Bystanders

by Phillip Murrell

  “Exactly like you’d expect it to.”

  “Gross.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Benji reassures, “it actually works. What kind of un-American communist doesn’t like lobster?”

  “Those with shellfish allergies,” Claire quips.

  “They should all be shot in the streets. Everyone loves ice cream. Why else would we scream for it?”

  “You’re forgetting the lactose intolerant.”

  Benji makes a “come on” face and holds his hands up.

  “They’re in league with the lobster haters and should also be executed like the dogs they are.”

  “Well, nobody can claim that you aren’t consistent.”

  “That’s because they were the leaders of the anti-American foodies. I killed them first.”

  Claire was mid-sip when Benji said this and practically spits her drink on the table.

  Benji smiles. “I’m glad genocide is something you agree with.”

  “Stop it. You’re so bad.”

  “I’m the bad one?”

  “Exactly. That’s why I like you so much.”

  “Good. I like you, too, Claire.”

  They look into each other’s eyes as the waitress comes along to check on them.

  “Did you two leave any room for our famous ice cream lobster?” she asks.

  Claire groans.

  Benji answers for them. “I did, but the lightweight here is a first timer.”

  “Guilty,” Claire states as she holds up her right hand.

  “I think we’re ready for the check,” Benji adds.

  “And a box, please,” Claire says.

  The waitress nods along. “Not a problem. I’ll ring you up and bring it back.”

  “Thank you,” Benji says.

  The waitress walks off with Claire’s half eaten bucket and Benji’s empty one.

  “So, what now?” Benji asks. “The night is still young.”

  “I’m sure we can come up with something,” Claire seductively says while sliding her foot up Benji’s leg under the table.

  “That waitress takes too long,” Benji says.

  Claire laughs. They wait, impatiently, for their waitress to return.

  The drug lab party is in full swing. Addicts and partiers are everywhere. Many neon signs are illuminated that say things like “Free Samples” and “No Limit, Take What You Want.”

  Power limps with a fancy cane. He’s high from the copious varieties of drugs he consumed. His days of sobriety are officially abandoned.

  Goon One actually seems a bit concerned. “Power, are you sure you should be doing that much?”

  Power dismisses his warning. “Screw you! This is my retirement party, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

  “Nobody said anything about retirement,” Goon Two corrects.

  “Please,” Power scoffs, “don’t talk down to me. I know you guys are setting me up. I don’t care. I’m sick of this shit.”

  Power hobbles over to the “drug gauntlet” table. He takes a shot of whiskey, a puff of marijuana, a snort of cocaine, then he injects heroin in quick succession.

  “Now that’s power!” he screams as he dangerously combines the narcotics.

  The goons may seem slightly concerned for Power but obviously not enough to stop him. It’s probably because the inconvenience that him dying creates for them is only a minor one.

  “Turn the music up!” Power demands.

  The people nearby cheer. The DJ blasts the music, and the dancing gets energized.

  A party girl in a drunken stupor points out the window. “Whoa, look outside. It’s so pretty.”

  Power and the goons follow her finger. A purple barrier is outside every exit and window. The two goons look at each other and nod.

  Goon One speaks into a walkie talkie. “He’s here, it’s time.”

  Guards start to pull out weapons. The lights and music cut out. There are concerned mutterings from the crowd.

  An explosion from the roof opens the ceiling. This lets in the ambient light of the full moon. It looks purple from the filter of the barrier. Night Terror drops down into a crouch in the center of the crowd.

  Everyone backs away from him. They can’t see him that well, but he wears his reinforced light gray shoulders. Night Terror stands and pulls out his escrima sticks.

  Night Terror’s modulated voice booms from mechanical amplification. “Do you guys like cartoons? Alpha Bot, Bravo Bot, eject.”

  The two light gray shoulder pads snap off Night Terror. They grow and unfold until they’re the size of humans. They land and reveal themselves to be robotic androids.

  Alpha pulls out a staff, and Bravo charges up what appear to be blade arms. The three of them then rush the crowd and start attacking people.

  Pandemonium breaks out. The guards start shooting at Night Terror, Alpha, and Bravo. The addicts run for cover. The intruders defeat all opponents.

  Bravo is the most brutal of the three. His attacks always result in kills. He stabs people and uses them as a human shield from the bullets of nearby guards. He then flings a bullet-ridden body to the ground and spears the shooter.

  Alpha is the most lenient of the three. He beats people unconscious, but he leaves them with injuries that won’t impact the rest of their lives. He uses his staff to beat the heads of two guards standing next to each other. Next, he takes out their knees and forces them down. The men curl up and roll on the ground from their injuries.

  Night Terror sits in the middle of the violence scale. He kills the armed guards, but he just beats the casual partiers and addicts. He uses a baton to choke one guard while using him as a barrier to kicks and punches from panicked addicts. Night Terror then pushes the man to the ground and sprays the crowd with a stink spray.

  Power attempts to stay down as bullets rip over his head. “Ah hell, screw this! I don’t want to retire. I don’t want to die.”

  Power frantically looks for a gun. His were taken by the goons. “I need a gun. I gotta blast my way out of here.”

