The malevolent thrashing had been stirring for the last hour. The captain struggled back to his feet as the tides fired their biggest shove yet and the ship rocked back and forth as if it were a novice ice skater. He managed to catch himself on railing along the interior of the main deck, which did little to provide shelter from the rising water. He staggered onwards along the slippery metallic flooring. Ahead on the intercom a voice was trying to make contact through a weak frequency. Most of what he could make out from the sound was some buzzing and a high pitched sting like a grenade was about to go off. Another wave thrashed against the deck, breaking the left window clean through and sending Beckman tumbling down. He rolled over, the increasing water levels were saturating through all his clothes. Finally, he got a tight enough hold onto one of the railings and propelled himself upward with one quick motion. He angrily cried out as he thrust himself across the hold which was becoming more stable. The peeping on the intercom had not ceased. Now within range, he shot himself forward onto the chair that thankfully was bolted down to the floor. As he flung excess water out of his hair and face he reached a soaked hand out to the speaker and defiantly pressed the button.
“Hello?” water escaped his mouth under his breath. “Hello, anyone there?”
An irritating buzzing was the only response. Between screeched intervals Beckman thought he could make out the strained voice of the man from the Liverpool port. Very few words managed to seep through so the captain increased his begging into the dying speaker.
Eventually the small machine seemed to give up as it unleashed its loudest high pitched ring yet. Captain Beckman slammed his hands over his ears and held onto his seat by wrapping his legs around its base. He tried a hard blow to the device with his fist but nothing happened. Seconds later the deafening racket vanished, and in its place was an American’s voice. He was clearly not the man from port.
“Captain, where are you?” the voice asked hastily.
Beckman steadied his arms against the controls, barely managing an uneasy palm against the response button. “No idea. The storm is too strong. We may have turned a 360 for all I know.” He stopped. “Who is this?”
After the broken gap in frequency the chilling voice returned. “Sir, it’s very important that the packages arrive in the United States within the next half hour.”
“Well that isn’t going to happen!”. The captain was angry now. The monotonous voice through the speaker seemed not to give a damn about his situation. And as if that wasn’t enough, he and his crew would not be getting paid now. “I’ll ask one more time: who the hell is this?”
“I understand. Goodbye.”
With that, the intercom went dead. Beckman felt his bones freeze at the man’s final response. All that was left was the same frustrating communication disruptions, which made him feel isolated. He needed to get back to his crew to make sure everyone was okay, and just count this one as a horrible loss.
Seconds later he no longer felt alone. The sound of angry wings flapping above forced him to the floor like a frightened child.
He knew immediately it was not thunder.
The booming, which sounded like someone swinging giant tarps over monster trucks, quieted as whatever creatures that we’re invading landed on the ship. Their weight splashed harder than any Atlantic wave could. Beckman was flung back to the doorway. The small stream building inside nearly swept him away. He pointlessly gripped the door hinge hard enough to shift back onto his knees. Now that he was no longer inside the deck he had a clear view outside to the main hall where he left his crew. His eyes nearly inflated out of his skull as he got the last view of anything for the rest of his life.
He couldn’t even bring himself to scream.
As he saw that the large beasts sported gigantic pairs of feather studded wings. The nearest one swooped to the back half of the boat and pummeled straight to the captain. Before Beckman could think about objecting the terrifying creature gave him two clean slices below his eyes.
The thickness of its claws almost took half his face off.
The force of the lethal blow flung him to the edge, where a steady pool of salt water slowly formed. The flying animals continued to the rest of the ship. Struggling to regain consciousness, the captain heard cries from the rest of the crew, which were silenced as quickly as they were let out. Before his eyes closed for the last time, as the building puddle of water invaded his lungs and eyes, Beckman watched a dozen golden creatures with eagle’s wings carry their packages the rest of the way across the Atlantic.
Detective Hunter could feel the eyes of the whole city on his as he approached the podium. Back in the office he was plenty confident in the investigation and findings made so far, but things still seemed off. Yes, his team had successfully identified the raven gang. But no, they did not have any clue as to why he was murdered.
He felt naked in front of everyone. This was the tax-payers’ tax dollars at work, and he couldn’t properly solve the riddle of the four college psychopaths. Something big was missing, like it was hovering right above his eyes. There was definitely much more to the investigation than the department wanted to think.
He started simply, so he would have time to gather his thoughts and monitor every subconscious action. The crowd was getting bored. He put aside his anxiety to get to the crux of the matter. “As you all know, a group of criminals known as ‘The Raven Gang’ has been loose in this city for a week. But there is no need to fear, for just earlier today, we have gathered some evidence that we are happy to share with the public,” the detective paused, surveying the crowd. The flash from photographers who were camouflaged among the regular faces briefly blinded his vision. Farther in the back there was a small stir, but he made little of it. “As a matter of fact, we have successfully identified each of the young men in this clan”.
