by Noah Fregger
“No!” He tried to yank himself away, tried to pry his leg free. “John, you did this!” he shouted, looking back at the sea of faces, then back at the hunter. “It was him. He was gonna kill you tonight!”
“Is that so?” The hunter only smiled. “Then it seems, Bogeyman, you were in on it, too.”
He buried several bullets deep into Rick’s back. Hardly deserving of a quick death, the man had a little time to think as his lungs began to fill with blood. The hunter knelt beside him, lifting his head by a tuft of hair to whisper in his ear. “If you ask for the hunter, Bogeyman, you will get him.” Rick’s face hit the floor again, the wet sound of his cheek against the tile. The hunter turned then to his very attentive audience. “Now where are you, Saint John?”
Jackson came to shove the man forward, confiscating his weapon, John’s icy-blue eyes staring back at him.
“Explain what … ” He motioned toward Rick, who was currently gurgling, his arms still moving. “Explain what he just said.”
“I don’t know what he was talking about, Maddox,” John insisted. “People say crazy stuff when they have a gun pointed at them.”
“Really?” He aimed the weapon at John as those behind him parted like the Red Sea … save for one, her little face marked with concern, her rabbit dangling there at her side.
Her presence definitely complicated the matter.
Sighing, the hunter slowly lowered his gun. “Get your shit, John, and get out,” he ordered. “And know your daughter saved your life today.”
Jackson approached the hunter as he fully anticipated the large man’s following statement. “Boss,” he whispered, “what about Hazel?”
“I’m not going to kill her father in front of her, Jackson; and I’m not going to kidnap her, either.”
“She’s not going to survive out there,” Victoria came to voice her opinion.
“Fine.” The hunter nodded. “Tell you what. If you two want to take her from him, I won’t get in the way.”
Victoria turned to John, whose face was meshed somewhere between sadness and anger. “John, please,” she started. “It’s no world out there for a little girl.”
“Hazel comes with me.” His voice was stern, unyielding.
“I’ll look after her,” Victoria offered. “She’ll be safe. You can leave her here.”
“I leave her here and I’ll never see her again.”
“That’s not true.”
“And who cares if it is,” Jackson interrupted. “You’ll never see her again if she’s dead, either. At least here she’ll be safe from the outside.”
“We’ll find a place,” he spat. “C’mon, Hazel, we’re not welcome anymore.”
Victoria passed him to wrap her arms around Hazel, then pushed numerous strands of unkempt hair from the kid’s face to see her more clearly. Tears were beginning to form in the child’s eyes. Even at five she seemed keen enough to recognize the coming of drastic change, and wise enough to be frightened beyond all Hell of it. Victoria could hardly contain her own tears as others came to bid Hazel their heartfelt farewells.
“It doesn’t need to be this way, Boss.”
“Then do something, Jackson,” the hunter suggested coldly. “You already know your options.”
“Let’s hold a vote, who thinks she should stay.”
“Either way you’ll have to pry her from John; and either way is traumatic for Hazel.”
“Her whole life is trauma,” Jackson stated. “Kid’s probably immune to it by now.”
“And what if it was your kid?” the hunter asked. “I’d have no problem taking his life, but taking his kid … ” The hunter shook his head. “I haven’t allowed myself to fall that far just yet.”
Jackson looked back at Hazel, silence overtaking him.
“You keep an eye on John.” He patted Jackson on the back. “I’ll give them until sunrise; and that kindness is only because of her.” The hunter unfolded Rick’s skull mask, stretching it out to behold the sinister design. “And when the bogeyman finally dies, get Kyle and Kevin to take him out back and burn him.”
Jackson nodded, his somber mood apparent in the tensing of his jaw.
“Hey.” He slapped the large man on the shoulder. “The bogeyman’s gone. Let’s try to cheer up a little.”
27
Enemies Closer
The night had gone down with hardly a hitch. Mohammad couldn’t image it going any better, in fact. In allowing himself to be seen by the large man, Mohammad put a face to the myth and was successful in framing Rick before Rick was able to frame him for the murder of the hunter–and one less for Mohammad to worry about in the end. He’d also left them another numerical message, the meaning of which would be revealed soon enough.
There was a minor casualty, however, that didn’t sit right with him–a little girl soon to be tossed out into the world, the daughter of John. But there was nothing he could do about that, and to add it to his plate was out of the question. Despite the way he might have been perceived as the bogeyman, he still couldn’t be at two places at once. To also watch over her was a burden he just couldn’t carry; and it was a decision he knew his former self wouldn’t have been strong enough to make. So he cut her loose from his mind, and placed her instead in the hands of fate.
But to have expected a relaxing night from then on was simply absurd, for the hammer, with scraping claws, came soon to call upon him a second time. Mohammad, not yet asleep, peeled the shirt off his back–best to keep it clean of blood, his or the drone’s. Leaping from his nest, the hilt of his knife was clenched firm in his fist. The thing lunged for him and he split it cleanly open along its abdomen. Spilling some synthetic liquid, the hammer howled. The sound of its agony pleased Mohammad as it clawed fruitlessly for his jugular. He remained unscathed as he exited the rollroom and already felt the thing regarding him differently than before. As the deathly drone didn’t come immediately in pursuit, he must have earned its respect with that strike. With blackish blood leaking between its taloned fingers, it waited for a moment, undoubtedly reanalyzing its method of attack.