  A guard is hit by a flying disc sent by Night Terror. He spins and falls over, dead. Power limps over to get the gun, but an addict gets their first.

  The addict picks up the automatic rifle, but Power hits him over the head with his cane. The man drops the gun, and Power picks it up. He then puts a three-round burst into the addict’s chest.

  Power stands over the body. “Sorry, homie, I need this more.”

  Power tries to make his way to a door, but they’re still blocked by the purple energy wall. Many people pound on the strange barrier, but they can’t penetrate it. This party is now a perfect kill box.

  Power desperately searches for a place to hide, but it doesn’t exist.

  Goon One climbs some stairs to get to the rafters. Up there he has a previously stashed .50 caliber machine gun. It’s already prepped to fire, and he begins spraying shots down at the three attackers.

  The three apparently assess Goon One as the biggest threat. Night Terror flies up and kicks Goon One in the face. The man falls the full distance and lands on his head. His neck breaks.

  Power observes the fall. “Damn! That’s what you get, bitch.”

  Alpha fixes Power with a look.

  A panicked Power notices. “Ah hell.”

  Power trips over himself trying to get away. Alpha rushes him, but he gets hit by an explosion. This knocks Alpha down, but it doesn’t seem to do anything more than cosmetic damage.

  Alpha looks up and sees Goon Two firing a grenade launcher at him. Alpha flies up just as Goon Two sends another grenade.

  The grenade explodes into a crowd of people and sends bodies everywhere, most of them dead. Many of these bodies rain down on Power.

  “Ah! I’m trapped. Help!”

  Power is at the bottom of a dead man dog pile. With his weak leg, he can’t move them off him.

  “No, no. Not like this,” he cries.

  Alpha heads straight for Goon Two.

  “Come get some,” he ch
allenges.

  Goon Two fires more shots at Alpha, but all miss. Alpha throws a heavy ball, resembling a shot put, into Goon Two’s chest.

  Goon Two groans as he falls over and labors to breathe. Alpha flies past and grabs the grenade launcher. He breaks it over his leg and kicks Goon Two in the ribs, cracking several more. Alpha then flies back down to the fight on the main floor.

  Night Terror kills two more guards with extremely vicious blows all over their bodies. He’s a blur of speed as he beats them to death with his escrima sticks.

  Most of the guards are now dead. Goon Two still stirs, and he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a detonator. Sirens can finally be heard in the distance. Night Terror apparently senses something and looks in Goon Two’s direction. Night Terror instantly flies out the roof with Alpha and Bravo transforming back into extra armor for him.

  “Not so fast, sucker!” Goon Two activates the detonator.

  Explosives that were set up throughout the building go off. The remaining people in the drug lab are killed. Tables, chairs, and drugs are scattered by the blast.

  Outside the drug lab, several police cars speed toward the fight.

  Karen and Carlos see the explosion from inside their patrol car.

  “Aw damn. Look out,” Carlos warns.

  “Why always us?” Karen adds.

  Karen slams on the brakes, as do all the other police. They get out of their vehicles and gawk at the spectacle. The barrier has contained the flames and is somewhat beautiful in its purple and orange contradiction.

  The building still stands, but nothing appears to be living inside it. The purple barrier kept the damage contained inside, but finally, and slowly, begins to dissipate.

  Julie sits in her office sometime later. She observes a screen that depicts the end of the fight. The explosion takes out all cameras.

  Yuri walks in behind her. “Good to see you finally got here. Well?”

  “Mr. Chairman, I told you it would be expensive. I’m reviewing the recording now.”

  “That doesn’t concern me. Did the mission succeed?”

  “He definitely got away. I don’t think anyone else did.”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  “Sir, we’re archiving the footage of the attack. We have what we need. I still don’t think the cost was worth it.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Miss Tress! I’ve had enough of your second guessing lately.”

  “Sir, I thought you appreciated my candor?”

  “I do, but the decision has long been made. You need to get on board.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me know when you have the next step ready. I already have people in position.”

  “Sir,” Julie selects her next words carefully. “I’m on board, but do you really think the next step is necessary? I’m not sure it’ll help us more than it could hurt us.”

  Yuri glares.

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good. I’ve accepted too many retirements in recent memory. I don’t want to lose you. You’re too valuable.”

  “You won’t lose me, sir.”

  Yuri nods, then he heads out. Julie replays the whole fight. She starts to edit the video and capture screen shots of The Opposition and his team.

  The police set up the “no crossing” tape outside the destroyed warehouse. More sirens can be heard in the distance. Carlos and Karen look dismayed as they watch the building smolder.

  Donald and Alex sort through the bodies to try and find someone they can save.

  Donald thinks he hears a groan and sees a foot move. There are too many bodies piled on top for him to make out a face.

  “We’ve got a live one! Come help me! Quick!”

  Emergency personnel move to his position.

  Chapter 6

  The community center for Genesis Revelation Catholic Church is busy with activity on a Monday afternoon. Several older citizens play various board games at strategically separated tables. There’s also a group of church leaders planning upcoming social and charity events.

