“Put it down, asshole!” The guard who spoke was the most seasoned of the four, holding his raised gun steady with a well-practiced aura of authority. “Drop the fucking tire-iron, douche bag, or I swear to St. Nick I’ll shoot you where it don’t grow back!” The wordy officer had always wanted to say something like that in a sticky situation.
Smoke wasn’t real sure if bullets could hurt him. He knew pain was no longer a burden, but he didn’t know how invulnerable his cursed flesh would be to the torments of mortal weapons. But he had this invigorating notion that there wasn’t a damn thing any of these guards could do to stop him, and the uncertain looks in their eyes told him they may’ve been getting the same impression.
He figured there was only one way to know for sure, so he moved in closer, taking the first step toward the building, and not one of them wasted a breath before squeezing hot lead from the ends of their pistols.
They each fired two rounds apiece, hitting Smoke square in his chest eight times. The bullets sizzled when penetrating his skin, but the impacts had so little lasting effect that he couldn’t help but laugh.
He looked down at the eight tiny holes in his tee to see a small amount of black, sap-like blood dripping from their centers. Apparently, his flesh could be damaged by regular Joes, but he got the feeling it wasn’t something a little bacon, brains, and tomato sandwich couldn’t fix.
The guards looked back and forth at each other as if to ask, “Okay, what the hell do we do now?”, and the wordiest of the four answered, “Light ’im up!”
They opened fire all at once, unloading their clips into Smoke’s body until one of them finally wizened up and yelled out, “Head shots! Head shots!”
But by then, they were mostly out of ammo save for the few rounds that went whizzing by his ears, until—
“Boo’ya!”
The youngest of the four nailed Smoke dead-center in the open plane of his forehead, the impact blowing the hood from over his brow and sending him buckling to his knees. Afterward, a second handful of guards vigilantly exited the building and charged into position.
Smoke knelt with his belfry bowed and tire-iron loose in his grasp, partly rested on the cement, and the four men stood at guard, waiting for any signs of life from the lanky perp they hoped they’d put an end to…
The seasoned, more vocal guard spoke up after a few moments of suspense, shouting, “I’m empty! Anyone still loaded?”
“I’m packin’!” A young Hispanic officer yelled out and stepped forward from those who just exited the building.
“Check ’im! Is he toast?”
The young marksman who fired the shot that plugged Smoke in his brain sounded confused. “He’s gotta be. We put forty-eight rounds in ’im!” He looked over to his fellow officer, obviously a little shaken. “And one in his fucking brain!”
The Hispanic officer approached the slumped body still positioned on its knees, and as he got closer, noticed that even while knelt this lanky outlaw was one tall drink of pale and pasty shit. He turned his head to the side with a sour look scribed into his face and groaned.
“Fuck… This guy stinks!”
He continued his wary approach and another guard anxiously called out from behind.
“Is he dead?”
Officer Daniel Herrera stepped within arm’s reach of the body as his thoughts suddenly drifted to that of his pregnant fiancée, Maria, who was two weeks from her due date. He tried to shake the thought of her from his head but couldn’t keep his mind from averting. He took another careful step closer and her image just shoved its way back in. Even in his thoughts she seemed to find the means to get her way regardless of his better judgment…
He couldn’t help but think of the first time they met. They were both underage drinkers, getting buzzed off light beer and wine coolers at a friend’s house east of San Bernardino County. He was so fucking horny that night that he could hardly even talk, let alone “drop a line” but as it turned out, he didn’t have to. She approached him, confident and witty, and asked if he was going to stare all night or if he was actually planning on making a move. He said he’d prefer to stare, but since the heat was on, he’d try not to disappoint. He asked her what her name was and she said, Maria…and somehow, he knew right then that this girl would be the one to have his baby. He knew that they would love each other unlike anyone they’d ever loved before, and that they’d have a beautiful baby daughter together, whose name would also be Maria. Maria Sofia Herrera. The most beautiful name in all of time for the most beautiful daughter ever to bless a father’s eyes…
“Herrera! Is he dead?” The other officers were getting antsy, eager for the young man to do his job.
Daniel put his gun to Smoke’s bowed head and pushed, lifting it to stare into the eyes of the corpse haunting him. His head was heavier than he expected. He’d seen a handful of dead bodies before, but he’d never actually had to touch one. The close contact sent chills up his spine and shook him at his core, but he refrained from showing discomfort.
The hole in Smoke’s head, crusted with a circle of singed, burnt flesh, dripped demon oil down his face and in between his dead, black eyes.
“Jesus…” Daniel had never seen a corpse’s eyes that looked like this before… He was definitely dead…but something in his gut told him not to lower his guard.
“Herrera!!”
“Yeah!” He finally answered his squad, looking back over his shoulder, not convinced of his own words. “He’s dea—”
The blunt end of a cold tire-iron was enough to stop anyone in midsentence, and Officer Daniel Herrera found he was no exception to this truth.
He looked down at the metal pole sticking out of his gut and followed its form to the other end where Smoke twisted the tool in his hand and smiled vilely to add to the terror. Daniel considered pulling the trigger of the gun he held, but couldn’t, since his weapon was mysteriously missing from his hand.
