch. It was a name of power. That’s what the Master had told him when he was christened. Danny Fitch was such a weak name, for a weak little man. Now he was Moloch, and the name gave him the strength to carry out his sacred mission.
Danny Fitch could only have dreamed of doing this: tracking down the targets and eliminating them like a surgeon would cut out a cancer.
Danny Fitch could only have fantasized about the blood and the screams and the smells. Moloch could make them real.
He turned in a slow circle, one hand on the butt of the shotgun, the other stroking the warm barrel. The gun was a Mossberg 590. The Master had given it to him and instructed him on it’s use. Danny Fitch had always been afraid of guns, but Moloch reveled in the feel of the weapon and the smell of the oil and the gunpowder. Five ejected shells lay on the floor, the one closest to him still smoking.
Five shots. Five targets eliminated. The women--and parts of the women--were scattered across the room. Down the hall were the bodies of several husbands and boyfriend and one too-brave doctor.
Moloch liked forcing the women to this room and killing them one after another. It seemed like a ceremony. The Master was big on ceremonies.
A sound--a gasp--caused him to turn.
Peering around the corner of the doorway was a tall, thin man with gray hair. He was wearing a janitor’s coverall with a name patch over the left breast. He stared open-mouthed at the carnage in the room. He only noticed Moloch when the shotgun swung around in his direction. The blast tore a chunk out of the door frame. Fragments of wood and metal flew across the hall.but the man had ducked away. Moloch hoped the janitor had at least gotten a face full of splinters.
He reached into the pocket of his camouflage jacket, pulled out five more shells, and fed them into the shotgun.
Moloch was reloaded.
The hunt continued.
***
Neely crouched atop a toilet in a stall in the third floor women’s restroom. He was shaking. Icy sweat rolled down his sides.
The kid had shot at him. He had almost died.
Just like all those people.
Christ Almighty, the blood was everywhere. He had never seen such carnage, not even in the Gulf.
That nutjob had murdered a bunch of people already, and Neely knew he would kill more. He just had the look. Neely had seen it on a few guys back in his army days. In a firefight, everybody reacts differently. Some guys would get sick, some guys would empty their weapon and piss their pants at the same time. Others would finish the job, light a cigarette and move on.
Then there were the ones who found out they liked the killing. Their eyes got a certain crazy shine. The corners of their mouths would curl into a smile. They might even turn on their own squad to satisfy this new thirst they had found.
Neely was willing to bet Nutjob had never killed before tonight. But Nutjob had a taste for it now. There would be more death at St. Maria’s before this night ended.
Frank Neely--who had come home from a war convinced he was a brave man--prayed he would not die tonight.
***
The sound of gunfire came again, this time closer, just above Emily’s head. She had to go. She had to run.
Another labor pain forced a gasp from her, and Emily realized the baby was coming right here, right now. Her thighs were drenched with wetness.
She started to cry.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” Her voice sounded high and quivery, like that of a little girl. It seemed out of place on a woman about to give birth, even if she was only sixteen.
Of course, she had been old enough for Gary. Gary had his eye on Emily from the time her mama took up with him. Mama had started drinking after Daddy had been killed on the railroad, and she was drinking down at the Eagles when she met Gary. After that, he was at their place more than his own. It took over a year, but finally, one night after Mama had passed out,
Gary came to her room. He shook Emily awake. She sat up and turned on the light.
“You tell anybody and I’ll kill you and her,” Gary said. He had a weird look on his face, like he was burning up with fever. He unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down. No further words were needed. She knew what was about to take place. So she bit her lip to keep from crying, and let it happen, just as she would the next night and the next and the next. It went on for a while, until she started missing her period, and Mama called her a slut. She tried to tell Mama about Gary, but Mama just slapped Emily’s face. So Emily hit the road and ended up in this shit hole of a town in Kentucky.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” she said in her little-girl voice. She wiped the snot from her nose and shoved away thoughts of proms and hanging out at the mall and going to college.
She had to figure out where she was going to have this baby.
She stood on shaking legs. She felt like she weighed four hundred pounds. The fluid ran in warm trails down the inside of both legs.
She couldn’t go outside. It was freezing out there. She had to find a safe place, a sanctuary.
She heard the gunfire again, as loud as thunder.
It was getting closer.
She forced herself into the hallway. She had to get away from any open area.
Another labor pain doubled her over and forced her to her knees.
“Get up,” she said. “Get your ass up, girl.”
It took her a long time, but she finally stood again.
Emily knew she couldn’t make it much farther. She had run out of time. The baby wasn’t going to wait.
She looked up on saw the sing above the door in front of her.
It said CHAPEL.
***
Neely stood near the restroom door, his hand extended toward the door handle, the same way he had been standing for nearly three minutes.
Go out there, do it.
But he didn’t move.
He knew the kid with the gun was still out there. He had heard the latest shots. They were below him. Probably the second floor.
When were the goddamned cops going to get here?
And how many more would die before the cops arrived?
Neely swallowed.
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
***
I am Moloch, Prince of the Land of Tears.
