Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  Deep scars traveled through their mangy fur as if the animals had been hacked apart and sewn back together. One coyote’s entire face was a patchwork of metal riveted in place. There were no ears, but there were dark eyes surrounded by pink, scarred flesh, peering through large round eyeholes. The rest of it was normal enough except for the spine’s replacement, sticking out of the fur like the teeth of a handsaw.

  There was another coyote with a metal skull. Its eye on one side was bloodshot, and its legs had been replaced by moveable steel limbs. Gears served as shoulder joints, rotating when the animal moved. A hiss wheezed out from skinny pumps that acted like ligaments, one connecting between the maniacal elbow joints joined by a simple metal pin. The feet were hoof-like, small as a deer’s, and built from heavy-looking metal that was scratched up, most likely from it clawing at the cage. The movements of these mechanical legs were stiff and off balance. It appeared the creature struggled with them.

  The torso of the last coyote was cast entirely out of metal as if it were armor bolted into the flesh around its waist and neck. Its front legs stuck out through leg holes. Its lower jaw had been removed and it had been fitted with a metal jaw with jagged teeth. The coyote was unable to close its mouth completely, and thick strands of drool dangled from its lower jaw.

  The locks on each cage were round and made of brass. They appeared not to have any kind of keyhole.

  The sheer sight of the coyotes filled Itza-chu with more fear than he ever experienced before. His heart slammed against his breastbone. As crude as these crimes against nature were, the person responsible for creating them was far more dangerous than first imagined. What else lurked inside the mission?

  “Landcross,” he muttered fretfully.

  As if the universe were answering his cries, a volley of gunfire rang out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Machine Man

  Pierce got inside the building without a hitch. Upon entering, he spied a glow coming from above. Pierce crept toward the rear wall and to the base of a caged spiral staircase winding up toward the light. Pierce reached the first step and saw what looked to be a domed ceiling with a faded religious mural painted on it. The light came from lantern and candle flames that flickered with the movement of someone upstairs. There was a slight clang as if something metallic was being set down on a hard surface.

  Pierce headed up quietly, his pistol held close. He honestly didn’t believe Javier—if in fact it was him—had anyone with him. If he was some mad scientist, as well as an outlaw, chances were good that “seclusion” was the sod’s favorite word. Pierce could handle one cocker, especially when he had the drop on him. It was nothing more complicated than aiming a gun at the man and slapping manacles on him.

  Before reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped to peer over the edge of the upstairs floor. Pierce spotted a man standing with his back turned. Whale oil lanterns hung from hooks in the wooden wall beams. Candles surrounded the man as he worked. Pierce took another step up to gain a better view. As he did, he quickly scanned the room, checking to make certain the mark was alone. Pierce had been wrong many times in the past.

  Not much seemed to be here. Only a wrought iron bed, a dresser, and a writing desk with stacks of papers, several ink jars, and a few unlit lanterns on it. Books were also stacked up as high as three feet tall in some cases near the bed. Rifles were mounted on gun racks on the walls. Otherwise, there was nothing else there—almost.

  Behind the mark was a wooden slab where the body of a man lay. The body appeared to have been used for some sort of experiment. The entire torso was metal. The chest area was spread open like cabinet doors. Pierce ducked down beside the stairwell wall as the scientist twisted around and closed the chest.

  When he figured it was safe, Pierce peered up again. The scientist wiped oil off his hands beside a surgical tool table. He soon stepped over to a vanity mirror where a washbasin sat and began washing his hands.

  Pierce went up the last few steps and crept in closer. As he approached, he strained against getting sick at the grotesque sight. The dead man wore nothing except old ratty peasant slacks. His dirty, chapped feet had long yellow toenails. What meat parts were left, lacked fat and had hardly any muscle. The skin was stretched tight against the cheekbones. It was as if though he’d been malnourished prior to death. His dark skin and hair were oily from not bathing, and his eyes were wide open and yellowed around pale brown irises.

