The Revenants

by Castle, Jack

  They were bird food, and he knew it.

  As they drove him from his knees to all fours, he recalled the remains of a hitchhiker they had once found along the highway. In a mere forty-five minutes all that was left of the unfortunate hitchhiker were his shredded clothes, a watch, a few bones and a broken guitar. Oh, and ironically, a thumb. Okay, okay, final death-bed confession, it had actually been a finger, but it made a much better story for the fellas back at the station if it was a thumb. (Get it, hitchhiker’s thumb?) Regardless, the rest of the hitchhiker’s body had been picked clean. Just as they were about to be.

  Good-bye world. Taken out by a flock of stupid ugly ravens.

  (An Unkindness. An Unkindness of ravens. Seriously, why am I even here?)

  KA-WHOOSH!

  This was a new sound. And a familiar one.

  KA-WHOOSH, KA-WHOOSH –WHOOSH.

  In fact, it was a welcoming sound to firefighters all around the world. The sound of rushing water, and lots of it. The ravens immediately cried out in annoyance as thick cylindrical streams of the stuff slammed into their grotesque bodies. Most of the birds scattered immediately; but a few holdouts needed more convincing. Eventually all took flight.

  Checking behind him, Wally saw several of the larger birds still crowded around the rear bumper of the Medic rig, desperately trying to get at something hidden underneath.

  The powerful jet stream of water soon found them and they dispersed too, but not without first squawking plenty of avian curses.

  The K-9 instructor lady poked out her head from beneath the tailgate and, moving slowly, climbed out from underneath the truck.

  Both he and the K-9 instructor turned back toward the firetruck to see who their mysterious benefactor was.

  Standing on top of the truck, manning the rig’s Deck Gun like a gun turret, was none other than Too-Tall-Tower, his eyes so wide they were reflecting this evening’s grandiose and oversized moon.

  Only after confirming all the Ravens were truly gone did Too-Tall-Tower ease back on the handle and shut off the water supply. He hopped down off the truck with surprising nimbleness for a man his size and strode toward them. As he did so, he constantly checked over his shoulders for more attackers. When he saw Wally and the K-9 instructor staring at him he raised his eyebrows, flashed them a big ole’ grin and said, “I guess you just have to show them who’s boss around here.”

  “Oh man, Denise.” It was the Hispanic paramedic. Wally spied him getting out of the cab of the medic rig where he had taken refuge. “No, no, no, no,” he kept repeating.

  Wally rushed over to where what was left of Denise was still lying on the pavement. She was a mess. Where her eyes should have been there were only bloodstained empty sockets. She was covered in multiple lacerations on her face, neck, and arms, and worst of all, some of her intestines were half-hanging out of her eviscerated belly.

  She moaned.

  Her partner stammered, “Holy crap, man, she’s still alive.”

  Time to go to work.

  Thinking to himself, Wally returned to the basics. Okay. What’ve we got? Think, Wallman, think, this is one of your own lying here. A.B.C.s, airway, breath, circulation. Is her airway clear and is she breathing? He put his ear to her mouth. Her breathing was irregular and shallow but somehow she was still breathing. Denise, a fighter to the end. Which meant her blood was still pumping. Moving on. Assess the areas that are bleeding and injured, and control that bleeding.

  “What do we do?”

  Wally lifted his eyes from Denise to her wide-eyed and scared looking partner. His name tag read, SANTOS. He was only a kid; probably hadn’t been on many calls like this, and that was compounded by the fact that it’s always worse when you have to work on someone you know.

  “Santos, isn’t it?” When the Latin kid nodded back he said, “Get me an A.E.D., if she goes into V-Fib or V-Tach I wanna be ready .”

  “On it!” the kid said, obviously thankful for something to do, and was off in a flash.

  “What do you want me to do, boss?” It was Tower. He was no paramedic but he had enough sense to retrieve the big first aid kit and backboard out of the ambulance.

  Good man.

