The Thin Black Line Between Infernal and Divine Read online

  THE THIN BLACK LINE BETWEEN INFERNAL AND DIVINE

  By Andrew Seiple

  Cover art by Derek Paterson

  Text copyright © Andrew Seiple 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  Thank you Mom, thank you Dad. Love you both!

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  “You never really forget your first zombie attack, you know?” Agent Kingsley said.

  “Kinda busy here,” Agent Coleman replied.

  “Mind you, the second and third ones tend to blend together. And by the fourth one, it gets old. And that's the danger of it, really.”

  “Still busy here!”

  “No, listen, that's the problem with zombie outbreaks.” She leaned back against the door as she spoke, crossing her arms.

  “I am not any less busy!”

  Behind Kingsley, rotting arms waved around, clamped between the door and the frame. There were too many of them to allow the door to shut, but they were too weak to really force it. And that was new.

  “You get complacent. So when they throw something new at you, it's a surprise.” She grinned, flicking her honey-blonde ponytail away from clutching dead fingers.

  “Not the time for this!” Coleman barked. His suit jacket was torn and covered in gore. The skin underneath, flushed a deep red, matched the color of his unruly hair. But for all the tears in his clothing, the skin remained unmarred. Unbroken. He stared at the high ceiling above, his sunglasses off and held loose in one hand. His solid red eyes glowed in the dim light of the apartment. And where he looked, the ceiling burned.

  “You know,” Kingsley said, as the door thumped and bumped at her back, “You can cut loose a little. Go a bit nuts. I mean, we haven't confirmed the vector, and you might be immune to the usual bite-infection, but I'm not. No armored skin here.”

  “No. I don't need to. Not yet.”

  “You're afraid of it, you mean.”

  “Just because you're comfy with your situation...”

  She didn't deign to answer that one.

  Ash fell from the ceiling, followed by heaps of smoking insulation as the hole widened. The ash was probably carcinogenic, but hey, neither she nor her partner had to worry about that, did they? Kingsley's grin widened. Funny the places your mind went in times like this.

  Finally Coleman stepped back, sliding his sunglasses on. She caught a glimpse of the runes on the inside of the lenses, before they were back on his face. Not too different from her own. Just reversed, that's all.

  “Clear up there?” she asked.

  “Looks like. I'm not smelling anything—”

  The door thumped again, and a questing arm slipped in further and grabbed at her chest. She raised her department-issued Desert Eagle and fired without looking. The arm ceased to be. She let the recoil spin her around, threw the door open, and darted toward Coleman. She pointed her gun backwards, and she fired as she went. A leap into the air, and Kingsley was on Coleman's shoulders before he could do more than yell.

  “Hey! Warn a—”

  She stepped on his face, tossed her gun up through the hole, pushed off and leaped up after it. Up and through and in, and reaching out a hand as she stood on the floor of the apartment above.

  The Desert Eagle landed in her grasp, and she popped the magazine, eyed the bullets left. She'd honestly lost count during that dash. That was a rare event, these days.

  “Gee. Thanks.” Coleman's muffled voice came up from below.

  “Anytime, partner. Ah, you might want to get burning.”

  Groans, and the sounds of fists hitting dead flesh. “You're not going to give up until I give in, are you?”

  She picked her way to the bathroom, and lowered her glasses for a second. The world turned blue, and she saw... well, even after all this time she never knew quite how to describe it. It was the order of things. The ebb and flow of the is. The great and terrible harmony, that made up every part of every thing that existed.

  And here she was using it to see if there was anything dangerous in the bathroom before she entered. Kingsley chuckled as she ran in, and threw her slender form into the bathtub.

  “I'm clear!” She shouted.

  More sounds of violence from the apartment below, and Coleman's angry voice rose up. “There could be civvies! The building isn't cleared!”

  “We haven't run into anyone yet! There's clearly shenanigans at work!” she shouted. “Do it!”

