by J. X. Evans
1. COW INBOUND
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. Mark and Rob looked at one another. Their faces, masks of uneasiness while expecting the quickly approaching pain. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. The loud pounding sounds came closer and closer… uncomfortably so, and Rob sighed out a tired breath… some things never change, no matter what. Something big and heavy crushed at the side of the old Nissan pickup truck like a wrecking ball, hard enough to send the car spinning out of the muddy trail, and hard enough for the back right wheel to come off its old, creaking hinges.
They rolled and rolled down the rocky hill. Heads pounding, teeth and eyes clenched tight. Rob was holding the truck’s wheel tight, as if he wanted to strangle it; and Mark next to him, one hand around the scabbard of his long rapier, the other held tight on the car’s handle. Tissue boxes, and plastic cups, and chocolate bar wrappings
“I am going to be sick.” Mark shouted.
“Hmm.” Rob growled back at him in a pleading manner.
The car stopped spinning and both of them jumped out through the broken windows. They landed on the musty earth, hard despite the frequent winter rainfalls. They started backing away dizzily in zigs and zags. Mark dropped his sword and he bent down to pick it back up.
“Damn… I bit my tongue.” Mark mumbled in a mildly uncomprehensive manner. Just as the broken off wheel of the truck came rolling down the hill.
Rob’s left eyelid twitched slightly and he winced at his vehicle’s state. “Problems of a fool. Who speaks when tumbling down a hill?” Rob answered, and he would have kept on talking if the gigantic minotaur had not at that moment landed on top of the truck’s hood, condensing the already battered truck in a space efficient pile of junk.
Rob pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed yet again. The large, muscular man with the magnificent black beard speckled with stray grey hair, and the lightly balding head of short cropped black hair was quite fond of his wheels and the sight had surely hurt him.
“He is kind of horny, isn’t he?” Mark, a strapping young man in his mid-twenties with a long pony tail of slightly curly dark brown hair, said. He wore a snide little smile on his face, pointing towards the long, pointy, and quite dangerous looking horns looming from the sides of the minotaur’s monolith of a head.
Rob moved slowly, ignoring Mark’s uninspired comment. He took a deep breath and straightened his back. Feet spread wide, he stared straight into the minotaur’s angry black eyes, each one of them as large as a small pear. An act that no one in their right minds should do against a huge killing machine of a beast. And if they did, then they should be ready for the consequences. The beast was standing on top of the totaled car, snorting through its nostrils, stamping its hooves and staring right back at the couple of men.
Somehow, the monster, managed to make its big black cow-like eyes seem terrifying. And if anyone has ever looked into a cow’s blank stare, then they should know that this is something of a steer towards the impossible. But then again the monster was generally looking as tough and scary as they come, so maybe its overflowing anger somehow managed to seep into its eyes…what did it have to be so angry about? Rob let the breath out, slowly, just as the minotaur decided to end the staring contest. Rob took another less deep breath and charged the hulking beast.
The minotaur roared, and smashed its boulder like hands on the ground; right on the spot where Rob would have been, if he had not side stepped and rolled towards his real target. A big, dark blue gym bag that was originally strapped down on top of the truck’s cargo bed. The straps had somehow held the bag in place during the initial strike of the immense beast, and the great weight inside it had probably helped somewhat. But the straps had snapped and the gym bag had been catapulted somewhere uphill along the way, or when the minotaur fell on the old truck, burying its front in the ground, under a pair of heavy hooves.
The beast made to turn and follow Rob, but slid on a bit of mud while trying to turn around quickly, meaty fists hitting the ground for balance. The monster was stopped on its tracks by Mark’s favorite and most trusted piece of equipment, the double action Smith & Wesson Model 500. The sound of it split the night’s silence and the canon ball like bullets hit the back of the beast’s huge head one, two, three times. Though the bullets seemed to annoy it, more than anything else. Mark looked at his pistol… ‘And that gun eats bears for breakfast.’