Everyone’s attention turned to a large monitor set up for crowd convenience. Considering the populace’s interest in the case, the needed something for a large gathering to view. An officer with tech experience was signaled to spark the big device to life and then the detective to continued. But the tech man was as dumbstruck as the rest of the crowd by the two thundering trigger generated bangs rippling down the street. With them, two bullet sized holes appeared in the center of the monitor. The sudden turn of events spurred cries of terror throughout the crowd. From the back, people tried to hurry away, but two lone armed figures whose faces were covered by torn book pages positioned themselves on each side of the crowd with their guns threateningly displayed.
“I take it you all know who we are?” said the one on the left. He spoke slowly and carefully, making sure every syllable was properly enunciated. In his fear Detective Hunter decided it was the most evil thing he had ever heard. His mind was telling him that the attack should have been a surprise, but all he could think about was how it should have been detected some days ago.
Just as soon as the black dressed man finished his sentence a cavalry of officers charged down the crowd, guns in hands.
“Lay down your arms!” the lead officer roared. “Surrender right now!”
They skillfully repositioned themselves to blend behind the expansive crowds. As if they had rehearsed their plan like a Broadway musical, the two gunmen vanished to opposing sides as the detective stood helplessly on podium. They were completely enclosed within the people. The only good thing, Hunter concluded, was that they were surrounded, and there was no way they could escape.
“Call off your officers, captain!” shouted the same one who spoke earlier. “In ten seconds the monitor won’t be the only thing with holes in it!” he dragged the muzzle of his gun menacingly behind civilians who were frozen with fear.
The civil organization had descended into a frenzy. All around officers were shouting commands back and forth. Any wrong move on his own part could cause damage he was not prepared to handle.
No one could see, but t
he gunman on the far left was glancing nervously down at his phone, and before anything could divert his attention, he typed ‘Any second now, guys’.
Patrick felt the alert from Gary stir itself in his pocket as he grabbed his weapon away with a free hand to read the message. He cursed to himself. There was already more trouble than they anticipated. As much trouble as Gary and Slate were currently enduring, their time had turned out to not be the expected piece of pie either.
“I still feel bad about tearing those pages.” Patrick crept noiselessly behind Johnny. “Surely we could have used something else for masks.”
“Not really, no.” his friend replied. “You don’t feel worse about knocking out those guards?”
“Yeah, that too.”
A couple guards had stood watch outside the premises. One waited by the back door while the other circled the anterior and would disappear out of sight for three minutes. Their fears were eased when they remembered that Edgar had come with them. Their companion’s crafty echolocation ability gave them the foresight to know when that other guard would come around again. They wasted no time taking them down.
“TV makes knocking people unconscious look so easy.”
“Right?” they approached the back door. It was armed with a simple code system. “Okay buddy, do your thing.”
Upon Patrick’s request, the bat tapped a couple notches on the pad and leaned forward, staring it directly as if he was trying to frighten it. Whatever he was trying to do, it worked and the security system chimed open like a donut shop. After rendering his assistance Edgar subtly leaped into the air and landed on the roof of the bank. His role in the operation was to keep watch and signal them if any trouble neared. Patrick made a mental note to find out how the bat got the special talent as he and Johnny silently strode across the empty hall into the main room.
They slowly moved one leg over the other, advancing horizontally. Weapons unsteadily in hand as they let the bank directory guide them. They knew they needed to be quick. Gary and Slate wouldn’t last another five minutes surrounded by cops. It was working as a good distraction. With all the action at the police station, it would give them enough time to rally away with their treasure even if an alarm was triggered. Once their heist was done they would heroically swing by the station in their stolen car; break up the activity, and in the frenzy pick up the other two.
They found the right way to the deposit boxes. The room was right around a thin corner in the central customer service lounge. A bright glare from the outside stopped their advancing feet.
“What the hell was that?” Patrick whispered, not at all subtly.
The front of the bank was lined entirely by clear glass, something they weren’t expecting. Any passing pedestrian could catch them wandering inside. The frightening glare was caused by an azure coated SUV rounding the intersection. It’s headlights nonchalantly provided a front row view into their crime. The two dove into the next room, evading the lights of more traffic.
“They saw us didn’t they?” muttered Johnny, arms spread across the floor.
“Calm down. Just another minute and we’ll be out of here.”
They progressed, crouched lowly as they dragged themselves the rest of the way out of sight. Within a few more seconds they were in the right room. Displayed before them were dozens of rows and columns of small key-locked compartments. As provided thoughtlessly earlier by Lindsey’s father, they knew exactly which one to crack open.
Patrick shoved his face inches away from the boxes, looking for it in the darkness. “Okay, okay.14C where are you?”
Johnny started on the opposite side. It was the right side. “Here it is, dude.”
“Awesome.” Patrick sighed in relief. “Now let’s open it, hopefully putting an end to this raven gang fiasco.”
