Moon Mourning

by J. R. Rain

  Joey lets off a scream and bolts for the exit. His rifle clatters to the concrete at the base of the stairs.

  Ted swivels to aim at me, still firing, pumping two bullets into a shelf full of paint cans to my left. Seeing muzzle flare coming for my face still triggers a normal human ‘oh shit!’ reaction. I hurl myself straight down onto my side so his third and fourth shots go over me, and reach out with a stomping kick that crushes his right knee inward.

  The woman outside shouts something angry while Joey keeps screaming.

  “Bitch!” howls Ted, then lands flat on his back, still shooting wildly around the room.

  Before he can correct aim, I flip the rifle I grabbed from Mitch around and pull the trigger, lighting off a three-round burst. Blood sprays from his shoulder and arm; his screaming goes from anger to agony.

  Bang!

  A bullet whistles past my face, inches from my nose, close enough that I can perceive the smear of copper in the air. I pivot to my right while springing upright. Mitch has a handgun out, trying to get a bead on me. I spring into a leap the same instant he squeezes another shot off at the ground where I no longer am. He doesn’t have time to process me moving; I bring the M16 around like a baseball bat and crown him with it. He goes sliding across the floor, alive, but very unconscious. Things will go better for me―and the investigation―if I don’t leave a trail of bodies behind.

  Mitch lets off a gurgling wheeze and crashes into a metal shelf, knocking stacks of MREs to the ground on top of him. My ears ring from gunfire in such an enclosed space. Blood trickles down his face from a likely-broken nose. With luck, he’ll survive. If not… meh.

  A fortyish woman in a nauseating coral-colored dress rushes into the light, pointing Joey’s M16 at me. The sight of the two men unconscious on the ground stuns her. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting one woman to take these guys out. I point my rifle at her.

  “Drop the weapon, ma’am,” I say, far calmer than I should sound. “Don’t make me shoot.”

  She glances at me, the blood draining from her face, perhaps due to my blasé reaction to her having a rifle trained on my heart. Her face is kinda familiar, so I assume she’s Mrs. Gallagher, and the little bit of recognition I’m getting is from the case file photos I spent a day looking over.

  “Mitch?” she asks.

  “Mitch was stupid. Don’t be like Mitch. Drop. The. Rifle.”

  She stares at me.

  Oh, hell with this. I’ll take a bullet to avoid having to kill someone tonight. I start walking toward her, reaching for her weapon. She leaps back and swivels to take aim at, of all people, Terrell.

  Shit!

  I charge at her, pushing the gun to the side a second before she squeezes the trigger. Her bullet pings off the stone a few feet over Terrell’s head, and pings around the root cellar. It’s trivial to wrench the weapon from her grip. After disarming her, I spin into a backhand strike that launches her at the metal shelves. She lands draped over one, out cold, blood dripping from her mouth, neither arms or legs reaching the floor. There’s a chance I might have hit her harder than necessary. Either way, it felt damn good.

  “What is wrong with you?” I rasp at her, while hurling the rifle contemptuously to the ground.

  “Mother of God,” mutters Terrell. He crawls out from his hiding place among the shelves and gazes up at me in awe.

  I bow my head, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “No… not even close.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  One Small Complication

  I help Terrell over to the narrow stairs leading out of the cellar.

  For now, the others will have to deal with their injuries, although I did my best to staunch the bleeding. Ya know, this root cellar is one scary-as-hell place. They have an entire box of handcuffs. Bet these idiots never imagined they’d wind up stuck in them.

  Boy, I’m a one-woman wrecking crew.

  The woman who tried to shoot Terrell remains draped over the shelf, out cold. Who knows what motivates a person to do something so stupid? I can only feel so sorry for knocking her senseless when she was about to murder an innocent man. It’s not as if she tried to shoot me. Whether she wanted to silence a possible witness or somehow blamed ‘the unclean one’ for their misfortune, I can’t even begin to guess.

  “You should’ve dropped the damn gun,” I mutter. “Don’t be pissed at me for breaking your jaw. You’re the idiot.”

