He says they're all around us .
I hear in my earpiece Ricky asking, “What's going on, Jack? We heard a shot. Everyone alright?”
“Hold on, Ricky,” I warn. “We're not safe, yet. We found most of the children and two of the Evils, but there are still two vampires out here, maybe more. This guy's not making any sense. He's claiming that the kids made him do it.”
“That's what those pedophiles say when they get caught on Dateline trying to meet some twelve-year old,” Ricky says.
I turn back to Mr. Green, “Ask the son of a bitch if he knows where Kristen is.”
They both look at me, confused.
Just ask him!
“Conoces, Kristen?”
“No.”
“Dondé esta Kristen?” Mr. Green presses, sliding the knife across the man's face, opening a nice gash as easy as if he was cutting through butter.
“No la conoces!” the man begs. “Es la verdad! Yo prometo!”
I don't know her! It's the truth! I promise!
Come on, Jack, I say to myself . . . what's missing?
And right about that moment I see something come from the darkness and lunge for Juan's neck, crashing against him as they fall to the ground!
They tumble and roll and another one appears.
Children !
It's not the adults . . . it never was!
Without thinking Mr. Green and I punt the first two kids that attack us. I'm stomping what used to be a kid, but which is now pure fucking evil. I'm not as conflicted as I probably should be about smashing a 4-year old with a push kick.
Thing is, these little monsters are way strong. They look like little children, but they're far from it. They have the strength of men. And Mr. Green and I are punching and kicking them as if they were drag queens at a wedding reception.
“You wanna play grown-up!” I say, slapping one little girl to the ground with an open hand. “Fine!”
Whack !
As the kid hits the ground, Mr. Green tackles her and starts zipping her wrists up. Three zips later she is growling, cursing like a drunken sailor, and squirming around on the ground. And they're not speaking Spanish, either.
“Fuck you, Jack!” this 4-year old girl screams.
“Watch your mouth you dirty little bitch,” Mr. Green shouts as he wrestles another kid to the ground tying her wrists and ankles behind her back.
Juan is still down, clutching his throat, writhing in pain. The small boy that attacked him is knocked out beside him. I run over and zip-tie the little shit.
Out of nowhere a small foot swings from the darkness and crushes my testicles against my right thigh. I drop down to my knees, not sure whether I should grab this half-pint of Evil, or grab my painfully throbbing manhood. I've never been nailed in the junk like this. I know what Ricky's talking about, now.
Somehow I manage to get hold of the nut-hunting Evil and drag her to the ground by her black hair.
Help ! I yelp as the pain overwhelms me like a cold ocean wave.
Luckily, Mr. Green puts a solid fist into her evil stomach and keeps her gasping for air long enough for me to get her zipped-up.
“Let me go, Jack,” she screams.
Mr. Green doesn't know what's going on, and I don't have time to explain. “Juan!” I yell. “Estas bien?”
“Mi cuello,” he says, gurgling a bit. There is blood everywhere.
“Mr. Green,” I say, “get that other kid wrapped-up!”
“What's going on, Jack? How do they know your name?”
It was the kids all along, I say.
“What?”
The kids are feeding off of the other kids , I explain. It's been the kids the whole time!
Juan, he doesn't look so good.
The four Evils, hidden inside children, are hog-tied, laying on their sides, cursing us under their breath. I get on the radio, “Ricky, Ms. Josephine . . . get down here as quickly as you can. We've got them!”
82
14 minutes, 37 seconds later . . .
“These are them,” Mr. Green says as he shows Ms. Josephine the children. “They've been a handful, the little bastards.”
Ms. Josephine just walks slowly by, shaking her head sadly. Each child is gagged, still growling and trying to wiggle out of their plastic cuffs. This probably looks really awful if you don't understand that these children are anything but innocent.
“So . . . ” Ms. Josephine says as she kneels down, “'ow did it begin? 'ow did you come to take dese children's bodies?” Carefully she reached down and loosened one of the little girl's gags. “Tell me, 'ow did you take possession of dis body?”
“Zat kneese, coorova mach! Suka blat! Vas tvoya mat!” the little girl spewed hatefully.
Mr. Green had a surprised look on his face, breathing through his clenched teeth.
What language is that?
“Russian,” Mr. Green said as he put the gag back over the girl's mouth. He turned to Ms. Josephine, “That precious little princess just insulted you in more ways than I can even translate.”
“Dat's not a little girl,” Ms. Josephine said angrily, “not inside. It's one of da Evils . Dey stole dat body.”
And then it makes sense to me. The dead pool. The animal carcasses slowly dehydrating in the lifeless dry pond.
I point to the small evil 4-year-old. “Pick that one, at least he speaks English.”
Mr. Green loosens the gag, and he warns, “Look, everyone already thinks the kids are dead. The work of some satanic cult. So if you don't feel like talking we'll just kill you now and burn your body.” He glanced around at the forested area surrounding them, “This place is impossible to find. That will be that.”
Then he slapped the kid in the face, shrugging disinterestedly, “I don't have scruples.”
I look over at Juan, he's laying on his back, a dressing being applied to his neck wound as Ricky tends to him. Every couple of minutes, the ground trembles, reminding us how little time we really have. Everything is coming apart at the seams.
