“Does this mean...?” Philip began, distress evident in his voice. The Constable hastily, vacated the room once more, ordering both men to keep an eye out and on the prisoners. Noel-Len was shaken, to discover the cameras on the monitors disclose parts of the prison filled with terrified inmates stationed confined by the bars.
Than they bawled and shrieked, pleading for a manumission from their cells. One monitor revealed, slaughtered inmates that Noel-Len knew had no involvement of a weapon.
Noel-Len slammed the emergency button.
An ear-piercing siren shouted throughout the prison. Phillip and Noel-Len rushed from the room and to the cells below, aware the other officers would immediately respond to the unexpected horror.
Human remains, scattered the cells of the once alive inmates and Noel-Len didn’t attempt to supress his horror as his skin crawled with fear at the sight as their bodies lined the blood covered cell floor and walls. Their bodies even scattered beyond the cell door and towards Noel-Len and Phillips’ feet.
Noel-Len steered his gun at the inmate—the only survivor.
His clothes, tattered and ruined by the flesh of his cellmates.
Voices of the other officers called over the radio and both Noel-Len and Phillip attentively listened. Aware they were on their way but not without Philip asserting their location, from beside him.
Philip drew his Glock and pointed the pistol at the man drenched in blood. Noel-Len tensed when the inmate staggered towards them. “Don’t move, any closer!” Philip warned.
“How far away are the others?” Noel-Len requested his voice barely audible but loud enough, for only Philip to hear. He caught the voices of his comrades on the radio, but the adrenaline refused to allow his brain to process the information.
“Not too far away,” Philip stated, then stepped cautiously towards the prisoner. “Cover me.” Without another word, Philip opened the cell.
The soles of his shoes, caked in more blood and tissue when he passed the shattered bones and unrecognisable bodies.
Noel-Len couldn’t make sense of the explosion. That isn’t possible…
He was certain that the other Auxiliary officers had screened the inmates for weapons before they entered the prison. Then again, Noel-Len knew they tended to construct makeshift shivs when desperate.
Normally, his colleagues would be onto it before they started or, so he hoped but regardless any and every conclusion he drew to explain this situation—never made sense.
To Noel-Len the question remained, how did those men explode?
He analysed the blood spatter along the walls and over the lights. His thoughts were halted, when Philip’s voice peaked in fear, “I said stay away!” Philip shouted, backing out of the cell. Noel-Len watched the barrel of Phillip’s gun tremble while focusing on the convict. “I’m warning you!”
When the prisoner didn’t stop, Philip fired.
A puncture mark; fashioned the prisoner’s chest, with blood oozing from the wound.
His exposed limbs, turned grey with black and purple veins against the surface and the prisoner collapsed.
Ignoring his internal questioning Noel-Len listened to Philip declare, the inmate deceased then glanced over his shoulder at Noel-Len, “Let the others know I’ve neutralised the threat.” Noel-Len lowed his gun and turned away from the sight and informed the other officers.
It was when he heard the sound of Philip’s gargling gasps, Noel-Len turned to face Phillip.
The prisoner’s arm pierced his colleague’s back and out through his sternum. Noel-Len’s eyes widened in horror. The prisoner yanked his arm free, dropping Philip’s unresponsive body to the ground.
The dark fixture of the prisoner’s eyes befell Noel-Len who in turn perceived the man.
Almost mesmerised by not the danger but his appearance, grey skin and black eyes that coloured the scalar. He almost didn’t look human. Especially when he glanced at the once flat teeth became serrated.
Noel-Len, finally discharge his weapon.
Two bullet holes punctured, his bare chest. Blood seeped from the two wounds and soaked the prisoner’s uniform with blood.
Tentatively, Noel-Len backed away when the man continued to stumble towards him as if the bullets were never fired. “What the hell?”
“Stand down!” Mark Roberts yelled and entered the room, with other Police officers. Even with their pistols and heavy weapons drawn, the prisoner continued to step forward. Ignoring the command of the officers.
