Free Under Cover of Darkness by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

always ran from fire. That was the symbol of the Creator. “ Let there be light. ” “ And a hand of fire moved across the mountain . . . ” “ A column of fire led the Israelites out of Egypt . . . ” “ Reverently, Moses approached the burning bush . . .” Fire was the sign of the One, The Creator, Great Architect of the Universe, She Who Must be Obeyed, the Big Cheese. Monsters were unable to stand the pain of His light. Back in my office had been a sealed ziplock bag containing a BTK soaked in gasoline. Nothing made hellspawn run like the fiery light of a burning holy book! But I never had a chance to use it, more’s the pity. And there was no going back now.
    Thanking the Brother of my sister organization in the name of the Father, I moved off into the fog, keeping a close watch on the shadows, making sure they weren’t keeping a close watch on me. Somebody moved in a dark alleyway, and I pulled the HK 9 mm. As they moved away, I holstered the gun, and went to hitch up my belt—there was only the empty cloth loops of the damp pants. Frantically, I checked again, but my belt was gone. But who . . . how . . . ? Inhuman hands clawing at fabric and flesh . . .
    Spitting out a forbidden Word, the sidewalk under my feet cracked. They had it! The demons had the Key! If Satan knew where the Lock-Of-All-Locks was located, then Armageddon may have already started. A cold sweat broke over my body, and I started running along the foggy sidewalk, checking the cars parked at the curb. No time to waste. I had to get to the nearest Freemason lodge and spread the word fast.
    Passing an endless array of luxury cars: Hummers, Beamers, and a shockingly pimped-out Caddy, I sighed in relief at the sight of a Chrysler sedan. Touching the door handle with my signet ring, there came a hard click, and the door unlocked. Although long dead, Walter P. Chrysler had been a Freemason and made sure all of his vehicles were accessible to a Brother in an emergency. Henry Ford had done the same thing, and if I ever found a Model A flivver, with just a few special Words, any thirty-second-degree Mason could make it fly. Although not a Freemason, Walt Disney was a member of a friendly organization, the DeMolays, and had made a training film about how to fly a car, and then liked the footage so much he recut it into a family comedy starring Fred MacMurray. Also not one of Us, but a tremendous actor. Although, not quite of the same caliber as: Al Jolson, Harold Lloyd, Jack Benny, Laurel and Hardy, Abbot and Costello, or John Wayne, of course. But not bad for a civilian.
    Slipping inside, I spoke a Word of Power at the ignition, and the engine started with a soft purr. Pulling away from the curb, I raced across town toward my one chance, the last hope of the world.
    Breaking a hundred traffic laws, I made it to the lodge in record time, my brakes squealing as I parked illegally alongside a fire hydrant directly in front of the Chicago Freemason Lodge.
    At this ungodly hour, the door to the building was locked. Pulling a dollar bill from my wallet, I carefully rolled my thumb across the All Seeing Eye on the back of the American currency, then slid it into a crack along the jamb. There came a low hum, a series of clicks, and then a hydraulic sigh as the armored portal swung aside.
    Rushing across the foyer and dining hall, I heard the front door close and lock as I burst into the temple. Dodging around the BTK in the center of the room, I dashed up the stairs to the chair of the lodge president, plopped down, and shoved my ring into a small recess. With an electric hum, the chair rotated around, and moved through the curtained alcove, the brick wall sliding back into place behind. The chair was still moving when I hopped off and dove for the alarm button on the Master Mason communications panel. Instantly, fifteen million Freemasons across the world suddenly got an electric jolt from their signet rings and rushed to