by C. F. Waller
“Not so tough,” Shelly snarls and kicks at her leg. “And no smarter than your minions.”
Rhea strikes out with her hand and catches Shelly by the foot, pulling it out from under her. She drops to the ground, a flurry of dust all around. Rhea stands, dusting off her clothes, a satisfied look on her face. When Shelly flips over on all fours and tries to scramble away, Rhea reaches down with one hand and pulls her to her feet using her long reddish blonde hair. She holds her up until she’s on the tip toes of her patent leather shoes.
“Put me down,” Shelly shrieks in anger, spitting at her captor.
Rhea brandishes the arrow, which she apparently caught in midair as it came at her. The child’s eyes follow it back and forth in front of her.
“Well, well,” Rhea muses aloud. “Did you really just say ding dong the witch is dead? My German is a little rusty.”
“Release me devil,” Shelly barks defiantly.
“Doubtful,” Rhea suggests, shaking her head sarcastically. “You’ve been a bad girl and now Mommy has to punish you.”
“You’re not my Mother,” she growls and spits.
“How would you know?” Rhea smirks. “Having you in her belly killed the poor woman.”
“Not true,” Shelly snarls, but the bluster grows less powerful as she dangles from her hair.
The black Suburban suddenly backs into the opening, unaware that their leader is hanging by her reddish curls. I imagine they are coming with the box as directed. Shelly struggles and cries aloud. Is she’s actually crying from pain, or if it’s a ploy to look harmless? Either way, it seems to amuse Rhea. She tosses the arrow on the loose gravel, before putting her free hand around Shelly’s throat and pulling her completely off the ground. The cries stop, replaced by an unnerving gurgling sound.
“No dear, you killed her” she tells Shelly as she flails. “And I don’t need you now. Your people will tell me what I want to know.”
There is more gurgling and then a gasp as Rhea loosens her grip to let air in. It’s painful to watch, but I can’t look away.
“The question is whether a child can truly sin,” Rhea announces, leaning down a bit to make eye contact. “Do you think you will be judged for your evil deeds?”
Spit dribbles down Shelly’s chin, but Rhea lets up as she gasps.
“I know what you really are,” she gasps, ending with a sickening cough. “Witch.”
“What pray tell is that?” Rhea sighs, tightening her hand around the tiny neck.
There is a short pause as Shelly tries to reply, but can’t. Pretending to wait for her words, Rhea widens her eyes almost comically.
“Nothing?” she mocks, putting her free hand on Shelly’s waist before spinning in a complete circle as if she was throwing a Frisbee.
Shelly is flung away. The throw is unimaginably hard. The tiny girl flies through the air, becoming a blur, before crashing into the wall at least thirty feet away. The impact is between Rahnee and me, ending with a bone crunching smack. Her tiny body doesn’t bounce off, but rather absorbs the impact and flips down in an awkward position, crushed from the impact.
“Not just immortal,” I gasp after witnessing the uncanny demonstration of strength.
After a brief moment to admire her handiwork, Rhea picks up her walking stick, dropped in the initial assault, and starts toward the SUV. She is bending over to scoop up the arrow with her free hand when the first bullet hits her. Rising with both the arrow and her walking stick, the next three shots all hit her, but unlike the previous time I saw this happen to her underlings, she barely flinches. What is different about her that I am missing?
The driver of the SUV has come around the back and begun to fire on her. He continues to fire, each time the bullets finding their mark, none of them seeming to have any effect. Rhea brings up the arm holding the arrow to shield her face and a bullet hits her forearm, shattering it. The arrow falls to the ground and she lowers the arm, which hangs at an odd angle, her fingers twitching.
“Ouch,” I wince at the sight of it.
The man’s gun locks open, out of rounds. Rhea lifts the walking stick like a spear with her good arm. When she cocks the arm back it clicks as a bronze colored spear tip pops out the front. Looking closer I see an identical spear head has been forced out of the back. With these extensions it must be almost five feet long now. The man has reloaded, but gets only one shot off before she throws the spear with the same uncanny velocity as she threw Shelly. The man is struck in the stomach. The spear goes right through him and sticks at least a foot deep into the tailgate of the SUV, pinning him there.
