The Devil's Gunman

by Philip S Bolger

  I was pleasantly surprised—between Amalfi’s cooking and Josiah’s spice collection, the fresh venison was delicious. Since the beans were typical baked beans from a can, I focused on the venison. The crackling fire and the wind rippling through dead branches were the soundtrack to our dinner. Other than that, we ate in silence, too preoccupied with the food to make small talk. Once we finished, it was back to the range for more hours of shooting, interspersed all too often with involuntary physical fitness.

  It wasn’t until evening that I finally got a chance to breathe. The RV had a shower, and I indulged, though after what I’m pretty sure was three minutes but he said was five, Josiah banged on the door to let me know I had to finish, or I would use up all the water. Still, I was cleanish, and I had fresh clothes—even if they were more too-large camo pants and a shirt touting “Vacation Bible School 2012.” I walked out of the RV’s small bathroom, drying my face, and found Collette.

  “Hey, Nick,” she said. “Want to take a walk?”

  My mind went straight to a venison-themed picnic followed by a romp beneath the night sky, and that overrode how tired I was.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “I’ll let Josiah know where we’re going.”

  When we told him, he offered to lend me his jacket, which I gladly accepted. The longer you’re away from civilization, the more you realize exactly how much the elements suck. Minnesota autumns are all wind and water. And cold, very cold.

  I pulled on the jacket, a camouflage parka with a Gortex lining, and walked outside. I found myself once again craving a cigarette as I joined Collette. She had a flashlight, pointed at the ground, and she looked so damn beautiful in the starlight. She offered her hand, and I took it.

  We walked in silence for a bit, following the dirt trail we used to bring the RV into the clearing. The sounds of the night accompanied us—crickets, an owl or two, and the gentle breeze rustling through the evergreen needles, all accompanied by the occasional crunch of a twig. It was soothing. There was something divinely comfortable about the way our hands fit together. As we got closer, I removed my hand from hers to wrap my arm around her shoulders. We had been walking for about five minutes, when she broke the silence.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked. “Your life?”

  “I mean—” I started.

  She stopped and looked me right in the eyes.

  “No bullshit, Nick. Tell me,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  “You really have no idea?” I asked.

  “Just suspicions,” she said. “I know Lotus is involved in something weird. I know there’s stuff science can’t quite explain. But I didn’t know there was an entire secret world just outside my peripheral vision. I need to know what’s out there.”

  “Collette,” I sighed. “There’s a lot of shit going on—”

  “Yeah, remember the part where vampires—vampires, Nick!—came into my house and tried to kill us? And the high-speed chase on I-35? That’s not fucking normal.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “But didn’t your grandmother tell you about this?”

  Collette shook her head. “She says I’m to ‘stay sheltered.’ I did fucking time with Doctors Without Borders in the Philippines, and she thinks I can’t handle whatever is going on.”

  I wasn’t sure, to be honest, that she could. It’s not that Collette was weak. It’s that I was afraid, were I to tell her everything, about my dead wife, about my servitude, about how many people I’d shot, stabbed, garroted, burned, drowned, banished, and murdered, she’d realize the vampires weren’t the only monsters in her home that night.

  It was at that moment that I understood my true nature. I was a monster. I had fallen. I certainly wasn’t very ethical as a banker, but the depths of moral depravity you have to plumb to be comfortable burning alive a six-month-old are a Hell of a lot different than offering aggressive interest rates to the elderly.

  So, I did what I knew best. I lied and covered my ass.

  “I’m on the supernatural side of things,” I said, as we started walking again. “I was a hitman for hire. I worked with vampires.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said.

  I shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me. I lived it and thought it was ridiculous. But it was also terrifying. A sort of horror-comedy, surrealist extravaganza featuring a myriad of threats I never thought existed.

  I felt her shudder.

  “What all is out there?” she asked, curiosity in her eyes. “What’s real? What’s not?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I admitted, squeezing her hand. “I know vampires are real. Zombies, too. I’ve heard of werewolves but never met one.”

  That, technically, was a lie. I’d killed a lycanthrope; I just never saw him transformed by his curse. The Patron called it a mercy killing.

  “Ghosts?” she asked.

  I nodded. “A few types. I don’t really know the differences between them.”

  She stopped walking.

  “So, heaven’s real? And Hell?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied. Hell was real. I’d been there. I wasn’t sure about Heaven, but Josiah seemed to think he’d been there. “But I know they have agents here, so unless they all work for a lie, that seems real.”

  “And Nirvana and Valhalla and Hades?” she continued.

  “They’re aligned with one side or the other, as far as I can tell,” I said. “It’s sort of a cosmic Cold War, where everyone’s picked one side or another.”

  She seemed skeptical. “What do they want with people?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, telling the truth this time. “I just know they pay.”

  I left out their exceptional talents for coercion.

  She nodded, and we began walking again.

  “Grandmother told me that most folklore is based in truth,” she said. “I figured I’d seen the worst of humanity. I told myself there was no such thing as ‘real’ evil. Now you’re telling me there is. Or at least, grand evil has agents in Minneapolis.”

