by D. S Mac
It lunged for him amidst an awful scream. He sidestepped the creature’s charge and latched onto an arm. Brendan aimed to use the momentum to bring the creature down, but he hadn’t seen the extra arm sporting more shimmering black talons extending from its coccyx. The talons buried themselves deep into his thigh, instantaneously white-hot heat cascaded up his leg, and he cried out. With his leg limp and the creature’s claws stuck deep inside, his body threatened to pass out. His eyes rolled back; nausea rolled through him like a wave. Promptly the claws were yanked back out, sending the searing pain in a torrent back up his leg; a mist of blood-red droplets emerged from the wound. There was nothing Brendan could do to stop himself from falling to the ground. With a thud, he cracked the back of his head on the tarmac; stars swam throughout his vision. Amongst the flickering stars, he was partially aware of the beast shuffling closer. The scuffing of its bare feet along the gravelly surface was like a heavy bag being dragged by someone with the inadequate strength to do so.
All movement stopped, it felt to Brendan like several minutes had passed, but the anticipation had slowed his senses’ connection down. With a shrill scream, the creature’s face burst into view. Mouth wide open, split from cheek to cheek, allowing it to open as wide as Brendan’s head. The vile-smelling drool sprayed over Brendan’s face as the creature went for the kill. With his left arm, he managed to knock the creature’s head sideways. Its face scraped along the tarmac, shredding its tight translucent skin to pieces. Brendan growled deep from his gut as he mustered every bit of strength he had left. He used his rage, his loneliness, everything he had to force the creature over. It lashed out frantically with its talons, teeth clacking, and its drool pooled over its tongue from being so close to a meal.
Even with his leg limp, unimaginable pain coursing through it, Brendan had overwhelmed the creature. Straddled atop the beast’s breast, he raised his fists and smashed one into its head. A smirk spread across his face as he let loose another flurry of fists, left… right… left… right… crack, the skull caved in above its left cheek, left… right… left… right, crack! The cheekbone followed every crazed punch after it smashed into the pulp of its mangled face and brain, each attack resounding with a wet pop as the innards all blended into mush.
On his knees, dripping with blood, pieces of the creature clinging on to his clothing, Brendan looked to the sky and roared as his smirk turned into a burst of evil laughter. This man had lost all of his humanity.
Chapter 21 - Butcher
“Fucking idiots! All of you.” Brendan’s hands rolled into fists, and he smashed them down onto his desk, making Henry jump. “Simple fucking tasks! Kill Drake; bring me the prick’s wife from the hospital! Why is it proving so difficult?”
Henry stepped forward, his head bowed. “Sir, my apologies. We had them in an ambush, but Drake figured it out. He took out everyone. Then took out the team at the hospital.”
“But not you! You fucking worm.” He snatched up his walking stick and launched it viciously at his head, Henry threw an arm out to block it, and it clattered to the floor.
“Sir—” He was cut off by Brendan’s sneer.
“I do not want to hear your pathetic excuses. This is not a hard task.” The old man grunted as he stood up. He reached down, slid out a drawer and searched through it. After finding what he was looking for, he covered it down by his side and struggled to Henry. When they were face to face, Brendan revealed a .357 Rhino, pulled back the hammer and held it to Henry’s temple. “Oh, look, one more tiny little fucking movement and your tiny inadequate brain will be painting my fucking walls!”
Henry held firm. He was terrified of Brendan… everyone was! But he would not show it. “Sir… I won’t mess up again. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Yes…yes, you fucking will.” He pulled the trigger, click!
Henry jumped out of his skin, and Brendan broke out into mad laughter. His throat seized up, causing him to erupt in a bout of dry coughing. As he reached for his handkerchief, he made his way back to his chair. “Tell me you can at least do one thing right, and that tardy little cunt is where I asked you to put her.”
“Yes, sir, she is down there now. Her family has been informed that she is away on business. We will create an accident in a day or two.”
“Marvellous! I’m hungry. You can drive me to the wharf now; then you can do your fucking job.”