They were shocked, Noel-Len could tell, but they stood their ground.
He watched Senior Constable Mark Roberts in front of the heavily armed officers, his weapon armed and ready to fire, “I said, stand down!” Senior Constable Mark Roberts repeated. Noel-Len heard the fear in his voice but comprehended the determination in his posture and in his eyes, when he ordered. “Fire!”
Ammunition emptied into the chest of the prisoner.
Noel-Len felt it was a little excessive but didn’t say anything as he watched the inmate stumble away from the group before falling to its knees.
Unaffected, the monster climbed to his feet and Noel-Len didn’t hesitate to discharge his weapon. Leaving a bullet wound between monster’s brows. He crumpled to the ground, without moving and Noel was grateful for all those times he spent practicing.
His celebration halted, when his eyes met Phillip’s blank ones. Noel-Len studied Philips dead body and ignored the Constable when he sprinted over to the fallen officer. “Call an ambulance!” After that order, another officer radioed for an ambulance.
However, it was too late. Philip’s last essence of life seeped from his eyes before they were soon swathed in desolation. It was a few silent moments later before Mark proclaimed, “He’s gone.”
Noel-Len staring at Phillip’s body, unsure how to respond. He had seen his mother die before and never realised he’d react the same way.
It was strange, he’d known that a person’s life was as fragile as the glass lining the windows high above. However, it was something he knew, he still had trouble accepting, something he knew he would, always have trouble accepting.
Mark scanned the officers behind him before he observed Noel-Len. The tightness of his jaw and the shock in his eyes was ungrudgingly presented to any person who dared look.
Mark climbed to his feet, informing the surrounding officers to secure the area before he wandered to Noel-Len who stared Philip’s unmoving body. Not sure why but he’d hoped he’d get up and say it was just a flesh wound. When he didn’t, guilt tightened in his stomach.
“Noel-Len.” the Constable called, through his troubled thoughts.
His eyes gradually moved to his commanding officer. It was a difficult task on his behalf, though he knew he had to try and keep himself from freezing over. He had to keep himself from ending up the way he did after his mother’s death.
“Sir,” Noel-Len forced, struggling to swallow the bile threatening to pour over his lips.
“Do you know what happened here?” Mark asked tactfully, when Noel-Len didn’t find the words he asked once more, “Noel-Len. How did these men die?” It was a battle of determination and shock that shadowed his features.
Mark assessed the defacing expressions flashing across his face and waited.
“I don’t know ... exactly.” Noel-Len began, “I remember looking at the monitor. I saw the detainees. They were scared.” His eyes drifted to the blood pooling along the ground as the memory of his most recent actions surfaced, “Then there was blood, everywhere. One prisoner was unaffected.” Noel-Len’s eyes returned to Mark’s, who he noticed managed, to shift his gaze quickly enough to meet Noel-Len’s, “Philip entered the cell to restrain him and the man wouldn’t comply. Then out of protocol, Philip shot him, but that man didn’t stay dead.”
Noel-Len and Mark regarded the body on the ground, “I turned away to pass on the message and when I looked back and man’s hand had pierced Philip. I shot him. Then...”
“...Then, we showed up.”
Mark finished, his eyes lingered over the cameras in the corners of the prison. “We need to get this to Major Crimes.”
“Was it a Major Crime?” Noel-Len asked, his eyes finally landing on Mark.
Mark accepted the emotion Noel-Len refused to show. It was utter fear and with that Mark forced a smile and said, “Go home, I think you’ve had enough drama for one night.” With a brief nod, Noel-Len turned his heel and collected his things before heading home but not without replaying the events of that night in his head, over and over again.
Even the memory of a single bullet hole marking the forehead of the deceased inmate.
When Noel-Len returned home, he was unsteady as reality kicked in. What surprised him most how his recently adopted puppy wasn’t there to greet him. “Mike.” Noel-Len whispered into the dusk of the oncoming evening.
Flicking on a few lights, Noel-Len searched the house for the dog, only to freeze in his bedroom doorway.