Smoke saw the young man squeeze an empty trigger finger and brashly waved Daniel’s own weapon back in his face, flashing a questioning smirk.
“This thing loaded?” It was an inside joke referring to the unloaded gun he’d carried in life, but his humor went unappreciated by a tough crowd. He decided to skip the pleasantries and get the show on the road, so he shoved the business end of the 9mm Glock against Herrera’s forehead and paused to indulge before pulling the trigger.
“I always wan’ed to see the look on a cop’s face when he was stuck on the wrong end of his barrel…”
Daniel’s eyes widened as if he had something important he needed to say, stumbling over the urgency in his heart…but his words were never allowed to meet the air…
Smoke pulled the trigger slowly to coddle in the wait time before the explosion in his hand fought against his grip. The feel of the bang in his fist was the equivalent of an orgasm for the criminally insane. Herrera never stood a chance against Smoke’s enthusiasm for his kill.
The impression left on Daniel’s face was that of an attempt at forming the letter “M” for Maria, but if it was his wife, or his unborn daughter that last crossed his mind, only the bullet would know.
“…oh, fuck…”
The closest, most vocal of the first guards uttered his last words as Smoke stood up and backed Daniel’s skewered body right into him. He pushed the tire-iron through Herrera’s torso and into the protruding gut of the next guard just as a funny thought occurred to him:
“Pig-kabob!”
With a heave, he threw the two impaled bodies into two fresh ones, knocking the other officers over and pinning the younger marksman beneath the bleeding, soon-to-be-corpses of his friends. The pinned guard reached out for his fleeing partner’s ankle as though, in his friend’s panic, he’d unknowingly drag him to safety, but instead, his grip only tripped him up while Smoke closed in. Aiming the fully loaded pistol in his hand for the other thre
e, he opened fire just as they did, and the stumbling unarmed officer between them was the first to get caught by the cross.
“Fall back!! Fall back!!” A stocky guard yelled to the two to either side, assuming the position at the point to cover his friends’ retreat.
It seemed obvious that bullets wouldn’t stop this crazed thing firing straightly toward them, and if it weren’t for the panicked urgency of the firefight, the three men may’ve been too shocked by the mere sight of him to even react at all. Smoke’s presence carried a frightening air that was enough to freeze any sane man in his path. Each man experienced the chill of his stare as though he were piercing into the crux of their souls. It didn’t seem possible, but somehow every one of the retreating officers were captured in his line of sight, as if his glare had their names at its point and tactfully stabbed at their individual fears…
For one man, it made him feel as he did as a child when scolded by his abusive father, and he was stunned by the depravity of Smoke’s blackened eyes. For another, it was equal to his first time in combat in Pakistan when he witnessed a good friend beside him bleeding-out after taking a hit to his neck. And for the stocky point-man, his brave disposition melted in an instant when he looked into the eyes of the demon who’d haunted his dreams since he was a child; the one that killed his mother in front of him when he was five for the thirteen dollars she carried in her purse and the wedding ring on her finger…
The point-man froze in utter disbelief when struck by Smoke’s gaze. He didn’t know why he was so terrified or why he couldn’t even squeeze the trigger teasing the tip of his index. The two officers behind him were lucky enough to barely make it in through the door of the building, but only by the grace of inertia from their stumbling bodies.
Smoke stepped forward and stomped on the head of the young marksmen who was pinned under the corpses of Daniel and his skewered elder, crushing it beneath his weight like a rotted watermelon, death-jitters coursing through what was left of his convulsing body. He’d stopped firing a moment before when he put three bullets into the stomach of the man who stood fifteen feet in front of him, frozen with fear. The stocky point-man hadn’t yet realized, but he was already dead where he stood.
Smoke reached down for the end of the tire-iron extending from Daniel’s stomach and pulled it from the two dead men’s bodies. He considered licking the slop off the side of the murder weapon, but thought, no, too cliché. Instead, he approached the lone cowering soul that stood between him and the path to his father and leered into his panicked, brown eyes. He stabbed through the bullet wounds in the man’s guts and stirred his meat around inside him like his torso was a hearty stew.
The officer looked down at the hole in his stomach and choked on his own grueling terror. Smoke then willed the man to death with a grimace and a perverse growl while playing with the pulp of his food. The would-be hero’s eyes rolled into his skull, hands clutching blindly at Smoke’s hoodie while he fell, finally collapsing in a spasm of pain and fear…
Death, in this case, was a small token of mercy, and of that sort of mercy, Smoke had plenty more to give.
2
“Would you just…no…dude…seriously…stop… Just… stop…fucking…with the radio!”
Jimmy couldn’t take his hands off the button that changed the channels in Terry’s truck. He was astounded by the fact that none of the stations could break through the static.
“I’m just sayin’…It’s weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we’re in the fucking mountains or somethin’…So, what the hell’s goin’ on?” He gave the button another poke.