  (That Tower… He’s a good guy to have around in a crisis. Don’t you think?)

  “Grab the saline solution out of the kit and start cleaning out her optics as best as you can, and then put some four-by-fours over her eyes.”

  “Four-by-Fours?”

  “Uh, yeah, you know, the little four-inch by four-inch gauze, it stops the bleeding. Just put them right over her eyes.”

  (Which is funny, because Denise no longer has any eyes, but I’m sure Tower knew what Wally meant.)

  The Latin kid returned with the A.E.D. And just like a seasoned pro he sliced open Denise’s shirt with scissors and began attaching leads to her chest and side.

  “Santos, as soon as you’re done with that, I want you to sterilize all lacerations with saline and then start wrapping her up like a mummy.”

  Santos nodded and without missing a beat answered, “Copy.”

  Now for the hard part. The belly wound. He was going to need another pair of hands. Both Tower and Santos were already busy with jobs. Important jobs.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the K-9 instructor shimmying her way back inside her old Land Rover through a smashed out window. Wally was about to call her over to lend a hand when he saw Spence stumbling about in the shadows.

  “Spence, get your ass over here and give us a hand with Denise!”

  Spence staggered like a drunk out of the darkness and stepped into the strobe’s lighting. His movements were slow and clumsy and he returned only a blank stare. “What?” he asked groggily.

  Losing his temper, probably way more than he ought to have, he was a seasoned professional after all, Wally yelled. “Denise! Give us a hand with Denise!”

  Instead of answering, Spence just sort of cradled his forehead in his hand and sort of half-collapsed against the firetruck. Spence was obviously in shock, Wally decided. He could hardly blame the man. Spence was only a volunteer firefighter, and this was probably the most gruesome call he had ever been on.

  “What do you need?”

  It was the K-9 instructor.

  In a glance Wally noted that her wrist was now bandaged, and not a bad field dressing at that. The woman was a survivor.

  “Uhmmm… I’m sorry.” He snapped his fingers, trying to recall her name. “Mrs.?”

  “Becca. Name’s Becca. Just tell me what you need.”

  Wally responded, “Becca, grab me some Kerlix gauze, uh, the rounded bandages, out of the med-kit.”

  Becca quickly pulled out the correct bandages and said, “Okay, just tell me what to do.”

  “I’m going to stuff as much of her intestines back inside as I can. Then, while I hold her belly open, I want you to stuff as many rolls of gauze inside as possible.”

  Becca swallowed, but nodded she understood.

  As he began stuffing Denise like a Thanksgiving Turkey Becca knelt down on the opposite side and made ready with the Kerlix.

  “Put the bandages right in there?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yeah, pack it tight with Kerlix, fill all the space up; the idea is to keep her from bleeding out.”

  Between the acrid smell of blood and sickening sticky sounds, Wally was certain the K-9 instructor lady was going to barf right in Denise’s open belly, but to her credit--as he held Denise’s stomach open for her--Becca filled Denise’s abdomen up with the bandages as instructed.

  The others were doing well, too. Tower had cleaned out Denise’s eye-sockets and was already wrapping her head in gauze.

  Now that Denise’s belly was full of bandages he said to Becca, “Okay, now we have to pull her skin tight over everything.” Wally stretched Denise’s skin over the loosely packed intestines and rolls of gauze. He then instructed Becca, “Take another roll of quick cloth and, while I hold her skin together, wrap the whole thing with
more Kerlix.”

  By the time the K-9 instructor finished, Santos had already dressed all other lacerations. He even had the foresight to apply a C-collar to stabilize Denise’s neck to keep her head in a good line.

  Good job, kid.

  “Okay, airway is maintained, bleeding is under control, and her exposed intestines are packed tight. Denise is now stable enough to move. All we need to do is get her to definitive care.”

  Denise moaned again, only this time with more fervor. She was starting to wake up, and obviously was in a great deal of pain.

  Hearing this Santos suggested, “Maybe we should start her on an IV?”

