Searching for the Enemies

by R. J. GREEN

  Mullson pushed harder and harder, until finally he outwitted his predators.

  The earth trembled as a monster tractor came plowing through the cornfield — a Lexion 700 series pushing a twelve row maize harvester with the cutterbars blasting away at about 420rpm, cutting and threading everything in its path, more than thirty feet across.

  Detective Mullson heard the thunderous roar that got louder and louder. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted a cloud of dust heading in his direction, quicker than his feet could carry him. His body continued to itch, sweat drenched his clothes, and the only things rushing through his head were the will to live and to see his family again.

  With a sudden burst of energy Mullson thrust a little harder.

  “No!” he bellowed, as his feet got stuck in what appeared to be quicksand. He stood still after discovering the chaotic movement only made him sink faster.

  In the distance a person wearing a black ninja outfit stood tall, from beyond the mask both eyes fixed on Mullson, the handle of a sword jutted above the person’s shoulder.

  Mullson was now trapped between the ninja and the tractor that continued to advance from the opposite direction — he glanced at the harvester’s blades and did not know what to do. The ninja, in midair, suddenly glided towards the tractor. The troopers, distracted by the ninja's action opened fire. The ninja tumbled—rotated— soared, and dodged every bullet headed in its direction, effortlessly.

  Mullson finally dragged his carcass out of the puddle and found himself inches away from the blade of the harvester. With his eyes closed he curled up on the ground waiting to be devoured. The rumbling faded. Mullson got up to meet his maker, now afraid to open his eyes, and when he did he checked his body, all over.

  “Am I dead?” he asked, patting himself again.

  Lucky for him the ninja had already slashed the driver in half with the deadly blade of a streaking sword, before turning off the monster. Everybody stared at the ninja who did a triple somersault from the tractor and landed below, on both feet. The ninja gripped a sphere, about half the size of a golf ball, and tossed it on the ground. A cloud of smoke erupted. The sounds of gunshot cuddled the air. When the smoke was cleared the person had long disappeared.

  All the troopers who finally caught up realized this was no longer a joking matter. Now they were down one man, a good partner, they were surely going to miss him.

  “Damn coward don’t even have the guts to show his face!”

  “He’ll pay.”

  Six of them set out to track who was hiding behind the mask, gun in hands they were ready to tackle their mission. Kill, kill, and kill.

  Four Troopers stayed behind to guard Detective Mullson: Trooper Branson held a shotgun in one hand, Trooper Keeley and Robeck dragged Mullson into the depth of the cornfield further away from the main road. Mullson struggled to set himself free but only received several kicks from Trooper Beasley. “Why can't you boys mind your own business?” said Beasley, teasing Mullson.

  Meanwhile at another section of the cornfield the three troopers were still tracking the mysterious Ninja who emerged from underground, behind them. As the three men turned around to unload their weapons, the Ninja opened their stomachs with one blow as she pushed and pulled down on the blade. The troopers screamed as blood gushed from their guts.

  Three other Troopers, who thought they were still on the trail of the Ninja, ran back toward the area where they heard their comrades wailing, but it was too late. They stood towering over their fallen comrades and had realized their secrets were no longer safe. A simple plan to get rid of Detective Mullson to protect the integrity of Joe and Benny had turnout to be a nightmare. They wondered who was the person wearing the ninja outfit. Professional killer? Jack? Got to be. Bastard. Wait a minute, he’s not that short. Damn.

  “There aint no way a sword should dee-flect all ‘em bullets,” one of the trooper blurted, sounding like a hillbilly. “Beyon‘ the laws of physics.”

  “What kind of sorcery is at work?”

  “Well,” a trooper who’d been silent finally spoke, “we all seen it.” They knew what must be done. The hunt continued, this time a little more cautious, wheeling their weapons at every ruffle.

