Carnival Baseball

by Colby Cox

  Vampires.

  Although extremely skeptical at first - Sarge walked out during the first briefing and advised all present that he would not put up with a bunch of fairy tale horse shit - the soldiers soon received clear evidence that not only did vampires exist, but they were a force of evil that had to be stopped at all costs. Townspeople all over Europe were falling prey to the extremely vicious and way over-dressed monsters of the night. The Task Force was specifically created to rid the land of the undead bloodsuckers once and for all.

  Soon to be named non-commissioned officer in charge of the SVK (Secret Vampire Killers), Sarge found he enjoyed the work. He liked the fact that he belonged to a higher mission, a greater purpose. Armistice Day brought an end to the war for him, but he still needed more. The death of his father and the riff with his brother had driven him to fight “Over There” in the first place. Once it was finished, he was lost. War had become his new family, and Sarge was one of its favorite children. When he was tapped to continue with the SVK, he jumped at the chance.

  Sarge, Mink Cosgrove, and Chuck Tanner became inseparable. They got along with the Brits and Frenchman just fine, but the three Americans found common bonds that went beyond the working relationship they maintained with their foreign counterparts.

  When they were given time away from their “death-to-vampire” duties, the trio honed their baseball skills near their barracks by playing games of catch, hot box, and pepper. The locals, especially those of Cordes-sur-Ciel, loved to watch the American soldiers practice the strange sport. People stood in awe when Sarge would grab a bat crafted especially for him by a village carpenter and slam baseballs past the onion fields at the edge of town.

  Captain Astor watched from his office window in awe as well. The commanding officer sent word to Mark DuCane about his three ball players over in France. DuCane owed the Captain a favor and Astor decided to cash it in to help them. He owed at least that much for what they had accomplished during their days under his leadership.

  Astor’s numerous telegrams and letters paid off and had brought the Wilmington Whispers scout, Clyde Decker, to France. The Captain was elated when Sarge, Mink, and Chuck were offered Carny Ball contracts. After all, there could be no other career in the private sector more American.

  The three were excited of the prospect of playing professional baseball. They would sometimes stay up late into the night, staring at the darkened ceilings in their barracks, or gaze upon the stars awaiting for dawn and their battles to begin. They talked about what it would be like, traveling from town to town, eating out, sleeping in hotels, riding on trains. They counted the days down until their assignments with the Task Force and Captain Astor were complete. Even Sarge welcomed a new life away from the combat, the fighting, and more importantly, the vampires. He enjoyed killing them just as much as the next guy, but the detail had gone stale. The idea of life in the Carnival Baseball League gave Sarge a new purpose to focus on. He wanted it, as did Mink and Charles.

  Tragically, Charles Tanner never got the chance. With two weeks left before they were to begin their journey back to the States, the three were sent on what was to be their final mission. They were briefed about a small nest of bloodsuckers in the nearby craggy hills. Intelligence Officers huddled them together and pointed on maps where suspected vampire activities originated. The Brits and Frogs were to supply support operations while the Americans performed entry into the nest. It was to be a simple “Churn and Burn” job straight from their extermination play books.

  Everything went as planned. Mink crawled into a vent tunnel and deep within the ground, he located five undead kids. They were asleep and hung upside down in a small cavern opening. Mink’s night vision allowed him to evaluate their condition in the pitch-black space, and he noted that they were nothing more than malnourished urchins. Tanner and Sarge would be able to dispose of them without problem. The creatures never even stirred as Mink slipped out to report his findings.

  Tanner and Sarge suited. Like most of their missions, the two soldiers would stake the little draculas through their hearts and then plant dynamite charges. That was the “Churn.” “Burn” came when the explosions would allow direct sunlight to rain down into the nest and eliminate any chance of hidden vampires surviving or coming back.

  Charles and Sarge belly-crawled into the cave. They were quick and efficient. All five vamps were sent to their makers courtesy of Army issued wooden stakes that even displayed “Made in the USA” on their sides. Tanner placed his explosives around the nest and gave Sarge the thumbs up. He then turned to exit back through the vent hole to watch the fireworks from a safe distance.

