7 Deadly Tales (Seven Thrilling Reads!)

by Luis Samways

  “We should be safe now, right?” I said aloud, not really asking anyone in particular, just stating the thought process that was running at a hundred miles an hour through my head.

  “‘Safe’ isn’t the word I would use to describe our situation, my boy,” said Jerry as he continued to patch Sammy up.

  “My fucking leg, man. It kills!” Sammy cried out.

  “So what words would you use to describe our situation, then?” I asked.

  For a long moment there was silence.

  “Fucked. That’s how I would describe our situation.”

  “At least you’re honest,” said Danni.

  “I’m always honest,” said Jerry, in a self-assuring tone.

  “Are you, now?” asked Sammy, who was still reeling on the floor.

  The comment shocked Jerry. He had a look of discontent on his face. The type of look a guilty person might have when harboring certain feelings.

  “I am as honest as the next man,” stated Jerry as he continued to wrap a bandage around Sammy’s destroyed leg.

  “So why did the Germans act like they knew you? What was all the whispering about? You reckon we didn’t see that, man? You reckon your boys in the bushes didn’t hear you trying to curry favor with them? I know I heard it. I know Danni and the Jew must’ve heard it, too, because they were standing right there, in an earshot’s distance. What are you playing at, Jerry? Who are you really? Because I’m starting to doubt whether or not you are one of us,” said Sammy, still wincing with every spoken word as Jerry seemed to react to his allegations by tightening his grip while administrating first aid.

  There was another bit of long silence.

  The truck continued to hurtle its way up the road, the suspension bouncing with every turn of the wheel. It was making it difficult to keep my balance, even when seated. I was too engrossed in the facial expressions of the rest of the rebels to even notice what Jerry was about to do.

  At first I didn’t see it, but I certainly heard it. A loud ringing gunshot went off in the back of the truck. Everyone winced and screwed up their faces at the sudden outburst of violence. Everyone but Jerry. He was the one holding the gun, and it was being pointed in the direction of the now very dead Sammy. A bullet in the head was what killed Sammy, but many in that truck would say that it was his mouth that killed him. His big, fucking-ridiculously loud mouth.

  He just had to go and ruin the plan. Danni and I were on the case; it was covert enough to buy us some time, but no, hero Sammy had to ruin the day. Granted, I had just met the guy, and he did actually save my life. Mine and Danni’s, let’s not forget. Not to mention he also bailed Jerry out. He saved all of us, and now he was dead on the truck floor, brains leaking out of his head, a stupid look on his face. And standing over him was the now very pissed off and very un-rebel Jerry. He was a man in a predicament. He had just killed a rebel and blown his cover. He knew that Sammy wasn’t the only one who knew. Besides, it was kind of obvious now, seeing he had just murdered Sammy right in front of us.

  “You are going to let me off this damn truck right now, or I’ll take a few of you down with me before you can even raise one of your guns,” said Jerry, pointing his pistol at the stunned rebels.

  Jerry had his back to the wall of the truck; he was facing the open slit through which we’d entered. The rebels, on the other hand, were facing him, with their backs to the slit. It was him against them. Jerry would have to get through a bunch of them before he was able to make it to the slit, roll out of the truck, and make it for the hills. But even that was a bad idea. As soon as Jerry had chucked himself out of the truck, he would probably be fired upon by the rebels, and there wasn’t much cover in these open, rocky roads.

  “Bad move, puta,” said one of the rebels with a Spanish accent.

  “I said, fucking get out of the way, or I’ll blow you all to hell,” said Jerry.

  I felt his stare bore into my soul. He looked at me as if I was his ticket out of there. It was then that my doubts about him escaping this very dangerous situation were alleviated and put to rest.

  “Get up, Jew, or I’ll shoot you in the head,” he said to my surprise.

  I immediately stood up, my knees buckling along with the bumpy suspension.

  “Now, you listen here, and you listen good. I’m taking the Jew. He’s mine. If you want him to live and none of you to die, then I suggest you get the fuck out of my way!”

  “You better know what the fuck you are doing, Jerry. We will come for you, and when we find you, we will skin you and the fucking Jew!” the Spanish-sounding rebel said.

  I was scared. I mean, what the hell had I done to deserve being skinned?

  “Get out of the fucking way!” Jerry shouted.

  Suddenly they complied.

  A few of them shifted their weight and crammed up against the wall of the moving truck, making way for Jerry. I was standing in the middle, rebels at both my sides, a madman in front of me.

  Jerry pointed his gun and gestured with it.

  “You first, Jew,” he said.

  I looked at him and then to where he gestured. He wanted me to jump first.

  “What? No way, no fucking way,” I said.

  Suddenly he leapt forward and tackled me.

  We both went flying out of the slit and tumbled onto the hard rocky road. Luckily, neither of us hit any of the rocks, or we would probably be dead. We landed hard on some marshland right next to river.

  The landing was softer than on concrete or dirt, but it didn’t feel any better. I tried to catch my breath as I looked up at the fading light in the sky. I heard the wheels of the truck in the distance screech to a stop. I turned my head and saw a barrage of rebels exiting the van. Before I could even say anything, Jerry had grabbed me and yanked me up on my feet.

