by Jeramy Gates
“Call 911!” he shouted at her. He lowered his stance and ripped off his apron, wrapping it around his wrist.
Loki snarled, brandishing the knife so the man could see it. For some strange reason, the man didn’t move. In the face of this unexpected courage, Loki was somewhat shaken. He turned that confusion into rage. He rushed forward, knife poised to strike.
“I’m going to kill you,” he snarled, slashing at the chef. The man danced back out of reach, his apron-wrapped arm held out defensively. He didn’t say anything. He just kept moving, dancing to the right and left, making himself into an impossible target.
Loki slashed at him again. He came closer this time. The knife blade slashed across the apron. Several layers of the heavy cloth separated. Unfortunately, the cut hadn’t gone deep enough to bite into flesh.
Loki lunged at the man again, bringing the knife up in a quick stabbing motion aimed at his target’s rib cage. The chef blocked the attack and shoved the knife blade aside. He inexplicably stepped forward, into the attack. Loki’s eyes widened. He faltered as the man pushed him off balance. The chef’s right hand appeared out of nowhere and smashed into Loki’s nose.
Loki stumbled back, stars flashing through his vision. He felt warm blood gushing down his lips and he tasted it with his tongue. Over the man’s shoulder, Loki could see the girl backed up against the handrail. She was talking into her cell phone. Talking to the police…
Loki made one last desperate attempt to salvage the situation. He turned the knife in his hand, gripping the handle backwards with the blade down. He raised his arm and brought the knife down in a vicious overhead attack. The chef took a step back. He stumbled on the edge of the boardwalk and tripped. He threw his arms out to catch himself, but still ended up on his back.
Loki pounced. He gripped the knife handle in both hands and brought it down in a tight arc aimed right for the man’s chest. The chef raised his arm in a attempt to block the blow. This time, Loki’s blade found home. The killer snarled as he drove the knife through the apron, all the way into the man’s arm. Loki felt the telltale vibrations of the blade sliding against bone and then it broke through, erupting out the other side.
Loki expected his enemy to relent at that point, to flee in fear or perhaps go catatonic, waiting for Loki to end it all. That was how the other victims had always behaved. Instead, the chef cursed, and a wild rage came over him. Before Loki could make any sense of it, the chef brought his knee up and rammed him hard between the legs. Loki doubled over, dropping to his knees, the knife torn from his grip.
The chef scrambled back out of reach. He jumped to his feet and ripped the blade from his arm with a guttural cry. Lisa helped him rearrange the apron on his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Loki regained enough composure to sit upright. He tried to push to his feet, but this movement was enough to attract the chef’s attention. He stepped forward and delivered a blinding kick to the side of Loki’s head. Loki fell back, crashing into the pavement at the edge of the lot. He moaned, clutching at his head, howling miserably at the blinding pain. In the distance, the wail of a siren came drifting out of the fog.
Icy terror gripped Loki’s chest. He pushed to his feet and ran for the car with a lurching, stumbling sprint. As he ran, he dug blindly through his pockets, searching for the keys. Just in time, he produced them. Loki leapt into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes, started the engine, and flew out of the parking lot with the tires screeching. He was in such a frenzy that he didn’t even think to turn on the headlights until he was a mile out of town.
Chapter 24
It was a fifteen-minute drive from the Bodega Bay Lodge to the secluded coastal farm where Matt had tracked the R.V, but after dark, in the dense fog, the drive stretched to more than twenty minutes. Valkyrie’s Packard roared up the twisting highway like a sleek black rocket on wheels, tires skidding around sharp turns, headlight beams slicing through the night. A wake of fog like two cyclones curled up in the air behind them as the car vanished into the mist.
Riley sat in the passenger seat muttering a silent prayer, both hands in a white-knuckle grip on the dash. To his right, fog and darkness closed in over the coastal hills. To the left, a narrow embankment was all that separated them from a steep dive over the cliffs, two hundred feet straight down into the shark-infested Pacific.
