Asher and Ben would enact their revenge on the others for stealing her away. Ben hated Asher and the others equally. Asher would not disagree, but they needed each other in order to complete their task. Asher knew it. Ben knew it. If he wanted Asher dead after it was finished, then he could make that decision, and Asher would accept his fate.
As the dull sky faded to black, Asher and Ben started walking in the direction of downtown. They covered both ends of the filled street and anticipated finding their first opponents of the night.
-
Mickey admired Greg as he rebuilt the radio after dismantling it. The guy was not only book smart, but crafty too. He was smart and capable in a weak and fearful body, but if they stuck together, they would make a great team. Greg could set up traps and figure out strategy while Mickey could be the brute with a brain (albeit not quite as big). Who knew what they’d do with Harry, so far the only thing he’d been good for was a couple of wise cracks and canned tuna passed the expiration date.
“So, remind me again, what good is this doing?” Harry asked, pretending to be interested. The old man was extra fidgety this high up with the wind blowing this hard. Harry kept looking at the door like he expected someone to join their little party. Anyone who was willing to walk up those stairs deserved access to the roof if you asked Mickey, other than the freaks Harry kept talking about, of course.
Greg didn't even look up when he said, “We’re going to identify the severity of the attack and identify where other survivors could be posted. If it’s a local problem there will be an extraction point, unless it’s quarantined, but regardless, we should be able to strategize the next appropriate steps by the radio reports.”
“And what if the radio doesn’t pick up?” Harry asked.
Greg responded before Harry finished his sentence, “That won’t happen. I know how to set up a radio.”
Harry rubbed his beard, “No, no. I mean what if there are no frequencies for the radio to get.”
Greg responded again without pause, “That should not happen, emergency broadcasts are recorded and play on a loop. Worst case we’re going to get a report from when it all first happened and maybe a few old plans of response.”
Greg, the expert technician, turned the radio right side up and pressed down on the button labeled “ON”.
Nothing.
“Volume?” Mickey asked.
Greg turned the dial and they all leaned in listening. A man’s voice came in through the static, “There have been no survivors reported. Rescue teams will be dispatched into Salt Lake City as soon as the fire is subsided. Fire support helicopters are sending over seven hundred gallons of water per hour over the city without much success in calming the now blazing inferno. The Federal Emergency Management Agency has teamed up with all surrounding fire marshals and have arrived to surround the fire to prevent any further spread. This has now become the largest oil disaster in the history of the United States of America.”
“No! That’s not true!” Harry shouted and threw his hammer against the door. The large clang made the other two jump. He continued in his fury, “Fire? Do either of you see a fire? The shady government! Our dirty war hero of a president! They’re covering this up as an oil fire? How?”
This was worse than no radio signal. The man on radio went on, “We are awaiting the President’s State of the Union address at 9:00 pm eastern in which he has promised to approach the growing rumor of this being an attack on America by an enemy terrorist organization as well as his intentions for evacuations of all neighboring cities. Please keep Salt Lake City in your prayers. Now, let’s go over to our expert disaster correspondent Wilson Roberts for his take on the event and possibility of a…”
The broadcast stopped. Static filled the airways.
Greg banged on the side of the radio. Mickey wanted to grab it and throw it off the roof. Harry was pacing back and forth cursing America. They walked all this way to find out America had created a make believe fairy tale about what happened. Now what?
-
There was no music playing over the speakers, but the soft melody of Boys II Men rang in Toppy’s ears. “I’ll make love to you, like you want me to.” He tried to keep up with the rhythm, but he was never a good dancer. It didn’t matter, romance was in the air. As he prepared for a night in the dungeon filled with chocolate covered strawberries and a bottle of white wine, he felt the thrill of falling in love. Jenny might not love him back, not yet, but she would learn. He read enough on how to make women fall in love to know most only needed to be told what to do and be tied down. The books might have meant it figuratively, but literally sounded easier.