As I glance away from the man pinned to the vehicle, I see Rhea rubbing her forearm, which is in a swarm of gold and silver gnats. When she stops, the arm seems to be good as new, her hand in a ball making a fist. Picking up the arrow she moves in on the SUV.
She can’t open the tail gate with the man stuck there, but she tries the latch anyway. It clicks as she tugs at it several times. On one of the tugs, the latch is torn free, leaving her staring at it in her hand.
A second man exits the passenger side and comes around the back of the truck. Rhea is too busy with the door to notice him. He presses the barrel of his gun to the side of her head in one fluid motion and pulls the trigger. The bullet passes through, coming out the other side, along with the contents of her skull. In a surreal visual, the blood and brain matter burst into a cloud of gold and silver confetti a split second after the shot. She staggers a few steps, dropping the arrow. Almost immediately, the shimmering cloud flows back to her head, leaving her in a swirling cloud. The man shoots her three more times in her chest at point blank range, the barrel pressed against her sternum. More staggering, but she doesn’t go down.
“What am I seeing?” I groan as a cloud of silver and gold glitter floats around her head. “It’s not possible.”
The idea of human beings that don’t age is a reality I have only recently embraced. This, however, is not that. How this entity, for lack of a better word, managed to take the form of a woman is beyond me. A recollection of talking to Blake about angels and demons releases a flurry of endorphins within me. I worry that a little fire and brimstone won’t be enough to slow her down.
Witnessing her shaking off the head shot leaves the man wearing a similarly shocked expression. He staggers back two steps, his eyes wide. The gun fires twice more before she walks right up to him and grabs the gun from his hand. A fourth shot blows right through her palm as she takes the gun from him, tossing it away.
“Where are they?” she snarls, pushing him back against the red metal wall by his throat.
When he shakes his head, she looks down at the arrow on the ground and then back to him several times. He sees this and mumbles, too quiet for me to make out what he is saying.
“Not interested in a little of your own medicine,” she growls. “Then where are they?”
He tries to speak, but her grip on his throat is too tight and only gasping and choking can be heard. In desperation he points at the SUV over and over. Rhea glances over at it with her hand still pinning the man by the throat to the wall. Her fingers slowly loosen and she steps away letting the man slide down the wall to the ground. His hands come to his neck, taking deep ragged breaths.
The other man impaled by her spear is hardly moving, although it appears that one hand is trying to pull out the spear to no avail. She puts both hands on the part of the shaft sticking out and pulls. The sound of metal ripping fills the air and she stumbles back a few steps when it pulls free. His body slumps to the ground, but Rhea puts a foot on him and wipes off the tip of her spear on his back. When satisfied, she pumps her arm in a quick motion and the spear tips slide back inside the shaft and disappear, leaving her with a walking stick once again.
Balling up her hand, she punches clean through the glass window on the tailgate. Small shards of safety glass explode out, bouncing harmlessly off her face. Gripping the tailgate by the window frame, she has to pull twice before it breaks off with a deep
snapping sound.
With the tailgate lying on the ground, I can see the boxes stacked in the back. As she pulls the top one out it lands on the impaled man’s body, crushing him. The lid is loose and she flips it open easily, although I’m not sure two men could have done it that quickly. It’s empty. Is this the box intended for her? Reaching in again, she pulls a second box out. It slides on top of the first, stacked like building blocks. This time the lid doesn’t open. She pulls on it with no result before turning to the man on the ground still clutching his throat.
“Open it,” she snarls.
“Can’t,” he coughs.
“Why not?” she demands, pointing her walking stick at him, the bronze blade popping out in his face.
“It’s welded,” he gasps. “You’d have to cut it open. You’d need a torch or a plasma cutter.”
“Do you have either of these?”
He shakes his head, putting one hand down on the gravel to push himself up. As he does, Rhea steps back, spinning the spear like a majorette spins a baton. Back on his feet, she puts a hand on his chest, backing him up to the wall. I can’t quite make out what they are saying, but Rhea is doing most of the talking. As I watch this exchange, Rahnee is heading towards me from the other gap. Decker stays in the opening and I catch my first glimpse of Arron, a lit cigarette dangling from his hand.