  “Stay out of sight for now,” I whisper. “One suspect is still running around topside, plus I don’t know how many others there are.”

  Terrell holds on to the corner at the base of the steps for support. “I’ve only ever seen those people, plus two more guys who haven’t been around in a couple days.”

  “Yeah, they contracted lead poisoning.” A silent sigh slips out my nose. So far, I’ve single-handedly hospitalized most of this region’s militia movement, and Chad killed two. It’s starting to feel like I should go back to Renton’s place and pop a bullet in him, just to be thorough.

  No deaths, I think. Too much damn paperwork.

  “That was… amazing. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got balls of steel.” Terrell sucks in a gasp of air. “They were going to kill me for sure.”

  I pat him on the shoulder. “Can you hang on a few more minutes until I secure the compound?”

  “Yeah.” He cradles his side, wincing as he nods. “Go get those bastards.”

  “Hopefully, only one.”

  I should probably get away from the cellar before the smell of blood makes me do something I’ll regret. Also, calling this in sounds like a good idea. Crap. My cell doesn’t have a signal out here. I stuff it back in my pocket and head out.

  Had my life not taken a turn for the bizarre, I’d draw my Glock and creep carefully up the stairs for a cautious peek. Granted, if I hadn’t been changed, I wouldn’t even be here. Normal me would never have even thought to be this reckless and come out here alone in the middle of the night, but more to the point―I’d have been dead in Joey’s house.

  HUD’s the safest choice… right.

  I fling the cellar doors open and climb out, only to find a young girl with long, straight blonde hair staring at me. She’s maybe eleven or twelve, thin and reedy, the wind pressing the outline of her form into the knee-length T-shirt she must’ve been sleeping in. Huge blue eyes stare at me over a chrome-finished handgun the little angel has pointed at me in a two-handed grip. Pink-painted toes grip the front of her flip-flops; her whole body trembles.

  “Easy, sweetie…” I raise my empty hand into the air in a soothing gesture. “Please put the weapon down and let’s talk. I’m a federal agent.”

  “You hurt my parents!” she shouts, trying to sound angry, but her voice smells like terror. “You’re letting the unclean one out to ruin the world!”

  Oh, no. No. No. No. This kid’s gonna shoot me. As I realize this, my brain tortures me with a future image of Tammy at the same age. No, I can’t shoot a child. Of course, what would I have done if I hadn’t been turned into a vampire? Well, I probably wouldn’t be out here now. And I certainly wouldn’t have survived the gunshot from Dale earlier. I don’t even have my weapon out, and going for it will make her fire for sure, so that’s not an option.

  Okay, Sam. Relax. You’ve already been shot in the heart once and it was… annoying. Painful, but annoying.

  “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Don’t call me sweetie!” The girl scowls and shifts her weight from leg to leg. “What did you do to my parents?”

  I’m sure she stood here waiting for me to come out of the cellar, convinced she wanted to kill me, but now that the moment’s right in front of her, she’s freaking out at the idea. Yay for a good freak-out.

  “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but they didn’t give me a choice. They’re going to be fine. Help is coming. But you have a choice right now. You can put your gun down.”

  Tears roll down her face. If she didn’t have a weapon on me, I’d fi
nd it hard to resist the urge to hold her and let her cry on my shoulder. “What happened to my parents? Is the unclean thing still alive?”

  Screw those people. I hope some therapist can fix the damage and deprogram her before it’s too late.

  “Terrell is not unclean, kiddo, nor is he a thing.” I inch closer. “He’s a human being, just like you or me.” That is, of course, if I was still human, which I’m no longer totally sure of.

  “Get away,” says the girl, alternately squeezing and relaxing her grip on the gun. Granted, it’s the squeezing part that makes me nervous.

  I take another small step closer. “No one is going to hurt you, kiddo. You’re too young to understand what’s going on here, and you’ve been lied to.”

  “You’re lying to me right now!” shouts the girl. “And stop calling me kiddo!”

  “What should I call you then?” Another step. “I’m Samantha.”

