by Leo Romero
He had a connection with Trixie that was beyond the superficial. Something that spending fifty years watching sports and eating homemade pumpkin pie could never replicate. He glanced at the flame on his Zippo. It danced left and right like a pair of svelte hips swaying. Yeah, Mary Lou would always be in his memory, but Trixie had got into his heart, into his veins. When she hurt, he hurt. When they won, they won together.
And now they were about to die together.
He killed the light on his Zippo, his head dropping. He trudged over to the bunk where Faisal was still snoring. Dom tapped him on the legs. Faisal snapped out of his sleep with a start.
“Give me some room, buddy,” Dom ordered.
Faisal shifted his legs across with a yawn. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” Dom retorted, slumping down on the bunk.
“I suppose not,” Faisal answered, rubbing his eye.
The door cranked open, making all three of them snap their heads around to meet it. Dom watched on, his breath held, his heart beating slow and hard. In stepped a masked jihadi, obligatory black robes, red scarf wrapped over his forehead, a slit for his eyes, machete in hand. This one was stocky and fat. He glared at them all for a second, his eyes wide. Dom didn’t like the vibe coming off him. He oozed aggression from every pore and the weapon in his hands was terrifying. Dom gulped.
The guy whipped his head back and barked some Arabic at the other guys congregated just outside the cell. They backed off, allowing the stocky guy to shut the door.
Then, they were alone. Dom glanced at Faisal, then flicked his eyes toward Trixie. She met his stare, her eyes glimmering with concern. Dom looked back at the guy; he stood just inside the door, his eyes working all three of them over. He tightened his grip on his machete. Dom clenched his fists by his sides. If this guy had been sent to slaughter them, then he was gonna at least put up a fight. His legs began to tremble, half through fear and half from the adrenaline that had suddenly been dumped into his veins.
The guy just stood there, looking them over one by one. He took an abrupt step forward. Dom’s back tightened. He was about ready to leap to his feet and begin to fight, when the guy reached up to his head with his free hand. He grabbed hold of the fabric covering his face and pulled it down below his chin. Dom’s jaw dropped. It was a white guy. Someone he recognized, but couldn’t quite place.
Trixie’s eyes widened. “It’s you!” she exclaimed.
The guy put a stern finger up to his lips. “Keep it down or you’ll give the game away!”
Dom’s face pinched in confusion. “Game? What’s going on?”
“That’s the guy who shot off my finger!” Trixie said in an excitable tone, pointing at him. “Husky Walrus.”
“Husky Flamingo,” the guy corrected her.
A spark went off in Dom’s mind. He clicked his fingers. “Oh yeah. Nixon! I remember you now. You’re the asshole who shot Rufus.”
Nixon’s eyes flicked from Trixie to Dom. He didn’t say a word.
“How did you get in here?” asked Trixie.
“I know a bit of Arabic,” Nixon said. “Enough to get me in.”
“So what, you’re working for the Claw Order now?” asked Dom.
Nixon shook his head. “Negative. I’m here to help you kill Rah. I wasn’t supposed to be saving your asses, but you just had to run in there, didn’tcha?”
“Who sent you?” asked Trixie.
Nixon met her stare. “A mutual enemy of Rah. The House of Rah is suppressing the oil. We’ve been sent to sort that out.”
Faisal’s eye lit up. “You see! Allah has sent help to us. Mashallah!” he said with a grin, jabbing his hand toward the ceiling.
“Not so fast, buddy!” said Dom. “We got history with this guy.”
“Yeah. He works for the vampires,” Trixie added. “At least he did the last time we met.”
Faisal’s grin melted. He sent Nixon an acidic stare.
Dom crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s right. So, Husky, why should we trust you?”
Nixon jabbed a finger in their direction. “’Cause I’m the only hope you got! You wanna stay here with these guys? They’ve got you scheduled for beheading. Wanna have the pleasure of watching your own decapitated body slump to the ground and bleed out?”
Dom gulped.
