Nefarious Heroes: Malevolent Prisoners Book Two

by Eddie Jakes

  What a coward, thought Ephrain.

  His thoughts tried to make their way through his vocal chords, but they were completely gone, or at least, they had healed incorrectly. He had sustained many injuries over time, but never something as serious as this. They must have shot his voice box out entirely, and with nothing to heal, the wound just closed up on itself. It was becoming apparent he would never talk again.

  That fucker has to pay. But how?

  After ten minutes of rapid pacing, Ephrain settled in the bathroom. Turning on the cold water, he splashed his face, attempting to calm himself. He placed his palms on the sink and wrapped his sausage fingers around the edges. The drops of water slid down his cheeks and onto his chest. His shirt was still damp from his little swim by the dock so the droplets seemed to just vanish once they left his skin.

  Ephrain took a moment and gazed in the mirror. Staring back at him was a hard-faced old man with graying hair. There was a blotchy scar on his throat that seemed to cover a hollow core where his Adam's apple had once been.

  The anger came back, and Ephrain slammed his fist into the wall as hard as he could, followed by three more of equal strength. The pain was severe, and his knuckles bled, but he didn't care anymore. He wanted revenge against the man who scarred him like this for life.

  It was the hissing sound that broke him from the grip of his temper tantrum. The blood spatter began to eat away at the drywall in front of him. Staring at his hand, he watched the blood on his knuckles pool and heal the broken skin. His body could take any kind of punishment and rebuild itself, even when it was self-inflicted.

  Perhaps there’s another option?

  Ephrain darted into the living room and stared at the empty chair where he had kept his last few experiments. The formula worked, but not without tearing apart its host first. The one thing he had not considered was human frailty. What if the subject was capable of reconstructing itself as the genetic sequencing was under way? The formula might not just repair the damage, but it could rebuild it.

  He would use the formula on himself. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot. Ephrain thought about all the other times he experimented on himself and how he'd sworn to never do it again after the last time. However, these were desperate times. They had a plan, and he needed to see it through.

  Ephrain Ketter went right to work on the formula.

  It was a pleasant surprise to be able to inhale the aroma of coffee without dry heaving. Tara had been unable to get anything to stay down beside water and the occasional sip of vegetable broth that Shepard like to make. Nothing with any kind of meat taste would stay down, and she could feel the lack of protein had a mild effect on her muscles. They ached with every move she made, and she constantly had to stretch out her arms to prevent cramping. Seemed inconceivable to be in such a sad state of health after only being out of the prison for a couple days.

  It has to be the effects of the time-shift, she thought to herself as she poured her first cup of coffee in a long time. Tara had some difficulty swallowing it down but managed to do it with a little patience and small sips. Even though her stomach felt fine, the acidy taste was a bit much on her palette, and she gagged.

  It was victory nonetheless, and Tara was able to finish half the cup before deciding to put it down. A large calloused but friendly hand plopped down on her shoulder, and she turned to see Shepard smiling.

  "You are looking much better today. Got some color in your cheeks finally."

  "Thanks. I'm getting there."

  "Good. You feeling up to some food? I can make you some oatmeal, or I got some freeze-dried chicken stock I could whip up real quick for you?"

  The sound of Tara's stomach growling cut off her answer. She covered her belly in embarrassment.

  "Chicken stock it is then," belted Shepard. "How about a nice hard roll to go with that? That'll get your strength up."

  Thanking him, Tara retrieved her coffee from the counter. She took a seat at his table and cradled her cup in her hands. The aroma helped to calm her nerves. She watched as Shepard fiddled around in his kitchen. He opened up a jar of powdered stock with dried chunks of chicken.

  "You dry everything? I don't see a refrigerator in here."

  "Mostly," answered Shepard, as he filled a pot with water. "It makes it easier in the winter when it's freezing and harder to hunt."

  "Smart. Did you learn that in the army or something?"

  Pausing, he stared into nothingness for a few seconds, the water still running.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean pry."

  "No," replied Shepard, "it's okay. I guess you could say that's where I learned it. When I was enlisted, we didn't have many ways to keep our food fresh."

  Shepard finished mixing up the pot and walked over to his wood stove. Placing the kettle on top, he then tossed a couple more logs inside. After a couple seconds, the inside blazed with flame and he helped himself to a cup of coffee, joining Tara in the chair across from her.

  "About twenty minutes. Sound acceptable to you?"

  "Thank you," replied Tara.

  "How about you, young lady? You remember anything else? You spend some time in the army or something?"

  Tara almost choked on a sip of coffee at the sarcasm. Shepard had a very warming smile when he bothered to let it be seen.

  "No, nothing like that. At least not that I can remember. I think—"

  Tara's face went blank. She could see flashing lights and sirens. There were police and ambulance everywhere. It all began to fade just as quickly as it started with a gurney being loaded into the back of a black hearse.

  "You okay? Did I say something to upset you?"

  "Uh-uh," stuttered Tara. She had trouble finding the words. "N-no. I just thought I saw something."