“I knew you'd be coming, Jack,” the small child says. “I told her you would come after us, but they didn't listen. They're too arrogant to listen.”
Where is she? I say. Tell me where she is? Maybe I'll put in a good word for you on the other side.
“Why . . . so you can play savior, again?” the kid snaps. “Kill us all twice, is that it?”
I don't know about any of that, I tell him. That all happened before—
“Oh, right, right,” he interrupts, “ . . . before you lost all of your memories. Oh, how wonderfully guilt-free that must make you feel. The killer of killers looses his memory. A convenient touch. Must make it easy to sleep at night.”
You don't have any idea what you're talking about! I bark. All of you tricked me, and went against the will of God. You made your choices the first time around, I had nothing to do with that.
“No,” he yells back, “we were not given choices and that is why we ended up in the Land of Sorrows. You're no better than us!”
Ms. Josephine puts her hand on my shoulder, looking down at the monster, “'ow did you take possession of da children's bodies?”
The little bastard just smiles at us. He's done talking. I'd like to waterboard this smug little turd but I know we haven't got the time.
“Where is the soul that belongs in that body?”
Nothing but a crooked-toothed smile. Just loath and indignation.
“You know you's goin' back, don't you,” Ms. Josephine says. “You're goin' back to da forever night. To da screamers and da gatherers, and all da things dat we don't care to speak of.”
And then the kid's smile starts to fade a bit. He's unsteady. Not quite as demoniacally resilient as before. He says, “Go ahead . . . kill me.”
Mr. Green lifts a pistol up but I wave it off. “No,” I explain to the Evil. “It's just going to be you heading back.”
“You have no idea what it's like!” the child pleads. “It's not fair! He stol
e our souls! It's not right! Where is the morality in that?”
I say, Tell me where Kristen is and I let you stay.
And they all look at me like I'm nuts to offer such a deal.
“Are you serious?” the child asks, now actually sounding like a scared kid for the first time.
No, I say as I place the gag back over his little mouth. It's time for all of you to go.
I look over to Ms. Josephine, “Can you and Mr. Blue please untie all of those children and break their spells, or whatever it is that's got them all zombied-out. This whole place is about to be covered in hot ash.”
She nods and raises to her feet, turning to Mr. Blue, “Avec Moi, s'il vous plais.”
Mr. Blue nods, “Oui.”
The both of them head towards the trees to start freeing the children from their restraints and their comas.
I have some business to attend to. Some souls to send back to Deadside.
Now , I say under my breath . . . where are my knives?
83
2 minutes, 23 seconds later . . .
Behind us we hear the thunderous roar of thick plumes of steam rising into the cloudy sky. The ground is alive with shakes and quivers, shuddering plants, and vibrations that keep us all quite aware that our time is precious. And I don't mean that in a philosophical sense.
If we don't get this taken care of, we're all going to be barbecued.
I'm kneeling over the body of the bad-mouthed Russian girl. I try to relax, as much as is possible given the unsettling scene we find unfolding around us. Mr. Green is making sure that none of these Evil kids try and pull a runner on us. Juan is still laying down, gathering his strength. He's stable, but he's going to have a monster neck ache for some time. It's not every day that a toddler takes a bite at your throat.
I look at Mr. Green, You trust me?
“I have to at this point, don't I?”
Just then Ricky walks towards the fire as he tends to the woman's head. Turns out Juan never killed her. It was all a bluff to get the man to start talking. Now they're holding each other as Ms. Josephine reunites them with their two children. I'm sure glad we didn't start pulling his fingernails apart.
“I have to perform a kind of ritual,” I say to them. “And it might get a bit creepy.”
“More creepy than child vampires drinking human blood?” Mr. Green counters.
Good point.
I close my eyes, breathing slowly, and trying to focus on what I need in order to make this happen. It's no small thing I'm about to do.
And I'm counting to myself with each breath in and out.
1 . . .
2 . . .
3 . . .
There's a rustling sound in the trees around us as the wind picks up.
4 . . .
5 . . .
6 . . .
7 . . .
The sound of crunching leaves and things dragging starts to encircle us. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand.
This is about to get interesting.
8 . . .
9 . . .
. . . And I finally open my eyes.
Whoa !
“Jack!” Mr. Green says nervously. “What in God's name are they?”
Oh, they're the farthest thing from God, I say.
All around us, from the darkness, they have come. There must be 50, maybe 60 of them. Their long sinewy arms. The birdlike way they move. Their stocky, squat bodies.
Can you see them, Mr. Green?
“You mean all the fucking monsters?” Mr. Green says unsteadily. “Uh . . . yeah .”
It must be this place . . . the forest. It must skew everything just enough for you to see what I always see. Everything here is either dead or dying. I guess that makes sense.
“None of this makes sense! What are they, and do I need to shoot them?”
They're gatherers , I tell him. And I wouldn't do anything to make them angry. They're here to help me harvest the souls. The Evil souls.
“What line of work are you in, again?”
You don't want to know.
“Is this going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?”
Most likely.
“Then this is like Ghostbusters ,” he whispers.
