Gabriel's Sacrifice (The Scrapman Trilogy Book 2)

by Noah Fregger

  “Amongst others, as well.” The rifleman nodded. “But I’m the only one who knows of it. The rest still think they never died. We are the once-dead, resurrected to carry the hybrid gene.”

  The hunter shook his head, his reality beginning to crumble.

  “Have you cracked my code yet, Hunter–numbers one through six?”

  “They … they’re the order of our deaths.”

  “Correct. As you can see I had to deviate slightly with number four, when he tried to take my number six from me.”

  “Rick.”

  The rifleman nodded. “So who’s number one, Hunter? Solve my riddle.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then see for yourself,” the rifleman said, extending his hand toward the four bodies.

  The hunter stepped away from the wall, approaching the strategically-placed cadavers.

  Four bodies.

  The closest was Jackson. Number five. His right hand gone, his face calm, considering. Then Kyle. Number three. His jaw agape, eyes wide open. Then Kevin. Number two. The fingers of his left hand matching those of his severed right, his face identical in the terror that claimed his brother. And then the first body. Number one … covered in a dark blanket.

  Coda.

  It would be the rifleman’s ultimate revenge, the hunter’s own son paying the price for the deeds of his father. He wouldn’t be able to bear the sight. Without the boy, he would welcome his own demise–nothing else on this earth worth living for.

  Just above the rise of the deceased one’s nose, he wrapped his fingers around the cloth, finding it quite cool to the touch. With breath held in his lungs, he peeled the fabric away. But it wasn’t horror that overtook him at first sight of the dead man; it was instead a kind of stunned perplexity.

  “What is this?”

  “You remember that night, don’t you, Hunter?” the rifleman asked. “The night I left that handprint on your wall?”

  “Yes,” he answered, the ringing of Victoria’s screams in his head.

  “And what number was on the palm of that print?”

  God, no … “One.”

  “Yes, that was the night,” the rifleman smiled, “the night I snapped your neck in your sleep.”

  He looked down at the man, his own flesh upon the bone frame, tucked cozy beneath the shroud.

  “So you see, Hunter, we are not so different, you and I,” he continued. “But while my purpose is just beginning, it seems yours has already been out-lived.”

  The hunter said nothing, the pit falling out from within his stomach, the rifleman’s words like a tourniquet around his lungs.

  “You were the first, the number one, and you’ll be the last–the full circle. And upon your resurrection, in you was planted a new seed of evolution, a seed that now resides within that pretty blonde.”

  “Victoria,” he whispered.

  “Death was never justice enough for you, Hunter. From your hand, the hybrids were slain–only fitting that from you, they will be born again.”

  The hunter lifted his rifle, taking several more shots as he approached the rifleman. Still he was protected by that shield. “No more hiding!” he shouted. “You want revenge? Then fight me!” He tossed the rifle to the floor, beckoning the man forward. “Put down your weapons and fight me!”

  “Why not?” The rifleman smiled, looking toward the heavens. “I have until sunset, after all.” He threw the knife a good distance away.

  “And that thing!” He pointed to the device on the rifleman’s hand. “Whatever it is, that thing, too!”

  “Very well.” The rifleman slipped it off, dropping it to the floor.

  “Man to man,” the hunter said. “As it should be.”

  “Then that’s your first mistake,” the rifleman noted, “thinking I’m just a man.”

  “Well I am!” the hunter spat. “And one thing about men, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re all cheats.” He pulled the pistol from his waistband and fired on the unarmed Rifleman. Making at least one connection, the dark man rushed him, stole his weapon and sent him through the air.

  Impossibly fast, the rifleman’s strength was unlike anything the hunter ever encountered before. He collided like a rag-doll against a run of ducting, settling in a heap back onto the factory’s roof. His body was alive with pain, the fight already over, his arm and collarbone badly broken.

  “It’s over now, Hunter.” The rifleman walked casually toward him as he lay there, returning the bullet as it somehow squeezed from his skin. “You are beaten. I have only one more question to ask you.”

