The Devil's Claw

by Nick Pignatelli

  “I guess it’ll have to do, Frank.” He strode out of Curtiss’s office.

  Tom Stanick went back to his office and closed the door. He sat down at his computer and stared at the screen. The MTSI logo stared back at him. He logged on to the network, then brought up the inventory system which displayed a detailed listing of every item in the Black Hole. The physical items in the vault were stored in large sealed containers with no markings except for a MTSI-assigned inventory number. Stanick located the number for The Devil’s Claw cache. He stared at the number, fingers tapping on the desk.

  So many innocent people had died and the only assurance Frank Curtiss could give him that it wouldn’t happen again was to say, Next time we’ll think long and hard before releasing something like this. Frank Curtiss was a good man, but he had given Stanick a stock bureaucratic response.

  “Sorry, Frank. Not good enough,” Stanick muttered. He highlighted the inventory number on the screen and pressed the delete key on the keyboard. A small box appeared on the screen: Press Y to verify deletion of number from system. Stanick’s finger hovered over the Y key, then pressed down. Another message appeared on the screen telling him that all records tied to that inventory number had been deleted from the system. He logged off the network and left his office, heading for the Black Hole.

  Since the Black Hole was a restricted area, it was not unusual to be alone in the massive vault. Stanick took a quick look down the long aisles. Once he was sure no one else was there, he made his way to where The Devil’s Claw containers were. He manhandled them onto a motorized cart and navigated it down the aisles until he reached the deepest, darkest, most out of the way corner in the vault. He unloaded the containers, removed the old inventory labels and applied new ones, then pushed them as far to the rear of the storage rack as they would go. He then slid a different set of containers, with matching inventory labels, in front of them. They now appeared to be associated with the containers they were hidden behind. With any luck, they would be lost in the system forever. Tom Stanick had done what he could to ensure it would be a long time, if ever, before anyone stumbled across this hellish nightmare again.

  A solitary figure sat cross-legged on the ground, huddled over a small fire in the darkness, the crackling of the flames the only sound. He chewed on a roasted morsel of rabbit he’d caught earlier in the day.

  How long has it been? he wondered. How long have I been out here? He cut another piece from the rabbit roasting on a wood spit above the fire.

  The moon slid out from behind the last big cloud overhead, illuminating the forest. He looked up at a black velvet sky brimming with countless pinpoints of brilliant white light.

  He ran his greasy fingers through his dirty beard, still pondering. He had followed their tracks for months now, losing them a few times, always reacquiring them soon after. From the northwesterly direction he had been traveling, he had to be somewhere in south central Canada by now.

  Come morning, the man would dig a hole and bury the remnants of his fire and all other traces of his overnight stay, then set out again in pursuit, as he always did. He was the last of the Reapers, and he was the best of the Reapers, which is why he was still alive when the rest of the team had been destroyed. As mighty as the Centurions were, they continued to flee, always sticking to the wilderness.

  They fear me, for I am the best and most deadly Reaper ever, and vengeance will be mine.

  With his meager meal finished, he positioned his sleeping bag next to the fire and crawled inside. Like every other time he slept, he lay his handmade spear on the ground within reach, then pulled his knife from its scabbard and gripped it against his chest. He gazed into the fire until his eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

  Off in the distance, he heard a mournful howl, a sound he knew all too well. His eyes fluttered open. He’s close. Is he crying for mercy or challenging me?

  “I’m coming for you, Alpha, and when I find you, I will kill you,” Collins vowed in a soft voice. “I will not stop until I kill you.” He closed his eyes and drifted peacefully off to sleep.

  ~ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ~

  My greatest thanks go to my wife and best friend, Joyce, for her endless love and belief in me over the decades. Many were the nights during the writing of The Devil’s Claw that I woke her from a sound sleep so I could run an idea past her. I can’t remember a time when Joyce wasn’t in my life, cheering me on, and brightening every day. To her I say, Now & Always.

  Ron Kermani performed the initial edit on The Devil’s Claw. I appreciate not only Ron’s expert work, but also, his sage advice, enthusiasm, patience, and encouragement. Thanks for being a good friend and teacher.

  Special thanks to Robyn Ringler of East Line Literary Center for her tireless editing of The Devil’s Claw. There is no one better when it comes to the delicate art of editing. Robyn started out as my editor and ended up my friend and mentor.

  Heartfelt thanks to Bill Beaudin, Jim Keville, and Dr. Ben Lomaestro for allowing me to attach their names and personalities to three of my characters in The Devil’s Claw. A person could not hope for three better friends to travel through life with.

  Last, but not least, thanks and love to daughters, Katie and Joanna, for always believing in me.

  ~ ABOUT THE AUTHOR ~

  Nick Pignatelli was born in Troy, NY and grew up in the neighboring community of Wynantskill. He attended college at the State University of New York at Farmingdale on Long Island, NY where he received a degree in Aerospace Technology.

  Nick spent a few years writing advertising copy and restaurant reviews for a newspaper before moving on to a long career in Information Technology with a New York state government agency. He retired in 2010 to concentrate on writing and after two years completed work on his first novel, The Devil’s Claw.

  Nick is a lifelong resident of upstate New York, the setting for The Devil’s Claw, and currently lives in Clifton Park with his wife, Joyce. In his free time, Nick enjoys traveling, reading, and playing guitar.