by Schow, Ryan
The good thing was, he was officially a member of the night watch.
He had the last hour or so before sunrise.
To pass the time, he had the Geiger counter out and he kept measuring the air. Every time he got the readout, he flicked the Bic lighter and looked at the digital screen.
The levels were good.
Still, he thought he’d heard someone asking if the EMP had burned a hole in the atmosphere. It was definitely hotter during the day, but the nights…the nights were cold.
Yawning, he sat on the chair he’d brought out earlier and pulled the blanket over him. Then he saw a wraith walk into the neighborhood. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he blinked twice and realized this was no ghost.
He was looking at a woman. A woman who moved like a ghost.
Quiet as he could, Chase slid off he chair and out from under the blanket, stayed low, crept to the porch railing and watched the intruder from the shadows.
From what he could see beneath the soft haze of moonlight, she was a skinny woman, harmless for sure. Where there was one, there might be more, he reasoned. Then again, this one was different. She moved like she wanted to be there. Like this was not the neighborhood she was passing through, but the neighborhood she had been coming to.
Dread working its way through him, he stood quietly, focused on moving in perfect silence. He needed a better view of her. She was now trying the front doors of the homes. He looked behind him, quietly grabbed his bat.
This is why you’re here, Chase, he told himself. This is what you volunteered for.
After dinner that night, he’d asked for and had been entrusted with the responsibility of a part of the night watch. It’s true he’d only been given an hour. It was, statistically speaking, the hour with the lowest chances of activity. That’s what Ice said. What Fire confirmed. It seemed the odds were not in his favor, though, for this was proving to be the most important hour, and hour with the most activity.
As he watched her, he wondered what the odds were that this strange woman would show up on his shift. And why had he even volunteered to do this again?!
He was half-terrified, half-thrilled.
All the pretty women, he thought. Brooklyn, her mother Adeline, Eliana, Carolina…
The ghostly woman tried Draven’s front door, then Brooklyn’s front door, and then she moved to the next house. This time, the front door opened right up for her.
Looking over her shoulder, she slipped inside.
What was she doing? Looting? He thought about waking Draven, but for all he knew, the woman was just checking for food, water or supplies.
Less than an hour later, she came out, dragging a limp body with her. The druggie Draven was helping get clean. She lugged the body to the middle of the street, left it there.
For a long time, she stood above the body in silence, studying the two houses—Brooklyn’s and Draven’s. Then she’d lower her head, almost like she was curious about the boy. He hadn’t moved at all. Chase thought maybe she did this for a good half an hour. It was unnerving.
Finally she started to leave, causing him to perk up.
He had to act now!
He could go to Draven, lose precious time telling him what happened and never know why she’d come there—why she did what she’d done—or he could follow her from a distance, find out where she came from, and maybe have something important to tell Draven and the women.
He grabbed the bat, but then again, he knew he’d never hit a woman with the bat full of nails, so he left it behind.
This was a recon mission, not an assault.
Quietly, he snuck into the street and began tailing her, leaving enough distance between himself and the woman so as not to lose her or be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Xavier buried the blade into the second guard’s kidney all the way to hilt. At the same time, he’d come close enough to reach around and cup a hand over the man’s mouth, stifling any auditory reaction. The guard howled into Xavier’s hand louder than he’d anticipated.
This worried him.
Eyes flashing wide, Xavier pinned his body to his victim’s and he kept his head on a swivel. He didn’t do this to guard his six, his three or his nine. He did this because he was scared. He did this because he didn’t want the man screaming out into the night and warning others.
Speaking of dying, he thought, this is taking too long.
Standing there, the man fighting for his life and losing, Xavier was on the verge of gassing out. Finally, Xavier felt the man’s squirming becoming acceptance. A moment later, the guard dropped down, almost like his bones had turned to putty.
That’s when he saw it, the shadow in the night.
Xavier scurried backwards, out of sight, grimacing with each tiny shock of noise. Whomever that was, if they found the fallen guard, they’d see a stabbed man in the final throes of death. Or any minute, this misguided soldier he just stabbed could make a gurgling, dying, moaning sound, and that would be it. The element of surprise would have been wasted.
The silhouette he was watching was that of a boy. But on closer inspection, Xavier appeared to be looking at a woman. She had a thin build, skinny arms, no real shape to speak of.
What in God’s name was she doing out at this hour?
When she slipped inside one of the homes, Xavier paused long enough to let the night settle. The third and fourth guards were out there somewhere.
In that moment, he thought he saw movement in the shadows from where the woman had come from, but he couldn’t be sure. He kept his eyes on that spot for a long time before finally letting go of it and returning to dead guard numero dos.
When the coast was clear, he stashed the body, went to get eyes on the last two guards. The problem was he saw guard number three, but not guard number four.
Had one of them gone inside? Had he just been a guy coming to relieve his buddy, or check on him?