“Stay behind me,” I order to Bee and Dorian.
Gripping the gun tightly, I pull back the hammer with my thumb until it locks open. It dangles at my side. A slight breeze dries the cold sweat on my forearm.
“Shootout at the OK Corral,” I say to myself, watching Rahnee shuffle across the loose gravel.
She looks cartoonish with the two long handguns. There are impossibly long, giving her the appearance of a dwarf from a distance. My brother once suggested the problem with movies is the bad guys talk too much before they shoot people. This always seems to give the hero a chance to thwart their efforts. I make no such mistake with Rahnee. When she gets within ten yards I raise the gun and fire.
The air explodes with the concussion from the antique handgun. The round strikes her in the chest, knocking her back. Unable to maintain her balance she falls over like a leaf falling off a tree, her large guns throwing up dust as they land in the gravel.
“That was easier than expected,” I say aloud, but then feel a sharp pain in my back.
The end of Bee’s blade comes through the front of my shirt, blood soaking it in an ever expanding circle. It must be shock because I’m watching this happen, but can’t move. Dropping to my knees the blade is pulled violently from my body, leaving behind a searing hot feeling. There isn’t any sound and I fall forward, turning as I do, landing on my back. I can see Dorian and Bee arguing, but the picture grows ever darker. Bee points her sword at me as she quibbles with Dorian, blood dripping off the tip and onto my pants. Is that my blood?
Even in my confused state I am furious. Raising the gun in a shaky hand I try and aim it, but as I do my sight shrinks away. It’s as if a door was closing, my field of vision shrinking to a pinhole. I’m cold, feeling a sensation akin to weightlessness. The world seems to slip away, leaving me behind. The last thing I see is the pinhole of light disappear and then I am completely alone.
“Cold and alone.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Arron Wessker
I arrive at the gap just in time to see Rhea conversing with a man by Shelly’s SUV. Several of her capture boxes lay stacked on the ground behind it. An arm with a balled up hand protrudes from under the stack. The hand twitches slightly, putting a lump in my throat. I start to speak to Rahnee, but she walks away as I get there, moving out into the open.
“What did I miss?” I inquire, poking Decker in the shoulder. “Where is Shelly?”
“To your right,” he replies, pointing a long riffle sporting a huge scope across my body while keeping his eyes on the happenings at the SUV.
Peeking around the container wall, I see Shelly’s broken body lying on the gravel. She can’t possibly be alive as her head is at a ninety degree angle to her shoulders with one arm flush across her back where she lays. A tiny trickle of blood trails from her nose down her chin. My stomach contracts violently and without warning and I vomit into the gravel at my feet. Dropping my cigarette, I wretch three times, hands on my knees in a hunched posture. I barely get my bearings back, when I hear a gunshot. Turning in the direction of the concussion I see Rahnee go down.
“No,” I mouth silently.
Before I have a chance to react, Bee moves in behind Dunn and puts her blade through his back. Blood is visible on his chest, even at this distance, and he drops first to his knees, before flopping over in the gravel. I get only a few steps in Rahnee’s direction, when the gun goes off a second time. The noise echoes around the open space, ringing off the container walls. Bee is thrown off her feet, hit by a shot Dunn fired from the ground. The second shot takes all the adrenaline out of me. I freeze, unable to move any further. With one hand on the warm steel of the container wall, I slow to a stop in horror.
Dorian half catches Bee as she falls. Gathering her up and laying her down carefully. The shot has struck her in the chest. He takes her hand and squeezes. Crimson spreads across her white shirt, at first pink then turning darker. He hovers over her frantically, his face pressed to her ear. I feel tired, teetering there as the horrific events play out, my fingertips cold and numb.
My view of the fray is suddenly obstructed. Moments later I understand why.
“Rahnee,” I gasp as she stands up, blocking my view of Dorian and Bee.
Sprinting across the open space I arrive in time to see Rahnee pull open the top of her blouse, revealing a Kevlar vest. She’s backed up to the wall, and leans there gasping. A flattened out vintage lead round from the .45 stuck the vest over her sternum. Shelly’s lifeless body is only a few yards down the wall, an eerie cartoonish visual.
