by A. A. Allsop
Both Axe and Fleet, the team’s two Boxer carriers, dropped their automatic weapons and unclipped a small canister from the belt of their suit. The instant they pulled the canister up, the screaming in Cutters’ mind started again. His body went stiff and he saw spots in his eyes. Spit dribbled out of his mouth as he clenched his teeth. But, as painful as it was now, it was nothing compared to what it had been like before, and though he was stiff, he could move his body, albeit quite a bit slower. It felt like he was moving though molasses.
Through his pain and stiffness, he remembered what Smith and Summers had said. The witch was splitting her focus too much. Now she had six men attacking her from all angles, she was trying to control a massive beast, and she was entering her attackers’ minds. She was growing weaker, and Cutters planned to take full advantage.
“Push through!” he growled. “Fire!” He raised his own weapon. The snake was still blocking the witch from view, so he continued to aim at it. It spit and struck at him, but at an awkward angle for it. and he was able to roll out of the way easily.
He heard a low zzzump from about a foot to his right, and sand jumped up right in front of the witch. There was a moment of silence and then a resounding BOOM shook the ground. Instantly, the screaming stopped in his head. The snake hissed madly and struck at the ground where the explosion came from.
Cutters didn’t hesitate. “Again! Fleet, get yours off! Everyone else, aim for the head!”
Another zzzump and BOOM interrupted the turrets of bullets aiming for the massive creature. The snake spat and hissed and struck blindly in random directions until it collapsed. Training kicking in, the men closed in from all directions, their steady bullet streams aimed at the snake, being careful not to include a comrade in the crossfire. The snake lay still, and not until it jerked violently in the telltale sign of death did they cease their fire. When the snake began to shrivel and warp into its reincarnation stage, Cutters gave the orders to close in, but cautiously.
As the snake disappeared, Cutters could see the sprawled form of the dark-haired witch on the ground. She was clutching her side and snarling at the men as they approached. Her hatred warped her good looks into something almost alien, and she spat something in a language Cutters did not understand.
Cutters raised his gun and shot the witch in the face.
Cutters and his men secured the witch easily enough. The ETBs had a feature that released knockout gas that would keep a person unconscious for hours.
Agent Fettin woke up on the ride back and radioed in for backup. She did not seem to know what had happened. She described her experience as being lost in a black tunnel that seemed to be sucking her toward something she couldn’t see. She had fought it as hard as she could, but she couldn’t see anything and was barely in control of her own limbs.
They were sitting at a table in the mess hall, recalling the turn of events. “And then, suddenly, all the lights went out. Next thing I know,” she said, “I’m in the Hummer and we’re heading back to camp. And,” she pointed out the mess hall’s now reopened entrance, “it’s a perfectly bright, sunny day.”
She licked her lips and winced, feeling the side of her head. “What happened?” she asked.
Cutters explained, glancing over the part where he shot her, making it seem like they broke the connection between her and the witch by shooting directly at the witch. Even though he had good intentions for shooting the agent, he didn’t want to risk spending years in a Prison World for attacking a government agent with a “deadly” weapon. She listened and watched him closely. Cutters was not fooled by her wounded, wide-eyed expression. He knew the FBAI agent in her was wide awake and paying close attention.
When he had a moment to think, he wondered about the witch. They had a raw deal with the government, sure, but in spite of what she had been doing, she hadn’t seemed especially angry. There was a moment when he first saw the land snake that he wondered if one of the drills had injured her pet, but she hadn’t been reacting like someone seeking revenge. She had been acting like she had a job to do…
And that thought chilled Cutters to the bone. Was she a lone witch? Or was she one of hundreds who was collecting people for someone—or something?
Within a few hours, the camp was swarming with agents and search-and-rescue teams sanctioned by the Inter-Dimensional Corporative Investigation Initiative. Cutters didn’t think the disappearances at the camp were related to the ongoing investigation, but he welcomed the help in finding his missing men.
This, for the most part, had all been expected. Because a federal agent had been attacked on his site, of course it would end up swarming with an army of them. Sure, it was a bit of a hassle, but Cutters had more important things to deal with. He needed to get healers on site stat to deal with the unconscious FBAI agents and the other missing men as soon as they were tracked down. On the phone, he explained succinctly what he would do to Windover if the man didn’t send his very best.
Luckily, this didn’t prove too difficult. A few hours later, Windover Incorporated’s leading healing team had appeared on-site. The commanding agent requested to keep the men in the camp’s medical trailer while they were set to rights. Cutters agreed, thinking the men would be up and at it in a day, maybe two, judging by the injuries to the severed man in particular.
But four days later, the agents still hadn’t woken up.