“Stop, dude, seriously. Yur buggin’ the shit out of me, right now.” Terry finally reached over and cut his annoyance off at its source. “You wanna walk the rest of the way? ’Cause I’ll drop yur ass off on the fucking corner.”
Jimmy leaned back in his seat, not moved by his friend’s threat, and gazed out the passenger window. A thick layer of clouds gathered over the entire city, poisoning his thoughts with a growing unease.
“Maybe it’s this storm…” He was just sort of thinking out loud, staring into the dark plumes that hounded his mood. “What the hell kind of storm blocks out radio signals? …An electric storm? Solar flares, maybe?”
“I don’t know, man, but have you tried yur cell lately?” He looked down at his phone to check for a signal. “Mine’s still not workin’…”
Jimmy had his phone already in his hand – he’d been checking it every few minutes and was close to being exhausted of the effort. He hadn’t gotten reception out of the damn thing since they left the Forum close to an hour ago. He shook his head, despondently answering Terry’s question with a sigh.
“Look,” Terry felt the need to cheer his little buddy up. He seemed to be stressed over this whole “missing Marty” thing, and Alex probably freaked him out even more with her uneasiness when they spoke. “We’ll be at Tara’s place soon, alright? Her boss said she took the day off… She’s probably holed up on the couch with Marty right now. We’ll pick him up, then go back to Alex’s and wait for her there.” Jimmy didn’t look convinced by Terry’s “everything’s gonna be fine” speech, so he decided he’d try to sweeten the pot a little. “We’ll get the five of us together – Alex will see that everything’s cool – and we’ll go shoot some pool at the Spot.” He glanced over at his friend and let a smile creep up onto his face. “I’ll let you be on Alex’s team. You can show her yur stroke – maybe even get’ta cop-a-feel.” He reached over and pinched Jimmy on his tit.
Jimmy brushed him off and could almost be accused of a grin. “Think Marty would mind?”
“Dude, you’re the most harmless kid on the fucking planet. Marty won’t care. I’d be more worried about Alex kickin’ yur ass, you little pussy.”
Jimmy chuckled and let an actual, real smile sneak through his edgy disposition, making Terry feel accomplished in his duty as a friend. He was sure not to let Jimmy see, but he was a bit perplexed himself. Jimmy was right about the storm blocking out the signals – it didn’t seem normal in the slightest. And Alex’s tone from the message she left him still haunted his unsettled thoughts. She was calm when she spoke, but something behind her controlled demeanor picked at his subconscious. The aura of the whole night around them felt off somehow, and he wasn’t far from understanding where Jimmy was getting his perturbed mood swings. He tried to convince himself that he believed what he’d told his young friend, and after repeating the speech a few more times in his mind, he thought for now he succeeded.
It was just another Tuesday night, he thought.
Show’s over, folks.
Nothin’ to see here.
You can all go home now…
3
In his dream, he was plagued by endless blackness, unable to breathe. It was one of those dreams you knew you were having, but no matter how hard you tried…you couldn’t wake up.
Muffled sounds of scraping and clawing bounced around in his skull, and the taste of blood…and dirt…filled his mouth and nose. Seconds felt like hours, and minutes dragged on like days. The trampling of heavy feet pounded above in rhythmic unison like soldiers steadily marching to the sound of foreboding war drums.
Screams…growls…sirens…gun shots…
A sharp tingling, like a thousand spiders’ legs, filled his stomach. Darkness asphyxiated him; uncertainty a smoldering flame in his mind.
Exhaustion…suffocation…hunger…
A burning flushed over his body as if acid pumped through every vein, and a barrage of violent images flashed through the infinite darkness that encompassed the world around him.
Fire…blood…pain…death… Broken bodies piled on top of severed limbs, on top of splattered insides, cartilage, and splintered bone. His father…his mother…his teammates…his sister…
His sister…
ALEX!!
He called out her nam
e inside the silent vacuum that was his grave. The grave that he somehow inherited that never belonged to him, but instead, to an old friend… Or enemy… He wasn’t sure… But he wasn’t dead, he thought… Or was he?
…Duprie!!
That sick, twisted fuck!! …He killed me… HE FUCKING KILLED ME!!!
Anger!
Rage piled on top of hate, fueling a silent scream for vengeance… And a deepening hunger seared inside…
AAAAARRRRGGGRRRHHHHAAA!!!!!!!
PAIN!!
Burning set fire to his soul at the first flicker of his pulse. A battle between villainy and virtue waged inside, tearing through his body with every beat his heart pumped thereafter, putting black blood against blue. He clinched a tormented fist and felt a handful of moist dirt harden in his grasp…
He… He could move his hand… His hands… He could move his hands!!
Get up, god damn it! GET UP!!
He used the pain inside to empower him, clawing and gouging at heaps of bloodied soil. Kicking and scraping, he shifted his body through the warm mud. He wasn’t even sure if he was digging up or down, but he didn’t bother to hesitate when the doubt occurred. He would make his way out of this grave and to see his sister again if he had to dig his way through the center of the Earth to get there.
Blood Magik- A Cold Day In Hell Page 15