  That was when all hell broke loose.

  The cavern floor gave way beneath Tanner and the two soldiers tumbled into nothingness. Their free-fall was finally broken as both Tanner and Sarge hit rock bottom. Once Tanner peeled himself off of the ground, he held his lantern high over his head. He located Sarge about twenty feet away. The big man slowly rose from a slab of granite and Tanner saw a fresh line of blood well from Sarge’s scalp. Tanner heard moving water in the darkness and he deduced that they must have fallen into some sort of chasm formed by an underground stream.

  When Tanner looked to his right to get his bearings, he instinctively froze. There, in the corner of the vast cave, was a massive pile of paintings, silverware, jewelry, and all sorts of ancient weapons and antiques. He had fought vampires long enough to know that they had not just fallen into an ordinary nest of homeless neck-biters. They were in the midst of a bona fide coven, and he and Sarge had clumsily waltzed in like two human roast beef sandwiches.

  Sarge saw the heap of treasures hoarded in the cave as well. As trained, he pivoted and the two men set up a defensive back-to-back position. Sarge pulled two sharpened stakes from his uniform coat and gripped one tightly in each hand. Tanner set his lantern down and did the same.

  Their actions were futile. They were attacked from all sides. The vampires sprung from the surrounding blackness and were on Sarge and Tanner like bees to honey. The pair did all they could to fight them off, but it was no use. Tanner quickly estimated that there were at least three dozen of them as they clawed at him and his partner. The monsters tried desperately to get to the men’s necks, but their divisionally requisitioned leather jugular guards kept the bastards from biting down. Tanner took several hard hits to his skull as he was bludgeoned by a rock. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Sarge Safran covered in a hissing and screaming pile of rabid bloodsuckers.

  When Sarge awoke, he found his world was upside down. He could see that Tanner was in the same position about ten yards away. It was one of the first lessons they were taught in combat school. Those unfortunate enough to be captured by a bunch of fangs were transported back to the nest where they were strung up as a food source. It was Vampire 101. Sarge glanced up at his feet and saw that they were wrapped in heavy chain that had been driven into the cave’s stone ceiling. There was no way out of this one - a definite pickle. The only hope he and Tanner had at that point was for the rest of the team to come to their rescue. Sarge darted his tongue around to feel the back of his mouth and cursed. Those tricky undead freaks had even pulled his emergency poison-filled molar. With it, they took from him the opportunity to end his life quickly. Sarge hoped he would have at least gotten the chance to die with dignity and not as some tasty cheeseburger for a bunch of blood bums.

  Tanner’s voice cut through his train of thought.

  “Hey, Sarge.”

  “Say, hey, Chuck. You hang around here much?”

  Tanner laughed at the stupid joke. Sarge could see in the dim lantern light that his partner was shivering. His lips were blue. Both men hung about ten feet off the ground and from what Sarge could see, they had been left alone in the cave. He could not detect any guards.

  “Sarge. I gotta be honest with you, I don’t think we’ll get out of this one.”

  He figured Tanner was right, so he didn’t put up any arg
ument. He just dangled there and listened.

  “I gotta tell you something, Sarge. I did something really bad. I did probably the worst thing a man could do and I got a feeling that the day has come when that bad deed has finally caught up with me.”

  Sarge felt sorry for Tanner. He learned long ago that when the Grim Reaper knocked on men’s doors, a lot of guys wanted to confess their sins to anyone willing to listen. It turned out that Tanner was one of those guys. Sarge had faced death so many times, it was if they were old pals. He was the type that preferred coffee and cigars in lieu of talking, but Tanner was a friend, and a cup of joe paired with a stogie seemed out of the question, so Sarge humored him. He sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, and listened to Tanner ramble.

  “When my wife was pregnant with my son, I had a terrible dream that she would die during childbirth. But it wasn’t just a dream. I knew it to be the truth. A vision. Sure enough, when the doctor checked her out just before delivery, he set me down and told me it didn’t look good. It had something to do with the way my boy was sitting in her, but the doc said she probably wouldn’t make it.

