by Eddie Jakes
"Tell him I'm following up on a lead, and I'll fill him in on it later."
"I must insist. The chief wants to make evacuation plans and he can't do that till he knows what you plan to do about that werewolf bitch."
"Tell Larouche this," snapped Maddix. "I have reasonable information that suggests these attacks may not be deliberate, so I am going to seek a consultation from Dr. Himmelreich."
"Come on, Benbrook. Why do you care if these things die or not? They're monsters," said Roberts.
Maddix didn't know how to respond.
"Is it because you've made friends with some of them? Don't make me laugh. You let any one of these things back into the real world and they will tear you and the rest of humanity to pieces. Just do what the Founding Father's should have done and end this place now."
"I know," Maddix replied, feeling humbled. "I just need to be sure before I sentence thousands of people to death."
"People?" said Roberts, shaking his head. "You know what your problem is, Benbrook? You don't want to accept the truth. There are no people here. Go talk to the trustworthy Nazi scientist, and then go see the chief."
Roberts walked away from Maddix mumbling to himself. He didn't understand it all, but he could hear "stupid kid" as clear as day. Maybe he was stupid for feeling the way he did, but he just couldn't take a chance he made the wrong decision. Especially when there were so many lives at stake. Granted, most of those lives were undead.
CHAPTER FIVE
Deryck Himmelreich was a man with a lavish history but since being condemned to Malevolent, he lived a rather humble existence. His home was smaller than one would expect. Its walls were made of red and brown bricks with four windows in the front with planters underneath each one. Two modest vegetable gardens lay in front of the house, each with ripe and ready to pick tomatoes dangling in the sun.
Toiling away at the soil was the not-so-good doctor. He was dressed in a part of dirty overalls and an eccentric looking hat that was clearly chosen for its practical use rather than any sense of style. As he worked in the heat, Maddix could hear him whistling some familiar but indeterminate tunes. He only assumed that they must be German fight songs or some other European ditty.
"Welcome to my home, Err Overseer," said Himmelreich, sensing Maddix' presence behind him.
"Good morning, Doctor."
"What brings you to my little piece of paradise? You will have to excuse my attire. I wasn't expecting any guests today. Not that I get many guests at all."
"It's all right, Doctor Himmelreich."
"It's been quite a few years since you've paid me a visit. Is this in regards to the death of that vampire? Statsny is the name, I think?"
"You know about that?"
"People talk, I listen. You suspect I am involved somehow?"
"I'm actually here to get your opinion on something," said Maddix.
The old man's eyes lit up like a child being offered candy from a stranger. "Well, that would be a pleasure. How could I help you?"
Maddix reached into his coat and removed a small jar containing the dead wasp before holding it up in plain view. The doctor pulled a tiny pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on to examine the specimen closer.
"Where did you find this? It's quite impressive."
"You've seen it before?"
"Not exactly, but it resembles a species of parasitic wasp. This one looks as though it as been mutated somehow. Perhaps it ate something unnatural … there are a great number of scientific peculiarities living here."
"I agree that there are, but let's assume that's not the case. How would something like this get here?"
Himmelreich laughed. "In this place, who knows? We are standing in a marriage of magic, spirituality, and science. Constructed for the sole purpose of keeping humanity's deadliest predators locked away. This could simply be the latest condemned monster."
"You're suggesting the Founding Fathers sent these things in here?"
The doctor placed his hands behind his back and paced. "As I said, who knows? It could be that, or the magic of this place is starting to affect some of the wildlife. Too much of this place is a mystery. What I would give to do some real experimentation here."
"I would have gotten some kind of notification if they were going to imprison something else."
"What is your interest in this insect, anyway?"
"Just concerned about a possible infestation," answered Maddix, putting on his best poker face. "Some of the residents are complaining about ruined crops."
Himmelreich looked Maddix right past the eyes and into his soul. "I see."
"So if there is anything else you can add that would help …"
"I don't think you have to worry," said Himmelreich. He snatched the jar from Maddix's hand and held it up in front of his face. "See here, the body is deformed from a typical wasp. It's missing some vital organs; I wouldn't give this species more than a month before it dies out. Insects like this require food sources that aren't available here. It will die of starvation, just as this one appears to have. Note the caved-in stomach area."
He nodded in agreement and took the jar from the doctor.
"Would you mind if I kept that. I would like to study it more."
"I think it would be best if I kept it. If word got out that you were experimenting with some kind of new species of wasp, it might make people a little uncomfortable."
The doctor's face went long and still. Maddix stared into the man's eyes and could not see anything behind them that even suggested the existence of a soul. This was a truly evil man that thrived on the fear of others. Humanity was nothing more than a collection of test subjects just waiting for their turn on the cutting board and he was not used to one of those weak specimens refusing him, ever.
"Very well, Err Benbrook," said Himmelreich, replacing his grimace with a disingenuous smile.
Being cooped up in the office while Maddix got to do all the fieldwork was frustrating. She wished he wouldn't be such a stickler for tradition all the time. She often wondered if there was some sexism behind it instead, but after reading through journals she found that all of the apprentices in the past were usually men as well. Blaming it on classism didn't make her feel any less annoyed by it.
