Chasing the Dark: The Demon Inside

by A. P. Texan

  “DAMNIT” Nick hollered aloud. With this he began to send more lead towards the wash, hoping he could make it out of this alive. He needed to tell Mrs. Rodriguez what happened to her son. He needed to give this news not some unknown Chaplin or Officer, HE needed to do this.

  Since the chopper was down the enemy was now directing their fire his direction and he didn’t know if he would survive this. The dirt all around him was being kicked up by the intense AK-47 barrage and he slid his pack in front of him to get as much cover as possible. He looked over to the burning wreckage of the chopper and didn’t see any movement and with his knee like it was, this amount of enemy fire there was no way he could get there to get the crew out. Just then a sharp burning pain shot through his left foot and then his calf. He screamed out and looked down at his body. Blood was beginning to soak his uniform where he had been shot. The holes evident in his boot and pant leg.

  Nick closed his eyes and did something he rarely did. He prayed “Dear Lord, I know I have not been a good faithful follower and Lord, God I am so sorry for this. I just ask that you get me through this so I can personally see Mrs. Rodriguez and tell her how great of a soldier and man her son was.”

  Just as he was finishing the last sentence, he heard a sound so beautiful it would make soldiers scream with joy. A sound so terrible it would make enemy combatants wet themselves in fear. It was the screaming of twin turbofan engines and the loud burp of a 30mm Avenger Canon. The cavalry had arrived and it arrived in the form of the A-10 Thunderbolt, known affectionately as the Warthog.

  The ground along the wash where the Taliban soldiers were hiding exploded with the impacts from the high explosive 30mm rounds. After the first pass the rifle fire from the enemy diminished; after the second pass it was gone.

  “Thank you, Lord, Jesus. For what you have done.” Nick passed out and later woke up in a hospital at Bagram Airbase. From there he was transferred to Ramstein, Germany and eventually to Walter Reed. He had received a total of four gunshot wounds all to his left foot and leg one breaking his femur the rest going through muscle tissue. His right knee was completely destroyed and required reconstructive knee surgery and months of rehabilitation.

  The loud rumble of Harley Davidsons snapped Nick back to the present, the memory fading back to the recesses of his mind. Nick moved slowly into a position where he could see the area where the bikes from the earlier group were parked. From where he is, he will be hidden from the parking lot by the generator’s cables and pipes from the O2 tower. He however, could break cover and be a short sprint to where the ladies will hopefully be.

  “Game time gentlemen”, Nick says over his radio.

  “I’m on the northeast corner and have eyes on them. They are coming up from the highway now. I see five bikes and one trike.” Charles announces.

  “Copy, let us know when they are pulling around. Bob, you ready?” Nick says back.

  “Absolutely, I’m two rooms from the corner on the northwest.”

  “Okay, they are in the parking lot. I see three women all three on the backs of bikes. thirty seconds.” Charles updates.

  “I have operational control; I will coordinate your fire. DON’T HIT THE LADIES!” Nick reminded the other two.

  As he was saying this, the rumble of the big bikes began to reverberate from the walls of the hospital and looking around the pipes and cables of his hide, he could see the big bikes coming into the dock area.

  The bikes shut down and Nick could hear their conversation.

  “See Chuck, I told you they were still here. Billy is going to be pissed you didn’t follow his instructions and stay at the camp.” A short scrawny guy said. He appeared to have one of the town’s women on his bike.

  “Would you shut the fuck up. Billy ain’t the only one in charge of this operation, and he sure as hell ain’t going to sit on this pile of pills and keep them all for himself. Junior, you and Frank watch the ladies. The rest of you come with me, so we can go find Billy and the others.” The apparent leader said as he got off his big trike.

  The women, bound and gagged, but appeared to be otherwise unharmed, considering the situation. One was with Scrawny; one was on the back of a bike ridden by a guy who appeared to be of American Indian or Hispanic Decent and wearing bandoleers of ammo across his chest making him look like a modern day Pancho Villa, the third woman was on the leaders trike .

