The deputy keyed his mic, “Dispatch, let Lockhart know that I am pursuing the perpetrator and to follow as soon as he arrives. I am heading down the dirt road toward the levee and its canal. Over.”
“Understood, 3742. Unit 2651 will be advised as to your location. Proceed with caution. That said, Raph, hurry up. Melanie will beating down the doors soon, and you shouldn’t be out there.”
“Dispatch, thanks for your concern. But, Susan, if I don’t get this done now, the hurricane will wash all the evidence away, probably including the body.”
“Just hurry up and get to shelter ASAP, 3742.”
“Got it, Dispatch. See you soon.” Deputy Acosta said, turning and walking over the section of downed fence. He didn’t bother attempting to move stealthily, as there was no point in trying to be silent during a raging storm.
Maintaining his weapon in a safe but ready position, Acosta hurried down the road toward the massive swamp known as the Florida Everglades. While he was certain that many bodies had been disposed of in those alligator-infested waters, he had no intention of letting it happen today.
As the road hooked to the right, to follow the outer edge of the substation, Acosta noticed a section of trampled sawgrass to the left, continuing on toward the Everglades. Knowing with the gut feeling cops seemed to rely upon; he turned left and hurried onward.
As he stepped into the overgrown sawgrass, slashing at his hands, living up to its name, unease crept over the deputy. Looking around rapidly, he still saw nothing moving except that which he would expect to be moving in a brewing hurricane, which was almost everything. As he turned back to his path, a bolt of lightning split the sky in front of him, causing him to jump. If his finger had been on the trigger, he would have fired his pistol. A deep rumbling of thunder immediately followed the flash, shaking him to his bones. In that instant of blinding light, he saw the shape of a person far ahead. The shape appeared to be a large person, dragging something behind.
That was more than enough motivation for the deputy. Tightening his grip on the pistol, he called out, “BSO, freeze,” but his voice was washed away in the continuing wind, almost as if it truly was carried away as it came out of his mouth.
Frustrated, Acosta began rushing down the rough path, scanning about, afraid to lose sight of the shape ahead. The sawgrass whipped at his uniform, its scratches on his hands all but unnoticed in his urgency. The flashlight beam bobbed along the path, as Acosta ran headlong into the unknown.
The unknown made itself known, all too well. Less than two yards ahead, a long dark form shot out of the grass to block the deputy’s path. The light hit the cause of nightmares for too many Floridians. A shiny black alligator stood in Acosta’s way, a low hiss emanating from the beast. It must have been at least ten feet long and the way its teeth glistened in the bright light turned Acosta’s guts to ice.
“Shit,” he exclaimed, realizing that he had to make a choice. He could either retreat to look for another path and risk losing his target, and likely the victim, or he could shoot the gator and alert the perpetrator. Glancing backward, he saw the grass parting to reveal another person in a dark green poncho and Smokey the Bear hat heading his way.
Acosta checked to make certain the alligator had not moved, which it hadn’t before waving for Lockhart to hurry up. The gangly man Acosta had been expecting drew to a walk as he spotted the reptile blocking their advance.
“Wow, that’s a big ‘un,” Lockhart said, the awe in his voice quite clear.
“No shit! It’s huge,” Acosta exclaimed. “How can we get past it? The perp is getting away.”
“Get past it?” Lockhart asked. “That’s no trouble at all now.” He pursed his lips and whistled a piercing tone, before calling out, “Get on out of here, Fluffy!”
Acosta’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Fluffy? What do you mean by Fluffy?”
“Shit, you’re right,” Lockhart said, a tone of resignation in his voice. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
As the words sank in, Deputy Acosta cried out, as his entire body felt like it was on fire and collapsed into the muddy grass, mere yards from the alligator. Letting his Taser hang to the side, trigger still depressed, Lockhart looked down at the incapacitated police officer, flopping on the sodden earth.
“That’s his name,” Lockhart said, before looking back at the massive gator, just in Acosta’s blurry field of vision. “Isn’t that right, Fluffy?” The man reached a long arm out to scratch the alligator just under its wicked mouth. “Now, go on. You did your job. I’ll see you when we get there.”