The minotaur changed its target and turned back towards Mark. Focused at him instead of Rob. It charged, pointy horns first, huffing and puffing like a crazed locomotive on steroids. “Eh” squeaked Mark rolling out of the way while at the same time drawing his long, painstakingly sharpened blade from its scabbard, and slashing at the beast’s hip as it passed him by. Not exactly a deadly strike for something of this size and toughness, but annoying for sure, like a serious paper cut.
The beast did not seem discouraged by not finding Mark’s guts hanging from its pointy horns though. It kept on charging the empty night in front of it, and just when Mark thought that the bull would have certainly reached Korinthos (several kilometers away from their current location) before it would finally stop running, the beast turned around, covering the distance between them in mere moments. The ground was shaking, while clumps of wet dirt, mud and small stones were being tossed in the air behind the beast each time a massive hoof pounded the rattling earth. It reached him, slowing down in front of him this time. The minotaur struck and Mark twisted and shifted, avoiding blows and slashing at the beasts muscular forearms and apparently managing no results. The minotaur swept a huge meaty fist right at Mark’s head. He ducked and felt the air rushing past the top of his head, fast and hard enough to pry some hair from his tight ponytail. ‘Gulp’ Mark ignored his instincts, which screamed retreat. He squeezed the rapier in his right hand and he jabbed, shifting his knees and his whole body, aiming for a powerful thrust at the beast’s exposed right flank.
The hit connected, the blade sinking as deep as Mark could get it to slide between the bull’s heavily muscled ribs, putting all his strength and weight behind the quick thrust. The bull bellowed and Mark saw its right, three fingered hand sweeping back the other way. ‘Fuck…the backswings…’ He left the rapier dangling between the bull’s ribs like a pendulum. No time to draw it out, no time to concentrate on the small citrine gemstone on the thin golden chain he wore on his left wrist to create a shield, and as it turned out, no time to dodge out of the way either. The minotaur struck Mark with such speed and force to send him flying up the small hill, bouncing off the ground a couple of times, as easily as a nice flat stone skipping on the waters of a calm lake, to finally land heavily into an old and wrinkled olive tree, rattling it from roots to branches. Only the hill was no lake, it was moist ground with rocks and gravel and he was no stone, he was made of flesh and blood and bone. He lost consciousness as soggy, soft black olives and small leaves began showering down on his body.
The minotaur headed for Mark’s landing spot, calm and proud. No doubt heading to claim a more than deserving evening appetizer. Rob fell on the huge bull from uphill like a cannonball with gravity as his ally, gigantic metal shield first, to send the beast tumbling down the slope horns over hooves. The beast did not roll far though and it was up in an instant, charging at Rob to impale him with its horns like a bat out of hell. Rob pirouetted, sidestepping its trajectory and he smashed his large, heavy mace straight into the beast’s face with the thud similar to a rock’s getting smashed. The beast lost its balance and fell to the ground once more. Rob followed after the beast, not wasting his chance. And swinging his heavy mace overhead, he aimed for the bull’s protruding, bloody, recently misshapen snout. The minotaur caught the head of the heavy mace in its tough hand and lifted Rob off hi
s feet. Opting to crush him into the earth by swinging him in a wide ark. Rob understood the beast’s plan and he immediately let the grip of the mace go from his hand, just as the beast lifted him. He landed safely on the ground, while his mace went for a ride, spinning with a whoosh into the empty space.
Crouching behind his massive shield, Rob drew his handgun from its strap on his thigh and started firing at the minotaur’s head, but to no avail since its thick skull proved once again to be impenetrable to ordinary bullets. He kept circling the beast, dancing and spinning around it, parrying and evading blows, letting them slide off his heavy shield, aiming his bullets at the sides of the minotaur’s big head, where its big angry gooey eyes resided, but finding them hard targets to hit since the beast seemed to have no intention of standing still. Rob swung his shield to strike the beast to the face and the beast retaliated with a bone-rattling punch that pushed him backwards on the muddy ground for several meters, and a hellish roar that sprayed his shield and face with spittle and clots of blood, accompanied by an odor strong enough to incapacitate small animals. Rob looked back up again, sighed and kept on dodging.
