by Jay Harez
“We have a number of properties,” Said Sophie.
“I got that part…” Curtis thought for a minute and then the anger returned. “You ass-holes have been using your properties as…traps,”
“Don’t be too hard on them young man. It was my plan,” said The Specialist who had returned to lounging on the couch. “Apparently our quarry had a similar idea but in reverse. All he had to do was find a property you folks might be interested in and wait for you to fill it with food,” The Specialist chuckled.
“But you peo…you Reapers can’t be this callous toward human life,” Curtis almost pleaded.
“We do what we do in order to save the lives of countless others,” Beta Turner said.
“So the De Gaizas…they died for the greater good?” Curtis asked.
“If the De Gaiza’s are dead, yes, they died for the greater good,” said The Specialist in a very nonchalant tone.
Curtis definitely didn’t like this man. He looked around the room at the faces of these self-appointed vigilantes. Monster hunters or not, and the greater good aside, they could not use people as bait.
“Sorry to disappoint,” said Sonny. “But we have a task, a task that’s bigger and older than all of us. It’s an obligation we have dedicated our lives to and have made many sacrifices to fulfill,”
“Who knows? They could still be alive, though probably not for long,” said the couch.
It had taken one hour to get prepped and loaded into the two black Suburbans. Miguel lead the convoy on an off-road Ducati motorcycle.
As they rolled along Curtis began to have doubts. To be more accurate he began to regret this whole idea.
“You just plan to go in guns blazing, huh?” Curtis asked The Specialist who was sitting in the back with him and taking up two-thirds of the seat.
The Specialist turned from staring out of the window to look at Curtis. It was snowing outside and God only knew what The Specialist may have been thinking. Curtis immediately realized he had asked the wrong person.
“No guns,” The Specialist said surprising Curtis. “No guns mean no ricochets, no stray bullets, and most of all, no noise. I mean, it’s a residential area for God’s sake, people are trying to sleep,” The Specialist found this funny.
“The one with the big hands is as strong as an ox and the other one is…” Curtis sighed looking to The Specialist for a response.
The Specialist had returned to watching the snow.
“This weather,” The Specialist said, “makes you want to get out and run instead of ride doesn’t it?” he laughed. No one else did and Curtis saw the Turners exchange a look as The Specialist entertained himself.
“Well? Does one of you Mary’s want to give this guy some fire power?” The Specialist asked and chuckled.
Alpha Turner spun around and nearly came over his seat at The Specialist. He was holding a straight razor. Beta Turner stopped him just out of striking distance by grabbing the collar of his coveralls. The seat belts made movement difficult but Alpha Tanner was determined. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared a little otherwise The Specialist didn’t move. As a matter of fact to Curtis’s astonishment The Specialist became even more still than when he was absentmindedly staring out of the window.
“I’ll cut your tongue out for that you son-of-a-bitch!” screamed Turner Alpha.
“No! Stop! He’s toying with you! He’ll kill you!” Turner Beta was screaming.
Curtis had a moment of realization. The Turners weren’t siblings. They were Mr. and Mr. Turner.
“Shut the fuck up back there!” Sonny screamed.
Alpha Turner stayed half hanging over the second row of seats his eyes locked with The Specialist’s. Alpha Turner’s arm was drawn back as if to make one fatal slash and Beta Turner was hanging on to that same arm for all he was worth.
Alpha Turner relaxed a little. Then turned and slumped down into the seat. Beta Turner put an arm around him and glared back over the seat at The Specialist.
“When will we have a shot like this again?” Sonny said aloud but not to anyone in particular.
Sonny’s question seemed to dissipate some of the nervous energy that had accumulated in the vehicle. Beta Turner reached down and pulled a duffle bag from the floor. Jahn had been conspicuously quiet during all of this.
“Here,” he said and handed Curtis a contraption he couldn’t quite understand.
Curtis was too stunned to reach for the device at that moment.
“Look alive, young man. Salvation is within your grasp,” The Specialist said and returned to staring out of the window.
It was a paint-ball gun.