“Sir.” Henry nodded and proceeded out the door. “I’ll prepare the car.”
The office phone burst into a shrill ring, startling Brendan. “Fuck’s sake!” He snatched up the phone. “What?”
“Sir, I’m calling to update you with the progress—”
“Yes, yes, get on with it.”
“Readings have made a significant improvement. We’ll be ready soon.”
“Good, get it done, Dr Ashbury.” Brendan smashed the phone back onto its holder and stood up. Slowly he made his way out of the office, each step getting more challenging as his body denied him life. Halfway down the corridor, tiredness overwhelmed him. With a grunt, he made it to the side bannister and leant on it for relief. A young analyst came from an office opposite. He hadn’t noticed Brendan while he had his head buried in the screen of a tablet.
“You, boy!”
The boy shrieked, panicked and dropped the tablet face down. The sound of the screen’s glass cracking tore through his pay cheque.
“S…Sir, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“Hmm, clearly. Go fetch my stick.” Brendan pointed at the broken tablet. “Oh, and you’ll be paying for that.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy ran off and returned a minute later with Brendan’s walking stick.
As he went to pass it over, Brendan snatched up his wrist, squeezing so tight his fingers and the boy’s arm went white. “Break another thing, you clumsy twat,” he hissed, “and I’ll fucking fire you!”
Brendan left the boy to pick up the pieces and strolled into the elevator. He smashed ‘G’ with his index finger and waited for the awful lift music.
It was the first ride to the bottom he had ever endured where not a single person interrupted the elevator. He hated human interaction, for one, but he hated being interrupted or disturbed even more. He reached the lobby, the doors slid open with a metal grinding racket, and he stepped out. The rubbery tap from his stick, along with the pitter of his feet, echoed throughout the hollow marble-laden lobby. For such a vast space, it was wasted on the single mahogany desk that sat against the back wall.
Both receptionists dipped their head in acknowledgement of Brendan but dared not look at him for too long. They might not see him every day, but they were fully aware of the type of man he was. After the automatic doors burst open, Brendan stepped outside. The evening was cool, and there was a slight musk to the air. Sunlight tried to push its way through the cloud coverage, producing a dark orange hue to the sky. Henry had been waiting by the car until he saw Brendan approaching. Without fail, he pulled the door open and awaited Brendan’s entry.
The journey was filled with an awkward silence. Brendan closed his eyes and relaxed while Henry fidgeted from the anxiety of driving the lunatic. He knew that being alone with him for this long, there would have to be some form of communication, and there was nothing worse than saying the wrong thing to Brendan.
Lights flashed up on the satnav’s screen, and the automated voice broke the eerie silence. “Call for Dr Brendan Forrest.”
“You want to take it, sir?
“Are you stupid, lad, wet between the ears or something? Of course I want to take the fucking call.”
“Very well…” He tapped the hands-free speak button on his steering wheel. “Answer call.”
“Forrest, it’s Chief Baldwin. We need to talk.”
“It’s doctor to you, Baldwin! But go ahead, I’m listening.”
“What the fuck happened at the hospital? My best detective has fucked off and knows something isn’t right.”
“Pipe down your fucking ar
rogance there, Baldwin! You were meant to keep the police away anyway.”
“I couldn’t completely ignore a huge shoot-out at a hospital, could I? How suspicious would that look?”
“Baldwin, I do not give a fuck how you’d look. I own you. I own the PD. You all do whatever the fuck I say!” Brendan’s face grew red, and he ground his teeth with anger. “Clean it up quietly and shut the fuck up, or you’ll be kissing your career goodbye.” Brendan leaned forward and gave two slaps on the back of Henry’s seat to tell him to hang up. A tap of Henry’s finger and the chief was cut off; silence returned to the car.
“Henry.” Brendan’s malevolent eyes locked onto Henry’s through the rear-view mirror.
“Yes, sir.” Henry fought his inner fear to stay calm.
“Drop me off; then send a guy over to Baldwin’s home. He can’t be trusted… Kill him… and his family.”
