by Carver Pike
Other people approached Gabe from all directions and they looked angry.
He tried to walk away but was quickly surrounded.
“Cutter.” The tall man pointed a long, bony finger at him.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where I am.” Gabe tried his best to talk his way out of whatever was coming.
“Cutter…Cutter…Cutter…,” the Voodoo priest called out, and then made a sucking sound with his teeth. “Thought we’d lost you when you ran into that building. What, you thought that changing into a pair of sweats would disguise you and that ugly mug? It’s been a long time, Boy. You owe me and it’s time to pay.”
A man holding a pitchfork stabbed in Gabe’s direction. Gabe swiftly moved out of the way and grabbed the pitchfork. He tossed the man to the side and tried to hold on to the weapon, but the man was too strong and took it with him. The crowd moved closer, making it difficult for Gabe to move.
“This is some kind of misunderstanding. My last name is Cutter, but I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am. I’m from Detroit and I don’t think this is any part of Michigan.”
A woman in a bloodstained gown tossed a lasso around Gabe’s neck. His hands flew to the rope as he tried to prevent it from strangling him. Four men grabbed the rope away from the woman and pulled, jerking Gabe onto his hands and knees.
“Goody Bones is king!” a toothless man yelled from somewhere in the crowd.
“Bow down before the king of Darkar!” a strung-out woman cheered.
Gabe jumped to his feet and pulled the rope back, caught a little bit of slack, and then wrapped it around the first man’s neck and choked him.
“Let me go!” Gabe commanded.
The crowd converged on him and beat him until he blacked out.
***
When he regained consciousness, the angry mob was still jabbing him with their weapons. He could barely breathe. The rope around his neck had been stretched up to an apartment balcony overhead. His toes barely touched the ground.
Goody Bones stood in front of him holding a long instrument that looked like some sort of cattle prod. It was metallic and the end was bright red.
“I’m glad you could wake up and join us. Do you remember what you did to my brother?” he asked.
Gabe could barely hear him. His head felt like it was about to burst open. The rope cut off his circulation. His eyes felt as if they were about to pop out and roll across the ground. He tried to speak, but only wheezed. Goody Bones laughed.
“Loosen it a bit. I need to hear this fool’s begging,” Goody Bones told his followers.
The man holding the other end of the rope loosened it.
“What?” Goody Bones asked.
“I swear you’ve got the wrong man,” Gabe managed to blurt out.
“You sold my brother to Colossus, and the only way he’ll be freed is a fair trade. So guess whose hide’ll be bartered?”
Gabe’s knees buckled. He sagged forward, but the rope started to choke him again and he was forced to stand straighter.
“Please. You’ve got the wrong man. I don’t know your brother.”
“Ha!” Goody Bones spat. “I can’t believe it. Who would’ve thought? Cutter crying like a bitch. Well cry, little bitch! Cry.”
Goody Bones slammed the end of the prod straight into Gabe’s chest, right above his heart. Gabe gritted his teeth and grunted in pain as the brand seared his flesh. He fell forward, the noose tightening around his neck as he tried to regain his footing.
The crowd cheered and raised their weapons high above their heads in celebration.
Gabe’s head fell to his chest and drool dripped from his clenched teeth. His sweaty hair hung down in front of his face. He was defeated. He’d been branded. The skin around the brand bubbled up, and underneath it, a red light could be seen racing around a half moon shape repeatedly. Something had been imbedded into his flesh.
He collapsed, and it took several crowd members to hold him up so he wouldn’t choke himself to death. Goody Bones held the prod high above his head in victory.
“Cutter’s ass now belongs to Colossus!” he yelled.
The crowd cheered.
***
Unseen by Goody Bones, a deadly figure emerged from the shadows. He wore a dark brown hooded cape that shielded his head and body. A permanent shadow obscured his face. His features were rarely seen and those who did see him didn’t live to tell anyone.
He was Cloak, Colossus’ henchman. Born of bloodshed, cut from his mother’s womb, he had no morals, felt no sorrow, and suppressed all pain. He was raised to destroy. Colossus had ordered him to track down the man known as Cutter and butcher him.
It was obvious that Goody Bones thought he was doing a good deed by branding and trading him to Colossus in exchange for his brother. What Goody Bones didn’t know was that the bad blood had been sparked by Cutter’s trading of diseased slaves to Colossus, a mistake that could never be made right.
Half of Colossus’ slaves had been wiped out by the diseased ones and now he wanted revenge. Goody Bones was playing with fire even being near Cutter, because Cloak had come for Cutter and Cloak always got his man.
As Cloak calmly walked forward, he spread his arms out at his sides, and jerked them once, shooting long blades out of holsters on his forearms. It pleased him that he looked like an angel of death with long swords sticking out of the palms of his hands. He let the blades scrape against the alley walls.