“It’s not a paint-ball gun by any standard definition,” said Beta Turner. “The average paint-ball gun fires pellets at a speed three-hundred feet per second and fires approximately eleven shots per second. This…”
“What?!” Curtis’s outburst was more about the accumulated tension than his shock at being handed a child’s toy.
The Specialist put a massive hand on Curtis’s shoulder and he flinched.
“This is not a toy. If you hit one of them they will be down for a while and a head shot will usually kill them,” The Specialist said.
“This is not going to work on these things,” Curtis sighed and looked down at what looked to him like a lab-rats bong.
“These guns fire seventeen shots per second at five-hundred seventy-five feet per second.” Turner explained.
“Will this put a hole in them?” Curtis asked.
“Sorry, I forget things sometimes,” Beta Turner looked sheepish for a moment. “The pellets have a frangulating porcelain shell, inside is a mix of ammonia, salt water, and nicotine,”
“So the pellets hit, shatter, and they get doused with saltwater and ammonia, what’s the nicotine for?” Curtis asked.
“It’s a transdermal. It allows whatever is mixed with it to pass through the skin just like a smoker’s patch,” The Specialist finished for him.
“We also make these with silver sulfadiazine if you ever want some,” Beta Turner said to Curtis as he looked at The Specialist.
The Specialist just chuckled but the laugh didn’t sound sincere.
The Suburbans stopped one mile from the property. They had exited IH-35 and were parked in a beat up strip mall parking lot. Hutt’s Hamburgers shared the same lot and two parked vehicles didn’t look suspicious.
“Why are we at Hutt’s?” Curtis asked looking at the paint-ball gun as if it were loaded with Ebola virus.
“Miguel is scouting ahead,” said Sonny.
“Is there anything else anyone wants to tell me beforehand?” Curtis asked.
“You may feel slightly stronger or more alert. The solution you’ve been drinking on Sunday has certain properties that may enhance some of your natural physical abilities,” Jahn contributed.
“Ok,” said Curtis, feeling stumped again. That would explain how Beta Turner had lifted the crossbar from the dungeon door, Curtis considered.
A few minutes later the Bluetooth system chimed on and Miguel’s voice came through.
“Long Scythe to Gardner, copy?” announced Miguel.
“This is Gardner,” Sonny said into the dash-mounted system.
“Party looks to be in full swing,” said Miguel.
“Copy that. Get safe and stand by,” replied Sonny.
All at once everyone began searching through his or her respective duffel bags. It wasn’t a panicked search but an orderly preparation.
Curtis thought this was stupid. A whole family is being held hostage in the basement of some guy’s house. He was sitting here in the parking lot of a burger place with a paint-ball gun, a homophobic sociopath, jacked up on super-soldier serum, and these people were using code names. Code names!
“Sonny, please call the cops,” Curtis said. He realized that had it not been for that thing that had come out of him combined with his dreams/memories he wouldn’t have believed any of this.
“The police will sen
d a two-man patrol unit. Those two will go to the door and get invited in to ‘look around’. It will be an hour before their precinct realizes they haven’t called in. Then it will be too late for those cops, the De Gaiza’s and anyone else on the menu,” said Jahn.
Curtis should have thought of that. He wondered how they had learned that lesson. Probably the hard way, he thought. These people may be zealots but they weren’t idiots.
Beta Turner handed Curtis a pair of gloves and some goggles.
Curtis looked at The Specialist. The Specialist wanted to cause mayhem. He wanted to hunt and kill something. Curtis knew instinctively that this man was not here to help anyone. He was either motivated by the excitement, some type of animal blood-lust or…
“Are you getting paid for this?” Curtis blurted without thinking.
“Quite handsomely,” The Specialist responded.
“Gardner you copy?” asked Miguel’s voice through the Bluetooth system.
“Gardner here,” Sonny replied.
“We have complications, it looks like every kid in the neighborhood is standing lookout in the yard and the adults are inside,” said Miguel’s voice.
“What’s their strength?” asked The Specialist.
