by Jason Brant
A large dart impacted on the side of his shoulder, twisting his torso. He reached up and pulled it out, looking to his left for the shooter. Smith's other tough guy, the Jackie Chan lookalike, stood at the tree line along the edge of the Constitution Gardens. He had a tranquilizer rifle tucked against his shoulder.
In front of me I could see Sammy's muscles loosen a little. The drug was already taking its toll on Murdock. The agents standing over the president were also gaining their mobility back as they started turning away from Thomas.
They must have given Murdock a hefty dose because he started staggering sideways within seconds. The agents pounced on him after he crashed to the grass. Though he lost his ability to control people, our odd connection remained the same.
Sammy collapsed to her knees, sobbing. I would have consoled her, but I was busy bleeding all over myself.
A door opened on the black SUV and Smith stepped out. An officer ordered him to halt, but he kept going as he flashed a badge in their direction.
"President Thomas, don't believe anything he's about to tell you. They wanted you to be assassinated," I said.
One of the agents started attending to his injured foot, causing him to wince in pain.
"Who? Smith?" he asked.
"No. Snow White and Seven Dwarves."
The bewilderment on his face made me feel sorry for the state of American politics. At least I could say I didn't vote for him.
"Yes, Smith," I said, raising my voice over the sound of the helicopter. "He wants you out of the way so he can keep operating his program."
The chopper had come from the direction of the White House and appeared to be Marine One, the president's Marine Corps transport. It circled overhead, waiting for a signal to land.
The hundreds of cops that surrounded us began to close in, slowly at first but picking up the pace when no one shot themselves. They did their best to get reporters’ cameras out of the way. The press, as usual, had positioned themselves at terrible angles. Some of them stood in the line of fire, oblivious to the guns pointed at their backs.
Smith and Jackie jogged over to us, arriving at the same time. Smith tried to cover the stunned look on his face when he saw me lying there, but it slipped through for a split second.
"Mr. Benson, your presence is quite a surprise. The police are going to be very pleased to see you."
"You know this man?" Thomas asked him.
"Enforcer is ready for pick up," one of the agents said into his radio. Enforcer must have been the Secret Service call sign for the president, which I found laughable. By the looks of him, he couldn't enforce his own bladder.
The circling aircraft started its descent, intending to land in the field beside us.
"Mr. Benson has been working with Murdock in an attempt—" the lying bastard started to say. I couldn't make out anything else over the roar of the helicopter's rotors.
Everyone around me tensed up at the same time. The helo, which was about to land, began climbing into the air. The agent who had his knee driven into Murdock's back stepped away and stood at attention. Murdock pushed himself off the ground and turned to face us, his body convulsing with laughter.
The helicopter climbed a few hundred feet and then banked to its right at an incredible angle, its speed increasing.
Debris from the rotor spiraled away as Marine One crashed into the Washington Monument.
Chapter 24
The body of the chopper plummeted to the earth with fire and smoking trailing it. Its tail, severed during the impact, landed on the public address system used for the president's speech. Sparks showered the surrounding area as the equipment shorted out. Above the tumbling wreckage, the charring spot of the collision burned from spilled fuel. Thousands of blinding flashes encompassed the field as photographers snapped what would become iconic pictures of the Washington Monument burning.
The photo frenzy following the crash was short-lived as police officers began executing each other.
Many of them were within a hundred feet of us – they were the first ones to open fire on other lawmen. When one of the shooters was incapacitated, Murdock would release his control of him and move on to the next. His influence jumped from cop to cop, creating a wave of violence that started behind me and moved around us counterclockwise.
"Enough! Everyone you're after is right here, not out there!" I had trouble hearing my own voice over the rattle of gunfire.
The shots halted. Those who weren't wounded began running back to the safety of the buildings and trees, dragging their injured comrades with them.
"You're right. Sometimes I get a little overzealous. It happens when you love what you do."
He walked over to where Smith stood, rooted to the ground with his eyes watching Murdock's every move.
"You're so predictable. I knew you were using me from the moment I escaped at the funeral. You wanted me alive and that meant you would try and hit me with that wonderful little drug of yours. That's why I dosed myself with naloxone, since it nullifies the effects of opiates. You were out of my range when you sat in the SUV over there, so I had to play along to get you a little closer."
I should have known something was wrong when our mental connection hadn't broken. Lieutenant Columbo I am not.
Jackie walked over, stopping in Smith's field of vision.
"It's a hopeless feeling, isn't it? Knowing you're about to die and there's nothing you can do about."
Jackie, his eyes locked on Smith's, pulled a pistol out of his shoulder holster and held it to his temple.
"Say goodbye to your flunky."
Fragments of Jackie's skull and brain matter landed on the front of Smith's suit.
Murdock turned and looked at President Thomas. "Don't worry, you haven't slipped my mind. Your buffoonery has led to your death. I might not have escaped that horrid country if you hadn't sent an assassin to kill me. He provided all the distraction I needed to break out."
"You're a coward," I said.
