by R. J. GREEN
Wrath opened his mouth as wide as he could. “AAAAARRRRRRGH!” he thundered a high pitch scream that shattered windows, mirrors, and other glass objects, before Jack's foot came crashing through the door.
Jack’s eyes scanned the room for the slightest of movement; a reek of cologne hit his nose, a brand he recognized, Detective Mullson’s favorite. Other than a few unwanted items lingering around there was not much to see. The person who he thought was in the room had long gone. By the window he stood looking at the street below and got a glimpse of a man plummeting from next door — the man was wearing only a pair of underwear. He knew the man was not from this world, for he’d disappeared just before hitting the ground. Engulf had something to do with this, he reminded himself, as he dashed out of the room to go and check his partner next door.
Earlier in room 667: broken mirrors scattered on the floor, mostly by the wall where they’d been plastered over, the window frame stood without the two-inch thick glass that was originally there. Wearing only a pair of underwear, Assassin #1 stood defenseless by the window whose glass had crashed on the street below. The Assassin had being stunned for a moment; as soon as he got a grip of himself he dived through the window.
Mullson rushed over and peeped, expecting a pulp of a body lying in the street below. He’d seen many suicides where people jumped off buildings, bridges, blew out their brains, but none like this, where windows shattered on their own and a naked man jumped from a sixth floor room— but the stranger was not there. He stared at the street, more intensely than ever. What on God’s earth is going on? A cloud of doubt flushed his mind, but how could he be seeing things, the window was broken, not your typical glass window, had to be bullet proof, a few inches thick.
On the first floor Captain Austin and Father Johnson stood waiting in the crowded lobby. They kept staring at the elevators whenever the doors opened and people got off.
“I'm going up,” said Captain Austin, to Father Johnson, moving towards the elevator.
“Not yet my son,” said Father Johnson.
On the sixth floor NYPD rushed out of the elevators; Captain Austin followed closely.
CHAPTER 16
It was late into the night when a military plane jetted across the overcast sky, the pilot took extra care to evade the airspace closer to Cuba. Mullson, Jack, Johnny P, Father Johnson, and Captain Austin were aboard with parachute packs strapped to their backs. Captain Austin stuffed a German M-42 Machine Gun, a few high power riffles, M16s, and bow and arrows into a duffle bag. A smirk across his face was masked beneath his sturdy looks as he eyed two soldiers screaming at Johnny P.
“Extend your arms and try to keep calm.”
“That will help with your balance.”
“Use your flashlight to check to make sure your canopy is properly deployed. Remember the Dark Zone.”
“What?”
“Above one hundred feet you will see the landing zone!”
“Once you get close to the ground, the ambient light source is lost, because of the low angle of reflection. Below one hundred feet it becomes very dark, and you hit the ground soon after.”
“The ground rush is wicked!”
“Soldiers, you are trained. Your weapon is your buddy, never leave your buddy behind!”
All the tips didn’t keep Johnny P from wanting to go on himself, his legs got so weak he barely could walk, he’d agreed to go along to help rescue Anna, but he never bargained to jump out of a moving plane — the last time he remembered he was afraid of flying. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my girl, he repeated in his mind, over and over.
Detective Mullson went and stood next to Father Johnson. “How this madness got started?” he asked.
Father Johnson took a deep breath then exhaled. “Engulf made a deal with the Klan to preserved the soul of fallen Klan members,” he said, followed by a long paused.
“How does that fit into the puzzle?” said Mullson.
“One night one of Engulf's best disciples was terminated somewhere in Africa,” said a convincing sounding Father Johnson. “As a means of revenge, Engulf ordered the soul of fallen Klan members to devour the body of many black youths.”
Johnny P had being worrying about the mission, his two pals Murf and Pain Killer who’d left him too soon, and now he hopes his girlfriend was safe. His attention got drifted abit when he overheard what Father Johnson told Detective Mullson. “That explains why niggers kill each other,” he blurted. All eyes gazed at him. “What?”