  I didn’t want to tell her what I was thinking. I wasn’t sure Collette had caught on to Lotus’ true nature, and I wasn’t about to enlighten her. The last thing I needed was an angry jiangshi who knew where I slept.

  “Am I…are they going to come after me again?” Collette asked, worry in her eyes. I had been dreading this conversation. I had Lotus’ assurance that the Roseville Coven would look after Collette. But, if their organization was anything like Lyndale, I could imagine a handful of threats getting to her, even through many layers of security.

  “No,” I said, confidence masking another deception. “Your grandmother is friends with powerful people. They’ll protect you.”

  “I can’t help but feel this is how people go crazy, you know? Oh, hey, vampires and zombies and probably werewolves are out there prowling the night, but go on and go back to your day job!”

  “I think that’s why Lotus didn’t want to tell you,” I offered.

  Collette shrugged and sighed. “I’m torn, Nick. I’ve always been a student. Knowing that there’s a world…beyond…is fascinating. It’s such a big deal. If there’s magic, how much of it could be used to help people? How many lives could we save? Could we end world hunger or cure AIDS?”

  I thought of the magicians I encountered while serving the Patron. Most of them were insane beyond comprehension; the arcane arts had eroded their humanity to the point where they were unable to function. The ones who weren’t, universally, were not human. They were vampires, like Lotus, or some other type of creature.

  “I don’t think magic works like that,” I said.

  “How can you know?” she countered. “Has it been tested? Has it been explored, researched, and developed?”

  It was my turn to sigh.

  “Look,” I said, letting go of her shoulder and grasping both her hands, rubbing them slightly with my thumb. I doubt she felt it through her gloves, but it was a force of ha
bit as much as anything else. I looked directly into her eyes, glimmering in the starlight. God, she was beautiful.

  “I’m not going to tell you to go back to normal and pretend everything’s okay. It’s clearly not. Your life has changed. I am going to tell you that you’re not going to get anywhere digging deeper into this. Magic, at least most of what I’ve seen, is hard to predict. It’s guarded by people and things that make the vamps that hit your house look like cuddly teddy bears. It’s not rational. I don’t know if there’s any kind of scientific method that applies. Your grandmother would know, and if she’s decided not to tell you…I think you should trust her.”

  “I can’t believe that knowledge can be harmful,” she said.

  I had this great response, this terrific rejoinder, where I let her know how mistaken she was.

  But that wasn’t what she needed to hear.

  “Maybe it’s not,” I said. “That’s for Lotus to decide. I’ve told you what I know.”

  She nodded, once, seeming to accept my argument.

  We talked a little after that, about what we were looking forward to and what we didn’t have this far away from civilization.

  But there was no romp under the stars. Just a stroll. By the time we got back to the RV, the fatigue from the day’s training had returned, and it hit me like a freight train. I think I kissed her goodnight, but I honestly don’t remember anything clearly from the time I walked into the clearing until I crashed in my sleeping bag.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twelve: The Early Bird Gets the Devil

  I woke up to Josiah shaking my foot. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes a few times.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “C’mon champ,” he said. “Early bird gets the worm. Up and at ‘em.”

  I flipped him off and lay back down.

  That was when the water hit me.

  He must’ve had a full bucket, ready to throw.

  I jolted up.

  “Josiah, what the—” I started, but he was gone.

  “C’mon, Nick!” he shouted from outside. “If I was a vamp, you’d be dead. Let’s get moving!”

  I cursed as I threw on some dry clothes and stepped out into the early morning. I grabbed the VHS on the way.

  * * *

  “Why the fuck are we up so goddamn early?” I complained. Josiah stood outside grinning, an electric lantern in his hand. The lantern’s glow made his face look ghoulish.

  “Low visibility drills,” he explained. “Nice thing about that rune of yours is that you don’t need to see well to shoot. You just need to be able to identify what you’re shooting at. Visualization is the key with an accuracy rune. That and correct pronunciation.”

  We spent two hours drilling and re-drilling the words, Josiah constantly correcting me. Apparently, when I’m tired, my pronunciation of ancient Norse isn’t picture perfect. Thankfully, he didn’t make me do a bunch of physical exercises. After two hours, I felt like I’d gotten nowhere. I was saved by the rising sun.

  “Breakfast time!” Josiah said gleefully. “We’ll do more low visibility stuff tomorrow. Maybe the next day too!”

  I groaned. I may not have had a lot of morals left, but I knew I was morally opposed to waking up at 5:00 AM. It seemed criminal and unnecessary.

  I didn’t say this, but Josiah must’ve noticed by the grimace on my face.

  “Bud, you think this is bad, when I was in the Marines, it was a 4:00 AM day, every day!” He launched into a long, “No Shit, There I Was” story about all the times he’d woken up early, but I tuned it out. I was too tired.

  I slogged through breakfast—something nasty out of a can that Josiah got very excited about—and then it was back to the range.

  The days and weeks passed in a blur of training, sleep deprivation, and mediocre food cooked over a camp fire. I didn’t know exactly how long I trained—my phone went dead on day three, and Josiah wouldn’t let me charge it. Each day we focused on a new Norse phrase, a new firing stance, or a different weapon’s operation.

