Victor’s heart raced and a hot fury rose deep within him. Sweat formed on his neck, face, and hands. He imagined himself slowly tearing the man apart, piece by piece. His hands trembled, anxious to do something and not just stand there and watch, but he had no choice. Rushing in would only make it worse.
It took every ounce of concentration he had to endure her torment and wait for an opening to shoot. Every hit of the man’s closed fist made him tremble, and every squeeze of her body caused his stomach to erupt in volcanic acid. But Luther never moved into the open, and never once stopped his mad work of torture.
After one hit to the face, she yelped and began to moan, her whimpers as soft as a puppy’s.
Victor’s head pounded, and he bared his teeth, clenching his jaws until his bones hurt. He couldn’t stand hearing her moan any longer, and he burst in. Luther ducked behind her, his gun pointed at her head. The air reeked of cigarette smoke.
“Not a step closer, or I’ll kill her!”
Victor froze. He cursed himself for giving in to his emotions. Now he had no clean shot and only made the situation worse. Victor stretched his neck feeling the bones crack. His only hope now was a ruse.
“Drop your gun. Tell me where the hens are, and your death will be quick.”
The man laughed. He uncuffed her arms and yanked her body to him.
“From one professional to another, if you really wanted me dead you would have shot the girl and then me. So, she must be important to you.”
He spun her around to Victor. Her face dripped blood with several angry red and blue bruises on her cheeks and eye sockets. He almost didn’t recognize her. Ugly cigarette burns scorched her arms and stomach, some red and pulsing, others burned black as coal. Her eyes, however, were eagle sharp and clear, and her face relaxed with an almost bored expression, like she was taunting him.
“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m fine. He’s got tiny hands, and he hits like a girl.”
Luther jabbed his gun into her temple. “Quiet!”
Victor could feel the man’s eyes watching him, searching for weakness.
“Tell me,” he said, “was it personal? Were you in love or was it just sex? With a girl like this, you never know.”
He pulled her to the left, inching toward the door. Victor moved to the right to block him.
“Well,” Luther said. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
Victor continued subtly moving his hand, searching for a fatal shot. “I don’t have to. I already know.”
“Wait, I know that voice.” He nudged his head up and laughed. “Bloody hell, you’re him. The man who butchered Sophia and my children.” He laughed some more. “Oh what delicious irony, and now here I am holding the love of your life in the palm of my hands.”
“Actually, back in Afghanistan, I was only trying to kill you.”
Luther stretched his neck. Pink, fleshy bubbles of skin hung from his scared face. “Well you missed! Broke a few eggs though.” Humph. “Casualties of war? Isn’t that how you blokes sleep at night?”
“You were making anthrax spores. I had to stop you.”
Luther took a step forward, and Delilah’s head flopped down. He grabbed her hair and yanked it back. She mouthed two words to Victor.
“That’s right; tell your boyfriend how much you love him.”
Victor nodded and his thumb clicked the switch down. He angled the gun, the crosshair in his HUD sliding over her left breast. Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks and pooled in the bottom of his mask.
8
Victor took a deep breath and stared longingly into Delilah’s eyes. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m infected. Do it,” she whispered.
His hand wavered.
I can’t.
She stomped on Luther’s foot. He howled and his arm holding the gun to her head flexed. Luther’s knuckles turned white and his forehead glistened with sweat. He was going to shoot so Victor fired, sending the titanium spike clean through her. She and the man collapsed.
He ran over and kicked Luther’s gun away, before kneeling beside Delilah. His hands pressed on both sides of the bullet wound, but she didn’t move. He reached to check her pulse and then stopped before his hand touched her neck. Her eyes were wide open; beautiful, clear green eyes looking directly at him. He couldn’t check her pulse. He didn’t want to know.
It must have penetrated her heart.
His hand shook, and her chest shuddered, bubbling blood.
She’s gone. Move on.
She gasped, and he paused.
Move on, Victor.
Luther’s legs twitched. “You think you’ve won!” His mouth frothed, and he struggled up on his hands, his legs limp. The round must have hit his spinal column. “My people have already left, and they will spread this plague across your modern world.”
Victor grabbed a pair of handcuffs and chained Luther’s wrists to the heavy steel handle. “You mean the ones heading to New York, London, and Moscow. Or maybe the ones in this building that you deliberately infected.”
Luther’s eyes bulged.
Victor stood and took off his blood stained jacket, wiping Delilah’s blood off his hands with it. “From one professional to another, you should’ve taken me up on my offer. Now you’re going to burn to death.”
He tossed his jacket in a trashcan and walked down the hall to a black door with a small square window. Several large gray tanks sat inside.
‘Boiler Room.’ That’s what she mouthed to him earlier. Telling him where the hens were and taking away the only reason for letting Luther draw another breath.
It was her revenge. A final act of commitment to the cause.
In a corner sat three cages. Victor contemplated how these three hens caused so much damage before shooting each of them with the air gun. He went up to the first floor and set the final bomb. Karen stood by the front door waiting for him.