The big gator eyed the thrashing body, knowing that those motions would normally mean food, but looked back at Lockhart and turned to scurry off into the grass. Lockhart glanced down at Acosta, and as if he had forgotten, released the Taser’s trigger, mercifully cutting off the juice.
“Ooops, sorry about that, buddy,” Lockhart said, with a smirk. “I told you I would take care of this. If only you had listened to me, it wouldn’t have wound up like this.”
Acosta tried to get a look at the traitorous deputy, but his eyes were still twitching from being electrocuted. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure Lockhart was smiling. “Wh-wh-why d-d-d-did y-y-y-y…” Acosta stammered.
“Why did I tase you, bro? Because I couldn’t have you stopping what is getting ready to go down,” Lockhart replied. “Of course, now you will get a front row view. In fact, I believe there may even be some audience participation involved.”
The muddied deputy desperately struggled against his body’s inability to function, certain his life depended on it, but failed pitifully. He strained to slur out, “Dave?”
“Yeah, buddy. I’m here. Soon we’ll both be witnesses to the greatness to come surrounded by its power,” Lockhart replied, his eyes a bit glassy, very much like some of the pillheads they busted. “Just wait a little longer,” he said, turning to look at the bruised clouds above, fixating on the patterns as they rolled in.
Taking the distraction for what he could, Deputy Acosta tried to scamper away, but merely succeeded in falling back on his face, the murky water filling his mouth and nose. As he spluttered the fluid out, Lockhart’s gaze returned to Acosta’s prone form.
“We can’t have you leave us just yet,” he said, sounding disappointed at his coworker’s actions. “Ström is waiting for us. You wouldn’t want to miss your opportunity at making the greatest find of your career, would you?” He almost sounded reasonable, as if he hadn’t just incapacitated a fellow law enforcement officer. Acosta decided to go allow with it for now and shook his head.
“Good,” Lockhart said, plucking Acosta’s Glock from where it lay in the muck. He flipped it around to hold it by the barrel and held it out to Acosta, as if returning it. As the fallen deputy tried to reach for the pistol grip, Lockhart chuckled and backhanded Acosta across the face, the rear sights slashing his cheek.
“You didn’t actually think I was going to give it back, did you, Raph?” Lockhart asked. “Naw, you know better,” he smirked, cocking his arm back, only to slam the butt of the pistol behind Acosta’s ear, knocking him out cold.
“Nighty, night, buddy boy,” Lockhart laughed, tucking the pistol into his vest, before taking Acosta’s ankles and began dragging the unconscious form through the grass, much like Ström had moments earlier.
The world slowly returned for Deputy Acosta, shrouded in a blurry darkness. The first sounds he was aware of were disturbing chord of booming thunder, rushing winds and piercing shrieks. Struggling to open his eyes, he saw something that was unbelievable to his mind.
He was sitting upright against a tree, arms pulled harshly back, tied about the trunk. A quick glace upwards and he realized it was one of the large royal palms that were common in the area, as they were generally flexible enough to withstand the brutal winds hurricanes brought. Hurricanes like Melanie, which had begun its own devastation in the area.
Across from his improvised pillory, Acosta saw an eight-foo
t tall chain link fence, topped with razor wire. It formed a box, approximately ten yards to a side. Inside this barrier was a collection of women, ranging from their late teens all the way to upper middle age. Most of the women were shuffling about, as if resigned to their fate, or leaning against the back wall of the corral, as support against Melanie’s winds.
The shrieks were coming from a young blonde, probably not even old enough to drink, clad in skimpy white shorts and a hot pink bikini top. It looked like she had probably been picked up at the beach. She was struggling hard against the large man holding her by the arms, pushing her toward the Everglades.
Acosta realized they were on the far side of the levee, which protected the area from the encroaching swampland. No wonder no one had come across this by mistake. Generally, even the fishermen didn’t try to cross the canal on the west side of the levee, content to draw their catch from the manmade river.