“You mean how many innocent children are surrounding the monsters house?” asked Sonny.
“Given the amount of exposure they’ve all had. I wouldn’t worry about innocent parties,” The Specialist responded.
Sonny paused for a moment and considered the validity of the question.
“Long Scythe do you have a head-count?” Sonny asked.
“Close to thirty,” Curtis accidentally said aloud. He remembered the weirdness at the park that day.
“Approximately thirty children but no idea how many adults are inside,” Miguel confirmed.
“Long Scythe, return to Nursery. Change of plans. Copy?” she said.
Silence.
“Long Scythe do you copy?” Sonny repeated.
Silence.
Sophie had driven the other Suburban and as Sophie tore out of the parking lot with her tires squealing Curtis realized that she must have been listening in on the conversation.
“Shit!” said Alpha Turner.
Jahn engaged the engine and sped out of the parking lot after her. The two vehicles rounded the corner at almost fifty miles per hour. The tires squealed as Curtis was thrown against The Specialist. It felt as if he had run into a wall. The Specialist just chuckled. Before Curtis could reach the ‘oh shit’ handle mounted above his door Sophie had the vehicle on a strait path again heading into the cul-de-sac.
Sophie was picking up speed.
“Christ! What is she planning to do?” asked Beta Turner.
When the wheels of Sophie’s Suburban hit the curb in front of Tanár’s house, the front end lifted almost a foot in the air. She ground the mailbox down to a stump and was just yards away from the dilapidated wood porch when she spun the vehicle so that the rear was aligned with the front door.
Sophie’s vehicle was silent for a moment and Jahn screeched to a halt on the street.
People began pouring out of the house. Some were screaming, some laughing hysterically, others milled around calmly and just chewed. The hands and arms of all of them were drenched in blood. It was a scene from the nightmare of a madman.
The Specialist was in the yard hurling the tiny darts at anything that moved. When the darts struck home they adhered to the skin and instantly injected the toxin. As the creatures tried to pry the darts loose a burst of concentrated ammonia sprayed in all directions.
Curtis stepped out of the Suburban onto the curb as the rear hatch of Sophie’s Suburban flew open. From the rear of Sophie’s vehicle, twin pressurized bursts of liquid hit the crowd exiting the house and a compressors motor hammered away in the background. The solution that Sophie was saturating the creatures with was even more potent than The Specialist’s darts. The screams coming from the porch made Curtis cringe. The creatures on the porch that were in front tried to force their way back through the door which had now become a chokepoint as those inside tried to exit.
Curtis could hear Sophie cursing in Spanish above the den. Jahn and Sonny were standing on the hood of Sophie’s Suburban now. They stood back to back and rained a steady volley of the little ceramic balls into the throng.
The element of surprise was gone. The crowd of enraged people, adults and children alike were working to rock the Suburban back and forth.
Curtis knew this couldn’t last. He took the opportunity to grab his paintball gun from the Suburban. In the chaos he had forgotten it. Watching Jahn and Sonny mow down his neighbors with such efficiency had earned the device a new level of respect in Curtis’s mind.
He found a handful of The Specialist’s darts and took them also.
Curtis ran passed the chaos and toward his unit. He ran through the back yard, jumped, and grabbed the lower part of the fence. He hurled himself over and was in Tanners back yard in one fluid motion. Enhanced physical abilities, Curtis mused.
The ground was soft. He could smell the freshly turned earth and that helped keep his footsteps quiet. This must be another of those enhancements, Curtis thought. Although he probably could have been blasting ‘Mississippi Queen’ and no one would have noticed, Curtis considered. As he approached the back door the smell changed. It wasn’t earthy but coppery. Curtis had been hunting only once in his life but he would never forget the smell of blood in quantity.
The blow came from directly above him. It was as if someone had struck him full force with a rubber mallet. The blow didn’t cave in his skull but he felt the whiplash-like sensation in his neck. His knees buckled, he saw the dark earth rushing up to meet his face. He managed to intercept his fall with his forearm. With his other hand he tried to bring the paintball gun around.