  A long-suffering sigh, muffled by groans as the zombies pushed in. And then a reddish, rising light from the hole in the main room. Kingsley pushed herself down below the rim of the bathtub and closed her eyes as heat washed over her in waves. A pounding, cacophonous roar swelled, rising in pitch until it was almost as if the very world was screaming in pain.

  In a way it was. She didn't dare use the Sight while he was doing this. It was one of the reasons she'd prompted him to do it. For once, for a few seconds, she wasn't tempted at all to be anything but herself. And though the air smelled of hot iron and seared flesh, though she could hear the wood of the floor in the next room literally burning away to nothing, though she could feel the bathtub she was in starting to tilt... for a few seconds, she was at peace.

  Then it stopped, as she'd known it would. Save for the soft fall of ash to the floor below, and the slow, heavy breathing of Coleman, all was quiet.

  She stood, her black suit whispering as it fell into place around her. Wrinkles faded and creases snapped back to their former immaculate state. A small perk of her 'condition'.

  Coleman, now two stories down, wasn't so lucky. As she'd figured, he'd burned through the floor. He was sitting in piles of ash, lying on a charred and still-smoking couch that had caught his weight. His glasses were off, and he stared unseeing at the ceiling above.

  Kingsley grinned. Really, it was for his own good. He got grumpy when he went too long between destructive fits. And the side benefits were sweet, sweet eye candy. She traced his now nearly-nude form with her eyes, examining his muscular frame, then paused as she noticed a flash of color at the top of his thighs.

  “Oh, hey, the department's got you different colors of asbestos undies, now?”

  “Hey!” He started to move his hands, but her reflexes were too fast. She got the phone out with a flawless quick-draw, and snapped a photo before he could cover himself.

  “Da-darn it! What the He-heck did I tell you about this crap?”

  “Blah blah sexual harassment, blah blah blah privacy. Cole, lighten up.”

  “If that hits department email, I swear I will end—”

  He broke off. Kingsley let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Close one, Cole.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  She kicked the bathtub through the hole, waited until it was halfway to the floor, then hopped to it. Immediately she hopped to the armrest of the sofa, moving faster than the tub could fall, in complete defiance of normal physics. She straightened up, balancing without effort on the three inches of armrest. Behind her, the bathtub shattered on the floor.

  “Show-off.”

  She looked at the piles of ash around the room. “You're one to talk. Hang on...”

  Some of the piles were disappearing. Like sand running through an hourglass, but the ash didn't seem to be going anywhere. Just... there, then not.

  “D'ya see what I see, Coleman?”

  “Gonna go out on a limb here and say no.” He climbed t
o his feet, glanced around, and picked up his sunglasses from the floor. Much like her own, they were one of the few things that could withstand a magical inferno.

  Kingsley laughed as he put them on. The classy shades didn't really go well with the bright red briefs. “Secret agent chippendale?”

  “Shut up, you. This is your fault.”

  She hopped off the armrest, slapped his ass, and pointed at the ash piles. “Blame later, look now. See it shrinking? No I'm not pointing at your speedo, look there.”

  “Ah, yeah. What gives?”

  “No. See it shrinking?”

  “Oh. Uh...” He looked over the top of his glasses, and frowned. “it looks like the zombies looked when I used the Sight on them. Same glow to it, but... yeah, it's just disappearing. No departing essence, no link to the controller or spawner. That match what you're seeing?”

  “Yep. That rules out supernatural. Leaves science, viral, or powers. And given that this effect just bent conservation of mass over a table and made it ride the wild baloney-pony, I'm betting powers.”

  “So of course we end up with it. Great. Just great. Once again we end up working a call where our focus doesn't match up.”

  “Shh.” She held up fingers, counting as she went. “One bananas, two bananas, three bananas...”

  From the new apartment's door came a groaning, and a pounding of dead flesh meeting hardwood. And amazingly, the frame started to crack as the zombies beyond started to break it open.

