Users

by Stacy Buck

  He made his way into the bedroom, climbed over a mountain of dirty laundry, and over to the dresser along the far wall. Inside he found a baggy pair of jeans with a hole in the knees and a striped black and green sweater that he promptly traded out for his dirty sweats. He snatched a black ball cap off a hook behind the door as he moved back to the living room. Carter looked around at the place one last time before he turned for the front door.

  Anxiety hit him hard as he reached for the door's handle and remembered that he had left all his meds back in his apartment. It was going to make for an interesting day to say the least, especially with the cartel looking for him. He knew they would be waiting for him out beyond the safety of the front door, but the way he saw it, he had two choices, run or fight. But where would he go if he decided to run. He had never lived anywhere else and didn't know anyone outside the city, nowhere that wasn't within the cartels reach anyway.

  That left only to fight, but he couldn't fight them alone, and he couldn't count on Darnell and whatever other junkies he could muster to defend him. There was really only one person who could help him, and he had a plan on just how he might get her involved. He doubled back to the living room and searched for the phone amongst the sea of garbage. He found it underneath a crumpled up newspaper. Lifting the receiver, he stared at the numbers for a moment, took a deep breath as he contemplated hanging up the phone, before finally deciding there was no other way. He punched in the numbers and waited as the phone rang on the other end. After a few rings he heard someone pick up.

  "Hello," she said.

  "Fox? Is that you?" he asked, "I need to ask you a favor."

  *****

  She crept along the dark wall. Dressed in all black, she was a shadow against a pitch colored wall, unseen and undetectable. Her padded foot falls were silent. The only reason he knew she was there was he had invited her. More like begged, but he had to get her here somehow.

  Carter stepped out from behind a column and called out to her.

  "Fox," he said.

  She emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light that shown through a nearby broken window. Fox was wearing a skin tight black jumpsuit that formed to her every movement as she approached. Slung loosely around her waist was a belt that favored one hip. Straps ran across her chest, up, and over her shoulders to a dual pair of swords hanging from her back. It was the kind of getup that would make a fan boy cry with boner inducing joy.

  "Now what was so important you couldn't tell me over the phone? Why did you bring me to this place?" she asked.

  She leaned heavily to one side, her posture was one of annoyance more than anger, but she shot down into a crouch as shattering glass echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse.

  "That's why," Carter said.

  Canisters filled with some type of gas clanked off the floor all around them as they were thrown through the broken windows. White clouds billowed from within the cans, filling the room with a thick haze.

  "You bastard," she said, but she had a hint of a smile on her face as she handed him a tiny respirator before popping one in her mouth as well. Right behind the gas, men in all black military covert ops style jumpsuits, crashed through what was left of the broken windows and rolled onto the floor. Without Fox there, the gas would have been a good idea, but she was always prepared with gadgets for any situation. Worse still for the would be assassins, it clouded the room, providing cover for the supreme hunter.

  She disappeared into the smoke, leaving Carter standing out in the open. A bullet whizzed past his face, and he dove back behind the stone column and ducked down to his knees. As he did two more bullets hit the pillar, sending chunks of concrete splattering in all directions. A yell to the side followed by a thump alerted him to Fox's presence as she took down one of the assassins. He caught a glimpse of her flipping through the air, landing on her hands, somersaulting back into the cloud of smoke, and disappearing from view. Shots rang out behind her, but she was too fast. Her movements seemed beyond that of a mere mortal.

  More bullets, closer to his side of the column, hit home, and Carter flinched as concrete exploded next to his head. It looked like his brilliant idea was going to get him killed.

  "Woah!" he yelled with no need to hide his location.

  He looked left and right, there was nowhere to go, no chance to run. They knew where he was, and they were closing in on him. His heart was pounding. A half a day without his medication and the pain was already welling up inside him. He needed to release it, and he knew right where to put it.

