Deadliest of the Species

by Michael Oliveri

  Now he paid the price.

  No matter. He was not about to stand around and whine about it like humans so often do. He hurried back towards Alexandra’s house. The women in the back yard stood in a loose group, idly staring into the trees or prodding at patches of grass with their toes.

  “Ladies. Did you hear the shots?”

  They glanced at one another, all at a loss for something to say. One of them shrugged slightly to the others.

  He sighed in exasperation. “There was gunfire not far from here. Be ready for them,” he told them as he moved for the back door.

  “But, they don’t have guns,” one of the women said.

  He backhanded her as he passed her, knocking her to the ground. She clutched at her face, her eyes brimming with tears, blood trickling from her lip. “Obviously they do,” he snarled. “Now stand up.”

  She did as he commanded, taking deep breaths to control herself. She struggled not to pout. Sebastian reached out and rubbed a finger across her lip, sealing the wound with a bit of applied magic.

  “Next time I’ll break your jaw and leave it to set naturally. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now be ready.” He continued toward the house and its dark interior. Alexandra came to the door, followed by Gretchen.

  “The twins are dead,” Alexandra said grimly. “I felt it.”

  “There were gunshots. Several of them. Stay inside and be ready.” Strange, he thought, that he did not feel their deaths himself. While he expected Alexandra to be close to the other witches, he always did his best to keep tight bonds on those women who rose higher in the order.

  Again, a thought for another day. Alexandra hobbled back into the darkness, aided slightly by her friend. He knew the baby would come soon. It could be disastrous if she were to go into labor in the midst of the fighting.

  He made sure the three women in the front yard were prepared and warned them of the gunshots as well. Fortunately, they took the news more seriously than their companions in the back yard. He wondered briefly about sending one of the women to get help, but that would be one less pair of eyes, one less spellcaster, to protect the baby. He settled into the cover of several trees on the far side of the house to wait.

  * * *

  The fighting near the alcove had hardly begun as Lucas pulled over to the curb at the end Alexandra’s street. He turned off the headlights a few minutes ago to mask their approach, and too care not to rev the engine as they coasted to a halt.

  Lucas and Archer reloaded their weapons and each stuffed a few extra rounds into their pockets. “How do you guys want to do this?” Lucas asked.

  “We separate,” Bart suggested. “Two of us hit the side, two of us hit the front from across the street. All at the same time.”

  Tim checked his weapon and sighed. Four bullets left. “Good idea. Me and Lucas will take the front of the house. Bart and Archer can hit the side. That way the shotgun is in close quick and has an angle on the front and back yards.”

  “You have military training?” Archer asked, impressed. He raised an eyebrow.

  “No. But I read a lot of books when I was a kid.”

  Archer’s expression soured. “So you’re saying you picked this up from fiction novels which could have been written by any schmuck who can sharpen a pencil?”

  Tim chuckled a bit at the analogy. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

  “It’s a sound strategy,” Bart said. “I have military training and I couldn’t have put it better. Let’s go.” He nodded briefly to Tim, then reached up and pulled the plastic cover down from the dome light and ripped out the bulb. When he saw the others looking at him he told them “No lights. And keep it quiet from here on in.”

  Archer and Lucas climbed out and opened the doors for Tim and Bart and they separated as they decided a moment ago. They moved slowly, all careful to stay low and to keep trees between their paths and their destination. The closer they got without being detected the better.

  Bart and Archer arrived first, settling down fifteen yards from the break in the trees. They stood directly beside the front yard, giving them a perfect sight on all three women standing out there. They saw one more pacing the back yard. Archer, crouching in the dirt and weeds, held his shotgun alongside his hip, its barrel pointed into the clearing. He checked the safety with his thumb and kept his finger on the trigger.

