The Order: A Knight Of Fangs

by J. X. Evans

  Mark turned at the corner, always careful to stick to the shadows while managing to remain inconspicuous. His jaw dropped. The burning building was his very own house…and the café…his home. Either Perry had been the idiot and left a cupcake too long in the over, or something terrible had happened. He should have guessed it with the way things were going today, he should have just pressed the restart button and try the whole day from the beginning…if only that was possible. Would Sir Paws be okay? He did not see either Rob or Perry, they would stand out in the gathered crowd, especially Rob. He was certain they would be fine but… how the hell could all these things happen all together on the same fucking day? The building he called home was being devoured by a raging flame, he had not realized he could ever feel this way about a hip of lifeless materials. Only parts of wall and some stray beams remained standing, and from the look of it by the time the fire was through with the poor building there would be ash, and only ash. Their equipment destroyed. His leather duster that Perry had turned into a moving juggernaut suit, gone. The silly books and comics that Rob enjoyed so much and some of which Mark had left half-finished, fuel for the fire that destroyed them, along with the bookcase they were on, Rob’s own craftsmanship. The pool table where he and Perry had their matches, and now he would never be able to beat his score, at least not on the same table. The little kitchen where Perry baked all these apple pies and croissants…how could this happen? ‘They were attacked… Maybe they had left for the job that Perry mentioned and they were not home. If they were there was no chance that it would have resulted to this.’

  The fire had spread only a little to the adjacent buildings, walls and balconies charred black from the tongues of flame, licking rudely at them as well as from the rising smoke and soot spewing from the raging fire, like disgusting phlegm. The firefighters though seemed to have it contained for the moment. Contained to the one building whence it begun, the one that mattered the most. Even a blind man could see, could feel from the intensity of the heat that nothing could be done for the poor building other than let the fire consume it completely and in the process eat itself to death, binging on the fuel that the crumpling building provided.

  Mark found himself being put off by the sight. He did not expect such a stupid, emotional reaction from himself. Apparently, he was so put off that he had started wandering closer and closer to the gathered crowd of people. The crowd that was watching the firefighters as they were locked in brave battle with their eternal foe. He was halfway there, in the awkward space between the zone of the huddled crowd and the zone of people passing by, sparing a long saddened glance, maybe pulling their cell phones way from their ears for a couple of seconds and then being on their way, to their jobs and their life and their responsibilities.

  Mark quickly came back to his senses, and he realized that he was being watched, by the very people he was trying to avoid the last few minutes. The cops were not simply sparing a glance for him. They were actively watching him, hands on firearms and mouths on radios. Maybe it was the off putting way he was staring at the fire, standing all alone in that lonely zone between crowds, moving slowly and awkwardly towards the crumpling building, maybe that was what moved their interest. Maybe it was his appearance that did it, which was too damn close to that of the common trouble maker coming straight out of a fight, loose jeans and heavy boots, torn and tattered leather jacket, wet long hair in a ponytail, messed up from the fight that he had had earlier, an obviously torn eyebrow. And all these accompanied by a worn out backpack strung carelessly across one shoulder, and a generous dose of anger, frustration, pain and desperation showing on his easy to read face, a byproduct of a relatively good day turning shitty. All that put together formed an image so familiar and distinct. An image imprinted hard and clear on the visual cortex of every police officer that they could recognize it by simply coming across it with their peripheral vision while unconsciously scanning an area with their gaze. There was also a slim chance that they already had his description drawn from the camera feed of some shop from earlier, or from a random observer although he doubted that. But still, it was one of those days, if there ever was one.

  Mark immediately turned around and started walking back the way he came. He was practically surrounded and too tired to get in a getaway chase with all these cops around, he could probably do it, but it was risky. He did not want half a dozen bullets in his back or to be taken into custody. There was probably a better way.