“C’mon, Hammer!” he beckoned it.
It hissed through unhinged mandibles, its skin a glistening blackness; but unlike Mohammad, the thing couldn’t seem to mend itself on the spot.
That was his advantage.
If his knife were well-placed enough, he could end this thing–return it to Gabriel a grisly pile of severed extremities, his headache no more. That was his edge.
“You underestimated me this time, Hammer!” he continued to taunt the thing as he led it to the converting area, never letting it leave his sight. Already the hammer lost a portion of its speed as it advanced on him again. It shrieked past, earning itself a patch of skin along his left shoulder as Mohammad plunged the knife deep into its neck. Blood jettisoned from it in thick streams, its arms flailing about, tearing at his repairing flesh as he continued to cleave it apart.
With a boot on its chest, letting out a roar worthy of the jungle, he pulled hard. Various cords and tubing came up along its spinal column, coated in that same, slimy matter, as he relieved it of its head. And like that of a Gorgon, he held it high in the air, knowing Gabriel, in light of his victory, would have little choice but to be pleased with him.
The hunter wished to be present as Rick’s remains were reduced to barely more than ash; and to the blaze, the hunter added the bogeyman’s mask, hoping its incineration would somehow help to alleviate all his unanswered questions. If he was to return again a decent leader, he needed to let them go.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
May the same be true of his mind, may the riddles of yesterday burden him no longer.
He watched the mask as it shriveled within the fire, the flames as they crawled along its tattered edges. It was finished, the musk of flesh in the air–time to proceed to the following chapter of his story.
Despite the absence of Victoria, he went on to sleep peacefully that night, knowing she’d be
coming back to him in time. But even Andrea didn’t await him on the other side of slumber. Perhaps other heavenly duties detained her that evening; but the hunter didn’t know in exactly which direction to count that omen.
The next morning held quite the teary departure as even the hunter felt the thick of emotion coiling there at the back of his throat. With not a dry eye in the house, the uncertainty of Hazel’s future was weighing heavily on all, her tiny body being passed from one hug to the next. As the sun only succeeded in breaking them far off in the distance, dark clouds had come to gather over them. And judging by the grayness of their bellies, along with the light drizzle currently flirting through the air, certain downpour was imminent.
“John’ll be my responsibility,” Jackson continued to insist. “I’ll keep him here … like a prisoner of war.”
“I’d hate to waste your talents on a man like John.”
“They’re not wasted if it keeps Hazel safe.”
With a duffel bag and sleeping gear flung over his broad shoulders, John held Hazel’s hand as they began their walk toward Cider. John never looked back, but Hazel did multiple times, her eyes red, bottom lip protruding.
“Please, Boss. To send her out is murder.”
Keep your friends close … The hunter exhaled, rolling the scenario over again in his mind. “He’s your baggage, then.”
Jackson nodded, visibly hopeful.
“Keep him in the pit.”
He grinned. “Sure thing.”
“Fine,” the hunter agreed, holding his hand out in their direction. “He’s all yours, Jackson.”
28
Change the Future
At early dawn, as the light from the candle brought them closer together, Amanda’s fingertips were searching the area of Ethan’s palm where a puncture wound once resided.
“You still think it’s got something to do with that man?”
He nodded. “The guy just seemed like he knew something, like he was waiting for me to wake up.”
“Who do you think he was?”
Ethan churned her question in his mind, knowing what he wanted to say, but fearing the sound of it off his lips.
She was looking at him, awaiting his response.
After Ethan awoke, he’d climbed the fire escapes of her complex and beat upon her apartment window. She’d let him in, and quite curious of his story, had yet to ask him to leave.
“I don’t know,” Ethan answered finally. “But he wasn’t exactly what I pictured an angel looking like.”
“You think he was an angel,” she stated, smirking slightly.
“I didn’t say that,” he corrected, “but I do think he cured me somehow. I’m at a point now where I’d say anything is possible.”
“I tend to agree with you, there. After seeing the things we’ve seen.”
Gunshots then reached them from somewhere outside, Amanda’s features growing more firm.
“We’re safe up here, huh?” he asked.
“We’re not safe anywhere, Ethan. But it’s safer here than being down there. Not all of us have a guardian angel to protect us.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “You’re actually the only person who’s ever showed any interest in this place. Maybe it’s you I should be afraid of.”
“I just want to help you.”
“Look around, Ethan.”
He did as she requested, taking a moment to behold their surroundings. Amanda was a packrat, her salvaged goods encompassing them. They were buried in cases of water, food and supplies she’d gathered all by herself. There was enough to host a grand Thanksgiving feast, and then some.
“As you can see, I don’t need your help,” she finished.
“I’m still useful,” he offered. “You’re the one who believes everything that lady at Dingy Pete’s says.” Ethan thrust a thumb at his chest. “She said I’m going to change the future.”
