by Steve McHugh
Layla backed up toward the door behind her as the beast grabbed hold of the ax’s haft and ripped it free, dragging a portion of the wall with it. Layla turned and bolted through the door, sprinting down the stairs and out into the main shed, straight into Marcus, almost knocking him over.
“You okay?” he asked, concerned.
Layla was about to tell him to run when one of the shed windows shattered as the creature leaped through, landing on the path next to one of the trains. He roared, and for a moment after he finished there was no other sound. The beast turned toward Andrew, who had left the ground-floor office to check out what was happening, and then to the technician, who had unfortunately opened one of the train doors right next to the creature.
He whipped the ax up with ferocious speed, catching the man just below the ribcage, cutting him in half. Someone somewhere screamed, as Layla stood transfixed with shock. She forced herself to run, turning and sprinting away, feeling the reverberations of the creature’s massive feet on the ground as he gave chase.
Marcus cried out in pain, and Layla stopped running and turned to find the beast with one hand around Marcus’s head, holding him several feet off the ground. He looked between Layla and his prey, before flinging Marcus head first into the nearest train, sending him right through the body of the train, leaving only a bloody smear in his wake.
Another technician left the office at a run, but the creature grabbed him, threw him up against the train, and flung the ax at him. It cut through him as if he were made of paper, the ax lodging itself in the train’s body. Layla ran toward the train, dropping down into the pit beneath it, hoping to find some form of sanctuary. She landed awkwardly and shock went up her leg, but she pushed the pain aside and ran on under the train, ducking beneath any parts that jutted out.
Layla’s instinct was to find a way to fight back, but that was against people who weren’t capable of crushing steel in their hands. She knew she had no way to fight this monster, and her hatred of him grew. People were dying, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. She was angry at her lack of options, and the position she’d been put in. She knew her only choice was to get as far away from the depot as possible and hope that the creature followed. She’d figure the rest out later.
The monster retrieved the ax and tore one of the trains apart, throwing huge pieces of metal around as if they were nothing, until he’d created a hole big enough to drop down into the pit. The pit wasn’t wide enough, so he launched himself into a carriage, sprinting through it, tearing it apart from the inside out. Nothing could stop him: gangways were destroyed and doors were smashed as if they were hardly there.
Beneath the train, Layla continued running, while people scrambled to get out and find shelter. Eventually she made it to the steps at the end of the pit and charged up them, as the creature burst through the fly doors at the front of the train, destroying the driver’s console in the process. He landed beside another technician, who was frozen with terror, and kicked him in the chest so hard that Layla could hear the bones shattering from the impact as she resumed running toward the shed exit.
She burst through the doors and found herself standing in front of a young woman. She had a shaved head, a pleasant, almost friendly, face, and several tattoos on her bare arms. She wore similar leather armor to the monster, although it was considerably smaller. She looked at Layla and smiled.
Four men lay dead at her feet and a fifth, whose back was toward her, was impaled on the sword that seemed to be a part of her arm. The sword vanished, showing no sign it was ever there, and it was only then that Layla noticed the dead man was Aoki.
“He was smoking,” the woman said. “Terrible habit. It makes you stink for the rest of the day.”
The woman glanced to the side, and Layla followed her gaze, spotting Star crouched on the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Behind her a man seemed to be hanging from the wall. When Layla looked closer, she realized that one of the metal office panels had punctured through the man’s body, leaving him hanging several feet in the air, like a horrific piece of art. Layla wanted to be sick, she wanted to cry, she wanted to do something, anything that would take her out of this nightmare.
“My name is Dara,” the woman said, bringing Layla’s attention back to her. “That in there is Brako. He’s an ogre.”
As if on cue Brako tore through the side of the depot shed, the large ax dripping with fresh blood. “That was fun,” he said.
“You’re not done yet,” Dara said. “What was with the ax-throwing? We wanted her alive, remember?”
“Ax wouldn’t have hit her,” Brako said, sounding somewhat offended that Dara might have thought otherwise.
“What do you want?” Layla asked.
“You’re going to come with us. Quietly, or more of your friends will die, and we’ll just knock you out. Pick. Now.” She reached over and grabbed Star, dragging her toward her and placing a glistening blade at her throat.
Layla wondered how many had been killed by these two evil creatures since they’d arrived. She wanted to fight. She wanted to wipe the smug grin off this woman’s face. She took a step forward, then stopped herself; she couldn’t risk having more people killed on her account. “I’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt anyone else, please. What do you want me for?”
“Our boss wants to talk to you. That’s it. Then you can go.”
Layla didn’t believe a word of it, but going with them willingly would allow her time to try to escape, and hopefully save the lives of more people.
“Okay,” Layla said, wanting to be away from Brako as quickly as possible. The smell of blood mixed with his own natural musk hung over him and the resulting combination was repugnant.
Dara removed a pair of handcuffs and tossed them over to Layla. “Put them on and come with me.”