  Kingsley walked over and put an arm against it, and it stopped breaking. She took her hand away, and the door bulged, arms starting to slip through with horrible strength. Her hand up again, and the door warped back into shape, except where it caught the zombie arms against the frame. “I noticed this earlier,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Coleman rubbed his chin, rasping the stubble against his knuckles. “They're freaky strong up until the point you try to fight them, or stop them doing something. Then their arms go all limp-noodly. I noticed that when they were groping me, after you abandoned me. To a mob.”

  “Waa waa waa, it's not like they could hurt you anyway. And also, I noticed every time we wipe out a group, another one shows up inside of a minute Usually out of a place we either already cleared, or someplace just out of sight. So what's that tell you?” She leaned against the door, unconcerned about the flailing arms to the side of it.

  “It tells me we're operating by horror movie mechanics. Or video game mechanics. Or...” He cocked his head to the side, sniffing. “Or bad dream mechanics. Yes. That fits. This is a dream, of some kind. Oh shit... you don't think it's the Screamthief?”

  Kingsley batted away an arm that was bending at an angle it shouldn't have. “Nah. We're both still alive, for one thing. And it lacks that tension that the casefiles report. That edge. But yeah, a lot of odd little things are adding up. Like the comms going out, and the apartment numbers that change whenever you look away from them.”

  “Yeah. So what's the game plan?” he asked.

  She tilted her head, thought for a few moments. “Let's play to the genre, and see what happens. If this follows movie logic, we should act like the survivors who escape at the last minute.”

  “I, uh, actually don't watch these kind of movies.” Coleman flushed. He did the full-body flush thing, she couldn't help but notice.

  “Been years since I saw my last zombie flick. Well, let's wing it.” She cleared her throat. “Eeeek! I can't hold them! They're too strong!” And suddenly they were too strong. The battering on the door increased, as dead arms splintered through, and she jumped away with flawless grace before any of them could snatch her.

  “Quick! Into the closet!” Coleman yelled, jogging that way. “It's reinforced, with, uh, strong wood! We'll be safe in there!”

  Kingsley palmed her face. “No! You never say that sort of—”

  He jerked the closet door open, and zombies spilled out.

  “—thing,” she finished. “Uh. Ah. Let's see maybe...” She cleared her throat again, and shouted “Oh heck! We're doomed! If only someone could come and save us!”

  The apartment's window shattered, as a small figure crashed through it. It straightened up, revealing a kid wearing a leather duster way too big for him, a sheriff's hat with a star on the brim, and a set of grimy tan clothes. He had an oversized revolver in each hand, and about a month-old growth of beard that really didn't fit on his chubby, eight-year old cheeks.

  Coleman froze, and Kingsley clapped her hand over her mouth, to keep from laughing. Of course!

  “Stay still! I might hit you if you move!” hissed the kid, pointing his guns in the general direction of the nearest zombies. They made muffled bang sounds, and the zombies started falling, their heads exploding as he fired shots that shouldn't have hit them in the first place.

  “Seven, eight, nine, ten...” Coleman stopped counting the number of rounds fired after fifteen.

  “Hey!” The kid shouted. “You're a wrestler, right? You should totally piledrive them! That'll smush their heads!”

  “I, uh...” Coleman looked flustered, and Kingsley stepped forward, poked his side.

  “Dude. Look at your arms.” He did, and he almost choked as he saw that they'd gained about thirty pounds of muscle-mass each.

  “Um.” He flexed them. “They don't feel any different.”

  “C'mon man, get piledriving!”

  “Uh, right.” Coleman grabbed the next nearest zombie, swung it upside down, and jumped, landing butt-first on its head. His face twisted into a disgusted frown, as butt met floor. “Oh man, that was a mistake. Its brains are in my ass crack now.”

  The kid dropped his guns and put his hands to his mouth.

  “Uuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm.....”

  “Uh, you said a swear,” said Kingsley, looking from the kid to the zombies. The remaining ones were disappearing, less every time she looked to the kid and back. “Don't look now, but I think something's coming.”

