by Ricky Fleet
“Stop it, please,” Malachi begged.
Both Krauss and Drake looked at him in amusement.
“You ask us to spare this man, even though he has doomed you, your friends, and family to a violent death?”
“We all make mistakes,” Malachi replied, and even through his agony, the young doctor smiled. “And if you touch my friends I will make sure you pay for it in the most painful way. Do what you will to me, just leave them out of it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Drake said, holding up a phone, “The order has already been given.”
“If anything happens to them, I swear to God I will end you all,” Malachi growled, straining at the straps.
“Enough bluster,” Drake dismissed him and returned his attention to the broken doctor, “Now his legs.”
Krauss tried to smile and the rictus was awful. His damaged face contorted itself into a mask of disjointed nerve endings and twitching muscle.
“Don’t move,” grunted the hulk as he repositioned the doctor’s legs.
Two more cruel stamps and both legs were broken. Dr. Llyod lay still, eyes fluttering in unconsciousness, the pain finally too much to bear. Drake was clapping his enjoyment and prodded at the floppy limbs with his foot.
“Finish him?”
“No, I will come back after we have dealt with our esteemed guest,” Drake replied and then fell silent, looking around in surprise. Vibrations shook the room, causing streamers of dust to cascade down upon their heads. On the bed Malachi was glaring at the men, shaking with fury.
“My, you are a strong one. It’s a shame that you couldn’t see the bigger picture and the glorious future that was in your grasp.” Drake nodded to Krauss.
“Heed my warning well…” Malachi started until the boulder like fist of Krauss connected with his head, knocking him out cold.
“Such a shame,” Drake sighed, shaking his head, “Prepare the ritual room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Michael stood by the rear doors of the Ford Transit van as Legacy passed out weapons to his men. He was amazed at the amount of firepower that the gang had stowed away and they had been reliably informed this vehicle was only one out of four. The others were all kept under lock and key and moved frequently to avoid detection. Although every rule said that these men were on opposing sides of law and order, the Yardies had seen some of what Malachi was capable of. Coming from a culture that held deep seated beliefs in religion and the supernatural, they had accepted the events with no question or doubt. Redemption came in many forms and, maybe tonight, these killers and hoodlums could claim back part of their stained soul.
“Do ya want the PK’s?” Legacy asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Michael thought about it for a moment and declined, “We will need to be light on our feet. I don’t think we will have a standing battle with them when it all happens, they will cover each other and retreat so the light machine guns will just slow us down.”
“Ok, man.”
All the vehicles had been parked under an outcrop of huge branches to try and maintain as much cover as possible. With luck, no one would use the woodland trail this late at night and they could be in and out with minimal exposure. The isolated nature of the abandoned asylum meant that the sound of gunfire would be difficult to pinpoint, if indeed anyone reported it at all. Shrouded in shadows, Michael and Jacob stood before the men to explain the finer points of the mission.
“Thank you all for doing this,” Michael begun, “I won’t lie to you, it will be dangerous. The men we are going against are some of the most skilled mercenaries on the planet and they work for an organisation that allows no failure. Their belief is absolute and they will fight accordingly, so watch your asses. As I mentioned to Legacy, their primary concern will be the safe extraction of their employers who will have arrived for the coming ceremony. They are not our target today, but if you happen to get a clear shot, then take it.”
Jacob stepped forward, filled with admiration for the troops who hadn’t made a murmur of protest when told they faced such a deadly foe, “Our only concern today, is the retrieval of Malachi. I know you have seen some of what he can do, but I can only add that it is the tip of the iceberg. His value to us, and the human race as a whole, cannot be overstated. If he should perish here, then we may very well be on the brink of Armageddon.”
“You’re shitting us, man,” Legacy replied, sure they were exaggerating.
“Not at all,” Michael assured him, “There are things in motion that have taken centuries of planning. Do you think the wars, hatred, and evils in the world are purely coincidental? Everything has been manufactured for one outcome, and only that young man has a chance to stop it.”
“Guess he’s not,” Desmond said to Legacy with a slap on the back, “How we doin’ this?”
“We approach slowly through the woods and wait on the signal.”
“How will we know the signal?” Desmond wondered.
“When all hell breaks loose, that will be the signal,” Jacob replied, “We have scouted the building thoroughly a year ago after a tipoff the opposition were using it. Despite it being abandoned, the fence is brand new and there will undoubtedly be foot patrols. Two man teams with a sixty second call in if previous encounters are anything to go by.”
“This ain’t gonna be a stealth incursion then?” Legacy asked.
“No, our job is to create a diversion and keep them pinned down as much as possible.”
“Ok, let’s get this done.”
“Myself and Jacob will be using the night vision to scout the forest ahead. We move slow and careful; any loose items should be stowed away. Our target is a small drainage culvert that overlooks the main gate around half a mile north east as the crow flies. Any questions?”
None came and the glasses were slipped onto their heads, banishing the darkness. The luminous green images gave a perfect day bright view and in two columns they moved out in silence.