  Mullson lied on his back in a puddle of blood. The four troopers, now wearing gas masks, stood over him. Two of the men began to rip off Mullson’s clothing, everything, except for his underwear that he struggled to keep. All along Mullson had been squeezing his butt cheeks as he recalled watching his favorite movie — and he never did like the scene where a policeman kidnapped and raped a few fellows on their way through a small town — something fiction, but he’d no time to further contemplate.

  Robeck pointed toward a hole in the ground, nearby. Piled inside were several corpses, including Mr. Rex’s slightly decomposed body. “Get your clothes and don't come back around these parts, boy!” he said. Mullson peeped into the hole and spotted his pants and shirt; immediately he grabbed his nose and turned away as swarms of flies came pouring out.

  Branson swung a leg and connected Mullson in the face.

  From his eyes blood sprayed, and like a mighty titan Mullson’s strength had returned. He tensed his body, waiting for the opportunity, as they let down their guard.

  In a flash Mullson shattered Branson’s leg, took away the shotgun then pumped bullets into the other three men. Their lifeless bodies hit the ground, for them the night had come quicker than they’d bargained — and their souls raced to join Joe and Benny — whether in heaven or hell, only God can tell.

  Trooper Branson laid on the ground and screamed as the pain rattled his nerves.

  “Please don’t kill me,” he pleaded to Mullson who stood over him pointing down the shotgun. “I don’t want to die… I have a dog. ”

  Detective Mullson used his foot and shoved him in the hole.

  The few cars and trucks traveling along a section of Route 537 halted as they spotted five state trooper vehicles surrounding a black SUV, blocking off the lanes in both direction. Ninja, sitting on Suzuki GSX 1300R Hayabusa, ripped off facial piece. The mysterious person was revealed to be Nina, the flight attendant Mullson had saved earlier.

  She rode away into the evening, blasting along the desolated street, passing stretches of vegetation on both sides heading towards McGuire Air Force Base. She did her best to protect the man she’d falling in love with, the stranger who’d risked his life to save her. For that Nina was grateful. She somehow owed Mullson her life, but it’s time for her to move on. She’d give him a fighting chance and hoped for him to survive his painful ordeal.

  Nina shifted gears and almost maxed the Hayabusa that was traveling over two hundred miles per hour. A few minutes later she arrived at the Air Force base. After slipping into a change of clothing she hurried towards a military passenger plane and got on.

  Mullson surveyed the cornfield and tried to map his way out. He had no idea his opponents were all dead, except Trooper Branson. Wearing only his underpants, and wheeling a shotgun he headed towards the center of the maize. Ahead, he spotted a car partially hidden, a black Benz with a license plate that read: MR REX. Mullson looked through the dark tinted window and jumped. At the back of the car a baby was strapped in her car seat; the skin had begun to melt from her body.

  Mullson glanced at the sky as the sounds of a helicopter thundered. A FBI helicopter searched the cornfield below. Mullson was spotted and later escorted to safety, after Jack identified him as his partner.

  Detective Mullson, wrapped in a blanket, stood by his SUV parked along Route 537.

  Jack came and stood next to him.

  “I’m sorry for not coming with-” he said, a rush of guilt dampened his face.

  “It was my wish to go alone,” Mullson interrupted.

  Two FBI members followed Trooper Branson in the back of an ambulance before they whisked him off to the hospital.

  The sun disappeared and night approached, the buzzing of insects filled the air.

  Mullso
n was so grateful to be alive he’d forgotten he hadn’t eaten all day. A text message alert made him jump, from under the blanket he brought a cellular phone he held in one hand before his face. The message came with the number 5555 attached. Mullson had no clue who sent him the text; over and over he read the words scrolling down the screen:

  Congrats on your future endeavor…

  hope happiness reigns between you and

  your wife… you are a special man and

  deserve every bit of it… God bless…

  stay alive…

  CHAPTER 14

  A few days had passed, yet Mullson and his team got no closer to solving the mystery behind the senseless killing. With Agent Hill comatose and McKoy crippled by guilt, it was up to him and Jack to continue with the investigation.

