Deadliest of the Species

by Michael Oliveri

  “Well?” Lucas prodded.

  “I killed my wife. When the witches came to search my house, I bolted before they could find the body.”

  Lucas turned his head and fixed Archer with a steady stare. He could not help but notice Archer’s finger tightening on the shotgun trigger. There was no real danger, as Lucas never kept a round in the chamber and Archer did not pump the slide yet. But could Archer be upset enough to kill him? Lucas turned back to his driving and shrugged. “She was a bitch.” He felt eligible to say so. He had a few unpleasant encounters with her back at the diner.

  Archer laughed long and loud.

  “Besides,” Lucas continued, “there’s not a round in the chamber.” Archer’s laughter stopped suddenly, and Lucas grinned. “Don’t worry. We’re on the same side.”

  Archer chuckled, though it came out soft and uncomfortable compared to his previous outburst. “You’re alright, kid.”

  They sat quietly for several minutes. Lucas made a right turn at one comer, and Archer leaned low in his seat until they passed three women standing on the sidewalk. He pumped a round into the shotgun’s chamber.

  “They’re gone,” Lucas advised him.

  “So now what?”

  “Now we find Bart and Tim and rethink things.”

  “What for?”

  “I take it you haven’t heard about what’s going on around here?”

  “I guess not,” Archer said.

  “They’ve been chased out of the caves,” Lucas told him. He briefly sketched out the events the women related to him. “They’re either still in the forest or by some miracle they’ve managed to hide out in town.”

  “Shit,” Archer spat. “What if they’ve already been caught?”

  Lucas sighed. “Then I guess we’ve really got problems, don’t we?”

  * * *

  Bart and Tim sat in the middle of the cornfield, catching their breath and watching darkness fall.

  “This brings back memories,” Tim said as he threw a small clump of dirt off to one side. They barely avoided the groups of witches searching the forest, and when they checked out the town from their hiding place in the trees they saw the rest of the women combing the town with flashlights and more of those floating globes of light.

  Bart wondered what Tim referred to but did not feel compelled to ask. “Are we doing the right thing?” he inquired instead.

  Tim looked over at him. He wondered the same thing several times after leaving the caves. “I don’t think they’ve given us much choice,” he replied.

  Bart nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I’ve been thinking about our next move…”

  “And?”

  “Well, I think our only option is to go after Alexandra.”

  Bart showed no visible reaction, though his heart skipped a beat at the thought. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. Do you know how to get to her house from here?”

  “Yeah, I can get us there.” He paused a beat. “If she’s still home.”

  “I don’t see any reason why not. I’m hoping if we can take her out somehow, the rest of them will fall apart.”

  “They’re not insects, Tim. It’s not like if you kill the queen you destroy the nest. They’re human, even if they are witches. There’s got to be another one ambitious enough to take her place.”

  “Well what else do you expect us to do?” Tim asked, his voice raised in irritation. “Surrender? We might as well shoot ourselves in the head now and make things easy for them! We’re on our own! There’s no way we can get the other men together without getting caught. And even if we did make it through town, how do we know they’ll still cooperate? Or if they’ll even be able to leave their homes without drawing attention to us?”

  “Okay, and what about Sebastian?”

  Tim held up the gun. “We shot him once, and he bled. We can do it again.”

  Bart shook his head.

  “What? You don’t think so? Listen, we’ve got nowhere to go! We can’t lay out in this cornfield and wait for things to die down. They’ll find us eventually! And even if we wanted to escape through the caves, they’ve probably got a watch on them!”

  Bart sighed. “I get the picture.”

  “I don’t think you do! These are your friends God damn it! You can’t tell me you’re just going to sit here and—”

  “I said I get the picture!” Bart hissed. “Now keep your fucking voice down!”

  Tim shut up, but nodded with satisfaction. “Good man. Now, I know our odds aren’t that wonderful, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “How many bullets do we have left in that thing?”

  Tim ejected the magazine and checked it out. “Six, including the one in the chamber. If you didn’t have that spare magazine we’d be screwed. You want it back?”

  Bart shook his head. “No. You keep it. You seem able to do more good with it than I would.”

  “Believe me, if we had more firepower, I would be a lot happier. You ready to go?”

  “Why don’t you head back to the trees? I’ll just be a second.”

  Tim watched him for a few seconds, then got up and started walking. A few paces out he looked back. Bart shifted to a kneeling position and clasped his hands in prayer. Tim watched him for a moment, and considered joining him. Bart whispered his amen, crossed himself, and got to his feet. When he saw Tim staring at him he looked a little embarrassed.

  “Ready?” Tim asked, figuring it was best to let it go. He doubted it worked, but if it made Bart feel better, then so be it.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Let’s get a move on.”

  “It’s not terribly far,” Bart said as they re-entered the forest. “Maybe about a quarter mile around this edge of town.”

  Tim grunted in acknowledgment. He made sure the safety was off on the pistol in the event of any unforeseen encounters along the way. As they moved, he considered his vehemence in making the attempt to go after Alexandra. He knew it compared to a death sentence and, strangely enough, he accepted it. For perhaps the thousandth time he reminded himself he really had no other option.