Owls hooted and took flight as they passed, seeking tender mice or voles to feed their young. Each man stepped carefully in an attempt to avoid the revealing sound of breaking twigs. After every twenty meters, the two point men came to a stop and scanned the surroundings until they were satisfied they were alone. The speed of the events of the past few hours meant it was unlikely they could have amassed a force large enough to patrol the grounds as well as the surrounding countryside, but it was better to be cautious with the stakes so high. Above, the moon moved between clouds, providing meagre light for their passage before snatching it away once again.
Michael knew that if they hadn’t been able to enlist the aid of the drug gang the mission would have been impossible. It was such a paradox; that to do good, they needed to enlist men who might otherwise be deemed evil. God truly moved in mysterious ways, he thought with a wry smile.
After half an hour of careful navigation the trees thinned out and the goggles were no longer necessary. The grouping of clouds had moved on and left the moon exposed which gave them enough light to work with. A short run of thirty feet separated their cover from that of the ditch and it would need to be timed perfectly to avoid detection.
“What do you see?” Legacy asked in a whisper.
Taking out a thermal imager, he looked out on the scene from behind the tree. Four guards were at the gate; two more pairs of guards were moving away around the perimeter.
“Eight guards on foot,” Michael whispered, scanning the face of the building.
Inside the main doors was a concentrated heat source which could have been anything from four to ten more guards. These were more than likely the elite bodyguards of the upper circle, and the most fearsome of their enemy.
“More inside the entrance.”
“Say when,” Legacy whispered.
With a final scan, Michael removed the imager and paused. Sure he had seen something else, he put them back to his eyes and looked at the upper floors. A faint yellow glow came from one of the windows and he ducked dow
n.
“Sniper on the third floor, eighth window from the left, get behind cover,” he hissed and the men quietly scattered into their surroundings.
“Has he seen us?” Legacy asked breathlessly.
None of the guards showed any urgency or change of habit. The patrol patrolled and the M4 carbine cradling guards at the gate scanned the road for signs of movement.
“I don’t think so, but I can’t see how,” Michael was waiting for the first crack of gunfire, “There is no way a competent sniper wouldn’t have seen us.”
“Luck?” Desmond asked from another trunk.
“It must be, we have to move back, but try and keep the trees between you and the scope,” he ordered and the men melted back into deeper cover.
“What is going on?” Michael asked himself in the darkness. A series of chittering crickets was his only answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Scrambled images coursed through Malachi’s mind following the blow. His parents reaching imploringly, screaming silently of their fear. People he had interacted with briefly in his life waved as he passed, looks of sorrow creasing their features. Chloe, reclining in a high backed chair, nursing a new born infant who, impossibly, stared directly at him and smiled. Drake, his smile stretching ever wider until the flesh tore and an indescribable horror tore itself free from within his trunk and through the ravaged orifice. Then he was falling towards a frozen lake, his face impacting the thin, frigid surface and plunging him into icy depths.
“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine,” chuckled Drake.
Malachi looked around in shock, cold water running down his face and chest. He was upright, but unable to move his body in any way. Staring down, he could see he was on some kind of upright wheelchair, strapped tightly. He had seen this device before in a movie a couple of years ago. What was it? He pondered, coming out of the daze. Silence of the Lambs!
“I will eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” Malachi laughed to himself and sucked air through his teeth.
“Very good Dr. Lecter,” smiled Drake.
“Is this really necessary?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We can’t have you running off before the sacrifice, can we?” Drake replied, leaning in to dab at his drenched face with a silk handkerchief.
Bravado disappearing, a fine sweat broke out on Malachi’s brow and he was unable to talk through the terror which gripped his heart. The thought of dying shouldn’t have been the cause of such anxiety, after all he had died once only a few days ago. It was the sure knowledge that a sacrifice didn’t employ an anaesthetic to dull the pain before execution.
“Dead man,” grunted Krauss with a throaty chuckle.
“There is no need for such mocking,” Drake sighed at the ugly hulk, “We are above gloating over the vanquished.”
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Malachi blabbered in panic, “I won’t ever do anything to go against you.”
“No, I’m afraid not my friend. You are far too powerful to be left alive,” Drake said sombrely.
Krauss laughed, “Not threatening now.”
Drake sighed again, “Indeed he isn’t because he knows he has lost. We must be magnanimous in victory.”
Krauss pulled a face and scratched his head.
“He’s full of shit and tries to sound more intelligent than he really is, don’t worry about it,” Malachi said to Krauss, voice trembling in spite of his attempts to rein in the fear.
“It won’t work,” Drake replied, ignoring the insult.
“What won’t?”
“Trying to rile me so I order my friend Mr. Krauss to kill you,” Drake replied, shaking his head in disappointment. It was such an obvious ruse that Malachi felt foolish for even trying.
“Sorry.”
“The pain of your death will be fleeting,” Drake explained, “It is what comes after that will be more unpleasant.”
“Yeah, after,” laughed Krauss.
“What do you mean, after?” Malachi demanded, straining uselessly against the rigid bonds.
“You will see for yourself soon enough,” Drake whispered in his ear.