One lamp lit him enough to show that his eyes glowed an unnatural crimson red and his face was dry and scarred with dark grooves in his skin, giving his face a jigsaw appearance.
Assassin’s tools were attached to his hips and chest: grenades, knives, circular saw blades, and various other weapons decorated his body.
In the street, Goody Bones slapped at Gabe’s cheek, causing his head to swing from side to side. Gabe was slapped once more before he began to come to. He lifted his head and stared into Goody Bones’ eyes, looking dazed and out of it.
The voodoo man grabbed him by the neck and was about to continue with a speech when a loud scraping sound filled the air.
“What is that?” Goody Bones asked to no one in particular. “What is that noise?”
The crowd began to part down the middle, moving out of the way so Goody Bones could locate the source of the sound. His eyes drifted over to the alleyway, where Cloak was emerging from the shadows and entering the street.
Cloak stopped and surveyed the crowd, searching for something. Finally, he spotted Goody Bones and the prize of the hour, Cutter. He stalked towards them.
“It’s Cloak!” a woman screamed.
“Cloak? It’s Cloak!” a man yelled. He dropped his weapon and took off running.
The crowd began to freak out. They were hectic, frantically running around, trying to find the quickest avenue of escape. Goody Bones kept his eyes on Cloak. Cloak grinned and kept on coming.
***
Gabe clawed at the rope around his neck with all the strength he could muster. He knew nothing about the assassin headed his way, but the violent display told him all he needed to know.
He coughed and tried to slip his fingers between the rope and his neck as he saw Cloak swing one of his blades around and cut off the head of a man who was desperately trying to get away. Gabe had never seen anything like it. The silent killer beheaded a second man in the middle of the street.
The man on the balcony above Gabe let go of his rope and ran into the building. Gabe fell to his knees and pulled at the rope, coughing and hacking. The color started to return to his face.
He threw the rope to the ground and tried to stand, but fell over and hit his head on the pavement. He watched through blurry eyes as Cloak shoved his blade through a woman’s stomach and then spun around, dipped down low and cut the legs off an attacking man.
Gabe tried to rise once again as he saw Goody Bones distracted, with his gun pointed at Cloak, as if contemplating on whether it was a good idea
to fire at the hunter.
“He’ll kill you,” one of Goody Bones’ soldiers yelled. The soldier reached down and removed a manhole cover. “Down here,” he gestured.
The soldier didn’t wait for Goody Bones. He slid down into the tunnel. Goody Bones looked down at the hole and then back up at Cloak, who was quickly making his way towards him. He looked over at Gabe as if thinking about pulling Gabe into the sewer with him, but at the last second, as Cloak was about to reach him, he angrily shook his head and dropped down into the sewer tunnel.
Gabe’s eyes closed with the vision of several men running up to attack Cloak from behind.
***
While Cloak was busy fending off his attackers, T-Nate, a large, muscular black man in his early thirties but balding, ran towards Gabe. Right behind him was Sergio, a skinny Mexican-American man in his late twenties. They rushed to Gabe’s body and threw a bulletproof vest over his shoulders.
“That should cover the seal,” Sergio said.
“You better hope so, ‘cause Cloak’ll be hot on our trail,” T-Nate replied.
T-Nate looked back at Cloak and watched in awe as the assassin leaped over an opponent and skewered the man through his neck and shoulder.
“And that dude ain’t fuckin’ around. Let’s go!” T-Nate added.
T-Nate and Sergio yanked Gabe off his feet. They each draped one of Gabe’s arms over their shoulders and scurried back towards a dark alley further down the street.
***
Cloak spun around to finish off Gabe, and saw that he was nowhere in sight. He turned around in all directions, but found no one.
He angrily slid the cloak sleeve back from his forearm and checked a small computer screen. It read, “Source not in sight.”
Cloak dropped his sleeve and turned to shove his blade through an oncoming enemy. The man fell to the ground and Cloak lifted his blades high above his head and brought them down into the man’s chest.
***
In a dark alley, T-Nate and Sergio dragged Gabe the best they could, his legs constantly trying to offer them assistance.
“Hang in there, buddy. We’ll get you out of here,” T-Nate promised him.
“This dude’s exhausted. He’s gonna go into shock,” Sergio warned.
They dragged him through puddles and muck until they finally stopped in front of a metal garage door. There they lowered Gabe to the ground. He sat up and stared at them.
“What’s happening?” Gabe asked. “Who are you guys?”
“I’m Sergio and this here’s T-Nate. Just sit tight. I’ll explain everything when you’re ready,” Sergio assured him.
Gabe’s eyelids bounced heavily as he watched T-Nate bang a closed fist against the metal door three times in rapid succession, pause, and then smack the door once more. The door rolled open and two large steel toe boots came into view.
