by HC Hammond
“You bastard,” Mephisto screamed, “Prepare to die.” He ran at Donald, blade up over his head. Donald sidestepped Mephisto’s blade and the sudden move startled John who stumbled backwards into a pile of trash cans, raising enough ruckus to make Harold’s ears ring with the noise.
Rufus, jostled by the falling ogre, came into startled consciousness with a howling yelp. He struggled, still drugged though he was, in vain to get out of the eager ogre’s grasp. Mephisto and Donald danced around each other, trading jabs and cracked sparks of blue as their blades clashed. Harold, as well as the others, stared at the fight or the ogre struggling with a now fully awake and panicked Rufus.
Sirens and lights blinded Harold’s senses. He didn’t know whether to cover his eyes or ears to protect them from the onslaught of sensation. Even Mephisto and Donald were on the ground covering their ears. The zombies, some of them were affected and clamping hands over one or both of their ears, while the more decayed members of the group looked around in confusion, their ears or eyes too far gone to feel the pain of the sirens and lights.
Men in black rushed the backyard, grabbing those still upright and throwing them to the ground. Someone kicked Harold in the back and he went down. The moist ground reeked of gasoline. A booted foot planted itself on one shoulder, and the muzzle of a weapon pressed against his head. He froze as he was ordered, sighing in relief when the sirens cut out, giving his poor ears a respite.
The feds were having problems with the ogres in the group, in particular Rufus’ ogre, who was both outraged at the assault on his hearing and the loss of his meal. Rufus, looking a little more wolfish than he did earlier, sat against the house with two feds pointing assault rifles at him, he sobbed quietly into his hands, the hair on his head patchy from where the monster’s nibbling tore out chunks of it.
Shouting from Mephisto drew Harold’s attention and he turned to see his two not so favorite federal agents, Bergstrom and Potts, standing between the vamp and Donald. Both had lost their blades, but Mephisto still raged at his prey, hissing, kicking and biting at the air while three men held him back. Smug satisfaction poured off of Donald, while a man cuffed his hands behind his back, obviously not worried.
“Shut up,” Agent Bergstrom said to Mephisto, “it’s over. We’ve got him.”
Mephisto slumped, all at once pathetic and beaten. The three men restraining him now had to hold him up. Mephisto muttered, but Harold with his ears still ringing from the sirens couldn’t catch what he said. Agent Bergstrom clapped a hand on Mephisto’s shoulder, bending over to speak to him. The aging vampire lifted his head enough to look back at Agent Potts escorting Donald into the alley beside the house and presumably to a waiting vehicle out front, Harold could swear a glimmer of something triumphant shown in his eyes.
Meanwhile, the ogres were all finally taken down, each one shot full of enough tranquilizer to put an elephant to sleep. The ground vibrated with their resounding thumps.
Agent Bergstrom finished his conversation with Mephisto and let him be taken away too. He shouted out a few orders to agents guarding the zombies and those trying to pull sleeping ogres round the house. Then he surveyed the scene and caught sight of Harold, face down, snout full of mud and gas. It was not a proud moment for Harold, but then again, he’d not had a lot of proud moments these past few months.
Agent Bergstrom walked over and Harold was yanked from the ground by his captor with the large boot. The G-man looked on with hands on hips and a gentle curl to his lip.
“I thought you would be long gone by now,” the agent said, “You should have got out when you had the chance.”
Harold shook himself loose from the grasp his captor had on his arm. The sharp movement wrenched his poorly healed back and reminded Harold of his pitiful state.
“Guess I’m just not too smart,” he muttered.
Agent Bergstrom smiled, “We already knew.” He turned to watch Rufus struggling with a couple of snares around his neck. If he had a tail at the moment it would have been tucked between his legs.
“Too bad we found you in bad company tonight. Violates your probation,” the agent said, “Unless you have a good explanation.”
Rufus glanced around and locked terrified eyes with Harold. He felt supremely bad for the werewolf, despite his misplaced loyalties, the creature ended up being a pretty good guy. Just stuck with his mistakes the same as everyone else here tonight.
“What’s going to happen to them?” Harold asked.