Nixon nodded slow and deliberate. “Exactly.” He pulled his mask back up over his face. “I got a truck and some guys outside waiting for us. I’ve BS’d the guards about having you transported. So, just leave the talking to me once we’re out of this cell. Oh, and you guys never saw me, okay? Anyone asks, you escaped all by yourselves. You got it?”
They all nodded.
“Okay,” said Nixon. “Let’s get outta here!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nixon led them out of the cell, his chest puffed out. He yapped orders in Arabic left and right at the other guards loitering around the shack. They cleared the way, allowing them room to leave. Nixon turned and grabbed Dom by the upper arm and shoved him forward. Dom staggered across the sand; he knew Nixon’s aggressive behavior was part of the act, but still... He got moving, Faisal and Trixie following up. Nixon retook the lead; he marched across the sandy ground with an air of authority, stepping through lines of other masked guards. Every now and then, he got in their faces and growled some angry Arabic into them. Dom wished he’d stop. He knew he was trying to fool them, but he was laying it on a bit thick.
Dom glanced up at the sky. It was a clear night; stars twinkled like precious gems. He scanned the perimeter of the prison camp. The huge outer fencing was dotted with watchtowers sporting giant lights that lit up the interior of the camp and the area just outside. Stationed up there were a few guards watching everything outside and in. The air was hot and stifling. Sweat was already streaming down his face. As he followed Nixon, his eyes flicked from guard to guard. If they got a sniff that Nixon was an imposter, they’d probably slaughter them all there and then.
They entered a thin corridor of wire fencing wide enough for only one person at a time. Razor wire threatened them from either side. Dom had a sheepish look left and right. Through the crisscross of wire fence the POW camp stared back at him. Lonely prison shacks watched over by masked thugs. He wasn’t sorry to be seeing the back of those.
Nixon reached the end of razor wire alley and stepped into a wider area leading to the main gate. A couple of guards were stationed there, standing like sentries. Dom eyed them up and down. They were the last obstacle between them and freedom from this hellhole. Through the wire fence either side of the main entrance, the desert expanded out into darkness; it was a vast expanse of freedom. So close, yet so far. Dom stared back at the guards. They stood with their weapons at the ready.
Dom focused his attention on the back of Nixon’s head. Just get us through these two assholes, buddy, and we’re home and hosed.
The guards approached the party. Nixon broadened his shoulders and stepped toward them. One of the guards grunted something in Arabic at Nixon, pointing his machete at Dom, Trixie, and Faisal. Dom held his breath; whatever this guy was saying, it wasn’t friendly. Dom watched on, his eyes wide. That gate just beyond them all was so tantalizing. He ran a dry tongue over equally dry lips.
Nixon growled something back at the guard. He gesticulated at him, waving his own machete in the air. He kept pointing at Dom, Trixie, and Faisal, and then at the gate. The other guard stepped forward. He got right into Nixon’s face. They were eye-to-eye. He began rasping something at Nixon, his hand balled up into a fist. Dom’s heart began to beat harder. He didn’t like this. From the look of things, these two guys didn’t look willing to let them walk outta there.
He flicked his eyes back at Nixon. Come on, buddy, keep your cool. Don’t let these assholes faze you.
The guard continued his tirade, his eyes burning with anger. The other guard stepped into Nixon’s face. Now both of them were sweating him. Dom gave Trixie a nervy glance. She met hi
s stare for a moment, her mouth a small O. Dom threw his stare over at Faisal. He stood with his hands behind his back, his head bowed. He knew what these guys were all saying to each other. But, without checking his facial expression, Dom couldn’t get any info positive or negative. Instead, he turned his attention back on Nixon. Everything hinged on how he played the next few seconds. If worst came to the worst, they might have to fight their way out. Dom balled his hands up into fists by his sides in anticipation.
Nixon’s back straightened. He cocked a thumb over his shoulder at Dom, Trixie, and Faisal, then jabbed a finger at the main gate. All the while he was laying down the law hot and hard, his voice unwavering. The two guards remained as they were the whole time, just staring, taking in what they were hearing. Nixon upped the volume and ramped up the body language. He pumped up his chest and waved his hands around like an enraged orangutan. Dom watched on, his legs trembling. This could go south at any moment.