Atop the boots was a pair of black cargo pants and above that the black bulletproof vest of a muscular and bald white man with a red beard and a battle-axe strapped to his back. He stood with his arms folded in front of his chest. In his early fifties, he was the oldest of the men who’d come to his rescue, and looked like a road warrior, the last person you’d want to piss off.
He glared down at Gabe, and then snorted loudly as he pulled phlegm from his throat while scratching his balls. He spit on the ground next to Gabe.
“So this is the sumabitch the Soothsayer’s been ravin’ about?” he asked in his Southern, redneck accent, as he removed his right hand from his groin and folded his arms in front of his chest standoffishly.
“Well, Dozier, he was the only white guy being branded in the middle of the street,” T-Nate said as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Well give him the shot then. I ain’t got time to waste on his sorry ass if he cain’t even stand on his own. Shiat,” Dozier hissed disappointedly.
From behind Dozier, a short and athletic-looking Asian man in his mid-thirties stepped out of the shadows. He held a metal tube in his hand. He didn’t hesitate as he marched over to Gabe, shoved the tube up against Gabe’s neck, and pushed a button. A hissing sound was heard and then Gabe’s eyes shot open. His head shook a few times.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, and gritted his teeth furiously. He felt a sudden rage come over him like he wanted to kill the little man.
“Grab him!” Sergio yelled.
Dozier and T-Nate quickly wrestled Gabe away from the man and held him back.
“Calm down, hombre. Ty just gave you a shot of adrenaline to wake you up a little,” Sergio informed him.
“We cain’t have you draggin’ ass all over the dark side, buddy. Either you get your shit together or we’ll leave you here. I don’t care what the Soothsayer said,” Dozier warned him.
Gabe relaxed and the two men let him go. Dozier spit black tobacco on the ground at Gabe’s feet.
“I ain’t buyin’ this shiat. Haissem my ass,” he mumbled as he walked into the shadows of the garage.
“Where are we?” Gabe asked Sergio.
Suddenly lights shined on Gabe’s face. Dozier had climbed into a huge tank-like van that sat atop monstrous tires, with an outer shell made up of different types of metals welded together into a makeshift shield. It was obviously built to travel over all types of terrain and through all types of conditions.
“What is this thing?” Gabe asked.
“Dozier built it,” Sergio informed him. He chuckled. “He calls it the Bull Dozier.”
Sergio pulled open the van door and gestured for Gabe to get in. Gabe did as he was told.
The inside of the van was more like a small bus than any regular passenger vehicle Gabe had been in. It was much longer than a typical van and much wider than a truck. There was a long wooden bench on either side. It resembled the inside of a C-130 cargo plane. The windows were covered by sheets of metal, with only narrow viewing slots left open in between the panels.
Gabe climbed into the back. Sergio and Ty flanked him while Dozier took the wheel. T-Nate rode shotgun.
“Where are you taking me?” Gabe asked.
“You’ll find out when you get there!” Dozier called out from the front seat.
Gabe glared at Dozier, contemplating whether he should respond. He was quickly growing tired of Dozier’s attitude problem, and he didn’t even know the man. Gabe, with his military background, knew a bit about taking care of himself and he wasn’t about to let some old Podunk redneck treat him like a coward.
He was about to say something when Ty reached across and put his hand on Gabe’s knee.
“Don’t let him bother you. He’s like that with everyone. Once you’ve been here for a little while, you’ll learn that he’s one of the nicer things around you. So it’s not worth making one more enemy,” Ty said.
As the van navigated the streets, random psychotic people leaned out of building windows and hurled bottles and stones at it.
On the side of the road, a crowd of women carried a half-naked man over their heads and onto a side street. The man screamed and begged the van’s occupants to help him, but Dozier kept driving.
An old man leaned out of the third story window of an apartment building and tossed a Molotov cocktail onto the roof of the Bull Dozier. A wave of flames covered the van upon impact, but with nothing to keep it ablaze, the fires quickly died out.
Inside the van, Gabe ran his hand over the deep cuts on his chest.
“I need clothes,” he said.
Sergio looked down at Gabe’s bare feet and nodded.
“Yeah, crossing over with nothing on but sweat pants wasn’t such a good idea,” Sergio joked.
“Could’ve planned it a little better,” Ty jokingly agreed. He held onto two long wooden stakes.
“Ty’s better with those sticks than most are with swords,” Sergio said.
“Where are we going?” Gabe repeated.
T-Nate turned in his seat and looked back at Gabe. “The Dwellings,” he called out. “The S
oothsayer wants to see you!”
“Wait a minute,” Gabe said with a snap of his fingers. “I recognize you.” He pointed at T-Nate. “You’re Terrence “T-Nate” Nathan. Fullback for the Lions.”
T-Nate flashed him a smile. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“But you were convicted of drug trafficking and rape and armed robbery and a whole slew of other things.”