Mark lifted his head, feeling as if an earthquake had taken place inside his body. Everything was blurry, sparky and out of focus, and his ears kept making that familiar high pitched ringing sound. His hair were sticky and wet with…blood? Why was he laying on the ground? He wanted to be sick. He remembered that he wanted to be sick once again, earlier today. The truck was spinning and rolling down a hill for some reason, and the chocolate bar that he had just swallowed had decided that a short peaceful life in Mark’s intestines was not the one for it. Instead, it had decided on taking up extreme sports. Starting with climbing back up his stomach and esophagus.
Things started coming back to him. Rob and he were investigating the reports about animal disappearances near Korinthos city, and some hikers had not returned from their trip and…where is Rob? He saw shapes dancing downhill, about a hundred meters in front of him. He probably would have heard them first… if that god damned ringing would finally seize. The shapes slowly came into focus. One of them was Rob, and he was dancing around a heavily snorting, mouth foaming two legged cow. There were flashes of green and red and white lights that either glanced off the minotaur’s hide or landed down on the ground. A pale white ripple struck the ground and the minotaur slipped, Rob struck it to one knee with his ridiculously heavy, metal shield. The clank echoed throughout the surrounding area, breaking even past the ringing barrier around Mark’s ears. The minotaur roared in pain and struck the shield with the other hoof hard enough to send both Rob and the piece of metal flying up, up and away. Mark did not even want to start thinking about how much that should have hurt the old man. He reached for his gun and he winced. His ribs hurt when he moved and his elbow felt shore. He ignored the pain and drew the large pistol. Two bullets remaining in the chamber. He took aim, ever so slowly. It was dark, and he had to make sure of hitting his target and not his commanding officer by mistake. ‘Well…that would be embarrassing now…but a good laugh in the future, wouldn’t it?’ Rob was big, the bull was bigger, but still, would it be too much to ask him to stop jumping around like a fat hyperkinetic grasshopper? ‘Oh, what the hell.’
“Moo motherfucker”…BANG. The sound cracked through the night yet again and the bullet went right through the beast’s unprotected dangling scrotum, bursting it open like a ripe melon on a hydraulic press and splattering blood and pieces of busted testicle everywhere around. No matter how buff or thick boned, and hard skinned you are, if you have balls then you have a pretty obvious weak spot. And to tell the truth, these particular ones proved to be quite the easy target.
The beast writhed in agony, extending its back and arms in an involuntary spastic movement of pain, roaring its pain into the cold night. Rob seized the chance given to him once again. With a quick step he positioned himself on the bull’s right side, and using his blood splattered shield as a hammer, he nailed Mark’s rapier fully into the minotaur’s body, breaking it off at the hilt and skewering the beast almost through and through. The beast fell, twisting and turning on the floor, kicking and hitting the ground, refusing to let go of its hold on sweet life. Then as the torrent of deep vibrant red blood kept gushing out of the fatal wound, the beast simply stopped. And giving a last heavy snort, its long red, bloody tongue rolled free from the corner of its mouth.
Rob caught his breath for a couple of seconds. He dropped his shield to the ground and cradled his pained, slightly frozen and at the same time burned left hand. He cautiously checked the minotaur’s vitals. ‘You can never be a hundred percent sure with these things’ … it was dead though. He, took a white, slightly dirty handkerchief from the inside pocket of his leather coat and wiped the blood, mud and sweat from his face and beard. He was always debating about whether he should shave the thing off or not…he liked the style and he had it for so long now that it was practically almost a part of his personality, but the damn thing needed lots of care. He started climbing up the hill in a quick pace, towards the place where young Mark was sitting, prompted against a slightly tilted-over old olive tree.
“How are you feeling lad?” Rob asked, kneeling by Mark’s side to unbutton his leather duster and check his body for any damage.
The ringing sound had subsided drastically and Mark was able to hear the words coming out of Rob’s mouth.
“Just great Rob, how about you? How is the family?” Mark responded sarcastically, wincing slightly from Rob’s carefree prodding on his bruised ribs.