  A pair of shadows were cast on the wall in front of him, the two assassins were right on the other side of the column, and would soon have their sights aimed at his head. He slid up the column with his back flat against the cracked and broken stone. Then he rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, put his face against the column, and shot both hands straight out. Fire erupted from his palms, unleashing twin infernos of flames, and hitting both men square in the face. With the column obscuring his view, Carter couldn't see the effect of his fire on the men, but he could hear their screams, as the plastic and rubber of their gas masks were melted to their faces.

  The loud crack of splintering wood drew the attention of all those left standing. Carter, Fox, and the assassins turned in unison as the door was kicked right off its hinges. Standing in the open portal was an eccentric looking man, tall and thin, with wispy blond hair, and a dark tailored Italian suit; a man Carter recognized well.

  "Eric," he said hardly surprised.

  Fox was not so accepting of Eric's presence.

  "What are you doing here you son of a bitch?"

  "Oh baby, don't be like that. You know someone's going to collect, might as well be me," Eric said with a wry smile.

  "How much?" she asked. "How much is the bounty on his head?"

  "You really want to know?" Eric asked peering down at them from behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

  "Yes, how much are they paying you? I know we've never been friends, but neither have we been at odds. Please tell us, what's your price to assassinate an acquaintance?" Carter asked.

  Eric strode into the room, his fancy dress shoes clapping across the hard floor. He got within a few feet of Carter before he stopped.

  "One million dollars," Eric said accentuating the million just so they were all on the same page. Carters nuts nearly shrank up inside him.

  "A million dollars?"

  "That's right buddy boy. A cool million." Eric removed his sunglasses, folded them up, and put them into his shirt pocket. "Now what do you say? Should we get down to business?"

  "Might as well," Fox said.

  She pulled one of the swords from its sheath over her shoulder, and raised it protectively in front of her.

  "You and your toys," Eric said. "You really think a blade is going to stop a screamer?"

  "Depends on how far up your ass I stick it!" She charged, but Eric need only stretch his mouth wide, and with the power of a thousand unified trumpets, he screamed.

  An ungodly chorus of high pitched squealing erupted from within Eric and his super powered lungs. The man's screech would put a banshee to shame. His scream was so powerful the gas in the room was blown back away from Eric like a swift gust of wind had hit it.

  Carter was dropped instantly, gripping his ears. He rolled around on the floor in agony. The inside of his skull vibrated and he jabbed his fingers into his ears in a desperate attempt to keep his ear drums from bursting. Fox was rolling around on the floor next to him with blood running out of her ears. Carter reached out to her, but he was just short to grabbing her wrist.

  He struggled to focus amid the pain. He worried that the pressure building in his vibrating head may cause his skull to pop like a grape. Through blurred vision, Carter tried to get a bead on Eric's position. Taking a near blind shot, he threw forth a fireball, but Eric's scream was like an invisible shield. The flames hit a wall a few feet from Eric's wide open mouth, and fanned out to the sides, spreading in all dir
ections.

  Having spent the last of his energy, Carter collapsed face down on the cold dusty floor.

  "Uh oh, don't pass out on me yet buddy," Eric said when he finally stopped screaming. "I've got someone who wants to see you."

  From his spot on the floor, all Carter saw was a scuzzy pair of sneakers enter through the door, walk over, and flip him onto his back using the top of his shoe. Carter stared up at the ceiling before Eric appeared over him, followed by a smug faced Darnell.

  "Darnell?" he asked, and he could barely hear his own voice.

  "How did you think they found you so fast?" Darnell shouted, but it came across to Carter as no more than a whisper.

  "Why?"

  "Why? Money that's why. I get a nice big fat finder's fee. That and you show up on my door after five years and act like nothing happened. You just walk out on me and your friends for some floozy and then expect us to just take you back when she dumps your ass," Darnell said with a smile. "It was so simple. The cartel already contacted me the day before you showed up. All I had to do was get out of the house for a few and the cartel provided the muscle."

  "That's where I came in," Eric said.