  The girl’s trembling intensifies to the point that she might actually miss me from only four feet away. “You’re a traitor to whites! And you hurt my parents! I hate you!”

  Oh, such a charming angel. “Your parents have a lot of things screwed up about how the world works.” Another step. Three feet away.

  Her mouth closes. A second later, her throat undulates with a gulp. “Go to hell, bitch!”

  Blam!

  A bullet nails me in the chest, high and right of my heart. Okay, that hurts like hell. Again. Crazy as it sounds, the most noticeable sensation is the aftershock of the slug glancing off my shoulder blade as it exits my back. My whole skeleton rattles.

  I wince, gasping for air I don’t need. The girl gawks at me. I can’t tell if she’s more stunned that she actually pulled the trigger or that I didn’t react. Taking advantage of her confusion, I pounce, grabbing the weapon away from her and tossing it aside.

  “What… happened?” She stares into my eyes, no longer crying, or even trembling.

  “You missed.”

  The girl pokes a finger in the small hole in my shirt, where no wound remains. Hmm. I didn’t even bleed much. Maybe being ready for it, I somehow commanded my blood to stay inside? Okay, that sounds weird even to my own ears.

  I grasp the girl’s wrist. “That was already there. And, yeah, I really need to get new clothes.”

  A loud crash comes from the main house. Probably Joey. Dammit.

  Not taking the chance she runs off and gets hurt or goes for another weapon, I drag the girl over to a tree by the root cellar and handcuff her ‘hugging’ it. I can deal with her later. At the moment, I have another problem.

  “Eva,” whispers the girl, surprising me. “I’m Eva Gallagher.” She starts trembling again and fidgets at the cuffs. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

  “Right now, you’re going to stay here out of trouble and not get hurt. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I did not want to hurt your parents. They will be okay… at least physically.” With luck, they’ll wind up in prison long enough that this kid can grow up without being programmed full of their bullshit. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to let you out once I’m sure it’s safe.”

  She sinks into a squat, struggling to reach and wipe her eyes.

  Another crash comes from the house. Crap. What is he doing in there? Eva clings to the tree, still staring at the little hole in my shirt. Ugh. I can’t dwell on feeling guilty about scaring this kid and knocking the crap out of her parents. Then again, her parents are real shitheads. Things could be far worse. I could have orphaned her. Any normal human agent in my shoes would’ve shot to kill. Sad to say, that might’ve been better for her.

  “Wait here.” I pivot and rush toward the house.

  Handcuffs click behind me along with soft grunts. “Please don’t leave me tied to a tree!”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I half-whisper, moving up to a jog.

  As she starts crying, I feel like a complete bitch, but hey… the kid shot a federal agent. She’s getting off way light. Rummaging and banging continue in the house. I draw the Glock and veer to my right, going around the back of the house, the long side of the L-shaped building. When I reach the first window, I pivot and aim, but it’s a kid’s room. Judging by all the pink, probably Eva’s. It’s no paradise. Looks more like a post-apocalyptic settlement than an actual child’s bedroom. A pink post-apocalyptic settlement.

  How sick am I to think sending this kid’s parents to prison is probably the best thing that’s happened to her? Something dark in the back of my mind laughs, taunts me with the urge to go finish them off like the worthless ants they are. Ugh. Where did that come from?

  Next window’s an empty bathroom. I spot the back door up ahead and beeline for it. It’s locked, but rickety as hell. A quick tug snaps the door open, sending a little bracket flying.

  “Shit! Shit!” yells Joey inside. Another heavy object slams to the floor.

  I glance to my right at the cinder block bunker and the larger building beyond. No sign of activity, so I’m guessing this ‘militia’ was on the small side. Joey’s making quite a bit of noise inside the house, plus all the gunfire in the root cellar. If there had been anyone else in the compound, they would’ve been on me already.

  Speaking of more people in the compound…

  I pull out my cell phone and call Nico.

  “Moon? Do you have any idea what time it is?” asks my boss, after six rings.

  “12:04 a.m., sir.”

  He sighs. “This better be good.”