“Keep calling,” Val reminded him.
Riley flinched. He glanced at her and stared for a few seconds. Somehow, he found the courage to take one hand off the dash and locate his phone. Riley watched the signal meter on the screen. When he finally saw a bar appear, he speed-dialed the sheriff’s department. When the call dropped, he tried again. Finally, he got through. By then, they were just a mile away from the property.
“Nate is on his way,” Riley said as he hung up. “Should be twenty minutes, maybe thirty.”
“Just him?” said Val. She guided the Packard into an overlook just beyond the farm, and parked with the car idling.
“Nate’s closest. Diekmann is coming with more backup, but it will be a while. They’re trying to find someone closer.”
Val turned off the ignition and shut off the headlights. She threw a glance over Riley’s shoulder at the farmhouse up the lane. “That’s too long,” she said. “I’m not waiting.”
“Are you crazy? There might be two serial killers in that house!”
Val considered that. “You’re right,” she said. She opened the door, and Riley frowned as he watched her circle around the back of the car. She stopped there and pulled open the rumble seat. Riley hurried to join her. As the lid came up, dim light flooded the interior and Riley realized that the rumble seat had been removed to create a small cargo trunk with red carpeting. It was empty.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Val reached under the edge of the lid and pulled a switch. The floor of the cargo area popped up. She caught it by the edge and lifted it upright, revealing a hidden storage area. As the lid opened, the light illuminated a collection of firearms, knives, and martial arts weapons. Riley blinked in disbelief. He reached in, tracing his finger along the blade of a double-edged stiletto.
“What is all this?”
“Remember how I told you my husband always wanted to have a spy car?”
Riley glanced at her and then back at the weaponry. “Guns, knives… a tazer. Handcuffs? Val, what’s all this stuff for?”
“For when I’m feeling kinky,” she said with a wink. Seeing his perplexed look, she added, “It’s for stopping a serial killer, Riley. Did you hear anything that I told you earlier?”
“Well yes, of course… of course, but I didn’t know you would… go this far.” He reached in and pulled out an MP5 submachine gun. “Is this even legal?”
“Depends on where you live. And some other stuff. Keep your finger off the trigger, please. Pick something out. But not that.”
“Do what?”
“I won’t let you go in there with that pea-shooter you’re carrying.”
“In there? The two of us, alone?”
“What do you think we should do? Should we wait just wait a little longer, giving Odin the time to finish killing whoever lives in that house?”
Riley licked his lips. “You should know that I’m morally opposed to guns.”
Valkyrie gave him a grim smile. “I understand. I felt that way once too, before a stranger broke into my house, killed my family, raped me, and left me for dead. But if that’s the way you feel, get in the car and keep quiet. Real men will be along shortly.”
Riley placed the machine gun back in its cradle. He stared into the box for a moment, and then pulled out the shotgun. “How does this work?”
“Good choice,” said Val, smiling. “I’ll teach you on the way.” She handed Riley a box of shells and slammed the trunk shut.
As they approached the farmstead, Valkyrie whispered the instructions Riley would need to use the weapon. She paused near the end of the drive to draw her 1911 and co
ck the slide, loading a round into the chamber. She leaned on her cane as she gazed into the fog up the road. Pale yellow light streamed out of the living room. Across the parking area, the barn loomed dark and gloomy.
“The motor home must be in that barn,” Val said in a whisper. “They might be in there, but I think we should check the house first. “The lights are on, so they shouldn’t be able to see us unless we get too close.”
“Agreed,” Riley whispered. “I’ll go around back.”
“Perfect.”
Thirty yards from the house, Riley split off to the right and began making his way across the field to the backside of the property. Val gave him a minute to get in place, and then approached the front corner. She moved slowly, senses alert as she scanned the eaves for motion-activated lights. She saw one by the front door, but there didn’t appear to be any more. She approached the corner, and once there, peeked through the study window. The room was dark and apparently empty. Valkyrie lowered herself, wincing as the muscles in her back spasmed, and hurried past the window.