“Thank God,” I blurt out.
“Thank whoever made this vest,” she coughs, wincing as she does.
A scream draws us back to the SUV and we watch Rhea violently removing her spear from Shelly’s man, and then kicking him ten feet into the side of the Suburban. A window explodes as he impacts the door, showering the ground with more glass. After a moment spent admiring her handy work, she turns in our direction and smiles. Taking a few steps towards us, she surveys the yard, noting the dead as she does.
“Seems like you have turned on each other as expected,” she remarks in a very superior tone. “You remain as always, completely predictable.”
“You get your people?” Rahnee shouts, a hand clutching her chest as she does.
“It seems I need something called a plasma cutter to free them, but yes, they seem to be here,” she explains, picking up the arrow. “Seems like you still have some work to do,” she contends, pointing at Dorian, who is on his knees next to Bee.
The front door of the SUV flies open and the Asian woman, who we saw with Shelly on the two previous occasions, hops out and makes a run for the large gap. Rhea see’s this and turns gracefully, throwing the arrow at her, hitting the Asian woman square in the back from at least twenty yards away. She goes down on her face with a thud. The can on the arrow clicks as she tries to roll over, but the shaft buried in her back keeps her from doing so. Slowly she stops moving and turns a ghastly shade of grey. As she dies, her last breath is revealed as a puff of gravel dust.
Rhea turns back to us again appearing amused. Rahnee bends over and scoops up her guns, blowing the dust off them one at a time before addressing Rhea.
“So I do him?” she asks out of breath, pointing a gun at Dorian. “And we’re good?”
Rhea stares back at her and frowns, twirling her deadly baton. No one speaks and time creeps by, the only sound the whirring caused by the spinning spear.
“So is that champagne toasts to celebrate or free trips to the morgue for everyone?” Rahnee barks, aggressively breaking the silence.
“A
sk him?” she suggests, pointing her spear at me.
Rahnee turns to me, a puzzled look on her face.
“Notoriously untrustworthy,” I remark, eyes on Rhea.
“Notoriously what?” Rahnee mouths quietly to me.
“She’s not letting anyone go,” I explain angrily, watching Rhea nod back at me. “We are outside the circle of twelve.”
“In the back of your minds, you always knew how this would end,” Rhea remarks, her green eyes sparkling in the setting sun. “Try to not look so bemused.”
Rahnee pokes me with her elbow as I stand a half step behind her.
“You bring a gun?”
“Uh huh,” I whisper back.
“The deal was you wouldn’t kill us,” Rahnee shouts in what appears to be a stall tactic.
“Right you are,” Rhea nods and turns in Decker’s direction. “And I won’t.”
“So what now?” Rahnee winces, one arm over her chest.
“Cooper, be a dear and kill her now,” Rhea orders in a sweet tone as she points her stick at Rahnee.
Decker raises the rifle and trains it on Rahnee. She turns and puts one gun on him, but seems to have trouble pulling the trigger.
“Don’t do it,” she implores.
He doesn’t fire right off and the standoff lasts nearly a minute until Rahnee breaks the silence.
“Whatever,” she says lowering her gun. “My last act is not going to be shooting my friend.”
“Shoot her,” Rhea demands as the rifle wavers in his hands. “Be a good boy and do what you’re told.”
Another pause and seemingly unable to do as Rhea wishes, he swings the rifle around and shoots Rhea, knocking her off her feet with the high power round. He looks down the wall at Rahnee who rolls her eyes back at him.
“Took you long enough to decide,” she grunts.
Rhea groans aloud, rolling onto her elbow. Down the way, Decker ratchets the bolt on the rifle and trains it on Rhea.
“No, wait,” Rahnee shouts.
Shaking her head, Rhea rolls onto all fours and pushes herself to a standing position. Some sort of grumbling in a language I don’t speak follows as she dusts herself off. Glancing down at the deep hole in her shoulder, she digs a finger inside. The sight of this gives my stomach a contraction, but I swallow hard to stop it before it becomes something more.