Agent Bergstrom raised his eyebrows behind the ever present dark sunglasses.
“Awe, concerned about your special friends? I thought you only had eyes for the slug.”
Harold didn’t respond. Rufus whimpered as agents pulled on him with the snares and he disappeared around the corner of the house.
“Speaking of,” Bergstrom interrupted Harold’s thoughts, “Have you seen that alien around here? We found the collar, but no slime ball in the house.”
Harold shook his head. Zombies in chains tottered by in two single file rows. He knew what the government did to their type and didn’t envy their fiery fate.
“You’re not covering for the slug are you? Believe me, Zork’s not worth it.”
Agent Bergstrom acted agitated now, taking his hat off and running a hand through his dark hair. Harold guessed he wasn’t the only one in trouble with the law.
“I haven’t seen Zork in days. Not since I told him what Donald was up too.”
“You told the slug.”
“At the time Zork didn’t seem to care.”
The G-man cursed, turned away and back again, hands outstretched ready to strangle Harold. “It’s probably anywhere by now. Do you know what you’ve done?”
Harold smiled. Zork had high-tailed it, probably as soon as things got sketchy in the house. The slug must have been far more concerned than it let on with Harold. “Sounds like you’ve got a problem.”
The G-man stilled, considering Harold. A tense moment passed between them.
“If you know anything tell me now.”
“Why?” Harold asked, “You going to let me go?”
Looking around at the carnage of captured bodies, blood, mud and gas, with a soft noise, Bergstrom shook his head and put his hat back on.
“I’d say yes, but, I’m not sure you’d believe me.”
“You’re right,” Harold said.
The federal man stared long and hard at Harold. Bergstrom was on top, but that could quickly change and they both came to know it in those few seconds. Perhaps there were still a few loyalties to his kind in this turncoat, because he laughed.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, then turned to Harold’s captor, “Put him and the wolf in with Mephisto.”
Agent Bergstrom pulled down his shades to wink at Harold, “I don’t want to see your face again, Mr. Blank.”
On that cryptic note, the agent pulled Harold away and around the corner of the house behind the zombies and Rufus and the ogres and Mephisto and Donald. The front yard had turned into a loading zone for undesirable market goods. The zombies were being urged into large covered army trucks, the ogres, still passed out, were stacked up in a semi-trailer. White vans and SUVs littered the road and Harold was directed to one large van in particular.
The doors opened to reveal Mephisto, Rufus, Donald and another fed guarding them. His captor pushed Harold up into the back and he caught a seat next to Mephisto who looked oddly happy. He kept glancing at Donald and his fangs were out, glistening with saliva despite the darkened interior of the van. Now, Harold thought about it, it was odd for Mephisto and Donald to be placed in the same vehicle, especially since they were trying to kill each other. Donald shifted closer to the agent on his right. Rufus sat with his hairy hands in his lap, whimpering.
His captor closed the van’s doors once Harold was secured to the bench and banged on the outside, signaling the driver to pull away. They moved out slowly, weaving through the maze of vehicles. Harold took a longing look at his ph
antom through the darkened back windows as they passed it on the street. He imagined the blood in the trunk had probably gone bad by now.
They traveled in silence for several minutes with the only music being Rufus’ growing whimpers. Mephisto fidgeted with his cuffs, never taking an eye off Donald. Looking between the two of them, Harold started getting a bad feeling again. He sought comfort in the knowledge of the broken arrow still firmly in place up his sleeve. No one bothered to check him for weapons. Or they didn’t think he would carry any.
Harold tried to make eye contact with Rufus, but the Englishman refused to look up. He thought about kicking the wolf man, but didn’t want to draw unwanted attention from the G-men guarding them. Lacking any other option, he sat back and waited for the show to start.
It didn’t take long. About fifteen minutes out from the house, the van slowed to a stop.
“Hey Mickey,” the agent beside Harold called up front, “why’d we stop?”
A lack of response from up front prompted the agent to work his way to the driver’s seat. He banged on the wall separating front from back. His hunched position put the man’s neck in prime location for Mephisto to bite. First mistake, Harold thought, never get close to a vampire, especially a crazy one.
