The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  “Ain’t no friends in this game—bitch.”

  As soon as the words escaped his mouth a vast cavern opened between dimensions, sucking Yonnie and Tara into it. Carlos stepped over the threshold of the yawn in the side of the building, looked back at the motionless pedestrians, and closed it behind him with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s go back in time to get this straight.”

  Tara clung to Yonnie in the middle of the deserted wood clearing.

  “This is why you have to establish your authority from the door!” Carlos bellowed, paralyzing Yonnie and yanking Tara from Yonnie’s side by her hair as she fought against his hold. “You can’t have this bullshit, man. Unless you kick their ass good once, they don’t respect you.”

  “Yo, Carlos, for real, man, stop playing,” Yonnie said, trying to break the force around him to no avail. “This is Tara, man. Tara!”

  “Like that means some shit? I ain’t deaf and I know this bitch’s name,” Carlos said, teasing Yonnie as he gripped Tara’s hair harder. “But you never laid down the law with her, never did her right, never put down your territorial marker, so I’ll show you how. Then don’t you ever act like no punk in my presence again. Understood?”

  “Let go of me!” Tara screamed, twisting and hissing, her claws digging into Carlos’s hand as her fangs tried to score any flesh on him they could. “You’re mad! Completely insane. Get off of me!”

  “Let her go, man!” Yonnie hollered, still fighting the paralyzing hold.

  Carlos held her jaw, deflecting her missed kicks and punches. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, “but too old to be behaving like this.”

  “Stop,” she said, sobbing. “Don’t do this.”

  “Man, for real,” Yonnie said, his eyes blazing solid red and full battle-bulk consuming his paralyzed frame. “I will never forgive you for this.”

  “Good,” Carlos said, ripping the front of Tara’s leather suit away as he stared at Yonnie. “Now you’re starting not to sound like a punk.” He smiled. “Feel it. Embrace it. Then detach from the emotion so you can do what you’ve gotta do.”

  Carlos spun and caught one of Tara’s stray punches, and snapped her wrist. Her scream rent the air; Yonnie cringed and growled. With a glance Carlos burned the remainder of her clothes away and ignored her screams, then body-slammed her to the ground and used a black current to open her thighs as he loomed above her. “You have to train them to obey your command like you’d train a dog. Use simple commands to let them know what disobedience can cost. Brother, you’ve got to say what you mean and mean what you say when—”

  Carlos’s head jerked up as Yonnie sent a weak current through his black-force hold. The impact was like a hard slap, but didn’t faze him. “Your ass must be really salty and really crazy, hombre. But that’s a good thing.”

  “Me and you, motherfucker! Let her go, and we do this to ash!”

  “Now, see, this time when you called me a motherfucker, I wasn’t feeling no love. It’s all about tone, vibe, attitude,” Carlos said. “And this ain’t even a throat-mate that obeys. You sure you wanna take her place?”

  “Do it. Let her go,” Yonnie hollered.

  “No,” Tara yelled, her eyes narrowed on Carlos. “He’ll kill you, and it’s not worth it. Let him finish, and we’ll be gone, Yonnie.” She looked at Yonnie, her eyes filled with tears as her voice cracked and became a mere whisper. “Please. Don’t provoke him further. Let him finish. We’ll both survive.”

  “This is what I was trying to show you. A lair mate, at Secondgen, elevated by your own bite, should be ready to take the stake, a beat down, what-the-fuck-eva you say her ass should take, even the goddamned sun, to save your ass. She should fear your wrath above anything else. Now, girlfriend is clear.”

  Carlos looked down at Tara, shook his head, and returned his scorching gaze to Yonnie, making his chest sizzle as he spoke. “Your heart should be made of steel. No tail should make you go against your boyz and act stupid. You don’t allow worrying over no dumb bitch to get in the way of real bizness. If this one dies, you go make another one. And the very last person you ever fuck with is me. We straight, holmes?” Carlos pointed at Tara in a hard snap and released her. “She’s real clear now. Are you?”

