by Gina Ranalli
The four of them sat in the Cherokee Chief, Helena behind the wheel and Cash beside her in the passenger seat. Sam sat directly behind Cash, ready to do whatever needed to be done should the need arise and Quinn sat behind Helena, the binoculars pressed to his face, aimed towards the cemetery.
It was nearly dark and the family and friends of the deceased had left over an hour before. Now began the waiting game.
“They won’t be here for at least seven hours,” Cash informed them, nonchalantly slicking back the sides of his hair.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Sam growled. “You think we’ve never done this before?”
“Seems like a waste of time, is all. We could go have a country fried dinner and see a movie and still come back with plenty of time to spare.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Helena saw Sam raise an open hand, about to cuff Cash upside his head.
Firmly, she said, “No.”
Sam dropped his hand and went back to looking out the window on his side of the vehicle.
“Why are we so early?” Cash asked her.
“Didn’t used to be. Let’s just say we’ve learned a few things over the years.”
“What kind of things?”
“Typical stuff. Expect the unexpected kind of thing.”
“Right.” He reached for the radio knob and got his hand slapped away. “You ever listen to KWOZ?” he asked. “Best oldie station in the country. They play Elvis the top of every hour.”
“I can’t believe we’re missing that,” Quinn said sarcastically.
Cash shifted in his seat to see Quinn. “You joking, man? Elvis is the king!”
“Maybe in your time,” Quinn said without dropping the binoculars from his face. “But here in the present we-”
He stopped short, causing everyone to look at him. “We’ve got company,” he said finally.
“At the grave?” Helena asked.
“Not quite. Other side of the cemetery. They have an old Bronco, Cash?”
Cash sounded both guilty and regretful when he answered in the affirmative.
“Well,” Quinn said. “I guess we’re not too early after all.”
“Probably just staking the place out,” Helena said.
Sam said, “Yep. Just like us.”
“So, they’re gonna be watching us while we watch them,” she said.
“Maybe,” Quinn replied. “But maybe they don’t have binoculars. They might not know we’re here.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam said.
Helena reached into her coat and brought out the silver Phoenix Blade. Just holding it gave her some semblance of comfort. What were the monsters doing here so early? She glanced at Cash, trying to read his expression. Had this entire thing been a set-up? Had he just let them capture him, to lead them here, to this moment? What if they were vastly outnumbered?
She decided then she would kill Cash first, before even attempting to fight the others. She would saw his head off as slowly as time allowed, even if she were surrounded by snarling, drooling beasts flailing their claws at her. She would kill him before they killed her.
The hunters waited. No one spoke for over twenty minutes. Full dark fell and Quinn switched the military binoculars to infrared. Another twenty minutes passed and then he said, “We have movement.”
Sam shifted in his seat. “It’s too early. Something’s not right.”
Without looking at him, Helena said, “Cash? What’s happening?”
“Early bird catches the worm?” he replied. “I have no fucking idea.”
“They’re walking to the grave,” Quinn said. “I count five.”
“Fuck!” Sam spat. “We need to move.”
The sound of a fast approaching engine from behind distracted them all. A motorcycle roared up and passed the Cherokee, the rider in a cowboy hat before continuing around a loop far ahead, and finally pulling up behind the Bronco on the opposite side of the cemetery.
“Bliss,” Cash said. “He knows we’re here.”
Helena felt her heart stutter. Fear wasn’t an emotion that snagged her easily but she felt it now. The monsters now outnumbered them by two, and that was if Cash truly was on their side. She supposed they were about to find out.
“Let’s go,” she said, starting the engine. “No sense in sneaking up if they already know about us.”
She drove the Cherokee along the same path the motorcycle had taken, but stopped about fifty yards from where both it and the Bronco were parked.
“This is a bad fucking idea,” Quinn said.
“Yep,” Cash agreed.
The monsters were gathered around the gravesite, two of them digging with shovels while the others had turned to face the hunters.
