Blood Lust

by JE Gurley

  As she made the turn around the playground, she increased her stride for the long uphill section along the creek. As she neared the tree line, she spotted the familiar outline of Officer Tommy Rush, a middle-aged bachelor walking toward her, swinging his baton like a Vaudevillian hoofer. She raised her hand and waved.

  “Hello, Tommy,” she called out. “How are the feet?”

  He smiled. “Flat,” he called back, “or else I’d give you a run for your money.”

  “Quiet night,” she said as she drew abreast of him.

  “That’s the way I like them. Maybe you should go straight home. You heard about the three girls?”

  Her heart pounded. “No, I haven’t. How horrible. I thought it was over. I’ve got another mile to go, and then straight home.”

  He called back to her as she drew away, her feet crunching the loose pea gravel. “See that you do. It’s not safe out.”

  She ran a few more yards; then stopped to wipe the sweat from her brow and take a sip of water. She turned around at the sound of a muffled yelp and gravel crunching. Tommy was gone. She knew he couldn’t have gotten out of sight in that short a time.

  “Tommy?” she called out, alarm rising in her breast.

  There was no answer. She reached into her pocket for her derringer. A shadow passed over the moon, leaving her in darkness. She glanced up just as Tommy’s body fell from the sky and landed with a sickening crunch a few yards away. She knew immediately that the fall hadn’t killed him. His severed head clung to his torso by a shred of skin. His right arm and leg twitched a few times before stilling.

  Now, she panicked. She was a cop, but only an office manager. She had never made a felony arrest or confronted anyone in her life. Certainly, she had never stumbled across a dead body. She searched the sky but saw nothing. Keeping the derringer in her hand, she began to run, across the grass to the parking lot and her car. She hurtled the teeter-totter and raced around the merry-go-round. She felt as if she was being pursued but could see nothing.

  Finally, she reached her car. Where were the keys? She fumbled in her pocket for them; then dropped them. She bent over to pick them up when her car bounced heavily. She looked up into the eyes of the devil. She had heard rumors about the Midnight Monster but had only half believed them. She believed now. The creature stared at her with fiery crimson eyes, its mouth open just enough to show rows of long, sharp teeth. Its breath stank of a charnel house. It was squatting on the roof of her car, a gray monster, a nightmare in her waking world. Now it rose to its full height and fear swept over her in a tide. Her mind begged her to run, but she stood frozen to the spot, trapped by the horror of the creature’s eyes.

  Slowly, she forced her hand to raise the derringer. The creature watched her movement with amused interest. Without aiming, she fired. Nothing happened. She knew she had hit the creature in the chest, but the .25 had been a pinprick to an elephant. It opened its maw and emitted a shrill bark that sounded like laughter. She knew she was about to die.

  In the distance, she heard a vehicle. She was afraid to turn her head but the creature jerked its head around at the sound. It opened its mouth and let out a piercing scream that hurt her ears. It glanced at her one more time; then flapped its wings and launched into the air. She raised her head and watched it disappear over the trees. Freed from her paralysis, she turned and saw approaching lights, a street sweeping vehicle. It had saved her life.

  Elizabeth Pierce pulled the crucifix on its golden chain from around her neck with a trembling hand and kissed it reverently. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She knew God had been with her this night. Her legs suddenly went numb and she slowly collapsed onto the asphalt. Lying there, she watched the bewildered driver get out of the street sweeper and rush to her side, but she could say nothing. She was still mute when the police arrived a short time later. She did not know if she could ever explain what she had witnessed. Her Catholic School educated mind refused to admit that such a thing as the creature could exist in her neat little universe. It was like admitting there really were leprechauns.

  As she left the park in the back of the ambulance, she remembered Officer Rush. She hoped they found his body soon.