  Tara scrambled to Yonnie’s side, her broken wrist immobile as she clung to him. “Stand down, Yonnie,” she begged when Yonnie’s fangs didn’t retract and his battle bulk didn’t give way. “The wrist is nothing. It’ll regenerate after we feed. Don’t provoke him. He’s crazy, infected, something—I don’t know, honey, don’t do it.”

  “See how she’s begging you to chill for your own good—that’s what I’m talking about. She senses imminent danger, was ready to take the weight, and is very right. I am in a very dangerous mood tonight. Women know these things. Listen to your mate.” Carlos began walking in a circle around Yonnie. “She senses the potential end of your existence, if you don’t bulk the fuck down now. She oughta beg for dick like that, too, man, if we’re being honest. But hey, what can I say. I’m on a time frame, and don’t have time to show you how to do all that tonight.”

  Yonnie snarled. Carlos sighed and shook his head as he glimpsed Tara.

  “He’s still fuzzy about how this all goes,” Carlos said, his voice dropping a decibel. “He ain’t sure, ain’t made up his mind as to what should be instinct, a reflex decision.” Carlos snapped his fingers and blew Tara ten feet away to land in a crumpled thud, and then released Yonnie.

  Instantly, Yonnie took flight and lunged like a beast that had popped its choker chain. Carlos’s massive wings ripped through his suit as he met Yonnie in the air, seized his throat, and slammed him to the ground.

  Huge iron shackles formed around Yonnie’s wrists as he tried to stand, dazed from the impact. Tara screamed and rushed forward, but was forced to fall back as a huge redwood tree came up from the earth beneath Yonnie’s chest, plowing up dirt and stones, scraping the flesh from his torso as massive chains tied him to its trunk and raised him a hundred feet from the ground.

  Airborne again, Carlos hovered behind Yonnie, his tail cracking from his elongated spine, stretching away from his body and returning to Yonnie’s back in a razor-edged bullwhip that sliced skin from bone each time it connected. The sound of lightning strikes echoed into the night with each torturous whip of Carlos’s tail. A long wail of agony followed the sound into the darkness with every pain-filled lash.

  Yonnie’s claws dug into the tree. Tara screamed out from the ground, circling the base of it with her one undamaged hand reaching upward toward her dying partner.

  “No, I beg you,” she shrieked trying to climb to greet the assault. “Don’t do that to him—he trusted you with that information! Not from the plantation days, do not take him there,” she sobbed. Her shrieks became high-pitched sonar as she circled the tree, screeching obscenities. “He’ll go mad. You bastard! He trusted you with that pain within him. He trusted you to show you his darkest fear! How could you? I’ll take whatever punishment, but don’t do that to him!”

  “See,” Carlos said, delivering another lash. “She said she’d take whatever for you, man. You owe me for teaching your woman this very valuable lesson. No pain, no gain.”

  “Please stop,” Tara sobbed, her words dissolving as she turned her head away. “Even among our own kind, this is …”

  She crumbled into a heap on the ground and covered her head as Yonnie’s wails continued to fill the sky, turning from curses and growls to howls, to pleads, to sobs as his tattered flesh left crushed vertebrae exposed.

  “I keep trying to tell you both, I’m not your kind, so stop fucking with me!” Winded, Carlos lowered the tree to become a tall post and he glanced down at Tara with disgust. “I should fuck him in the ass, too, for making me have to go there—but he’s crying like a little bitch so bad, he’s taken all the fun out of it.”

  Tara jumped up and gently lifted Yonnie’s head, trying to cradle it as she stood on her tiptoes to reach him. Carlos snapped and stood b
ack, watching the pair as Yonnie slid to the ground with a thud, and Tara covered his body, baring fangs.

  “You’ve nearly bled him out,” she said seething. “He’s no longer conscious.”

  “Then do what you know you’re supposed to do, bitch.” Carlos began gathering a storm cloud around him. “Tend to your man.”

  “He’ll die!” she screamed, sobbing and jumping up to run behind Carlos’s evaporating form.

  “Then go kill a human, get a full grub on, and feed the poor bastard.”