  He knew he should have escaped through the caves. Sure, it would have been tough out there (and how does a person with no ID go about getting new ID in today’s bureaucratic system, anyway?). As far as the outside world was concerned, he was already dead.

  No different than he really would be in Rapture in a few short hours.

  But if he ran, could he have lived with himself? How would he feel knowing he left hundreds of men, men that once had lives and families, here to die? No, better to die fighting for what he felt was right than live with a bad decision for the rest of his life. If he failed, so be it. But if he succeeded…

  Tim thought again about Bart praying in the cornfield. His practical side told him the call for help, guidance, safety, whatever, would go unheeded. If God existed at all, there was no way He heard one man’s prayers in the middle of this den of pagan practices. Mother Earth, Gaia, or whatever supernatural power these women aligned themselves with obviously had the monopoly on prayer within the confines of the valley.

  Tim’s spiritual side plead its side of the argument. His Catholic upbringing, while far enough in his past that he hardly remembered any of it, still left a distinct impression upon his moral structure. If there was a God, He was omniscient and omnipresent. He would hear Bart’s prayer no matter the circumstances.

  As to the actual chances of the prayer being answered, however, both sides of his psyche agreed they were infinitesimal to one. Why would He come to answer this solitary prayer when hundreds upon thousands of prayers went unanswered every day? War, hunger, fear, hatred, and worse ran rampant across the Earth in a constant, seething cycle. Did man outgrow the capacity for God to help him? Perhaps God, even if omniscient and omnipresent, was not omnipotent after all?

  Or is it more likely He forsook His flock altogether?

  Tim stepped through a large patch of overgrown wee
ds and found himself in a rather large clearing. The trees parted, creating a U-shaped alcove off the street. He was about to turn back when a bright light lanced his eyes from the opposite tree line.

  “It’s them!” a woman shouted as he tried to shield his eyes. Bart shouted something behind him, and he barely made out several Figures moving beyond the light. He fired blindly, twice, once toward the left and once toward the right. A cry of warning followed by a scream of pain came from their general direction. He took a step back into the weeds, hoping Bart at least ran for it, and pointed his weapon into the light.

  Before he could pull the trigger the gun flew from his hand. A sharp blow hit him in the stomach, doubling him over and knocking the wind out of him. Another struck him across the side of his head. He went down, stars swimming in his eyes as he struggled to take in a breath. He tried to puzzle out what happened when a woman knelt beside him and grabbed a handful of his hair. She forcefully yanked his head back and he felt a gun barrel press into the underside of his jaw. The sharp scent of cordite stung his nostrils.

  “We should just blow your brains out right now,” the woman said, her voice heavy with so much anger and hatred that he was surprised she had not already pulled the trigger. He opened his eyes a slit. The light globe that formerly blinded him dimmed and hovered off to his right. He barely made out the face before him, and its mirror image stood among the other three women surrounding him.

  “You might as well,” Tim said. “Save Alexandra the trouble.” He did not necessarily want to provoke her, but he hoped he could buy Bart more time to get away.

  “Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easily! I think Alexandra and Sebastian have big plans for you, boy. Big plans.” She let go of his hair, though she still pressed the gun into his jaw. She stroked his cheek softly with her opposite hand and flashed him a big smile. “But who knows? Maybe she’ll let me have some fun with you first. Just like that first night you came into town.”

  “Fuck you,” he spat.

  Her grin twisted into a snarl and she seized his hair again. She pulled his head back more roughly than before. He cried in pain and felt the gun barrel dig deeper into his jaw.

  BANG!

  He blinked in surprise, wondering how he still lived. The gun fell away from his jaw.

  The women standing over him scattered as more gunshots rang out. He pressed himself flat against the ground and prayed he would not catch a stray round as he tried in vain to disappear into the grass. The chaos of screams and gunshots raged on above him. The light globe disintegrated with a soft pop. Bullets whipped and whined overhead, the darkness now only broken by the flash of gunfire.

  Suddenly everything went silent. He waited a few seconds longer, then lifted his head. The twin that threatened him lay slumped at his side. A small, ragged hole, dark against her pale skin and fair hair, punched through her right temple. The other women lay scattered around the clearing, most face down with bullets in their backs.

  “You alright?” a voice called behind him. He sat up and turned to the man’s voice, which sounded vaguely familiar.

  He held up a hand to block the flashlight aimed into his face. “I’m fine. Who’s there?”

  “It’s Luc and Archer,” one of them replied, taking his arm and helping him to his feet. It was Archer, and Lucas bent over to retrieve Tim’s gun from the twin’s grip. Once he wrestled it free he handed it over.

  “I thought I was a dead man,” Tim whispered, lowering the hammer on the pistol.

  “We did, too.” Archer said. “We were up the street when we saw them jump you. We came in on foot so they wouldn’t spot the car. Looks like we got here just in time.” He beamed, his teeth flashing in the wash of the flashlight. He held his shotgun proudly across his chest.