He had slung the gun’s shoulder strap over his head and one arm when he climbed the fence. Now it was an impediment. The strap wouldn’t let him bring the gun around to get a shot and he was too disoriented to stand.
“Hello Lord of Land,” said a syrupy voice.
Fuck! Mitts-for-Hands! Curtis thought. She walked around to squat in front of him.
She grabbed Curtis by the throat and lifted him to his feet. Curtis was blacking out. He saw little tracers in his eyes like a thousand shooting stars all moving in curling ‘S’ patterns. Curtis grabbed at her wrist with his left hand. She held his other hand that was still clutching the paint ball gun.
She looked into his eyes and held his gaze for just a moment but it felt like an eternity to Curtis. She drew him in closer lifting him a few inches from the ground.
Curtis felt the sharp pang of hunger and the smell of blood was making his mouth water. This is wrong! He thought. Why was he reacting this way…pheromones! Curtis let go of her wrist and slowly took three darts from his pocket.
“I see you no longer bear the essence of us. Did your stupid friends do that? That was a foolish thing to do, getting rid of it. If you had…”
Curtis thrust the darts into her open mouth. He barely withdrew his hand before the rows of serrated teeth snapped together. Mitts-for-Hands bit down too late to maim Curtis but the force of the bite was enough to burst all of the darts.
She dropped Curtis, gagged and coughed then staggered backwards clutching her throat. Curtis fell to his knees but this time he was ready. As Mitts-for-Hands opened her mouth to cough Curtis could see three rows of sharp teeth. She stood back up and took a few steps before her hair fell off.
Curtis realized that it was a wig but it startled him nonetheless. She fell to her knees in front of him and the moon reflected off of her scaly pate. Any thoughts Curtis had entertained about the creatures being human dissipated.
With one hand clutching at her throat she gnashed her teeth and made a last grab at Curtis with her free hand. Curtis fired seventeen porcelain pellets into her mouth then kicked her in the chin snapping her head backwards. She fell backwards staring blankly at the cold ni
ght sky.
Curtis approached the house and climbed the steps of the back porch. He was still aching from the ambush and was hyper alert to anything that looked out of place. He heard a window break above him. The tin roof of the porch obstructed his view but he heard something heavy land and then he saw it roll off and into the yard. It was a child. It landed a few feet on the other side of Mitts-for-Hands body.
The child couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. It rolled around on the ground and stood up. The child turned around and was eye-to-eye with the corpse of Mitts-for-Hands.
For just a moment the child frozen in shock. Then it began one of those long wails that children do before leading up to outright bawling. It opened its mouth to inhale and Curtis fired. His shot went wide and stung the child on the cheek. Then the child began to scream in earnest. The scream didn’t last long and the child soon dropped unconscious to the ground.
Curtis opted to focus on what he had set out to do and rescue the De Gaizas – if they were still alive. He opened the back door and although he could hear the muffled sounds of the melee from outside, seeing it was an entirely different form of sensory assault.
The first thing he noticed was that there was a small anteroom between the back door and the main parlor. What many would refer to as a mudroom. Curtis stepped inside quietly to get a better view of the main dining room. The second thing he noticed was that both Alpha and Beta Turner appeared to be rising out of the floor in the center of the room, only the upper half of their torsos visible. Both were releasing precision bursts of paintballs into the group.
Then the final element of the tableau fell into place. On the dining table, in the center of the room, on his back and spread-eagle was Miguel. One of his eyes was swollen shut. His hands and feet were tied with ropes to the four legs of the table. One arm was tied at the bicep and the flesh between his elbow and wrist appeared to have been peeled away and some of the muscle tissue had been chewed on.
Fortunately, Miguel was unconscious. Curtis hoped that he wasn’t dead. Sophie was astride him. She had a massive tank - full of what was probably the same solution as the paint balls – strapped to her back and she was soaking everything within range. When the first wave of attackers would fall back screaming in pain, another uninjured group would charge. When that group fell back, the remainder of the prior group would charge again. It seemed endless.
