Marco pocketed the bowie knife and then lifted the gun, holster and all. Cringing, he strained to pull the bug off. It bit him, twice on the hand, and he dropped it. Marco clasped the holster to his hip. Standing still, it was as if a hundred leeches were crawling up his arms and legs. Into his mouth, his ears, his eyes.
He closed them. Marco felt the weight of his own body and the warmth of the sun. He took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he heard birds in the distance and the gentle rattle of trees in the wind. He looked up at the empty stretch of road before him. The sun was beginning to dip down towards the horizon.
Almost time.
2
-SUNDOWN-
-Marco-
THERE WAS NO BURIAL for Leon. Marco left his bloodied, bullet-ridden corpse on the side of the road. He folded the man’s arms and closed his eyes. There simply wasn’t enough time to seek out a shovel and put him in the ground, not with Knox descending upon the Maiden. Not with the sun already beginning to straddle the horizon.
“You deserve better,” Marco said, looking down at him.
On Leon’s map, he found the spot they’d marked in red. The coordinates seemed to lead into the thickest part of the forest, likely some nondescript little hovel. When he found the Maiden, Marco planned to wipe the dirt from her face and tell her, I come as a friend, but there’s some dangerous people coming this way. Let’s get out of here. I’m not Bloodline, I’m not a scavenger either, I’m…I’m Luke Skywalker and I’m here to rescue you.
You know, something like that.
Marco searched the houses nearby for car keys, finally finding paydirt with a nondescript blue Toyota. He drove it as close to the coordinates as he dared, halting a few miles out for fear of the engine attracting too much attention. The rest of the way, he continued on foot. He wore the same black hoodie as always, over his black t-shirt and jeans. Generic, forgettable Marco. Above, the dying sun fought through the cracks to light the way. He dared not use a flashlight. His worst fear was to stumble upon the spot where Knox was waiting to rendezvous with Leon by accident, and spoil the whole thing.
Marco couldn’t help but be impressed with how quiet he could walk. Each step was taken with such care, but done at full speed. Moving swiftly was always quieter than trying to sneak by. He’d learned the skill as a kid, foolishly trying to mimic spies in movies or video games, playing at being James Bond or Solid Snake. As he grew, he continued to challenge himself. He’d avoid acquaintances in public or duck away from his boss on smoke breaks. There was something simultaneously rebellious and passive about slinking around. He’d invented reasons to do it at boot camp, and then again at Outpost Four. His whole life, it seemed, he’d been on these make-believe covert missions.
He’d gotten good at it.
The walk was long, and already he was craving a cigarette. Is it a real craving, or am I just craving the idea of a cigarette? Not that it mattered. Above, the light was fading. Marco continued forward, further north, until finally he came upon the clearing. One step from coming out into the open, his eyes narrowed.
Impossible.
In the middle of the large clearing was a mansion, looking as out of place as an infinity pool on a housing project roof.
His first thought was to question the validity of Leon’s map. It simply didn’t make sense for a property this big to be unknown to the public. Even in this small corner of rural Connecticut, even amongst the bored, wealthy and past-their-prime, who would go through such effort? Marco crouched down, looking across that empty stretch of tall grass at the sprawling property. It reminded him of Ashe Memorial, except the open space was much more condensed and the building itself was thrice, maybe five times the size. Marco exhaled. Shit. This made things a lot more complicated.
He took one step out into the clearing, if you could call it that. The manor was beset on all sides by grass nearly up to his waist. Tall blades of green and light brown, likely crawling with all manner of insect life. Marco tried to keep calm, but already his skin was crawling. To get to the house, he’d need to stay low. He’d need to envelop himself in the brush, ticks and mites and mosquitoes be damned. Already he was plotting out a path, drawing an invisible line in his brain from where he stood to where he’d emerge. He would need to curve to the right in a half-moon pattern so as not to pop out right at the front door, where he’d almost definitely be seen. No, better to end up on the side of the house, blending into the great building’s massive shadow.
From afar, none of the windows appeared to be lit inside. There was no telling which room the Maiden was being kept in, or how many people were guarding her. More likely than not, he’d be desperately overmatched, right from the start. All Marco had going for him was the element of surprise. That, and a gun with three bullets that he’d yet to ever even take from the holster.
Marco took a seat on the edge of the clearing, waiting out the last of the light. Surrounded by all these trees, it was impossible to make out the horizon. He couldn’t help but think that it was maybe the last sunset he’d ever get a chance to see, yet here he was missing it. Par for the course. He had no allusions of a happy ending. If there was such a thing as fate, as God, it’d spared him for this long to fulfill a purpose. This purpose. And once he’d completed his task, he figured the world was just as likely to no longer have a need of him.
Wasn’t this what you hoped for all along? Since the day you joined the Army: a purpose? A way to change the world?
Now that he was staring at that mansion, at his doom and his glory, he should’ve felt vindicated. Instead he was terrified.
Marco rose to his feet. The sun was gone, replaced by a starless night sky.
~
He saw the guards from fifty feet out.