  “Where did all that blood come from?” Lucas asked.

  “Some of the women chased us into the caves. We fought back.”

  The trees rustled behind them, and Archer and Luc spun and brought their weapons to bear.

  “Wait!” Tim cried. “It’s Bart!”

  Bart stepped out of the trees into the flashlight beam. “Don’t shoot!”

  “Christ, man! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” Archer told him as he raised his weapon toward the sky.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lucas said. “The shots will bring the rest of ’em any second now.”

  Without another word the four men jogged back up the street and jumped into Lucas’s squad car. Tim sat in the back seat with Bart and looked at the wire mesh bolted between the roof and the front seat. He never felt comfortable sitting in a police cruiser, and now the feeling quadrupled as he realized if something happened he would be stuck in the back seat until someone opened the door for him. If they got stopped or ambushed, and Lucas or Archer were either killed or ran for it, Tim and Bart would be stranded.

  He looked over at Bart, who, judging by his expression, reached the same conclusion.

  “What now?” Lucas asked. He started to turn down one street when suddenly he spotted a group of flashlights and lanterns coming their way. Wisely, he cruised up to the next block.

  “Alexandra’s,” Tim said abruptly.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Archer boomed. He turned to look at Tim over the back of the seat.

  “That’s where Bart and I were headed anyway.”

  “Do it,” Bart added, leaning forward to speak to Lucas through the mesh cage.

  “I don’t believe it! You two nearly bought the farm back there, and now you want to finish the transaction!” He turned forward and threw up his arms in disgust and frustration.

  “You’ve come this far,” Lucas said sternly. “You might as well finish the job.”

  Archer leaned away from the sheriff. His eyes widened at first, then narrowed. “Yeah,” he said evenly. “I suppose so.”

  Tim could not help but feel he missed something in the exchange and looked over at Bart. Bart shrugged and shook his head. No matter, Tim decided. As long as Archer cooperated. They would need all the help they could get.

  And then some.

  * * *

  Back at the alcove, two men, both of whose wives joined the search parties, emerged from their homes to survey the scene. They talked quietly, occasionally looking over their shoulders. To their amazement, so far none of the witches responded to the gunfire. Before long they came to a sort of consensus, nodding to one another in the moonlight before returning to their respective homes.

  A short time later, both returned to the street. Only now they brought weapons, one carrying a large hammer from his carpentry kit, the other a cleaver from his wife’s cutlery set. A neighbor spotted them and went out to his lawn shed and retrieved a long-bladed machete that he brought home from an African safari. Since then he only used it for trimming the trees in the back yard, but he kept the blade oiled and sharp.

  Yet another neighbor watched this happening. His wife was one of the few who did not fall in with the witches, and he did not want any part of what he knew was to come. He gathered his wife and their daughter and hustled them down to the cellar. He locked the door behind them and braced it with a broomstick to be sure.

  A short time later, most of the block came out to the street. Three generations of men, from sons to grandfathers, all armed with weapons ranging from small sharp things to heavy blunt objects. Only two of the women still home on the block were witches, though they lacked the powerful magic their sisters would use to defend themselves with. They wisely snuck out their back doors and ran to warn the others.

  As few of the witches truly believed Bart and Tim would move for Alexandra’s home so quickly following their escape from the cave, the majority of them were out searching further into town. By the time they arrived on the scene the small group of men evolved into a rather large mob. They swarmed the cars eagerly, dragging the women from their vehicles and ending their lives in a brutal, yet abrupt, fashion.

  Inevitably, some of the men went down, though what they lac
ked in magical capability they more than made up for in numbers, strength, and will. The fighting rambled up the street and into surrounding blocks. Husbands and wives, mothers and sons, brothers and sisters all fought one another, mostly ending in the death of one or the other. In some cases, both died on either side and entire families were wiped out.

  The fighting gained momentum as more and more of the witches arrived on the scene, and more and more men gathered the courage to help their friends. Fires were started, cars were overturned, more lives were destroyed. People on both sides attempted to end the fighting peacefully, only to be brought down violently themselves. Still others who wished to stay out of the fighting hid in basements, attics, or got into their cars and tried to get out of town ahead of the tide of bloodshed.

  Before long everybody, whether they entered the fray or shied from it, realized that this time there would only be one victor. The tension that built up over the years finally come to a head and burst, its detritus washing over men and women alike.

  Many battles were fought in Rapture over the years, but this one would end the war.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sebastian heard the gunshots in the distance. There were two, a brief silence, then several more. He picked out two distinct blasts in the volley, each different from the two first shots. Either the men had more weapons than the women thought or they had been foolish to place their faith in a town sheriff.

  Far too late, he decided it would have been wise to have tried to keep Rapture a small nature community, perhaps even a commune. He had been hesitant to allow all the modern amenities into the valley, such as cars and all the electrical and phone lines, but such things made people more likely to come and stay. He sacrificed integrity and tighter control in his impatience to gather his flock.