“Yes, sir.” Henry almost missed a right turn, from paying more attention to Brendan than the road. He dropped down a gear and flung the car into a sharp right at forty. A glance in the rear-view, and he noticed that Brendan hadn’t seen the error. After a few hundred yards, he pulled over, switched off the ignition and climbed out to grab Brendan’s door.
“Thank you, Henry, always a pleasure.” After a hard pat to Henry’s back, with his Cheshire cat-like grin, Brendan took the short walk to his finest restaurant. He could taste the saltiness from outside his mouth, overcome with anticipation, and saliva quickly pooled around his tongue.
Truthfully, this was not a restaurant. It was a run-down old warehouse that had once been used for training dogs. Brendan had bought the unit for a steal. Not long after he had first returned from ‘the end’, the entire estate had been practically abandoned apart from a few loitering drug abusers and homeless folk. The main front doors had been welded shut, so Brendan proceeded to the side door. He rapped three hard knocks and waited. He could hear scurrying from inside, followed by a metal chunk of a bolt sliding back, and the door pulled open.
“Butcher, how good to see you. Is she ready?”
Butcher grunted from behind his mask. He was a huge man well over six feet and built like a tank. His skin was ashen, almost translucent. With the addition of his bloodshot eyes, he was a beast no one would want to face.
“Fantastic, I’m famished.” Brendan licked his lips and slipped past Butcher, careful not to brush up against his bloodstained apron.
Butcher slid the bolt back across the door and pointed across the warehouse.
“The end one?”
Another grunt from Butcher.
“Wonderful, thank you. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
Brendan headed over to where Butcher had pointed. The warehouse was a massive open space. From left to right, going back for three rows, were dog cages. To the right of those cages was a small room fabricated from plaster and wood that was Butcher’s home. A few feet away from the last cage on the left, Brendan could hear whimpering. The sound of a terrified meal excited him, his mouth watering at the thought. He reached the cage, kicked the metal door, a tinny clang echoed through the vast open space, and the person inside cowered to the back.
“Bet you wish you’d arrived to work on time now, don’t you, little piggy.” He lashed out at the cage again. Muffled screams from the girl inside came in frantic bursts. “Butcher! I’m starving. What do you say we feast?” His lips turned up into an evil snarl while his mouth salivated with the promise of fresh meat. Pounding footsteps from Butcher’s heavy footfalls banged through the warehouse, thud, thud, thud. Butcher unlocked the cage, scrambled for the girl’s leg and heaved her out like she was a sack of potatoes.
She was a tiny little thing, with brunette hair and a slender body. She was gagged and stark naked. Goosebumps riddled her flesh. “Butcher… tut-tut, did you play with my food?” The only contrast against her pale white skin was the blood that had streaked down the inside of her thighs. After seeing this, Brendan noticed thick bruising on her thighs, upper arms and neck. Butcher took a step back. Even the big guy was terrified of Brendan’s wrath. “Don’t worry, my dear friend, I understand why… she’s a fine specimen,” Brendan said as he licked his lips. “Bring her to me.”
The girl’s muffled screams intensified as Butcher dragged her across the floor, the concrete carving her bare skin. Butcher latched his massive gloved hands around her tiny shoulders and hoisted her up. After placing her in front of Brendan, he took a step back and grunted.
“Thank you, Butcher… You… are… a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Brendan caressed her cheek in the motion of a crescent moon. “Shame no one apart from Butcher will ever enjoy you again.” A warm stream of piss trickled down her blood-soaked legs. Brendan cackled, then lunged his teeth at her cheek. He bit into the soft flesh, twisted, pulled and tore the flesh away with a wet squelch. Her gag had come loose, and her agonised screams filled the warehouse. Blood bubbled from the face wound and cascaded down her breasts like a waterfall. Her cries soon stopped as she passed out and collapsed at Brendan’s feet. He finished chewing, swallowed the salty, coppery raw meat, kicked her head off his shoe and turned to Butcher with blood running down his face. “Which bit do you want?”