Deep down she knew Maddix was just a dedicated man. It was an enormous responsibility, even if the excitement of it was something to be desired. He wanted her safe for the sake of the office, but also because she was his only real friend that he could have absolute trust in. She could respect his concern for her, but having a little action in her life wouldn't hurt either.
Tara was finishing up her last journal entry regarding the previous night's attack when a series of thumps on the office door caused her to jump. It wasn't a regular knock on the door, but a broken series of strikes against the wood. If someone was trying to get her attention they had succeeded.
Tara rose from her seat in the library and made her way toward the door. The erratic knocks were becoming more aggressive and louder as she got closer to the door. Her brain was telling her to back away, but it wasn't in her nature to back down from anything, especially a rude guest banging on the door. With a deep breath and muscles tight, Tara peeked through the peephole to get a look at her annoying visitor. It was hard to see in the commotion, but she could tell it was a man with pale skin and crazy eyes that stared off into nothing as it pounded on the door even harder. It was obvious this person wasn't there to make small talk, and so Tara turned toward the weapons cabinet.
Before taking two steps, she could hear the sound of cracking followed by an explosion of wood behind her. She turned to see a handsome looking man's face peering through a fresh hole in the door. He seemed disoriented and his eyes were clouded over like a corpse. His mouth was foaming around a set of gleaming white fangs.
Tara ran for the weapons, but the creature burst through the door, splintering it into pieces and cutting her off before she could reach it. Spotting the candle behind Maddix's desk, Tara
double backed from the cabinet and attempted to jump over the desk to reach the candlestick. She could just barely get her fingers around it as she was cut short by the vampire grabbing her ankle and pulling her violently toward her.
The bloodsucking monster grabbed Tara by the hair and slammed her head on the desk with a loud smack against the wood. Although still conscious, her vision was skewed now and she was in a complete state of disarray. The room was moving and even though in her mind she knew she was still in danger, a total feeling of euphoria swept over her body. The slurping sounds of the crazed vampire—now on top of her—pulled her back into reality just enough to have clear focus again.
The cobwebs in her eyes pulled back to reveal the bright dripping fangs mere inches away from her exposed neck. Realizing in the chaos that she kept her hold on the candlestick, Tara pushed it as far into the vampire's mouth as she possibly could. Sparks and smoke began to billow from its mouth causing it to scream in agonizing pain. The throbbing pain in her head made it difficult, but Tara managed to push the burning vampire with all the strength she could muster.
Her only hope now was to get into the library where she would be safe and the vampire could not follow her. Unless the natural laws of vampires were no longer in effect, he would not be able to follow her into the library without an invitation.
The vampire finally pulled the candle off of its teeth and out of its mouth, but his face was still burning. The sustained head wound made Tara's sense of smell so sensitive that she almost vomited from the smell of burning undead skin and garlic. Choking back bile, she summoned all the will she could and picked herself up from the desk, and stumbled into the library. Alleviation took over Tara's body and she collapsed to the floor.
Her calm ended as soon as she opened up her eyes and watched her attacker in the doorway. To her shock, it was still moving toward the library door. It did not seem to care that it would be killed if it continued forward; it simply reached out for her and kept walking toward her, its skin burning as advanced. She could tell it was feeling the pain because it shrieked the entire time. First its hand, then arm, and soon the head and half its torso burned to ash until nothing but the bottom half of his body fell just outside the library door dead.
Tara didn't like to cry, but between the fear of almost dying and the severe pain in her head, she had to let it out. She didn't cry for long, but she let it out as loud as her condition would allow. Her fear turned into an angry rant for a few seconds and then she composed herself again. This moment of clarity was all she needed to remember that she was not out of danger yet. The monster's body had not been completely burnt away and was still volatile.
"Oh shit," said Tara, fighting to get back on her feet. As fast as her injured self could carry her, she rushed behind one of the tables, flipped it over, and crouched into a fetal position. The explosion came quick and the room filled with rancid smoke. The vomiting sensation came back and this time Tara could not hold it in anymore.
After a full day of training exercises—which included a deep cleaning of the station—Constable Roberts looked forward to a quick puff of a cigar. It was peak hour and the sidewalks were full of people going on about their daily lives. Roberts wondered what it was that these things did all day that kept them out of trouble. It wasn't like they punched a clock at a real job or anything. They were prisoners with way too much freedom in his opinion.
Roberts took a big drag off his cigar from his private stash. He loved the taste of tobacco; the feeling was quenching to his nerves. When he first arrived in Malevolent, he would get ill constantly and his mood was all over the spectrum. Then one day he got a whiff of the most delectable scent he had encountered since arriving. Fresh tobacco leaves drying in the sun!
Having your memory wiped took away everything in your past, including your bad habits and addictions. Roberts was a smoker, a serious smoker that loved high-quality pipes and cigars. Lucky for him he had found a kindred spirit in Raoul, a werewolf and gypsy farmer who specialized in growing tobacco plants.