  The senior priest, Father Alan, heads up this committee. He’s an older gentleman with soft eyes that communicate wisdom and understanding. His body has seen better days, and he hunches over with slight scoliosis from years of slouching.

  Father Alan addresses his committee. “I’m happy with how the potluck went the other day. We should do more events like that. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I always say.”

  Several parishioners nod. One adds, “Father Alan, I agree, but if we want to get more of the young people in our community to participate, we have to do more things that they’ll get excited about.”

  A middle-aged woman nods. “I agree. Speaking of young people, where’s Father Tom today?”

  “Father Tom is leading the skate park field trip. One of those ‘young people’ things that you just suggested,” Father Alan informs. “They should be back soon.”

  The first parishioner is a bit sheepish when she responds. “I forgot about that one. I hope they bring back pictures. Seeing Father Tom on a skateboard must be quite a sight.”

  The others agree. The middle-aged woman speaks again. “Then we should do more stuff like that. What about rock climbing in the future?”

  A wheelchair-bound parishioner disagrees. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m all about doing things for the kids, but some of us adults should be physically capable too, I don’t know about any of you, but my rock climbing days are long passed. Actually, they never existed in the first place.”

  There’s polite laughter from the group, but it’s quickly interrupted by a terrified shriek from the front of the community center.

  “Go away!” the terrified woman screams.

  Father Alan and his committee stand from their table and look for the source of the commotion. He sees several men and women brandishing baseball bats, escrima sticks, staffs, swords, and knives. There are also six men and women carrying expensive and professionally made video cameras. They film everything. All the intruders are dressed head to toe in skintight, lime green suits.

  Father Alan pushes his way to the aggressors. “What’s the meaning of this? You need to leave. We’re not bothering you. Don’t bother us.”

  One man with a baseball bat steps forward and without a word hits Father Alan against the head with it. Father Alan falls over and is beaten several more times on the back.

  The baseball bat man snickers as he violently strikes the senior. “How about now? Are we bothering you now?”

  The shock of the murder momentarily silences the peaceful worshippers. This silence is extremely short-lived as realization dawns on each potential victim. Screams erupt once more from the room. Frantic people try to make it for the exits, but each is blocked. The assembly of thugs nonchalantly beat and stab people to death.

  The first parishioner from Father Alan’s group begs for answers. “Why? What did we do?”

  She’s stabbed in the throat for her question. She gurgles as she falls to the ground dead.

  The middle-aged woman and wheelchair-bound man try to escape out a back door. They’re not as fast as their attackers and are easily apprehended. The wheelchair is turned over, spilling its trembling occupant. He’s stabbed through the back by a long and nasty sword.

  The woman falls to her knees. She blubbers as she begs for her life. “Please. Let me live. What’s this about?”

  Answers weren’t provided before, and her inquiry is no exception. Everyone else in the community center is dead. Several dozen in all. The attackers converge on the sole survivor. She trembles as she turns her head to face them.

  The man with the baseball bat looks at his accomplice wielding a pair of escrima sticks. “Finish it.”

  The second man steps forward to a crying woman.

  “Please no!” she begs again.

  The man beats her mercilessly with the two escrima sticks. It doesn’t take long for her to die. A bloody pile of pulp from the combinati
on of vicious blows and osteoporosis.

  The leader with the bat looks around at the death. He nods at his handy work. He looks over his left shoulder at one of the cameramen. “Did you guys get enough for The Speaker to use?”

  The cameraman steps forward. “Yeah. We got enough. The next step should go off without a hitch.”

  The leader nods. “Good. We’re done here.”

  The attackers casually walk out of the community center. They leave behind a scene of quiet horror.

  The news is about to break on the slaughter at the community center; however, it won’t be D2I this time. Pierce the Issue will air it first on a competing station in Yama.

  Cammy Pierce is a determined woman in her mid-thirties and the host of the show. She has classic television beauty and platinum blonde hair. She makes sure that her low-cut blouse accents her ample cleavage, figuring that it doesn’t matter what makes the masses tune in. She prepares to start her broadcast.

  A producer counts off until going live. “Alright, Cammy, we’re ready to go in five . . . four . . . three . . .”

  The intro music plays for Pierce the Issue. She looks at the camera as the music ends and smiles to her audience.

  “Good evening. Welcome to another night where we’ll Pierce the Issue. I’m Cammy Pierce. Tonight’s top story, another violent attack by the terrorist that has targeted Colberton for the past two months. This time the target was a local Catholic church.”

  Inside the Williams’ living room, Alex leans forward as the blood rushes from his face. His television depicts a building that he’s known since his youth.

  “Oh, no. Kim, get in here!” he shouts.

  Kim begrudgingly walks into the living room. It kills Alex to make her aware of the significance of the broadcast. Her shirt is wet. “What? I’m trying to get the twins in the bath--”

  Kim freezes mid-sentence as the images on her television steal her breath away. “Oh no. Why?”

  Alex and Kim start to tear up as they listen to the rest of the report.

  Back in the studio, Cammy continues her commentary. “Reports are still coming in, but the death toll is upwards of forty-two, including one of the priests, Father Alan Johnson. I spoke with Captain Jefferson of the Colberton Police Department earlier today, and he had this to say.”