by Luis Samways
“Could it be them?” she asked herself. Jerry is firing at me!
She figured it must be Jerry. Abel would never do such a thing, and considering the fact that a few hours prior, Jerry was selling them out and punching her in the face….
“I’ll get you, you prick,” she said as she scrambled out from behind the cover and ran toward the hills.
She ran up the steep incline and followed the gunshots. She needed to get to her group as quickly as possible. She wasn’t safe down there. Two of her team had already been picked off. She needed the cover of the night to make her move. She needed her team. The one thing that was playing on her mind was getting Abel back to safety. She didn’t trust Jerry, and she didn’t like him too much, either. It was one thing punching a girl, but picking off her rebel family one by one wasn’t something she was going to stand for.
Danni Mendez wanted blood, and she wanted Jerry’s blood.
Chapter Thirty
On an ATV, in the Mountains, New-Germania
The farmer was racing through the mountainside on his quad bike. He could hear the assortment of gunfire crackling in the foreground. It was exciting him. He knew that he was close, and when he and his beast reached the entry point to whatever gun battle was going on, he knew that they would clean up nicely.
He had gotten conformation that the gun battle going on wasn’t anything to do with the New-Germania army. He had made sure of that when he had called in the report of such a gun battle. He was met with disapproval on the phone when he did so. The army didn’t want to know what was going on. They were still immobilized a few miles down the mountain. The rebels had managed to get away from them. They couldn’t get any support in. The army’s air units couldn’t fly because of the trees and the weather. A storm was brewing, and it didn’t bode too well for them to risk their fleet. The ground units the army had at its disposal were limited, so they had decided against risking their lives. They had already lost too many men at the hands of the rebels that day. The state wasn’t prepared to give another drop of blood to the rebels.
That was why they called in the farmer. He had a proven track record. They knew that the farmer was good for it, so to speak. They knew that the farmer would clean up the situation, for he and his beast were unstoppable. They were first-class killers, trained by the best sectors in government that money could buy.
And they were on their way to cash in on their training.
The farmer revved on his engine. The quad bike’s torque was tremendous as it slid up and down the hills effortlessly. The farmer had made sure that the quad bike he had was far superior to any motorcycle readily available to the public.
It was custom made for hunting. It had tires that could withstand all sorts of punishment, and it had a suspension that could drop over a hundred feet clean and still survive the impact. The farmer was prepared, and he was fast. He wore goggles to prevent any bugs or debris from flying into his eyes. The goggles also had a reflective coating on them, a coating that helped him see in the dark. It wasn’t quite night vision, but it did help in low-light situations. He had tagged his mountain lion with a special coat of repellent. It glowed in the dark when he was wearing his goggles. It was only visible through the special hunting goggles and was invisible to the naked eye, making it impossible for the lion’s prey to see it coming.
The farmer had been following his mountain lion for a while now. It had traversed a good ten miles down the mountainside. With every mile gained, the gunfire in the foreground grew closer. It was stimulating the lion’s tendency to run fast. It was as if the farmer’s beast wanted to sink its teeth into anything that moved. So far, on the way to the hunt, the lion had destroyed a few wild animals. The farmer had looked on in glee as his beast completely obliterated several wild elk. The farmer had to whistle loudly at his beast to get it back to hunting. It worked. The lion always listened to its master.
The quad bike had no problem keeping up with the mountain lion. The lion never went down any pathways that its master couldn’t traverse. It was as if the lion was being considerate as it ran at fifty miles per hour.
The farmer and lion were one when they hunted. They flew through the mountainside with little hindrance. They were meant to do what they did, and the closer they got to their destination, the more apparent it was that Jerry and the Jew didn’t stand a chance. For judgment was coming in the form of one pissed-off cougar.
Chapter Thirty-One
On a Train, New-Germania
Cindy Goldstein had been on the train now for an hour or so. Ever since the police had burst onto it earlier, she had felt threatened. They had left with no drama, but it had tested her nerve.
Could she really be a fugitive? Was it in her? She didn’t think so. In fact, she was sure of it. She knew she didn’t have it in her. After all, she had a baby girl to look after. Mary-Lou wasn’t a baby as such, but little girls were always babies in their mother’s eyes. And in Cindy’s eyes, her baby girl needed a caring mother to look after her, not a murdering fugitive.
Cindy looked at her sleeping girl as she sat slumped next to her mother. A slight smile crept across her face as she looked on in admiration. It was then that she realized that the stop she had told herself to get off at was coming up. A man’s voice had come over the loudspeaker and reminded everyone of the fact. She had also remembered about the reasoning behind the early exit. She had a feeling, a gut feeling that her exiting the train was a life-or-death situation. Some might say it was panic, but she knew the difference. She knew that panic was irrational and without much reason, but a gut feeling of impending doom was accurate almost all the time, in her experience.
The man behind her was causing that panic. There was just something about him. Something that made her feel off.
Was it his outburst earlier? Maybe, but sometimes people just say things.
Was it the way he was looking at her? Most likely.