  For starters, it would not do to find him with any illegal weapons on him, this could get him in trouble all on its own. He had to get rid of them. He moved fast, cops following quickly behind him and more appearing left and right in front of him, quickly but without running; they knew they had him surrounded and they knew that slow and steady rather than fast and furious would be the safer approach for all the parties involved. He turned left at a narrow alley filled with garbage bags and puddles of filthy rain water. The alley was a dead end, but it was ok since he did not need to go any further, this would do just fine. He took his bag that contained his trusted Magnum, the pair of brass knuckles, the umbrella and the notebook, he added his lighter and tobacco in the mix, and catapulted the bag on the roof of a seven stories tall building using his ‘good’ left arm; well not entirely good per se, but shot and torn shoulder beats badly burned and blistered forearm in the list of debilitating injuries. He marked the alley and the building in a mental map. If anyone found the bag by any chance they would probably take it to the police, or keep it for themselves, but if not then he would retrieve it later. He unclasped the golden chain, which was not only really expensive but also extremely valuable and important to him and his real job, and he shoved it in the small space between the end of his toes and the front end of his heavy boot. There could be less stories of cops taking advantage of a situation to earn an easy buck, certainly not every cop, not even most of them for that matter, or at least that is what Mark wanted to believe. But they are just people in the end of the day, people with problems of their own and in a relatively better position to get corrupted and choose an easier way to deal with these problems. And if this isn’t enough, a lot of people can be greedy little bastards for apparently no reason at all, it’s in their nature.

  He finished adjusting his boot in the nick of time. He heard multiple footsteps approaching rapidly, slowing down a bit just around the corner. Mark sat against the wall on a piece of the floor that was somewhat cleaner and drier than the rest of the alley…somewhat. He positioned himself presenting his left side to the mouth of the alley. He took hold of his hurt right shoulder with his left hand, wincing with pain as he pressed his index finger in the bullet wound, wiggling and rotating his finger around to make the clotted blood start flowing again as the small metal object started lodging a bit deeper in his arm, irritating the surrounding tissues and blood vessels.

  The footsteps stopped completely at the mouth of the alley and at the same time strong flashlights were pointed on him, practically blinding him for a few seconds and shedding the narrow alley between the tall buildings with more light that it probably had seen even during daytime in summer. Several voices yelled at him to freeze or to put his hands in the air. ‘Don’t shoot me please. That’s the point of all this’ Mark turned his eyes towards them trying not to blink against the brightness of the flashlights, and he voluntarily made his gaze turn upwards so that only the whites of his eyes could be seen and with a theatrical nodding and bobbing of his head, as if he was furiously fighting to stay awake, he fell sprawling on the filthy, cold, hard ground, letting the generous amount of spittle he had collected on the free space on the inside of his cheeks to slowly start dribbling out the corner of his mouth. He thrashed around for a bit and then went limp. ‘Of course my hair would land in the filth water…fucking disgusting.’

  Several feet started moving, flashlights shifting from his face to illuminate the dark corners of the alley, just in case. A police woman was on him almost immediately, she called to
him if he was alright and caught his pulse on his neck with three fingers, rough with callouses. The woman turned and shouted in a loud, calm voice “Call an ambulance. He is wounded. He is bleeding out.”

  14. JUST A FLESH WOUND

  Zora drove away from the burning building, checking left and right for signs of monsters or that man lurking about. However unlikely it would be, it never hurts to be careful. It seemed as if they retreated when she handed him his ass over and set his minions aflame, along with the Order’s shame of a department, an unfortunate casualty. She drove aimlessly for some time, heading away from the site of the battle, firetrucks and police cars and ambulances passing by in the opposite direction along the way. It was stupid and irresponsible, setting the place aflame. It was a dense urban area, civilians might have been hurt, but she could not have risked their escape. The information she had gathered could prove extremely useful, she could not risk them.

  She searched the car’s compartment and found a box of tissues. She poured water on a couple of them and cleaned her face from the dark blood while she was waiting forever for a traffic light to turn green at an intersection.

