Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Solar Max

Chapter Two: From The Bowels Of Hell

Chapter Three: Entering Into The Darkness

Chapter Four: A Glimmer Of Light

Chapter Five: The Devil’s Den

Chapter Six: From The Darkness To The Light

Chapter Seven: A Shining Example: Epilogue

This book is dedicated to My Brother: Paul Noel McKenzie, his wife Nancy, and sons Brian and Scott, Ashley and my sweet Bella Geese.

CHAPTER ONE:

THE SOLAR MAX

Chapter 1

THE SOLAR MAX

Looking back now, we never dreamed that hell on earth could be so close, waiting out there in the abyss, ready to strike at that right moment in time. We were just a group of friends, none of us perfect, all of us flawed, but all willing to do whatever it would take to help the other. It seemed like just any other request, one that even though might have seemed strange at the time; it surely didn’t seem to be one that would leave us all fighting for survival. What started out as a weekend trip to help one of our friends, turned into a nightmare, one that even in my most horror nightmare, I could never have imagined. A revelation was out there waiting and one that is so unbelievable it is still hard for me to grasp that it was true.

The clocks stopped that day, frozen in time. A matter of hours that turned the world around literally, and released a terror upon the earth that threatened to wipe out all of mankind, and replace it with creatures of such evil, that not since the beginning of time had ever been released upon us nor ever would again. If man were to survive it was going to be up to us to figure out how to defeat a demon.

They had been waiting for hundreds of years, held in place by an seemingly impenetrable wall, that through a natural set of circumstances, ones so freak and unexpected, it fell so suddenly, that no one was prepared and surely no one knew how to stop them.

Hey, Romeo. Lil’ Boy’s booming voice yelled out at me, jarring me out of my sound sleep.

Hey… . . . . …, you big jerk, you scared the shit out of me! I yelled out, as I leapt from the bed. How the hell did you get in my house?

Well, Pretty Boy, maybe you should start locking your door. Lil’ Boy said with a big hearty laugh one that made it impossible for me to stay mad at him long.

Lil’ Boy’s real name is Jasper Jenson. He had to be in his late fifties, a big bull of a man at over six feet, and very close to four hundred pounds. Lil’ Boy was your typical old motorcycle gangster from any of the movies on television, and theatres, with his long graying hair braided at the back, dirty blue jeans, and black leather vest. We liked to tease him that he tried to look like those guys, but he would respond that he originated the look and those p’s stole it from him. He was loud and scary, especially after he had a couple of drinks, but he was a gentle giant, with a heart of gold that was so giving most times he went without to help a friend. He would pick up a stray animal at the drop of a hat, swearing he was going to find them a decent home and then get so attached to them, he could not give them away. He lived in an old lean tool shed at the edge of town, as no one would rent to him anymore, because of his menagerie of pets. It was just amazing to watch such a big man, cooing and whispering to a sick animal, begging it to live, and then crying like a baby when one passed away. His favorite animal was a border collie mix he lovingly called Annabelle, and you never saw Lil’ Boy without her, helmet on her head, paws on his shoulders, cruising all over town. That dog could ride on the back of that bike better than most men and everyone would joke about Lil’ Boy and his woman.

Sal wants us to take a trip this weekend. Lil’ Boy said. She wants us to meet her at the Ice House Café so we can make the plans.

Trip? Where too? I said, as I tried hard to stifle a yawn.

Aw, you know her, no telling where it could be. Lil’ Boy groaned. I tell her it’s hard for me to get someone to take care of my babies but she just don’t listen to me. I am going to surprise her one day and just say no.

Lil’ Boy, I swear, you are worse than a woman, the way you worry about those animals. I laughed.

Well… . . . . …, Yeah… . . . . …, but at least I have someone who cares about whether I come home at night or not, which is more than I can say for you. Lil’ Boy growled.

Touché! I said with a laugh.

My name is Duncan Roberson, and I had been a loner all my life. My mother was a prostitute on the streets of New Orleans, who cared more about her drugs, than her son. She never knew who my father was, nor did she care. She only showed me attention, when it meant putting a dollar in her pocket, or when she wanted to impress some man. When I was young, she used me to garner herself sympathy, and would make me pretend to be sick, so we could get charity. I did it hoping it would make her love and want me, and because even though I knew she was pretending, it was the only time she would hold and kiss me, which I would savor in my desperation to have her attention all be it only for what she could get. When I was fourteen, she just left one night, and never came back again. I waited, alone and afraid, for five days, sure that she wouldn’t leave her own child, not leaving the room for fear that she would come, and think I was gone. I would stand in the window, looking down on the street, my heart racing each time I saw someone who looked like her.

Slowly, bitterness and hate invaded my heart, and I knew she wasn’t coming back for me. I guess the thought that something bad might have happened to her never enters my mind. Being a young boy, you don’t think of things like that. All I knew was the only thing she left me was the clothes on my back, an old beat up Harley, and the ability to take care of myself by hook, cheat or crook.

One day, I just climbed on that old Harley, rode away, and never looked back. She didn’t want me and I decided I didn’t need her.

I moved around a lot, at first, mostly living off what I could beg, borrow, and steal, and had more than one run in with the law. Life on the streets makes you tough, and I was fortunate that I grew into a tall, muscular man, with long blonde hair and dark brown eyes, and looks that caught the eye of many attractive women. I used those women, the way my mother used her johns, and never let any of them touch my heart. The moment I started feeling any sort of attachment, I would climb on my bike, and ride away, without even saying goodbye. I never gave one moments thought to the people I hurt along the way, for the only person I cared about at all was myself. Survival, my mother had told me more than once, was to screw them before they could you.