Layla did as she was told, following Dara to a white Range Rover in the car park. Dara opened the door and motioned for Layla to get inside.
A young man sat in the driver’s seat and he turned to Layla. “Nice to meet you.” He had several days’ worth of stubble, bright blue eyes, and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. From his accent, Layla thought he might be from the southern states of America, but she couldn’t be more exact.
“The name is Shane. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re kidnapping me,” Layla pointed out. “And you’ve murdered innocent people. I’m not feeling all that happy right now.”
Shane nodded. “That’s understandable. Unfortunately, Brako gets a little overenthusiastic on missions.” He turned to Dara. “You coming with us?”
She shook her head. “Just got one last thing to do. We’ll take the van. Brako!”
“What?” the large ogre asked.
“No witnesses.”
The ogre smiled and ran off toward the depot shed.
“No,” Layla said. “You said they’d be okay.”
“You’re right, I did.” Dara closed the door, a smirk on her face.
Layla reached for the door handle, but it was locked. She threw herself onto her back and began kicking at the window in an effort to break it. Shane placed his hand on her leg and her entire body calmed. It was as if nothing in her life mattered.
“There, isn’t that better?” he asked.
Layla nodded enthusiastically.
Shane switched on the radio.
“They should have taken me with them,” Shane said as he pulled away. “I could have gone in, done my thing, and left with you. No death, no blood. Well, maybe a little. I’d have wanted to have some fun, after all.”
7
Layla didn’t lose consciousness throughout the entire journey, but if anyone had asked her where she’d been, or if she could have named a single thing she’d seen, she wouldn’t have been able to answer accurately. Everything was a swirl of fog and happy thoughts. She’d never been so relaxed. She wasn’t sleepy and didn’t feel like she’d been drugged either; it was just a complete and utter lack of caring about anyt
hing outside of the backseat of the car. She would have lived there forever if they’d let her.
Instead, the car eventually stopped and Shane climbed out. He’d spent the journey in silence, occasionally changing the radio station or muttering how much he wanted to kill one singer or another. Somewhere deep inside her, Layla knew she was in serious danger. She just didn’t care.
“Hey there,” Shane said after opening the rear passenger door and looking at Layla. “You ready to leave?”
Layla shook her head. “I really want to eat some chocolate, though. Do you have any chocolate?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he told her, and helped her out of the Range Rover, offering her a steady arm to hold onto while they walked into a large man-made hole in the side of a cliff.
“The stars sure are pretty,” Layla said wistfully, before they vanished from view completely as she was led to a lift and then taken several hundred feet below, into the heart of the land around her. She tried to focus on where they were going, but the tunnels and caverns that she was led through were a maze, and she soon stopped trying.
“What is this place?” she asked Shane, as he took her into a cell and placed her on a chair.
He clicked his fingers, and the fog in Layla’s head and all the contented feelings vanished as if they had never been there. Every horrific memory rushed back into her head at once: the smell of blood, the death, the fact that she hadn’t fought back, and that others had died because these people had come for her. An overwhelming feeling of nausea crashed down onto her.
“It takes a few minutes,” Shane told her.
“She doesn’t look so special,” a woman with a Spanish accent said, entering the room.
Layla’s vision cleared and she managed to get a better image of the newcomer. She was Layla’s height, but curvier, and was wearing jeans, a deep red strappy top, and black boots. Her long, light brown hair was left loose and reached the bottom of her spine. She had several colorful tattoos over her bare arms. They seemed to be Asian in influence, and a large dragon curled around one arm, starting at her wrist and moving up to her shoulder. Layla might have thought it beautiful if it wasn’t on someone who was clearly working with a group of psychopaths.
“She doesn’t have to look special, Reyes,” Shane told her. “She just has to be who Elias needs.”
“Do you think he’d mind if I bled her a little?” Reyes asked. She watched Layla like a cat might watch a mouse it’s going to eat.
“Try it,” Layla snapped.
Reyes burst out laughing and walked over to Layla, bending down so close that only an inch separated their heads. “Try it.”
Layla’s head snapped forward with incredible speed, right on the bridge of Reyes’s nose. Reyes cried out and dropped to a seated position on the floor, holding her face in her hands and periodically looking at them to check for blood.
“I’m going to tear your hair out for that,” Reyes screamed, murderous intent in her eyes.
“Enough.” The voice boomed around the small room. A man had entered, taken one look at Reyes, and stepped between her and Layla. “Go.”
Reyes, her eyes cast to the floor, was led out of the room by Shane, who looked at Layla, clearly impressed.
“My name is Elias Wells, and you’re not here to injure my people.”
Layla choked down the fear she felt. “You murdered people I cared about.”
“Yes.” He said it as if that were just what needed to be done. There was no emotion in his voice; nothing to suggest the murders even bothered him.
“Why am I here?”