  Yet, none of this could compare to the body’s added parts. The chest piece wasn’t simply a plate set over him, but roughly shaped to fit the body’s physique from collarbone to abdomen. There were small hooks running down the corpse’s chest like buttons, each with black oil smeared on them. There was some kind of mechanical noise buzzing inside. The metal torso was riveted to the body. The entire crown of the corpse’s head was replaced by a chrome scalp with another piece covering the forehead as if to shield the brain completely. It appeared the scientist was building an exoskeleton. Pierce had no idea how many people might have come before this poor bastard, or the purpose behind it, but once he’d apprehended the sadistic scientist, his brutal practice would end.

  Pierce walked past the dead man and stood next to the surgical instrument table. He trained his pistol at the man’s back. “Don’t move, wanker.”

  The tall, black-haired man stiffened. “Don’t move, wanker? An Englishman? Have the British returned to try and retake Mexico?”

  “Not quite, chum,” Pierce said, thankful the man spoke English. “But I have a gun on you, so get ’em up and turn around slowly.”

  The mark complied and raised his hands before turning. He had a dark complexion and even darker features. High cheekbones and nearly black eyes. His nose was long, perfectly shaped to match the structure of his face, with thin lips and a strong chin. He was a handsome gent with a menacing aura that iced Pierce’s blood. Spooky, just as Harvey had described.

  “Javier Saints, I presume,” Pierce guessed.

  The man nodded. “I am.”

  “Oh, good,” Pierce said, pulling the manacles out from his coat pocket. “On behalf of Guaymas, I hereby place you under arrest.”

  Pierce had him dead to rights. But his smug smile told Pierce he had a card up his sleeve to play.

  “Iker,” Javier said to someone, “levántate y consigue a ese hombre.”

  Pierce glanced behind him, and that was when the coldest fear he had ever known crystallized throughout him.

  The dead man had risen and was now sitting up on the table, looking directly at him.

  “What the bloody fuck is that?” Pierce shrieked.

  “Cosiguele,” Javier uttered calmly. It sounded like a command.

  It was alive!

  Pierce’s lower back hit the railing bar when the man—no, not a man, the Machine Man—slid off the table and onto its feet. The thing was a hundred times more frightening when animated, especially when it approached him.

  “Shite!” Pierce exclaimed, swinging his gun around.

  He pulled his trigger a hair too soon, hitting the wall with a stray bullet. The next five shots pinged off the metal chest, stomach, and chrome forehead. One shot crunched through its cheekbone right below the eye. The Machine Man showed no reaction, and with all the vital organs safety shielded by its permanent body armor, there was no easy way to stop him.

  Pierce fired until the hammer fell on empty chambers. Realizing the gun was out, Pierce backhanded it across the face, cracking the compass embedded in his glove. When that did nothing, he struck the Machine Man again with his pistol. That also did no good. He imagined this creation of horror—despite its weak-looking arms—lifting him up and hurling him over the railing. To avoid such a demise, Pierce plowed against the thing, losing his gun over the railing. As he shoved the thing backward, Pierce stopped short, allowing the Machine Man to fall. The thing hit the ground with a loud thud. Before it had a chance to get up, Pierce decided he needed something to keep it down, preferably an ax to ch
op its goddamn head off! He whirled around to search for something when the blade of a scalpel touched his throat.

  “Move an inch and I will slit your cervical vertebrae,” Javier threatened.

  The sharp blade paralyzed Pierce. For a brief moment, he was sixteen again and facing his older brother who was about to cut his throat.

  He snapped himself out of that nightmare in order to face his current one. The scalpel hadn’t moved from its place just below the corner of his lower jaw. All Javier had to do to end him was press the blade down harder and swoosh it clear across. Javier used his free hand to clutch Pierce’s coat lapel to hold him in place.

  “Who are you, Englishman? Who sent you?”

  Reeling from the pure fear overtaking him, Pierce gave no answer.

  “Who are you?” Javier demanded again, pushing Pierce against the railing.

  The pain in his lower spine made him flinch. The Machine Man was rolling from side to side like a turtle on its back. Suddenly, the thing didn’t seem so scary. Eventually, it stood, using the railing to lift himself up.