  From the corner of his eye, Carter caught a glimpse of Fox. She was moving again. Her hand was creeping slowly to her fallen sword.

  "You're a real piece of work too. You drag Fox into this for, god knows why. Some friend you are," Darnell said.

  "Darnell, I have a confession to make," Carter said.

  "Oh yeah, what's that?" Darnell asked. "You shit your pants or something?"

  "No, I knew you'd turn me into the cartel," he said.

  "What? Why would you come to me if you knew that I'd turn you into the car-" And before Darnell could finish his question, the brick wall on the far end of the building burst apart, sending bricks scattering across the floor.

  Alaric landed within reaching distance of both Eric and Darnell.

  "That's why," Carter said and Alaric punched Darnell in the face.

  Pulverized powder that used to be Darnell's teeth showered Eric in a fine enamel dust. Alaric's fists were like two heavy anvils attached to jackhammers for arms. His body was the shape of a Greek gods and even Zeus himself would be hard pressed to go blow for blow with the titan that was Alaric. The giant man hit Darnell again, this time with a right hook that sent Darnell soaring through the air.

  Eric spun on Alaric and opened wide to hit him with a wave of sound.

  Alaric swung around, but it was too late, Eric had him dead to rights.

  Out of nowhere a dart appeared in the side of Eric's throat, hitting him right in the windpipe, and cutting off his ability to scream.

  "Take that you son of a bitch," Fox said.

  From behind another pair of assassins in all black stormed forward on the seemingly unsuspecting trio, but they were far from unprepared.

  Carter, with a ball of flame around his fist, turned and hit the assassin closest to him with a fiery uppercut that dropped the man. The assassin crumpled at Carter's feet, unconscious, but still alive.

  The second assassin came up behind Fox, who was now up on her knees, and leveled his handgun to the back of her head to finish her off execution style. But before he could get his finger on the trigger, Fox was already spinning with her leg outstretched for a roundhouse sweep that took the assassins legs out from under him. He hit the ground flat on his back. Fox went into a roll, swinging her legs around his neck, and pinning his gun arm between her crotch. She grabbed his wrist with both hands and jerked the gun from his grip, squeezed her legs, and snapped his neck; killing him instantly.

  Eric's eyes went wide with terror as Alaric stalked him like a lion ready to pounce on its prey. The screamer gripped his throat, trying to pull the dart from his esophagus, but Alaric removed it for him by punching the butt end of the dart and driving it clear into Eric's throat and out the opposite side. Blood gushed from both ends of his torn windpipe. Eric smothered the holes with his hands, but the crimson fluid found its way through the cracks in his fingers, spilling onto the floor. Dropping to his knees, Eric shuddered once, fell face first to the floor, shuddered a second time and then died.

  Alaric turned, and Carter thought he would be the next to die, but he kept on turning and stopped at Fox.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Alaric asked.

  His tone was full of venom, and he practically spat the words at her. The smoke in the room was beginning to clear, but even before the noxious gas dissipated it seemed to have no effect on the hardy man. He was one tough son of a bitch, and Carter prayed he would keep his outrage pointed at Fox. He knew that was cowardly of him, but he also knew that Fox was in no real danger. She was probably the one person in the world that Alaric would never truly hurt.

  "I...I don't...," she stammered unable to find the words.

  Turning her gaze on Carter, she shot him those big doe eyes that he had stared into so many times in the past, and his stomach sank. Was she intentionally trying to get him killed. Either way it seemed to be working, because Alaric caught the glance and turned on him.

  Next thing Carter knew, he was free of the floor beneath him, as Alaric lifted him up by the throat with one hand.

  "And you!" Alaric growled. "If you have dragged us into your fight, I swear I will hunt you down and I will kill you!" Carter tried to pry Alaric's grip from his throat to no avail.

  "I'm dead anyway," Carter said through his choked windpipe.