From this vantage point, Val could see into the living room, but not without the danger of activating the porch light. She steadied her nerves risked a quick peek around the corner. A single lamp lighted the living room. She had a clear view of the recliner facing the front door, and the adjacent couch close to the fireplace. Both were empty.
Valkyrie drew back. As she turned, a movement in the corner of her eye nearly stopped her heart. It was Riley at the corner of the house, waving frantically, trying to get her attention. Val bent down to hurry past the study window. She met him at the corner. Riley motioned for Valkyrie to follow him around back.
The reporter led the way around the back corner of the house, towards the patio. The back patio light was on, and Val saw bloodstains on the concrete and a streak of blood on the greenhouse wall. The kitchen door was hanging ajar. Valkyrie nodded for Riley to pull it open. He stepped around, lowered the barrel of his shotgun, and yanked on it. Valkyrie rushed inside, both hands gripping the handle of her pistol, the hook of her cane hanging from her left wrist.
The room was empty. Valkyrie winced as she saw the splatters of blood on the kitchen table and the floor. Doing her best to avoid upsetting any potential evidence, she made her way into the living room. Riley followed her in. It only took a minute to verify the front of the house was empty. They hurried down the hall to check the rest of the house, and found it the same.
“They’re gone,” Riley said as they stood in the back bedroom. “The killers must have moved on.”
“Then where are the victims?” said Val. “Something’s wrong. We have to check the barn.”
“Maybe we should wait,” Riley said nervously. Val shook her head.
“The longer we wait, the greater chance they have of escaping.”
“It’s dark in there, Val, and the killers could be waiting for us. Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre? I, for one, don’t want to end up hanging from a meat hook.”
“I think a hay hook would be more likely,” Val said, to which Riley gave her a look of absolute horror. She grinned. “I suppose you’re right, though. Nate should be here in a few, anyway. Come with me.”
Riley let out a relieved sigh. Valkyrie led him back through the kitchen and out the back door. They circled around the north end of the house, and waited at the front the corner in the darkness under an old juniper tree. From this vantage, they could safely observe any activity around the barn without fear of being shot or attacked.
The next few minutes passed in silence. A breeze blew across the farm, howling softly through the eaves, pushing the fog up the hill in swirling eddies. The mist obscured their vision and wetted their faces, and Valkyrie became conscious of the smell of the ocean and of the perfume of the flowers Maddie had planted in the greenhouse. She heard a noise, like sticks banging together, and fixed her attention on the barn.
“It’s a shutter,” Riley said in a low voice. “The wind is blowing it.”
Valkyrie let out a quiet sigh. She shifted her weight and twisted her upper body, trying to unwind the knots in her back. Riley leaned his shotgun up against the tree trunk. He started rubbing her shoulders. A low moan escaped her lips.
“Is that too hard?” he whispered.
“No, perfect. You have a nice touch.”
They fell silent, and Riley continued to work the tension out of her shoulders. After a few minutes, they saw the distant blue and red lights flashing in the fog. Nate’s cruiser came roaring up Highway 1 and then slowed when it reached Valkyrie’s Packard. He backed up a few feet, turned into the drive, and rolled up to the house. Valkyrie and Riley walked out to meet him.
“Well?” Nate said, jumping out of his car. “What happened?”
“They were here,” Val said. “But the house is empty. We still need to check the barn.”
Nate noticed the shotgun in Riley’s hands. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into his cruiser and pulled out a long silver Maglite. He drew his Glock and led the way towards the barn. As they approached the front of the old building, the smell of decaying flesh met them. Riley hesitated, and Val motioned for him to stay back. Together, she and Nate pulled open the doors. Nate threw the flashlight’s beam back and forth across the interior. They instantly recognized the beat up old motor home.