  Bart crouched down several feet away, his combat anxiety tying his guts in knots. Because he did not have a weapon, his only realistic was to move in behind Archer and try to watch his back. He sized up the women he could see, and judged he should be able to take them down just as he did the women in the caves. However, he doubted they would give him the chance to get that close, provided it was in their power to prevent it. And if Alexandra selected them to guard her home, it was likely they did.

  Across the street, Tim and Lucas moved a little deeper into the woods as they made the short trek up toward the house. They could just barely see the house through the trees until they arrived directly across the street, at which time they crawled in closer on their stomachs. They saw the three women guarding the front yard, all of whom kept a close eye on the street and the trees. Fortunately, for some reason, they did not appear to be paying a lot of attention to the tree line beside the house where Bart and Archer were hopefully already in position.

  “Remember, I only have a few shots,” Tim whispered. He peeled away a few leaves that stuck to the dried blood on his arms. He did not want them to be a distraction. “You’re going to have to cover me.”

  Lucas held his revolver up slightly. “Only six here. We go together.”

  Tim nodded. “You ready?”

  Lucas grinned. “No. But do I really have a choice?”

  “No.” Tim took a deep breath, let it out, and carefully thumbed the hammer back on his pistol. “Let’s do it!” He and Lucas leapt up together and hustled for the street, weapons raised.

  * * *

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” Gretchen said from Alexandra’s elbow.

  “I don’t need a nursemaid,” Alexandra said harshly as she made her way up the stairs.

  “Tough luck. You heard Sebastian. The men are close and they’re armed. I’m not leaving your side.”

  “Lucky me. Armed or not, we should be able to take them.”

  “Maybe so, but do you want to take the chance of catching a stray round through that beach ball you’re carrying under your shirt?”

  Alexandra fiddled with the fetish dangling beneath her throat. “No. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it come to that.”

  “Why not just use the fetish now? Slow his progress?”

  “It hasn’t done any good so far,” she replied, relieved as she reached the level floor at the top of the stairway. She considered using a little magic to give herself a lift but wanted to conserve her energy in the event the men attacked the house. “Besides, I think I want to see him squirm next time.”

  “Just don’t let your desire for revenge cloud your judgment,” Gretchen advised her sternly.

  Alexandra stopped to shoot her companion a hard look. “What do you think I am?” she sneered. “A man?”

  Gretchen shook her head. Alexandra had a flair for the melodramatic, and when she got on her feminine high horse it was damn tough to knock her off. The other witches always talked up the superiority of the female, which was fine, but Gretchen did not buy all of it. She decided, as usual, to let the comments go.

  Alexandra led the way into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She allowed Gretchen to help her ease back into the piled pillows. That done, Gretchen began to pace the length of the room.

  “Sit down,” Alexandra told her. “You’re going to make me nervous.”

  “Stop putting on airs, Alex,” Gretchen said, not bothering to look over at her. Because of it she missed Alexandra’s shocked expression. “I know damn well the last thing you want is them to charge in with their guns blazing, and I think it
’s high time you admitted it.”

  With that she stopped and stood at the foot of the bed, staring Alexandra down with her hands laced behind her back. Alexandra opened her mouth to speak, but Gretchen silenced her. “Shut up! Don’t let overconfidence be your downfall, like you preach to all the others! God damn it, those men have hurt us badly in just a few days! You can’t tell me you’re not concerned about their chances of winning this thing!”

  Alexandra felt her lip curl into a snarl of rage as she sat up straight. She pulled back one arm, her instinct telling her to summon up all the power she had and destroy Gretchen where she stood. In all the years she lived in Rapture, in all the time she led the witches to power, she had never been talked to like that by another woman, nor would she have condoned it. She turned any man that spoke to her like that into crow food.

  But she considered Gretchen, despite her words and beyond their relationship in the coven, a close friend. With no little effort she pulled in the reins of her anger and relaxed back into the pillows. Gretchen spoke the pure truth and Alexandra knew it. The men caused a lot of serious damage and it was downright embarrassing that the witches had not been able to track them down. Worse than that, when they finally were found, and only then as a result of a bumbling man rather than their skill, they got the best of six women.