His dog sat patiently and obediently in the shadow of the room. Turning on the light, Noel-Len saw Mike nestled at a stranger’s feet with their backs to him.
The woman’s slender hand gently brushed over the canine’s head, affectionately while her distant attention was drawn to the framed photo in her opposite delicate hand.
Noel-Len recognised the photo she held, its straight black edges were markers for the types of photo Noel-Len forced himself to remember. It was a photo of him when he was eight and his mother who held him under the rays of the sun on that day they went for a picnic beside the courthouse, courtesy of his mother’s best-friend Julia. Without being reminded, he remembered his mother’s jet-black hair, black eyes and russet skin framing the focus of him in the photo.
Cautiously, he observed the stranger taking in her equally black hair which carelessly yet hauntingly fell down her back in smooth waves.
Without hesitation, she eyed him with calculation from over her shoulder. Regardless of her cool composure, he felt danger swell in the air between them.
Noel-Len held the stranger’s unwavering gaze. It was the leer in her eyes and that deadly smile which readily slid along her pale lips made him fearful. “Who are you?” Noel-Len questioned, discreetly glancing at the crystals on his bedside table.
Curiously, she turned to face him fully. Setting the cherished photo on his bedside table where he left it, as if it were never touched.
“Why would you need to ask, you should already know. Then again, this world loosely asks; ‘how are you’ first. Regardless, of how disinterested you’d be... I’m sure you’d still ask, at least. It’s almost as if you force yourselves to be polite but trust me child, there is no need for such—spurious civility. And when it comes to ‘thank you’—you’re just as pretentious as your predecessors. However, that fear in your eyes tells me everything.”
Noel-Len regarded, the black singlet, jeans and boots she wore. He wondered, how she’d survive in those jeans considering it was thirty-two degrees outside and by the way she spoke she wasn’t from his hometown.
“Excuse me?” Noel-Len questioned, wondering if he had heard her properly, “What do you mean by ‘your people’?” Her black eyes observed his and she smiled dangerously. They were searching almost as if peering through him.
“You know the people of this world, the Human Race. Odd, you seem to have forgotten about prior years’ events. I don’t know whether to feel sorry for your kind who work to forget the horrible invasion. Or, if I should be satisfied that you creatures are as incompetent as ever.” she uttered with venom stinging her lips and a lingering smile.
“Get out of my house.” Noel-Len demanded, aware he was under qualified to handle this particular situation. After all, he wasn’t trained to deal with the mentally unstable. He only hoped if he’d intimidate her, she’d be scared enough to leave.
It was a brief flicker in her calculating gaze that made him fearful of her, one engulfed by anger and impatience.
Within an instant, the woman disappeared and re-appeared in front of him. She moved faster than he thought possible. Within a single bat of his lashes, Noel-Len felt the strong grip of her hand around his throat.
He hadn’t felt her slammed him into the wall at first only when he’d gasped for air. An impact that cracked the concrete wall and winded him. Paralysing him for a second before his fingers clawed at her sturdy hands. “You don’t need to be so disrespectful.”
Noel-Len desperately strained to breathe, “What ... are you?”
“That is a question I’m not obligated to answer.” she remarked with a smile, lifting her free hand, she curled her fingers into a fist. Beneath her wrist a long sharp blade that hauntingly slid out.
Noel-Len had a terrifying and strange assumption that if she needed to release that blade quicker, she could, and it would come out quicker than he could make an escape.
She taunted him when he realised, she knew he understood, as it closed the gap from her fist and his exposed left eye. “Now, tell me where Natalia Ignatius hid it.”
“How do you know my mother?” Noel-Len asked through arduous breaths. “And what are you talking about?”
3
ANAPHORA REAGAN-VALDIS AND GOTHALIA VALDIS TREKKED THE HALL.
Their footfalls echoed against black marble floor, preceded by the conforming moiré wall and hall, guarded by Centurion Peacekeepers, stationed throughout the Cetatea.
