Chapter 20 Part 1 – Call for Obstruction

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So far, Barry has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth. He desperately wants out of his contract, but Margery, his demon boss, tortures him with her magical cigarettes when he refuses to follow orders. She’s forcing him to transport concentrated evil energy from Denver to Trinidad, Colorado, where demons dump the substance down air shafts into an abandoned coal mine. It’s forming a rift that will soon open The Gates of Hell and spill Hell’s refugee camp onto Earth.

Knowing how bad life will be for both humans and demons once the gates open, Margery and senior driver Vern ask Barry to help plug up the air shafts. He agrees until he finds out they plan to sacrifice innocent children down into the hell hole. To get Barry back on board, Margery contracts Nina, his love interest. She promises to release Nina from servitude and give her to Barry if he follows through on the plan. Otherwise, Nina will suffer.

Barry has no choice but to transport a box truck full of kids to Trinidad. On the way, Trisha, an Angel’s Apprentice seizes the truck and agrees not to kill Barry if he turns informant for the angels. When he agrees, she hands Vern’s head to him to deliver to Margery. An hour later Nina picks up Barry on the side of the road. They have their first kiss after being attacked by huge spheres from heaven. Margery then finds out Vern’s dead.

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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When we enter the garage at the Trinidad warehouse, I have to swerve around engine parts thrown all over the floor. Margery’s in her demon form, towering over Oscar. They’re behind his workbench, and she’s poking at his shoulders. With each step she forces him backward, but his chest is puffed out with confidence like it always is.

“Oh my God,” Nina says while panting. “It’s all true.”

“So you had to see it to believe it, huh?” I had managed to cut our drive time down to thirty-five minute. The whole way we argued about reality: Nina sure there was some explanation for all the bizarre happenings and me trying to convince her she was in denial. That didn’t go over well. She refused to believe the Gates of Hell were about to open nor the plan to sacrifice kids down the air shafts to plug it up. May have been a bad move on my part to tell her, especially if Margery heard our conversation.

“Do me a favor. Keep you mouth shut and stay behind me.” I turn off the engine, get out of the van, and slam the door hard, hoping to attract Margery’s attention.

She turns her head and deflates back to an old lady. I hope that means she’s happy to see us. “You two wait for me at my desk.” She flips two cigarettes out of no where and darts the cherry end at Oscar head.

I wince then grab Nina’s arm and guide her away from the pair. She’s shaking.

“What did he do?” Nina whispers.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

As we enter the lobby, Margery’s already at her desk. She’s propping herself up with one hand and puffing a cigar with the other. “I don’t know how Vern smoked these things.”

“I’m sorry about Vern,” Nina says then leans in and whispers, “She really is everywhere.”

“Shut up,” Margery tells her.

“Why does everyone keep telling me to shut up?”

I squeeze Nina’s arm, guide her to a chair, and force her to sit. “Seriously, listen to Margery. Shut . . . up.”

Nina hunches over, still shaking, a single tear streaming down her cheek. “I know I’m suppose to be quiet, but I feel really dizzy.” She barely finished her sentence when she leans away from me. I try to catch her before she falls, but I’m too late.

Margery and I laugh at how Nina landed on her face. “Ah, you are evil,” Margery says.

I clear my throat. Margery calling me evil is worse than a hit from one of her cigarettes. I rush around the chair to lift Nina off the floor. She’s unsteady as she fumbles for the chair seat. “Sorry,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear. She shivers, then gasps when she see’s Margery.

“Oh knock off the drama, you two, or you’ll end up like Vern.”

“Stop it. Give her a chance to get used it all,” I say.

“I don’t have time for that, especially since you blabbered to her about closing the gates.” Margery turns to Nina. “You better get used to this face, girlie, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of it.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Nina’s been promoted to my personal assistant so I can keep an eye on her.”

“She’ll never last five minutes with you. Let her stay with me instead.”

“Not a chance,” Margery says. “I’ve got a lot of work around here she can do. How are you at filing?”

Nina sits silent, staring at Margery, her cheeks wet.

“Well? You going to answer? Or, maybe I should send you out to the Bellow’s Ranch to entertain the demons. They’d keep a really close eye on a pretty young things like you. And a few claws too.”

“I can file,” Nina snaps back.

Oscar interrupts. “Cleaning up trash in the vans is not in my job description.” He’s holding up Vern’s head by the tuft of his bad comb over hair. Both Oscar’s eyes and surrounding sockets are black up to his eyebrows, as if Margery gave him a couple shiners.

“Gimme that,” Margery says. She mumbles something unintelligable that ends in “Trisha.”

Oscar throws it at her over Nina’s head. A chunk of flesh falls on Nina’s lap. She stands and screams, “Get it off me!”

“Shut her up or the demons will.” Margery sets Vern upright on the table.

Holding her mouth, Nina drops to her seat.

“I need to ask Vern a few questions,” she says while slapping his cheek. “There might be a minutes worth of life left in him.”

What is she doing? There can’t be any more life in Vern. His face is all squished and one side of his lip is so puffed out he can’t possibly open his mouth. I search my memory, wondering if I said anything incriminating to Trisha that Vern might have overheard.

Margery pounds her fist on top of Vern’s head. “Wake up!” Bloody goo oozes out from under his neck, but there’s no response from Vern. After a second and a third hit, his eyes snap open. She leans in and yells in his face. “Welcome back, dumbass!”

Vern spits coagulated blood out of his mouth and it splatters across Margery’s face and clothes. “What happened?”

“For starters, look down and tell me what you see?” Margery wipes her face with her hand. “Someone, go get me a wet towel.”

I nudge Nina with my elbow, “You better do it.” She runs from the room.

“My body!” Vern gurgles when he talks. “The bitch cut my head off!”

“Bingo,” Margery says, “and you have about thirty seconds to answer my questions.”

“But all those kids in the warehouse, and I never got a chance to—”

“We don’t have time to discuss your sex life.”

My stomach wretches. I hope management reserved a special corner of Hell for the bastard.

“Did you tell Trisha we’re carrying out the plan tonight?” Margery says slowly.

My eyes widen. Tonight? How can the plan go down tonight? Trisha took the kids.

Vern’s eyes close, and it takes a couple more whacks before they open back up.

“Well, did you tell her about tonight?”

Vern replies in gibberish that sounds like some demonic language.

“Damn it! He’s fully transitioned.” Margery picks up Vern’s head and throws it across the room. She holds out her bloody hands. “Where’s your girl with my towel.”

“Giving her a chance,” I say. “I’m sure she’s on her way back.”

“She’s had enough chances in life. The only thing she’s good for—”

“Don’t say it.” I hold up my hands and back away. “I’ll get your towel.”

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