by mike Evans
Harry held it up admiringly and mimicked what he would do if a deer came along, aiming off into the distance.
James pinched the bridge of his nose. Giving these three a firm ass-chewing to take this seriously was on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to get to the point where they got pissed off and went home. They knew something was up, but were confident also that if they’d been given a bonus and tried to leave, Ramsey would not be pleasant to deal with.
“So what exactly are we looking for, James?” Williams asked as he leaned against his truck, cracking his neck.
Suddenly, James realized he didn’t have the slightest fucking clue what he was looking for, like, none at all. “Just keep an eye out. I’ve got a good idea that you’ll know it when you see-”
“Looks like Schmidt’s coming back. About fucking time. Probably decided to take a break on his way back. He hasn’t packed shit all day,” Harry complained.
James walked out in front of the men, squinting as if that would do anything in the black of night. “I don’t know, you think that’s his truck?”
The four of them could hear the engine revving in the distance. James hit his radio to Ramsey. “We got Schmidt’s truck out front. Sounds like whoever has it, is trying to blow his engine. I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.”
Ramsey didn’t respond, but he was sitting next to the window that oversaw the space and was watching everything that could be seen. The screaming of the engine finally stopped and the tires barked on the asphalt as the gearshift had been released, and the lights began growing brighter and closer. The truck swerved left and right, and they very soon realized it wasn’t about to stop. It crashed through the joke of a chain-link fence, sending the truck to the right until the wheels came off the ground.
It happened so fast that Williams didn’t know what to do. He spun on his cowboy boot to start running from it, but the second that it flipped, it went into a barrel roll that seemed never ending. He tried to run, but it was moving so fast, there was nothing he could do. The truck practically sucked him under, crushing his legs, then back, and finally his skull. The other three ran to the sides, leaping out of the way.
The truck’s tires still spun when it came to a rest. It ran for another two minutes before the gas shut off, drained out. James looked over to Williams, seeing his skull was cracked in half and his brains were spread across the cement in a line that seemed to point directly towards himself.
James had his pistol cocked and his finger near the trigger—happy and ready to shoot whatever was inside without prejudice. Anything in there was getting shot. He ran forward, realizing he’d have to duck walk to be able to see inside of the cab, the way it was sitting. He lay down next to it, instead doing the sloppiest roll possible. Harry and Statham just shook their heads, watching the acrobatic skills of a man who clearly had none.
James leveled the gun when he saw Schmidt—or what was left of him—sitting inside the cab. His face had been torn apart; the only thing that helped with identification was his tattered shirt. He set the pistol down, looking at him and how he’d been strapped in. His legs and arms were there as well, but they’d been buckled into the other seat and duct taped to keep them from coming out, apparently. When he looked in the back, he saw that Moon and Lang were in the rear cab, both taped and buckled into their spots.
Harry asked, “What the fuck is it? Do you know who it is?”
“It isn’t who we are keeping an eye out for. Just keep alert, he’s gotta be fucking close. Don’t look in the cab.”
“Fuck you I'm not looking. There’s all kinds of shit fucked up about this situation and I’m not stupid,” Harry bent to see what it was and fell backwards when he saw it.
“I told ya’ll not to look, damn it! We got some serious shit going on right now, and what’s inside this truck don’t mean nothin’ now. We need to worry about ourselves!”
He looked to Harry, who was more than pissed about the fact that this was happening. He went to look up at Statham, but a splatter of blood covered his face, closely followed by a geyser’s worth of it. Statham choked on his words, trying to speak, but was unable to say anything. James got up, and after he got the blood from his eyes, reached towards Statham’s neck, unable to believe it until he could touch it.
A broad arrowhead stuck out the side of his neck, which was dripping slower now. Statham fell to his knees, clasping his neck and choking on his own blood, trying to mouth help but unable to. His world was spinning, and he was doing everything that he could to keep his balance while on his knees. Harry gripped the man’s shoulder yelling, “Statham! Statham!”
That was when a second arrow came from the dark of night, whistling through the stillness. James ducked instinctively, as if he had the time he needed to move out of the way. Harry got tears in his eyes, and blood poured from his neck. James stumbled, grabbing for his shotgun, and stood behind him for a moment, waiting to see if a third arrow would make its way towards him.
James started firing off the gun wildly as if he might somehow hit the man by dumb luck, causing all of this hell to end. When he clicked empty, a man came out of the shadows, dragging an axe behind him. It scraped along the cement and he whistled as he got nearer. James pulled out his pistol, running for The Stranger, who disappeared behind a set of dumpsters.
James ran around, firing his pistol. The bullets bounced off the dumpsters, ricocheting into the night. He clicked empty and dropped the magazine, catching it and tossing it into his pocket as if any more noise was going to make any difference. As he slid in the replacement, a hand clasped onto his shoulder, and another took a handful of hair and dead lifted him off the ground a foot.