  “Of course, I was beside myself. I felt guilty. I felt like it was my fault.

  “There I was, sitting in the Omaha Hospital, waiting for my wife to die. Understand, Sarge, I would have done anything to save her. Anything. So I prayed to God. I got down on my knees and prayed. I told God that I would go in her place. I told God to take me instead.

  “Then a man appeared in the room with me. Just like that. He didn’t come through the door, but he appeared out of the air. He introduced himself. He wore the best of clothes. His name was Mr. Scratch and he said he could arrange it so that my wife would live. Scratch works for the devil, Sarge. He’s the Devil’s Right Hand.”

  Hearing the name Scratch from Tanner’s lips struck a nerve with Sarge. His father would tell spook stories to him and his brother when they were little tykes right before bed time back in Ascension Parish. The boys’ favorites were stories of old Mr. Scratch and how he tricked people into selling their souls into eternal slavery with Satan. Sarge and his brother would laugh their asses off at the tales, but after the candle was snuffed, both would quietly wonder if they would sign contracts with the devil to bring back their Mom or to make life easier for their Dad.

  Tanner’s eyes focused past Sarge into the nothingness. His arms hung to either side of his head, his fingers pointed to the ground. He continued his bizarre tale.

  “I told Scratch he could have my soul, Sarge, but he said that wasn’t good enough. He wanted my soul plus my unborn son’s, too. Both of us in order to save my wife.”

  Sarge watched Tanner’s face as as he gently swung at the end of the chain. He listened to the story and did not like where it was leading. Either this was all too much strain on the man or something positively wicked actually had its claws into him. Tears fell from Tanner’s eyes, rolled down his forehead and disappeared into his hairline.

  “I did it, Sarge. Without hesitation. I did it. Signed a damned contract in blood right there in the waiting room. I sold that Mr. Scratch my soul and Chucky Junior’s to boot, so I could save my Jospehine. I sold our souls to the devil.”

  He bawled uncontrollably, long moans coupled with loud, sucking breaths.

  Sarge tried to quiet the man down. Tanner had lost his mind and Sarge worried that the racket he made would bring the vampires to see what was going on with their living lunches. He chastised his friend.

  “Come on, Chuck. Get a hold of yourself. I got an idea to get us of here, but I need you to pull it together.”

  The soldier wiped his nose on the back of his hand and shot a sheepish look towards Sarge. He nodded hard, gave a stiff smile, and halted his water works.

  The sergeant looked at the length of chain he was on and figured between it and his body’s 6 feet and change, it was probably enough to reach his partner. He bent his waist as if he was trying to touch his toes and then snapped his body back as he waved his giant arms behind him. Sarge could feel the motion it created and repeated the theatrics, timing it as he would on the rope back home over the summer swimming hole. A vision of a stringer full of catfish went through his head as he swung back and forth.

  Sarge’s arc got longer and faster. Little blue and red lights popped into his vision as he went light-headed with the upside down exertion, but he was able to work his way over to Tanner. He grabbed the man’s extended hand and then worked his way up to get a bear hug on Tanner’s legs.

  “Hey, Sarge, there’s half a stogie in my pant’s pocket if you want it.”

  Sarge ground out a laugh and was glad to hear the Nebraskan had regained control of himself. He then used his arms to pull his body up to Tanner’s feet until he grabbed the fat chain links that fettered him to the ceiling. Using almost all of the strength he had left, Sarge was able to Tarzan up the chain to where it was attached into the top of the cave. He couldn’t see much, but he felt around and realized that the chain was kept in place by a giant spike hammered into the rock.

  Sarge twisted until he was upside down again and planted his shackled feet on either side of the spike. He wrapped his forearms around Tanner’s bonds and positioned himself until his legs were bent in a squat.

  “All right, Chuck. If this works out, you’re about to take a mean fall, so be ready.”

  With that, Sarge clenched his teeth and fired off every muscle fiber in his body to loosen the spike out of the stone. He donkey-pressed with his legs, and at the same time, he dead-lifted with his back. The metal links cut into his forearms and it felt like his shoulders would pop out of place under the strain, but just like that, the spike gave way and snapped free. Sarge and Tanner were both sent flying.