Johnny reached into his bag and extracted a crowbar, holding it tightly with both hands. He retreated a step and then jabbed the bottom end into the tiny bottom slit and heaved forward as heavily as his and Patrick’s weight would allow. The interior mechanisms fought them noiselessly. The two forced another shove as the pain increasing on their palms like it was steaming. With a clicking blast, the locked drawer exploded outward, shaking its contents to the front of the case.
Patrick and Johnny hugged each other joyfully. But they embarrassingly cut themselves off. They had somewhere to be. Their hurry dissipated as Patrick stared hard at the inside of the box, and gingerly picked it up with both hands, his eyes dotted with disbelief. He could feel the content staring back at him.
“This- this can’t be right.” Patrick concluded as the cover of the leather bound volume hypnotized him.
He read it over and over again under his breath, but that didn’t give it any more sense. The think book in his hands was decorated with colorful illustrations giving it a tie dye feel. In swirling letters running from the top right cutting down the middle and splitting the drawings, was a title that read ‘Fairy Tales of the Modern World: Written and Illustrated by George Gordon Buchanan’.
“What’s one of your dad’s books doing here?” Johnny asked. “Did we check the wrong one?”
“No. Forget it.” Patrick quickly muttered, tucking the hardcover book tightly under his arm. “We failed. Let’s just go.”
Edgar’s ears twitched curiously with every human that passed below. There were a couple large cars driving by and some people standing a bit too close to the bank, but nothing to be worried about.
His eyes and ears were perfectly equipped for the dull job he was assigned. He was bored. Now about a week since their meeting, he knew he made the right choice in joining the gang. They were young, fragile, clueless, and needed his help. Especially Gary. He was someone who liked to think of himself as the master of his own ideas. But he was wrong. The bat knew a thing or two about that.
His supernormal senses may as well have sprung clean out of his brain. The sudden attack on his organs forced him to the floor in a violent seizure. It felt like a think, sub-zero liquid was chugging its way up his spine. In one of his last moments of consciousness he could tell a threat was coming. But there was no way to warn the gang. As the chemical was halfway through drowning half the surface area of his brain, he passed out.
Patrick and Johnny rushed out the way they entered. They main lounge was still tranquil. But something brought them to a speeding stop.
“Someone sees us!” Patrick nearly dropped the book.
The shadow of a hooded figure projected by lucid street lights flashed in the bank interior. The being the shadow belonged to was standing right outside the front window. Patrick couldn’t make out any of its physical feature, as everything was shrouded by its dark robe. They couldn’t bring themselves to move, even as figure raised its menacing arm, a pistol-like object unmistakably displayed in hand.
“Get down!” Johnny exclaimed as he dove away.
Patrick felt the weight of his friend tumble over him as a bright blue blast broke through the bulletproof glass. The heat of the fired beam penetrated the marble walls behind him. It had flown right by his ear, which he knew was still properly attached to his head because of the piercing shriek of the alarm. Every functioning light woke up, leaving them completely in the light.
In his nearly concussive state, Patrick shoved Johnny off him, but from the much longer hair of the person on top of him, he knew right away it wasn’t him.
“Oh my God, Jane?” Patrick exclaimed with all his still functioning organs. His cousin stared back with a look of relief.
“Good. You’re alright.” she said, pouncing off him. To his dissatisfaction, his good friend Johnny had chosen to dive away from him, thinking primarily of himself. Over in the front, where piles of shattered glass clumped, the ghostly figure had vanished.
Patrick put his astonishment aside, rising to his shaking feet. “We gotta split. The cops will be here any second.”
; He could already make out the shape of a blinking car booming well above the speed limit in their direction. In her panic, Jane stole the pistol from Patrick’s grasp and raised it to the lighted ceiling. With two quick booms the lights popped like balloons, bringing the darkness back. A better getaway ensured.
“Jane that was some nice popping.” Johnny gasped. “How did you learn to shoot like that?”
“When we were young his father took me to the shooting range several times. Though it was always me alone. Patrick was too scared of guns.”
“I told you, I had a fever.” retorted Patrick, almost whining.
“All ten times?”
“Can we finish this in the car?” Johnny was already charging towards the exit. “They’re coming in!”
A parade of officers was piling their cars in the center of the street, rushing for the broken glass building. Patrick and Jane erupted into sprints, but not before marveling at the art the blue blast had produced. As clearly as it had been written in Doctor Black’s house, the word ‘Nevermore’ glowed proudly like a morning star before it could no longer maintain a proper source of heat, and it was extinguished. It left an obvious physical imprint of the word.
Together they barged out through the back, while the cops struggled behind them to maintain an orderly sequence. Standing on the same block of cement that he leapt from earlier was Edgar, at whom Patrick was furious. His flying friend failed in his part.
“Where were you?” he demanded, maintaining a set speed. “You were supposed to watch our backs.”
Despite his fury, Patrick could see through Edgar’s yellow eyes. He saw in them what any creature would have after a sudden tremor forced it awake, fear. Something clearly went wrong. Patrick calmly instructed him to immediately fly back to the cabin, where they would hopefully soon rendezvous without any further trouble.
The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1) Page 14