  Shepard's face went serious, and he leaned in close to Tara. "I can't help you with what you are about to go through, but I know how it feels. It's like a book you haven't read in years that you decide to open again for the first time. You know it all, you've read it before, but now all the bad parts that didn't seem so worth remembering are worse than before. Those are the parts that fight to come back the hardest. In time it will fade, but sure as hell, it's enough to drive any man crazy."

  "Who are you, Shepard?"

  Shepard never got the chance to respond before Javier and Maddix stormed through the front door, each of them breathing like they had run ten marathons in a row.

  "Oh my God," Tara exclaimed, "what happened to you guys?"

  Maddix slumped down into a chair trying to catch his breath. He was soaked with sweat and shivering from the outside air. Shepard grabbed the boiling pot off the stove and began to pour two cups for the pair.

  "Monsieur Ketter," answered Javier.

  "We spotted him in town. He has some kind of massive drug dispensary going on."

  They began explaining everything they had seen—the lab, the shipment, and the catatonic slaves working for Ephrain. They told the story how they fought and shot him, but couldn't find his body anywhere.

  "What about the Statsnys?" asked Tara.

  "No sign of them." Maddix hungrily slurped on the mug of soup.

  "Something doesn't make any sense," Shepard muttered.

  Everyone looked at the usually reserved man.

  "If they've been out all this time, why haven't the vampires started biting people? Making more vampires?"

  "Monsieur Shepard is correct. We haven't seen any of them anywhere. It is in their nature to multiply, no?"

  "Maybe that has something to do with this shipment?" said Maddix, waving the crumbled paper. "We'll focus on getting to the Founding Father's building before things get any worse."

  "It may be too late for that, Overseer," a woman’s voice interrupted from the doorway.

  It was Tanya. She was partially naked with only a few remaining fragments of her bloodied clothing covering her. Tara grabbed a blanket from off Shepard's bed and wrapped it around her to cover her exposed body. Tanya gave Tara a confused
look but took the gesture with gratitude.

  "I was most fortunate to run into one of my brood in the forest. We had a short conversation, and he was entirely forthcoming."

  "Where did all that blood come from, Tanya?" asked Maddix.

  "He wanted my forgiveness, so I gave it to him."

  "What the hell does that mean?" chuckled Shepard.

  "I killed him, and hung his body for the others to see."

  Everyone let out a frustrated sigh.

  "Life keeps getting better by the minute," Javier muttered.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Try as they might, it was impossible to hide the fear behind their toughened exteriors. Each one of them felt as though they were living in their worst nightmares plucked right out of their feelings of guilt. Tanya was alive and had returned to take back what they had all conspired to steal from her: their loyalty.

  Everyone knew the ferocity that she would be unleashing on them. Their treason would certainly bring about a massive punishment that wouldn't have any limits once inflicted. This would include death, for sure. That would be the lucky ones who survived the first wave of Tanya's anger. She was known for being a more level-headed and, at times, a compassionate leader. Until you crossed her, and then she was pure alpha-wolf rage and discipline.

  The visibly shaken werewolves huddled around their usual table, waiting for William impatiently. A half empty bottle of whiskey sat in the middle of the table with shot glasses placed in disarray on the surface. There didn't seem to be enough liquor in the world to calm their nerves, yet it didn't stop one of them from trying. Grabbing the bottle, he poured three more for himself and downed them in quick succession, barely allowing himself to take in a breath of oxygen. The last shot had traveled down the wrong pipe apparently, and he began to cough out loud, drawing the attention of the rest of the bar.

  "Hey," shouted the choking werewolf. "Mind your own business!"

  The crowd at the bar shook their heads in irritation and went back to their drinks. Typically, the werewolves would have responded to such disrespect with aggression, but none of them had it inside them to draw attention to themselves at that moment.

  There was a brief period of quiet, followed by Jurgen walking through the front door and approaching the table. He did his best to look inconspicuous, but his face conveyed anxiousness and fear.

  "Tell me what happened. Tell me everything," Jurgen demanded, looking around frantically for the response.

  It took about fifteen minutes of interruptions and corrections to get the story out to Jurgen. Everyone's perspective was different based on their individual level of fear. He was becoming perturbed by the display of cowardice.

  "Enough," snapped Jurgen.

  "Where's William?" one werewolf asked.

  Jurgen couldn't figure out how to get the words out, so he stood silent.

  "He should be aware of this," said another werewolf.

  "She'll kill us all," cried another.

  "William can fight her!"

  "Yeah, he's strong enough!"

  "Okay, listen up," shouted Jurgen.

  The bar resumed staring at the suspicious looking crowd of drunken men. Jurgen took a deep breath and lowered his voice.

  "About William—"

  A large hand clamped down onto Jurgen's shoulder with a firm grip that hurt him a little. He spun around, and his eyes went wide with surprise. William was staring back at him with his signature scowl on his face and the gleam of irritation in his eyes.

  "You were about to say something on my behalf, Jurgen?"

  He was still too stunned to talk.

  "Maybe one day you will pay attention when I tell you to convey messages to the pack. What this tongue-twisted idiot is trying to say is that you have nothing to fear."

  "Are you going to accept the challenge?" asked the drunk werewolf.

  "In due time. There are bigger things at play than petty squabbles. For now, get back to the others and assemble everyone together."