The honey bees would be buzzing soon, so he needed to find his way to the basement and reunite with his lady. It was nice to not be alone. The green room downstairs wouldn’t be a comfortable place to live, but he and his bride could eventually learn to love it, together. Tomorrow he would go into one of the rooms and bring a bed for them, but not until he knew those men, the losers looking for women, were dead or gone. Hopefully the bees would sting them tonight or at least hurt the losers really bad. Toppy would enjoy finishing the job one by one.
Of course, Toppy needed to find the “other girl” they mentioned too. It was like the great prophet once said, “Two wives are better than one.”
Toppy stood at the top of the basement stairs and locked the door. The bees buzzed around the lobby and dining room, drowning out Boys II Men. Calling them bees was funny, which was why he did it. They were really fast, really strong, and stung really hard. Just like bees.
Just like Toppy too. He was the king bee.
He wouldn’t invite the other bees downstairs to play, and they definitely didn’t have the key. The chef had the only key, and Toppy shoved him in the freezer like a spicy meatball.
If Toppy stayed there any longer, he might feel the itch to prove to those bees they didn’t buzz like him. King bee’s had to show up when the buzzing started, and Toppy didn’t want the peer pressure from the black-eyed bees to go out there. Then he would have to kill them, get a shower, and clean up the kitchen. He had better go downstairs and visit with Jenny. Maybe he would step out after sharing some intimacy with her and kill a baker’s dozen later.
Jenny was still sleeping from the nap-slap. That’s what he would call it from now on, the nap-slap. If she was disrespectful, give her the nap-slap. If she was uncooperative, give her the nap-slap, and if she was up to something rotten, Toppy would give her the nap-slap. He would tell her about it as soon as she woke up. That would show her how clever he was.
The buzzing was hard to hear from the basement. It was nice to have Boys II Men back on to serenade. She looked beautiful in the dark; her hair was smooth like coco butter. He wanted to smell it but decided it would be better to let her sleep.
He heard the familiar noise of the swinging doors upstairs. It was a faint noise, but Toppy recognized it. It was after all, how he found Jenny, and now it was the arrival of someone else. Had those losers come back? Nope.
Another swinging.
And another.
And yet another.
There was no one talking, but the bees buzzed up there. How many? Probably four or five, and they were too stupid to unlock the door, even if they had the key.
Wait…where was the key?
“Help!” Jenny was awake. “Help! Somebody, help me!” She was breathing fast and would probably give herself an asthma attack. Where could Toppy find an inhaler?
“Shhhh,” Toppy told her and raised his hand. “If you’re not quiet I’ll give you another nap-slap. Do you want that?” She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she knew what the nap-slap was and shut up. He didn’t want to nap-slap the poor girl, but he had to take care of her.
A loud crashing noise completely silenced Boys II Men. Those stupid bees were trying to run through the basement door. Good thing the chef was such a paranoid freak; the locks were stronger than a couple of buzzing bees looking to sting. Only a key would
grant access, and Toppy had the only key somewhere around here. He could find it wherever he put it last. Once he remembers where he put it last.
“HELPPPP! We are down here! Come down and kill this monster!” She started to say something else, but Toppy had enough and gave her a lesser version of the nap-slap. It hurt to see her in pain, but spare the nap-slap, spoil the wife.
Only Jenny didn’t move after that. Her heart was still beating, and oh boy, her skin was smooth. She was sleeping. The nap-slap was stronger than he realized. It would be best to let her sleep and go say hello to the other bees. Why not?
The door handle was shaking wildly as he made his way up the stairs. He liked not having any electricity in the building; it set the mood and meant no one else could see. Toppy didn’t need to see well to have fun. He could see the bees through the screen door just fine. Their faces were black and ugly, but they didn’t want to talk to him. No matter how much he said, they looked at him like he was a boring Billy. He didn’t appreciate the way they challenged him like this. It would come back to hurt all these bees.
Jenny woke up quicker than Toppy expected. He couldn’t see her at the bottom of the stairwell, but he heard her when she started screaming at him. “You’re going to die down here. You monster. They’re going to kill you. How does that sound, you freak?”