James tried to kick and scream, but The Stranger swung him around as he began firing the pistol again. James’s screams were quickly ended as he was slammed into the metal support pipe that ran across the back of the dumpster. His mouth split open, and when he screamed again, The Stranger put his face the rest of the way over the pipe, and he tried to get himself free. Matt hit the release on James’s pistol and held his hand out, letting him fire off the one last bullet in the gun.
James tried forcing himself off the bar with his teeth, which were still intact and grinding on the metal. Matt brought his elbow up and back into his skull, snapping James’s jaw. When Matt let go, James collapsed down to his knees and looked up with tears in his eyes. Gushing blood and bits of teeth fell from his mouth. The ones still in his mouth were shattered and jagged. A few teeth had broken loose and were through his gums, protruding and coming out his chin. His jaw was limp, and drool and blood mixed, pooling on the ground. He mumbled, “Please… please let me leave. I’ll leave now, I’ll never come after you.”
The Stranger lifted his chin with the axe. “I can’t tell you how much that relieves me, that I wouldn’t have to worry about you coming after me.”
“You-you’ll let me go? You won’t kill me.”
“It’s an option, James, but not one which I like.”
“I don’t understand.”
Matt took the axe blade up as high as he could and brought it down into his skull, splitting it clean down through his skull and into his neck. Matt pulled the axe blade from his neck and looked around, seeing the second story of the factory and Ramsey smoking a cigarette, looking like a man on death row who knew that he was smoking the last smoke he’d ever have. He disappeared from the window, and Matt made his way around the building, looking for an entrance.
Ramsey got his cell, punching in Laughlin’s number as quickly as he possibly could. He found a corner to hide in. He looked around at all the shit left in the building and his stomach turned repeatedly. On the fifth ring he finally answered, the sound of silverware being put down could be heard. “What do you need, Ramsey? I got a steak that, at the moment, I like a lot more than you. I thought you were moving tonight? What do you want?”
“I need you to earn that sweet fucking bonus I send your way every month,” Ramsey whispered nervously
.
“What, you got someone screwing with you out in the woods? I thought giving you an off-limits, wooded cookers paradise would be more than enough to earn my—what did you call it, a ‘sweet fucking bonus’?”
“Just fucking listen to me, all right?”
“What’s up your ass, Ramsey?”
“Nothing yet, but we had some issues when we were out in the woods earlier today.”
“This isn’t a fifty questions thing; just tell me what is going on.”
“So we found this cabin way the fuck out there, right? So, when we went out, we realized that there was some serious shit wrong. We found a mask in this cabin. Well the mask looked just like that one from that guy who was killing people like it was going out of style a few years ago. You remember that guy; I don’t remember what they called him—The Stranger, or The Killer, some crazy shit like that though.”
“Yeah, I'm a cop, Ramsey; I definitely remember who he is. Now, what is this that you are talking about, finding a mask? You sure are giving off the impression you’re going to ruin my entire fucking night, probably my entire year—maybe life. What the fuck did you do?” Laughlin screamed into the phone and slammed his hand down on the small counter table.
“We thought that we saw him in the cabin, so we caught him.”
Laughlin stood, unable to handle this news sitting down. “What do you mean you caught him? Did you leave him there, or did you bring him back to town? You hand that fuck over to me. He’s got so many attorneys in so many state offices with a hard on for him still, that you don’t have any idea what kind of shit you are going to stir if you did anything to this guy and it gets out. I mean it, where is he?”
“Shut up and let me talk, I thought this wasn’t fifty questions!” Ramsey heard the door at the other end of the building and looked down at his small pistol, thinking the nine bullets in it weren’t going to be enough to save his life if it came to that.
“Ramsey? Ramsey, you still there, damn it?”
“Yeah, I think that it’s him at the door. Hell, I know it is—he went and killed everyone else. We thought we had him. We killed him; gave him a little taste of medicine that we thought he had coming to him.”
“You fucking idiots, if you killed him then who the fuck is it that has you sounding like you’re going to shit yourself?”
“We found his dad it sounds like. I left Moon out there and then sent Schmidt out later; him, Moon, and Lang are all dead now. I just watched the guy come out of the shadows and smash James into a dumpster, and when I thought he was done he brought an axe head down through his fucking skull and split it in two… In two, Laughlin, did you hear me? Who the fuck does shit like that?”
“The Devil?”
“Yeah, that’s the consensus with me. You get out here and fucking save me. You do it now!”
Laughlin looked around at the restaurant. Other than a few truckers that were just trying to pass through, it was completely empty. He scratched the top of his head, thinking about his sister, who very well knew the shit that her brother was involved with, and made the decision that living was more important than being a hero—especially to a piece of shit like his brother-in-law. “Sorry, Ramsey, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. You call me if you make it through this. I'm going to give the FBI a call anonymously and let them know what we got going on. Good luck though. I mean it. I’ll refund this month’s payment if you survive.”