The man forcing the young lady was not someone who would stand out in a crowd, for anything other than his size. His face was rather plain, with a somewhat bulbous nose riddled with burst blood vessels; the sure sign of a heavy drinker. He was greying and balding, his thin hair combed back over a smooth scalp. He wore a simple grey polo shirt with stained jeans and scuffed work boots.
“You should stop fighting, miss,” the big man said, no emotion showing in his voice, raising it just enough to be heard over the wind. “Lord Chlphahteh appreciates your sacrifice. It is a great gift you are giving, you know.” His assurances did nothing to calm the girl, who simply struggled harder, her hair whipping about, both from the winds and her actions.
Acosta’s eyes went wide when he realized the waters at the edge of the swamp were churning, but it was not from the rains, but from something within. Something large was moving about just beneath the surface. It was likely Fluffy and the rest of his family, to create a disturbance that big and violent.
The large man neared the edge of the roiling waters, his hostage presented before him. The young girl became silent; she could see what was coming up from the murky depths, and it took her breath away. She drew in a deep breath, as if to continue her screaming, when the man Acosta assumed to be Ström pushed her headfirst into the water.
She hit hard, the waters filled her mouth, shooting down her throat to engulf her lungs. She flailed about, unable to find purchase to pull her body back to dry land. Then, as if on cue, she was jerked out into the swamp, like a winch line had been pulled taut with extreme force. Her body skipped on the surface like a stone for a fraction of a second, before becoming still, her head still beneath the surface; then, she stood up.
Not like most people would expect, on her feet, but rather, her body went rigid and shifted up so that it was perpendicular to the churning waters. In a quick jerk, an alligator’s snout broke the surface, before dragging her under.
Acosta was speechless, not only because he had just watched a young woman die horribly, but because of the size of the gator’s nose. It dwarfed the massive reptile that Lockhart had called Fluffy. The tip of the snout was wider than the woman’s shoulders. The deputy wasn’t an expert on alligators, but he was pretty certain gators of that size only existed in B-grade movies.
He turned his head to take in the rest of the macabre scenario. Now he understood why the women were so quiet; they were obviously stunned from watching their peers swallowed up by the giant reptile. Lockhart stood opposite from the cage, obviously on guard for any who might attempt escape. Instead of his department-issued poncho, he now wore a crimson robe, shot through with patterns of a deep green. The patterns did not appear to follow the rules of most other clothing, in that they were swirling and churning, much like the waters the teen had just disappeared into.
Lockhart’s stood tall, eyes wide, not in shock but in in awe of what he had witnessed. He must have noticed Acosta’s movement, because he turned to look at the restrained deputy, before crossing the open spaces between them. Stopping within arm’s length, the gawky man, pushed he sleeves up, the patterns taking no mind, and leaned down, hands on his knees.
“Glad to see you woke up, buddy boy,” Lockhart sneered at Acosta. “I really wish you had just listened to me. You would be safe and sound at home, or at the station. Instead, you get an honor that was supposed to be mine and Ed’s alone.”
Acosta strained to get his mouth to work properly. “Honor?” the deputy slurred. “What honor? Getting eaten by a huge fucking gator, or getting wiped out by a Category Five hurricane?”
“That wasn’t a gator, Raph,” Lockhart’s eyes went wider as he spoke. “That wasn’t a gator at all, but rather the Father of them all. Lord Chlphahteh, long revered by some of the native tribes, is much, much older. He was written of in many of the ancient books, given the honor he is due. It was only a few years ago, I met Edward Ström, and he shared this knowledge with me.”
“Ström?” Acosta mumbled. “The big guy?”
“Yep,” Lockhart replied. “Like you, I was incredulous, at first. But then, Lord Chlphahteh showed his power to me. Visions, dreams, that sort of thing. I learned what sort of gifts would be bestowed upon me for assisting in his return.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Dave,” Acosta growled. “How could you fall for this? Aren’t you Catholic, like me?”