The patter of many footsteps echoed down the grimy corridor and Drake smiled in satisfaction.
“Ah, the guests of honour have arrived.”
Six hooded figures gathered around and looked at the prisoner. Ages and genders varied wildly but they all had a look of contempt on their faces, except one young woman.
“I thought there had to be thirteen of you?” Malachi asked and they looked at one another in surprise.
“He has seen some of our rites in his visions,” Drake explained, “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Bring him,” ordered the oldest woman.
“I know you!” Malachi exclaimed, recognising the voice. She had been the one to promise him the world in return for his family.
“All you will know is the taste of my steel as it cuts out your heart, scum,” she scowled.
“What a charmer you are, you poisonous old whore.”
“Gag him,” Drake shouted.
Krauss pulled a roll of duct tape from his jacket and Malachi couldn’t help himself as he teased, “What else you got in there, Frankenstein?”
“Knife. Gun.”
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to shoot the wicked witch? How the fuck she is still alive at one hundred and twenty is beyond me,” Malachi mocked. Krauss stretched the tape across his lips and leaned in hard, mashing his cheeks painfully.
“I’m sorry, Mother, he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“Don’t worry about my sensibilities, child. A butcher doesn’t concern itself with the bleating of a sheep, does he? I would love to see how much he laughs when our master welcomes him to his new home.”
What did that mean? Malachi tried to prise the tape away with his tongue but the stuff was resilient and held fast. Mother smiled at his discomfort and it was the most hideous expression he had ever seen. Without further discussion they moved off, gurney wheels crackling on the lifted floor tiles. A low chanting started among the hooded priests and priestesses, accompanying them as they proceeded.
Room after room they passed down the long hallway, and the chanting seemed to draw power from the building itself, creating the same oppressive pall that Malachi had experienced before. Screams and wails of bygone times sprung from thin air, the emotion of the unspeakable cruelties trapped within the walls of the asylum. At times he could see the faint outlines of people in his peripheral vision, tearing at their hair or thrashing wildly. Turning his head to look directly at them banished the apparitions, but their suffering permeated through his soul. Like a sponge, he absorbed the anguish and despaired.
“You can feel them, can’t you, boy?” croaked the old hag, peeling the tape loose to feed on his fear.
“There are so many,” Malachi whispered in horror.
“Indeed.” She smiled the dreadful smile again, “We built this facility two hundred years ago to care for the mentally infirm. Or at least that was what we told the public. More innocent blood has been spilled within these walls than on any battlefield in the history of man. Their torment provides a conduit.”
“A conduit to where?”
Mother would only tap a knowing finger to her hawkish nose.
Reaching the stairs, Krauss carefully manoeuvred the gurney down one step at a time. The wooden treads were old and riddled with mould from the open roof and Malachi cringed with each creak and groan of the worn timber. Combined with his metallic transport, they must have weighed over three hundred pounds, and how they made it down in one piece was a miracle. Krauss grinned at Malachi without so much as a bead of sweat or slightly laboured breathing. What was he, a machine?
“Report,” demanded the old woman.
“All teams report,” barked the most senior soldier.
The radio crackled into life, “Team One clear, Team Two clear,” on it went through eight teams and then the
sniper responded, “Sniper team. I had a malfunctioning scope for a few minutes, but the picture has come back so it may just have been an electrical glitch. Apart from some wildlife, the perimeter is clear.”
Drake looked at Malachi and tutted, “Did you mess with my sniper’s scope when we were disciplining Dr. Llyod?”
“I have no idea, I fucking hope so,” Malachi said, spitting in his face. He had been quietly gathering as much phlegm as possible and the thick, green mucus ran down his face. If words couldn’t make a quick end of it, perhaps this disgusting act might.
“Krauss, hurt him badly,” squealed Drake, wiping at the clotted drool.
“Don’t you dare,” hissed Mother and Krauss shrank away in fear.
“But, Mother!”
“But nothing,” she snarled, “if you are fool enough to keep taunting him, then you deserve it. Stupid child.”
“Someone has mummy issues,” laughed Malachi which only served to turn Drakes skin a deeper shade of red.
Krauss replaced the tape and Mother pushed a section of rotten plaster which sunk back into the wall. To their left, a door swung inwards on freshly oiled hinges which signified this place was used regularly. To what end would be revealed when they reached their final destination. A passageway stretched out before them and the familiar glyphs were drawn in dried blood on the walls and arched ceiling.
“Soon our advantage will be insurmountable and it will simply be a matter of time before this world falls,” explained Mother to the group.
“It will be glorious,” Drake replied.
They arrived at the antechamber and Malachi had a feeling of déjà vu. The proportions were different to his dream, but that was probably due to the differing location. Krauss released the straps and before Malachi could struggle free, grabbed him in a bear hug. Carrying him through to the sacrificial chamber, Krauss’s grip tightened further. Unable to draw breath through his compressed chest, his vision blurred and unconsciousness beckoned. Taking advantage of Malachi’s weakened state, Krauss laid him on the sacrificial altar and secured the chains across his body.