Deadliest of the Species

by Michael Oliveri

  “They killed Jack,” Gus said suddenly. The abruptness of the statement hit both Bart and Tim like a hammer blow. “Strung him up from the church steeple and left him for the birds.”

  “Oh, God,” Bart said, near tears. He felt fully responsible for the young boy, the second friend he got killed in just two days. Regret immediately set in, and he could not help but wonder how many more people the witches would kill as a result of the fire.

  Tim somehow found his shoulder in the dark and grasped it firmly. “He knew it came with the territory. You said so yourself.”

  “But he was just a kid!”

  “He took his chances.”

  Bart turned and reached for Tim’s shirt, intending to grab it and pull him up close, but in the dark he missed and shoved Tim hard in the shoulder. He hit the wall with a thud, jarring his head a bit, and Bart stepped in close. “Two people just got killed you son of a bitch! They were my friends! The least you could do is have some fucking respect, especially since they died because of you!”

  Tim barely held his ire in check. “You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” he hissed. “There was nobody holding a gun to your head, either. You could have sent me on my way in that cave, and I promise you, whatever I had to face out there, I never would have looked back. But I’ve been through too much to not at least try to regain some of my own dignity, and if I could help you guys out in the meantime, so much the better! Hell, back in the cave, you guys were all militant and rarin’ to go! You had to have known people were going to die. It’s to be expected. Are you tellin’ me you’re going to back out now because you weren’t ready for it yet?”

  Bart still pressed Tim to the wall with his left hand and cocked back his right fist. His rage screamed for him to smash Tim’s nose in, but he hesitated as Tim’s words took effect. He knew he was right, but God damn it, how could they be expected to go on if the witches took everybody out? He allowed his fist to fall as hopelessness took over.

  “Look,” Tim said in a lighter tone, feeling Bart’s hand relax and fall away. He barely made out Gus’s shape in the darkness, and wondered briefly what went through the old guy’s head. “We’ve already set things in motion. If you want to try to back out now, I’ll see if Steve’s up to it.”

  Bart stood there, silently, and for a second Tim thought Bart would take the opportunity to do just that.

  “No,” Bart replied softly, though his voice took on a stronger note. “You’re right. It’s too late to back out. If I try to go home like nothing happened, I’m a dead man.”

  “Sorry to cause so much commotion,” Gus mumbled, “but, uh, what was it you guys wanted tonight?”

  “We’re setting up a town meeting,” Bart told him. “Just like the old days.”

  Gus’s teeth gleamed in the sparse light leaking in through the apartment window. “Back in action, eh? About time. What do you need me to do?”

  “You need to be the town crier. Spread the word. I think you know all the right people. Tell them to be at the church at nine o’clock. I imagine they’ll know what to expect.”

  “Yeah, I should think so. Why so early? Aren’t you worried they’ll bust it up?”

  “We do it that early and we can excuse it as a prayer meeting. Maybe a power restoration committee. Whatever the case, they’ll be a lot more suspicious if we hold it at midnight. Get it?”

  Tim cried out suddenly and hit the floor. He rolled to one side, clutching at his groin.

  “What is it?” Bart asked, dropping to one knee.

  “Fucking bitch,” he said through clenched teeth and between gasps. “She’s doing it again.”

  “What’s happening?” Gus asked, alarmed. He peered out the window urgently, looking to see which of the witches could be standing on his front porch.

  “You don’t want to know.” Bart pulled Tim’s arm around his shoulders and helped him to his feet. “C’mon Tim. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Where are you guys staying?” Gus asked as Bart pulled the door open with his free hand.

  “In the caves. But don’t come out there unless it’s a real emergency! They have to be watching everyone previously involved in the fighting by now.”

  * * *

  Something shook Alexandra roughly from her meditation. When she fully gathered her wits, she found herself in total darkness, her candle having burned itself out some time ago. She felt more than saw the two shapes flanking her, and dimly recognized them as the twins. “What is it?” she demanded. She allowed one of them to help her to her feet, then massaged her sore bottom.