“Not crazy at all,” Lockhart replied, glancing over to see Ström pulling the next woman from the corral, a frail old woman with blue hair, too weak to even fight. “Nope, Raph, not crazy. Sure, I followed the Nazarene for most of my life, but then I saw the truth. Lord Chlphahteh is much older, much more powerful, and he demands sacrifice. That is all Joshua, or Jesus as you like to call him, really was, a sacrifice to the Old Ones, not a Messiah. When he returned three days later, it was his reanimated husk, controlled by the Old One who controlled that area of the world, Nyar Lat Hotep.” Lockhart made a point of pronouncing each syllable of that horrid name as its own word.
Acosta shook his head in denial. “It can’t be. You’ve obviously lost it. Jesus wasn’t a sacrifice for anything other than our sins!”
“Really?” Lockhart sounded incredulous. “Look at all the details closely, and it is consistent with sacrifices of the time. That damned centurion, Longinus, tried to intervene by killing the Nazarene before the Old One could claim him. It’s a shame that he missed the heart, allowing the Crawling Chaos to resurrect the shell. When he finally disappeared, it wasn’t in a heavenly glow, as he ascended to his father’s side. Nope, ol’ Josh’s body simply burned up from all the eldritch power it took to keep that meat puppet moving around.”
“No!” Acosta screamed. “I refuse to believe anything like that. Jesus Christ is the one true Son of God and my Savior!”
“You believe what you want, Raph,” Lockhart sneered. “I haven’t seen ol’ Josh do anything for me. Now, Lord Chlphahteh, he not only has shown his power to me, he has given me, and Ed over there, a touch of it, with more to come when we finish bringing him up from his sleep, during the eye of the storm.”
Acosta took note of how the winds had strengthened while Lockhart spoke, requiring him to increase in volume. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the growing winds, but Dave’s growing fanaticism instead, Acosta thought. A shrill cry jerked both deputies attention back to the water.
Edward Ström had given up pushing the old woman and simply picked her up, carried her to the water’s edge and tossed her frail form into the churning waters. Her cry had come mid-air, just before the massive snout lunged forward, the jaws snapping open and shut in a heartbeat. The poor woman’s body was dismembered, her head falling into the water to the left, her lower legs to the right; everything in between disappeared down that massive gullet.
Acosta’s years of experience failed him in the presence of such a terrible sight. As he tried to cry out in shock, his body had a much different reaction from his mind. The cheeseburgers he had for lunch exploded, partially digested from his mouth, sliding greasily down the poncho, to land in his lap. He turned to look at Lockhar
t.
“Can’t you see that what you’re doing is wrong?’ he growled, the bile burning his throat with each word. “You swore an oath to serve and protect. This goes against everything you promised to uphold!”
“Can’t you see that we are both a part of something much bigger than the BSO or Florida, or even America? Hell, this is bigger than the world, Raph! This is existence, our dimension, and Lord Chlphahteh is coming back, along with the rest of the Great Old Ones. Those who choose to serve them will be rewarded. Those who choose to resist will be eaten.”
“But..but..” Acosta stammered uncontrollably.
“Hold that thought,” Lockhart shouted over the torrential rains and raging winds. “Here goes another one. One I’ve been looking forward to.”
Acosta looked back to the corral to find a middle-aged woman with tousled blonde curls being dragged from the pen. It was Lena Baker, the woman the deputy had only seen in an ID photo, but from the hairstyle, trendy running pants and the taut, sheer tank top, he could tell who it was.
She was putting up quite a fight, although it was not very effective at dissuading the towering man. While all those hours doing crossfit may have helped hold back the effects of time on her figure, it also didn’t teach her much in self-defense. Ström grabbed her right wrist and brutally yanked her forward.
Having seen what became of the women before her, Lena wasn’t going down without a fight. Whether it was her choice, the slickness of wet skin, or pure luck, as she completed the motion forward, Ström’s grip slipped off her wrist, sending her stumbling farther forward than she wanted. Slipping in the muck, she fell to her knees at the edge of swamp, the murky waters lapping over her legs.
Ström grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her to her feet, but his hand slipped from her slick skin again. Realizing she was trapped between certain death and its minion, she made a split second decision to try whatever she could.
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