  In the Bronx at a park near Grace Avenue, Mullson sat on a bench staring at two teenage boys who stood opposite the park, on the right side of the road. Unusual warmth forced him to rip off his sweater and toss it on the bench.

  “I stated clearly,” Justice’s voice echoed over the phone, “I’ll address the issue as we speak— two of our finest officers are on their way. Mullson, Jack… we have a situation…”

  The two had been assigned to stakeout the place for drug activities reported within the past few weeks — numerous complaints from concerned residents who threatened to relocate didn’t sit well with the chief, not to mention the Mayor had a reelection to worry about.

  “I understand you’re in the middle of a crisis,” said Justice. “I’m in the hot seat… scared away those thugs for a day… never came from me.”

  Justice had been covering up their destructive past for years, so it came as no surprise when Jack and Mullson agreed.

  Inside the park Jack stood chitchatting with several females who were flattered by his handsome face and muscular physique. He sported a sleeveless shirt, a pair of shorts reaching his knees, the latest sneakers, and cool sunglasses hanging above his forehead. A Grumman step van approaching in the distance came and pulled up before the two boys.

  Mullson’s eyes flickered, like when his family is in danger or he was about to get bad news. He focused on ‘I SCREAM’ tattooed across the side of the van while digging deep to recall the name.

  “Yes!” he said, jumping to his feet after remembering Agent McKoy’s claim.

  The two teenagers stood by a window watching.

  “What can I get you fellows?” Wrath’s voiced echoed from within the truck.

  One of the boys threw up his two hands and began to exhibit some sort of gang signs.

  “This truck is garbage,” he blurted. “I don't see any ice cream. Where is the driver?”

  “Fuck that nigga…” said the other boy. He hit the ground, as if something punched the light out of him.

  The ‘I SCREAM’ van sped away.

  At first Jack and Mullson sprinted towards the van, and as it began to slip away, they ran back towards their cars, and spotted the boy on the ground, unconscious. They tried to revitalize him. Mullson called in for backup when he realized the other boy had gone missing. By the time the investigation was over it was late into the evening. Jack and Mullson left the scene in separate cars; five minutes later they parked along a residential street and walked toward Mickle and Adee Avenue.

  “That was the van,” said Mullson.

  “Maybe it’s a replica.” said Jack.

  “Agent McKoy said she got evidence. We could give her a visit.”

  “We could, as in you and me?”

  “What's wrong with that?”

  “I need my privacy, you know the game.”

  “Which one?”

  Jack twirled in the cool evening breeze. “How to be a player baby,” he teased.

  They giggled.

  Mullson examined the corner he where thought he’d slammed his Porsche into a man; his attention was drawn to a feather twirling toward the ground, landing at his feet. He darted across the street and into the churchyard.

  Jack, after staring at Mullson till he disappeared into the church, went and stood before a bar about two blocks away.

  “Church is not my type of place,” he whispered to himself.

  Inside the church Father Andrew stood facing the pulpit. Detective Mullson walked toward him and halted a few feet away.

  “I know you're probably busy,” he said, followed by a long pause. “I need some information.”

  Father Andrew, still facing away, didn’t say a word.

  Detective Mullson had come to seek advice from the stubborn old priest who got him into the mess to begin with. Sure, he wanted was to shake the heck out of him and extract all the information he needed. Mullson sighed as he came towards the exit, uncertainty clouded his thoughts.

  “Wait,” said Father Andrew.

  Mullson headed back towards Father Andrew.

  “I need your help father,” he said.

  “Observe keenly,” said Father Andrew, turning to face Mullson.

  “I don't know what to believe anymore. I'm constantly bothered by nightmares.”

  Father Andrew went over to a window and peeped.

  “Where’s yer friend?” he said. Mullson seemed a little setback. “They’re no difference from you and me,” Father Andrew continued. He walked back and forth almost to the same spot. “You failed to believe, even in the presence of God.”

  As night approached two priests who’d come out to close the church, decided to hold off, giving Mullson more time to redeem his soul.