  “You going out with your boy tonight?” Rider said discreetly as he ordered another ginger ale.

  Carlos shook his head and took another huge bite from his burger. “No. I’ma put a little distance between us until after we go to Tibet.”

  “Seems like we’re in the same boat, then,” Rider said nodding, and rejoining the conversation around him. “Wise choice.”

  Carlos kept his attention on Damali as their team ate. On the surface, everything seemed normal. The team was laughing, joking, everybody was talking at once down the tables that had been pushed together in the restaurant to accommodate their large party. But Damali’s eyes had avoided his all evening. Her smile seemed forced, and although she participated in the dinner conversation, she seemed more quiet than usual. He could tell her thoughts were a million miles away, even though she kept up a good front. He glanced at Marlene, who issued him a look of concern, but it wasn’t a judgmental glance; it was something mellow and quiet that said there’s trouble in paradise, but it ain’t my business. He liked that about Mar. She was cool to the bone. Wise.

  He and Damali could talk privately later. His baby had been through a lot, just like he had. Carlos took another bite of his burger, wondering what on earth could have Damali feeling and acting this way.

  “You see this shit, Marj?” Berkfield said, sitting up in bed and flipping through all the cable news channels in a blur. “Father Patrick and Kamal told us right. It’s like the world has gone crazy. People are definitely possessed. The types of killings … a mother cut off her infant’s arms? What the hell, Marj! Even if we do close the portals, the insanity that still has to be cleaned up after, you know, hon? The baby is still dead, like how many others?”

  Berkfield’s palm slid over his balding scalp. “I been a cop for a lot of years, and seen a lot of sick shit, honey. But every day, things are getting worse—like this infection is beyond anything we could ever comprehend. I used to ask myself, where do these animals come from? I don’t feel better now that I know. I almost turned into one and shot a Guardian and my own daughter. I’m scared. What if we fail?”

  When she remained still without answers, he clicked off the television with an angry snap and searched his wife’s face for understanding. “You and I, the kids, and this whole crew have seen entities slither up from Hell, and oddly, I’ve sorta made my peace with that—because there was a separation, a line between human and demon. But even in broad daylight, I can’t make out the difference anymore … and that frightens me more than whatever bears fangs.”

  “I know, I know,” Marjorie finally said, beginning to walk in a distressed circle as she fidgeted with her nightgown strap. “Just knowing that there are actually demons is bad enough…. Now people are turning into beasts?” She spun and looked at her husband. Panic hitched her voice. “How do we raise children in a world like this? A mother did this to her child, Richard. She cut off her baby’s arms because she claimed she was depressed? Dear God. Will we get like that in less than thirty days? Will our children ax murder us? I’m so scared, Richard, I can hardly breathe.”

  Marjorie stopped pacing and stared at her husband, stricken, as he came to her and held her. Everything was so strange and different in her life, and that he’d also subtly changed was both unnerving, yet also exciting. During the past six months he’d lost his beer belly and his body had hardened under the exercise and rigors of team life. But it was his eyes. They no longer contained the dispassionate malaise of a man who hated his job and was clocking time until his pension kicked in.

  No. This Richard Berkfield was different. Despite all the horrors, she’d watched her husband come alive. He now looked forward to each day, felt deeply about the things he saw, and seemed to believe in something greater than himself again. He’d lost the jaded edge and found something beyond the mundane to give him purpose. As she filled his arms and felt his body stir, she remembered his toned, stocky build, broad square shoulders, perpetual tan from walking a beat, and how handsome he’d been when they’d first met … all that was back again, except his sandy brown hair, but she could live without that. What she held in her arms was a gift, and she appreciated how handsome he’d become from the inner fire of contributing to something great.

  She touched his rugged cheek and gazed into his eyes, marveling at the transformation that she’d almost missed. No matter what was going on in the world or how their lives had changed, she was quietly glad that he had come back to life.