  “Agarrarlo,” Javier said to his creation.

  “Get your monster off me!” Pierce yelled as the thing hooked its arms under Pierce’s and pressed its hands with fingers knitted behind his head.

  Although the scalpel was no longer against his throat, Pierce was still vulnerable.

  “Have you come alone?”

  “Aye,” Pierce lied.

  Javier held up the scalpel, causing Pierce to swallow thickly.

  “Have you?” Javier asked again.

  The air caught in Pierce’s windpipe when Javier aimed the blade at his chest. He tapped the end of it against his tin badge pinned to his vest.

  “A lawman? What is an English lawman doing out here?” He paused. “On behalf of Guaymas. That’s what you said to me. You came from there. And you’re not alone, are you?”

  Pierce thought about telling another lie, but Javier would see right through him. In truth, he needed not say anything. Javier rushed over to his writing desk, opened a drawer, and brought out some kind of device. It was rectangular and built out of dark wood with typewriter keys on it. He pulled out an elongated antenna from the top and pressed down on a single button.

  “Whoever is with you, they’re about to receive a deadly surprise.”

  Pierce’s stomach churned. “What have you done?”

  Javier smiled wickedly—fitting for someone who enjoyed the taste of blood. “I have unleashed my coyotes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Discoveries

  The decaying back gate Emma and Jaxton found was unlocked and unguarded. Once through it, they discovered a wide passageway with large, open archways leading out to a courtyard. No one seemed to be around. There were two entrances on either end of the corridor. Deciding to stick together, Emma and Jaxton went left. They kept quiet, unsure of what to expect. Even Emma pushed aside her own distressful thoughts in order to stay focused. She wasn’t going to let heartache be her downfall, or the downfall of her friend. In time, she would mull over what she and Jaxton had discussed and decide on what to do next. For now, she had a job to do.

  Jaxton placed his ear against the door and listened a moment.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “What? Do you hear something?”

  He shook his head as though in disbelief. “I think someone’s crying in there.”

  “Crying?” she repeated, also listening. Faint whimpering. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “They’re in trouble.”

  Jaxton nodded in agreement and brought up his bayonet pistol. “Shall we?”

  “Si,” she answered, unholstering her weapon.

  They positioned themselves on both sides of the double doors and pulled down the latches.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  Relying on their element of surprise, they pulled them open and jumped inside the room with guns outstretched. Emma thought her heart would explode from the fright and exhilaration.

  She nearly squeezed the trigger when a woman cried out in Spanish, “Help us!”

  The moonlight shone in enough that she and Jaxton were visible to anyone the room.

  “Quien es?” Emma demanded.

  “Help us,” a man desperately called out. “Por favor, help!”

  She looked at the silhouette of Jaxton beside her. It was impossible to discern his expression.

  “Save us from him,” pleaded another woman in the darkness.

  “Who’s him?” Jaxton asked.

  “That madman,” the same woman answered. “Get us out of here!”

  “There’s a switch on the wall by the exit,” the other woman explained. “Flip it up.”

  Jaxton completely vanished from sight while Emma stayed put. She listened as he shuffled about behind the left door. Not long afterward, sparks flew, making her jump a foot into the air. Bulbs burst to life all around the room, washing the entire area in a hazy yellow pigment. What the lights revealed stunned Emma and Jaxton.

  They had entered the chapel with the altar nearby. The chapel, however, had been converted into anything but a holy place. Two women and a man were locked inside cages at the rear of the chapel. They looked dreadful, sickly and filthy. Emma wondered why they were there. What use did this madman have for them? Just below the altar was a bloodstained operating table set in the center of the aisle. A couple of iron grid structures with capacitors and what appeared to be makeshift transformers at the bottom were on both ends of the table. The altar table held amputation saws and other surgical tools, along with racks of test tubes, glass beakers, body parts such as eyes and a heart stored in formaldehyde-filled jars, and stacks of books.

  It’s a prison and laboratory. Emma thought.

  “Bloody hell,” Jaxton gasped, trying to take it all in. “What is this place?”

  Gunshots rang out, instantly grabbing everyone’s attention.