  “If you want to live, I’d fucking run,” he said as he ran off the road and up the mountain face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Somewhere in Germany

  The Reich guardsman entered the house, holding a flashlight. The beam from the flashlight hit the corpse in the middle of the hallway first. The sight of the knife in the dead man’s chest gave the Reich officer a sudden palpitation. It was as if his heart had dropped at the sight of the downed man. His hand quivered as the flashlight rattled uncontrollably. He was just about to turn around and shout for his colleague when his partner touched him on the shoulder.

  “Er ist tot. Ich kann es nicht glauben. Der Kommandant tot ist. He's dead. I can't believe it. The commander is dead,” the scared Reich Guardsman said to his unnerved partner.

  “Ich weiß. Es muss gerächt werden. I know. It must be avenged,” the unnerved guard said.

  Both men continued to stare at the dead man in the hallway. The guardsman decided to get closer to the dead commander, even if his heart was telling him otherwise. In the Reich, one was expected to perform under such conditions, conditions that many men would find straining. Even though he was reacting like many men on the inside, on the outside he was trying to affirm himself as a true Reich officer. A true German.

  “Wir müssen nach Hinweisen suchen. We must look for clues,” the braver officer said as he watched his partner confront the dead commander.

  Some time had passed. By the time either of them said anything, they had already been at the crime scene for almost an hour.

  “Also, wenn sie immer hier? So when are they getting here?” the petrified guardsman asked his partner, who was now smoking a cigarette.

  “Sie sagten, sie würden hier in einer Stunde. They said they would be here in an hour,” said the smoking guardsman.

  “Wie viele werden kommen? How many are coming?”

  There was a long pause as the man inhaled nearly half the cigarette while he pondered his response.

  “Die ganze verdammte Menge von ihnen. The whole fucking lot of them.”

  The two guardsman waited for the army to come. They knew that this was a monumental day. They knew that this could start a war. The
importance of this day was unprecedented. It had been sixty-eight years since an officer of the German army had been killed. That was back in the Second World War. Could this mean a third world war?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Somewhere in the Mountains, USA.

  “Shit, they’re firing at us. I can’t believe they are firing at us!” I screamed as Jerry and I dashed up the mountain ridge.

  “Um, I hate to break it to you, Abel, but believe it or not, they are trying to kill us, so shooting at us doesn’t come as much of a surprise to me,” Jerry said as he tried to catch his breath.

  Our feet dug into the loose dirt that made up the steep incline. We both ran up the hill at full speed, faster than I had ever run in my life, and, judging by the circumstances, it was probably the fastest Jerry had ever run, too.

  Upon reaching the top of the incline, there was a ditch. We jumped into it head first. The impact of the fall sucked all the wind out of both me and Jerry. We remained with our heads down for a few seconds, trying to adjust to the elevation. Above us, towering trees were dropping leaves and debris. At first, it could have been mistaken for autumn, but the reason the leaves were dropping was because of the machine gun fire that was hitting them. Suddenly my hearing kicked into high gear.

  POW POW POW.

  The bark beside me splintered as some gunfire made its way to Jerry’s and my direction.

  “Shit, man. We are fucked. What are we going to do?” I asked, feeling breathless from the high altitude.

  It was amazing to think that we had been running away from the rebels now for nearly two hours. It was nearly nighttime, and the mountain was getting even harder to traverse. If I were to stick my head out, I could see the truck we had been in a few hours prior. It now had its headlights on. It looked like a toy truck from all the way up the ridge. I stuck my head up again and saw approaching flashlights. The tree line below looked like it had been overrun with poltergeists. Lights with no silhouettes, just shouting voices and the occasional gunshot. In reality I knew they were not poltergeists, but rebels. And I knew that if they got a hold of me and Jerry, we would be living in a horror movie until they put us out of our misery.

  “It’s getting harder for them to see us. I just stuck my head out, and they didn’t fire at me. I don’t know about them, but I can’t see them all that clearly. All I managed to see was their flashlights,” I said, trying to gain some sort of ground on our situation.

  I looked over at Jerry and saw him staring into space.

  “Jerry, you with me?” I asked, concerned about his welfare.

  “Yeah I’m with you. I’m just thinking. Maybe you’re right. It is getting darker. We don’t have lights, but they do. If we slowly make our way up the mountain, keeping to the trees, then maybe we can give them the slip. Or…” said Jerry.

  “Or what?” I asked, feeling like a kid pestering his dad.

  “Or we wait here, and ambush them,” he said.

  “Ambush them how?” I asked.

  “Well, judging by the lights coming up the hill, they are pretty spread out at the minute. All we need is one of them to step into our ditch and we pull him in, disarm him, and bam, we have another weapon, and one fewer bad guy.”

  “But what about the other bad guys?” I asked.

  Jerry smiled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  On a Train, in Germany

  Mary-Lou’s mother Cindy gripped the hand of her as they sat on the speeding train. Her child’s eyes were alight with joy as she gawked out of the window and marveled at the scenery of the moving train. Rolling hills and vast tree lines roared past as they swiveled gently from left to right under the movement of the locomotive.