  It felt as if his Adam's apple were going to be pushed straight out the back of his neck. With her hands on her hips, Fox turned in a huff and walked for the door. Alaric finally dropped Carter to the floor. He gasped, sucking in a breath of the partly gas filled air, but he didn't care, he needed whatever precious oxygen he could get.

  "If the cartels sent Eric after me then every two bit killer in the city is going to be looking for me," Carter said, still down on his hands and knees; unable to get up from the choking he had taken.

  "Fox wait," Carter called to her before she reached the exit.

  But instead of turning to Carter, she turned around and threw Alaric a pleading look, and Alaric sighed.

  "Ugh, Fine," Alaric said, "Listen Carter, I will do what I can to find the leader of this cartel, but you've got to lay low."

  Slowly, Carter got to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, and he had to lean against a column to keep from toppling over.

  "And where am I supposed to go?" Carter asked, "The only friend I had to turn to just tried to get me killed."

  "Don't push your luck here man. I'm not offering you a place to stay. Why don't you just get out of town for a while? Let things blow over."

  "I'm not leaving," Carter said defiantly. No way in hell was he going to leave because Alaric told him to. "What if you need my help?"

  "Need...your help? We're not reliving the glory days here man. The time for a team up has passed," Alaric said, "you blew that a long time ago."

  "Whatever, dude." Was all Carter could muster in his defense.

  He couldn't rationalize his behavior in the past to himself, so how would he convince someone else that his monstrous behavior was anything but just that. The past continued to haunt him, and he couldn't argue that he had not been a total animal during his days as a junkie.

  "What are you going to do with your friend here?" Alaric pointed to the unconscious Darnell.

  "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," Carter said.

  Alaric raised an eyebrow at that.

  "What? I'm not going to kill him or anything."

  "See to it that you don't," Alaric said and he turned for Fox and the door.

  It was maddening to see Alaric and Fox exit the room walking side by side. His blood boiled. He needed his medication.

  #

  Chapter 6

  Outside the Seattle Police Department; an officer exited the building. A puzzled look came over his pudgy face when he noticed the man at the bottom of the steps, tied up and unconscious. He
quickly descended the short flight of stairs, and tore the note pinned to the man's shirt, lifting it close to his face to read it in the dim light. Carter had written a message with all the details as to where the bodies in the warehouse could be found, and that Darnell was an accomplice, along with Eric in the deaths of the men in the black jumpsuits. He left out the little detail that he, Fox, and Alaric had played any part in the killings.

  He doubted the police would buy it, but then again, he didn't really care if they did. Eric was a known degenerate with a record a mile long. No one, especially the police, would believe a word that came out of his filthy mouth.

  With Eric secure in the hands of the authorities, Carter made a dash for the last place anyone would expect to find him. Other than having the brim of his newly acquired cap pulled low, he strolled through the front door like he owned the place, hoping that no one would notice him. He climbed the stairs uneventfully, ducked under the police tape that clearly labeled the residence as a crime scene, and opened the door.

  The inside of his apartment was a catastrophe. His meager belongings were strewn across the floor, the TV was face down with a long crack running through it, a shelf that had held a stack of books was blown to bits, and almost every wall was riddled with bullet holes. He sighed, and picked up a book by the spine that looked intact only to have the pages fall out onto the floor. Fuck it. With no TV and no book to read, he marched straight into the bedroom, grabbed a blanket covered in drywall dust, and pulled it off the mattress like a magician pulled the cloth off a table leaving all the silver wear and dishes intact. Ignoring the bitter cold and noise that came in from the broken window, Carter flopped onto the sweat stained mattress and fell fast asleep.

  *****

  He slept like shit. The cold stung his face and his nose wouldn't stop running. Every drop of rain that hit the street outside his broken window echoed through his ears with no barrier to deaden the sound. It was one of the worst nights of his life. Almost as bad as the numerous nights he had spent in withdrawal from the drugs years before. Almost. Nothing could compare to the viral like symptoms that accompanied the withdrawal of heroin. It was like having the flu, a cold, your head hit with a hammer, and every bone in your body broken at the same time.