Gypsies were proud people, and very stubborn so no amount of intimidation would work on Raoul. Everything with gypsies was traded. What could you do for them in exchange for something else? They eventually settled on the perfect arrangement once Roberts discovered something major. Raoul wasn't just a grower of fine tobacco, but a cultivator of various natural hallucinogens. Not much of a problem in Malevolent but still considered witchcraft or dark chemistry and a clear violation of the pact. In exchange for the constables looking the other way, Raoul would provide Roberts with the best smoking product he had to offer.
"Hey, Sarge," said a young man's voice. "Something's going on over there."
Roberts glanced up to see one of his men standing in the opened doorway pointing out into the street. There were people strolling up toward the station and what looked like two people wrestling with each other. It was hard to see since age had not been kind to Roberts' eyesight and he had left his glasses at his desk. He put out his cigar and placed the remainder of it in his homemade tube that he kept in his pocket.
"Grab a couple of men and let's go check it out," said Roberts, with a sigh.
The eager constable darted inside the station, ready for some action. Less than a minute went by before three more constables exited the station and lined up behind Roberts in a wide formation, each with their hands resting on their guns.
"Stay close, boys."
The small squad of constables carefully approached the crowd, prepared for some resistance. The pair off to the side still continued to wrestle with each other. Upon closer inspection, they all could see that an army of walking dead was coming up the street with one attacking a random townsperson. The constables drew their guns and racked the slides, waiting for the order to shoot from Roberts.
"Ease back," said Roberts. "Wait till you have a clear headshot."
The gang of zombies continued forward toward the armed men. A pop rang out as blood burst from the top of the nearest one, followed by another and another. Soon the shots became more frequent, and more zombies fell to the ground.
Roberts looked for the townie being attacked, but the crowd of walking dead was too dense for him to find him. They were coming out of nowhere, and their numbers were getting bigger by the second.
"We're going to run out of bullets fast, Sarge," said one of the constables as he fired two successful shots in a row.
"Start doubling back to the station and keep the suppressing fire going. Don't waste your shots."
Each man quickened his pace, moving backward but not too fast to mess up his aim. The slain monsters started to pile up in the street, causing some to lose their footing and fall to the ground. Those that didn't fall stepped over the piles and then attempted to walk on the heads of the zombies in front of them, creating a domino effect. This opened up the view for Roberts, who gasped in the shock of the sheer numbers stalking them.
"We need reinforcements," yelled Roberts. "Run to the station!"
A few constables inside the station had huddled around the closest window to Roberts and his men. By the time the first shots rang out, the entire collection of constables were occupying every open space on the floor to catch a glimpse of the action. Roberts and his three men were giving their best fight, but the pursuing horde had become so immense that defeat was inevitability.
"Chief Larouche," called one of the men, "it's not looking too good out there."
Javier stepped from his office and looked at his gawking squad. He let out a single grunt that all of them recognized as an order to step aside. Javier walked to the window, with hands firmly clasped behind his back, and observed the situation. It was a potential bloodbath for sure. Damn Maddix for not acting when he suggested it. Nevertheless, it was up to him to handle this situation as he has always handled every situation.
"How many men do we have in here currently?" asked Larouche.
"Ten, sir."
"Very well. I want five men with scatterguns for c
rowd suppression. The rest concentrate on kill shots only. Coordinate your fire. Arm up and be out on the street in thirty seconds. Move!"
There was not a second wasted as five constables hustled to the shotgun racks and five stood at ready by the front door with weapons drawn. With ten seconds to spare the small army of police exited the station and into the fray of confrontation with the undead. Larouche could hear the sound of gunshots from many pistols firing at one followed be a series of shotgun blasts intermixed with panicked shouting. The violent racket went muffled as the door closed itself.
From the distant corner of the station, Tanya watched the chaos unfold from her holding cell. Part of her wanted to smile, but there was another part of her that couldn't help but admire Larouche's ability to lead his men. If he were a werewolf, he would most certainly be an Alpha in his pack, or maybe even a pack leader.
Tanya started to lick her lips at the prospect of turning such a man as Larouche but snapped out of it immediately. What the hell was she thinking? Turning a man like Javier Larouche was unthinkable. He was a disgusting man that enjoyed tormenting and imprisoning other people like herself. Death wasn't good enough for him. Slow torture would not be good enough for him. He should be captured and made her personal slave. She would dress him in rags like an animal, force him into a life of hard labor and servitude to her every whim and earthly desire—
What was she thinking? Tanya shook the nonsense from her head. It was obvious that she needed to get out of this cage before she went insane. There was no way she could even be the slightest bit aroused by any human, let alone a despicable on like Larouche.
Tanya stared at Larouche as he stood by the window watching the ensuing battle outside the station. He seemed tense and kept his hand resting on his gun as if he were the fastest gun in the West, just waiting for his big duel at sundown. Her pride started to ebb slightly, allowing her admiration to seep through. Despite his flaws he carried the burden of his men's safety on his shoulders, and carried it with pride.
