Twins of Prey II: Homecoming

by W. C. Hoffman

  Growing up in the woods with Uncle, there was certainly no circus and never a trapeze but death pits were nothing new. They worked in them for most of their teenage lives and often the only way out was to be lifted up. The only thing different from this pit than the rest is they didn’t dig it first. Yet getting out of it from this point was fairly easy for them. Drake wedged his feet around the legs of the heavy wood carved kitchen dinner table as Tomek pulled himself up gripping on to and using Drake’s body as if it was a ladder. Drake in return grabbed and held onto each piece of Tomek’s clothes that he could lifting him up as his twin brother climbed.

  The climbing procedure took less than ten seconds and as Tomek neared the top, Henderson let down the bow’s string. It was not her injury that kept her from releasing the string and shooting at her brothers, it was her heart.

  Getting up to their feet Tomek looked at Drake and simply nodded. Drake knew he was being thanked and the nod was enough for him. Words did not need to be exchanged. While Drake had no words for his brother in return he did have something else to say. Stepping over the hole, Drake looked down into the small area of the cellar that was filled by the overcast light of the dining room and said,

  “Hey, mouse, you should have killed us when you had the chance, you dumb bitch.”

  Henderson knew her hiding spot inside the pitfall trap was now known. Out of anger she quickly drew back the bow again and waited for Drake to lean back over once more exposing any part of his body. This time she would be sending an arrow his way. But neither Drake nor Tomek leaned back over to peer down at her because as they turned around to exit out the back door Father Niko’s archangel Michael stood there looking at them. Michael was not going to run like Gabriel, he was there for one reason, to fight. Standing there, bleeding slowly with a piece of his ear missing thanks to Tomek’s tendency to keep trophies the angel seemed confident and prepared for battle. As if he truly had God on his side.

  Michael motioned the twins to come towards him with just his index finger in a come-hither motion as if he was calling a puppy and said,

  “Hello Twins, time to join your Uncle, in Hell.”

  18 Combat

  Looking at each other and then back at Michael, the twins were taken aback by the brashness of the archangel. Bowless, Tomek stood there without a weapon. Drake held a knife in each hand and was prepared to fight a hand-to-hand battle. However both boys figured the rifle in Michael’s hands would not make this a fair fight. The angels next action was just as curious as his first.

  Michael removed the rifle’s sling from around his neck and shoulders and dropped it to the ground where the metallic receiver and wooden stock made a thud causing both twins to flinch thinking a round might fly out. He then removed the semiautomatic pistol from his hip. The twins stood there frozen waiting for his next move knowing that if he was going to simply just shoot them he would have done so when their backs were turned earlier. Releasing the magazine detention from the grip the ammo hit the floor. Michael then racked the slide back ejecting the remaining round in the chamber into the air where it cart wheeled onto floor as well. Dropping the useless weapon, he now stood in front of the twins, weaponless.

  Reaching back into the corner of the door, Michael picked up the wooden baseball bat that Henderson had kept there for beating the dust out of her rugs on the back patio. Aside from the fact that there were two of them to his one, the fight had become fair.

  The three of them circled each other,

  “You sure you want to do this?” Tomek asked as if he was warning Michael about exactly who he was dealing with.

  Michael just smiled and answered them with scripture recanting David’s battle with Goliath, “Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the LORD, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.”

  His answer only confused the brothers more so than before, but no matter their confusion, they knew that keeping their focus and killing the angel was their only option. With the ending of Michael’s rant, Tomek grabbed a plate from the countertop and threw it Frisbee style at the head of the angel while in a simultaneous motion Drake hurled a throwing knife at his abdomen. The boys quickly realized this fight might be more difficult than they expected as Michael caught the plate that was meant to be a distraction and used it to deflect the thrown blade just inches before it reached him.

  The twins then rushed the angel and launched a barrage of both punches and kicks using all the hand-strike combat techniques that Uncle had trained to his servicemen sent into war over the years. Michael did not strike back, he only used his arms and body along with the bat to block each of their deadly advances. The angel pivoted and spun as both Tomek and Drake came from separate angles trying to penetrate his self-imposed layered of defense. It was as if Michael was faster than what the twins thought to be humanly possible. Somehow he could see every attack coming at him as if in some sort of a trance. None of their strikes found their mark.

  Michael was never the biggest angel in Father Niko’s arsenal, but he was the baddest. Known to Niko as the silent killer, only his faith in God was stronger than his devotion to Niko. Michael’s years of martial arts training had led him to this moment. All the hours of sacrifice and prayer had formulated him into not just an angel but an angel of death. Tomek, out of breath, looked away for just a mere second and felt the blow of the bat against his ribs dropping him to the ground. The angel of death was now on the offensive.

  Michael then swung the bat around like it was a weapon he had trained with his entire life and stepped closer to Drake, who like his brother was out of breath but squared up to the angel ready for another round. Michael with the bat draped across the back of his shoulders, held the butt-ended handle with his right hand and pointed his left shoulder towards Drake. With a glancing swing kick to Drake’s knee he tumbled to the ground where a quick brush of the bat across his shoulders made contact with Drake’s lowered face. With his guard down, the wooden concave bat end found its mark breaking Drake’s nose sending a fine mist of blood into the air.