He stood in the trailer, along with a field healer from the FBAI and the team of Windover’s Healers and assistants, all of them staring at the unconscious men in astonishment. The sight sent a chill down Cutters’ spine.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” the healer said, shaking his head.
The especially odd thing was the fact that gaining consciousness should have been the easy part. That level of healing was often done without any aid at all. It was the downside of the healing process in AfterLife; the consciousness always came first. Then, someone would often be in pain for hours before they got to a hospital or local healer. Yet, days later, here Cutter was staring into the vacant eyes of Agent Fettin’s men.
If Cutters didn’t know any better, he might have thought they were… dead.
“Mr. Cutters,” a voice said from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled his eyes away from the severed head and turned to see a fit man in all-black tactical gear holding out a piece of paper. Frowning and eyeing the man, Cutters took the paper and skimmed it. It was search-and-retrieve orders.
“Wait… what the hell is this?” Cutters asked as a swarm of similarly dressed men moved into the medical trailer and started collecting the bodies of the two men. Men with boxes started pulling charts and documents that the healers and assistants had created, trying to figure out what was wrong with the men.
Within the hour, the men had effectively shut down the site. Cutters had to admit it was impressive how efficiently they worked. But he didn’t get to see the end of it, as he and the five men on his team were escorted away to be interrogated for hours.
Tom Cutters gathered three facts during the long interrogation: One, these men were not FBAI. Two, they were scared shitless of something. And three, Cutters’ men were fucked.
Three days later, Cutter sat in the dining room of his city apartment, looking at the map of the site sprawled across the table. The skin prickled on his neck, and he stiffened slightly. Someone else was in the apartment, but he couldn’t be sure where. Pretending to casually lean back in his chair, he moved his hand to the pistol resting on the chair next to him.
“There is no need for that,” a familiar voice said. He stopped his movement, expecting the intruder to be holding a weapon pointed at him.
“What do you want?” Cutters growled, not turning around. He was angry with himself and frustrated. Why had he had his back to the door? He never did that.
“To give you an invitation,” the voice sang sweetly. Where had he heard that voice before? Cutters turned slowly. The voice did not ask him to stop, so he turned to face the intrude
r and his mouth fell open.
Of all the people he might have expected, Agent Fettin was not one of them. She looked different. She had been good-looking when he first met her, but now… perhaps it was the floor-length black gown she wore, or the jewels sparkling on her throat, or the way she had done her hair and makeup. She looked like a different person. Even the way she held herself was… different. It was unnerving, and Cutters did not like one bit of it. He had respected her authority and trusted she had skills as an agent when he met her, but now alarm bells were blaring inside his head.
The way she looked at him, the tilt of her head, and the angle of her body suggested she was a predator and he was her prey. She smiled sweetly, like a cat smiling at a mouse. Cutters did not return it.
When he said nothing, she continued, “The Community welcomes you to the family.”
Once again, this surprised the shit out of Cutters. She noticed the expression on his face, and her smile widened.
“Not what you were expecting?”
“So you’re not an FBAI agent? The whole thing was a setup from the beginning? Did you guys sabotage my gig too?” Anger was rising in him like a storm.
She did not answer his question but said, “The Community looks forward to working with you, Mr. Cutters. Here are your credentials and your compensation for your troubles.”
She stepped forward and handed him a thick velvet envelope with a deep, maroon wax seal. Cutters took the envelope, not taking his eyes off the woman, and broke the seal.
He opened it and stared unblinking at the heavy cardstock.
Welcome to The Community, Thomas Alan Cutters.
Level 9- Expert
Creatures Specialist (Documented experience hunting catagroy-4 + creatures)
Level 10- Legend
Witch Hunter (Documented experience hunting a level 9 witch)
Behind that was a check for double what he would have been paid at the completion of Windover’s rig job. He stared openmouthed at it.
“What—” He stopped speaking and looked wildly around. Agent Fettin, or whatever her real name was, had disappeared. He grabbed his gun, ran through the apartment door, and looked down the hall. He came back in, locked the door, and searched his apartment, but he needn’t have bothered. She was long gone.
After the search, he sat back down at the table and picked up the card. In that same instant, his phone started ringing from an unknown number. He knew with absolute certainty that this would be his first real job for The Community.
As he answered, he thought, My god. What the fuck have I done?
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Angelina Allsop is an Amazon Best-Selling Author. She lives with her husband, Bryce, and their very old and very fat bulldog, Roree, in San Tan Valley, Arizona, where she enjoys being outside on rainy days, reading, and of course, writing about all the adventures that happen in her head.
The Dead Orphanage is her first book. She has never been to AfterLife but supposes she will visit one day and see the friends and family who visited before her.
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