“If you were half as funny as you think you are, we could have shaped you into a comedian. You could be useful for a change.” Rob answered with a straight face and lowered the leather hood of the duster from his head. He checked Mark’s pulse, prodded his head and cheeks. He took his smartphone from his pocket and checked Mark’s eyes with the flash light for signs bleeding or nerve damage. Both his pupils got smaller as the light hit them.
“That hurts…more than it did when the cow hit me.” His head was killing him at the moment and he raised a hand to block the flashlight.
“You’ll live.” Rob sighed.
“If you let me.” Mark answered with a pained smile.
Rob tapped the flashlight off, “Yes, I think you will. A couple of bruised ribs, a deep scratch on your scalp that could use some stitching, and a mild concussion I think, you’ll be like new by tomorrow. Your duster’s armor though seems to be pulverized, you can feel the citrine gems turning to dust just by touching them, and no mere resting will get that fixed.” Rob said while pressuring the little stones between his fingers “Perry will have to craft you a new one, or maybe he can repair it…how the hell should I know? Anyway, I don’t think he will be thrilled by the news.” Rob said, smiling at Mark. Perry was the last member of their little team of the only department of the Order in Greece.
“I reckon it could have just saved my life now… No?” Mark commented in a low voice.
“You think?” Rob retorted.
“Hmm, I will make sure to give him a big wet kiss next time I see him.” Mark said waving his hand in the air in front of him, a signal for Rob to leave him alone with his dizziness for a bit.
“Hmm.” Rob snorted, turning his back to Mark. He began descending the slope while searching for Perry’s phone number in his contact list.
“Take your time!” Mark shouted. Immediately regretting the decision, since the ache in his head doubled and he felt a great sudden need to be sick again. Then he mumbled something about exams under his breath and the remaining joy in his body seemed to flow out of his body.
2. MEET BETSY
The phone rang a couple of times until a calm voice answered in a distracted manner, “Yeah?”
“Hey Perry, how is it going?” Rob asked while walking around the dark slope, searching for the medical kit.
“Good enough, Sir Paws and I are watching the Animal Planet. Yes we are, yes we are.” Perry said, the second part of the sentence
presumably directed to the cat. “Did you know that the flamingo can eat only when their heads are upside down? Fascinating!”
“While myself and I do not care. No matter the position of our head.” Rob retorted.
“You used to be more fun.”
“Long day.” Rob said as he walked up to a rock to clean something dark and smelly from his boot’s sole… whoever walks around at night…
“So, what happened with our little troublemaker?”
“I wouldn’t call him little. We took care of it, but you are going to have to come pick us up.”
“Can’t you take a bus?” Perry sighed.
“What, are you beat from the gym?” Rob snickered. Perry being a Knight of the Order himself of course needed to continuously train, like everyone else. But conventional gym exercises and weight training were kind of useless. But Perry was frequenting the gym for hmm, let’s say social reasons.
“Oh, ha, ha, old man. Hilarious, you are a bad influence to the kid. His humor has been free-falling since day one.”
Rob chuckled heartily at the comment “Anyway, the culprit was a minotaur of all things. So, the Order will want the body for research.” Minotaurs are rare creatures and every rare creature should be captured alive or dead and sent to Central in France for storage and research. But minotaurs had another thing going for them, while alive it seemed that they were impervious to magic, the Order’s magic included. Send a ball of flame towards it and watch it slide off its thick hide like a drop of water on a hot pan. Freeze a hoof to the floor and watch the ice instantly turning into a sad puddle of cold water. Send a blast of force at it and watch the air accompanying it playfully ruffle its thick mane in something less of a sensual caress. An ability that very, very few creatures possess, and unraveling its secret would certainly prove to be a great addition to the Order’s knowledge, and its armory no less. A live one would have been better, but good luck with that. “We will need to transport it, as you already know.” Rob said, spotting the little red-white box with the small red cross painted on the lid. He gathered the box up, it had a small crack on one side and Rob took care in moving it. He turned back towards Mark’s resting spot in a leisurely pace.