  24

  Clad Simmons had been waiting for his chance. When his scanner picked up a police call to Thackery Hardin’s apartment, he knew it had come. Three dead girls – the creature was not dead as they all had thought, or there was another one on the scene. Either way, he would have his opportunity for redemption. Simmons had hardly slept since the deaths of the Twins. Their shades came to him at night when he closed his eyes and stood beside his bed. They did not speak, did not accuse, but their dead eyes questioned the reason for their deaths, the necessity of it. Either would have gladly given his life to save American citizens from terrorists, this was their job, but to die in an ill conceived attempt to capture a monster for strategic purposes – that rankled their souls, and his. What was the purpose? To create a bio weapon for our side? To advance man’s knowledge? The creature was dangerous and should die. Hardin had the right idea.

  Simmons could understand Hardin. Like him, Hardin was an uncomplicated man. His purpose was straightforward and clear. He wanted to destroy the creatures to prevent the deaths of more innocent young women. In this, his goal seemed far nobler than Sections One’s. Simmons had tailed Hardin after Hardin’s return from his vacation. He was not surprised to see the Alvarez woman with him. After leaving her at a motel, Hardin had driven straight to the burned out monastery. Simmons was tempted to get out and confront Hardin, but his curiosity was aroused. Was Hardin searching for the creature or just visiting old haunts? Most likely the latter, since Hardin had destroyed the creature’s lair pretty thoroughly. When Hardin left a short while later, he moved with a purpose. When Hardin visited the offices of the Metro Area Rapid Transit, Simmons began to get a notion as to what Hardin was planning. He smiled to himself. The man was bright.

  Simmons remembered hearing the rumble of the subway the night he and the Twins had encountered the creature in the chapel’s basement. Now that the monastery was a burned out husk, the creature needed a new lair. What better place than the subway system beneath the city? It was dark, it was empty and it was secure. Subway tunnels were filled with cubbyholes. What was Hardin’s plan?

  Simmons had just the right piece of equipment in the back of the van to find out. He pulled out a handheld parabolic microphone capable of picking up conversations from a hundred yards away or through windows at a closer distance. He chose a spot behind a row of rhododendrons near the manager’s office window. The sound reception quality was good. He smiled as Hardin explained the purpose of his visit to the manager, winning the man’s approval in record time.

  Hardin’s plan seemed direct, to the point – trap the creature inside the abandoned subway tunnel and kill it. Simmons admired Hardin’s boldness but questioned his sanity. Going one on one with this creature seemed like a bad idea. He had seen what it was capable of. Trapped, it would fight even harder. It came as no surprise when Hardin announced his resignation from the police force. Simmons had contemplated the same thing. As Hardin spoke, Simmons began to get ideas of his own. Hardin might not want any help, but what if he had help he did not know about? Simmons knew his duty required him to tell Faber what he knew, but somewhere along the line, his duty to Section One and his duty to the country had become divided. Divided loyalties were worse than no loyalty. Maybe it was time to put the lives of innocent young girls first.

  Simmons listened closely as McNeil described the airshafts and the metal doors. If he beat Hardin to the subway and hid out, he could discreetly keep an eye on him; help him if he needed it. It might be his last day working for Section One, maybe even a jail term, but right was right, something he had learned in Iraq. No matter how convoluted a situation became, right was always right. He smiled when McNeil decided to help Hardin. Hardin, as gruff as he appeared, had a way of conveying confidence.

  Simmons gathered his equi
pment and hurried back to his van. He had a few plans of his own to make.

  ****

  Ella Ramirez had mixed feelings about Hardin’s success. The creature was dead and the story over. She had conveyed it to paper as carefully as she could in hopes of someday doing a feature story on it when the excitement had died down. She had some footage, not enough for a feature, but enough to shows hints. It was grainy and shot literally on the fly in some cases. She had moved on to other stories and Detective Hardin had gone off on a well-deserved vacation. She was at City Hall trying to interview a whistleblower about a shady securities deal, when Steve Capaldi stopped filming to take out his vibrating Blackberry. His smile baffled her.

  “It looks like we’re in business again,” he said.