  Pericles stopped looking out of the window and carefully lifted his shirt up to take a look at his abdomen. There was a large reddish blue circle extending around a fist shaped black and blue area above his naval. He considered his wound, prodding it lightly.

  “Anything ruptured you think?” Zora asked. A ruptured colon, or spleen, or aorta, or anything for that matter was serious business and could cause much harm even for people like him or her. It definitely looked as if he had a lot of internal bleeding.

  “It’s just a flesh wound.” he responded, covering his bruises with his shirt, wincing all the while.

  Zora was not so sure of that but if he wanted to play it manly man it was his right to do so. He seemed capable enough to know if something was really dangerous for him, and he seemed alert enough, massive bleeding would have taken a toll at his level of consciousness. “So, what now? We need to notify the Order as soon as possible.” Zora said, while Pericles was taking his cell phone out of his pocket, searching for a contact and making a call. The receiver had his phone turned off, the same with the second number he tried to call. He put the cellphone back in his pocket and rubbed his mouth and beard with a sigh, as if considering his options.

  “We need to regroup, consider our situation and call for backup. I am afraid that the guy from earlier might have been a vampire. A vampire with a lot of thralls on his side. Which means a lot of time and preparation on his part. Turn right on the second crossroad over there… A lot of preparation.” Pericles pointed a finger to indicate the direction, as if Zora did not know the difference between left and right.

  “It probably is, there are not many beings that fit his description and can create so many undead humanoid servitors. And the way they reacted after he and I fought points me to the same conclusion. Also they seemed stronger and faster than most of the other monsters in the same category, most of the undead are rather indolent and drowsy while they seemed more crazed and energetic.” Zora was saying while turning the vehicle down the indicated road.

  “Woah… someone sure knows her books. I have another someone in mind that could certainly learn a thing or two from your example.” Pericles said, eyebrows raised above his heavy eyelids and brown eyes, or contact lenses, to be exact.

  ‘I know right…? Tell that to grandma.’

  “Turn left here.” He said after she did not respond to his last sentence, and he took out his cell phone once again to make yet another call. But this time the phone rang and a voice answered.

  They drove for some time, heading north, evidently towards the rich part of town. The houses were getting more and more sparse and luxurious and with higher and sturdier walls around their large gardens. The place looked like a small urban forest had grown around the buildings. Big trees and bushes planted in rectangular spaces filed with dirt every three or four meters on the sidewalks and the streets grew greener and greener. The growth in the rate of the color’s occurrence perpendicularly to the houses’ growth in extravagance.

  At some point Pericles asked her to stop the truck a little bit off the side of the main road, between some trees and bushes so that it would not be easily visible. They got out and started walking. Pericles was dragging that ridiculous shield along even though it seemed like some trouble, for his abdominal muscles were surely damaged from the hit he received and one need to flex their ab muscles if they want to be walking straight; that much more so if they are carrying a heavy weight along.

  “Why not leave it in the truck?” Zora asked.

  “You never know, it might come in handy to have around.” Perry responded. Zora thought of helping him for a moment but then said nothing, if he needed any help he was welcome to ask for it. Plus, she could not even see the point of this thing.

  After eight hundred meters of silent walking or so they reached the edge of a tall white wall, marking the perimeter of a large estate, it was mostly clean and only slightly grey in a couple of places from the fumes and carbon dioxide that city life provides us with. There was a little surveillance camera sitting in the rounded corner of the wall, the single gleaming red lifeless eye watching them as they were passing by. ‘And I am covered in blood…nice.’ She tucked the hood of her jacket even lower down her face. They kept walking beside the smooth wall. This was apparently the place that Pericles had chosen for them to regroup and plan their next move. After covering a considerable distance from where the wall begun, they reached a plain metal door signaling the middle point of the estate’s length. Pericles sighed and rang the doorbell. No more than two seconds passed before a basso voice answered, the same voice from the cell phone earlier.