  Nick whispered into his mike. “Charles you got Scrawny, Bob you take Pancho Villa, I got the leader. When you have a clear shot say green. Nobody fire till I give the word.”

  “Green, target acquired” Bob said.

  “Green,” Charles announced shortly after.

  “Green,” Nick announced. “We fire on three.”

  “1...2...3!”

  All three rifles went off as a single report and three bikers lost their lives. The women wide eyed and now covered in biker blood; began screaming behind the bandanas acting as gags.

  “Shift fire” Nick announced; and got to his feet leaving his AR-10 and began the sprint to the first woman. The fire from Charles and Bob was sporadic and effective. It was only designed to keep eyes and heads down so Nick could get to the ladies.

  He reached the first woman, grabbed her and lifts her body easily from the back of Scrawny’s bike; what’s left of his head leaking blood and brain on the concrete of the loading dock.

  “Run to that truck”, Nick yells at the lady and points to the Hummer as he runs towards the next lady. Glock in hand, snapping off rounds towards the remaining bikers to keep their heads down.

  He reached the next hostage quickly and also easily lifts her off the bike that belonged to Pancho Villa. He was lying near his bike with a red blossom on his shirt blood flowing out from underneath him. “One head shot, one heart shot. Not bad.” Nick thinks to himself. He sets the woman on her feet and she takes off towards the Humvee before he could even say anything.

  The last lady had managed to get herself off the big trike but was hiding behind the oversized rear tire. Nick could hear shots pinging off the metal of the bike.

  “Somebody is firing on the trike. She is hiding and I can’t get to her”, he says in the radio as he drops to a knee behind Pancho’s bike.

  “Keep fire away from the trike and Pancho’s bike. Weapons free! Give them Hell” Nick called over the radio. The fire went from sporadic to concentrated and systematic.

  “Five down, no eyes on the sixth” Bob says soon after.

  “Copy, no eyes.” Charles also announced.

  “Cease fire, keep scanning” Nick instructed. He stood and while still crouched ran to the scared woman behind the trike. She was frightened but appeared unharmed.

  “Run for that truck, your friends are already there.” The woman nods her head to Nick and takes off running as quickly as she could with her hands still bound.

  “Nick, I got movement but no shot. Near where you were hidden.” Bob says.

  “Shit, my rifle!” Nick says as he gets to his feet and runs full out towards the generators. When he was almost there a series of shots rang out, he dove for cover the bullets barely missing him. He rolled to his right and got back up to his feet. Sprinting to the opposite side of the generator array trying to flank the gunman.

  “Exfil to the loading dock just be careful” Nick called over the radio.

  “Copy”

  “Copy”, The other two guys announced.

  Nick started to move around the generators when he saw the barrel of his own rifle coming around the same corner in front of him. He lifted his Glock to head level and just waited. The untrained biker not knowing what was coming; continued to walk slowly towards the corner in front of him. As he came to the corner, he stopped and pulled the rifle back. Thinking he was being smart; he went to peek around the corner. As he did, Nick’s Glock sunk into his left eye socket and Nick pulled the trigger.

  “Six down, we are clear” Nick announced over the radio.

  When Nick walked up to the loading dock, s
at down on the edge and pulled out his canteen. He was joined by Bob and Charles a short time later.

  “Somebody needs to go help the ladies” Nick says. “I would, but I have to admit that freaking wore me out.”

  “I got it.” Charles says, as he jumps down from the dock and starts walking towards the Humvee.

  “You okay?” Nick asks Bob.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” Bob replies “I know what we did was good and necessary, but I’ve never killed before; and certainly, never thought I would be ambushing someone. It’s a lot to process.”

  “I know how you feel, I’ve been there. For normal people, killing another human being is the most unnatural thing you could ever do. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn’t. Bob, you will have to learn to process it. Learn how to compartmentalize and lock the death into a compartment of your brain, you don’t access until it is time to kill again. If you don’t, it will drive you crazy.” Nick told him calmly.