  Tanner fell to the cave’s floor in a heap. The metal links struck him square in the head and gashed it deeply. Sarge swung wide on his line and smashed against the opposite wall like a giant puppet on its strings. He desperately grabbed for a hold, but missed. He arced the other way and felt something pull in his legs until he rested back into his original predicament, hanging at the end of his restraints.

  “Tanner! Hey, Chuck!”

  Sarge watched from his upside down position as Tanner pulled the chain off of his body and lifted himself from the ground.

  “Tanner! Hightail it out of here! Go get the rest of the gang and burn this Godforsaken nest down.”

  Tanner hurried to free his feet. Sarge watched with a sick sense of irony that as soon as Chuck was free to escape, he was pounced upon by a dozen or more bloodsuckers. It was a genuine dog pile on the rabbit. Sarge yelled and hollered, but it did no good. He lost sight of Chuck under the mound of thrashing undead, their dusty clothes flashing all around him. He desperately reached towards his fellow soldier. He was helpless.

  Suddenly, without explanation, the vampires scattered off of Tanner and scrambled back into the dark. A bright light pierced their surroundings and both men covered their eyes. Sarge was blinded. He kept yelling Tanner’s name, but there was no reply.

  When Sarge was finally able to force his eyes opened, he saw Tanner kneeling down next to the ground. The man was fussing over something and when he finally replied to Sarge’s yells, Sarge could see that the soldier was steadily petting a basset hound.

  The sight of the dog with Tanner was good news. It probably meant that Mink and the boys had used the animal to track their whereabouts. After all, it would certainly not have been the first time the unit had used a canine for a search and rescue mission. Sarge even remembered the time in Prague when they had utilized a pig. It was a nasty little guy, but it had performed a nice job. It also turned out to be one dandy of an evening barbecue, too.

  Sarge heard a man’s voice from the darkness and saw Tanner stand up to face it. The dog lazily ambled towards it and Sarge could not wait until Mink saw him in his current situation. It was a foregone conclusion that he would suffer at least a week of constant teasing before he would finally be let off the hook.

  Only it
wasn’t Mink that walked into the light to shake hands with Tanner. Sarge thought he must have hit against the wall harder than he thought, because he swore he could see Tanner shaking hands with a guy all decked out in whites as if he just walked off of some fancy polo field. Sarge could not hear much of what was being said between Tanner and the stranger, but the clear snippet he did hear made his skin crawl.

  “Hello, Mr. Scratch.”

  He stared down at the two men. The basset hound came back into view and gazed up at him. It let loose a quick and deep bark. He yelled down to Tanner.

  “Hey, Chuck! How about you and your friend get me down from here?”

  The man with Tanner gazed up at Sarge and waved.

  “Hello up there, sergeant. I must admit, when I look up at you hanging there it reminds me of that line from A Christmas Carol. You know, the part near the end when Scrooge speaks of the giant Christmas goose that hangs in the window. You look like the goose.”

  He had no clue what the guy dressed in sissy whites was talking about.

  “Yeah, well, I imagine my goose is cooked if you leave me hanging here.”

  The man let out a hearty laugh. He then pointed his finger at Sarge and the chain around his ankles snapped. He hit the stone floor like a ton of bricks.

  When he recovered, Sarge found the dog over top him, licking his face. He shooed the animal away and got to his feet. His body was stiff and he felt nauseas when he stood. The world would not stay still.

  The man placed a tanned hand upon Sarge’s arm and he felt instantly better.

  “Take it easy, sergeant. You have been through a lot. My name is Scratch, by the way.”

  Now that he stood by the man and wasn’t looking at him upside down, Sarge gave his rescuer a good once-over.

  Scratch wore riding breeches with knee-high leather boots, their stocks polished to a high shine. He sported a large number three on the back of a long-sleeved polo shirt. The collar was turned up. He was handsome, almost too much so.

  Sarge glanced over to Tanner and saw a look of utter defeat upon his face. It was as if someone had crumpled him like a piece of paper. He faced Scratch and spoke.