  25

  I was up early watching the sun creep up over the city skyline, heavy with pregnant anticipation for the culmination of the day’s events; for today would see an end to this creature, one way or another. I quickly showered and dressed in boots, jeans, undershirt and t-shirt. It felt odd not to wear my usual suit and tie, but I was no longer a cop. I was now just an ordinary citizen out to correct an injustice, a vigilante. It was with some reluctance I laid my badge on the table beside the bed. If I didn’t return… No, better not to dwell on that.

  Too keyed up to eat breakfast, I brewed a cup of complimentary coffee. It tasted flat. I stumbled around the hotel room, anxious to get started, awakening Joria.

  “Is that coffee I smell?” she asked, leaning on one elbow. One luscious breast peeked temptingly from beneath the sheet.

  “Something similar,” I replied. “Want some?”

  “Let me shower first.”

  She rose and walked naked to the bathroom. My eyes followed her lovely ass across the room as it swayed and bounced with a life of its own. She glanced back and smiled from the doorway, noticing the direction of my gaze. A few seconds later, I heard the shower running. I pulled back the curtains and looked out. The motel parking lot was almost full but I spotted the black SUV parked near the corner of the office and wondered why Section One hadn’t busted down the door and taken Joria. Whatever the reason, at least I didn’t have to waste time defending her to them. I needed her.

  I rechecked my weapons, filling my pockets with .50 caliber shells, flares and glow sticks. Then I used the duct tape to secure the flashlight to the end of the barrel of the elephant gun to free my hands. McNeil had been uncertain if the lights were still working in the abandoned tunnel.

  Joria emerged dressed and smiling. She poured a cup of coffee, took a sip and frowned. “I see what you mean.” She added artificial creamer and came to stand beside my chair.

  “I want you to promise me you’ll stay with McNeil and his crew out of the tunnel.”

  “You need my help.”

  “I need you alive.”

  She took one of my hands in hers. Her skin felt soft and warm against the roughness of mine. I pointed to our Fed friends.

  “Our watchdogs are back.”

  I felt her tense up.

  “They seem content to watch, or else they would have paid us a visit.”

  Her voice was bitter as she said, “I don’t trust them.”

  “Neither do I,” I agreed. I did not add that I didn’t trust her either. She finished her coffee. I had set mine aside as undrinkable. “We had better go.”

  We arrived at the airshaft above the subway tunnel system before the others. As I stared down into its Stygian depths, I wondered what hell waited below. The pitch-black emptiness drew me downward, dizzyingly. I braced my hands on the steel grate and stared into the dark yawning maw until my hands grew numb. A blast of fetid hot air shot upwards from the shaft. Below, I could hear the rumble of a subway train. I pulled myself away and fought down a wave of vertigo.

  “I don’t like heights,” I explained to Joria as she studied my tense face.

  Her nose wrinkled. “It smells.”

  I took a deep whiff and smiled. “You’re not used to big city air.”

  “I’m from Sao Paolo,” she replied defensively.

  “Yeah, but you’ve got a jungle to scrub the pollution. We don’t.”

  McNeil arrived within a few minutes with four others. Two men jumped off the truck, stringing hoses for a torch from the truck to the grate over the shaft. McNeil must have read the look of dread on my face.

  “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he said. “I can round up some weapons and we’ll all go in with you.”

  I smiled and shook my head. My mind screamed at me to accept his offer, but I knew I couldn’t for the same reason I couldn’t go to Captain Bledsoe with my plan. “Too many have died already.”

  He nodded at the sawed-off elephant gun I had slung across my shoulder. “Is that enough?” he questioned, his doubt obvious.

  “It should do the trick if I get a clear shot.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You must have a death wish.”

  “No death wish. I’ve just seen too many deaths lately. I don’t know how much more I can take. This has become personal.”

  “So you said.” He looked at Joria quizzically. “There’s more to all this than you’re admitting. I just hope you remember the reason you’re going down there, to kill this thing.”