  “Thanks Nick, let’s check the bodies; see if there is anything we need to take.”

  “We take all the weapons, if we don’t, we might see them again. You know what, I think I want a bike. Which one should I get?” Nick says, as he is walks to one of the downed bikers checking him for weapons.

  “I have no idea; I know next to nothing about bikes.” Bob says.

  The rumble of a diesel engine coming towards them makes both look up from their gruesome task. The big green Humvee backs down the drive towards them and the carnage.

  Charles speaks up as he exits the driver’s seat. “Didn’t think you guys would want to walk all the way over there with arms full of guns. Nick you got a handcuff key. One of the girls is handcuffed; I cut the other two loose from their zip ties but there was nothing I could do about the handcuffs.”

  Nick reaches into a pocket on his plate carrier and tosses a set of keys to Charles. “Hey, which bike do you think I should take? I’m kind of digging that big purple one. Reminds me of the late, great artist formerly known as Prince.”

  “Yeah, I like the purple one. That’s probably the one Big Boy was riding earlier. It is bigger than the rest, well except the trike, and it is parked towards the front.”

  “Damnit!” Nick exclaimed looking the bike over.

  “What?!” Bob and Charles say almost simultaneous.

  “No keys. They are probably still on Big Boy in the pharmacy covered in nastiness. I’ll be right back. You guys get all this loaded up.” Nick says, jogging towards the back door of the hospital.

  Ten minutes later they are back on the road. Bob is driving the Hummer with Charles riding shot gun and three extremely thankful ladies in the back and Nick is leading the way sporting his newly acquired dark metallic purple Harley Davidson Street Glide.

  Forty-Five minutes later they are pulling up to the outskirts of Boyd; the small town where the ladies were stolen from. Nick is leading the way and pulls the big bike into a parking spot near the park where the soup kitchen is still going. The leader of the town Police Department, Lieutenant White walks over to him.

  “Damn Nick, we heard that bike coming and took up shooting positions. I was just about to yell open fire when one of the other guys saw it was your black ass sitting on it. Then we saw the Hummer coming around the bend in the road behind you.”

  “I sure am glad the other guy has better eyes than you do.” Nick said, getting off the bike and extending a handshake. “We brought you a little something. Well three actually. Charles and Bob climb out of the truck and open the backdoors and extend a hand to help the women climb out.

  “Thank you guys we don’t know how to repay you.” The lieutenant says.

  “Don’t worry about that right now. Just make sure these ladies get back to their families. And we will be in touch. Remember if you need us you know where we are.” Nick shakes his hand one more time, then gets on the bike and fires it up. Hitting the throttle a few times just to make it roar.

  1430 21 September 2021

  Outside of Tampa Florida

  Roger has now been on the road for nine days he has managed to keep a decent pace and has traveled approximately 170 miles. Sticking to mostly rural roads to avoid people he has managed to make it to just outside Tampa.

  Cynthia’s cousin, Sara lives in the Tampa area, he just can’t remember exactly where and even though it would be nice to see a friendly face and sleep in a comfy bed; he just can’t waste the time looking for her house. He is also down to the last of his food. He has tried to ration as well as he could but also knew he needed as many calories as possible to keep up a pace that would get him home. He decides it is time to try a couple different things. First, he needs to find food. He will start checking houses for anything he can find. As he is doing this, he will also work his way west to the coast. If he can find a working boat, he might be able to hit the water and not have to walk. So long as he keeps the shore on his starboard or right side, he should be able to navigate by dead reckoning. The Houston Ship Channel should not be that hard to find. Besides every port he sees he will need to stop in and top off the tanks of the boat. What he will need is a fishing trawler or something of that nature. Older with not too many electronics, and a simple diesel drive system.