  The next blast of the bat was upon the top of the back of Drake’s head. The blow dropped him to his stomach unconscious and useless in any rescue attempt for his brother who had once again regained his composure and stood up trying to draw in a full breath to his injured chest. Michael walked towards the remaining twin slowly and methodically.

  “I watched what you did to my angel at the well. And now I am going to do the same to you,” said Michael.

  “Hey, Thou shall not kill, remember?” Tomek said backing away from Michael realizing for the first time since he was locked drowning in the underground cabin that he was afraid.

  “Oh yes, I know the commandments. Yet the gospel of Matthew tells us an eye for an eye and well, you know what, I tend to rather like the gospel of Matthew so therefore you shall receive the same fate as you put upon DC,” Michael continued talking while slowly walking Tomek back into the corner breakfast nook area.

  “That well, shall be, your grave!” Michael methodically yelled as he squarely kicked Tomek in the breastbone sending him tumbling back over the small bench of the nook and crashing through the window’s glass panes. If the homerun swing to his chest was not enough, Tomek was now laid out on the brick pavers of the backyard area covered in glass and lacerations. Tomek felt as if his skin wept blood from every inch like a horde of rats trying to escape a sinking ship.

  Looking back to the floor where he left Drake sprawled out bleeding from a destroyed nasal cavity, Michael was shocked to see the space empty. Drake’s body was missing. Walking back over to the area of the floor where he originally left him, the trail of blood drips from Drake’s face was evident on the floor. Michael followed the blood to the back door where it exited outside. Planning all along to toss the both of them down the stone well, this worked perfectly into his overall plan.

  Stepping out the back door, Michael looked to his left and was at lea
st grateful to see Tomek still there on the cobblestones. Not knowing the exact location of the missing twin wasn’t much of a concern at this point as the blood drips continued around the side of the house revealing to Michael the path of Drake’s escape.

  “Ouch, that looks painful,” Michael said while walking over to Tomek looking at the various cuts caused by the old-styled leaded glass window.

  The angel reached down and grabbed Tomek by the collar of his tiger-striped Vietnam-era camouflaged shirt and drug him over towards the well stopping at the side. Tomek provided no resistance until reaching the damp, dew-covered mossy fieldstone side of the well.

  Reaching up with both hands, Tomek gripped onto Michael’s lowered wrist and twisted his body over rolling up onto his shoulder while lifting both of his legs up and around the angel’s upper arm. Tomek then locked his ankles together on top of Michael’s shoulder and pulled back down with all his body weight locking his opponent into an armbar technique. Tomek lurched backward with all his weight and remaining strength, attempting to dislocate the elbow and break every bone in Michael’s arm.

  While the arm bar had caught him off guard, Michael was trained in defending against it and went to the ground in the same direction as Tomek tugged in an attempt of go with the flow of momentum and not against it. Pushing his arm deeper into the grip of Tomek Michael counteracted the remaining handhold set against him. Combining the weakened grip with lubrication in the form of his own blood, Tomek was unable to apply the grip and pressure needed to successfully break Michael’s arm. Feeling his hands slip and twist around the single arm he held, Tomek lost his grip and Michael’s arm was free. Tomek rolled to his right and got to his feet before Michael could do the same and as he ran towards Niko’s archangel he focused on the bottom of the jaw and raised his leg in a kicking motion with all his force knowing that if it connected, his opponent’s jaw would be broken and the tide of the fight would turn his way.

  Again to his surprise, the tide did not turn. Michael was still one move ahead of Tomek in this chess game of death. Dropping backward and arching his back, the black combat boot of Tomek glanced off of his cheek causing no more damage than just a tiny scrape. Tomek’s momentum carried through due to the missed kick spinning him around to face away from Michael.

  Tomek quickly found himself flat on the ground again after Michael buried his fist into the lower back of the twin sending a decimating ripple of pain into Tomek’s kidneys. Grasping at his midsection, Tomek rolled over and saw his brother Drake now standing behind Michael and was instantly relieved. Michael noticed the glare of Tomek’s eyes change and instinctively looked back to see Drake standing there with a single throwing knife in his hand. Michael stood there, bat in hand, waiting for the next move.

  Tomek remained on the ground, in pain watching the seconds tick by as if they were hours. No words were spoken as all three of them, just watched each other. Each of them breathing heavy ready to continue this ultimate battle of life and death. Only the twins had been wounded but the silence confirmed that in some way, the three of them had an unexplainable sense of respect for each other.

  The respect would only last until death as Drake whipped his forearm forward holding onto just the tip of the knife blade. He felt it rotate out and away from his hand. Spinning towards its mark the blade buried deep upon impact. Slicing and splintering its way into it’s target, the blade stopped upon reaching its bolster.

  The three of them again stood there, looking in disbelief at the effectiveness of the simple hand-knapped stone blade. Michael looked down at his chest expecting there to be blood, but there was none. He looked up and smiled at Drake because baseball bats do not bleed. The knife had slammed into the sweet spot of the wood bat and remained lodged there. Drake had missed by inches and with this last failure, he was out of options.