Amanda laughed. “I bet she did.”
“Swear to God. I know you got a soft spot for that lady.”
“It’s because she saved my life, Ethan.”
“Saved your life?” His smile faded. “How?”
She extended her arm to the room. “She told me to come here, told me which rooms to go through, and which room to stay in. She said I’d be protected here. And the day after I packed up all my shit and left, that was the day my old place burned to the ground.”
“Jesus.”
“Believe me, I wasn’t the kind of person who believed in psychics before … but there was just something so convincing about her … and I wouldn’t be here now, if not for Claire. Maybe you saw an angel, Ethan, but she’s the one who talks to them.” Her eyes widened as she grabbed his hand. “If anyone knows what happened to you, it’s her.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. It’s still early. We should go now.”
“Now? When was the last time you even saw her?”
“It was a few months back, maybe.”
“You really think she’s still there? I’m not up for dying in order to find out why I’m still alive.”
“Claire is all dug in there; and the local boys don’t go anywhere close to that place–too close to the edge of the city. We won’t even cross their paths on the way there and back.” She motioned toward the window, the lines of water zig-zagging their way across it. “Plus the weather is perfect cover.”
Ethan was hardly interested in the excursion Amanda was currently proposing. The thought of leaving her dwelling wasn’t tempting in the least. In fact, if they never ventured out into the world again, he’d be fine with it.
Still, accented vividly beneath strands of crimson was the persistence of her green eyes; and Ethan knew instantly that he’d follow her to the ends of the earth, if only she asked.
So, with a hesitant nod, and against his gut and better judgment, he agreed.
Her smile was like a stove light, the warmth of which heating him from the inside.
“We’ll go see your Oracle,” he smirked. “Then you’ll see … she says I’m going to change the future.”
Jackson navigated the darkness as he approached the old employee lounge, dragging John beside him. As the room served a most violent purpose in the past, they’d reversed the locks on the lounge a year prior, nicknaming it the pit. Ironic, then, that the very man who sanctioned the interrogation chamber would be the one Jackson got the most pleasure out of throwing in there. The tables, couch and vending machines had all been removed, save for a single, solitary chair sitting vacant at the center of the room.
It had been months since last they used it, a place for pressing people for various information; but Jackson mourned the lost opportunity to have Rick within. With all he had to answer for, they could have bloodied him for days–unfortunate that his secrets were allowed to follow him to the grave.
His execution was a bit premature, but that was Boss’ call.
Still, maybe John knew more than he was letting on.
His body hit the floor as Jackson shoved him inside. With hands cuffed behind his back, he had some difficulty rolling over as John brought himself to rest within the shadows of the far wall.
“Sure, it’s dark and quiet,” Jackson stated. “But it’s a shit-load better than bein’ out there. You can thank the boss for that.”
John lifted himself to a sitting position, his face lost to blackness. “And how long will Maddox keep me in here?”
“He left you to me, John.” Jackson chuckled, cracking his thick knuckles. “Let’s just say you should make yourself comfortable.”
“Of course he did,” the man scoffed. “I shoulda known he’d leave me with his brainless pet.”
Jackson smiled, entering the lounge, truly elated by the gift Boss had given him; and as the following minutes filled themselves with pools of blood upon the lounge room floor, it would be days before John could lash his busted tongue again; and even as the swelling of his eyes and mouth morphed him nearly unrecognizable, Jackson went on to beat him unti
l his face resembled unleavened dough beneath his fist.
With hands still fastened at the small of his back, John had fallen unconscious, unable to witness the devilish grin that continued to peel Jackson’s lips apart.
“Sleep tight, Princess,” he wished the blood-soaked man. “It’d be a pity if you died so soon.”
29
The Echo
Gabriel nudged the drone’s decapitated carcass with his large, mechanical foot, seemingly content with Mohammad’s work. “Looks like you’re getting a handle on your abilities.”
Mohammad nodded.
“I am impressed.” He reached down to pluck the hammer’s head from the floor, wrapping it in his long, pale fingers. “And the way you thwarted the assassination last night, truly brilliant work.”
“Thank you.”
The head again met the ground as Gabriel released it, the thing’s mandibles springing open before settling in a pool of dark liquid. “Do not believe, however, that this marks the end of your training.”
Mohammad had hoped it would, but knew better than to wish for such things. “The thought never entered my mind,” he lied.
“Very good.”
There was something Mohammad had been meaning to ask him, but always lost his nerve once in the presence of Gabriel’s immensity.
Today would be different.
Upon slaying the drone, and after his exceptional performance regarding the assassination, Mohammad found his spine solid enough to finally address his inquiry. “Gabriel ...” the Traveler’s name hung in the stale factory air for just a moment, “I had an unusual experience that night ... just before I woke up on the street.”
Gabriel’s black eyes narrowed. “The entire experience, I would assume, would be quite unusual.”
“Yes, of course, but there was something else as well. I didn’t think much of it at first, until I was there when the boy woke up … and I think it happened to him, too.”
“And what was this experience?”
“I saw my brother, Shorab,” he answered. “We were on a beach in Fiji, but he was just a boy. And I was-”