The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1)

by Brendan Walsh

  “I see. Could that be why you took you missing watch so seriously?

  “Certainly. It may sound crazy but whatever’s going on here might have something to do with it.”

  “Not to take away any value you have in that thing, bu-”

  Slate instinctively silenced himself when a creaking came from the second floor, followed by heavy footsteps.

  Gary’s flashlight was steadily focused on the floor while they inched down the stairs. Behind him the dimmer light from Johnny’s phone was lost in his stronger beam. The aged stairs groaned uneasily with each step, as if a live presence was urging them away.

  He did his best not to show it but his return to the house bothered was unnerving. His memories of spending time here weren’t the least bit warm. His uncle’s vulgar humor never earned any laughs, even when sober. It was that empty charm that drove his aunt away almost ten years ago. The quicker they got out of this little exclave of hell, the better. And move on to whatever was on deck in their fantastical Thanksgiving.

  Once they were on the even basement floor they fastened the pace. The sturdy ground tiles didn’t squeak like the stairs. In a couple more moves they found the security system. Gary flashed his beam onto the number pad.

  Gary pressed a series of digits into the dusty device. “How do you know the code?” asked Johnny.

  “When I was a kid I hid behind the stairs when I didn’t want to see anyone. Once or twice my uncle would come see his collection and enter the code.”

  When he finished a high-pitched ‘ping’ let them know the code had been accepted.

  “Smooth.” Johnny muttered to himself.

  An interior light system clicked on when he and Gary entered. Straight ahead was an office desk topped with heaps of papers and other official looking things with a dartboard nailed above. Immediately on their left was an entire wall designated for proudly displaying scores of firing arms.

  “What’s your uncle doing, prepping for the zombie apocalypse?”

  “Probably,” Gary grunted. “Who knows what conspiracy theories he’s blanketed himself in this time.”

  He motioned forward, signaling Johnny to follow him to the far side of the room. That’s where the smaller fire arms were humbly kept. Gary tugged a black bag out from under the desk and put a few small shooters inside. On the other side Johnny was browsing through the weighty assault rifles hanging from two balanced bars.

  “I doubt we’d need anything like this.” Johnny took hold of a rifle and pretended to take aim.

  “Hopefully not.”

  Gary slid to the other side, taking a look at their larger options. He bagged three sub machine guns. Johnny didn’t know much about guns, but from his veteran Call of Duty experiences he would have guess they were sum brand of Uzi. But all their weapons would be useless without bullets, so Gary alerted him to a bright red bag near the desk. The small luggage was heavy for its size. Based on the crunching sound the bag made as he picked it up, Johnny assumed that it contained ammunition, or metallic Lego bricks.

  An uncomfortable silence hung between the two. To Johnny, the best way to alleviate such a quietness was to start a new conversation.

  “What’s your beef with Patrick?”

  Gary kept his back to him, zipping up the weapons bag. “He’s a fake.”

  “I mean, he did dye his hair that one time, but that’s not enough to-”

  “Not like that, moron.” He skillfully flung the weapons container over his shoulder like a messenger bag.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “Don’t believe anything he tells you. He’s not at all who he thinks he is.”

  Before Johnny could respond they heard someone from above whisper loudly in a rushed voice. “Get up here, guys. He’s awake!”

  As the noise of footfalls grew, Patrick and Slate stood frozen by the basement door. The sound of a man rounding the upstairs corners then was obvious. For a moment there was a pause in the advance, proceeded by the echo of a hallow drawer shutting and closing.

  The other two stealthily reached the summit of the stairs. “What’s happening?” Johnny whispered back.

  “Who’s down there?” demanded a gruff voice from upstairs, followed by the menacing cock of a shotgun.

  The four began freaking out in synchronization. Patrick undecidedly shifted between the two exit ways. Unfortunately, both involved crossing paths with the second floor stairs, making it impossible for them not to cross paths with Gary’s angry uncle. In the spur of the moment he reached into the bag over Gary’s shoulder and removed a 9mm.

  The other three got the wrong idea.

  “Patrick, put the gun away!” Slate urged, shoving him out of the way. “We’re not going to shoot anyone!”

  “I know I know! I’m just freaking out. If he comes down, maybe I can scare him!”

  Gary forcefully yanked it out of Patrick’s panicky grip. “This thing isn’t even loaded, genius. All it will do is get you shot faster.”

  They were glued to the floor. As if the universe sensed the gang hadn’t experienced enough weird, a new sound hailed from the rooftop, giving halt to Gary’s advancing uncle. The snapping sound of an agile succession of leap rang overhead. Then whoever was on the roof entered the home through a second floor window, right next to the older Mr. Frost.

  “Hey, what the-?”

  He was attacked before he could finish speaking. The unexpected silence was followed by a loud ‘thump’, like a billiard ball smacking the ground. The gang, unsure of what was going on, listened intently. The four nosily creeped to the carpet-covered stairs to get a visual on the situation. The body of a middle aged man was thrust into view, tumbling down the stairs. The spinning mass was almost gracefully twirling, heading straight for them.

  “Holy crap!” was exclaimed by those not too stunned to speak.