"A coward?" he said, spinning toward me, hysteria in his voice. "I gave this country everything! My entire life! So many missions, so many lies, so many times I wondered if I would ever make it home! And what do I get in return? Torture! They left me in the hands of an Iranian torturer! After everything I've done, they threw me away like a piece of garbage!"
Even though he was a maniac who murdered innocent people on a whim, I could relate to him on at least one thing.
"Only these assholes did that to you. Sammy didn't. I didn't. Those police officers did nothing to you. You're just as bad as they are. You can all rot."
Murdock glared down at me, his eyes twitching as he looked over my mangled body.
He continued to watch me as Sammy bent down and picked up the shotgun. Once again she tilted it up under her chin, her finger moving to the trigger.
"Say goodbye to your friend."
"Hey, Murdock!" a tiny voice called from my right.
I looked over and saw Nami standing there, holding the massive Desert Eagle in both of her pint-sized hands. She must have snuck up on us while the cops were trying not to shoot each other. Murdock had been too busy concentrating on everyone else to sense her presence.
"Fuck your mother," she said as she pulled the trigger. The incredible recoil of the pistol catapulted her small frame backward, the gun flying from her grip. She landed on her ass with a stupefied look on her face.
The bullet didn't even come close to hitting anyone. She came closer to hitting the moon than she did Murdock.
"Nice try, Nellie."
"Another of Smith's peons. Come over here and join the party."
Nami stiffened, then rose to her feet and walked over to the agents. Murdock stood still for a moment, concentrating.
"It seems we have to cut our fun short. The police are in the process of setting up snipers from their SWAT teams."
I looked around, searching for anything I could use against Murdock. The Desert Eagle had landed on the ground about ten feet fro
m me. It might as well have been a mile. I started crawling toward it at a snail's pace, knowing I couldn't make it. The entire left side of my body pleaded with me to stop moving. Blood flow from my bullet wound increased as I struggled along. Rage built inside of me at the hopelessness of it.
All of the agents pointed their weapons; one at Nami, President Thomas, and Smith, and one put his gun in his own mouth. Sammy still held the shotgun under her chin. Smith and I were the only ones without a firearm aimed at us.
Five feet away from Nami's cannon, I kept inching forward. The fury accumulating in me was startling, almost uncontrollable. My head pounded from the adrenalin surging through me.
"Look at the hero, trying to crawl to his salvation. That looks like it hurts, and I know about pain. Watch his failure with your last dying seconds."
Murdock's marionettes turned and faced me, their eyes pleading for help. The pistol was still two feet from my outstretched hand, taunting me. The frenzied storm swirling inside me caused my body to shake like a rabid dog.
"When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come America, cradle and all."
"No!" I howled, all of my ferocity bursting to the surface.
The Desert Eagle, still two feet away, slid across the ground, settling in my hand. Before I could process what happened I swung the barrel around, pointing it at Murdock.
"What? That's impossible!" Murdock said. I relished the astonishment in his eyes.
"Pop goes the weasel, asshole."
I shot him just under his left eye. Most of his head disappeared in a sea of red mist.
Sammy, Nami, and Smith all slumped forward as Murdock's body fell to the ground. The Secret Service agents went to work without hesitation. Two of them grabbed President Thomas, who stopped blubbering long enough to order everyone's arrest, and carried him in the direction of the nearest patrol car. The other two secured Murdock's body, even though he had essentially been decapitated.
The moment I shot him, our connection broke, and the echoes crashed in like a tidal wave. The bleeding from my shoulder amplified even more. The adrenalin had temporarily increased my awareness, but my senses were fading again. I couldn't be sure if it was from blood loss or the thousands of thoughts reeling through my mind.
Nami looked at me like I had three heads. "Did you just use the force?"
"Telekinesis. Unbelievable," Smith said, awe in his voice.
I tried to respond but only incoherent mumbles came out. I was fading fast. Even if I could have answered, I honestly didn't know how it happened.
Sammy crawled across the lawn to me, putting my head in her lap.
"How did you do that?" she asked. "Oh God, look at all the blood!"
My eyelids felt like they had weights hanging from them. I had the vague sensation of pressure on my shoulder as Nami tried to slow down the bleeding.
The two agents who had secured Murdock were now doing the same thing to Smith.
"What the hell are you doing? Do you know who I am?"
With their guns trained on him, he was ordered to the ground. He hesitated a few seconds before complying. His eyes never left me. Behind them I could see dozens of cops rushing to our position, their firearms held out in front of them.
My head drifted down, further into Samantha's lap, though I tried to keep it upright. She put her hands on either side of my face, holding me steady. Her breasts rested against the top of my head as she looked down into my eyes. At least I got to touch them once.
"Help is coming, Ash! You did it, you stopped Murdock!"
White light began to envelope everything, starting from the outside edges of my vision. It made her dirty, stressed face look angelic.
"No, no, no, no..." Sammy said.
The echoes faded away, giving me peace for the first time in half a decade. Euphoria wrapped around me. Focusing on forming words, I summoned what little strength I had left.