  “Your estranged roommate has burned down the power station,” came from her left.

  “The entire town’s in darkness, Gretchen and the others are there now,” from her right.

  “That bastard!” she said sharply. “No doubt Bart’s hand is in this, too. He would know full well the effects it would have on the town.”

  Alexandra turned to the cabinet behind her and retrieved a candle and a ringed candle sconce. She whispered softly and rubbed her thumb and forefinger across the wick once. The flame rose when she removed her fingers, filling the room with its dim light. She then went out into the hall and downstairs, the twins on her heels.

  “What do you want to do?” Cassandra asked.

  “I want them found immediately and strung up by their balls.” Her tone said she meant it literally. A brief worry for the safety of herself and her soon-to-be-born child flitted through her mind, and she glanced out the window to be sure her guards remained in place. The irony of how the guards who once kept Tim inside the house now kept him out was not lost on her.

  The twins watched her sit down at the dining room table. They glanced at one another uncertainly.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” Alexandra snapped. “Get going!”

  The two women stepped back in surprise, then turned and left swiftly. After they disappeared, Alexandra grasped the fetish dangling from her neck and sent a fierce pulse of power through it. A moment later, she sent another.

  “Father of the child or not, I’m going to cripple you,” she said to the empty kitchen. “Then when they bring you back here the real fun will start.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Getting back to the cave proved a tremendous effort for Tim, and even then the intense pain prevented him from climbing as deep into the caves as they would normally consider safe. While Tim tried to find a comfortable spot on the rock, Bart did his best to cover the cave opening once more. He threw dirt back over the top of the boards by sticking one hand through the narrow gap and hoped it would be enough. He eased the boards to the front of the opening, praying the remaining gap between the last board and the rock wall looked natural.

  They both had trouble getting to sleep, Tim from the pain and Bart from listening to Tim’s groans and sympathizing for him. At one point, after Bart finally fell sleep, Tim gathered the courage to take down his pants and examine himself under the flashlight. There did not appear to be any physical damage or bruising, but he still felt like something clamped onto his testicles and refused to let go. At last, nearly an hour later, the intense pain relented and left behind a steady ache. Uncomfortable, but light enough that he could fall asleep at last.

  Tim woke the next morning to find Bart slicing cheese and meat in the narrow sunbeam leaking through the gap in the camouflaging boards. The pain in his groin abated completely, leaving a slight swollen sensation. Apparently his pain outlasted Alexandra’s patience.

  He stood and stretched, yawning noisily. “Morning, Bart.”

  “Morning. But just barely. It’s getting close to noon.”

  “Yow. I never thought I could sleep so long on rocks.”

  “Well, we did have quite a night. Here, eat something.” He held a sandwich out to Tim.

  Tim accepted it and took a bite. It tasted dry but at least it would be filling. “Why not make some of those eggs? Or the soup?”

  Bart sighed. “Believe me, I was tempted. But,
I got to thinking it would be best if we didn’t cook anything. Especially this close to the cave entrance. Any search parties catch a whiff of cooking, it won’t take ’em long to track us down.”

  Tim only sighed in response. He finished the sandwich, then crawled a little deeper into the cave to wash the meal down with stagnant water. When he returned, he found Bart looking up at the cave entrance. He urgently waved for Tim to be silent. With his other hand, he pointed his pistol up toward the surface.

  Tim listened intently but heard nothing. It could not have been easy for Bart to camouflage the cave entrance last night, especially from the inside. It just now sunk in that there must be a gap up there somewhere, otherwise there would not have been any sunlight streaming in. Sebastian already checked out the sinkhole once. Had he returned? And would he be a little more thorough in his examination this time, now that this hole suddenly appeared?

  The seconds ticked on, and still Tim heard nothing. He could not see any movement at the cave entrance, and though he expected the boards to be suddenly torn away, it never happened. Unable to take the suspense any longer, he crept over to Bart’s side. “What is it?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Bart replied.