  “Killing it is my priority,” I assured him. I noticed he was staring at Joria as if trying to decide her part in this. I decided I had better make introductions. “This is Dr. Joria Alvarez from Brazil. She’s studied this creature for years.” He nodded to her. “Joria, this is Oliver McNeil.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. McNeil,” she said.

  “Same here,” McNeil replied. His voice had none of the warmth it had held when we first spoke. He was either suspicious of the reasons for Joria’s presence or concerned for her safety. I watched as one of McNeil’s men fire up the cutting torch. With a click and a pop, the tip burst into yellow flame spewing black, sooty smoke. With a quick adjustment, the bright blue actinic flame sliced into the metal grate with a shower of sparks. I glanced away from the glare. The acrid odor of molten galvanized steel metal drifted to me.

  “We’re through,” the cutting torch wielder called out a few minutes later. It took all four men to move the heavy grate out of the way.

  McNeil looked at me. “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  The four men went first, and then me, followed by Joria and McNeil. I tried not to look down as I descended the metal ladder. I watched the square of sky above me slowly dwindle in size. The rungs were rusty and rough on my hands. I wish I had thought to wear gloves as the others had. We descended for what felt like forever. Next stop, hell, I thought morosely. My arms and shoulders grew tired and my fingertips numb. McNeil had informed me that the shaft was one hundred and thirty-five feet deep. Just as I was beginning to doubt his word, one of the men called out, “Watch your step. It’s slippery down here.”

  The sky was a mere pinpoint overhead and provided no light. Each of the men had flashlights, using them to illuminate the opening to the horizontal shaft. My first step produced a crunch. I looked down to see a pile of twigs and leaves and pieces of white bone littering the floor, rat bones, I believed, washed down from above. Beyond the opening, the flashlights outlined the glint of subway rails.

  “There’s a walkway alongside the track,” one of the men said. “Be careful.”

  In the anemic light provided by the flashlights, Joria glanced at me, her face grim with determination and something else I couldn’t identify – fear, anticipation. Suddenly, the walls began to shudder and the floor quake. Her eyes went wide with fright. A roar increased in volume and soon filled the tunnel. Hot, musty air reeking of grease and hot metal whipped around us like a mini tornado. Loose paper and dust shot up the vertical airshaft on a blast of air. McNeil looked at his pocket watch and smiled.

  “Number Four. Right on time. In seven minutes it will pull into Bay Station and in fifteen more it will reach End-of-the-Line.”

  The w
alls stopped shaking and the dust settled. Joria relaxed slightly but looked down the tunnel suspiciously. As we trotted along the walkway, I hugged the dirty wall, fearing the notorious third rail I had heard so much about in movies, but I noticed it had a shield covering it, allaying some of my apprehension of accidental electrocution. We soon came to a heavy steel door set in the wall, like the hatchway of a ship. Streaked with rust, it was old but looked serviceable. Normally, turning a tarnished brass handle hermetically sealed the door, but the years had dry rotted the rubber gasket. It crumbled at my touch. Brackets for a steel bar had been added later. I peered inside. The passageway was as black as a funeral shroud and smelled like any long abandoned building, plus one or two odors I could not readily identify. Two men continued down the tunnel, while two remained with us.

  “This is the first of the two steel doors. The second is about ten miles away at the end of the old tunnel.” McNeil sounded like a proud father presenting his firstborn son. He rapped on it with his knuckles and it rang out like a brass bell. “It’s made of two inches of solid US steel and it was fireproof and waterproof, though I doubt it would pass muster now. We’ll shut and bar it behind you and repeat the process for the other one.” He stared at me closely. “This is your last chance to back out, Hardin.”

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I had suddenly broken out in a cold sweat. I fought the urge to wipe imaginary perspiration off my brow. I did rub my palms across my jeans.

  “We installed a hatch in the grate over the main ventilator airshaft yesterday. Use it if you get in trouble. Someone will be there with a crane and bucket. We’ll seal the grate we entered by on the way back out.”