Parasight

by E. S. Carter

  Luke ignores my whining and informs me, “We’ve had the signal from James. Both targets are in attendance.”

  “Let’s fucking rock and roll,” I exclaim, punctuating my eagerness with a bang of my fists on the cages around me and gaining in return the sweet sound of whimpers and sobs.

  “Calm the fuck down,” Luke orders, turning off his torch and plunging the back of the lorry into darkness.

  “You’ll get your fun soon enough. There’s no need to terrorise the property any further. Besides, I can’t bear the stench.”

  Then the door slams shut and the lever lock engages. Moments later the rumble of the engine resumes, and we carry onwards with our journey.

  As the last miles count down, my anticipation ramps up until I’m buzzing with excess energy. My tongue runs over and over my front teeth, my breath hissing out between the two in a rhythmic murmur. I pull Missy from her sheath to run her blunt edge up and down the length of my thigh. The familiar weight of her in my hand combined with the motion calms my Devil just enough to keep him leashed.

  When the lorry slows, and the air brakes engage I crouch back further to ensure anyone who opens the back doors will see nothing amiss.

  I hear the muffled voices of the men driving as they stop and chat amiably with the sentry guards. Then we move on slowly once more. We’re inside the grounds of the compound now, and the plan is to remain concealed until the lorry backs up to the cargo warehouse. James explained that this is where new shipments of property were inspected, with any deemed beyond saving executed swiftly with a bullet to the head.

  That’s not what’s going to happen tonight, though. Tonight, those doors will open and the only people exterminated will be those loyal to The Kingdom, many not by a bullet but my knife.

  “Oh, Missy,” I softly coo when I hear the beep of the lorry reversing, signalling the slaughter to come. “You’re going to eat well tonight.”

  I make my way to the outer corner, so I’m within striking distance of the doors when they open. With Missy in one hand and my axe in the other, I stand and wait patiently, allowing the energy to flow through me and pool in my limbs, and when those doors finally open I will unleash my Devil and set him free. He will revel in their blood and tear apart anyone who gets in my way.

  Five – the engine cuts off.

  Four – two sets of footsteps approach the back doors.

  Three – with a loud creak the lever lifts.

  Two – a crack of bright light splits the floor and then widens.

  One – Missy claims tonight’s first kill when she plunges straight through a man’s ear canal, to pop out in the exact same place on the opposite side of his head.

  The trouble is, this fucker has a very hard head, and pulling Missy back out proves more of a task. So, the prick who comes up behind the newly dead man has time to draw his gun, but not the time to use it when my axe splits his skull at his forehead and embeds itself in his brain.

  Two down, dozens more to go.

  Now that we’ve gained entry, we can switch on our earpieces. James warned us to wait until we were inside the compound as The Kingdom’s entryway had top notch bug detecting sensors, and had we enabled our devices beforehand, we wouldn’t have gotten through the front gates.

  It takes a few seconds for everyone to come online and I’m standing outside with the two drivers when I hear Cole’s voice in my ear.

  “The second wave is complete. Proceed.”

  James’ men spread out on hearing the command, one covering the side entrance, the other walking to the front of the van to beckon in the other team members. I take the chance to clean my weapons off on the chest of one of the felled men and snag a pen from his front pocket as a souvenir.

  “Clear. Proceed,” comes my second command and I slip out of the warehouse towards the side of the massive building that James called the barracks. This square, concrete construction looks exactly what it is - a prison - and it’s where most the property are housed and, we were informed, where many of the guards liked to play. Three men follow hot on my heels as we round the side of the building and creep stealthily towards the guarded entrance doors.

  Four sentries are standing watch outside. One smokes a cigarette and laughs loudly like a braying donkey at some shit that another man is demonstrating to him with extravagant hand gestures. The other two stand alert, their eyes trained on the floodlight yard in front of the building, and these are the men that will need taking out first.

  I signal my intentions to the men behind me, and three seconds later one of the more observant guards crumples to the ground with my axe buried deep in his back, only he doesn’t go down quietly. His shocked gasp echoes into the still night and all three guards ready their guns as they stare down at their fallen comrade.

  Donkey laugh man is the next to drop when I launch Missy from my hand, and she hits the bull’s-eye, plunging into his neck straight through his bobbing Adam’s apple, the tip of her playing peek-a-boo with his nape.

  Shots ring out from the remaining two guards, both of whom are dispatched immediately by the killers at my back. Their silenced handguns barely emit a sound save for the dull thump of their bullets piercing the guard’s brains and the heavy thud as they drop lifelessly to the ground.

  “All clear on the western front,” I declare into my earpiece, the returning, “Proceed,” from Cole setting my feet into motion.

  We approach the highly secured doorway at the same time it opens and out step two more guards buttoning up the front of their trousers. The first through the door misses the dead man at his feet with an axe protruding from his spine, and with both his hands concentrating on the task of refastening his clothing, he falls directly onto the exposed end of the axe where it embeds itself into his shoulder. His screams of shock and pain have the other man dropping the ends of his belt and fumbling for the gun in his holster. Without my two favoured weapons, I lunge at him, and resort to gripping him by the face and forcing both my thumbs into his eye sockets. I push hard at the squishy globes until they sink back from their sockets and the man screams like a banshee, giving up his quest to free his weapon and scrabbling uselessly at my hands in a futile attempt to pry me off his face.