She was lucky to be too far away. Toppy wanted to go down and give her a good one. She couldn’t talk to him like this. A wife’s job was to respect and fear her man. If she didn’t know that, she would learn. Toppy shouted down the stairwell at her, “Oh really? You think those little bees can buzz like me? How about I go out and kill all of them?” The door handle jiggled as he looked back at their dark figures. “I’m the only one who can protect you now, Jenny. You will learn!”
The bees were looking at him. It was like looking at a mirror with a distorted reflection.
His eyes adjusted more to the darkness. The kitchen looked funny from this angle. Dishes were scattered but organized, and food was out but still managed to stay fresh. Then he saw her, the little Asian from the front desk. Her little head with her little slanted eyes looked at him. He would come after her tomorrow morning. The tiny dancer couldn’t stay away for too long. Jenny’s friend would be a great addition to the family. Jenny would be so happy to see her.
“I see you, little bird. I see you. I’m gonna get you.” It was more fun to let her know he was coming. It would make tomorrow as fun as today, and today was fun: first killing chef whatever-his-name and then taking Jenny as his bride. Tomorrow was filling up with fun too. Someone little enough to fit in a cupboard could be a fun person to keep around.
Her little Asian door opened again. She was waving towards him. She was too quiet for the bees to buzz at her. She better stay that way. Toppy wanted her for himself. Why was she waving at him? These bees didn’t acknowledge there was another person in the room, what a bunch of idiots. “Oh durr, why don’t you go kill her? Quit looking here and see the little one hiding over there.” He pointed his fingers hard at her, but they only buzzed silently at the door.
She lofted something in the air with an underhanded motion.
The key. Toppy’s key. It dinged on the floor and echoed through the room. One of the bees was the only one to look at it. The outlier bee picked up the key and brought it to the door. He didn’t smile at Toppy, but he didn’t not smile at him either.
It was time to rumble with the bees.
Toppy would have to prove himself King Bee to these wasps.
Toppy grabbed the cleaver out of the back of his pants and smiled at the bees. The key holder would be the first kill, but they would all die. He would keep the bees from going downstairs and stinging Jenny. “Big bee sting hard,” he said to the key holder working the lock. Those bees were ready. Toppy was more ready though.
-
There was no reason to be nervous. Asher and Ben were able to dispatch every enemy last night with nearly perfectly efficiency. Still, Asher felt uneasy. The moon rose in the sun’s place, but the foggy sky left only a muted grey light surrounding the city. It was beautiful, ugly, and unwelcoming. The brothers were not walking deeper into a city; they were entering an abyss.
Ben did not share this sentiment; he walked on the other side of the road whistling a song Asher could not remember. Hanging over his shoulder was an oversized hammer he had found in the hallway. The weapon was as arrogant in size as Ben was in personality. It was nearly as long as Ben was tall, and its end looked like a cinderblock. In different circumstances it would have looked silly, but Ben’s strength and fighting style also belonged in medieval times.
The first sounds of rustling were three, maybe four, blocks away into the city. The wolves were perfect runners, but the roads were too cluttered for them to move quickly without causing a ruckus. They would soon be close enough to see through the fog. Asher’s tension eased a little. No longer stuck anticipating the fight, it soon approached. It was easier to be in the moment rather than waiting. Ben stopped his whistling and shouted to the other side of the street, “Here they come big brother. Get your panties unwound and your broomstick ready.”
Finally, after seeing the first wolf burst through the fog, Asher was ready.
-
Toppy slammed his cleaver into the first bee’s reaching hand. He could have made it to his big, fat, black head, but this bee needed to learn his lesson for coming into Toppy’s hive. Once the door opened, Toppy gave another bee a right jab into his face. Toppy had used the same strength on regular people which knocked them out. It took more strength than that.
Toppy had plenty more to give like a cleaver splitting through his jaw.
Blood squirted everywhere. It was like a hot knife sliding through butter. The blood felt nice on his face.
