The Dead Pools

by Michael Hesse

  Lost in thought I’d forgotten about Manx, but he hadn’t forgotten about me. With a final savage kick, he sent the door swinging inwards. If I hadn’t stepped back in surprise the swinging door would have caught me in the face.

  I wasn’t the only one surprised. Manx tumbled through the doorway, unbalanced by the door’s sudden release. The gun he’d been holding slipped from his fingers and slid across the floor banging against my feet.

  I couldn’t help it. I cracked up; laughing at the sight of Manx sprawled across the floor with his gun at my feet. It was just too funny, like something out of a buddy-cop movie. That thought only made me laugh harder.

  “Laugh now, but you’re going down, Julie,” he said as he pulled himself up off the floor.

  I shouldn’t have said it. I knew better, but I couldn’t help myself. “Looks like you’re the one who’s down asshole,” I snapped.

  Snark’s never the proper response, but at that moment it felt right. Manx scrambled to his feet, but before he could launch himself towards me, he was tackled from behind. The cavalry had arrived.

  I stepped aside as Manx and Ramirez tumbled through the doorway, laughing as Ramirez got in a couple of good jabs. Within seconds the rest of the unit showed up in my doorway along with several soldiers that lived nearby. Mac waved them away and ordered Ramirez off the agent.

  Manx pulled himself back to his feet for the second time and spit a stream of blood onto the floor. His legs tensed as he prepared to launch himself towards me again, but before he could move Mac’s hand crashed down on his shoulder. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he said, “because I’d be more than happy to do so.”

  “You’re going down, Julie,” Manx cried. “You and the rest of these apes, you’re all going down for this!”

  “What the Hell are you screaming about?”

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t behind his,” Manx insisted. “I know it was you.”

  I caught Mac’s eye and shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Twist! He’s dead. You killed him,” Manx swore. “You and all that bullshit about Guilder and Madra and all that shit, you killed him!”

  “You’re crazy,” I snapped. “I didn’t touch Twist.”

  “Who’s Twist?” Ramirez asked.

  “The tattooist,” I said turning my head so that he could get a good view.

  “Damn,” Ramirez muttered. “That’s wicked!”

  “Yeah,” I reached up and then quickly yanked my hand back. My neck was still raw, though the bleeding had stopped. Twist’s bindings had quickly staunched the blood. “I haven’t gotten a good look at it, but he does . . . did good work,” I corrected.

  “He’s dead?” I asked Manx.

  “Don’t act like you didn’t know,” Manx spat. “You threatened him, told him that he was going to pay—

  “You threatened him Manx. You threatened his entire family. Threatened to send them back to prison if he didn’t perform the Brand; not me!”

  By this time, we’d drawn quite a crowd. Stevens and Nunez stepped back outside my quarters and tried to disperse them, but it was a hopeless task. A fight in the Freak Show was too much of a draw. We couldn’t have gathered a bigger crowd if we’d had a barker outside hustling tickets.

  Nunez read the signs and after a quick conversation with Stevens took off running for the Captain. We had to get this under control quickly before half the camp swarmed our quarters.

  “We’re drawing a lot of eyes, Mac,” Ramirez said.

  “I know that Corporal. I can’t quiet the scene with my hands full. You want to help?”

  Manx started struggling in Mac’s grasp when Ramirez stepped forward. He quieted when he stepped back. “Not such a good idea, I don’t think he likes me,” Ramirez said. “Choke him out, that will do it.”

  Mac leaned over the smaller man. “Is that how you want to play it? I can knock you out till the Captain gets here or you can sit down and keep your mouth shut like an adult and I’ll let you go. How do you want to play?”

  For a brief moment it looked like Manx would see reason. There were three of us in the room and Ramirez had taken him down twice in as many days. You’d think a person would look at those odds and shut up for just a moment, just a few minutes until the Captain got here, but no. Manx was misnamed. They should have called him the Chihuahua or some other annoying little dog like a Shih Tzu or a Pomeranian maybe. Just like those bits of crazy, Manx couldn’t let go.

  When Mac released him, he took it as validation of his position or stature or some other bullshit. You can’t tell with some people. He glanced around, straightened his collar and lunged at me in one smooth motion. I swear he was foaming at the mouth before Mac put him down.

  He didn’t get more than two steps before Mac’s haymaker crashed into the side of his neck, dropping him to the floor like he’d been deboned. Step. Hit. Boom. It was all over that quickly. I looked up from where Manx was snoring at my feet and grinned.

  “You think that was funny, Private?”

  “A little Sergeant,” I laughed, but one good look at Mac bottled that up. “No Sergeant, I was just reminding myself not to piss you off, Sergeant.”

  Mac glanced around and flashed me a quick grin. “See that you don’t,” he said before turning to Ramirez. “Think we should sit him up in a chair or something?”

  Ramirez looked around at the state of my quarters. I’d been too tired when I’d stumbled through my door this morning to care, but sometime while my Brand was being applied, it had been stripped clean. Everything except the bed was missing. I doubted that it was the Captain’s orders; it felt more like something Manx would have ordered out of spite.