  “Thanks,” Alexandra said bitterly. “I guess I needed that.”

  “What you needed was a good slap in the face,” Gretchen retorted with a faint smile. “But that would have been pushing it.”

  Alexandra did not return the grin. “Yes, it would.”

  Gretchen considered an appropriate response when the gunfire started. She ran for the front windows.

  * * *

  Tim barely reached the street when Lucas opened fire from over his shoulder. He fired three shots, at least one bullet catching one woman in the belly. She went down on her knees, clutching at her abdomen. As she collapsed onto her face, Archer opened up from cover, firing on the women coming running up from the back yard.

  One of the remaining two women out front settled into a defensive stance, gesticulating urgently with her hands. The hair on the back of Tim’s neck rose up as he stopped in the middle of the street, aimed, and squeezed the trigger twice. The woman’s head snapped back and she went down.

  Lucas shot the last woman. She went down and crawled for the front door, cradling one arm. He pulled the trigger again and the hammer came down on a spent cartridge. Archer burst out of the trees and turned toward the back yard. He fired, pumped, fired again, the butt of his weapon never leaving his shoulder as he sighted down the barrel. Screams erupted from the back yard.

  Lucas opened up the revolver’s cylinder and dumped the empty cartridges on the ground. They tinkled merrily at his feet as he reached into a pouch at his belt for more bullets.

  As Tim looked for any more guards he saw a bright flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. He looked up in time to see a ball of flame streaking toward him and he already felt its heat. He threw himself to the asphalt, landing hard on his elbow and skinning it as he rolled. The wave of heat washed across his side as the fireball struck the ground and burst. It exploded into a broad fan behind him. The charred asphalt sizzled as the flames faded. He continued his roll, coming to rest on one knee and aiming at the upstairs window from which the flame came.

  “Holy shit!” Lucas cried as the sheet of flames roared past his side. He fumbled as he reloaded and dropped a bullet on the ground. He quickly reached for another.

  Tim saw somebody standing in the window and fired. The pistol barked and bucked in his hand. The raised window pane shattered, splinters exploded from the window frame. The pistol’s slide locked back on the empty magazine. Still looking down the sight of the weapon, he saw his target disappeared. He could not be certain whether or not he nailed her.

  Archer shouted as he returned from the back yard, bellowing a triumphant yell. Lucas continued pressing shells into his revolver, muttering something about needing a speedloader. Bart leapt out of the trees and looked around.

  “Look out!” Bart shouted. He broke into a run, sprinting toward Tim.

  Tim looked to his right to see a large form bearing down on him. As the figure stepped out of the shade of the house the moonlight glimmered across his horns. The satyr’s hooves clopped noisily as he rushed onto the asphalt.

  Tim braced himself for the impact, barely aware of Lucas snapping the revolver’s cylinder back into place. The young sheriff screamed as he raised his pistol. He managed to get one shot off before the satyr conjured a ball of green flame into one hand and hurled it. Tim threw himself flat again and the ball whooshed over his head.

  It struck Lucas dead center in the chest. He went up like a flare, the green flame engulfing him completely. Almost instantly his flesh bubbled and burst, his screams cut off by the incineration of his throat and windpipe.

  A surge of panic overtook Tim as the satyr continued to advance on him, now scarcely six feet away. In the wash of green light from the burning sheriff he made out every detail of Sebastian’s malicious expression, right down to the foamy spittle flecking the corners of his mouth.

  Bart leapt in at the last second and tackled the satyr from the side. Both of them grunted and rolled to the ground. The shotgun roared again and Tim risked a brief glance to see Archer executed the woman crawling for the door. He pulled more shells out of his pocket and thumbed them into the shotgun.

  He glanced over his shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet. Lucas was beyond help, the charred mass of his body barely recognizable as human. Whatever force fueled the magical flame made it burn far hotter than any natural fire. The bullets in his revolver cooked off suddenly, its cylinder exploded with a bang. Shrapnel whined past Tim’s ear.