  I drop him to the ground, and his writhing body props open the main door. His wails of pain are likely alerting everyone inside to our presence. With a flick of my chin, one of the men behind me silences him with a close range shot to the head. The side of his skull explodes on impact, and half his face obliterated. The other man who impaled himself on my axe has already been taken care of, and now lies on his back, his wide, unseeing eyes staring into nothingness, his shoulder partly severed from his body like a broken marionette and helpfully my axe has been removed and lies waiting for me across his chest. Retrieving both it and Missy, I nod towards the door for us to enter the building.

  “We’re in the chicken coop,” I confirm into my earpiece.

  “We’re in the henhouse, “Cole replies a few seconds later.

  Twelve further guards are dispatched in quick succession as we make our way through this maze-like building full of tiny cells. Each small room is no bigger than eight-foot-long by five foot wide. Not one is equipped with amenities or beds of any kind and all contain at least two, sometimes three items of property.

  Sexes are segregated, as are the small children. This one building likely contains upwards of five hundred people, maybe more.

  With each cell we pass, I wonder where the fuck all these people are going to go in a few hours’ time.

  “I hope James has enough room for all these on his vineyard because there is no fucking way Hunter Lodge can take more than a dozen,” I mumble under my breath as we walk from cell to cell.

  When we’re satisfied that the building is secured, I radio through to Luke and Cole and head back towards the entrance. Neither responds to my first message, so as we approach the exit I try once more.

  “The chickens are safe, how’s the henhouse?”

&n
bsp; Nothing. Dead Air.

  One of the guys up ahead steps over the dead guard still propping open the front door of the building, but he doesn’t get more than another step outside before he explodes into a fireball of destruction.

  The force blows off both doors and knocks the few men ahead of me to the ground. Smoke billows in waves around us, blanketing the narrow hallway and removing our sense of sight.

  I crouch to the floor. My weapons are raised ready to attack and I feel someone come up behind me a second too late.

  My eyes roll back in my head, my body collapsing underneath me, my last coherent thought is of sunshine and freshly cut grass.

  Calliah

  The Italian air washes over my skin in warm waves.

  The scent of the vineyard is carrying on the breeze, its aroma sweet but not cloying and like the scent of my favourite violets, it’s ephemeral and doesn’t satiate. I find myself lifting my head back to open my senses completely, the fragrance of the bloom, like many of my best memories, subtle, beautiful but fleeting.

  This place has a feeling to it unlike any other.

  It’s the earth, but also the sky. It’s the warmth of the sun, but also the caress of the breeze. Each element sings of freedom and new beginnings.

  “Wow,” Faye exclaims at my side. “It is breath-taking.”

  I don’t reply because I’m unable. The air around us is not taking my breath, but my voice, and I willingly forsake the ability just to absorb everything about this place.

  “Would you like to see your rooms first, then perhaps I can take you on a tour?” Marianne, the vineyard manager, asks after letting us drink in our fill of our first encounter with this awe-inspiring place.

  “How about a tour first, rooms later? What do you think, Cal?” Faye asks expectantly, her eagerness evident.

  I nod in reply, still unwilling to focus enough on the two women by my side to form words.

  “Okay then,” Marianne concedes with a small laugh. “We’ll do the tour first.”

  Faye links her arm with mine, likely for no other reason than friendship, but possibly to help me out with navigating a new terrain.

  I want to tell her there’s no need, that here, more than anywhere, I can feel every inch of my surroundings. Instead, I allow her the connection, and we follow Marianne as she tells us everything about this beautiful place.

  “James bought this vineyard almost ten years ago from a local vintner who was about to lose it to the bank when his crops failed for the third year running. He paid the man full market price, which was double what it was worth. Signor Rossi has stayed on as an advisor and lives just off the property in a small farmhouse with his wife and daughters. His family also volunteer here and have helped many of our residents adjust to life outside of The Kingdom.”

  “How many residents do you have living here now?” Faye asks, her eagerness to learn all about this place and what it takes to run something of this scale evident in her tone.

  “Around six hundred, with the capability to take maybe another fifty or so, which is why James has already bid on land in the South of France, and a second vineyard will be built there to accommodate any new admissions.” Pride laces Marianne’s voice and I wonder briefly if she and James have more than just a professional relationship.

  We amble down the slopes, and through the vines, the aroma of the grapes in bloom intoxicating and I wish I could just sit here in the dirt and drown in their scent.

  “We have around six acres of vines, each growing a different seed of grape. The natural slope of the land provides perfect irrigation, and now that we’ve overcome the issues Signor Rossi had, we’ve earned a bumper harvest each year.”

  Marianne goes on to talk about sales and award winning wines, but I switch off, content to just drink in the air and dig my toes into the dirt at my feet.

  “We’ll make our way back to the homes,” she informs us after a while, continuing to tell us how many people here live communally in four large, purpose built structures.