Either way, it was time to deal with guard number three. Seeing the size of the man, inside Xavier couldn’t help but sigh. This big bucket of cholesterol was no small affair. He must be what dead guard number one called “the hot dog eater.”
This guy was Diabetes incarnate.
Sizing him up, Xavier studied his gait to see how he’d move. He wasn’t too worried about this guy because when your knees knocked together when you walked, when your super hefty mid-section was as wide as a doorway and when your big, sloped shoulders gave you that hunchbacked one might call a deformity, chances were pretty good you weren’t quick on your feet. Furthermore, the guard’s head was bald and slightly misshapen and it sat on a pile of skin some would call a neck. Beneath the coat, Xavier wasn’t sure if the man was built, or just one of those guys who started eating potato chips at three and never stopped with the junk food.
He’d find out soon enough.
Fortunately, this gargantuan beast was the closest to the dead-body drop spot, i.e., the car two blocks up where he’d stashed the garbage man, so he wouldn’t have to drag him as far as he’d have to drag number two.
He drew a deep breath, gave a nod and said, “You can do this.”
Xavier snuck up on him, hooked the blade around his throat, pulled in one swift motion, opening everything up. The carotid artery gushed free. He managed to avoid the fire hydrant of blood that followed.
The man clapped his hand over his neck, staggered forward, gulp-gasping. Xavier dropped down, went for the femoral artery, sliced it wide open. At least that’s what he was hoping for. There was a lot of fat on those legs.
All he knew was the man was still on his feet, gagging and choking, not even trying to look back at him. Xavier stood and stabbed him four or five times in the back and sides, hoping to hasten the process, but in the end it was slow going.
No one just fell over dead like they did in the movies.
What a disappointment.
With every passing minute, he had time to question his tactics, his judgment. This could be a good guy he was killi
ng. Even though he took orders from a murderous psychopath who called himself Demon? Guilt by association was not always the truest measure of a person. Then again, it held true more times than not.
He hoped he wasn’t wrong doing this.
The odds were in his favor.
The big man finally collapsed, flopping down, smashing his face in the asphalt. With guard number three finally down, he had to be sure there was no guard number four.
After a wide perimeter sweep, he encountered no one else.
That brought him back to the King of Diabetes. Xavier looked down at the dead behemoth, shaken by the violence he’d perpetrated, while at the same time wondering how in God’s name he was going to drag that big ass meat sack two full blocks.
“One step at a time,” he said, grabbing the man’s ankle.
Moving this beast was no easy task, but after a good half hour, after sapping the last of his strength, Xavier got him to the car and positioned him next to the garbage man.
Breathing deep, winded, he sat down next to the two dead guys, tried to catch his breath. Soon it would be sunrise. He still had one body left to transport. He willed himself to get up, but his body refused to move. Not only was he exhausted from the fight and from dragging these guys up the block, he was running on no sleep, he was cold and he didn’t want to do this anymore.
Things had gotten too messy.
He hadn’t counted on this feeling more like a serial killing than a mission to protect those he loved most. And he hadn’t counted on the sick sensation taking shape within him, or the haunting feeling that what he’d just done would have some unsavory repercussions in the afterlife.
He’d come this far though. He needed to see this through to the end. So he got up, trudged back to where he left guard number two and dragged him the two blocks necessary to reunite him with his dead buddies.
When he got all three men together, he propped them all against a car, arranging their bodies close together, the outside two leaning in on the behemoth. The idea was that the guards would be found killed cartel style, and that the message, or perhaps the warning—although haphazard and somewhat unclear—would be enough to muddy the waters. If the cretin who called himself Demon worried about a bigger threat than Xavier’s group, perhaps he would leave them alone. Or maybe just leave the neighborhood altogether.
Looking at the trio of slumped over corpses, he felt like it wasn’t enough. Like he was missing something.
Finally he pulled their shirts up over their heads, stood back and looked at them. That was what had been missing. It was no grand gesture, for sure, but whomever came across them first was in for a very grim surprise.
He also knew it would make enough waves that he’d have to tell Fire when he got back to the block. Now that the sun was rising, he headed home, concerned about being seen in the subtle light of the approaching dawn.
When he got home, he could hardly keep his eyes open.
Heading around the back of the house, he went through the broken door, cleared both floors, then lowered himself to his knees before his bed and God Himself. Bringing his hands together, he closed his eyes and begged God for forgiveness and asked that this vile feeling inside him pass.
In this quest for forgiveness, for absolution, Xavier also asked for guidance. The act of killing left him disoriented, angry that the world had come to this, scared of what he could become if left unchecked.
That’s why he needed direction.
Even though he believed he was doing the right thing, he began to wonder if he wasn’t just taking out his anger on men he decided were enemies.
By his own measure, had he not become a bad man to Demon’s people? Had he not made himself their enemy? Would they not be justified in the eyes of God in giving him an eye-for-an-eye death?
He was not one to give himself over to the pain, for men in his former position in the DEA rose in rank because they could stifle their emotions if favor of completing the tasks required of them, unpleasant as they may be.