  Father Andrew drifted closer towards the two men who’d been ignoring him for almost two years. Ever since his encounter on a roof in New York during a particular stormy night things hadn’t been the same. “I could have told you that you're not welcome in the house of God,” he said to Mullson, “just as he is not welcome in yours. Never underestimate the little people Detective Mullson.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” said Mullson, looking uncertain.

  “The answer lies within you,” said Father Andrew.

  Mullson’s mind had begun to wander — he somehow cannot get these images out of his head: it all happened a few weeks ago, after he’d come back from Africa. Inside a hotel room candlelight flickered to give the room an orange glow; with a touch of sensuality the aroma of roses and amber filled the air. Two people covered from head to toe, and indulged in their sexual fantasy, moaned and groaned as they kissed each other. “It’s not right,” a male said, as he flung the cover aside exposing Nina and Mullson cuddled up in bed, fully dressed.

  “I'm so sorry,” said Nina, hopping off the bed. She flicked on the light and the room was brightened. “Hope you forgive me.”

  On one side of the bed Mullson sat facing away, “Please don't blame yourself,” he pleaded. “Just some personal issue I need to straighten out, hope you'll understand.”

  “A dark cloud is hanging over my faith,” Mullson admitted, to Father Andrew, thinking about what had happened, and the shame raging through his heart. He loves his wife dearly. How could he?

  It was late into the evening when Father Andrew and Detective Mullson went and stood in the church parking lot, next to Mullson’s parked Expedition.

  “If one builds on their mistakes,” said Father Andrew, off the top of his head “I can assume one is of good character.”

  Mullson scratched his chin and stood silent for awhile. “Remember the gentleman I confronted on the plane?” he said, finally getting it off his chest.

  “The one you almost killed?” Father Andrew gave out.

  “Who is he?”

  “Whatever happens, be there for your son in law.”

  Mullson bit down hard on his lower lip and clenched his fist.

  “He is not my son in law for heaven sake!”

  “Anna made that choice Detective Mullson. Destiny is nothing but chance. Unity is the only medicine to defeat evil!”

  “Who’s he?”

  “When the time is right he will appear like a thief in the night
…”

  They walked swiftly toward the exit.

  Outside they got distracted by a limousine driving along Mickle Avenue, at the outer perimeter of the rear parking lot where they stood. The rear window of the limousine rolled down slowly and revealed a headless person. The upper body had on a sport jacket.

  Mullson blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Father Andrew gave him a light tap on the shoulder to assure him he wasn’t going crazy. The headless man, whose head was now reformed in the image of what was seemingly Detective Mullson, stuck out his middle finger at the two.

  Mullson dashed toward the limo as it raced toward the end of Mickle Avenue and angled a sharp right at Arnow Avenue; he stared at the limo till it was out of sight. He came back and stood near Father Andrew.

  “What have I done to deserve this?” he said.

  “That wasn't your fault Detective Mullson,” said Father Andrew. “Crying will not bring your brother back.” He shuffled his feet and whispered. “Can you tell the difference between the dead or the living?”

  Father Andrew held his head and screamed as his eyes flipped and ballooned, almost about to explode, his world consumed by darkness followed by a sense of forward movement between time and space through what appeared to be a wormhole. At the end of the tunnel Father Andrew glimpsed a river — a girl was in danger; she resembled the person who’d come to the airport to pick up Detective Mullson. He’d no idea he witnessed the future — a split second — the war had been picking up pace. He tried to warn Mullson before going into a seizure.

  Mullson checked Father Andrew’s vital signs. At first he detected no pulse or heartbeat. One-two-three — he pumped against Father Andrews’s chest and listened for the slightest flicker… One-two-three, he repeated two more times, till at last… He heaved a sigh of relief.

  Mullson couldn’t muster any help from the two priests who’d come outside and seemingly showed no interest in Father Andrew’s well being. He hoisted Father Andrew over his shoulder and carried him all the way to the front, up a few steps, and into the church; he hadn’t give much thought to how weightless Father Andrew’s body felt, almost like a feather.