  “I dunno about good, but it’s important. I’ve located Joey Bell, and that militia group that’s been dealing in stolen military weapons. They weren’t happy to see me. I’ve also located a missing reporter, Terrell Summerlin. He’s banged up pretty bad. Three suspects hurt. I’m about to engage Joey.”

  “Dammit, Moon! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  More than I care to admit, I think. Instead, I say, “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Yet, you sleep all day.”

  “I’m a complex person,” I say, then switch gears. “Sorry, boss. I had to do this for Chad, and when I found out about that missing reporter, I had a weird feeling he didn’t have a lot of time left. Can you send in the cavalry?”

  He groans. “All right. Where are you?”

  I can picture him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He’s a widower, so I suspect he’s alone. But who knows. Maybe he has a lady friend over. If so, I can’t hear her. Anyway, I explain my location. During that, the front door of the house slams, so I start moving into the building. Phone in my left hand pressed to my head, Glock out in front of me, I sweep and clear the kitchen and a tiny dining room while explaining to Nico how to get here.

  When I reach the living room, I have a clear view of Joey out in front of the house, half-into the Ford. He’s checking the sun visor. Hah!

  “All right,” says Nico. “Sit tight, Sam. I gotta send this over to the FBI, you know.”

  “Obviously. That’s why I called it in. Oh, and bring the ATF. The woods out here are loaded with booby traps. Tripwires, even. I have no idea what they are. Could be grenades, could just be noisemakers. The dirt road in should be safe enough.”

  “Jesus. You keep your ass in one piece. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Copy that, sir.” I hang up and stuff the phone back in my pocket as Joey runs over to the van, muttering a steady stream of profanities. I sigh. ‘We’ll talk soon’ sounds a whole lot like ‘you’re going to be suspended, maybe fired.’

  Can’t say I wasn’t expecting that when I walked out my house a few hours ago.

  I kick the front door open and draw a bead on Joey. “Joseph Bell. You’re under arrest. Back out of the van with your hands in the air and get on the ground.”

  Forty feet or so isn’t a great shot for a pistol, and I think Joey realizes that since he decides to bolt. I clear the wooden porch in two strides, jump down to the dirt in front of it, and sprint after him.

  Joey zigzags back and forth like he can’t figure ou
t where he should go. His two temptations appear to be the cinder block structure and the gate out to the road. In seconds, he abandons both options and zooms straight to the root cellar.

  What the heck does he hope to find down there?

  At the last second, he veers to the right and rushes at Eva, who screams, “Help!” at him.

  Oh, great. Whatever fantasy he has of some cross-country ‘guy and a fugitive kid’ movie going on his head ain’t gonna happen. Not if I have anything to say about it. I sprint after him, closing distance with ease. Eva leaps to her feet, shaking the handcuffs at him.

  “Joey! Help! Get these off me!”

  He whines and looks back over his shoulder at me like I’m a 450-pound Kodiak bear who wants him for dinner. Screaming in the voice of a horror movie teenager, he swoops around behind Eva and grabs her into the air with an arm across her chest―and a gun to her head.

  “Stay back!” shouts Joey.

  Shit. Now that I was not expecting. I skid to a stop maybe fifteen feet away. I don’t like my odds of skipping a bullet past her head into his face, so I hold my fire.

  “Joey! What are you doing!?” Eva squirms at the cuffs, swinging her feet back and forth, off the ground. “Ow! Stop!” It takes her a second to realize she’s got a .45 pressed against her skull. The second she does, she goes platter-eyed. One of her flip-flops falls off. Two minutes ago, I was the demon that attacked her family, now she’s begging me for help with just her stare.

  “Lose the gun!” yells Joey.

  I keep pointing it at him. “If you hurt her, you’ll need a priest instead of a lawyer.”

  He cackles maniacally, twitching and sniffling like a coke addict, which he probably is. “You’re gonna kill me anyway. Only difference is if you want a kid dead too. Hah! Maybe I should shoot her before you do to her what you did to Dale! Better she dies pure!”

  “No!” wails Eva, kicking at him. She screams some more, and lands a heel into his shin.