  “Leave him on the ground,” Ramirez said. “The bastard doesn’t deserve the bed and there’s nothing else here.”

  “It just looks bad,” Mac mused.

  “I don’t think the Captain gives a shit about this spook,” Ramirez replied. “Keep him there. He’s easier to control on the ground.”

  “Speaking of the Captain,” I interjected. “Did he send Nunez with—

  Mac cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Those were pretty serious charges this piece of crap was flinging, Private. I’d sit down and think about my alibi if I were you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Good. While we wait, why don’t you let Corporal Ramirez take a closer look at that ink you’re sporting? If you’re going to stay in the field, there are a few things we’ve got to know.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and let Ramirez get a good look. No matter what happened with Manx and his charges, the unit would have to satisfy themselves that I was safe to be around sooner or later. It might as well be now.

  Ramirez stepped up close and bent to examine the ink. “Damn, this is intricate work,” he said. “How long did this take?”

  “I don’t know, six or seven hours. I stumbled in about 0400 or so. It’s all hand done, no gun.”

  “The design was his?”

  “No, the contact sheet was spelled to react to my touch, building a unique design. As far as I could tell, Twist was surprised at what came out.”

  “It’s fucking big,” Ramirez said. “You’ll have to wear a scarf or some big ass Seventies collars in the field.”

  I didn’t say anything. Ramirez was right. Even if the tat didn’t radiate magick, it would have to be covered, but that was a bridge we’d cross later. The most important thing was that the ink registered neutral. I wasn’t sure that would be the case, even without the tracers built into the original ink.

  Before Manx started to stir, Mac leaned over and asked the all-important question. “Does it radiate?”

  Ramirez took his time before answering. He lightly traced the Ouroboros where it surrounded the Wiccan pentacle before moving over the figure inside. “This is really delicate work, Thorn. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen knot work like this before and the wolf print and sword almost drink in the light. There
’s a lot of magick bound up in this, much more than any Brand I’ve ever seen before.”

  Mac noticed that Ramirez hadn’t answered his question. So did I, but since Manx was starting to moan and jerk on the floor, he didn’t press it. The Captain and Nunez arrived moments later and ended any possible discussion. Ramirez squeezed my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell if it was in reassurance or sympathy. I’d have to wait to get the unit’s verdict.

  The Captain’s hummer screeched to a halt outside our cul de sac. By the sound of it, they weren’t the only arrivals. Word must have spread about the trouble because the next thing I heard were the bull-like growls of MPs dispersing the crowd. That was really going to tickle the Captain.

  There’s nothing that angers an officer more than trouble with his unit. When the MPs get involved it raises it to a whole ‘nother level. Reports get written and filed which means outside scrutiny. What you could contain at first spreads with each set of eyes that examine the papers. My chances of getting out of this unscathed were rapidly diminishing.

  The Captain was pissed. He didn’t need to slam open the door or start screaming for everyone to know it. The emotion boiled off him like steam. He took one look at Manx lying on the floor and lit into Mac. “Sergeant, you’d better have a damn good explanation for all of this.”

  You always have a love-hate relationship with your Sergeant. You hate them when they’re making your life miserable, but you love them when they back you up. “I arrived at Oh-seven fifteen Sir,” Mac said, “and observed this piece of shit breaking down the Private’s door. After breaking through the door, he attacked the Private and Corporal Ramirez had to subdue him. After I calmed the situation down and released the agent he went after the Private again. That’s when I knocked him out. He was warned, Sir.”

  “That man’s a murderer,” Manx sputtered. “And all of these men are accomplices. I want them all locked up and charged, all of them. You Shadow Company psychos are going down.”

  The Captain glanced around my quarters and shrugged his shoulders. “The only body I see is you on the floor and you’re still breathing.”

  Manx started to get up, but one look from Ramirez kept him plastered to the floor.

  “Ramirez, go get one of the MPs. They should have cleared the square by now.”

  “Are you serious, Sir? You’re going to listen to this piece of crap?”

  “Do it Corporal.”

  Ramirez flung an exaggerated salute and stepped outside. The Captain turned back to Manx and told him to get up. “Get a hold of yourself. Now tell me, who died?”

  Manx stood and brushed dirt off his clothes and glared daggers at Mac. “Twist,” he said. “Julie there killed the Branding Master.”

  When the MP arrived, the Captain ordered him to radio a crew to check Twist’s quarters. “Why don’t you take Agent Manx outside and take his statement, while I follow up in here,” he said.

  The MP hesitated for a moment before gesturing to Manx to follow him. I could hear the screech of his radio as they stepped outside.

  While we waited the Captain looked around my quarters. “Where’s your equipment, Private? Shouldn’t you have an altar in here or at least a damn chair?”

  “Yes, Sir. They were missing when I returned.”

  “Did you order that Mac? I didn’t.”

  “No Sir, this is the first I knew about it.”

  “Go find me a chair at least,” the Captain said, “And then find out what happened to the Private’s equipment. I want a full accounting of who ordered it taken and who has had access to it during the time it’s been gone. As soon as he’s been cleared have it returned.”