Jack who’d been quiet all along and tucked away at the back finally got up; he went and joined the rest of his team closer to the center of the plane. “Children these days,” he said to Father Johnson. “How sad.”
Captain Austin had a light grin across his face, to be in control gave him the utmost pleasure, like telling people when to move, stand, sit, eat, speak, even convincing the pilot to let him off in the Caribbean. The marines had made a man out of him, but those good old days had being fading as the years withered. He’d recently discovered the enemies who were responsible for the death of his fellow marines had being lurking somewhere in Jamaica. How dare those bastards, his blood pressure peaked on the high side — after a deep breath it normalized. Whatever Captain Austin wants he gets, nothing would sooth him more than killing the vacation of those cowards he seeks. But how could they challenged my marines and live, a thought flashed in his head. Are they aliens from another planet, possible super human, nonsense. God help those bastards when I get my marine’s hand around their throats and squeeze every breath out of their measly bodies.
“What exactly are we up against?” he said to Father Johnson whose mind had being busy asking God for help.
“Trust me,” said Jack, to Captain Austin. “You don't want to know.”
“We all have our purpose,” said Father Johnson, to Captain Austin. “Don't be discouraged.
As the plane drew closer to the drop zone Mullson thought about some of the risk factors he’d encountered during those years he spent in the marines, like getting tangled in someone else's chute. With the plane running into some turbulence he figured it would be best for him to make the jump alone, he’d done this hundreds of time and knew what to do if he get caught in the downdrafts closer to the ground. Now that the wind had being calmed for the past few minutes Mullson had one less thing to worry about. “Hope everyone is ready for action,” he said, as the plane flew over the island nation of Jamaica.
Johnny P had advanced further into the woods, other than been told he landed in Montego Bay he’d no idea where he stood. With one hand griping a German MG 42 machine gun close to his body, and a chain of bullets tossed over one shoulder for support, he used the light beaming from his flashlight to scan his surroundings, before moving in the opposite direction. “Remember to be vigilant,” Mullson had warned him, “Your vacation starts after we find Anna. Stay close to the group.”
Finally, the morning came alive with the buzzing of insects, the barking of dogs echoed nearby, the unsettling of fowl, crabs slithering over dried leaves to the nearest hole disappearing with a splash. The sun emerging from beyond the hill had begun to glitter through branches. Dew collected on leaves and spider’s webs lied undisturbed.
With both hands gripping the machine gun Johnny P stopped and aimed when he heard ruffles ahead. Sweat condensing on his forehead trickled to his mouth; he licked his lips.
“Who goes there!” he said, and when he got no reply he pressed the trigger. His eyes widened with amazement as bullets riddled leaves and branches. The kick had a sensation he’d never experienced before, more delightful than a kid in a candy store, whatever he was going through felt great, almost as if he’d became invincible.
A faint scream had him convinced the intruder had fallen; Johnny P came and stumbled upon a body threaded apart by the 57mm JS cartridge of the MG 42.
The weary sound of a goat expired its last breathe.
“Damn,” he said, using one hand and covered his mouth as the si
ght of the blood turned his stomach. He spun around and spotted a person dodging behind a patch of bushes. The fellow who sported a black trench coat resembled the man Pain Killer had blown to pieces.
“Juliet, over!” Mullson’s voice echoed from a two way radio tucked away in one of Johnny’s pocket.
After what seemed like a dead-end chase Detective Mullson finally took a breather, he focused on a patch of shrubs that had a cluster of ticks crawling about; he tucked his khaki pants into his boots and the khaki shirt into his pants. Across one shoulder he secured a M16-A2 rifle, picked up his bow and arrows that had being resting on the ground. Mullson placed a pair of sunglasses over his eyes that showed a computerized screen with what appears to be a map of the surrounding area.
“Location of closest human object,” he demanded and stared at hundreds of words zooming across the screen followed by the plotting of several grid points. RESULTS: 0.5 miles radius, closest human object.