Elias picked up a chair and placed it in front of Layla. He removed his fedora and placed it on the table beside him, revealing short, almost military-style brown hair. “If you try to head-butt me, I’ll break both of your arms and allow them to set badly. You are not here to be a pain in my ass, you’re here because we need something from you.”
“You could have just asked.”
“No. We couldn’t. You see, you have a certain knowledge that we require, and just asking nicely wasn’t going to cut it. We had to show you the kind of people we are, and we were running out of time. Unfortunately, you were not at the property occupied by your ex-lover, Blake. We had to take you at work, and Dara asked me so nicely if she could do a full extradition, and I’d already said no so often that it felt unfair to deny her this one pleasure.”
“Blake is dead?”
Elias nodded and adjusted the cuff on his immaculate black suit. “Yes. You weren’t there. I needed information. He died giving it. He was not a good man. I also killed his current lover, Bianca. You’ll probably hear about it on the news tomorrow. That’s if we let you watch any TV. They’ll also say that one Robert Mitchell was having an affair with Bianca, which he was, and that he was so overcome with jealousy that he went there, murdered them both, and then killed himself. Sometimes you need to leave someone to take the fall or the police will never stop looking. This way it’s in the press for a few days, then over and done with, and I’m free to continue working without having to wonder if the police might turn up. I don’t like killing police; they care too much about finding the culprit when the victim is one of their own. Same reason I don’t kill children.”
After seeing the ogre in action, she thought there would be nothing that could frighten her more. She was wrong. Elias terrified her. His calmness when discussing murder was like her father all over again. “You’re insane.”
“Probably, although I don’t really have the backstory for a good crazy murderer. I had a pleasant upbringing. My parents died when I was only twenty-one, but that’s probably not enough to turn me into a killer. They were murdered in their own home by a crazed madman. The fact that I was said crazed madman doesn’t really factor into it, I don’t think.”
Layla just wanted Elias to shut up and get on with why she was there. “What do you want me to do?”
“It’s not a matter of want. It’s what you will do. You see, if you don’t, we’re going to kill ten people a day until you agree. No, make it twelve. One every two hours is a bit nicer. They’ll be random people, might be anyone, and I assure you not all of my comrades have the same dislike for killing police and children that I do.
“We’ll grab them, bring them here, and make you watch while they die. A never-ending conveyor belt of death and pain. That’s going to be your life for the next . . . well, however long it is until you agree to our demands. And to make things a little more interesting, we’re bringing those who managed to survive tonight’s attack here. They’re going to be our extra-special insurance. You mess about, and they die first.”
“What do you want?” Layla shouted.
Elias smiled. “Your father. You’re going to contact him, and you’re going to get him to help us.”
“I don’t know where my father is.”
“Liar,” Elias screamed in Layla’s face, slamming his hand on a metal table beside her, causing her to jump. “You are one of only three people who knows where he is. Your mother made it four, but sadly she died before we could get to her. The other two are the director of the LOA for the east coast of the USA and the agent who put him there. We can’t get to either of those without having some pretty serious trouble heading our way before we’re prepared. So, it’s down to you.
“You see, Layla, we’ve been searching for you since the day your mother died. We were searching for her, but she was smart: changed her last name, got fake IDs, the whole thing. And she taught her daughter to do the same.”
He walked over to the door, and someone beyond Layla’s vision passed him a small purse, which Elias showed to her. “This is yours, yes?”
Layla nodded.
Elias opened it. “Layla Starsmore. That’s what everyone knows you as, yes?”
Layla nodded.
“Fake name, fake credit cards, and fake bank account. I’m sure if we traced this, we’d find a fake rental agreement for your apartment . . . sorry, flat. I’ve been in
America too long. Everyone knows you as Layla Starsmore. But your real name is Layla Cassidy. Your mother was Elizabeth Cassidy. Your father is Caleb Cassidy. Otherwise known as the All-American Ripper.”
Layla nodded.
“Caleb is a hero of mine.”
Layla looked up. “What?”
“Your father. He murdered three hundred and eighteen people in a twenty-year period. Do you know why they call him the All-American Ripper?”
“Because he killed people in every state.”
“Yes, but it’s not true. Although I guess the media would never let facts get in the way of a good name. He never killed in Hawaii or Montana. Not once. And he didn’t rip people apart either. He used different methods depending on the situation.”
“He murdered over three hundred people. I’m not sure why anyone would be so happy about that.”
“Three hundred on the outside. Some idiot put him in with the general population when he first arrived in jail. Do you know the number for the eight hours he was there?”
“Nine,” Layla said. She didn’t want to tell the story again, to go into how her father had killed six inmates in three minutes in the prison showers. She’d heard it all before. A guard had been bribed by another prisoner to let him and some of his friends into the shower room while her father was in it. It turned out that the prisoner had been related to one of her father’s victims, and wanted revenge. After killing the six men, her father had left the shower room and killed the guard who’d brought the attackers. Once the killing was over, her father had cleaned himself up and waited for the guards to come and take him back, but two more prisoners turned up first, so he killed them both.