There were two of them, both armed, straddling the perimeter of the house. They had the look of men who had been doing this job for far too long. The smoke breaks came often, as did the chatter between them. Each man stuck to a predictable pattern, travelling up and down the same paths in precisely the same way. It was like an old video game. He merely needed to time his dash from the grass to the house, and he’d be home free.
Marco itched his neck as he sunk low into his hips, down in the grass, which was probably crawling with deer ticks. While one guard took a break to lean against the front door and chew on a sandwich, Marco tracked the other and waited until he’d begun his walk towards the western edge of the house. Marco went east. He flattened himself against the side of the house, trying to keep his breathing in check. One by one he checked the windows he could reach. All locked. On the second story, however, he saw a window hanging ajar. Scanning the side of the building he saw his path. If he could just get up there, there was an overhang just beside the window where he could squat and cut through the screen.
He slipped almost immediately. His skinny, long frame seemed built specifically for climbing, but still he found it difficult. He contorted his body, trying to find the optimal way to hoist himself up to that landing. Marco clawed at it, trying to find something to latch onto with his hands while his legs remained at awkward angles, pinning him in place. He reached, further, near pushing his shoulder as far out of the socket as he could.
Almost, almost…
He slipped, and dropped five feet into the grass.
Marco remained completely flat, on his belly, for a moment, listening if either of the guards had heard him. Then he gave it another go. He tried to remember his training. Boot camp, all over again. He found a better footing this time, and was able to launch himself to the other overhang. A quick leap, arms out. This time, he stuck the landing. He held onto the overhang, legs dangling. Sweat-drenched, wincing, he pulled himself up, and found himself face to face with that second floor window.
He pulled the window further ajar, then unfurled Leon’s bowie knife. Slowly, as quiet as he could, Marco stabbed into the screen and then began to shimmy the knife along the edges, cutting open the outline of the screen. Leon had kept his knife very sh
arp, lucky for Marco. It was easy work. He parted the screen opening, which now resembling a fluttering drape, and wiggled his way inside.
On the other side of the window, he let himself down, quietly onto a bedroom floor. On the bed beside him, a couple slumbered, with a toddler between them. The woman, he noticed, was blonde. Certainly not his Maiden. Marco glanced at the youngster, who lay on his back, round-faced and innocent. His eyes were open and he stared directly at Marco.
Marco pressed a finger to his lips. The kid didn’t scream or even move. His eyes remained wide, but the little guy was frozen in fear. Maybe he thought he was dreaming. Marco slowly slunk from the room. The little boy watched him every step of the way, but made not a sound. They kept eye contact the whole way, even as Marco opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed it behind him, slow as he could. It made no sound, save for a soft click when he’d closed it all the way. Marco wiped the sweat from his brow.
The room had been near pitch black, and this hallway was just barely lit, as if the entire building was on a dimmer switch. Marco glanced both ways down the long hall. There were so many closed doors. So many bedrooms. He was dumbfounded as to what to do next. He couldn’t search every room without waking someone up. He’d hardly made it through that one room just now. Part of him hadn’t expected to even get this far. But, here he was. So, what now?
Think, Marco. Think.
The radio at his hip gave a burst of static.
Marco stalked the hall, finally finding a door separate from the others and slightly skinnier. With great care not to make a sound, he peeled the door open. A broom closet. Perfect. He got inside, closing the door behind him. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. Marco lowered himself to the ground and took a seat. Again, the radio spouted that same noise. Marco put it to his lips.
“Uhh?” he grunted.
“You’re late.”
Marco made no response. He cleared his throat. He kept his voice just above a whisper. This time around he tried to mimic a southern accent.
“Wait for me,” he said. Better to keep it short.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Where the fuck are you?”
“Close. Just wait.”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
“Leon.”
“I swear to God,” Knox said, voice rising now, “you better tell me who this is right fucking-”
Marco turned off the radio. He closed his eyes and took one deep breath. Then another. It’s okay. I have a head start on him. As long as I find her first, I’m fine.
I’m fine.
“Wake up!”
Marco’s eyes shot open. It was far off. A woman’s voice, from somewhere else in the house. No, in his head, more likely. He heard someone banging against the walls.
“Rise and shine!”
Cackling laughter.
“Let’s drink wine and laugh! Let’s have fun!”
Some commotion. Some shuffling of feet. Then, all quiet. Marco sat completely still, listening intently. He could hear people all around him rising from their beds and muffled murmurings, cushioned by the walls. It got quiet. So quiet. Then, a gun went off.
Marco listened to the sound of a human stampede. It seemed like all around him, people were flooding from their rooms. This chaos no doubt was Knox’s doing. Only when the herd of frightened people had passed him by did Marco let that closet door creak open. He stepped out again into the hall, now empty. Every door was ajar. They’d left in a rush, some dropping clothes as they went. He heard them stomping down the staircase.
He crept to the end of the long hall. The layout made sense to him suddenly. There were two long hallways, connected in the middle, with a balcony and a long master staircase down to the foyer. Marco made sure to keep cover, chancing a glance down below. The front doors hung open, and the two guards were down in the foyer, conversing with one another.
“And where the fuck is Benjamin?”
Marco ducked back safely out of view. He waited there a moment, crouched down. The whole house had taken off, it seemed, scared off by something. Where the hell were they going? And what were they running from?
