Chapter 18: Brian Ricard in Thorne

Brian didn’t understand the call that came over the radio.

“What do you mean there’s a roadblock set up?” he asked, pulling over on the side of Route 122.  “Who the hell put it there?”

“Don’t know, Brian,” Jane answered.  “We just got the call that there’s a roadblock at 122 where it crosses over from Monson into Thorne.  Can you check it out?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, shaking his head.  “I’ll check it out.”

He put the cruiser back into gear and checked the mirrors before flipping on the lights and pulling out onto Route 122.  He was exhausted.  He’d spent most of the night helping to take care of the fires that had sprung up along the border between the two towns.  He’d managed to grab a few hours of sleep in one of the cells, but he was exhausted, and his bladder was full.

The road was absent of other cars and through the vent system of the car, he could smell fresh smoke from somewhere.  Brian felt bad for the firefighters.  More than likely, there were crews from other towns helping now.

What the hell is going on, he thought tiredly, the road curving slightly ahead of him. Then he stomped on the brakes, leaving rubber on the asphalt.

Ahead of him, dozens of trees had been felled and dragged across the road.  It would take a crew with chainsaws and a front-loader at least half the day to clear it, and it wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning.

“Damn it,” Brian said aloud, throwing the car into park and getting out.  He let out a sigh and stared at the mess.  “Damn it,” he said again.  Leaning back into the car to grab the microphone, he stopped.

Something had moved in the corner of his eye.

Slowly, dropping his hand to the butt of his pistol, he backed out of the car and straightened up.  He looked at the blockade from left to right, right to left, and up and down.

Nothing.

He waited another moment before he looked at it again.

Still nothing.

Brian closed his eyes and opened them.

Then he saw them.

Small, sharp faces among the gaps in the trees.  Their skin was dark, almost gray.  

When they realized that he saw them, they straightened up and climbed onto the trees.   The things were small, wiry and wearing an odd assortment of what looked to be children’s clothes, though they seemed to have paid no attention at all to what gender’s clothing they were wearing, if that even mattered.

What mattered was that they had axes and knives, cudgels, and small bows.  They looked at Brian with some interest and chattered back and forth in a language that sounded nothing like anything Brian had ever heard before.

Although, that wasn’t true.  He had heard something like it before.  His daughter loved a movie in which the kids spoke Irish, and that was exactly what the words sounded like.

The strange creatures were speaking Irish, or Gaelic, or whatever it was called.

Brian didn’t find himself feeling comforted by that information, or by the way the things started looking at him.  They didn’t seem to have any desire to leave the safety of the blockade, and that was working out just fine for Brian as well.

“They’re goblins,” a voice suddenly said from beside him, and Brian screamed.

Several of the goblins screamed as well, and when Brian regained some modicum of self-control he was pleased to see that some of them had left.

“They’re not exceptionally bright,” the voice said again, “but they are wicked creatures.”

Brian looked around, and he saw a young woman standing slightly off to the right, looking at him.

There was something peculiar about the woman, or the old-fashioned black dress that she was wearing.  Her deep brown hair hung in curls past her shoulders and her hands disappeared into a dark red, fur muff held properly in front of her stomach.

One of the Goblins called out to her in something that sounded like German, and the young woman responded with kind words.  The tone of her voice, though, was vicious, and the goblin, who had spoken, cringed.

She turned her attention back to Brian.  “I’m afraid that the only advice which I could offer you, sir, is that of staying away.   No matter what you do, you will not be able to stop them.  Your weapon is useless, and they will not take kindly to you trying to cross.”

“How do you know?” Brian asked.

“Look at what they’ve done to those on the other side of the barricade,” she said, nodding towards the goblins.

Brian looked back and saw the goblins placing aluminum poles in the barricade so that the poles stood up easily.  Atop those poles were freshly severed heads, blood still leaking from the necks.  

They were heads of men and women of a variety of ages.

The goblins put up perhaps half a dozen, and when they finished, they looked over and saw Brian looking at them.  Cheerfully, they waved.

Out of pure reaction, Brian waved back, and then he threw up on the asphalt.

The laughter of the goblins filled his ears, and he tried to block out the image in his mind.

“Go back to Monson,” the young woman said kindly.  “They won’t follow you.”

“How do you know?” Brian asked, straightening up and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.  He looked at her and asked again, “How do you know?”