  But, clutching at his arm and hissing through clenched teeth, the hunter didn’t respond. Pain quickly filled his mouth with nausea.

  “Who visited you that night, Hunter?” the rifleman asked. “That night I left you the handprint. Was it the woman from your memories?”

  “Wha … what?”

  “That woman I saw lying sick in the bed. Did she visit you? It would’ve seemed like only a dream.”

  Andrea. The rifleman was talking about Andrea. He … he did have that dream about her … just before he woke up. “Yes.” He nodded.

  “And what did she say?”

  “You … ” He couldn’t help but laugh slightly to himself. “You reap what you sow.”

  The rifleman’s eyes widened, Andrea’s message seeming to mean something to him. “Then it’s what I thought,” he whispered. “More than just an echo.” And after a moment of apparent reflection, the rifleman grabbed him by a handful of shirt. “Come now, Hunter,” he said firmly. “Let us end this thing.”

  Being dragged toward the noose, the hunter’s fingers scratched along the roof’s surface, but nothing was there to aid him. He soon crossed the X as he slid over it, the words there reading:

  The edge was approaching, the end of that rope soon forced around his neck. And his final thought, waiting for it to catch the weight of his broken body, was of Coda, the boy he’d be leaving behind.

  Coda … dear boy … may your fate be different than mine.

  34

  Always Been Your Purpose

  Foolish it was, premature and unsatisfying, to kill the hunter so soon, until Gabriel had arrived to offer another suggestion. The Traveler was intrigued by the man’s relationship with the pretty blonde, a relationship he thought the mission might benefit greatly from.

  “Make her unconscious,” Gabriel had whispered as Mohammad looked up to find the Traveler’s large head within the room, like some kind of morbid, mounted hunting trophy.

  So he pressed the glove to the blonde, being sure she would not awaken during the hours of the hunter’s absence as they were busily cooking him up a new body.

  And even though Mohammad had gotten away scot-free with murder, the lesser man in him couldn’t help but leave behind a small clue.

  The numbered handprint.

  One death down–five more to go.

  That was when Gabriel instructed him to leave the hunter and his group alone, so that he and the blonde might relax enough for procreation. But as she didn’t bed with the hunter for many days after, it seemed Mohammad’s selfish display backfired in that regard. Only when she believed the bogeyman dead did she return to him.

  Then there was the comical, numerical threat the hunter left for Mohammad on the wall of the building, amusing only because of its underlying ignorance. Again, if he was truly at the level he believed himself to be, the only conclusion he could have possibly come to, the only rationality there was to find … was that he was already dead.

  And there, watching the rope snap out the hunter’s second life, Mohammad finally brought an end to the six. His body dangled but ten feet from the ground, soon to be discovered by whatever search party would be dispatched on their behalves. And on all their chests, they would find the mark of the bogeyman–his legend alive and well again, a warning to all his would-be adversaries.

  Mohammad grabbed his mask and slipped again inside the factory, leaving the past behind as t
he shadows engulfed him. It was finished, his vengeance for Radia complete.

  Still he felt … nothing, all in vain without her there, without her wide, green eyes in the face of what he had become. With all the anticipation, all the meticulous planning, he was certain he’d feel something. But all he felt was numb. Not a tear had he ever shed for her, too preoccupied for such distraction. Still, even now when his mind was freest to devote, no emotion escaped him–his eyes dry as any desert.

  It seemed Gabriel had created a monster, void of all feeling.

  “Was it everything you hoped for?” Gabriel asked as he found the Traveler standing before him, a slender finger tapping the side of his pale cheek.

  Mohammad shook his head.

  “Pity, then,” Gabriel appeared to empathize. “Still, there is tomorrow.” He placed a large hand on Mohammad’s shoulder. “It is your purpose that will drive you now, Mohammad, your mission that will consume you.” Gabriel gave him an awkward squeeze. “And if you haven’t found your satisfaction in this, perhaps you’ll find it when your purpose is fulfilled.”