“There,” Val said, pointing to the shadowy corner on their right. Nate turned the flashlight in that direction, and they saw the trail of blood on the concrete floor leading over to Frank’s body, which was already in the early stages of decay. Val asked Riley to go find a sheet to cover him up.
They approached the door to the motor home, and Nate signaled for Valkyrie to cover him. She stood back with her pistol ready as he yanked the door open. The smell of rancid food and mildew washed over them, and Nate started to gag. It took a few seconds to get their gag reflexes under control. When Nate was ready, he sucked in a huge breath and held it as he climbed inside. Valkyrie followed a few steps behind. She left her cane leaning against the side of the RV, and held the door handle as she climbed up. A pile of trash two feet deep waited for her inside.
Nate was moving back, fighting his way through the trash. The beam of his flashlight bounced erratically off the walls as he headed for the back bedroom. Valkyrie watched nervously. In the narrow confined space, she couldn’t provide adequate cover for the deputy. If someone was waiting for him in that back room…
Nate yanked the door open and threw the beam of his flashlight around. He gagged, and then doubled over and vomited. He stood upright, seeming to have recovered, and then doubled over again. He glanced at Valkyrie and waved her out.
“What is it?” she said. “What’s in there?”
Then the smell hit her.
No words could describe that grotesque, nausea-inducing scent. It reminded her of a dumpster full of baby diapers on a hot day, or perhaps a portable toilet left to ferment under the summer sun. She fled. It was obvious that Nate wasn’t in any real danger, so Valkyrie headed for the door. She had to get out of there, to get some fresh air, or she would start vomiting, too. A trail of garbage followed her down the stairs, and she headed straight for the barn doors. She stumbled outside without bothering to grab her cane. She found Riley waiting for her, gripping the shotgun nervously.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
Valkyrie gasped in fresh air. Tears watered her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. Nate came charging out behind her, one shoulder slamming into the barn door in his haste. He bent down with his hands on his knees and made retching sounds.
“Is it a body?” Riley said, glancing back and forth between them. “Did you find another body?”
Nate straightened up. He shot Valkyrie a glare and moaned as if the very thought of what he had seen was too horrific to relate. He closed his eyes. “The toilet must have been broken,” he said, “because they were using the back bedroom instead.”
Riley cringed. He glanced at Val. She wipe
d a tear from her cheek. “I’ve never smelled anything that bad in my life,” she said. “I never even imagined… They’re going to have to burn this thing down.”
“The sooner the better,” Nate said.
Chapter 25
Diekmann arrived a few minutes later with four more deputies and an ambulance in tow. After listening to Nate and Valkyrie tell their story, the sheriff went into the barn to take a cursory look at Frank’s body. He put on a pair of latex gloves and lifted Frank’s head, examining the wound. Valkyrie cringed. Even in the darkened barn, it was easy to see the large chunk of skull that was missing.
“Looks like a shotgun blast to the back of the head,” Diekmann said. “Maybe they jumped him from behind, took him by surprise.”
“I saw tracks and blood outside the barn,” Valkyrie said. “I think you’ll find they murdered him out there. Nate and I didn’t find a gun, but there are two shotgun shells just outside the barn door. They must have pulled the body inside after shooting him.”
Diekmann located the man’s wallet in his back pocket, and showed the driver’s license to Valkyrie. “Frank Thatcher,” she said.
“He was seventy-five years old. Probably had grandkids, maybe even great-grandkids at that age. How many lives are these psychopaths going to destroy before we catch them?”
“He didn’t have a chance,” said Valkyrie. “Judging by his age, I doubt he would have tried to fight them.”
“You might be surprised,” Diekmann said. “Some of us just get meaner with age.” He rose up and stood there a moment, looking down at the body. “They hid the RV in the barn before switching vehicles. They hid Frank’s body, too. None of this matches their M.O. What do you think they’re up to?”
“We have them on the run, sheriff.”