“I don’t like this,” Sam said, readying the shotgun filled with silver pellets.
“Look at the bright side,” Cash said. “They don’t like it either.”
“Bullshit,” Sam said. “They’ve been waiting for this a long time. We just rang the goddamn dinner bell.”
“Everyone ready?” Helena asked.
The men made unenthusiastic grumbles.
“Let’s do it.”
All four of the hunters exited the vehicle and began striding towards the monsters, weapons at the ready, with the exception of Cash, who, if all went well, was a weapon himself.
The monsters who weren’t busily trying to dig up a body decided to meet them halfway, with Bliss leading the pack.
It was too dark to see features but Helena could tell Bliss was being followed by two women, with a third remaining with the gravediggers.
Sam raised the shotgun and without warning let off a single blast, hitting the woman to Bliss’s right.
She screeched and fell back, writhing on the ground.
Bliss stopped in his tracks, as did his second companion.
“Whoa, now,” he called amicably. “Is that any way to introduce yourselves?”
“Fuck you,” Sam replied and shot directly at the leader. Bliss was too fast, saw the muzzle of the weapon moving and jumped aside, unhurt. The silver pellets made tiny clinking sounds somewhere up ahead even after the initial blast had faded.
Bliss broke into a run, morphing into his true self as he came, moving impossibly fast, aiming his body directly at Sam.
Helena was aware that someone-possibly Quinn-cursed, and then they were in battle.
The woman-beast had changed as well and charged Helena, who slashed at her with her blade, digging a shallow gash into the thing’s exposed shoulder before it danced away from her and came back instantaneously, claws raking the air where Helena’s face had been a split second before.
The gravediggers were now on the move, coming at the hunters, their original task abandoned for the moment and the one Sam had injured with the shotgun blast was back on her feet, roaring with outrage.
Like Helena, Quinn only had a blade to work with but he handled it deftly, dodging and weaving, thrusting and slitting exposed skin whenever it came within his reach.
The shotgun boomed again and Helena heard two simultaneous screams. One of the diggers went down, but not before tackling Sam and taking him down with him.
This had been a terrible idea. Helena didn’t know why she’d ever thought otherwise. There were too many of the things and naturally they weren’t about to stand still and allow themselves to be beheaded or set aflame.
Beside her, she was aware that Cash had become a whirlwind, leaping on Bliss, his gnashing fangs less than an inch from his mentor’s throat.
She had no time to marvel at this wonder as in the next instant, she was hit from behind and brought down, one of them snarling in her ear as it ripped open her back with its deadly claws.
Helena cried out as she hit the ground face first, her nose bursting with a loud crack. She barely noticed the pain, too focused on trying to roll away from the creature but the thing rolled with her until Helena was on her back, the female monster atop her chest, straddling her, long dark hair
hanging down its face, obscuring it.
Somehow Helena had been able to keep hold of the blade and thrust it upwards into the monster’s abdomen, eliciting a shriek from it, but still it refused to retreat.
Nevertheless, the scream pleased Helena and she was glad to know she had inflicted pain upon one of these demons in her last moments on this earth. She hoped the others were faring better than her in their own individual battles, but she suspected not. They were all going to die this night, without even preventing what they had come to prevent-the raising of yet another of their ilk.
The monster’s claws plunged into her stomach and Helena screamed up at the night sky where the indifferent stars were just beginning to show themselves to the minute sphere of life passing beneath them, steadfast on its looping path through time and cold, dead space.
CHAPTER 15
Gunnar Bliss felt a victory party was in order and knew there was no time like the present.
Before returning to the farmhouse, the Rumblers had stopped off at a store and purchased enough alcohol to supply a frat house on a Friday night. Some of them remained injured and groaning but would recover soon enough. Walt was the worst off, having caught a blast of silver directly in the face and Bliss suspected he would be permanently blind in one eye but said nothing, as doing so would cause Walt to rage and Bliss didn’t want the good mood dampened.