  Mohammad did not agree or disagree; he simply looked up at Gabriel, asking the next most logical question. “So what now will you have me do?”

  Gabriel’s brow crinkled in thin ripples above the glossy blackness of his eyes, just before a smile could be seen tugging at the corners of his lips. “Next?” he asked. “I think it might be time for you to be done with this place. Would you agree?”

  Mohammad looked about the factory, to all the machines that had made up his home. Too many memories lingered there; he was ready to start fresh. “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Very good.” Gabriel’s smile widened. “Do you remember that feline you caught for me?”

  Mohammad nodded. “The orange tabby.”

  “Well, she has since earned herself a name.”

  “Is that so?” he asked. “Someone pick her up?”

  “Her name is Dinah,” Gabriel nodded, “and I couldn’t be more pleased with the feed I’ve been receiving from her.”

  “Must be something real special about that junkyard.”

  “See for yourself.” He triggered his wrist device, erecting another holographic image above it.

  A steady resonance filled the area as the audio brought them first the blissful purr of the feline. Her orange tail swayed gently before the image as she seemed to be curled up at the moment. Beyond the swish of fur, Mohammad witnessed a portion of her surroundings–a makeshift home of sorts. But the walls were … the walls were made of earth, like someone decided to set up camp in a large hole in the ground.

  “Did you see where I put that fifteen sixteenths?” a man’s voice went into the cat’s ears and out into the factory.

  “No,” a young woman answered as the eyes of the feline moved direction, settling on Mohammad’s first glimpse of the man.

  “I thought I put it here,” he said, placing his hand onto a workbench. He was sturdy looking, arms sinuous from months of labored activity–late twenties, perhaps.

  “I haven’t seen it,” spoke the woman again. “Have you seen it, Dinah?”

  The cat was suddenly scooped from the floor and cradled like one might an infant, the image of the woman’s face sending a jolt through him.

  He looked up at Gabriel, body stiff, mouth wide, as the Traveler only smiled.

  Her skin was red as Radia’s, her face nearly identical.

  She’s … she’s a hybrid … a hybrid still alive.

  “Through countless minds of dead men did I search, Mohammad,” the Traveler revealed. “All corrupt … until I found you. And through your eyes did I watch you find Radia, watched you teach her, then watched you perish trying to protect her. And that is why I brought you back.” He motioned toward the new female. “As you can see, Radia was not the last, but this one is going to need your help, going to need your gifts in order to survive.”

  Mohammad looked again into her green eyes as she grinned back at him. God, she was beautiful … and happy … actually happy.

  “Her name is Alice, Mohammad,” Gabriel introduced, “and she has always been your purpose.”

  Purpose? He’d spent the lot of his previous life searching for purpose, for direction, for a sign if ever he’d lost his way. Vague was the help, if ever it was given–nothing remotely as clear as the image currently placed before him. Her smile melted away his insides, the relationship he had with Radia instantly invested into this one.

  His knees, strong as they were, began to give way as he put his weight upon the guard rail. And there, finally, whatever part that hadn’t allowed him to grieve shifted slightly.

  Gabriel released the mechanism from his wrist, letting it suspend there between them. “I’ll leave you now,” he whispered. “And when you are ready, meet me on the other side.”

  Mohammad nodded, wiping his face.

  And with sympathy present in his lumbering stride, the Traveler turned and left him there ... with Alice … to rediscover a portion of humanity he thought had been carved from his being.

  Author’s Bio

  Joining the U.S. Navy in 2003, Noah Fregger was stationed in Yokosuka, Japan aboard the USS Kitty Hawk. Immediately tossed into the propulsion division, he found himself below-decks, working closely with air compressors, evaporators and turbo generators. Noah had started to write his first book while still in the military, writing it on a close friend's laptop, but had lost the entire story when that sailor's laptop was stolen. He landed a job with Rock Tenn, a corrugated manufacturing plant, upon his honorable discharge in 2007.