Butcher pulled down his mask, revealing a gaping mouth with jagged yellow teeth. He grunted, clacked them together, knelt and sank his teeth into her upper thigh as he ravenously tore into her muscle. The squelching and tearing of raw human meat set Brendan’s heart racing.
Chapter 22 - Years
The cold moved in only to meet the fiery warmth of Drake’s blood, humans’ only natural defence against such ice. He felt it wash over his skin again and again, only to be met by the beat of his heart. He tossed and turned amidst his disturbed sleep. His natural defences knew that so long as he kept moving, he’d win. The ones who stop are the ones who freeze.
A fox screamed outside, breaking Drake from his fragmented sleep. He woke with a start and sat bolt upright, cold sweat gleamed on his forehead, and the blanket kindly provided by Peter was strewn in a heap on the floor. Sunlight peeped over the horizon as the sun was waking. Moisture on the windows glistened in the low orange light.
He was on the edge of the sofa, wondering how his life had ended up like this. He had once been a young, carefree army boy. Some of the stuff he’d seen threatened to destroy his mind, which was why he left. After taking several routine jobs, he was offered a job at Forrest Futures, the world’s biggest tech company. How could he refuse? At the time, it seemed like an incredible opportunity, that was until he was used as cannon fodder on some crazy old experiment, got thrown through time and became a lost soul for many years. Brendan would pay; he would stop him, he would!
Across the room on the other sofa, Fergus started to sputter and cough. Drake ran over to him and knelt by his side.
“Ferg, bud, you with me?”
“W—” cough “—wart—” cough.
“Water! I’ll grab some. Hold on.” Drake bolted for the kitchen and ran a fresh stream of cold water into a glass. As he dashed back, he almost collided with Hannah. “Shit! Sorry, Hannah.”
If she replied, Drake never heard it. His focus was on getting to Fergus. When he returned with the water, Fergus smacked his lips, trying to create any moisture in his mouth.
“Here you go, bud. Sip slowly.” He placed the glass to Fergus’s mouth and guided the cool liquid into his mouth. After a minute or two of pivoting the glass back and forth, Fergus nodded to signify he was done.
“Thank…you.” Each word rolled from his mouth slowly in a throaty rasp.
“Take it easy, mate. You’re recovering.” At Drake’s words, Fergus’s hands went straight to his wound. After feeling the bandage, they dropped to his sides.
Hannah brushed past Drake; her right hand slowly caressed across his back. The human interaction sent a tingle down his spine, every inch of his skin throbbing at the burning desire to hold her. As she knelt beside him, his face flushed from the thoughts. He tilted his hea
d away so that she wouldn’t notice, and she asked, “So how’s he doing?”
“Alive… weak, but he’ll be alright thanks to Amy.”
“I feel like some lunatic’s poking me with a soldering iron.” After a few coughing sputters, Fergus continued, “Who’s… this… bonnie lass?”
Hannah’s smile radiated across her face. The red glow from her cheeks exaggerated her hazel eyes. Fergus grimaced in pain as he shuffled on the sofa.
“This, Ferg, is Hannah. She’s a DI we met when I went to save Amy.”
“Who’s Amy? Fuck. How long have I been out?”
Hannah nudged Drake, their eyes lingering for that fraction of a second too long. Both flushed with awkward tension. “I’ll, erm… I’ll leave you to catch him up.”
“Geez, get a room.” Fergus had noticed the cumbersome exchange. Through gritted teeth, he hitched himself up closer to a seated position. “Your awkward longing is going to burst my stitches.”
Everybody laughed, Drake and Hannah had turned a tomato sheen, and Hannah couldn’t have gotten out of the room faster.
“See, you haven’t lost your humour!” Drake playfully punched him on the arm.
“Hah! It’ll take more than a bullet to do that. Right, so come on, fill me in.”
“At St James’s, Peter drove in and saved us. He bloody rammed down several of the assholes.”
“Aye, our knight in shining armour,” Fergus mocked, gushing like a damsel in distress from medieval stories.