She was used to seeing people gawk at people. It was human nature, after all. Sometimes it was harmless; other times, it was dangerous. But the world she lived in, and the time in which she lived, didn’t justify such feelings.
Murder wasn’t something that happened a lot in New Germania. It was surprising, really, seeing how the last sixty-eight years had been full of bloodshed and discord, but somehow, New-Germania and its population were peaceful. Maybe it was because the government had killed off everyone that society seemed to want dead. Maybe it was because the true murderers were never the population, but the people guarding it. Maybe she was the exception to the rule; after all, she had just murdered her husband not too long ago. But that was different.
It isn’t murder if they deserve it, is it?
She was trying to figure out why she wanted to leave so badly. She didn’t want to risk leaving the train if it was uncalled for. The closer she got to her destination, the easier it would be to remain on the run. She knew that staying in the radius of her home was a bad idea. The police would only need to put two and two together. It didn’t take a genius to work out how her husband died, or why, for that matter. She knew it would be big news. Big news that could turn her husband’s death into something far more sinister. It wasn’t because her husband was anything special — it was just for the sheer fact that a German citizen had done the unthinkable and murdered one of their own. One of the Master Race.
Maybe she didn’t need to leave the train. Maybe she was overreacting. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. Her husband had always told her she overreacted a lot. Maybe that was true, considering the situation she found herself in now.
Maybe the old bastard was right after all.
Maybe she was just an impulse bomb waiting to go off.
That much he had gotten right, because she very much did go off, and he paid for everything wrong he had ever done to her.
Maybe her impulses would be threatening her freedom. Maybe she needed to have another look at the situation.
She decided to catch another glimps
e of the man behind her. It was he who had spooked her, after all. Sure, the police coming on the train was scary and all, but when they left, she felt better. But his presence on the train was causing her to react strangely. Did she know him? Was that why she was reacting strangely? She decided to test the theory.
She mulled over the process in her mind. How was she going to turn around naturally without making the man feel uncomfortable? The last thing she wanted to do was draw his attention, especially if he was an innocent bystander in all this and it was her mind playing tricks on her.
She decided that the best cause of action was to order a drink. She could hear the drink cart making its rounds behind her. If she just popped her head around her seat and signaled that she wanted a drink, she could get another glimpse of the man. She decided that was what she was going to do.
She breathed in deeply and exhaled loudly, playing the part of a dehydrated passenger. She even chewed some saliva in her mouth, as if she was testing how thirsty she was. She then turned her head slightly and signaled the oncoming cart. The friendly man who’d offered her a drink on the house earlier smiled at her. She smiled back and shifted her eyes a little to catch a glimpse of the man behind her.
She immediately regretted doing it. She quickly turned back and faced forward. Her heart was racing in her chest.
Why did I have to turn around? she thought.
The cart with the drinks turned up a few minutes later. She must have been quite a sight, filled with dread, because the nice man pushing the cart asked if she was all right. She nodded and waited for that drink. He poured her a shot and took her money, giving her some change back before walking off. She downed the drink in one near motionless swoop.
She shoved the glass down onto her tray and exhaled. She now knew why she was in such a panic. She finally knew why she wanted to get off the train. Sitting behind her was a man she had finally recognized. A man she couldn’t believe was on the same train that she was.
Sitting behind her was her dead husband’s best friend and fellow police officer. She knew what she had to do, and she knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Chapter Thirty-Two
On the Mountain Ridge, New Germania
“Did you hear that?” I said as I looked around in confusion.
“Hear what?” asked Jerry as he reloaded. “Can’t you see I’m busy shooting?”
I tried to hold my breath. Maybe if I did so, I could hear it clearly. And then I heard it again.
“Seriously, you can’t hear that?” I said.
“No, what the hell are you talking about?” he said. “I know what I just heard, though — the last clip going into the rifle. After that, we’re empty. I suggest that maybe now is the best time to figure out a Plan B,” he added as he got himself positioned on the mound for his last hurrah.
“Last clip? Shit, what are we going to do?” I asked.
“I think you should save yourself, Abel. Get the hell out of here and get to high ground. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can find some sort of vehicle or a hiding spot. Then maybe you could traverse the mountain and escape down the other side. You’ll be safer without me. I’ll keep the rebels busy while you save yourself,” he said, firing a few shots as he waved me off.
“Leave? No way. We’re in this together. You got me into this mess, so you’ll get me out of it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Abel. I’m trying to get you out of this mess. I can’t do that if you’re hanging around and waiting to get captured. We are surrounded. We need to split up. If you make it to the other side of the mountain, keep heading west. You’ll come to a small village. It’s practically empty, but if I make it, I’ll meet you there. Give me a day, and I’ll be there. If I don’t show up after a day, then leave. Get as far away as possible from here. Leave the country if you can,” he said.