  The gang leaped back in retreat, to avoid being taken down by the spiraling man like bowling pins.

  When Gary’s uncle came to a rest at the base of the stairs he wasn’t moving. The flannelled man’s bare areas were decorated with discolored bruising. Most of them were from the collapse down the staircase, but a lightly bloodied patch on his forehead told them that was where their brutal savior first smacked him. The shotgun wasn’t around. Patrick and Gary rushed forward, the former placed two fingers on the side of his welted neck.

  “He’s alive!”

  “Phew,” Johnny exhaled. “That could have been much worse.”

  “We can’t have another murder charge on our hands. Whoever saved us needs to be careful.”

  The same scratching sound of someone scurrying away stole their attention, immediately followed by the shattering of an upstairs window. The act of vandalism alerted the alarm as shards of broken glass multiplied into small pieces as they impacted the back porch concrete. The ear-piercing screech of the alarm made Patrick have to scream to his friends.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he demanded. “If the alarm triggers the police, they could be here any minute!”

  Behind him Slate was already sprinting away, but in the wrong direction.

  “Slate, get back here!” he called out, struggling to make his voice audible over the alarm.

  “Someone just jumped out the window!” he called back. “I think I can get them!”

  Patrick tried to argue but Slate was well out of range. The back door was still wide open allowing him to maintain speed. Besides himself there was no movement anywhere in the yard, the dense darkness made it easy for anyone to blend in.

  Slate was ready to rejoin the group when a snapping on the roof made him turn around. He did not know what he was supposed to be seeing, but he could not take his eyes off the dark figure crouched on the house’s peak. Its eyes burned a sulfurous yellow, which stared unblinking at him, becoming tattooed in his memory. Cold blood chilled the back of
his neck. Sensing the quiet moment was finished, the figure leaped away. It may have been gone but the image of their guardian was stained in his mind. Dashing twice as quickly, Slate rushed came back inside.

  Patrick waved for Slate to hurry.

  “Come on let’s-”. He noticed fright was stuck on his friend’s face, his eyes pinned open as if having just been injected with 100mg of caffeine. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “The thing...the thing that knocked out Gary’s uncle....I saw it.”

  Gary appeared at the doorway, having come back from putting weapons in the car. “Hey we need to hurry it up. I think I’m starting to hear sirens.”

  Slate said no more, and he and Patrick shadowed Gary back to the car. Johnny was already sitting shotgun as they returned to their now normal seating arrangements. Gary rounded the car’s hood, finding a thin slip of paper sitting stationary against the windshield.

  “Aw, did we get a ticket?” Johnny whined.

  The ink on the note was fresh. It was much different from the last one. It only contained an address.

  1031 Hain Dr.

  “Another address.” Gary slapped it down on the dashboard.

  After a quick punch in the smart phone GPS, they were on the road once more, heading to an unknown location.

  Her last scoop of holiday ice cream was already melting when Lindsey returned to the couch. It was vanilla, her favorite. Typically, she would sit on the nice reclining chair that faced the television at the optimal angle, but for unlucky reason it was stuck in the reclined position, and no one could fix it. As she settled into the broken lounger and adjusted her winter sweater, she picked up the remote and surfed through the cable TV.

  While her thumb levered up and down upon the ‘channel’ button half her mind was elsewhere. The party her friends crashed turned into a disaster. The host was horribly killed while they were all still in the building. When news initially got out she couldn’t keep to herself. What if Slate, Patrick, and Johnny had been hurt? Rationally, she knew there was nothing to worry about. Her father, John Hunter, a detective for over fifteen years, was on the job. And he had a pretty nasty reputation for closing cases.

  The front door swung open behind her. Her father had finally returned from a late night of chasing suspects to no avail. It was midnight when the search was called off for the day. He hung his coat on the rack behind the door and found the kitchen.

  “Hey, Dad.” she greeted over her shoulder.

  “Lindsey,” he stated tiredly. “I hope you enjoyed the rest of the dinner.”

  “It was great. Wish you could have stayed for dessert.”

  He smiled. “Well, I’ll have some now.”

  He walked into the next room. Lindsey heard the freezer door open, followed by an awkward pause. Her father stuck his head out through the doorway.

  “Did you finish the vanilla ice cream?”

  She smiled deviously, displaying the little that was left in her bowl.

  “Fine. I like chocolate better anyway.”

  Lindsey resumed tunneling through channels as her father gloomily returned with a bowl of not vanilla ice cream. He positioned himself behind the couch. Her father didn’t plan on taking a seat. She assumed he would be going to sleep soon anyway after the long day.

  “So,” Lindsey started. “What’s going on with the party?”

  Her father gave her a stern glance. “You know I can’t discuss cases outside of work.”

  “But you always do.” she cheerfully reminded.

  His expression flipped to a smile. “Very well. It’s one of the stranger ones.” he paused to put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. “The guy was killed with something massive that’s for sure. I could hardly believe it myself. With the amount of blood he lost, I doubt he had a teaspoon left inside him. We could see his smashed bones! It was really disgusting. That’s not even all. On the wall the word ‘Nevermore’ was written with his blood in all caps.”