  “Ducks, Mommy!” Mary-Lou laughed as they went past a lake.

  “Maybe there are some ducks, Mary-Lou. Good job you’re here to spot them, ay?” her mother said with a slight distant tone in her voice.

  She still had the last couple of hours on her mind. She still had the image of her husband lying in the hallway ingrained in her head. She could still see the knife protruding through his chest. It was as if she could still hear his cries. She could feel tears in her eyes accumulating under the immense pressure she felt in her heart. It was just too much. She hadn’t thought of the reality of living with what she had done. Sure, she’d planned ahead of time. She had always fantasized about killing her husband, but never actually put a date on it. It all happened so fast. Too fast for her to take it back. If she could, she would.

  “How long until we get to the new place, Mommy?”

  “Not long, baby, not long.”

  Some time passed, and the day outside quickly turned to night. Mary-Lou lay asleep with her head propped up against the window. Her mother was staring into space.

  A man with a cart passed her and smiled.

  “Drink, madam?” he asked.

  “Scotch, please,” she said.

  He smiled whole-heartedly and poured her a drink. She went into her purse and reached for some change.

  “On the house, madam. Courtesy of New-Germania Trains. You look like you need it anyway,” he said, still smiling.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  He nodded his head candidly and pushed the cart forward to the next row of chairs just in front.

  She could hear him ask the other passengers if they wanted drinks. Some said yes; others declined. All the drinks he served were being paid for, apart from the one she’d just gotten. Why was that? Was it that obvious? Did she really look like she needed a handout? She started to feel frustrated and paranoid. Why would a man just give out drinks for free? Did he want something for it? Even if he did, she wasn’t going to give him anything. If he wanted the money, he should have just settled for that.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she said out loud. “Just relax. No one is trying to outsmart you. Kind people exist, ya know?” She smiled to herself.

  It was forced, but she felt better. Saying stuff out loud always did. It was a practice that maybe more people should attempt. It helped her deal with the anxiety she felt; maybe it would help others.

  “Everything is fine,” she said quietly as tears ran down her face. “Everything is fine.”

  Suddenly the train’s brakes locked, and the locomotive started to crawl to a stop. A bell went off and some men jumped onto the train, blowing whistles. They had black hats on and looked official. One of the men walked up to the middle of the carriage in which Cindy found herself. He stood there with his chest pushed out, oozing authority and control.

  “This train is being stopped and searched. We believe a fugitive is on board. Everyone, please remain calm and seated. We will be as quick as possible. Once we apprehend the fugitive, you will be allowed on your way,” the man said, blowing his whistle a few more times.

  Following his speech, a few more men boarded the train with rifles and flashlights. They were looking for somebody, and judging by how many of them there were, the person they were looking for was going to get found.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Section 8, New-Germania

  There was a certain eeriness to the evening that made the Commander of Section 8, Klaus, feel unnerved and overheated.

  He was seated at the bar in Downtown 8, between the factories and the command center. It was a military bar. Only the top army guys went there. No civilians were allowed. That was how he liked it. That was how he wanted the whole world to be, but unfortunately, defeating all the nations on earth leaves you with one big nation to please. He knew that the real people in charge were the government of New-Germania, but ruling over four billion souls meant that at any moment they could grow wise, and they could fight.

  That was why he hated the rebels. They were smart, and they were dangerous. He knew they meant business. He tried to keep news of their attacks under the wraps. He didn’t let the news stations broadcast the terror and freedom fighting they brought to the military every single day.


  German propaganda stated to the public that there were only a handful of rebels in Section 8, but Klaus knew that there were many many more than just a handful. He predicted that there were more than ten million active rebels, and a few million people on the fence. All that was needed to put him and his men out of power was one demonstration of power, one demonstration of force, and New-Germania would crumble.

  That was why they had the super weapons. That was why Klaus had just commissioned turrets on every street corner, unmanned and fully automatic. If panic ensued on the streets, the turrets wouldn’t show prejudice. They would attack anyone. That was a deterrent enough. Since the turrets had been put in place, not one single crime against the Reich had been committed on the streets of the capital. And that was how Klaus liked it even more.

  Steven Hammersmith had just walked in. He was the man Klaus had been waiting to see. Steven had news that was important, or so he had told the commander when he asked for a private meeting at the bar, away from the prying eyes of the Germania government. Away from the enemy within.

  “You made it, Steven,” Klaus said as he tried to hide his disdain at Steven’s tardiness.

  “I’m sorry, Commander. Traffic was abysmal.”

  “Well, you’re here now. What was so important that you dragged me down to the bar? You know how hard it is for me to not drink myself to death when in here. Cheap alcohol is my weakness.”

  “I do apologize, sir,” Steven said, sitting down at the table, placing his suitcase on the floor next to him.

  The bar was nearly empty. Most of the regular patrons were still on duty. It was as if the place was deserted for the presence of the Commander. Not one single grunt in sight.