I looked up at the trees over us. They were still dropping leaves and debris as the gun battle continued. It was as if it had been going on for hours. Maybe it had, but I had lost all sense of time. All that remained was dark and light. Day and night. Those were the only things that mattered. And from all the years of me being on the run, I knew the night worked in my favor. It was pitch black. Maybe I would make it. Just maybe this could work. But I felt as if I needed help. I had grown fond of Jerry, even if he was an asshole. But quite frankly, no matter how I looked at it, he was responsible for saving my life various times over the past forty-eight hours.
“I’m not leaving you, Jerry. I just can’t.”
Jerry started to laugh as he took a few more timed shots with his rifle.
“I’m touched, Abel, but you have to leave. You and I will be safer apart. It’s the reality that we find ourselves in. Now, don’t get me wrong. If you want to die, then stick around. I have enough room for another body bag right here.”
I didn’t know if that was a threat or the reality of the situation we’d found ourselves in. Truth is, I knew we were fucked and he was right. We would stand a much better chance at surviving if both of us went our separate ways. So I grabbed him on the shoulder as a goodbye. He waved me off with what I thought was a smile. It was still too dark for me to see anything with any clarity.
“Don’t get killed, Jew. The world needs people like you. People who stand up for what’s right. People who fight the evils of this world. The world needs all the Abel Brewers it can get,” Jerry said as he started hammering the trigger on his rifle.
I smiled and went.
I rushed up the embankment, leaving Jerry behind. I ran as fast as I could.
I was making good ground, because the gunfire was sounding ever distant with every step I took. I ran for as long as I could, and then I heard that noise again. It made me freeze on the spot.
My legs didn’t move; they couldn’t, I was so terrified. And then I heard it again, only this time I knew what it was. It was a roar. Like a bear was nearby or something. And then I realized that the gunshots were not fading — they had stopped. I turned my head slightly and saw the direction from which I’d come. It was doused in darkness and intrigue. My heart was flip-flopping as I stared into the bleakness. I could hear twigs snapping under my feet. I was making more noise than I wanted.
“Hello, Jerry?” I said.
Nothing. No noise, apart from my heaving breathing.
And then I heard the roar again, and what sounded like a stampede of claws in the bush.
Whatever it was, it was coming for me.
I was just about to bolt when I saw some eyes glowing in the bush in front of me. Two pristinely golden eyes of a predator. The roar from its mouth was no longer distant, for it was right in front of me. Feet away from its claws, I turned on my heels and ran. I didn’t know if it was following me, because the next thing I knew, I had run into a tree head first, knocking myself out.
“Better to flee from death than feel its grip.”
HOMER, The Iliad
Das Death II coming February 2014.
Luis Samways
The Casual Killer
Frank McKenzie 1
“If the blue meanies are going to get me they’d better get off their asses and do something.” -The Zodiac Killer
One
The sound of his beeper wakes Frank up. Slouched against his headboard, he looks around his bedroom and tries to shake his hangover while squinting and trying to adjust to the light finding its way through the curtains. He smiles when he sees the empty bottle of Jack lying on the floor next to his gun. Grabbing his packet of cigarettes from the bed side table, he fondles around the drawer for his lighter. He finally finds it, and lights the cigarette. The dim light reveals a messy room with folders and documents strewn all over. He drags hard on the smoke and exhales a cloud of grey bliss that soothes him to near sleep once again. As he does, his cell phone starts ringing. It startles Frank. ‘Frank speaking,’ he answers, still smoking his cigarette while half awake.
‘Hey Frank, you need to come in,’ the voice on the phone says. �
�There’s been an incident down Stella Avenue in Rixton.’
‘What kind of incident?’
Frank tries to clear his throat.
‘There’s been a massacre in a family home, around 15 dead, Sir.’
‘Damn, I’ll be down as soon as possible; meet me there.’
Frank hangs up the phone and shoots out of bed, rushing around looking for his clothes. He puts on what he can find, a white T shirt and charcoal trousers. There’s a stain on the sleeve of his shirt which he manages to get out after a few minutes. He goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror.
He stops dead, intently staring at himself like he doesn’t recognise who he is. Grabbing some hair gel from the cabinet above the sink, he applies it to his blond short hair. He looks harder into his reflection and notices his beard is starting to come through; he has no time to clean shave. Frank looks around for his electric beard trimmer and spots it on a pile of wet towels. Grabbing it, he shaves rapidly, not caring about the hair debris falling on the floor but he moves over to the sink. As he shaves, looking in the mirror, the sound of the razor drives him into a hypnotic state. He stares deeper into his own reflection, catching a distorted glimpse of his eyes. He stops in awe of his cold blue eyes. The razor shreds the hair up and down his side burns. Flashes of the reasons he drinks play in his mind. As he looks deeper into the mirror, a woman’s ghostly face appears, replacing his reflection. She snarls at him. Her face is covered in bruises. She laughs.
‘Have fun dying, Fucker,’ the woman in the reflection growls.
Frank jumps and the razor clips his ear. Blood trickles out. Frank sneers and throws the beard trimmer at the mirror, shattering it. Shards of glass fall sharply and bounce off the hair ridden sink to the floor. Frank yells in frustration.