  Tim stepped into the cave entrance and looked up through the hole. The angle and the boards severely limited his range of vision, but still he saw nothing up there. Deciding to take a chance, he propped one board up an inch and looked again. He quickly scanned the slope and the ridge at the surface, then crouched back down. “There’s nobody out there, man.”

  Bart stood down at last and tucked his pistol back into his belt. “Must be getting jittery.”

  “Getting paranoid in your old age, buddy?” He clapped Bart on the shoulder.

  “Guess so,” the man muttered.

  “Hey, relax man. I was just kidding. Besides, better safe than sorry, right?”

  Bart shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m just so tired, you know? Up here.” He tapped a forefinger to his temple.

  “Well, here. Let’s get in a little deeper and I’ll make us some real food. We’re going to have another long night tonight, so you may as well try to get some more rest.”

  Tim gathered their meager supplies and hauled the backpack over his shoulder, then held the camp stove out to Bart. He accepted it reluctantly and followed Tim deeper into the passages. It did not take them long to reach the relatively flat area where they spent the first night, and Tim realized he already began to learn his way through this section of passages. It was not all that difficult, as he mostly followed the slope and kept moving to the right. There were enough side tunnels, however, that if anyone else came down looking for them it would be a hell of a time checking all the branches out.

  Tim set up the camp stove and started frying up some eggs. He heard Bart grunting softly behind him as he tried to get comfortable. By the time Tim finished cooking, Bart snored softly in the corner. Tim shrugged, then happily ate Bart’s share of the eggs.

  The rest of the day passed slowly, and despite much tossing and turning, Bart slept through the afternoon. He never told Tim he barely slept a few hours last night, mostly because he did not feel safe so close to the cave’s entrance. Now, deeper inside with Tim keeping watch, he felt safe enough to get some rest.

  Unfortunately, that rest did not extend to his dreams. He continually dreamed of demons and witches torturing him, unsettling nightmares brutal enough to make his rest uneasy, but not quite traumatic enough to wake him.

  Tim woke Bart just after seven, just as the sun dropped below the horizon. “Time to get up. We need to get out to the church.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah. You slept most of the day.”

  Bart was shaky as he got to his feet, and he wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

  “Are you okay?” Tim asked. Bart stumbled, and Tim grabbed his arm to steady him.

  “I’m fine. Just a little disoriented, that’s all.”

  “Do you want to wait here?”

  Bart pulled his arm away and took a few steps to refamiliarize himself with the laws of gravity that seemed to abandon him a moment ago. “Then what? You don’t know any of the guys. You think you’ll be able to convince them to take any action?”

  “Good point. You want to take another minute?”

  “No, I’m ready to go.”

  By the time they emerged from the cave the sun set and the moon cast its glow into the valley. Normally a haze of light from the streetlamps and homes in town would be visible over the trees, but without power all the two men could see was total darkness. A lack of night sounds made it all the more eerie for Tim. Apparently, crickets never migrated across the desert. Even the rattlesnakes chose to remain silent. Tim wondered if the animals sensed the tension of the coming events, and it spooked them into silence. That, or maybe the witches blasted all life out of the valley, an exercise in overkill to be sure the veil of death fell over Tim and Bart.

  “Best not to think like that,” Tim whispered to himself.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Just talking to myself.” He paused at the lip of the sinkhole and examined the tree line. Seeing nobody, he clambered up over the edge and waited for Bart to cover the hole and catch up. “We better hurry, or we’ll be late.”

  The duo moved through the trees at a brisk trot, at the same time doing their best to keep low. Off to their left a rattlesnake sounded its warning, reassuring Tim that life indeed still existed within the confines of the cliffs. As before, Bart kept one hand hovering over his pistol.