  “At first, I thought it was imagination that things were getting worse,” she said in a faraway, quiet voice as she buried her face against his shoulder and breathed hard. “On every channel there were horrible acts of cruelty being committed, but I didn’t want to believe anything else was wrong…. After Philadelphia, I just couldn’t take it. The weather was weird, natural disasters were everywhere. Hurricanes, floods, earthquakes … and the wars … terrorism. Even the church has sickness … young boys, to this degree? It wasn’t just one priest in one parish.” She covered her face and began to quietly weep as her husband kissed her temple hard and just rubbed her back. “I kept saying, things will be all right. Now I know they won’t be. We’re all losing our minds.”

  Marlene sat on the bed in her room, staring at multiple newspapers and then looked up at Shabazz. Quiet tension still strangled their relationship, but what she was witnessing went beyond that. “Baby, I know people have been crazy for a long time, but the type of brutality going on now seems … I can’t even describe it. Father Patrick tried to warn us, we braced ourselves, but even I’m not ready for this.” She stared at him. “That’s all he was trying to tell us,” she added quietly, also saying everything and nothing about the Kamal subject that was still too hot to touch.

  Shabazz nodded and kept his gaze out toward the marina, holding the doorframe with outstretched hands. “It’s day and night, now. Our Neterus got most of the seriously lethal vampires, and only lower gens are still skulking around, but it feels like something has kicked up a notch in addition to the contagion. The stars say anything to you, baby?” He let the reference go. Some things couldn’t be discussed until time had passed.

  He turned to look at Marlene when she didn’t respond, his eyes filled with pain. “I keep asking the Almighty, why? What’s our purpose, now? Are we making any kind of real inroad? Then the contagion was added to this insanity. We’d slay demon after demon, win battles, and then there was always still more … like we were all trying to clear a beach of sand using a teaspoon. Then it got to the point where I couldn’t read the papers anymore, baby. I could hardly watch the news. It took my mind and my spirit to somewhere so dark that …” his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, and then closed the French doors as though shutting out the world. “Now, if we don’t close those portals, we’ll be the same horror we used to fight.”

  Marlene shoved the newspapers off the bed and patted the covers gently, inviting him to lie next to her. She waited until he sat down and then pulled him against her in a gentle hug. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Just hang on to me tonight and don’t let me fly away.”

  “Then don’t leave me tonight for him … even in your dreams,” he whispered back thickly.

  Her body tensed for a moment and then relaxed. Their eyes met. He knew, and was beyond cool. That was Shabazz; she would have never expected less from him. The master of Zen cool. Was she mad? This was her man, her life partner, and she’d almost gone too far.

  His eyes had held hurt
, worry, and stress had permeated the air around him as he’d neared her. Tears rose to her eyes as she absorbed the doubt-filled expression on his regal, African-featured face. His strength was a mask, just like it was a part of his DNA, but she knew he was quietly bleeding inside.

  She loved him so much that her fingers reached out and trembled as they stroked the smooth line of his jaw. A pair of dark brown eyes searched hers, intensely burning with unspoken questions as they looked into hers for answers. She would give him balm and so much more … not just because he deserved it, but because she loved him to the depth of her soul. There were things that they’d shared that no one would ever know or be able to understand. He was also her friend.

  Warm, dark, walnut-hued skin slid beneath her palm as he hugged her, and her hands traced the steel sinew beneath it that made his every fluid movement graceful. As he lay beside her, he stared at her as her hands worked to remove the heavy burden. She kept her gaze on his toned but weary muscles, watching them as she kneaded his shoulders, his strength-conditioned arms, every defined section of his abdominals clenching as he settled back against the pillows, his thighs and buttocks seemingly cut from sculptured granite. She kissed the wisps of gray that had come into his locks at his temples, and he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I would never disrespect you like that.”

  He rubbed her back and pressed her head against his shoulder. Then he kissed her temple. “I won’t let you go, either,” he murmured. “Not in the end of days.”

  Carlos sat on the edge of the bed, his attention glued to the television as he endlessly flipped channels. Oddly, the side of his neck tingled where he remembered he’d been given an invisible tattoo.

  “Damali, is it me, or does it seem like things are getting real bad, faster than the thirty days Father Pat had talked about?” He looked up at her, and hesitated.