Dead & Godless by Donald J. Amodeo

just a little, that maybe there was an afterlife. A part
of him wanted nothing more than for the angel to prove him wrong, to throw back
the curtain and reveal a higher reality, one where suffering was no more and
life was everlasting. But as tantalizing as that hope was, the cracks were
showing through, cracks like Mary’s wake-up call and this sudden, seemingly
random detour through the limbo of a dismal alley. No, the more likely truth
was that his brain, or what was left of it, was finally running out of juice.
    Corwin
heard the door swing shut behind him and spun for the knob. Its lock rattled to
no avail.
    No
way to go but forward.
    Past
the crackling flames, the alley showed no sign of ending. Plumes of steam ghosted
through a grated sewer lid. Chain-link fences barred alcoves and side streets,
and wall lamps framed retractable doors in cones of stale yellow light.
Eventually he came upon a crossing where another long alley intersected his
own. Corwin turned a slow circle, gazing in all four directions, but one way
looked as unpromising as the next. No hints of a main street, no gap in the dreary
industrial sprawl of high-rises.
    Catching
a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, he snapped a quick look to his
left. Corwin had already scanned that alley, but now the steam drifting up from
the sewers was parting. A dark figure appeared, and then another. In moments
the path was crowded by wall of silhouettes marching his way, and something
told him that these strangers weren’t here to make friends.
    As
one, the group halted, standing deathly still. Seconds passed in tense silence.
They were almost a block away, and yet Corwin could feel their eyes upon him. A
cold sweat tingled against his skin.
    Why
should I be worried? A dead man has nothing to fear.
    The
stillness broke as the sinister mob burst into a dash, and in that instant all
of his rationalizing meant nothing. Everything in Corwin’s bones screamed out for
him to run. This time he didn’t debate.
    Adrenaline
propelled his limbs, his body moving on pure instinct. A nameless fear gripped
him. Who or whatever these people were that happened to be chasing him, he knew
that he couldn’t afford to get caught.
    There
are fates worse than death here.
    Corwin
pumped his legs like a machine, splashing through puddles of muck. In the overcast
sky, storm clouds rumbled threateningly, as if the whole world had set its will
against him. Spotting a fire escape that zigzagged up the right-hand wall, a
spark of hope enkindled his heart, but his leap fell short. The ladder was
hoisted hopelessly out of reach.
    “Damn
it!”
    He
darted around the following corner, rubber soles skidding as he leaned hard
into the turn. Too hard. Something snagged his foot and for a brief moment
Corwin tumbled, weightless, through the air. Then the ground came rushing up to
meet him. He crashed in a heap of trash and scrambled to find his feet again. But
it wasn’t garbage that he had tripped over.
    “Crazy
bastard!” cursed a gruff voice.
    Corwin
beheld the cause of his spill: a vagrant with a scraggly black beard who, until
just now, had been fast asleep on a makeshift mattress of cardboard. Recognition
dawned and his eyes went wide.
    “It’s
you!”
    Glaring
back at him was the same haggard drunk that he had rescued from certain death on
the subway tracks. He thought to give the ungrateful bum a well-deserved piece
of his mind, but the stampede of rapid footfalls was growing louder by the
second.
    I
don’t have time for this!
    Pushing
the questions out of his mind, Corwin vaulted upright, and in another instant
he was bolting down the alley at full stride. The vagrant stared after him with
a bitter scowl.
    “Don’t
nobody in this town watch where the hell they’re going?”
    Corwin
swerved left at the next corner, right at the one after that. The dreadful
sound of pursuit was never far behind. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his
chest heaved with gasping breaths.