Peacekeepers, a class of Excelian Centurions well trained in stealth and intelligence but just as deadly as Centurion Hunters and Trackers when in combat. All Peacekeepers were required, to travel to the surface world for missions that either threatened their home or to relay information to the Hunters who readily removed targets that endangered, the natural order of things or their home.
Centurion Peacekeepers could blend into any society, social class, events or any necessary situation both unseen and unnoticed. If they were, by chance, noticed by their targets or witnesses it was often too late to stop them. They were given, jobs too discrete for Hunters—stealth assassinations.
The main purpose of Centurion Peacekeepers was and always will be, to provide security to higher class Excelians who moved freely between the surface world and all Excelian countries.
As the women, proceeded down the hall, the motionless taciturnity of the corridor echoed in tune with their silent breathing and the Peacekeeper’s presence, impounding their subtle conversation. “What exactly are you implying?” Gothalia questioned, confused.
She had known her mentor had ventured to the surface world yesterday. However, Anaphora only informed her of the Alastorian presence at the Darwin prisons and those lurking at the outer edge of the city’s rural area, and nothing else. Gothalia never questioned her further on the topic, trusting the mission of her superior but she had wondered, if Anaphora had told her everything.
“What I’m implying Gothalia is ‘undercover work’—you need to head to a club tonight in Darwin’s CBD. An Xzandian Scout commander has infiltrated the city and is meeting with an unknown source. You need to lure the source out without being detected.”
“And if I am?”
“Fight. They’ll kill you, if you don’t.” It was Anaphora’s convincing gaze that halted Gothalia any further question. Gothalia turned her attention from her mentor and contemplated why the Xzandians were clustering around Australia. More importantly Darwin of all places. If I continue to be observant and be patient, I’ll find something, she thought reflecting on her recent missions.
Anaphora and Gothalia’s boots thundered lightly down the corridor. “You’ll be given additional orders when we arrive at the Council Chambers.”
Gothalia paused espying the door, less than a meter from her. She appreciated the finely engraved black oak doors as silver lined all elegant swirls carved by each dancing flame. In the centre of the door was a shield, proudly displaying the emblem of their home, an enchanting image of a stagnant silver fire emitting equally silver embers.
It was raised on the flags of her hom
e, darned on the uniform of the other Centurions and Military personal alike. Without hesitation, it was readily and proudly exposed throughout the Cetatea.
Gothalia and many like her, wore the emblems on their backs. Their right shoulder carried the shield of their clans and on their right chest was their ranks, division and unit.
Gothalia’s family shield was that of a fire with a spiralling swirl that pulled away at the top. Anaphora’s was the same swirl as on Gothalia’s uniform but with two lines beneath.
Their uniform was coloured exactly like that of the flags carrying the silver fire. Black mostly covered their uniform representing the power in their blood. Even amongst the silver and red lining the uniform. The dark red shade of their tunics always represented their dark history and their ancestors’ blood.
The silver in their flags and uniform was implemented in the past century, after a revolution against tradition, to remind the Grand Elders to always to be contemporary with time and knowledge.
Crimson tunics loosely fitted their chests, shoulders, waists before falling over their hips. While long black tight sleeves covered their arms, wrapping around their fingers that were often cut, blistered or calloused from training. It mirrored their dark pants and equally dark boots, designed to carry weapons and any objects whilst in combat should their home ever be under siege.
It was Anaphora’s next words that readily yanked Gothalia’s mind from her clustered thoughts, “Aren’t we already here?” With a raised brow that dared sarcasm.
Gothalia couldn’t help but wonder as she spoke those words if Anaphora had been struck in too hard in the head by assailants from her last mission.
Anaphora grinned a sly smile. “You were so talkative. I had wondered if you even noticed.”
Gothalia’s humour hinted with sarcasm extinguished. “Funny.”
Trailing the halls with her mentor, they stopped before large double doors, patiently waiting for it to unlock, beneath the scrutiny of the security cameras above as they were watched thoroughly by Centurion Peacekeepers on the other side.
Midnight Eclipse Page 3