Another jumped on his back and put him in a weak, choke hold. He tried to cleaver the bee’s forehead but only was able to wedge into its shoulder. The blade made a tear through muscle and ligament, but the bones locked around it like a vice grip. He punched another shadow-bee in the face and threw a smaller one by the throat into the Asian girl’s cabinet.
He could feel the pressure tighten on the sides of his big, thick neck. Someone was still choking him despite being nearly cut in half. Toppy back peddled into the wall and smooshed him. The grip went limp, and the body slid over Toppy’s rear end. Toppy ignored the knives hanging to his right and grabbed a rolling pin out of a nearby drawer. The wood felt hot when it slammed the fat middle into a bee’s skull. Cracks echoed up his left arm. He thought for a minute that his own arm had broken until he saw the caved-in head at the end of the pin.
Three bees stood in front of him. One missing an arm which looked funny. They swarmed him together. They would learn Toppy was King Bee. A punch landed on his ear and the one-armed man tangled himself in Toppy’s apron and stabbed Toppy with the boney remains of his other arm. The stump bled onto his face as the bee pushed his bone against the side of Toppy’s head. It hurt worse than fists, which made Toppy angry. Toppy pulled the handle back and slammed his rolling pin into a different bee’s head. He would have ended another bee, but the pin broken off win its last target’s skull. The stumped bee jabbed into Toppy’s neck again. The heat of his own blood rushed over him. Toppy gathered the rabid freak and spun him around to hurl him away. The stupid bee wanted to stand up, but Toppy turned the one-armed jerk face into a bowling ball and knocked them together. Toppy was getting dizzy with the room spinning all around him. He found the clever in the ground and threw it into one of their faces. It was hard to tell who.
Toppy wasn’t going to ask though. The King bee wasted no time buzzing around with little buzzers. He dove on the only shadow bee left, like you see on wrestling. “Buzz buzz,” he said and grabbed the bee’s big, fat head. He punched him a lot, enough that his fist hurt real bad.
It didn’t hurt as bad as his neck though. That one hurt awful.
It didn’t hurt as bad as the little Asian would. She was going to re
ally hurt.
-
There were fifteen dead bodies around Asher and his brother. Asher was shocked at how easily Ben could count in the darkness with so much distance between them.
During a fight.
With savage beasts.
“Give them credit,” he said. “They don’t quit until you quit ‘em. They sell out until their heart stops.” Asher agreed with his brother and looked back into the foggy downtown. It was time for round two. Both parts of the shovel had proven to be excellent killing devices. The spear moved fast in his left hand, and the blade of the shovel could both club and slice from the right. Ben’s expertise with his hammer did not mirror Asher’s smooth poetry; Ben brought his weapon around with reckless abandon.
The battle was cleaner than the one in Ben’s kitchen. The freedom of the open space made the battle quick and easy. Not once did Asher feel threatened or even the whiff of a close-missed lash from the enemy. Even his body felt normal. Well, not normal. Better than normal. Asher was alive; gravity no longer had the same pull, and his muscles no longer had the same fatigue. He was out of shape compared to his old soccer days, but he never felt like this.
The sound of windows breaking came from up the street.
Asher and Ben headed off in the direction of the Grand American.
-
The lack of vision this high up was disorienting but not enough to make Greg afraid. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was afraid of the blank-faces hunting within. They were out now, even in the Grand American, searching for their prey in the open and in the corners where people were too afraid to hide. They would soon come to the roof and then what? Greg was incapable of using this heavy hammer for more than nailing his own coffin. Greg had a better chance of survival by jumping off the roof rather than attempting hand to hand combat with another blank face.
As if on cue, an echo made its way out of the roof’s open door. Greg heard the running and was relieved to see the other two had noticed it as well. Thankfully, Harry shut the door and prepared his hatchet for attack. Mickey stepped in front of Greg and took the lead, waiting for the door to open. He held the baseball bat like he was at the driving range ready to take a swing. Greg, on the other hand, decided it would be wiser to throw the hammer near Harry in case he needed an extra weapon.
Dark Genesis (Shadow and Shine Book 1) Page 9