“They’re all primed and ready to go,” she said. “Where’s Delilah?”
“She didn’t make it.”
Karen nodded. It was over. Just one last thing left to do.
They took off their masks and strolled across the four lane street. Snow flurries drifted and a Salvation Army Santa rang his bell by a nearby shop. A beautiful almost Christmas card like scene.
Victor pulled out his phone and entered the primer code. This caused all the bombs to release the odorless, colorless flammable gas. A few minutes later, an indicator lit on the phone letting him know the air concentration was at the correct level for ignition. He entered the detonation code, but his thumb stopped by the green send button.
The front apartment doors beckoned. There was a possibility she still might be alive. Infected and injured, yes, but alive.
Why didn’t I check her pulse?
He knew the answer. He couldn’t accept the possibility that she was alive, and he’d be forced to kill her. So he pretended she died to so he could finish the mission. And now… Now that part of him wanted to run inside and see her one last time. See if she was still alive. Save her. The nerve gas couldn’t get to her. Positive air pressure. The shot passed through her lung. There was still a chance.
He’d be breaking every rule, disregarding the mission, and revealing his secret. Yet, even if she was alive, she would die anyway from the infection or spread it to someone else. She knew that when she gave him the message.
“You OK,” Karen said.
No, I’m not OK. I don’t know what to do.
His thumb quivered. Karen reached up, put her hand over his, and pressed his thumb to the phone.
Flames erupted from every floor in the apartment complex. Within minutes, a crowd formed around them. Clueless people with no idea what’s been happening over the last two days. No notion of the secret sacrifices made in their behalf.
Sirens screamed. Fire trucks and the police came. Protocol dictated that they leave the scene, but he stayed anyway. Karen stayed with him.
Delilah, I’m sorry…
Galen pulled up in an unmarked car and locked eyes with Victor. He meandered over to him. “Your handiwork?”
“Yeah.”
Victor watched as the flames danced, delicate colors of yellow and red moving in a rhythmic pattern. He could almost see Delilah’s body within them.
“Where’s your other agent?”
Victor’s stomach churned, but he said nothing.
Galen lowered his eyes. “I think I understand. Not so alone were you, American?”
Within thirty minutes, the building was nothing more than smoldering cinder and concrete skeleton. That day forty-seven people died, including Delilah. Forty-seven souls lost to save millions. Blood calculus at its finest.
Hours later, Victor found himself seated in the living room of a suite in a five star luxury hotel in Paris. It was filled with crystal, brown leather furniture, and a stocked bar.
BF stood across from him, listening to his final oral report.
He had bags under his eyes, a rumpled white dress shirt, and a three-day-old graying beard. It looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
When Victor finished his commander paced, holding a closed hand to his chin. “You’re certain the hens are dead?”
Victor nodded. “Shot them myself.”
BF’s eyes searched him before pulling out his cellphone out. He tapped on the screen and waited. “JANX, stand down.” He hung up the phone and threw it on the glass table. Then he collapsed into the leather lounge chair.
“Victor,” he sighed. “You saved our asses on this one.” He scrunched up his lips. “Shame about David and Delilah, though. They were good operatives.”
Delilah.
He didn’t tell him that he was the one who shot her, only that she was tortured to death. Somehow, it felt better that way.
“That they were, Sir.”
BF looked long and hard at him. “You know, I can write the letters to their families if you wish.”
“No, Sir. I was their commanding officer. It’s my job.”
“Ok, then.”
Victor stood and turned around.
“I’m not your boss anymore.”
Shit. They know about my relationship with Delilah.
He closed his eyes. His heart thumped. Were they going to assign him a desk job, make him work in mission planning, or maybe bust him down to an office clerk? After all, it’s what he deserved.
“I can explain—”
“We’re promoting you.”
He whipped around. “Promote?”
BF smiled and extended a hand. “You’re going to be my partner. Congratulations.”
Victor took a few seconds to just breathe and take in what he’d been told. It felt exhilarating, except he’d be out of the field. BF’s hand beckoned.
He cleared his throat. “I’m a… quite comfortable where I’m at. I’m afraid I’ll have—”
BF held up a palm. “Don’t worry, we’re not breaking up your team. Me and you are just going to collaborate a little closer and you’ll have a greater input on the missions you go on. What do you say?” He motioned his outstretched hand to him.
Victor swallowed hard and shook it. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
“Great, you report to Stanford now.” His partner smiled. “Your promotion isn’t going to be official for a few days, so my final order to you is to take two weeks off.” He held out his hand. “Your cellphone.”
Victor rummaged through his pockets and handed him the phone.
“Take Karen and Mitch with you. Relax, see the sights, be a normal human being. This damned world will still be here when you get back.”
Victor nodded. “I will, after I write the letters to the families.”
His partner motioned a hand to the door and Victor left.