  Fighting the angel by hand had proven to be useless and now their only remaining weapon had been rendered useless as well. Drake squared up, wiped the blood away from the open wound still inside his broken nose and prepared for another battling round of hand-to-hand combat, one which he fully expected to lose. Again, acting as the aggressor, Drake took three quick steps in Michael’s direction but never actually threw a punch or kick.

  The sound was strange to them both, as if the air had been parted by something. It was not unlike an arrow in flight but much faster, the projectile somehow seemed to disrupt the air pressure around them. There was no zipping or zinging noise like that of a bullet flying by and the hum of an arrow’s fletching was not present. Yet that was the first thing both Drake and Tomek saw as the fallen angel lay there on the ground between them, fletching. Fletching, plastic fletching, vanes with a right helical twist to be exact. Two blue in color and one maize. The vanes rested against the spot where Michael’s left eye normally would have been before it was shot out. The razor sharp metal three-bladed trocar tipped broad head protruded out the back of the angel’s skull. The black graphite shaft of the short arrow puzzled them as this type of equipment was unknown to them.

  Looking to the dark ridge of bushes where the short arrow had come from, both Tomek and Drake watched as one of the bushes seemed to come alive and stand up. The shooter in a full ghillie suit stood there looking at them. Their savior’s identity was hidden by the suit’s mask and face paint. The bush person held a crossbow and the twins now realized the short arrow was not an arrow at all but a crossbow bolt. Having never owned or even shot one the weapon was foreign to them. The only knowledge of the crossbow would be from its primitive use in the medieval history teachings of Uncle.

  Reaching up the and pulling back the hood of the suit, it was clear who had saved them. The back porch area while not well lit, did have enough of an open sky to allow the shining harvest moon to illuminate the face of this mystery subject with a talent for a strange form of archery. Standing there smiling with an I told you so, kind of look, Old Man Hawkins had yet again made good on the promise he made to his twin brother. Hawkins had just killed Father Niko’s archangel Michael in order to once again save and protect the boys.

  “Thank you,” Drake said in a tired loss for words manner spitting blood out of his mouth that had drained from inside his nasal cavity.

  “You are welcome, now get up.” Hawkins said motioning to Tomek. “We have some tracking to do.”

  “Tracking?” Tomek asked.

  Hawkins pointed to the ground and said “That’s what this blood trail says. How many angels are left?”

  “Just one,” Tomek answered.

  “Which one?” Hawkins asked.

  “Not sure, bigger one. I think they called him Gabriel or something like that.” Tomek said.

  “Gabriel, huh” I figured he would be the first to run. I always hated the little bitch,” Hawkins uttered in his disregard for the thug.

  “Yeah but, he is not bleeding, he must of picked up some blood on his shoes from inside. Once that is gone, how do we track him down in the dark with just his spoor?” Drake asked.

  “Spoor?” Tomek asked chuckling and rolling his eyes knowing full well where his brother had picked up the word but still amused at his use of it.

  “Yes, it means...” Drake began to say before being interrupted

  “His track, I know what spoor is. Uncle made us both read the same African hunting books,” Tomek said trying to show up his brother and impress Hawkins at the same time.

  “Ah yes, that Uncle of yours always did enjoy the writings of the legendary Peter Capstick Hathaway. Am I correct in assuming this is the spoor author of which you speak?”

  “Yes,” the twins answered in unison.

  “Very well then, follow the spoor and let us go track down an angel,” Hawkins said as he pushed his way into the hip tall saw grass.

  “We don’t have much blood, and the muck will cover his foot prints, how do we track him?” Drake again asked.

  Hawkins just smirked and said, “We don’t, Sypris does.”

  19 Rope

  Fo
r the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime in the pit, the house was quiet. There was no stomping around, no yelling and all the fighting had made its way out to the back yard. Although the violence had moved outside, Annette Henderson still lay trapped at the bottom of her coal cellar a mere twelve feet from the freedom of her basement floor.

  Unsure on who had won the fight that had raged out above her, she was sure no matter who the victor was she would soon be on their to do list of kills. Not willing to become a victim, she again flicked the lighter’s brass top open and sparked a flame. Again taking in what she had around her, it was nothing more than a random mess of broken beams, the bow, one arrow, and the dead body of Brooks. Henderson felt more despair than any moment before. The pain in her arm had subsided but for some reason she wished it had not. At least the constant pain gave her something to focus on.

  Knowing the cellar’s heavy wooden doors were held tight and locked on the exterior thanks to their cast iron hinges and locks, her only option was to go up. She then started thinking about different scenarios she was put through during her time in the academy.

  Instantly she thought back to a first aid class where the instructor had taught the tourniquet technique for stopping a heavy blood spurting situation such as the loss of a limb. The instructor had sliced shoe laces and denim jeans in order to concoct a make shift apparatus that when tied together and spun around a limb would cut off the victim’s circulation to the wound therefore preventing blood loss. Henderson intended to use this same lesson on resourcefulness only she had no need for stopping blood loss. It was not a tourniquet she would be making after all, it was a rope.