  Mac saluted and returned shortly with a chair from Ramirez’s quarters. He left it in the middle of the room before stepping back outside to complete the rest of his orders. He shouted something unintelligible to Stevens and then the two of them left.

  “That man sure has a bug up his ass for you son,” the Captain said as he sat down. He looked tired. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough time of it these last several days.

  “I used to think Ramirez was too much trouble,” he eventually said, “but you’re proving to be just as difficult. Maybe more so.”

  “I didn’t do anything Sir,” I offered and started to stand, but the Captain waved me back down.

  “That’s always Ramirez’s excuse, but in this case, I’m inclined to believe you. I’ve had eyes on you and they haven’t reported anything since you got back from your ordeal.”

  “You mean Nunez, Sir? I thought I saw him a couple of times. And thank you Sir. I know what you tried to do.”

  “Let’s hear no more of that, right now.”

  We sat in silence for more than an hour while we waited for the MPs to report. When they did, they asked for the Captain to step outside. He returned less than five minutes later with Mac by his side.

  “The Branding Master is dead, that much of Manx’s story checks out. The preliminary report is suicide. He hanged himself. The note he left said that he was sorry and that he hoped his family would forgive him. Normally, that would be it, but Manx is insistent that you spelled him somehow and made him do it.”

  “I had nothing to do with his death, Sir.”

  “I believe you son and more importantly so does your unit. But until this is cleared up, I’ve got to restrict you to quarters again.” The Captain waved me down before I could object. “I’m sorry son, the MPs wanted you in a cell, but I overruled them. Mac will be on duty making sure you don’t leave. That’s all I can do for now.”

  Chapter 18

  Fort Benning, Monday 18:00

  Thorn’s Quarters

  “Why aren’t you ready?” Mac snapped as he stormed through my door.

  Scrambling off my bed, I leapt to my feet. “What are you talking about? Ready for what?”

  “My God, Private. Lock you in a room for a couple of hours and your mind is completely gone. We’ve had two weeks of survival training in the Okefenokee scheduled for months. Did you think your personal problems would keep you out of the swamp? Well you’re wrong,” Mac shouted. “If you’re not outside and suited up in thirty seconds you won’t be able to piss without tasting my boot up your ass!”

  “The Okefenokee? Sarge—

  Mac cut me off with a quick slash of his hands. //Quiet/Listening/Go// The finger-talk was unmistakable, my room was compromised. Whatever was happening was not what it appeared.

  “Of course, Sergeant, I’m ready.”

  With a nod Mac whirled about and hurried from my room. Slamming my feet into my boots I glanced about the room. Whoever had stripped it hadn’t left me with anything but my uniforms. There wasn’t anything left for me to grab. Wherever we were truly going, I’d have to go with the shirt on my back and nothing more.

  I stuffed the laces into the tops of my boots and followed Mac out the door. No matter what was truly happening, I had no doubt that I’d find his boot up my ass if I dawdled. Some things were never going to change.

  Outside Stevens and Ramirez were hastily throwing crates of supplies into the back of an idling Humvee while Nunez stood at the mouth of the cul de sac keeping an eye on the street. Mac stood by the driver’s side and waved me over. Something was going down and there wasn’t a moment to waste.

  I jogged to the Hummer and climbed inside while Stevens secured the last bundle of supplies. Ramirez jogged around the truck and clambered in my side forcing me over to the middle while Stevens squeezed in the other side. Neither said a thing as Mac stepped on the gas, pausing only long enough for Nunez to hop onto the running board and slip into the front seat.

  “Didn’t we just do this a couple days ago?” I asked.

  “Get down until we’re through the gate,” Mac hissed, turning onto the main thoroughfare. I turned to Ramirez expecting a better answer, but he only lifted his legs giving me room to slither onto the floor. Once I was on the ground, he and Stevens scooted closer together and placed their boots on my back. To a casual
observer there were only four soldiers riding in our Humvee. Hopefully the guard at the gate wouldn’t give us more than a cursory glance.

  The base never seemed big until I was riding the floorboards. The drive seemed to take hours, though it was no more than the usual fifteen minutes, I supposed. It’s amazing how quickly you become disoriented when you can’t see where you’re going.

  We stopped briefly at the gate while Mac groused about spending the hottest weeks of the summer in a swamp dodging snakes and swatting mosquitoes. His remarks seemed a little forced to me, but the guard had heard it all before. He waved us through with little fanfare. Moments later we were speeding off the base and headed towards the interstate.

  Five minutes later Ramirez and Stevens hauled me back onto the seat next to them. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked. “We just finished survival training a couple of days ago!”

  “Not according to the Company records,” Nunez said from the front seat. “According to the papers the Captain filed we missed our required training session due to an intestinal flu that kept Stevens in the infirmary for several days.”

  “Why would the Captain report that?”

  “Because they’re shutting us down, Thorn,” Mac snapped from the front seat.

  “What? That’s crazy! Who told you that?”

  “Major Lansing sent word to the Captain this afternoon. The OSS is recommending that our unit be dissolved. As of 0800 tomorrow the four of us are to be transferred into different units around the country while you’re to be turned over to the OSS for reclamation.”

  “Reclamation, what the Hell’s that supposed to mean?”