  Wally understood the kid’s concern. If Denise woke up right now, she was going to be in a whole hell of a lot of pain. “We can start an I.V. in the ambulance and then we can introduce some pain meds. But right now the priority is getting her to a hospital.”

  Working together, the four of them--he, Tower, the K-9 instructor, and the Hispanic paramedic guy, what was his name, Santos--all managed to get Denise onto the gurney, and into the back of the Medic Rig, and ready for transport.

  “Okay, Santos, I need you to drive like Denise’s life depends on it, because it does.”

  Despite the extreme chill in the air, there were beads of sweat on the kid’s round, pimpled face. The young paramedic nodded back. “Copy that.”

  “I’m going to ride in the back and keep her stabilized. Tower will be right behind us in the firetruck. We’re running code the whole way.”

  Turning toward the K-9 instructor he began to say, “You’re welcome to stay here and wait for the tow truck but most likely he wouldn’t get here until morning.”

  But Becca interjected before he could put a period on that sentence. “Like hell I will.”

  “Yeah, with those crazy birds around, I wouldn’t recommend it. Why don’t you ride up front with Santos?”

  She nodded.

  Okay, we finally have things back under control. The ravens really made a mess of Denise, but she was going to live. And even though Denise might not feel like it for a good long while, Wally considered her making it through tonight a solid win.

  They were gonna get through this. All of them.

  Wally was wrong.

  His first clue was Spence was walking briskly toward them. Spence never walked briskly anywhere. Even when it mattered. And what was he carrying?

  Oh. It was an ax.

  (This Wally is certainly a good man to have around in a crisis. Too bad he’s going to buy it in the next chapter.)

  (Oh c’mon. Like you didn’t know that was going to happen.)

  Chapter 6

  Spence’s Ax

  The blade of a fireman’s ax is designed to smash through solid oak doors. So it didn’t come as a surprise to Wally when Spence struck Tower in the back of the head, and the blade divided Tower’s skull into two equal halves, like a logger splitting wood.

  Tower’s lifeless body crumpled to the asphalt.

  (I suppose we all should have seen that coming)

  With some difficulty Spence removed the ax from Tower’s ruined head and then proceeded to chop, chop, chop at his body again, until Tower was now in several smaller pieces.

  Everyone was too shocked to move. Wally had wanted to call out to Spence, and say something to him, tell him to stop, but his voice had left him. As strange and horrific as the raven attack had been, this was so much worse.

  Spence placed one boot on Tower’s limbless torso and removed the ax imbedded in the big man’s chest.

  “What the…” Santos breathed.

  At the sound of the young paramedic’s voice, Spence jerked up his head like one of those puppets on strings--what’d they call them, oh yeah--marionettes. Spence rolled his eyes in Santos’ direction and he grinned. Not just any grin either. Wide, like that disappearing cat in Alice in Wonderland. Wally then heard the volunteer firefighter mutter something strange and unintelligible, “Lik ouy, llik ouy lla.”

  The young Latin paramedic must’ve decided he wasn’t sticking around to figure out what Spence had said because just like when the ravens attacked, his flight response kicked into overdrive and he was off like a jackrabbit.

  In an unnerving rush of speed, far faster than Wally had ever seen the volunteer firefighter move before (or anyone else for that matter) Spence lifted the ax with one arm, as though it weighed almost nothing, and with a mighty heave, flung the ax toward the fleeing paramedic.

  The ax spun end over end until its blade struck Santos so violently, so perfectly, in the square of his back, the young paramedic flew forward as though he had been struck by a cannonball.

  In a span of about a minute Wally had stood by helplessly as Spence had violently killed two men.

  Finally shaking off the effects of shock, Wally lunged toward Spence. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do exactly, after all, he hadn’t been in a real fight since college. And even that was just a few exchanged punches with a drunken student over some long-forgotten insult. But he was just too furious to care.