  “C’mon motherfucker!” Bart shouted. He had the satyr in an armlock and reached around the creature’s neck with his opposite arm. They both grunted in the effort against one another. “You Greeks invented wrestling!” Bart taunted. “You should be able to take an old fart like me!”

  Tim moved to help Bart, trying to figure out what to do without getting in the way. He kicked the satyr solidly in the ribs. Sebastian whuffed heavily, and Tim kicked him two more times. The hard sole of his boot did its work and he heard ribs crack with a satisfying crunch.

  “Go!” Bart shouted. “I’ll handle him!” Tim’s distraction allowed him to get the hold he needed. Sebastian tried to shout, but with Bart’s forearm locked around his throat it came out as a strangled bleat. Bart thought it a strangely appropriate sound for a man that was half goat to make.

  Somewhat satisfied that Bart had the situation in hand, Tim ran for the front of the house. He was halfway there when his body seized up on him. He found himself stranded in the front yard, his limbs rigid. Archer, who kicked open the front door and peered inside, looked back at him.

  “What are you doing?” Archer yelled. “Let’s go!”

  He dropped to his knees. His hands went to his neck of their own accord. His thumbs pressed hard into his throat. He could not pull them away, though he felt the strain of the muscles in his hands and arms as they tried to choke the life from him. His head pulled back and he stared up at the second floor.

  Alexandra stood in the window, her pale face showing easily against the darkness. Her dark lips twisted into a cold snarl. She held a small object out the window, as if lording it over his head, and he guessed it had to be the fetish she fashioned with his semen.

  He started to panic, trying to call out for help. At last Archer realized something was wrong and he stepped away from the stoop. He saw Alexandra up there and took aim up at the window.

  She looked down at Archer just as he fired, her mouth going into a round O of shock. She ducked back an instant too late and the cluster of buckshot ripping through her arm. Just before he fell forward, gulping down air and massaging his throat, Tim saw the fetish fly apart into dust and fragments. He heard Alexandra screaming in pain and rage an i
nstant later.

  Archer came to his side and helped him to his feet. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said between breaths. Looking back toward the street, he saw the struggle between Bart and Sebastian continued. Archer took a step toward them but Tim grabbed his arm. “No, let’s finish her off before she can come at us again.”

  Archer nodded and moved for the door. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder as he walked. Tim moved behind him carefully, stepping over the woman Archer executed. He noted Alexandra’s screams stopped. The living room was empty, and there was no sign of movement in the dining room or on the stairs. Hurriedly they moved for the steps and began the ascent.

  * * *

  Bart felt his muscles slipping and his strength waning rapidly. His left arm started going numb. His spectacular endurance made him a great wrestler in his youth, but age and relative inactivity took its toll. While he had the upper hand in terms of speed and skill, it grew painfully obvious Sebastian would take him in the long run, as the satyr’s struggles showing no sign of weakening.

  Seconds later Sebastian broke Bart’s hold on him and freed his arms. Bart quickly grabbed Sebastian around the abdomen, locking his hands and driving the satyr toward the ground with his chest. Sebastian cried out at the pressure on his broken ribs, but nevertheless got one hoof against the street. Using that new leverage he stood, broke Bart’s new hold, and seized the smaller man by the front of his shirt. Before Bart could recover, Sebastian pummeled him repeatedly with a tight fist. His knuckles cut Bart’s face, broke his nose, and knocked out two of his teeth.

  The first punch stunned him and he tried to free himself. He pried at the fist closed on his shirt but the satyr’s grip was like steel. Suddenly he was lifted bodily from the ground carried some distance until he collided with a large, solid object. The impact knocked the wind of him in an instant and he had trouble drawing another breath. He landed on grass but could not see through his teary and swollen eyes. He lost all sense of direction and gravity as he was again lifted into the air.