He had cleaned out the second floor. There was only one more pregnant cow. The rest had been nurses and orderlies and other patients who had been hiding from him, from the terrible deliverance he brought.
That’s what they were doing tonight, all of the Master’s acolytes. Bringing a terrible deliverance to a five hundred mile region.
He had found about the Master nearly a year ago while surfing one of his favorite skinhead web sites. There was going to be a meeting in Cincinnati. Some kind of rally. Nobody knew what it really was, but everyone seemed excited. So Danny Fitch had gone. He had met the small, old man with the odd accent. The old man had captivated them with a fiery speech about duty and honor and becoming a part of something bigger than themselves. The screen behind him had flashed with images of swastikas and Nazis and other pictures guaranteed to please the crowd. After the meeting, one of the old man’s assistants had asked Danny to come backstage. Within seconds, Danny was face to face with the Master.
The Master had picked Danny out of the crowd, along with several others. He told Danny how he had traveled the world for years, seeking special individuals.
“For what?” Danny had asked.
The Master had smiled. He told Danny of his long association with the Vatican--which Danny knew had something to do with the Pope--and of a secret that had been entrusted to only a few men. A secret kept away from the world for over two thousand years.
It was a prophecy, the Master had said.
The Master whispered it in Danny’s ear. And it changed everything.
Danny felt the words transform him. He was no longer the outcast, the loser.
His life had purpose. He was now part of a handpicked team that was going to save the world.
The Master whispered to him again, giving Danny a new name.
Moloch was born on that Ohio night. The Master told him it was a proud title, to wear it well. And he had.
Two floors had been cleared. One more to go.
Danny didn’t know if his would be the hand that accomplished their mission. He just knew he wouldn’t be the one to fail.
Moloch reloaded the shotgun on his way to the stairwell.
***
The hospital chapel was small, simply a room with two rows of three pews. At the front of the room was a small elevated stage that held a wide lectern. On the wall behind the stage was the largest cross Emily had ever seen. It must have been ten feet long and seemed to be carved from a single piece of dark wood. There was no statue of a crucified Jesus hanging from it, like in some of the churches she had gone to as a child. That was an image she had always found scary and she was glad she didn’t have to see it now.
She was halfway to the altar when another pain struck, the worst one yet. Emily cried out and fell to the floor between the rows of pews. The world swam in and out of focus as she fought to stay conscious. The baby wouldn’t wait any longer. She had to find a safe place.
If she could reach to the stage, the lectern should be wide enough to hide her. Maybe whoever was doing the shooting was gone or dead. Maybe it was over. But Emily doubted it. Things didn’t work out that way for her.
She made it to her knees and began to crawl, managing to reach the stage before the pain grew too intense.
She stopped with her back against the stage and her legs spread apart. She grabbed her belly and screamed.
***
Exiting the stairwell on the first floor, near the back of the building, Neely heard the scream. It sounded like it came from the front, near the emergency room.
Not this one, he thought. By God, I’ll stop you from getting this one.
He began to run.
***
Moloch, Prince of the Land of Tears, was stalking the hallways of St. Maria’s Hospital, swinging the barrel of the Mossberg in a constant right to left pattern, ready to decimate anything that stood in his way.
He wouldn’t be stopped, at least until his mission was completed. If Moloch had to die tonight, at least he understood why. The Master had made them all understand that great sacrifices were required and that a reward would be waiting in the next life. At first that sounded like some of that crazy terrorist shit, but the Master had shown him proof from the secret files of the Vatican. That’s was enough for Moloch. He was ready to lock and load.
He entered the deserted emergency room, moving the shotgun like it was a powerful antenna, seeking more targets. He entered to the hallway on the other side of the waiting area.
He heard the scream.
He began to run.
He heard the second scream and knew it was a woman in pain.
Moloch frowned. He was supposed to be the only one causing pain on this night.
He stopped in front of a door marked CHAPEL. That was where the screams had come from.
He smiled. The Master would find this very fitting.
***
The baby was coming out. Emily could feel her body push it along the birth canal. She could feel the head stretch her open to an impossible degree.
She screamed again, pouring into it every ounce of hatred for her mother and Gary and God and this terrible, ugly, cold world.
The baby slid out of her and onto the floor of the chapel.
She gasped for breath and stared at it in amazement.
It lay in a pool of blood and pulpy afterbirth, connected to her by a purplish cord. The baby was on its stomach, its head turned away from her. She couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. She didn’t know if babies were supposed to lay so quiet like that. She wanted to pick it up, make it safe, but she was so weak.
She looked down between her knees and saw the red pool grow larger.
Am I supposed to be bleeding this much?
She didn’t think so. In fact, she was pretty sure something was wrong.
Emily wasn’t totally surprised. It pretty much summed up her brief life.
She felt light headed and the room began to fade away.
At least the baby was alive. She had heard a cry and saw its little fat arms move.
Maybe someone would show up soon, someone who could save the baby. She sure as hell wasn’t going to go through all of this just to have her child die.
Somebody please help us. She wanted to say it aloud, but the words wouldn’t come.
She became aware of a figure walking down the aisle toward her.