  Everyone at the table looked back at William, confused.

  "Now!" shouted William.

  They began to shuffle out of the bar in single file. Jurgen turned to follow, but William grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

  "Now I'm sure that you weren't about to tell them everything. Correct?"

  "Krazek?" inquired Jurgen.

  "Indeed. Now don't disobey me again or I will let that bitch rip you to shreds."

  "What do you plan to do about her? They'll know you're not a wolf if you have to fight her one-on-one."

  "I don't intend to let it get that far. I'm going to unleash the entire litter on Tanya. She can't possibly kill them all."

  "But—"

  "What now?"

  "That's just not how things are done. There are certain laws we live by. They might turn on you."

  "This is the new world order, my friend. Your laws will be damned."

  "I'm sorry, woman! I wasn't expecting to have to run a fashion boutique for dogs," shouted Shepard.

  Tanya held out a light blue, one-piece jumpsuit. It was faded as if it had been worn many times before and the mild scent of those who did still lingered within the fibers. She thought the idea of a woman wearing anything but long skirts to be odd, but it complemented Tara nicely so she decided to give it a try.

  With a few quick tears, Tanya removed the remaining shreds of her outfit and tossed them to the floor. Shepard flinched at the sight of her nakedness and turned away. She laughed to herself at his modesty, but she was starting to get used to it. As peculiar as it was to her to be ashamed of the way one looked without their clothing on, she accepted that humans had strange customs and delusions of proper etiquette.

  "Are you even attracted to women?" asked Tanya, playfully.

  "Yes, I am. I just never—"

  "Never?" she laughed.

  "I mean that I don't think it's proper for a man to see a lady without clothes on. Not unless she's married to him at least."

  She had to admit that the romantic notion of marriage impressed her. It wasn't something that werewolves engaged in. Some paired up, of course, but never with any ceremony to mark the occasion with.

  "Do you pray, old man?" asked Tanya, as she zipped the front of her borrowed outfit.

  Shepard turned to her, and his face went soft. He hummed to himself a few times as if trying to remember something.

  "Not in a long time," he finally said.

  "So you believe in a god, then?"

  "I'm not sure anymore." Shepard clasped his hands together behind his back and started to pace. "I used to believe, though. Very much so. Went to church every Sunday for services without fail and many times during the week to pray."

  "What made you stop?"

  Shepard turned and pointed to Tanya before speaking. "You did."

  "Me?"

  "Not you specifically, of course. Your kind, plus all the other God-less creatures from hell."

  Tanya huffed.

  "No offense, but you know what I mean. It's hard to believe in a benevolent being when evil like that exists in the world. It makes you feel like you are alone in the Universe. Like nobody is watching anymore. No angels on your shoulder, only demons."

  She wanted to be angered by this type of talk, but instead she felt compassion for the old man. She understood where he was coming from. Having had everything she believed and held dear be suddenly ripped from her affected her in much the same way. She felt hollow, almost as if she was only half of what she used to be. The only difference was that she could get back what was taken from her. For Shepard, it was not so easy.

  "I remember reading something many years ago," said Tanya, taking a deep breath. "It went something like God working in different ways?"

  "Mysterious ways," snickered Shepard.

  "In any case, perhaps that is the reasoning for my being by your side in this world. Maybe God has plans for me? I won't pretend to say that I believe as you do, but maybe that is enough for you to take b
ack your faith. If not in a god, perhaps belief in the world again?"

  "I lost most of my faith in the world during the war. I saw many brave men and even some women die just to be free from tyranny. Only to be gripped by another kind. I was too young for the burden I took on. I know that now."

  Gazing at Shepard, Tanya took in every feature of his face. She imagined the lines in his face dissolving; his great hair returned to its original dark brown and his eyes full of youthful vigor again. She could finally remember who he was, and who she was back then.

  "You were a man of honor and duty, Quartermaster Sergeant Jared Shepard, of the Continental Army."

  Tanya watched as a single tear escaped from the corner of his right eye. She didn't know it, but it had been the first time in a lifetime that Jared allowed himself any kind of emotional release like that. Inside, he was still that dedicated soldier at the beginning of history and it had carried him this far.

  "You know," said Jared, revealing the faded scars on his hands, "I never got the chance to thank you for this. I would have lost them if you didn't patch me up when you did."

  "I was a silly, naïve, werewolf girl trying to be one of the humans. I was weak."

  "No, you were compassionate. If I had known, you were … one of them, I would have found a way to keep you out of that place."

  "I may have been different, but I wasn't innocent. I had killed before, and I will kill again. What I don't understand is why you decided to be the first overseer?"

  "Going through everything I had been through changed something in me. I didn't feel like there was a place for me in the new world we had created. My world was with all of you."

  She put a reassuring hand on Jared and smiled. "Maybe, there is still room for God and faith in the new world. There is still room in it for you. This much is certain."

  "You too."

  "We shall see. I never took pleasure in killing, but I did it as it was natural for me to do so. When I have reclaimed my rightful place as pack leader, I will do what I can to help everyone. If it is my fate to return to the prison, I will do so to pay for my past."