  “That sounded like it came from over yonder,” Jaxton noted, darting out. “C’mon, Pierce and Itza-chu might be in trouble!”

  “Wait!” the man cried in a panic. “Don’t leave us here!”

  “We’ll be back for you,” Emma promised before following Jaxton out.

  “Watch out for the coyotes!” a woman hollered.

  * * *

  Itza-chu raced down the bell tower steps, the lantern swinging on its handle. He dashed out and was hurrying through the corridor, heading for the doors on the other end, when a sound from behind stopped him. A pair of animals emerged from the bell tower. A shine glimmered off them in places where the moonlight caught the metal.

  The coyotes.

  How had they escaped their cages? They couldn’t have gotten out on their own, could they? Itza-chu remembered the strange, round brass locks. Could they somehow be mechanical, as well? He had no time to think about it before the coyotes charged at him. Itza-chu stood halfway in the corridor, but the hybrid creatures were already closing the gap between them. They ran with great speed—except for the coyote with the robotic legs, which exited the building last. It jogged after the others awkwardly, doing its best not to fall over.

  Itza-chu had no chance to reach the other end of the corridor before the hybrids caught up to him. He’d have to make a stand. Itza-chu unholstered his Oak Leaf revolver and began firing. The lead coyote, the one with an artificial cranium, bowed its head to let the bullets bounce off its metallic crown. Its actions surprised Itza-chu.

  Bullets hadn’t stopped it, but perhaps fire would. He waited until the hybrid leaped at him, and in the instant it did, Itza-chu moved aside and swung the lantern, crashing it right into its manmade snout. There was a bright explosion, followed by hundreds of fiery sparks. The creature landed completely engulfed in kerosene and flames. Itza-chu wasted no time. He fired his pistol, but the gun was empty. He slid his rifle off his shoulder, took aim at the beast’s ribs, and fired.

  The animal never howled, but it also didn’t get up. The second
coyote closed in. Itza-chu saw it from the corner of his eye and swung his single-shot rifle like a club, knocking the thing across the side of the head. The coyote slammed into the nearby wall. It was a solid blow, but not enough to kill it. Itza-chu tossed his broken rifle away and pulled his knife, ready to stab it in the neck. The scraping of metal got him to turn his head. The mechanical thing with the prosthetic legs was slowly gaining ground, but not without great effort. It strived to look fierce despite its awkwardness, snarling and snapping its jaws.

  Itza-chu watched it with mild amusement while breathing heavily and wiping sweat and kerosene from his face. The reek of burning hair and flesh from the coyote hung in the air. A growl to his right immediately snared his attention, but it was too late. The beast with the iron jaw, latched its teeth, both enamel and metal, into his shoulder. He fell backward, landing near the roasting beast. His head was only paces from the oncoming third coyote. His screams only intensified when the animal started thrashing him from side to side.

  His bones crunched like dry corn between the creature’s natural and manmade teeth. Itza-chu grabbed hold of the animal by the neck, trying to pull it off him. The teeth were hooked into his collarbone and shoulder. No part of him could escape the searing pain cutting through him. Warm blood poured out of his many wounds, soaking him. Itza-chu knew he’d be mauled to death by either his attacker or the other hybrid still approaching. The metal paws scratched louder over the cobblestone walkway and rose above Itza-chu’s screaming.

  He needed his knife that had fallen from his grasp when he hit the ground. He spied it next to him via the light of the burning coyote. He reached for it, but only touched the end of the handle with the tips of his fingers. He glanced briefly behind him and saw the other coyote only a couple of feet away, its dark eyes fixed on him. The moment the animal was close enough, it would clamp its jaws down on his head. Itza-chu turned his focus back on his blade. The hybrid continued gnawing at him. His grip on the animal was weakening. He slid sideways when the creature thrashed him, gaining an opportunity to seize his knife. He took it before he slid back over. He held the bone handle firmly and with a vicious howl of his own, Itza-chu stabbed the beast in the side of the neck. The creature’s jaws loosened, but the thing’s reaction to the knife was mild.