They’d actually caught one of the hunters, the older one with the beard, and Bliss was looking forward to the games they could play with him later.
The only bad thing that had come out of the evening was they’d been unable to continue the effort of bringing Joshua Meadows into their ranks, a small price to pay for their triumph and one Bliss intended to resolve soon enough.
The second thing he was less than thrilled about was Cash. Secretly, he hoped Justin was taking the hunters for a ride and would learn their secrets before dispatching them and returning to the Rumbler fold but outwardly he had to feign anger just in case Cash truly had turned against them, though he couldn’t imagine why he would have. Bliss had to admit, if Cash was undercover, so to speak, he was doing a fantastic job of it, fooling even his brethren. The rest of the Rumblers were calling for his head on a spike.
Once everyone was settled and the radio played the soothing sounds of soft classical music, Bliss poured whiskey for all and they talked more about obtaining an RV, which was on the to do list for the following day.
Opal sat in a corner, cooing reassuringly at Willa, who was behaving in an even more traumatized manner than she had been before the battle at the cemetery. Willa had yet to make her first change and Bliss was confident that once she did, she would relax about her situation, but if she didn’t…if she refused to make the effort…then they were going to be forced to make a choice. Attack her, to force the change, or get rid of her.
“You fuckers.” The bearded man, Sam, grumbled from his balled up position on the floor. “Just fucking kill me.”
Walt, holding a bloody towel to his eye, kicked the captive man in the ribs, eliciting a muffled yelp of pain.
“Trust me,” Walt said. “I’m gonna kill you. Don’t worry about that. I’m just gonna make it last.”
Walt was more pissed off than Bliss had ever seen him, showing none of the sadist humor he usually displayed while toying with his food. Bliss guessed that maybe losing an eye would do that to anyone, man or beast.
Crouching on the floor beside Sam, Walt grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, lifting his head in order to spit in his face.
Through gritted teeth, Sam growled, “Fuck you, you fucking ogre. Go back to Hell.”
Walt slammed Sam’s face into the floor hard enough to knock out the man’s two front teeth. Blood spouted from between his lips, pooling beneath him.
“I’m gonna eat your fucking eyes first, you bitch,” Walt told him. “Then I’m gonna feed you your own skinned dick.”
Melosia made a noise of disgust and stood up from the sofa, grabbing John by the hand and walking out of the room.
Noticing their departure, Walt glanced at Bliss. “What’s her problem?”
Bliss shrugged. “She caught a blade in the gut. Maybe she’s in a bad mood.”
“She’s in a bad mood? What about my fucking eye?”
“It’ll grow back.” Then, as an afterthought, “Maybe.”
Walt dropped the towel he’d been holding to his face, exposing the bloody split socket and the two halves of eyeball within. “Does it look any better?”
It looked awful, but Bliss said, “Yeah. Should be healed up in no time.”
“Fucking hurts like a bitch.”
“Don’t be such a pussy. Drink some more whiskey and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Shaking his head, Walt reached for the glass he’d set on the mantel in order to have a free hand with which to hurt Sam and drank down the contents in a single swallow. He held out the glass to Bliss. “Hit me again, barkeep.” He smiled thinly but Bliss thought it was better than no smile at all and filled the glass again.
He walked over to where Opal sat with Willa and held the bottle aloft. “Refill, ladies?”
Opal scowled at him but Willa held her empty glass out in a trembling hand. She refused to meet his eyes but mumbled a soft “thank you” after he’d poured.
“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he said, giving her his friendliest grin. “I hope you didn’t find tonight’s festivities too troublin’.” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “Our nights aren’t usually so…exciting. We tend to be a peaceful bunch most days. But what can you do? Some people don’t think we have the right to live, the same as anyone else. We try to mind our business, but they don’t want to leave well enough alone. You know what I’m saying, sweetheart?” He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to look up at him.