  When they got to town they changed course and moved around the perimeter, keeping their exposure on the streets to a minimum. Before long they arrived at the cornfield where Tim spent his third night in town. They cut straight through the middle, occasionally glancing over at the farmhouse.

  Tim remembered Steve’s comment about watching him from the window the day he shot the woman in the leg and considered going over to the house to get Steve. Then he remembered they were not on a simple social call, and Steve undoubtedly would find his own way to the church. He also knew he would feel pretty damn stupid if he knocked on the door and Steve’s mother answered.

  When they reached the opposite edge of the cornfield they stopped to check out the streets. The moonlight revealed enough to show the road running parallel to the field was clear, but the dark streetlamps and the trees blocking out most of the moonlight made it impossible to be sure the streets leading into town and toward the church were clear. All they knew for sure was, at the moment, no cars came their way. Bart and Tim discussed it briefly.

  “We’ve got five minutes,” Bart whispered between gasps of breath. “We’ve got to chance it sometime.”

  They broke cover together, sprinting across the moonlit street and doing their best to fade into the relative darkness of the street ahead. Candles burned in a few windows, but near as they could tell there was nobody spotted them. Unfortunately, there were more than enough hiding places for unseen eyes to be watching them. They felt like mice in the cat’s home.

  An appropriate analogy, Tim thought, considering how the witches used felines as their eyes.

  Two blocks ahead a car pulled up to the corner and stopped at the sign. The turn signal blinked in their direction. “Fuck,” Tim cursed, weighing his options. A large tree grew in the yard to his right, and hedgerows bordered each side of the next yard ahead.

  “C’mon,” he whispered harshly. He ran and dove for the bushes. He pushed himself as deep as possible between the leaves and the ground, enduring the many branches and twigs pricking at his back and side.

  Bart reacted slower, but insinuated himself into position just behind Tim. His broader build afforded him less cover, forcing him to count on his dark clothing to camouflage him. Just in case, he withdrew his pistol and held it ready, concealing it beneath his chest to prevent the stainless finish from gleaming in the passing headlights.

  Had Tim been in L.A., he would have t
hought the car cruising by slowly set itself up for a drive-by shooting. With the witches, it probably amounted to about the same thing. As the headlights cleared the hedgerow he buried his face to prevent his pale flesh from showing in contrast to the darkness around him. The car motored along quietly, but with its slow passage he could swear it bore down directly on him. Chills ran down his spine. He fought the temptation to lift his head and take a look to be sure.

  The car stopped suddenly, giving a barely audible squeak of its brakes as indication. Tim froze, and prayed Bart would not get spooked. A muffled click sounded behind him. Bart must have cocked his pistol.

  Suddenly the horn sounded, the driver giving two short, loud beeps and nearly startling Tim out of his skin. With great effort he controlled his flight instincts. At his feet could feel the hedges moving as Bart shifted position. Sweat trickled down his cheek. He waited for a gunshot. Fortunately, it seemed Bart managed to keep a grip on his impulses.

  The horn sounded again, this time ending with a longer note. What are they doing? Tim wondered.

  Behind them the front door of the house opened and closed. Swift footsteps clattered down the porch stairs and pattered down the walk.

  “About time!” a woman’s voice called through an open car window. The knot in Tim’s stomach tightened.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” the woman on the walk called back. She stopped suddenly. “Wait, hold on a second.”

  Oh, shit, Tim thought. She sees us! He felt Bart moving behind him again, probably getting ready to shoot her if it came to that.

  “What is it?” a voice from the car asked.

  One of the car doors opened. “Come on! What are you doing?” called another.

  “Just hold on!” the woman on the walk called. She stood directly off Tim’s left shoulder. If the moonlight or the headlights were just right, she would be able to see his pale face and neck, if not his clothing. He thought about turning his head but feared the motion would draw her attention. Or perhaps she would see Bart’s silvery gray hair shining in the darkness, or the slight movement as Bart shifted his aim. Time seemed to stop suddenly, only his heartbeat hammering out its own pace.