  “WHO'S THAT SWEARING?” A shrieking parody of a female voice. Heavy clomping footsteps outside, that could have doubled for an elephant's. “WHO NEEDS THEIR MOUTH WASHED OUT WITH SOAP?”

  “Oh no.” Coleman stood, backing away from the door as a dark-skinned hand the size of a microwave reached through it, and grasped the doorframe.

  “You're in trouble...” The kid sing-songed.

  “No, it's cool,” said Kingsley. “Ass is okay to say now.”

  The kid blinked. “Really?” The hand started to withdraw. Then he frowned. “No, cause Jamie Jones said it last week, and Miss Loomis washed his mouth, too.” The hand reached out again, and the arm behind it tensed, as it hauled the massive bulk of something unseen forward in the darkness of the hall. More shuddering footsteps. Then the kid looked at Kingsley with dawning realization.

  “Oooooooooooouuuuuuummmmm, you said it too!”

  Kingsley paled, and talked fast.

  “No, it's new. The official swear words council made congress vote on it last week. Miss Loomis just didn't get the memo. I've got it right here!” She pulled out her warrant for entry, shot a glance at it. As she looked, the letters shifted from one undecipherable mass to another. “Here you go miss Loomis!” She walked toward the door, held it out, and gritted her teeth as giant fingers plucked it from her hand.

  “HMM. THIS SEEMS LEGIT. VERY WELL! ASS IS GOOD!”

  “Yep,” Kingsley grinned. “Ass is fucking awesome.”

  “Ouuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmm.........”

  Five minutes later and three floors up, after Coleman managed to delay the she-ogre with a wall of fire, they found a temporary hiding spot in a maintenance room full of scary-looking machines that made scary-sounding noises. A few of them crackled with electricity, and there were hazard symbols all over. Kingsley rested her hands on her thighs and panted, half-crouched. “I think we're safe for now. Odds are this room frightens him in real-life. So if that thing's a projection of his fears like I think it is, it should avoid this place.”

  Colem
an wasn't even winded. She shot him a sour look, but he was too busy watching back the way they came, and thinking aloud. “This is his apartment complex, I'm sure of it. Which is why most of the floors we went through are sparsely detailed. He doesn't know them as well.”

  “Floor four was different,” Kingsley shot back. “there were things hanging from some of the doors, and a few of the numbers were worn.”

  “You noticed that?”

  Kingsley nodded. “Angelsight. It catches even the slightest entropy.”

  “Heh. Makes sense. All right. Since we've only seen one person around here who isn't a zombie or a monster, I'm betting that's the dreamer. Somehow he's drawn us into the dream.” Coleman leaned against the wall.

  “Somehow my ass! This is powers all the way.”

  He tensed. “Watch the swears. Ass is good, but anything else might bring the bi- uh, her.”

  “Pssh. Don't be a pussy.”

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall, and they ran for their lives.

  After a harrowing ten-minute chase, they eventually managed to find a brief sanctuary in the basement. Fortunately, the laundry chutes were somehow wide enough to fit through despite their size.

  Kingsley spat out a sock, and rolled three inches to the right. With a despairing yell, Coleman rocketed out of the chute and landed in the pile next to her, missing her by less than an inch. She planted an elbow on his ribs, and sighed. “You remember when it was all so simple?”

  “I've never had a simple day in my life, with this job.”

  “No, seriously. Like the nineties, man, it was all so black and white. The villains were evil, the heroes were dark, and we'd bring them in all the same. And the heroes that didn't invest in huge-ass guns or bandoliers of little pouches, they were good as good could be. Seriously, you never had to wonder about those guys. Never had to worry. It was all black and white.” She sighed.

  He shifted. “I remember seeing things differently, then. Remember Great Clown Pagliacci? That mess with the Torchbearers? They were kids, but it didn't matter to him. They deserved better, didn't deserve to go out like that. Or the Jestyr's last laugh, that thing with the sarin in Times Square. Heck, what was it with evil clowns back then? Yeah, I'm not sorry that the nineties are gone. New millennium, new rules.” He stood, started sorting through the pile of clothes.