It was a boy. He couldn’t more than a couple of years older than Emily. He was wearing jeans, army boots and some kind of hunting jacket. He was also carrying a shotgun.
It took all of her strength, but she managed to say, “Help me. Help my baby.”
The boy pointed the gun at her.
“I am Moloch, Prince of the Land of Tears,” he said. “And I’m gonna have to kill you now.”
***
Neely reached to chapel door in time to see the psycho point the gun at a girl. He took a second to register all that blood and a baby lying in front of her.
He took off at a sprint.
The girl saw Neely and something must have registered in her face, because the kid turned just as Neely hit him with a shoulder,
The shotgun went off next to Neely’s ear. The kid flew back into the stage, which his head collided against with a loud thump.
Neely stood up. His right ear rang from the concussion. His left–which had been next to the barrel–was dead.
“Are you all right?” he asked the girl. He wasn’t sure how loudly he spoke. She was young, barely a teenager, and she was as white as a bed sheet. He saw the blood coming from between her legs.
“I’ll get help,” he said. His voice was a distant buzzing in his right ear. The girl was saying something that he couldn’t hear. She pointed a shaky arm toward the stage.
He turned just as the boy pointed the shotgun at him. Neely saw a spectacular explosion at the same instant his chest was hammered by a great blow. The impact spun him around toward the entrance to the chapel. He looked down and saw the wet, red cavity that used to be his torso. He fell backward then, and didn’t stop until he struck the floor. Neely’s face was inches from the baby’s. The infant was alive. It was looking at Neely.
And those eyes...
***
Emily watched the tall man fall. His middle was completely gone.
She knew she should be panicked, should be screaming with fear and trying to escape.
But she didn’t have the energy.
She was almost gone. She knew that, and it didn’t frighten her. She had sampled all that life had to offer her and had decided that anywhere was better than this world.
The boy had spent a few seconds inspecting the body of the tall man. Now he faced her. She wanted to tell him not to waste the shell on her, but she couldn’t speak.
He staggered as he stepped toward her. The shotgun shook in his grip. Emily saw the bleeding gash on the side of his head.
“Moloch,” he said, mumbling. “Have to stop the birth. The Master says tonight’s the second coming.”
He took another halting step toward her. Tiny pinwheels of light had appeared in the edge of her vision. Everything wavered like she was staring through a wet camera lens.
“‘At’s a funny thing,” the boy said. “You’d think the Pope and them boys would be all happy about Jesus coming back, but nooo.” He coughed. “They say it would ruin everything they’ve worked for. It would screw up everything the church had worked for. It would be the end of the world, that’s what the Master said. So we gotta stop it.”
He pointed the shotgun at the baby. “You think this here’s Jesus?” The boy laughed. “Howdy, Jesus. Why’d you want to pick a crappy place like this to get born again in?” He glanced back at Emily. “See, they had this old book, with the time and the date and a kind of general idea of what part of the world he was gonna be born in and...” The boy touched a finger to his head. “Here we are. I’m almost done.”
Emily heard sirens in the distance. She knew they would never be in time.
The boy aimed the shotgun again at the infant. He took a step forward and slipped in the spreading pool of fluid. As he fell backward, the shotgun discharged, and the large cross on the wall blew apart. The upper half spun through the air, landing like a jagged missile in the center of the boy’s chest.
Emily thanked a God she didn’t believe in.
She felt her grip on her awareness starting to slip away when she saw something amazing.
The baby reached out a tiny hand and touched the face of the man who had tried to help her.
The dead man gasped. Emily saw the ugly wound in his chest begin to close up, like some kind of movie special effect.
Her baby did that. The baby that Gary had knocked her up with.
The boy with the gun had been right.
Emily started to cry.
***
Neely had been shot. He remembered that. Then he had been dreaming. In his dream he was standing on a battlefield, bloody sword held high. The bodies of his enemies lay stacked around him like firewood. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and a rich, deep voice said, “You have done well, my captain.” Neely turned and looked into the handsome face of his leader. He looked into those red eyes. Eyes just like–
“–the baby.” Neely’s voice sounded strange to him. He opened his eyes and saw those red eyes again, so close to his. The baby was touching Neely’s face.
The shotgun. Oh, god.
Neely ran a hand over his chest. The flesh there was sticky and tender. But it was whole.
Even the ringing in his ears was gone.
He sat up and saw the dead nutjob. He also saw the girl.
She was nearly dead
***
The dead man had been brought back life by her child. Her child. Emily knew she had only minutes left. At least she would die with the knowledge that she was the mother of–
The baby rolled onto its back. It was a boy.
Oh, please. Let me just see his face.
“Help her,” the tall man said. “You can help her, too.”
The baby slowly turned its head toward its mother.
She saw the red eyes.
The baby smiled and she saw the sharp white teeth.
Emily knew then the boy with the shotgun had been wrong. His Master had been wrong. This was the night for something astounding to be born.
Just not what they had expected.
In fact, you could say it was exactly the opposite of what they imagined.
The baby reached a small hand toward her leg.
No, she tried to say. Let me die. I don’t want to see this.
Her child touched her and she was healed.
Emily started to scream. She didn’t stop for a very long time.
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