It happened almost faster than Harold could see. Mephisto’s bite landed on the upper part of the man’s neck, too high for a kill, but still painful enough to elicit squealing.
The second agent in back lunged forward to intervene, but didn’t quite make there. He tripped over Donald’s foot, landing hard on the grilled floor. Harold kicked the man in the head until he didn’t move.
The squeals died down and Mephisto was already unlocking his cuffs with the agent’s keys. Donald managed to open the back doors and hopped out of the van dragging a somewhat reluctant Rufus with him, as they were still chained together.
“Come on,” Donald yelled at Rufus, pulling him along the street. Mephisto hissed, finally getting out of his cuffs and hopping out after them. Harold fumbled for the key as Mephisto dropped it and undid his own cuffs.
The van started again, making a sharp U-turn and throwing Harold and the two unconscious agents around in back as it followed the three escapees.
Harold managed to slip loose of his own restraints and rolled out of the moving van. He hit the asphalt and felt something crack in his chest, but his fall was cushioned by a few hidden pints of blood, which unfortunately burst when he landed on them. He allowed himself the luxury of laying still for just a few seconds while he tried to breathe without breathing too deeply, because whatever he hurt it made it exceedingly painful. His hospital training told him it was most likely a cracked rib. However, he had a fear, the squealing van might turn and try to make him into so much road kill. Harold got up with much difficulty and hobbled to the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the van as it peeled down the street and turned into an alleyway after the three escaping creatures.
He was alone. Still, amazingly, it was dark out and the streets were empty. Harold couldn’t see or smell anyone, beyond his companions, in the area. He heard Rufus wailing about something or someone. Without a doubt, Mephisto caught up to Donald. Otherwise, there were no feds or vamps or ogres and zombies. He probably had time to get to a car and get the hell outta’ dodge before they came after him. He could probably even get Maria too. Harold started walking away from the scene. His back, and now chest and everything else still hurt. All of them were nothing but trouble, and hadn’t done more than get him hurt, repeatedly. No need to go chasing after that group.
His footfalls faltered at Rufus’ cries reaching panicked painful levels. Harold didn’t want to turn around, but he owed the wolf a solid. The damn guy couldn’t even control himself half the time, was highly suggestible and had a thing for Donald that was unnatural to Harold, but he did help him out of the lab. Harold sighed and turned around to make his way towards the alley.
When he got there Donald and Mephisto were locked in a hand to hand combat again. Donald seemed to be on the losing end. Oh well.
Rufus didn’t share Harold’s sentiments. The wolf man had lost a battle of his own with an agent, presumably the driver who had him on his back with a baton to his throat, slowly choking the wolf as he struggled to get into the fray with Donald.
He also saw why the van had slowed down earlier. Orlen stood in front of the van’s headlights watching the fight, or perhaps enjoying it. He’d completely forgotten about her at the house. She must have used her abilities to slip away when the feds showed up. She had put her mojo on the agent too.
Harold stepped forward and pulled the fed off of Rufus. He might be in a weakened state, but he was still strong enough to send the man flying backwards. Rufus got up in a flash and ran to save his master from what must be certain death in his eyes.
“Wait.” Harold couldn’t grab Rufus before he ran to join the fray.
He collided with Mephisto in a full body slam, leaving the man only enough time to let out a surprised erk before contact. Orlen screamed. She ran forward to save her master. Harold sighed again and hobbled over to the fighting.
Orlen had Rufus by the hair and was barely keeping him from sinking his teeth into Mephisto’s throat. Donald sat beside them, guffawing and holding his stomach, finding the sudden reversal entirely too funny for Harold’s taste.
He grabbed Orlen and threw her back as he did earlier with the agent, at the same time pulling Rufus up by his torn shirt collar. He yelped. Harold yanked the wolf man around to drag him up out of the alley, but Orlen had other ideas.
How she snuck up next to him without him realizing it, Harold didn’t know, but Orlen was in his ear. Whispering his name, pulling him down the dark well of hypnotic trance. Suddenly, he was no longer in control of his own body. Amazing how every time it was easier to fall under her spell. Or maybe she was getting stronger. Harold didn’t know. He just gave in, stilled and felt himself go all peaceful inside. He no longer cared about Mephisto or Rufus or even his girlfriend. He didn’t even care about his own life. It was all so good.