A slithering sound made him freeze where he stood pointing the rifle ahead.
A bush near a cleared section quivered… Jack came stalling into the open, and almost tripped over the remains of a rotten tree; he moved swiftly toward Mullson and just realized he was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“That's impossible,” said Mullson, still pointing the gun at Jack.
“Not so fast mister,” Jack warned him.
“Changed your mind?”
“I don't need a weapon to survive.” Jack used his hands and ran over the formal attires he sported. “I am the man, you know me.”
Detective Mullson finally pointed away the M16. “You said so. I never managed to get a grid on you.”
“Technology,” said Jack, after stalling for awhile. “Never put your trust in them.”
“Let’s go.”
Mullson headed in the direction of a point he randomly selected from the grid displaying before his eyes. Jack followed. They came toward a river; when they got to the bank they discovered the remains of a skeleton, Mullson observed keenly, but nothing was adding up, the body didn’t resemble anything he’d previously tackled for forensic evidence.
Jack recognized the soul he’d encountered in the distant past, not your typical girl, yes indeed, Annie Palmer was one hot tempered brunet, in the bedroom skillful and accommodating. Jack reflected on good old days, to him a century seems like yesterday. How her body got here puzzled him a lot. What is going on, who’s in charge? Jack thought to himself. He studied the area and spotted one foot of a flip-flop hidden among the grass, footprints pointing towards a wooded section, further along the trail was the matching flip-flop followed by two drag marks in the mud.
Mullson’s heart raced after suspecting the slippers belonged to Anna.
“Oh my God please make her be okay,” he said. “What if something happened to my baby?”
“She’s still alive,” Jack assured him.
All the thoughts rushing through Mullson’s head seized for a brief moment. With the exception for tasteful women and religious creed Jack had always being right about most things; Mullson found comfort in his word and got a grip of himself.
Almost thirty minutes had passed and the track suddenly went cold, a rocky area ahead had left no clues, where Jack and Mullson stood scanning their surroundings. The sun found its way through cracks and beamed at their feet, a reflection caught their eyes; they stooped and observed a pendant — gold heart-shaped with the initial A.M inscribed on the underside. Mullson picked up the pendant and clenched it in his palm, his piercing eyes gazed the forest.
At an area where Bamboo trees towered above a stream and their leaves whistled in the cool morning breeze, Captain Austin approached a charred patch of land where the Black Stealth had earlier crashed. With a sniper rifle at hand and a duffel bag across his shoulder, he scanned every inch of the woods. When he thought the moment was right he tiptoed and snuck a peek into the plane, but nobody was aboard. Captain Austin whisked a two way radio to his mouth.
“Charlie one, over.”
“Bravo one over,” Mullson’s voice crackled to life over the radio.
“This is Charlie one. Location, quadrant three, positive ID of missing Stealth Bomber.”
“In Jamaica… you got to be kidding.”
From the corner of an eye Captain Austin glanced and spotted a figure wearing a trench coat dodging behind some bamboo trees. A black coat he thought, as he tried to shuffle the image in his head, but the person had disappeared. Austin placed his left foot forward, slowly followed by the right, his intension was clear… to sneak his way behind the perpetrator and capture him, alive he hoped.
Captain Austin penetrated the bamboo field and spotted the mysterious figure in the black trench coat, standing facing away, just ahead. He pointed the rifle at the person’s back; everything seemed to be under control as he looked through the scope and zeroed in on his target. He had no idea he now confronted one of the assassins who helped to annihilate his marines.
The assassin sensed Captain Austin, yet he did not show any sign of fear, even after glancing over his shoulder and seeing the rifle pointing in his direction. He stood and forced a boot against a bamboo lying in his path, which he snapped in half. The thought of surrendering did not come to mind. He chuckled. The old man turned out to be more resilient than he anticipated.
“Don't even think about it,” Captain Austin warned.