From the other hall, he heard the faint sound of footsteps. Marco backtracked out of the balcony area and back to the hall, where he flattened himself against one of the walls for cover. The figure stepped out into the balcony area, into the light. A woman.
She was tall and thin, with jet black hair as dark as his own. She wore a blue dress, stained with splotches of red here and there. Her skin was the pale, bloodless hue of a carrier. The woman’s appearance was disheveled—face streaked with eyeliner, clothes hanging loosely on her—but there was something about the way she carried herself that said the opposite. This was a proud person. Someone in control. As she crouched down behind the balcony, he noticed that she had a snub-nosed revolver. She held it up by her face, in both hands, as she peered down at the foyer below.
Then came the explosion.
Marco rocked backwards, more out of shock than anything. The entire house seemed to teeter in place a moment. He stumbled, falling onto his side. Marco lifted himself, looking up again at the girl. She had risen to her feet and was staring down at the foyer again. Whatever it was, she remained locked onto the target, frozen in place. Entranced. Marco got to his feet and she must’ve seen him then, out of the corner of her eye. She glanced his way for but a moment and then took off running in the opposite direction, down that hallway from whence she’d came. Marco had no time to think. He went after her.
He chased her all the way to the end of the hall, where she ran straight into the master bedroom. Marco scampered after her, past an old man at a desk, past a luxurious looking four-post bed, further back to where a steel sliding door hung open. Marco rushed inside, sliding to a halt as he turned into the room, just in time to see a six-shooter pointed at his face.
Immediately, he raised his hands in surrender.
“Don’t shoot!”
Marco stood at the intersection of both rooms. He was inside this odd metal chamber, but with the door still ajar so he could see out into the bedroom.
“Get out of the room!” she yelled.
Just over the woman’s shoulder was a panel of surveillance televisions. It seemed there was a camera in damn near every room. The woman held the gun in two shaky hands, staring down the sight. On the bottom left, he saw what had caused the explosion. Knox.
“Hey!” she yelled, regaining his attention. “Get out of the room!”
“You don’t understand. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need help! Out!”
Marco’s eyes darted from her to the screen. In that tiny image, Knox was allowing the two guards to rise and reach for their weapons. Then he drew both his pistols, simultaneously, and killed them both with a shot each. The video was on a slight delay, and silent. Marco heard the gunshots a moment early, from downstairs.
“Ah…uhh…he’s coming,” Marco said, hands still raised. “He’s coming. That man, he’s coming to kill you.”
“No shit.”
She kept her eyes on Marco, ignoring his pleas. It was then that he noticed the round, red button on the wall beside him. Just out of reach. Up on the screen, the men were again down. The pooling blood looked like two red halos, growing wider and wider. On a different screen, Knox was sauntering up the master stairwell. Taking his sweet time. Like always.
He looked back down at her. It wasn’t blood stains on her dress, as he’d thought. It looked more like wine. On her face, neck and one spot on her arm, her off-white makeup was smeared to reveal pink, healthy flesh beneath.
“So, you are real,” he said.
On the screen, Knox was coming down the hall, towards them. Marco glanced again at the red button. She saw.
“Don’t.”
He’d never been very good at taking orders.
Marco leapt forward and slapped the button. Instantly, the steel door slid shut, clicking as it locked int
o place. He backed up to where he’d been a moment ago, against the wall, and lifted his hands again, palms open. She continued to point the gun at him, glowering.
“You’re Justine, then,” he said, hands still raised in surrender. “I’m Marco.”
3
-PANIC-
-Justine-
THERE WAS A LION OUTSIDE THE DOOR. It prowled back and forth, spinning one of its silver guns in his hand while the other sat its holster. This was Knox. She’d heard his name before, but had always had a different image of the ruthless killer in mind. The real item was laid back and full of swagger. He chewed gum as he paced around the room, dressed in jeans and black boots and a blood red basketball jersey with white trim. Number 23.
She chanced just a glance at him, over one shoulder, before turning back to face the buzz-cut scavenger, clad all in black, who had shut himself in the little room with her. She’d been pointing the gun at him for maybe five straight minutes now. Her arms were getting tired.
“Switch places with me.”
Marco put a finger to his lips.
“Can you hear anything?” he whispered. “It must be soundproof. We can’t hear them, so they can’t hear us either.”
“Great. Now, switch places.”
“Can I put my hands down?”
“No. Move, now. Slow.”
They awkwardly shifted around one another, so that his back was to the panel of television screens and she faced them.
“Take off your gun belt and hand it to me. By the strap. Don’t put your hand anywhere near the gun.”
“Is there any way for him to get in?”
“Gun belt. Let’s go.”
Even with a pistol in his face, the kid seemed more afraid of the gunman outside the steel door than he was of her. Nice and slow, he removed his belt, holster and all, and handed it over to her. She snatched it from him with her left hand, still holding Benjamin’s little six-shooter in her right. He had an odd look to him when he handed over his sidearm, almost like he was relieved to be free of it. She recalled then, how even when he’d been chasing her, he’d left his gun in its holster. Weird.
Bury Me in Black Page 24