No it, well . . . maybe it is. Damn it.
The gatherers make their way closer and closer to us until they're within feet . . . then inches. Almost touching us.
I warn Mr. Green and Juan, This may look quite horrible. It's just the way things are done. You're not supposed to see any of this.
I extend my arms to the sides, opening my hands, my palms facing upwards just like Uriel said. Slowly, eerily, I feel the weight of knives as they're placed in my hands. The knives, they're so cold they burn in my palms. They're like dry ice.
The gatherers—the shadow creatures that rip souls from their earthly bodies—have given me their tools. And this is exactly what Uriel said I must do. The ritual that I, and only I, can perform.
It must be me, he told me over and over.
I was the only one who could do this.
This is a one man performance.
I gather my strength as I take the heavy black shadow blades, their points facing the stomach of this possessed child. I lift my arms, my body growing tense as I prepare to plunge the blades downward into this forsaken soul.
From my stomach, through my chest, up through my shoulders, biceps and triceps, every muscle in my body is charged.
Dear God . . . please forgive me . . .
84
The space of a bolt of lightening later . . .
With all the force I can muster, I bring the blades down cutting deep into the child. But there's no blood, just friction. Like magnets repelling the knives, they bounce back upwards. I look to the gatherers for instruction but they have nothing but silence to offer.
Again, I swing the knives down into this child's chest and I feel it give a bit, like I've made some progress. Over and over I cut into her flesh and I start to see the glowing residue that I saw remnants of in the dead animals. I'm making a kind of violent progression into this girls chest.
The place where I must pass to harvest the Evil soul.
Sure, it's of a horrible, detestable nature. But it's a step towards redemption.
I continue cutting and chopping, purple life force splattering all over my face and arms, dripping from my hands, running down my chest. And there is an audible cracking sound and then a large pop.
Just like when little Juanito the beetle popped.
I've hit pay soul.
Breathing hard, glowing life-fluid smearing my neck a psychedelic violet, I lift my arms and two gatherers dive their long arms into this little girl's chest, tugging and pulling at the invading soul.
“What are they doing?” Mr. Green says, barely above a whisper. Just louder than the sound of the haunting wind.
I don't answer.
I just keep watching. They pull and pull, yanking back and forth, like they're wrestling an alligator, and then this massless, almost opaque greyish white form is ripped free of the child as she blinks her eyes a couple times and starts to cry.
The gatherers quickly disappear into the forest with the soul and two more of them fill in to take the next soul.
Ms. Josephine ! I yell. Please come and take this child away from here.
When Ms. Josephine approaches the gatherers give her space. They actually move out of her way as if she's respected by the creatures formed of shadows and darkness. I guess they know her pretty well, since she's a conduit.
Now, I'm speechless.
She reaches down and picks up the crying little girl, cutting the zip-ties, and hugs her as they walk quickly off.
But my work is only ¼ finished. I go to the next child, a small boy with dark tanned skin, greenish-brown eyes, and a strange language that my gut instinct tells me is Aramaic. I don't know why I know this, I just do.
The shadow knives weight heavy on my tired hands, but I ca
ll upon every ounce of strength I can as I slam the blades into his chest. With everything I've got I ferociously stab, as quick as I can. Stab after glowing stab, I make my way into the chest cavity.
Until . . . crack-pop !
Two more gatherers reach inside the boy's chest, harvesting the silent soul. As they do this I feel this unearthly liquid covering me. I'm clenched in the life-blood of the undead—thieves of bodies.
I can't even catch my breath as I go to the next body, I just go right to chopping. Ms. Josephine comes and claims the next child, freed of the disease of Evil. The gatherers taking their soul. Ms. Josephine taking this cleansed, scared child.
They're both basically doing the same thing.
As I cut at this Evil's vehicle I strain for air. I'm the one drowning, now. I'm always drowning, fighting for one more moment of life.
The ground is rumbling, shaking me sideways as I chop at this child's bare chest. These invading souls, are like body drivers. They get in, crash into everything they can, and then I come.
I cut and pound and rip into the small body, sweat mixing with life-force mixing with the forged blades of darkness and death and shadows.
Crack . . . pop !
In, the thin clawed hands of the gatherers attack, clutching for the dead who are hiding in the living. They take the powerless soul, ripping it from the girl's body, and race out into the darkness. And there is no emotion in what they do.
It's just another day at work.
Another soul to harvest, as if there's a quota.
Well, perhaps there is.
23 .
One child left. Then I'm done, for now.
I catch my breath as Ms. Josephine leads the child to safety. Mr. Green, his eyes are wide and scared, as if this has forever changed him. Then again . . . it will probably change us all.
“Is this . . . is this the afterlife?”
I shrug, “Not for everyone, I don't think. But then, I don't see the other side of it.”
The tremors are almost constant, now. Everything is vibrating so much that the trees are beginning to look blurry. Smudged in time.
I raise my arms to the violent, angry sky and I thrust downward, but something strange happens. The knives, they shatter into a million tiny invisible pieces like the most brittle glass you can imagine, falling everywhere. All the black shards disappear around me.
See Jack Hunt (See Jack Die) Page 32