  “Nevermore?” his daughter interrupted. “Like from ‘The Raven’?”

  “An English major like you would know. What kind of nutcase would do that? It’s almost too disturbing, even for me.”

  “Any idea who could have done it?”

  “We’ve got one. Actually, four.” he spooned his ice cream again. “A witness identified four people rushing out of the garage at the time of the murder. We had them for a few seconds. Then somebody fired off a shot. I have no idea how that happened; their hands were in the air. Anyway, they escaped. We’re trying to find them right now.”

  She raised her hands to her cheeks facetiously. “Oh no! Everybody lock your doors, defend your homes, the raven gang is coming!”

  Her father gave her an unamused look. He lifted the edge of the bowl to his lips and gulped the rest of the melted dessert.

  “Perhaps it was the group,” she proposed. “With brutality that bad it wouldn’t surprise me if it was a team effort. Any idea on the weapon?”

  The detective nodded, he couldn’t speak for a moment as he forced brain-freeze away.

  “You know what I think? I think the blade was made out of ice. It probably melted before you could find it.”

  Her father smiled as he put the empty bowl on the coffee table and wiped his lips clean. “See? That’s why you would make a great detective! Or a mystery writer. Well, I’ve done enough theorizing for one day.” he started for the hall. “See you tomorrow.”

  When he was gone Lindsey picked up the remote again and settled on a local news channel. They were talking about the murder. Slightly unsteady footage of the police speaking to attendees of the party was shown. Then a montage of individual shots was displayed. It eventually settled on a blurry shot, taken from the distance by a nervous photographer. The reporters claimed it was the clearest shot they had of the missing suspects.

  The spoon dropped in her hand.

  On screen, standing alongside three other people. She would recognize that thing from outer space. The light glare from Johnny’s leather jacket was certain in the photograph. She knew those standing right next to him were Patrick, Slate, and Gary. The image of them holding their hands up in surrender was staring her down. She shook her head in denial. No. The police clearly had gotten everything wrong. They must have. Her boyfriend and the other three were not killers.

  Her father suddenly reentered from the hallway. She panicked and clicked off the screen. He didn’t seem to notice anything as he reached out the dish he left out. “I should probably put the bowl in the sink. Your mom would kill me if I left another dish out.”

  She looked up at him with a startled expression.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She dreamily moved her head back into a resting position. “No, nothing. Nothing.”

  “Any idea how much longer?” Slate asked. After his strange individual experience, he was wide-awake.

  “No idea.” replied Johnny. “The connection is a bit ruddy, and it’s hard to see the addresses on these places in the dark.”

  It had been an hour since their escape from Gary’s uncle’s place. The search for the next address lead down a secluded road about 10 minutes outside mainland San Francisco. Considering the types of homes around them, they would think they were still stuck in the same eerie residency from before if they didn’t know any better. The hanging uncertainty of the drive was making them all uneasy. In the back Patrick held his eyes shut the whole ride, unable to get a blink of sleep.

  Eyes locked closed, he felt the slowing down of the car into an easy drive on the surface of a grassy trail. He opened his seemingly 100 pound eyelids to see why they stopped. There was nothing but darkness.

  He rose to a waking position. “Why did we stop here?”

  “This is as far as the GPS wants to take us.” Gary shifted the gear to park. “This road was right between 1030 and 1032, so that sh
ould be it right there.”

  It would have been impossible to see if the headlights were killed. Several yards in front, where the light barely allowed them to see was a shabby, mossed up cabin that would have worked better as a shed. An aged wooden door was visible on the right side with an open lock drooping from the edge.

  Gary plucked the key out of the ignition and the posse stepped out of the car, moving nervously along the sodden path. They quietly halted at the unkept entrance.

  “Any volunteers?” Johnny pressed.

  Slate gave the door a soft shove. The wooden slab swung all the way until it hit the inside wall. The sharp scent smacked them as the stepped forward. It was a rich blend of what seemed like charcoal and old library books. Patrick swatted away some hovering dust as he scavenged the side for the light switch. Johnny found it behind him, and then the room was bathed with illumination.

  The whole room and subsequently whole floor was revealed to them. Directly ahead was the ‘living room’ section that was equipped with a coffee colored couch and two burgundy beanbag chairs facing a flat screen TV. Hanging on the wall to the right was a large wooden four-story shelf that held a wide variety of books arranged in alphabetical order by author. Lastly, immediately to their right was a kitchen with a sink, oven, microwave, mini fridge and freezer. The gangs’ eyes wondered around. It was as if they’d returned home.

  “This place doesn’t seem that bad.” Patrick looked around like a kid in a candy store.

  He took notice of Gary wondering around the wide room. His eyes skeptically moving about. Patrick’s eyes then settled steadily at the selection of reading material. Half of it was high-minded science while the other ranged from Victorian adventure novels to modern day science fiction.

  Behind him, Johnny jumped on top of the nearest beanbag chair and exhaled in pleasure as he softly sank down into the chair. He then quickly sat up, not letting the whole thing swallow him.

  “So, what now? Do we just stay here until someone finds us?” he asked.