  “But quite a few have made families, and they reside in smaller homes dotted on the surrounding six acres of land.”

  When we leave the vines, and the ground begins to level out, I hear the voices of residents floating across the air.

  Laughter and general chit-chat, in various languages and dialects, carries on the breeze.

  “Has everyone here got a name?” I ask, speaking for the first time since we disembarked the plane.

  Faye stops walking, and I feel Marianne halt in her tracks and turn towards us. The gravity of my question not lost on either woman.

  “When they arrived here, many did not. Some asked for a name to be given to them, but many chose their own. The ones that had names on arrival often changed them wanting a fresh start in all areas of their lives.”

  “I understand that,” I reply softly. “I would never give up my name but merely because the only person to ever use it, before I got my freedom, was my sister Damaris, and although she’s gone, my name is a link to her that I will never break.”

  “And it’s a beautiful name, Cal,” Faye murmurs while squeezing my arm lightly, offering me a discreet comfort.

  Marianne is quiet for a few moments, and I wonder if I have upset her in some way. I’m about to ask if I have when she surprises me with a question of her own.

  “Your sister, what did you call her?”

  “Damaris,” I supply without thought. “We were separated a few years ago. She was with child, and they took her from me.”

  A nervous energy passes from Marianne to me, the fine hairs on my arms rising, a buzzing coil of unease rolling through my stomach.

  Marianne says nothing, and sensing my building emotions, Faye asks her, “Why did you ask, Marianne? If you have any information about Calliah’s sister, you shouldn’t keep it from her.”

  My heart stops, not beating again until Marianne confesses, “We have a Damaris here. She was one of the first ten that James rescued. She doesn’t have any children, though. Therefore, I’m hesitant to believe that she may be Calliah’s sister.”

  “Take us to her,” I demand through dry lips. My legs threaten to buckle, my heart bangs painfully against my ribs, and my head buzzes incessantly with a need to find out if this woman could be my sister.

  “Maybe it would be better if I went and asked her if…”

  “Take us to her,” I force out once more, the words catching in my throat, my feet taking an unsteady step forward. Faye pulls me to lean tightly against her side, her body bracing mine, offering me her strength and stability.

  “Marianne,” Faye speaks, her voice firm. “You need to take us to this woman. It would be unfair of us to expect Cal to wait if there is even the slightest chance that she may be the loved one she has lost. I know I wouldn’t be forced to delay, would you?”

  I reach my free hand across my body to grip Faye’s arm, the gesture conveying what my mouth cannot. She, in turn, lays her hand over mine and together we follow Marianne through the grounds.

  “Damaris runs our health clinic,” Marianne tells us as we walk. “Over the years she’s trained under the doctors and nurses on site and has even completed courses online to allow her to practice legally.”

  The more I hear of this woman, the more I’m certain she’s my sister. Damaris took care and protected me for so many years, and it would be so much like her to do the same thing for others. Anticipation thrums through my body, my heart beating so loud that I can barely hear Marianne’s next words.

  “So that’s where we’re heading, but if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside when we get there while I speak to her for a few moments, I think that’s for the best. We wouldn’t want to throw this at her without warning.”

  A short walk later we arrive at what Faye tells me is a small, one-story, red brick building. Marianne once again requests that we wait outside and leaves us resting up against a low wall that borders a small garden.

  “If it’s not her…” Faye begins, bu
t I interrupt her before she has a chance to finish.

  “It’s her, Faye. I know it’s her.”

  We wait in silence, a silence more deafening than any noise. I couldn’t run away from this moment if I tried because all my senses have gone haywire. I cannot feel, I cannot hear, and I cannot smell. All I can do is wait.

  An eternity later, when I’m on the verge of crawling on my hands and knees through the dirt to ensure I get access to that building, I hear Marianne clear her throat. A second later she places her hand gently on my arm, and I flinch at the unexpected contact.

  “She’s ready to see you,” she says in a soft voice filled with emotion. “Let me take you to her, but I don’t think you should go alone.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Faye answers quickly, her arm still entwined with mine, her fingers squeezing my hand in support.

  “Okay, then,” Marianne replies. “If you can both follow me.”

  Alarms bells should be ringing at Marianne’s sombre tone, but I miss them because I can’t focus on anything except Damaris.

  We walk into a cool, air-conditioned building that smells like bleach. Linoleum tiles squeak beneath the soles of my shoes and the space echoes with emptiness.

  “It’s quiet here today,” Marianne assures me. “So you’ll have plenty of time to talk without interruptions.”

  Faye guides me down a wide hallway, and we branch off to the left and enter a smaller space, maybe a waiting room or office of sorts.

  “Take a seat, and I’ll tell Damaris you’re waiting for her,” Marianne says before quietly slipping from the room. Faye and I sit in silence, my nerves likely visible enough for her not to voice any concerns or offer weak platitudes of support. I’m grateful for the fact that after such a short time of knowing me, she understands my coping mechanisms and doesn’t try to fill the silence with mindless small talk.

  A clock ticks somewhere on the wall behind us, each second marked by its hands, a countdown to something I never once dreamed would happen.

  I thought I’d lost her forever.