From across the room, Sam began to cackle madly, the laughter building and building until it became a roar that drowned out the radio.
Bliss turned to look at him, doing his best to keep his face neutral. “Something funny, old man?”
Sam rolled onto his back, clutching his stomach, unable to respond due to his insane laughter.
Bliss was patient and when Walt moved to kick Sam again, Bliss held up a hand to stay him. Walt looked disgusted, but stopped and went back to concentrating on his beverage.
Nearly a minute passed before Sam’s belly laugh trickled down to giggles and then Bliss walked over, standing above him.
“I asked you a question, son.”
Blood still dribbled down into the old man’s beard as he smirked up at Bliss, the vacant black holes where his teeth had been raw and ragged.
“Who’re you calling son, you fucking prick?” Sam asked finally.
Bliss considered the question but chose not to answer it. “I asked what was so funny.”
“You, dumbass. What do you think? You’re gonna stick your barbed dick in that slick monster pussy? You ain’t had a taste of it yet?”
This sent Sam into fresh peals of laughter and Bliss wondered mildly if the man’s mind had snapped.
He didn’t have long to ponder it because John walked in from the other room, his face stricken. “Mel’s not doing so good. Where she got stabbed…I don’t know. She’s not healing right.”
Bliss frowned. “Not healing? What the hell are you talking about?”
John led the way and Bliss followed, swigging from the whiskey bottle as he went.
Melosia lay on the kitchen counter, one hand pressed to her abdomen. Her eyes pleaded with Bliss when she saw him. “Something’s wrong,” she whimpered.
Bliss put his bottle down and pried her hand away from the wound. It was about two and half inches in length and still open, the edges of it a festering yellow-gray. He’d never seen anything like it. He leaned forward, peering at it more closely. “What the fuck?” he whispered under his breath. He glanced back up at Melosia’s face. “How’re you feeling otherwise?”
She shook her head, wincing. “No
t good.”
Straightening up, Bliss stood thinking for a moment. Then he turned around and went back into the front room and marched over to where Sam still lay on the floor. “Why is she not healing?” he asked.
A look of smug satisfaction crossed Sam’s face, visible even through his obvious pain. “No idea.”
Bliss crouched beside him. “You’d better start coming up with an idea, hoss, or I’m gonna make what’s left of your life one long, miserable ordeal.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, hoss,” Sam replied, grimacing at his own discomfort.
“Is that right?” Bliss offered his infamous grin, snatched up one of Sam’s hands and snapped all four fingers back in one fluid motion. Sam shrieked at the ceiling, loud enough to make the others nervous and Bliss quickly clamped a hand down over the man’s mouth. “You want to know what it feels like to have every bone in your body broken at the same time, you just keep up that charming attitude. Now answer my fucking question.”
Through clenched teeth, his voice muffled from the palm pressed against his bloody lips, Sam hissed, “Go fuck yourself.”
Unsurprised, Bliss said, “Not to mention removing more of your teeth. That shit has to hurt like a bitch, eh?”
Sam struggled to roll away as tears began to stream from his eyes, mingling with sweat and blood.
“I’m not losing one of my own,” Bliss continued in a casual tone, easily holding his victim in place. “Now, I don’t know what kind of juju you people are using but you’d better tell me how to fix it right quick. Otherwise, it’s not gonna be just you who pays. That little filly who stabbed Mel? I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t want to see her get fucked up. Am I right?” He lifted his hand away from Sam’s mouth in order to let the man respond but much to his amazement, Sam began cackling again.
“You fucking idiot,” Sam said. “You wouldn’t know poetic justice if it bit your face clean off.”
From the kitchen came the sound of Melosia crying out in pain and Bliss felt the rage building within him. With piston speed, he punched Sam hard in his already broken nose. The man wailed, drowning out Melosia’s howls, and abruptly lost consciousness.