  “Yes?” asked the voice from the intercom, its owner seeming a little bit anxious to Zora’s ears.

  “It’s me Per…” Pericles made to answer, placing his mouth close to the receiver, but his sentence was cut short by the buzzing sound of the entrance door being unlocked and automatically opened. The both of them walked in and the door began to automatically close behind them. They walked upon the stone paved pathway snaking up the big, beautiful green yard, small electrical lamps here and there on each side of the aisle casting their white light so they could see where they were stepping. The long trail lead to a luxurious two story house colored white and red in different places. There were trees and bushes, trimmed properly though not excessively or to perfection, and some varieties of flowers that could resist the winter’s low temperatures; it seemed like come spring the place would be brimming with colors and pollen. They walked silently and at some point in the middle of the distance, there was a swimming pool emitting a faint blue light on the right side of the trail, as seen from her perspective that is. The pool was inside a glass tent that would protected the swimmers from the worst of the cold winter weather, the glass seemed like it could easily slide open to let the breeze flow through, making baths more enjoyable on the sunny hot weather that occupied Greece for the largest part of every year. No longer than fifteen meters away from the faintly light pool was a beautifully carved gazebo with green vines of jasmine twisting around beams and climbing up and around its sides and roof, there were no buds on the plant at this time of year, but come summer it would fill the air with its pleasant fragrance. There was a big wooden table with wooden reclining chairs accompanied by comfy looking red pillows for protecting one’s bum from soreness.

  A yellow set of small round eyes appeared suddenly from under the table on the gazebo, the eyes reflecting the small amount of light originating from the light sources all around the estate. The eyes suddenly rose, reaching a height of less than a meter from the surface of the elevated gazebo floor. They darted towards Zora and Pericles in great speed, the action accompanied by heavy panting sounds and nails scraping on the gazebo’s wooden floor and then the stones of the trail. Pericles tossed the heavy shield on the dewy lawn along with the extra leather
duster he was carrying and less than half a second later he was lying next to them as the heavy black dog with the creepy devil like yellow eyes and the floppy cheeks landed with its front paws on top of Pericles’s thorax, tossing him on the ground. It started licking his face with its saliva dripping tongue as if the dog had spent the weekend in a dry dessert without shadow or a trace of water and Pericles’ face was the life-saving cold stream of iced tea.

  There was a sharp, loud whistling sound. It was most likely intended to grab the attention of the happily prancing, salivating dog, but it swept everyone up along the way and they all turned their gaze towards the producer of the piercing sound at about the same time. There was a man standing before the heavy wooden door of the house, the strong light coming from the room behind his back making him appear as a tall shadowy form. His hands inside the pockets of his pants, his limbs pressed tight to his body for preserving warmth since his clothing, even though not easily defined in the current lighting, was obviously no barrier for the piercing cold of the humid winter evening. The heavy dog lifted its large, thick, imposing head to look up towards the direction of the sound, its bat like cropped ears twitching lightly. It started wagging its short tail even harder, it launched off Pericles’s chest and started running up the white marble stairs to prance about and rub its heavy head softly against the man’s hip, probably its master, while he was giving it a good rub between the ears.

  Pericles stood slowly, rolling first to his knees so he could lift himself up using mainly his back and legs, putting as little stress as he could to his injured abs. Zora sighed and gathered the heavy shield and the piece of leather from the ground and held it lightly against her hip, resting her elbow on the rim while Pericles was wiping the sheet of saliva that was covering his face, making a grimace of disgust that was accompanied by a smile in his eyes. His leather duster had turned from clean leathery black to leathery black with muddy paw prints on the front and black with greenish stains on the back, a gift from the moist blades of grass he squashed with his fall. Pericles made a motion to take the shield and duster back from her but Zora refused “It is ok, I already picked them up. I might as well carry them a few paces to the house.”