“Next time I’ll kill him for good,” he promised, beneath his breath. He walked towards some of the thicker cluster of bamboos.
“Goodbye,” Captain Austin whispered with a rush of confidence, after getting a feel for the wind. He took a deep breath and held it as he squeezed the trigger, gently. Right away he knew he had a kill as a bullet ripped through several bamboos and rocketed towards the back of the assassin's head, it’s thunderous boom bounced off the top of nearby hills.
“Bravo one!” Detective Mullson’s voice echoed from the CB radio Captain Austin had. “Do you read me?”
Captain Austin eyes were transfixed on his prey and he hadn’t heard a word from the deafening CB. He wanted to pinch himself, for he knew the target was accurate and precise. As an expert rifleman he pretty much could pickoff a dime as far as the bullet would travel.
The assassin detected a whining sound that got louder and louder, his mind figured, but he waited for the boom to follow; and when it did he hurled his head to the left and only got his right ear blown off. He’d being beaten up for the past few days, but he rather not make that an excuse for slacking.
“Com’on,” he encouraged himself, “These immortals are no match for me.”
Captain Austin fired another round, again, again, and again — but the assassin eluded all three bullets. Austin clenched his fist and bit down on his cracked lip, he could taste the blood seeping into his mouth. He flipped two grenades.
While rotating in midair, the assassin pulled out two M10s from under his coat, and from each fired a bullet toward the grenades Austin had tossed at him. With a bullet hitting each of the grenades dead on, the force sent the grenades flying in the opposite direction, back toward Captain Austin who had already dove behind some bushes and tucked his head towards his chest.
Two abrupt explosions pierced the woods simultaneously to the blasting of a machine gun; birds took to the sky, rabbits and wild pigs scampered away, dogs matched their barks with the rumbling sounds bouncing off the top of hills. Detective Mullson and Jack heard the commotion and hurried towards the action. They fought their way through an area densely populated with thorns, till they reached a bamboo field. Johnny P shuffled towards Captain Austin who was covered by the aftermath of the grenades penetrating the ground. He fired at the assassin who dodged hundreds of bullets while gliding through the air and clinching to the top of the towering bamboos for support.
Most of the bamboo trees got mowed in a matter of seconds by the grazing bullets spitting out at the other end of Johnny P’s overheated gun. All his life he’d convinced his friends he was a
bad boy, the way he walked, talked, dressed, the perfect ingredients for masking the soft hearted person he was. With an assassin to kill, his heart slowly began to harden. The more the bastard continued to evade the reign of bullets, the more compelled Johnny became; his objective will not be denied. But things changed when the clicking sounds of the trigger echoed. He hurried as he began to lock in another chain of rounds.
From out of his duffle bag Captain Austin pulled out a miniature version of a M203 and pumped a grenade toward the assassin. The grenade separated into hundreds of shrapnel particles that rocketed forward. The assassin stared death in the eyes and knew his luck was running short. One of Engulf's soldiers emerged from behind the assassin.
The assassin darted behind the soldier for coverage and managed to survive the vicious encounter at the expense of his comrade. More soldiers from Engulf’s Army closed in, but they were no match for Captain Austin.
The assassin huffed and puffed, he fired toward Johnny P and Captain Austin, this time his intent more deadly. No more playing around, although he did enjoy the old man’s spirit. A true warrior indeed, but all good things must end.
From all the years of fighting for country, men, and God, the life of the captain had begun to dwindle, he’d done all he could, but the assassin finally outwitted him. During their short encounter he’d learned to respect the resilient man who he figured was enjoying the challenge a little too much. Some people kill for sport others for glory, but the assassin had a higher cause, as if the world was coming to an end and he will not be stopped.
Johnny P kneeled over Captain Austin whose life got snatched away by a bullet to the head, his soul departed before saying goodbye. He died proud with a smile across his face, looking as peaceful as ever. Johnny P was missing the old man who’d taught him so much in such a short time, a true friend that will be forever in his heart, like Murf and Pain Killer.
