Chapter 16 – Call for Obstruction

I apologize for the late posting. I try to get these out by 6:00 A.M. but this chapter and the next required a complete re-write. –W. J. Howard

So far, Barry has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth. He’s a courier, forced to transport some kind of energy substance from Denver to Trinidad, Colorado. It’s being dumped down air shafts on the Bellow’s Ranch and forming a rift between Earth and Hell. He desperately wants out of his contract, but Margery, his demon boss, has total control over Barry and the other drivers through magical cigarettes. Barry’s not giving up though. In order to find a way out of his contract, he plays the good employee and volunteers for overtime. Only the other OTG employees have gone missing—likely kidnapped by white warriors who fight for God’s angels. Margery expects Barry and senior driver Vern to step in and do all the work, leaving Barry no time to snoop around the warehouse for contract loopholes. Barry does find there are perks to being a slave to Satan: bottomless fruity loop cereal and liquor, money whenever he needs it, and immortal life with a rapid healing time. He also just found out the Gates of Hell are about to open and Margery and Vern want to stop it from happening. They prefer their lives on Earth just the way they are. They have asked Barry to help them develop and carry out a plan to close the gates.

The Courier Series is about Barry White, a twenty-something computer geek with an overbearing mother, no prospects of finding a girlfriend, and an unemployment record that’s made him pessimistic he’ll ever be happy.

In Call for Obstruction, Barry has just lost his fourth jobs in the past year due to corporate downsizing. Desperate for employment, he jumps at the first position he’s offered over the phone, driver for OTG Courier Services. Shortly after meeting his new boss, a tiny yet fiery old lady named Margery, she coerces him into signing a questionable employment contract he soon regrets.

The Courier was originally written as a twitter novel @TheCourierNovel in 2009, and the same year it won the Annual Textnovel Writing Contest. Later parts of the story are still tweeting.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

W. J. Howard lives near Denver and writes horror, fantasy and sci-fi with a bit of comedy mixed in. Wendy is also the Co-op Manager for Visionary Press Cooperative, leading an innovative way to publish.

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The van jerks to a stop and wakes me up. Vern’s stopped at a familiar intersection. The gas station to my right is at the last northbound exit into Colorado Springs, near the mall.

“I’m hungry,” he says when he see’s I’m awake. “My favorite pancake joint’s a few doors down.”

“You ate a couple hours ago.”

“Quick stop. Promise.” He points at the speaker, shakes his head then leans in to whisper in my ear. “I need to tell you somethin’.”

Shit! This can’t be good. Not to mention I’d rather be at home, where I might catch Nina online. Find out what she really wanted this morning. Then again, this is the perfect opportunity to drill Vern for information about the driver’s contract. Especially considering Margery objected to the information he was volunteering about the Gates of Hell back at the Trinidad warehouse.

We enter the restaurant and Vern walks past the hostess to a booth in the corner. A waitress approaches, carrying two glasses of water and a plate of pancakes and sausages. She places it all on the table then walks away without asking if I want anything.

“Gimme me the pecan syrup,” Vern says as he spreads butter across the cakes.

I’m still sliding into the booth. “That’s service . . . for you.”

“I called ahead. They take care of me.” Vern shoves a fork full of pancakes in his mouth.

Call. I pat my pants pockets in a panic even though I know they’re empty.

“What?” Vern pulls my phone out of his pocket. “You lookin’ for this?”

“My phone. What are you doing with—”

“I picked it up on my way down the hill to save your sorry ass.”

“Why didn’t you give it back to me sooner?”

Vern shrugs his shoulders and slides it across the table.

It won’t turn on. “Crap, it’s broken.”

“It’s fine. Like I said, I called ahead. Used up the rest of the juice.”

Thinking of Nina again, I say, “Damn, Vern, I might have a text or voicemail.”

“Who from? Your mommy?” Vern laughs.

I frown and put my phone in my pocket. “So what do you have to say. And hurry up.”

“Chill, kid. We got plenty of time.”

“I’d like to get some sleep before the next run.”

“Sleep? You don’t need sleep. I once drove three weeks of nonstop runs and never dozed off once.”

My eyes widen. For nearly two years I lose every one of my jobs; now I might work enough hours to make up for all the time I was laid off, plus.

Having had enough in one day of Vern wolfing down food, my eyes wander around the room. The place has a country feeling, and the walls are covered in prints of farm animals. Not sure why a restaurant would want to remind customers of the animals they’re eating.

Half way through his short stack, Vern says, “Listen, kid, like I said in the van, I got something to tell you. Something Marge doesn’t want you to know.”

I sit up straight then lean over the table and closer the Vern.

“We already have a plan to close the gates.”

“Really?” I roll my eyes and fall back in the booth. Nothing Margery or Vern says is a surprise anymore.

“I like you, kid, and I can’t let Marge lie to you. If you’re going to be in on this with us, you need to know the whole truth.” Vern pauses and pushes the remainder of his pancakes to one side. “When I tell you what we have to do to close the gate, you’re not going to like it.”

“We’re slaves to Satan. Why would I expect you to tell me something I like.”

Vern drops his fork and grins. “It’s kids.”

“Kids? What do you mean kids?”

“Just what I said. I dropped a bunch of little kids down the vent last time I closed the gate.”

All the muscles in my face melt into a scowl. “You what?”

“It’s their energy. They’re so innocent and don’t have a care in the world. You remember what it was like to be a kid, don’t you?”

I want to jump over the table and strangle the bastard, but now is not a good time to get arrested. “I don’t like where this conversation is headed.” I slide sideways in the booth, ready to leave.

“You can’t get out of this, kid.”

“Where do you get off, telling me?” I say, gritting my teeth.

“Remember the alternative,” Vern says. “You’d rather see all the kids in the world tortured and burned by demons?”

I slide back into the booth.

“It has to be done.” Vern puffs out his chest.

Sick! Vern thinks he’s some kind of hero.

The waitress approaches, drops the check in a hurry, and rushes away to avoid our stare down.

“Where are you getting the kids?” I ask.

“Thirty years ago I kidnapped the little bastards, snuck onto the Bellow’s Ranch, and dropped them into the air shafts. It took months to fill up the hole.”

“Months? Didn’t anyone figure out the hole was closing?”

“No.”

“Didn’t that seem odd to you?”

“At the time . . . No.”

“Are you sure Margery didn’t know what you were doing back then?”

“Huh. I don’t know.” He sits back, a perplexed look on his face, but combats his confusion by changing the subject. “You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to buy kids on the black market these days. Mostly we got ‘em from China and Mexico.” He says it like we’re talking about a shipment of Nikes.

“Vern, there’s got to be another way.”

“Maybe, but this is the quickest. And probably the cheapest.”

“What do you mean the cheapest? We’re talking about kids.”

“Who live shitty lives.” He’s puffing out his chest again. “What we’re doing is like saving them from a life of misery.”

“You’re sick. Even more so for expecting me to go along with this. If I’d have had any any idea what was involved . . . .”

He sighs and pulls his wallet from his pocket.

“What if we let the kids go, and I figure out another way to close the gates?”

“Done deal. We’re doing it and you’re helping.”

“But you said there might be another way to close the gates.”

“Give it up kid. This is the only option we have short term.”

“I can’t accept that, Vern. There’s got to be another way.”

Vern drops a ten dollar bill on the table and exits the booth. “You coming?”

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