Then one day, ten years later, I rode into a little town called Loving, and found something I never had, nor never could have imagined I wanted. A place to call home. One in which I was accepted for all my short comings and loved without being asked for anything in return.

The first person I met was Newton Sloan, a little man, with long black greasy hair, yellow finger nails from the constant cigarette in his hand, and a mouth full of missing and rotted teeth. Everyone called him Roach, as that was the name of his little junkyard, Roach’s Cycle Heaven, which seemed such an irony as it looked more like hell. It was always cluttered and seemed unorganized, but Roach could find anything you needed without even having to look for it.

He was a soft spoken man, who smelled of gasoline and motor oil. No one would ever guess from looking at him, that he was a genius when it came to motorcycles. There was not anything about them he didn’t know, nor anything about them he couldn’t put together or repair.

He may have been dirty, and looked worse than a homeless man, but he had the nicest, shiniest bike I had ever seen. He had built it from scratch using old parts, and an antique Norton bike frame, and it was breath taking.

It was his pride and joy, and he would touch it gently, stroking it with love and passion. The only time I saw him get excited was when he was talking about his bike.

As fate would have it my bike broke down just as I rode into town, and I coasted into Roach’s battered and worn old dump. He was setting in a dirty old recliner, and jumped to his feet the minute I rolled in, looking at me through red rimmed green eyes, one covered with a huge cataract that gave him an almost ominous look. He fell in love with my old bike immediately. He looked at it the way most men look at a fine looking woman, and he couldn’t believe I didn’t take better care of it.

Boy, shame on you for not taking care of that bike! He drawled at me. It’s a classic.

I’ve been a little low on cash lately. I said quietly. It just broke down on me, and I need some parts for it, so I was hoping the owner here would let me work for them to pay for some parts.

He looked at me suspiciously at first, and then held out his dirty wrinkled hand. Sure Romeo, I could use some help, and sure don’t mind helping you out. I have been in spots like yours before myself. You got a place to stay.

I’ll be fine. I don’t need any sympathy! I said, not wanting anyone’s charity, feeling outraged that this pathetic excuse for a man would be feeling sorry for me. That chip on my shoulder definitely stemmed from my childhood.

Never said you wouldn’t. Be fine, that is. He said, with a thin smile. But what’s that got to do with having a place to lay your head at night. My woman’s got a room she lets people bunk in that just happens to be vacant right now. She likes having company, so I just thought you could use it. People help each other, that’s why there’s so many of us, but don’t mean it makes anyone better than anyone else. Just means we need each other. What’s make us better than animals. Although some people it is an insult to animals to think them better than them.

I could just sleep here if that’s okay. I said softly, as I was beginning to warm up to the haggard old man before me, with the realization that this was his place and he sincerely cared about me starting to sink in to my thin skin.

Sleep here! He said his voice ragged and hoarse. Good lord Boy, this is a junk yard. Ain’t fit for an animal, much less a man. Got more bugs in here than there is outside. Rats don’t even like it in here!

Don’t you sleep here? I said, as I looked over at the messed up old cot in the corner of the room.

Yep, I do. He said with a grizzled toothless grin, laughing out loud. That’s why I know it ain’t fit for no man.

I guess you could say that was the day Roach became the father I never had. He took me into his life, and for the first time ever, I felt that I belonged somewhere, and that someone cared. He loaded me on the back of his bike, and off we went to Baby’s, as he called her.

Sally Mullins was Roach’s lady friend, and I’m not sure what I was expecting her to look or to be like, but to tell you I was surprised when I met her, would be an understatement. Sal was a big strapping woman, almost six feet tall, and probably weighing about two hundred pounds of solid muscle. She had long black hair, scary black eyes, and wore black sleeveless tank tops and jeans with chains coming out of every pocket, that somehow looked very natural on her. She had a soft voice, that seemed strange to be coming from such a mountain of a woman, with a warm smile that could light up a room. One had to only look into her eyes to see that she was a caring soul, with a heart as big as she was. She wouldn’t tell me her age, but I was sure she had to be nearing sixty or better, as she told me she had bought the house she lived in over forty years ago. She had crystal balls and tarot cards in every room of her house, which was decorated in all black and gray, with a sweet smell of incense illuminating though out each and every room.

It had an ominous look, but somehow, it felt strangely warm and inviting. She claimed she was a reincarnated Sharma, and everyone called her Sharma Sal, a nickname of which she was very proud.

You can call me Sal, if you would rather. She told me as she took my hand looking deep into my eyes. I can tell you don’t believe in people having special gifts, but I can see your gift, even if you can’t.

I immediately felt welcome in her home. She treated me as if she had known me all her life, and before long, I felt wanted and needed, and that feeling frightened me. I liked being a loner, not responsible for anyone but myself. I had put up a shield to prevent anyone from taking that away from me, and now suddenly, without me even realizing it, there were cracks forming in that shield.

I guess if my cycle had been running I would have left that day, but to say I regretted finding this bunch I would be lying.

Sal called Roach her baby boy, and I would laugh at the way she treated him. She would carry him protectively in her arms, when he had too much to drink,