Orlen directed him to stand up and turn to Donald. He’d stopped laughing now. In doing so, Harold inadvertently let go of Rufus who slid to the ground in confusion. His eyes went as round as saucers.
“Kill him,” Orlen whispered, and Harold was on Donald, catching him before he could get into a fighting stance. Donald was more skilled and Harold injured, but under the delightfully soothing trance he felt no pain at all. His body moved of its own accord. Yes, he was directing his arm to pull pack and hand to close into a fist. Yes, he was now hammering Donald’s face until his nose burst and bled like a ripe blueberry, but no, he didn’t feel the normal sense of fear, pain and sense of ultimate consequence. He didn’t question his orders. He just did.
Donald pulled some kind of martial arts move and slid out from under Harold. His face hit the ground for a second time. Some of the skin abraded from his cheek on contact. Now Donald was trying to snap his neck. Harold could feel the bones popping and starting to give. He went with the sharp turn, flipping his whole body round to face the man, pressing both thumbs to eye sockets to crush. Donald screamed, grabbing at Harold’s thumbs.
“Kill him, kill him,” Orlen said as she stood over the two. Harold could feel her almost sexual excitement. She’d been waiting a long time for this death. Harold felt no compunction either way about it, except mild disgust still flickering somewhere deep inside over her closeness, her pervading essence in his mind.
While he rolled around on the concrete, that more objective part himself watched Rufus stand. For a second he appeared to rush Harold, biting and crazed, in defense of his master. As Rufus reached them he leap over them and collided with Orlen.
She didn’t make a sound. Harold felt the pressure of Rufus’s teeth in her neck as if it were his own and the pop of skin and jugular as they punctured, then the ripping of it and the connection between them broke. He was himself again, no longer trying to gouge out Donald’s eyes. Ripping and c
hewing sounds filled the night air along with the fresh scent of blood. Rufus was only doing what came naturally. Feeding.
He pushed Donald off him and got up to stare into the dark corner where the wolf man hunched over her body. Harold felt glad of her death. It was kind of the only way she could be stopped. Killed by someone she didn’t even bother facing, someone she underestimated.
As Rufus fed on the body, he whimpered. He cried, as he crushed bones with jaws more canine than human, choked and howled long and low at the moonless night.
Harold remembered his first kill. An accident the first time. How quickly he’d grown used to it. The murdering and maiming, the feasting. His own moral conscience stretched so far it might as well have snapped. The wereman’s unpleasant meal reminded Harold of himself those first few times. How hard he tried not to kill, leaving terrified drunks and loners and prostitutes and homeless anemic with fear of the vampire, but he didn’t kill. When did he cross the line?
Growing cold and wanting to do nothing more than get away from the scene, Harold turned only to see Donald and Mephisto watching too. Each mirroring disgust on their faces.
“I’m done, I’m leaving,” Harold said to them, not that it really mattered to either one, “Don’t try to follow me. I don’t care who you are, I’ll… I’ll just kill you.”
Harold left them to figure out their ending. He had his and he knew exactly where he wanted to be right now. In the arms of someone who cared and who didn’t have a guilty conscience.
Once out of the alley, Harold trotted back towards the halfway house. He took it slow, but not too slow, he had no idea what time it was and the sunrise could be getting closer than he thought. He intended to get his car back and wanted to give the G-men plenty of time to clear out before he got there. A drive taking only minutes in the van took Harold three times as long, in his estimation anyway. He ached all over by the time he got to the right street.
Harold stuck to the shadows, trying to avoid the streetlamps where he could and kept an eye out for marauding feds, but it appeared most were gone now. The trucks and vans hauling prisoners had left and only a couple of vehicles sat in front of the house. Inside the lights were off, so Harold could only assume they’d cleared it out too and were keeping the place under watch in case other group members came back tonight. He worked his way down the street and slid into his car. He put it in neutral and pushed it away until he felt safe to start the car up. Harold drove straight to Maria.