What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [103]
Festus made his way down a tunnel that led from the auditorium, moving slower now as he tried not to fall over dead from cardiac arrest. The black, rubbery things were definitely gas masks. Festus was sure now. Had to be. After all, hadn’t one of the soldiers been trying to fit one over his head? Technically, that didn’t rule out the possibility that it had been S&M headgear, but it just seemed unlikely.
He needed to get out of the church, or at least find a phone to call Liam. But then, Liam refused to carry a cell phone. Could he call the guitar shop? Would Liam head back there? Should he call the cops? No, he didn’t think he could stomach that.
There was a noise – voices. He stopped and listened. There were at least two people coming. Festus panicked, turning this way and that, until he noticed he was standing more or less right in front of a door. He tried the knob. It worked. He opened the door and slipped into the room.
It appeared to be a closet – completely dark and musty. He shuffled his feet and held his arms out in front of him as he groped around. After just a couple of steps he touched a smooth metal pole, which turned out to be a rack with some clothes or curtains or other fabricky things hanging on it. He climbed in to hide between them.
Festus waited, still breathing heavily but straining to make as little noise as possible. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only about fifteen seconds, the sound of the voices faded, and he stepped out from between the clothes and crept to the door. He grabbed the knob and began to turn it, but realized that his other hand was resting on a light switch. He paused for a second to assess the situation: Risk going out into the hall, where crazy militia men would probably catch him and do bad things to him? Or stick with the safety of the closet. The choice was easy. He flicked the switch, and turned to survey his hideout.
It wasn’t a closet – it was much too large for that – but it was clearly being used for storage. There were big wooden screens, staffs, a smattering of random tables, shelves and chairs. It almost looked to Festus like a prop room. The metal pole he’d touched was indeed a rack, and the fabric where he’d hidden appeared to be a group of costumes. He flipped through them absently – a shiny blue thing with stars, something that appeared to be a pirate suit, a peasant girl’s dress – until he noticed a desk in the back of the room. It sat against the back wall, as if someone had intended it to be used, rather than just stored in the room. In fact, there were stacks of papers and – Festus was thrilled to see – a phone.
He scampered over to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed.
Chapter 39. Wherein Satan Enjoys Dessert
The Town Car swayed and lurched as El Jefe flung it into an old restaurant parking lot. He drove as if in a zombie trance, his movements – and those of the car – the jerky and abrupt motions of an automaton. They skidded to a halt, sliding into a parking spot amid clouds of dust and bouncing gravel.
El Jefe proceeded to stare straight ahead for about the next forty seconds.
“Hello? Is this it?” asked Satan.
El Jefe said nothing.
“Is this the headquarters?”
Still nothing.
“Well, let’s go in.”
El Jefe leapt out of the car, moving with an un-elderly burst of speed as he scampered around to open Satan’s door. He stood at attention until Satan had climbed out, and then marched, with robotic efficiency, leading the Prince of Darkness toward the headquarters of the Krijgsheren Wijsheid.
Satan paused for an instant to glance at the restaurant’s sign before following El Jefe inside. The headquarters for the Krijgsheren Wijsheid, f/k/a the Militant Arm of the American Geriatrics Society, was hidden in a Lucy’s Cafeteria?
Once inside, Satan was greeted by the soothing smells of fried okra and boiled things, along with less soothing smells of old people, of which there were