“I swear to God if I live, then you don’t, you mother fucker! You stick your little payoff up your goddamn ass. This psycho is pissed! I don’t think you understand what I'm saying.”
“It isn’t that I don’t understand, it’s that I don’t care. Sorry to hear about your luck.” He hung up the phone slowly, thinking that the next few weeks were going to be awkward around his small place. He headed to the back of the diner to the owner’s office where he took a seat.
Ramsey could hear the rusty doors scraping along the cement as they opened. He fired off one warning shot towards Matt, who was not scared easily. Matt heard the blast, seeing the sparks in the door as it punched a hole effortlessly through it. “Looks like you’re using a forty-five, Ramsey. Bad choice. You know how many bullets a nine millimeter holds?”
“I only need one, mother fucker. I'm taking you out. You just come on up here and see me, I ain’t going anywhere.”
Matt looked up at the scaffolding where he’d seen him through the window. “You don’t look like you got much choice but to stick it out up there. You got nowhere to go unless you jump. I’d love to have you with broken legs; oh, I’d love that indeed.”
Ramsey looked out the window again, thinking maybe he wouldn’t break his legs, but knew if he didn’t that he’d probably snap something in his spine. Especially if he ran into the dumpsters. He tried not to think about trying to run away from the guy with even a sprained ankle. He’d been saved for last, he thought, and didn’t feel special because of it.
Ramsey knew that it was either fight, run, or the man would lose his patience and well, then he had no idea what was on the plate. He looked around the large factory, trying to see shadows moving.
Matt, who had adapted to seeing in the dark from being in the woods for so long, smiled, walking to the fuse panel and hitting the power. He yelled, making it echo throughout the entire building. “I’ll see you soon, Ramsey.” He laughed as he made his way through the blackened building, determined.
Ramsey held out his phone, wishing the flashlight were stronger on it. He could hear footsteps and fired off one more wild shot, wasting yet another bullet.
“You’ve only got seven left now, given you started with nine.”
“How do you know I ain’t got another gun?”
“I guess that maybe I don’t, or maybe I don’t care.”
Matt took pieces of abandoned wood from unfinished projects and threw them in different places as he walked through. With each crack of wood hitting, Ramsey could feel the pressure in his chest getting stronger and stronger.
Ramsey took two steps down on the ladder, until his jeans snagged on a loose bolt. He panicked, thinking that someone had gripped his leg. He lost his shit and made the worst decision he could: jumping off the ladder, thinking he was avoiding his captor by doing so. Matt had been standing underneath the ladder, tossing objects randomly, toying with Ramsey and his psyche.
Ramsey hit hard and felt pains in his knees but nothing else and thanked God, whom he was confident wasn’t looking out for him. He went to run when a force that he’d never before felt went through the back of his head. He’d never been hit so hard, and an explosion of colors rushed through his vision.
He spun, trying to aim the gun, but his muscle memory would not work. He didn’t know he was falling to the ground until it was too late, and he could feel the cool cement and sawdust on his cheek, which was slowly growing warm from the blood.
Matt knelt down, patting him down as if he were still on duty, but found no gun. “Seems like you didn’t have a second gun. No worries, you could have had more and it wouldn’t have made a difference in the world. You could have continued cooking in this town forever and I wouldn’t have paid you any mind, but you just had to come to my home. You had to kill one of the few people who I cared about. I guess I’m going to have to get some redemption from you.”
Matt took the pistol, sliding it into the rear of his pants, and patted him on the cheek. “I’ll be back. I'm going to need a little light for what I have planned next.”
Ramsey was doing everything he could to stay awake and at the same time was secretly praying that he would die and he could skip the pain that was guaranteed to come.
Matt flipped the lights, and they turned on one after another, running the length of the ceiling until the place was fully illuminated. He walked back, looking around at the facility as he did, seeing packing papers and boxes for as far as the eye could see. He realized he might actually be doing a good deed and started to wonder if there were any money there tha
t he could take, knowing that crooked cops had to be the reason something like this could be happening in a town of this size.
His name caught his attention when he walked by. Matt took a few steps backwards, seeing a torn paper. ‘Like Father Like’ was the headline and had been ripped down the middle, a picture of his wife—or what he assumed was probably his ex-wife by now—sat on the front. She had tears visible and looked like she was all kinds of torn and fucked up, as well as thin as a bone. Hardin slammed it down and marched straight for Ramsey.
Ramsey started to see the light, but a pain erupted on the side of his face. Matt took him by the shirt, lifting him up and slapping him across the face. “When is that paper from? Tell me now!”
Ramsey looked around, just barely on the brink of still being awake. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Matt stepped on Ramsey’s wrist and pulled on it backwards until it split and the bone shot out the back of it. “Oh my god, oh fuck!”