  Being a writer of sorts, Noah decided to practice this passion more thoroughly, and with the request of his grandfather, had started to assemble a short-story trilogy based loosely on the story he had lost years ago; but the story, steadily growing in length, had soon become a novel in the works.

  Noah now resides in Newark, California with his wife and daughter.

  Please feel free to contact him with any questions or if you’d like notice when the next installment of the Trilogy is complete:

  noah@noahfregger.com

  Gabriel’s Sacrifice

  Book 2: The Scrapman Trilogy

  Part 2:

  The First Five Chapters

  Chapter One:

  The Silhouette

  The shouts of men came as crisp as the gunfire to follow, sending adrenalin to course unhindered through Victoria’s veins. Her thoughts became cloudy, muddied with the terror of what would inevitably ensue. Not more than three weeks passed since discovering James and the others dead at that factory. She didn’t realize it at the time, but each stood like a support in what remained of her world. Without them it had quickly folded in on her again–the next level of chaos.

  The Jackals, somehow detecting the loss of their leader and men, had finally closed in to claim the store. And as a group they’d hardly weapons left to defend themselves, a large sum of their armament vanishing the same day James walked out of his room for the last time.

  I’ll be right back.

  But he never did.

  Now those outside were falling in a grisly display of convulsions and blood splatter, the bullets leaving misty trails of crimson in wake of their wounds. This would be her death–no other foreseeable outcome, another corpse upon the floor in a matter of moments. She’d almost accepted her fate, until a scream came to grant her clarity of mind.

  Hazel.

  Victoria lifted herself, putting the adrenalin to better use as she scooped the shrieking child and removed her from the gruesome scene. With Hazel’s arms wrapped firmly around her neck, the curls of her hair against the dampness of Victoria’s cheek, she took her deeper into the dark store. The girl’s wailing grew softer against the calm of Victoria’s voice, her subtle words of great contrast to the fury within her chest.

  “Shhh, Sweetie,” she whispered. “My big, brave girl.”

  In absence of a flashlight, she pressed her shoulder to the wall and followed it through the he
avy shadow. The gunfire had ceased for the moment, the enemy fast approaching.

  “It’s no use,” a voice told her. “Just stop.”

  “Lay down and die then, Coda!” she hissed. “Leave the rest of us to fight.” She squinted at the blaze of his flashlight as he switched it on, the angles of his face making her long for James.

  The boy had become increasingly distant since the discovery of his father, his mood somber and unpleasant, as Victoria awaited the course of his grieving. No such time remained, however.

  “Where are you taking her?” He motioned to Hazel, a mark of concern in his inquiry.

  She shoved past him. “Looks like I’m going to release the one soldier we have left.”

  “Wait.” Coda put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll need this.” He withdrew a .45 and handed her a heavy set of keys. “Leave through the back door. I’ll slow them down here.”

  “What about you?” She accepted the items, shoving the keys into her back pocket. “You have a gun?”

  “I’ll grab another upstairs, just get her outa here.” He held out the flashlight.

  “I need you to walk now, Sweetie.” She placed the child down as Hazel held on reluctantly an extra second. “Just stay with me.”

  Coda left them in a hurry, passing the entrance as new gunfire spilled in through the broken glass, then disappeared up the stairway.

  “C’mon, Hazel.” Victoria pulled, leading the girl to her father’s enclosure. “John!” she unlocked the door and flung it open. “John, let’s go!” She found him sitting at the opposite end of the cell, the place reeking of urine and feces. She gagged as the stench slid instantly down her throat.

  Burdening himself with the hatred his late father had of the veteran, Coda kept John locked up for far too long.

  “John, get up!”

  “Daddy?” Hazel pleaded in a small voice.

  “I’m leaving this door open, John. If you stay, the next person in here will be a Jackal. Do you understand?”