For over an hour, Victor sat in front of the blank computer screen, searching for the right words to describe Delilah, but none came. In his heart, he just felt an emptiness that couldn’t be filled.
It’s rare when two soulmates find each other, his mother’s voice echoed. So if you find yours, be sure to tell her you love her, before It’s too late.
He picked up their group picture, taken on that wintery day in Orleans. Despite working together for three years, it was the only photo he had of her. Agency rules.
His finger traced the outline of Delilah’s beautiful face, her toothy grin and bright green eyes frozen in place for all time. His eyes moistened. He always tried to convince himself that they were just friends, a pleasant distraction from the stressful hell of their jobs.
A single tear fell.
Maybe it was love.
The End
Want More?
If you enjoyed Three French Hens, you may want to check out these other books by Troy McLaughlan.
H I D D E N
HU-645-555 wasn’t supposed to exist.
Hidden as a child, at the age of twelve she’s brought into a nightmarish world where human civilization has been destroyed. The remnants of humanity are forced to work as slaves by bloodthirsty reptilian invaders called Targs.
After six years of brutal training, she’s given a cryptic message by her human master and allowed to escape. But is the message she carries real or is she merely the perfect prey…
For sale here: books2read.com/u/bxqBGv
A w a k e n
The second story in Troy’s Hidden series.
“Trust no one. Awaken Gaia before it's too late.” These were the dying words of my father.
“I knew only three things about Gaia. First, she was our planetary guardian located under Mt. Kilimanjaro. Second, the bloodthirsty alien invaders called Targs were frantically searching for her. And third, I had to find her first.” — Fives
...
'Fives' was the first human slave to survive 'The Hunt'. Trained by her father from birth as a living weapon, she watched as the Targs butchered him when he helped her to escape. Grief-stricken, she wanders the African wilderness alone, desperate to locate Gaia. Pursued relentlessly, she sinks into despair when she finds the volcano guarding the entrance is swarming with Targs.
Then a chance encounter with a handsome but mysterious human resistance fighter offers her hope. He leads Fives to his base promising assistance, yet something sinister there awaits.
Can she survive and awaken Gaia in time...
For sale here: books2read.com/u/boYBov
Author’s Note
Troy McLaughlan is a software engineer who spends his days in the high tech world of computer science.
When not trying to put food on the table he spends his nights and mornings (very early mornings) dreaming up far way worlds and writing speculative fiction. His second hobby is photography, and he specializes in landscapes, shooting wild animals, and astro-photography.
He also has another life biking, hiking, and camping with his family in the mountains near his home.
Contact Info:
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/troymclaughlan
Four Calling Byrds
Joynell Schultz
Day Four
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me…
Four Calling Byrds
Joynell Schultz
Fantasy/Superhero Fiction
It’s Christmas in Shadow Town, but a new supervilllian has moved into the city, disrupting the Byrds’ Christmas Plans. Luckily, the local superhero, Icy Tundra, has come to the rescue…but it appears he may have met his match with this attractive villain.
Four Calling Byrds
Dispatch: Shadow Town Police Station. How can I help you?
Mr. Byrd: I think we have a new supervillain in town! My family just sat down for our Christmas brunch, and a woman with orange hair ran past our dining room window in a bright red and yellow costume that looked like flames. I didn’t get a good look, but I think she was holding a flame in the palm of her hand. Real fire like only a superhuman can do! The mayor lives right down the road
from me, and I’d hate for something to happen. Perhaps you want to contact Icy Tundra? I’m sure he’ll want to know!
On the quiet corner of Robin Street and Birch Avenue, Mistress Inferno waved her handheld flamethrower in the air while squeezing the trigger. The fire’s heat warming her cheeks made her smile. When she let go of the handle, she caught a chill from the December air. Throwing her head back, she laughed and gave it another squeeze, careful that the red and orange fabric dangling from the arms of her supervillain jumpsuit didn’t catch fire.
Icy Tundra would have to track her down soon. She had purposefully pranced in front of a few front windows, hoping someone would request the help of Shadow Town’s local superhero.
Hmmm. Perhaps Icy Tundra needed a bigger display?
Mistress Inferno kicked some dried leaves onto a pile, then leaned down and pulled the torch’s handle. The warmth of the fire pushed Mistress Inferno back a step. Butterflies danced in her stomach while she admired the black smoke rising into the sky. She kicked more leaves on the pile and ignited them again.
Come on, Icy Baby. Find me.
I’m sure you’ve never met a villain like me.
Dispatch: Shadow Town Police Station. How can I help you?
Grandma Byrd: My son just called and reported a new supervillain in town. Now that…that…criminal has a giant fire blazing on the sidewalk. Icy Tundra better hurry!
Icy Tundra had sensed Mistress Inferno hours ago and had been using his superpower to track her through the city on his motorcycle. She was clever, leaving little signs such as her villain name written in soot on the side of an old bridge, but always staying a step ahead of him. What did she have planned? A slow smile grew on his lips.
12 Days of Christmas: A Christmas Collection Page 12