  I practiced quick reloads. I practiced stress shooting. I practiced and honed the activation of my accuracy rune. I did push-ups. I did sit-ups. I did laps around the clearing, my rifle held above my head. And Josiah yelled orders and motivation as I strained.

  I wish I could tell you I felt like a badass, but mostly, I felt weak. I had trouble gauging my progress. At one point, I felt like breaking down and wandering into the wilderness. I only stayed in camp because I had no idea how to find my way out of the park.

  So, I kept at it—the early wake-ups, the daily shooting drills, the exercises. After a while, I did feel a bit more polished, a bit more lethal.

  I talked some more with Collette, but our physical contact remained limited. I got the message—the opportunity had passed. It was probably for the better.

  About two weeks after we arrived, as I concluded another day of marksmanship, Amalfi approached me, resplendent in her Chimera form, an apex predator in what might as well have been her natural habitat.

  “Nick Soren,” she said in the triple voice she affected. “I’d be honored if you’d accompany me on a hunt tomorrow morning. I’ve cleared it through Josiah. He thinks it may allow you to test your skills. I, though, am mostly looking for company.”

  Her three heads grinned ominously, despite the friendliness of the offer.

  “Sure, I’ll go hunting,” I agreed, realizing I didn’t have a choice.

  I’d never been hunting in my life. My old banking buddies mostly found it revolting, though one or two did enjoy the sport, but they kept quiet about it. My pops hunted when he was younger, but he never took me. The ways I found and eliminated targets in the Twin Cities had few direct comparisons—I couldn’t look up a deer’s LinkedIn profile to figure out where it spent its days, so I didn’t really know what to expect.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You want me up at 4:00 AM?”

  “No,” she said. “That won’t be necessary. Sleep in a bit.”

  I remember that night because it was the only one I got a full, eight hours of comfortable sleep. I woke up the next day, sometime after the sun came up, strolled outside and found Amalfi. She’d returned to her human form. She was clad in woodland camouflage and holding a bolt-action rifle. She had a goofy hat on that made me think of Elmer Fudd.

  “I figured you might like this form better,” she said. “Were I to hunt in my natural form, I’d likely leave you behind.”

  I shrugged. “Should I take my VHS?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But not for hunting. I’ll give you a rifle. But it would be awful to be in a hide site and have the Lyndale Coven stumble upon us.”

  She unshouldered the rifle and handed it to me, before picking up a similar one off the ground. I noted her preferred rifle was a lever-action; it looked like a Henry, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know lever guns very well.

  “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s hit the trail!”

  She pointed at a barely perceptible path that was nearly covered in leaves and undergrowth, and I followed her. She whistled as we walked.

  “When we get to the hunting ground,” she said, “we’ll need to be quiet and mask our scent. We’ve got quite a walk, though, so I’d like to get to know you.”

  I rambled a bit, telling her the same things I’d told Lotus, Collette and Josiah. I bitched about my parents. I complained about my former job, adding a bit of self-martyrdom when I told her about my position with the Patron. Amalfi, unlike everyone else I talked to, had no input. She offered a nearly imperceptible nod or a grunt of assent but nothing more. So, I spilled my sanitized life story. After the second or third time I mentioned how much I hated vampires, she spoke.

  “Can we talk about your kills?” she asked as she stepped over a branch. She didn’t say it with malice or with that kind of sick interest you get from the Theatre of the Macabre enthusiasts.

  “Sure,” I said. “I guess we can.”

  She nodded. “
I was hoping we could. Those back at the camp, they don’t understand. Lotus thinks she does because she preys on humans, and Josiah thinks he does because he held a parallel job. But they don’t. They haven’t worked in the service of devils. They don’t understand.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The outrageous demands!”

  “The cryptic orders,” she said.

  “The insistence on certain weapons.”

  Amalfi groaned. “Tell me about it. Before Mimi defected, I helped the Patron with some of his jobs. It was always aggravating. ‘Make sure you use a copy of the Shroud of Turin to strangle the Monsignor,’ or ‘Make sure you do it exactly one stroke before the witching hour,’ or ‘It must be poison absorbed through the anus.’”

  We both chuckled.

  “That’s not what I mean, though,” she said. “Nick Soren, your murders weigh on you. I see it on your face, the same way I see it on my master’s. He says everything is okay, but many nights, he wakes up screaming.”

  She stopped her advance over some ragged underbrush and looked at me. “Do you ever wake up screaming?”

  I shook my head. “No. If I can be honest, I feel hardly anything. I did what I had to do to survive.”

  “You feel nothing?” she said, skeptically. “No relish? No glee? No remorse? No terror? Nothing?”

  “Almost nothing,” I said. “I feel a bit of remorse. I know I killed innocents. I set fire to a house in Burnsville that had a family of five in it. Have you ever heard the cries of a burning infant?”

  Amalfi nodded. “More times than I can count. Not just humans, either. It’s always horrific, no matter how hardened you are.”

  I felt relieved. “That one bugged me. Maybe one or two more. I knew I had to do it. The glimpses of what would happen to me and what happened to my wife in Hell were enough to terrify me. Mortally so.”