  Wally remembered seeing Spence draw back his fist. Wally also heard the sound of bone cracking. But the next thing you know, pretty as you please, he was flying through the crisp night air. His midnight voyage through the sky was canceled however due to the big Medic Rig being directly in his flight path. Wally slammed into the ambulance so hard, he bounced off its side, and hit pavement. He couldn’t decide which was worse, the burning sensation in his shoulder from the impact, the hairline crack in his jaw from Spence hitting him, or his pancaked lungs from the landing. Regardless, when he tried to get back up his body refused; refused with not only a no, but a big ole’ hell-llll… no.

  Lying sideways on the pavement; he could see Spence returning with the ax, now painted with the garden-fresh blood of his fellow first responders.

  Madness.

  Wally coughed up some more of his own blood on the asphalt and could only watch as Spence covered the last few steps over to him. Wally thought about his ex, and his two twin boys, and how much they were going to miss dear old dad after he was gone.

  Enough of his muscles returned to allow him to roll over onto his back. He could hear himself wheezing agonal breaths.

  (For us non-medically trained personnel, “Agonal breaths” is an abnormal pattern of breathing, or gasping for air. Not sure why we didn’t just say that in the first place.)

  Spencer’s face was without mercy. In fact, it didn’t appear to be Spence at all. His face was all twisted up and contorted in unadulterated rage, and his eyes…his eyes were those of a madman’s.

  Spence raised the ax high over his head, the way a medieval executioner might have done back in the day.

  In those last few seconds before the ax fell, firefighter Wallman (Wally to his friends) closed his eyes and thought of his family and the last good day, long before the divorce. It was Thanksgiving, the twins were still little, and the smell of Turkey permeated the air, and everyone seemed to be laughing all day long. It was probably the single best day of his life.

  Yeah, that’d do just fine.

  The ax fell.

  A shot rang out.

  Then several more in rapid succession.

  Wally’s eyes flashed open in time to see Spence’s body convulsing as the bullets slammed into him.

  When Spence dropped the ax, Wally barely had time to roll out of the way before the sharp blade imbedded itself into the pavement where his face had been.

  Volunteer Firefighter Spence fell to his knees. His body now riddled with several bullet holes. He muttered one final bout of that insane gibber-gabber and then fell over onto his face like a felled oak.

  But who had saved him? Tower? No, Spence had killed Tower and Santos with the ax. Then who?

  Wally managed to lift his head a bit more. It was the K-9 Instructor lady. What was her name? He always was terrible with names. Becca.

  And she was holding a big-ass gun.

  Chapter 7

  Ease o
n Down, Ease on Down… the Road

  “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  A thin wisp of smoke left the barrel of the K-9 instructor’s pistol and despite the circumstances Wally thought, Huh, I thought that only happened in movies.

  (Huh, me too)

  “Answer me!”

  Wally jumped, and then quickly held up his hands in supplication. After all, isn’t that what you were supposed to do in these situations? Put your hands up? He had seen up close what guns could do, and that wasn’t counting only the last thirty seconds. “Whoa, ma’am, I… uh…mean…” He had forgotten her name again. What was it? Oh yeah, Becca. “Uh… Becca? Look, I don’t know any more than you do.”

  She seemed to be thinking his answer over. The fabric of her thick, green military coat was tattered where the raven had clawed at it earlier, and the fresh bandage on her wrist was starting to seep a little. Her gun, however, was still pointed at him. And Wally hated guns. Probably because he was the one who had to patch up the people they were used upon. Although even he had to admit, he sure was thankful for guns today. Whatever Spence had become, Wally was certain the volunteer firefighter would have easily chopped him into smaller pieces, just as he had poor Tower.

  “Listen, Becca, that wound on your wrist looks bad.” Wally then hiked a thumb toward the back of the ambulance, “And my friend Denise in there doesn’t have much time. What do you say you lower that gun and I get you both to the hospital?”

  Becca tilted her head slightly, as though weighing whether or not he was a threat. Finally she conceded. “Alright. What about the others?”