This is the task, he reminded himself. And yes, it is unpleasant.
He crawled into bed, relishing the soft sensation of the sheets, and the weight of the comforter upon him. The house was bitter cold, his feet not much warmer, but he was home. In bed. Able to finally relax.
Before he dozed off, he asked God one last time if he was straying from the path, and if he was, would God would be so kind as to make His intentions clear so that Xavier may readjust his direction and his ways.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chase tracked the killer back to a neighborhood maybe six blocks away. He was following her when he saw movement deeper in the neighborhood behind her. She walked into a house, disappearing. He made note of the home, but he was also hiding, waiting to see who was out there and if they presented a threat to him.
So he waited in the bushes, and he watched.
Then he saw a man huffing a rather large dead guy down the street. It was almost as if he was dragging a gigantic bag of laundry behind him. Chase kept his distance, stayed quiet. Whoever this was, did he kill this guy, or was the man-bear already dead? And where was he taking the body?
Chase didn’t know what was going on, but it certainly sparked his curiosity.
The man who snared his attention traveled through the shadows, returning back to the neighborhood to grab another guy out of the bushes. When he got all three bodies to the car two blocks away, the man looked tired, his strength diminished.
Yeah, he wasn’t some guy from the neighborhood taking out dead bodies. He was the guy who came into the neighborhood creating dead bodies.
When this mystery man started back in Chase’s direction, he was moving through the shadows so quietly and with such stealth, warning bells went off in Chase’s head.
Naturally, he hid.
Peeking through the bushes, he realized he’d lost him. Then he was just there, walking past him.
Chase startled, his face draining itself of color. The mystery man was Xavier. Did he just kill those men?
Of course, he did!
When his neighbor was far enough down the road, Chase darted through the shadows to where Xavier had dropped off his victims. They were propped against the car, their shirts pulled up over their faces.
Looking around first, feeling exposed, he pulled down the obese man’s shirt, found his neck routed out. He spun away, could hardly believe what he was seeing. Slowly turning back, trying not to look, he pulled the shirt back over the man’s head.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier.
He couldn’t have known about the woman Chase tracked there, or the dead druggie in the street. Yet Xavier had come there anyway and killed these three men. Why? That’s when he heard the footsteps and saw someone fast approaching. It was another guard.
“Hey!” he shouted.
Chase took flight without hesitation. The guard sprinted after him. Chase moved like his life depended on it, even though his legs were cold and tired and he hadn’t run like that since last summer.
Chase only hoped the man would get tired before he did.
This wasn’t the case.
The pounding footsteps were getting louder and louder until he could hear panting behind him. Terrified, every last nerve inside him crackling with life, Chase darted to the left, squeezed through a couple of houses, ran past a dog that was staked to the ground and dead, probably from the nuclear fallout, then hopped a fence.
Just as he thought he was going to make it over the fence, a hand grabbed him by the leg, yanked him down. He extended his hands to cushion his fall and though it helped some, the impact jarred his wrists, elbows and shoulder joints.
The man spun him over, glared down at him.
When Chase made no obvious moves to run, his captor folded over, hands on his knees and sweating. It was obvious he was having a hard time catching his breath.
“Jesus Christ, kid,” he said, all but gasping.
Chase had played enough video games and w
atched enough TV to know when you were in a fight, all it took was one good hit one way or the other and it was game over. That’s why he drove a foot into the man’s balls not once, but twice. He was already bent over, but the damage was now double.
Chase scrambled to his feet, battled against every instinct to run. Running just then would have been a mistake. With all his might, he kicked the side of the guard’s knee.
He let out a mighty ooof! and favored the kicked knee.
Chase never took MMA classes, but he’d watched enough pay-per-view fights to see what damage one guy could do to the other when he attacked his opponent’s legs. That’s why instead of kicking out just one knee, Chase kicked out the other, too.
He knew he couldn’t break this guy, he just had to slow him down.
With both knees injured, the out of shape guard hobbled over to the fence, grabbed it for support. That’s when Chase knew it was time to run again.
The guard never came after him.
When he finally got home, Chase stopped to look at the dead boy in the street. He never really saw him up close until that moment. When he did, though, he fought the upsurge in his stomach.
Chase had seen horror movies before, and he watched YouTube a lot, once searching for dead bodies after squealing through a scary movie marathon. Eventually this took him to a page on Jack The Ripper. When he’d seen what had been done to his victims, to these prostitutes, Chase never watched a horror movie again.
It was like that. What the woman who killed the druggie did was like something Jack the Ripper would have done to one of the ladies of Whitechapel.
The sun finally broke over the horizon and it felt like a Dawn of the Dead movie. He didn’t want to be out there, or even awake, but he had a responsibility as the last man of the night watch. He headed straight to Draven’s house, knocked on the front door quiet at first, and then excessively. Finally, the door opened.
“Is everything okay, Chase?” Draven asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.