"The voices are gone," I whispered as I gave her my best smile.
Warm tears splashed on my cheeks as she bent down and gently kissed my lips.
And everything was white.
*****
Gehenna
West of Hell #1
"And ye shall eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters shall ye eat." - Leviticus 26:29
When two cannibalistic, gravely wounded men stagger into the town of Gehenna, all Hell breaks loose. Infamous outlaw Mad Dog McCall, stuck in the city jail, must fight for his life to escape. The lonely, intelligent, and snarky Karen must make horrific sacrifices to survive the night against the growing army of the dead.
Together they set upon a journey of biblical proportions, fighting against the living and the infected, hoping against hope to find a safe haven in the middle of Hell.
The Old West can't fathom the zombie hoard that is about to consume it.
Chapter 1
"You need to control your whores!" the filthy cowboy said, shoving his way through the saloon doors.
Ellis let out a heavy sigh as he watched another patron, who would likely never return, storm out of his saloon because of Karen. That made three this month. Shaking his head, he turned around and glared at her.
"How is someone so smart so stupid? You can't make money if you always insult my customers. You got to be the worst hooker I ever had."
"He smelled like shit. Even more than the rest of them," Karen said. She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Ellis. She considered him her closest friend, which she found odd because she considered herself little more than his slave. He treated her well, and he never hit his women. That was rare for a man who ran a brothel.
"They all smell like shit. That's why they need to pay for it. If you would just drink some of this rotgut like the rest of the girls, you wouldn't care so much."
The room grew silent as he finished. He looked back at everyone else drinking at the bar. Most of them were from other towns — just passing through as they headed further west. Anthony and Dave, the owner of the general store next door and his employee, stared back at him.
"Not you guys. You smell like a bunch of roses," Ellis said.
"Hell, I know we stink. But you serve us rotgut?" Anthony asked.
Karen couldn't help but laugh while she descended the stairs, lifting her frilly skirt to keep from tripping. She blew absentmindedly at the long strands of auburn hair that fell across her brow. Leave it to Anthony and Dave to worry more about the quality of their whiskey than their stench.
"Of course I don't; you get nothing but the best. I give the rotgut to everyone that comes in on the train," Ellis said, looking everywhere but their eyes.
Dave, the short and jovial stock boy, didn't seem to believe him and kept inspecting the booze in his dirty glass. Anthony watched him for a few seconds before cuffing him on the back of the head.
"What're you looking at, dummy? Like you could tell if that was all whiskey."
"Don't hit me, boss!" Dave said.
Ellis used the distraction to get away. As usual, he struggled, squeezing his heavy frame through the opening on the side of the bar.
"I knew I should have taken those books away from you. Women got no place learnin' from those things. Nothin' good comes from it."
"If it wasn't for those books, I couldn't have helped you with your books."
Ellis glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one heard her. "You know I can't thank you enough for helpin' me out around here. I know you're the smartest person in this whole town, but you can't keep makin' fun at everyone. People don't like their women learnt, especially not their whores."
Karen let out a long sigh. She hated peddling herself to the stupid men who got off the train, but she refused to do what was expected of women in this godforsaken town. She would never marry a local man because she viewed it as the equivalent of indentured servitude. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, and worshipping at the feet of a man wasn't something that interested her. Being paid to perform the fun parts of a marriage could be
tolerated. No man would marry a woman who was more intelligent than him anyway.
"I'll try and behave, but do your best to send me men who have at least heard of soap. Give the dirty ones to Barbara."
"I heard that!" Barbara said from the balcony at the top of the stairs. Karen didn't have to look up at her to tell that she had been drinking again.
"You don't care who Ellis sends to you."
"Yeah, but you don't have to say it," Barbara said. She leaned over the railing and waved at a man sitting at a table, cradling a mug of beer. When he flashed a sheepish grin back, she broke into her patented routine of twirling red hair and fluttering eyelashes.
Karen liked Barbara, but she was always drunk and had no self worth. Men wanted dumb women who were willing do anything, and Barbara fit that mold. Still, she treated Karen nicer than any of the other girls that worked at The Ellis Saloon. Karen often had long, semi-drunken conversations with Barbara about escaping on the railroad and taking it to the end of the line.
While they both dreamt of that, Karen planned on following through. Gehenna not only served as a way station for railroad passengers preparing to continue west, but also for people's lives. It was the place where dreams and passions died.
Karen saved most of her earnings, hiding them under a floorboard in her room, and would soon have enough to live on for several years. Barbara was content with her lot in life.
Ellis looked at her for several moments, appearing to consider what she said.
"Could you at least try the rotgut?"
Karen rubbed her hands on his balding head and laughed. "You know bett−"
Shouting from the street interrupted her. The first scream came from a woman, with several groans coming a few seconds later.
Dave hopped off his bar stool and shuffled to the door, peering over the saloon doors.
"Jesus help us! He bit her face!"
Everyone jumped from their seats and rushed to the door and windows, squeezing against each other. Karen climbed onto the bar, giving herself a better angle to look out the door.