  The next major road he comes to, he takes a left and starts heading west. Looking for any businesses that don’t look totally looted and houses that seem abandoned. He is on a secondary road that appears to be entering an upper scale residential area. The houses are on the typical postage stamp lots so common to the urban subdivision, so small they barely fit the three to four thousand square foot homes. Honestly it starts to make him miss home and wonder about his wife and girls as this is exactly the type of neighborhood, they live in.

  He also knows these types of people and walking around with the AR pistol and large pack is going to draw a lot of attention. However, the pack itself will probably draw attention, so maybe the firepower will avert some curious eyes. Twenty-five yards ahead of him, is the first road into the actual neighborhood.

  “Okay Roger, what are you going to do? You need food and a place to rest. These houses are your best bet; but at the same time, these neighborhoods are tightknit people and will notice a stranger the minute you step foot on the street. If you wait for a different style of neighborhood, you might be less noticed but then in those areas, you’re more likely to face armed resistance.” He thinks aloud.

  “Screw it, let’s do this, just get it over with.” With that, he turns the corner into the neighborhood. Walks up the middle of the main road looking around. He notices houses with doors and windows open letting the breeze move through the house. Some houses have people moving around in the front yards. Nobody says anything to him, they just watch him walk by. Some of the people have sidearms on but he doesn’t see any rifles in the groups.

  He walks the whole neighborhood and takes mental note of the houses that he didn’t see any activity or open doors and windows. He also notices a few in the back of the neighborhood whose backyards appear to butt up to a canal or creek of some sort, those will be his target. Leaving the subdivision, he continues walking down the sidewalk until he reaches the end of the red brick wall keeping the homes separated from the outside world. From here he turns and continues walking until he reaches the back of the area along the canal, from here, he just needs to look for the house he identified as his primary target and try that one first. He remembered that it was five or six houses down with grey brick and light blue trim. Staying in a low crouch, he creeps along the bank of the canal watching the houses through the wrought iron fence that covers the back part of the houses. After only a few minutes, he comes upon the house he is looking for and another ounce of good fortune provides a mostly unobstructed view into the house by the many large windows looking out over the pool and canal. He takes a knee and drops his pack down off his weary shoulders, intent to watch the house and insure no one is home.

  Roger waits for what seems like an eternity but, is probably o
nly twenty or thirty minutes and sees no activity. Slipping the pack back on his shoulders; he moves towards a small gate in the fence and opens it silently on well-oiled hinges. He circumnavigates the inground pool and makes his way to the backdoor. Trying the knob, he discovers it locked.

  “Of course, its locked why wouldn’t it be. My house would be locked too if I wasn’t home. Well, I could break the glass but that will be heard across the whole neighborhood.”

  Roger again unshoulders his pack, this time setting it onto a table on the back patio of the home and takes a seat in one of the matching chairs. Looking around, he tries to figure out what to do. Going with the obvious first he looks under a mat by the door, then under the planters that are holding a variety of plants and flowers, checks decorative rocks, and even a garden gnome but has no luck finding a key. Looking over at the detached three car garage he has an idea. He walks over and gives the standard walk-through door a try. This one opens, most people who have a detached garage don’t think to lock this door behind them when they leave the house.

  He props the door open to let in as much light as possible and looks around. All the vehicles are gone. In what would be the spot for a third car, is a trailer holding two Polaris personal watercraft, and against the far wall opposite the trailer is what appears to be one of those trailers couples use to pull their kids behind them when out biking. Along one wall is a row of shelves with large plastic totes lined up all with labels on them Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Easter etc. Hung upside down from the ceiling is two expensive looking mountain bikes and along another wall is a nice work bench, tools hung and organized, numerous drawers and cabinets all shut neatly and labeled. This is where he really starts his search. Going through drawers and checking in cubbies and on the walls. He is about to give up in frustration when he sees what he has been looking for. In this super neat, organized OCD garage he sees it. Not on a shelf, not in a drawer, not hanging neatly on the wall, NO there where it rolled under the trailer with the Polaris is a shiny roll of Duct tape. Laying down on his belly he reaches under the trailer and picks up the tape.