Nixon slashed his machete down on the air between the two guards. He went silent. He straightened his back and glared at them both. The guards glanced at one another. One of them gulped.
Dom flicked his gaze from him to the other. Nixon remained as he was; stout, resolute.
Come on, come on, let us go. Let us go!
The guard on the left took a deep breath. He tightened his grip on his machete and raised it.
Dom’s eyes widened. His chest tightened. This is it!
The guard laid the flat edge of the blade across his chest and took a step back, his head bowed.
Nixon turned his attention from him to the other one. The guard lowered his stare, then stepped back, getting out of Nixon’s face. A small smile crept up Dom’s cheeks. He turned to face Trixie. She gave him a small shrug. Beyond her, Faisal was stifling a laugh; he lowered his head to conceal the fact. Dom frowned. What the hell’s he laughing about?
Faisal caught his stare; he had to suppress another laugh. Faisal flipped a hand in Dom’s direction, urging him to look away. Dom turned away from him before the old guy exploded. Nixon was now standing wide-legged, hands on hips. He glared down at the two guards like he was their boss.
One of them ushered them through while the other got the gate open.
Dom’s eyes lit up. Husky Flamingo, the asshole, did it!
The guard swung the gate open, exposing that free outside world. Dom glanced at Trixie; he discreetly pumped his fist at her. She offered him a half smile in return and a jolt of excitement rushed up his chest. If Trixie was even half-grinning it was a good sign.
Nixon stomped toward the open gate, sand flying up beneath his feet. He turned and curled his hand on the air with a grunt, urging the others to follow. Dom didn’t hesitate. He got moving, following the Husky Flamingo like he was club scout leader. The two guards stood either side of the open gate, their heads bowed.
Nixon marched past them. “Shukran!” he grunted at them as he went.
He stepped out of the camp grounds and stopped. He turned and began ushering the others, urging them to hurry up.
Dom went into a small jog, his gaze fixed on the guards as he passed them. He didn’t trust them; they might be standing down now, but he knew they were crazy enough to kick off at any given moment. They remained as they were. Dom took a step past that wire fence and out of that camp and relief exploded inside him. He’d dodged the guillotine, escaped the clutches of the Reaper, that tight enclosed space they were trapped inside now a wide open desert. He scanned the horizon; the distance was a dark mystery. The near distance was illuminated by the lights attached to the watchtowers.
Waiting in the road up ahead was a blacked-out armored vehicle. Their oasis.
Nixon cocked his head toward it and marched off.
Dom scampered up to him. “What did you say to those two guards?” he asked Nixon in a hot whisper.
“I told em I’m under strict orders from Annit to cut off their nuts if they tried to stop me in any way,” came Nixon’s reply out of the corner of his mouth.
“Who’s Annit?”
“Rah’s daughter. Having men castrated for insubordination is her specialty. And those two knew it.”
Dom gulped. “Nice. So, where is Rah?”
“We don’t know. We’re not sure he’s even alive. If he is, those asshole kids of his have got him hidden somewhere.”
“So, how are we gonna find him?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. First we gotta get outta this shithole, then figure that out.”
Nixon turned his attention to the armored vehicle. Dom took a final glance back at the camp. The guards had locked the gate. Dom spared a thought for the other poor bastards still trapped in there. The Claw Order’s other POWs. He hated to think what fate awaited them. He shivered. He caught Trixie’s stare; happiness bloomed in his heart. They were safe. At least safer than before. He hated the thought of either one of them having to watch the other being beheaded before they met their own fate.
Man, how close did they come?
And what a way to escape. Through an old enemy. More twists and turns. And yeah, he didn’t totally trust Nixon, but hey, the guy right about then was way better than Claw Order jihadis. As they drew closer to the armored vehicle, the rumble of its running engine became audible. They were all set to get the hell outta there. That was good. All they had to do was jump in the back, then storm as far away as possible and rethink their plan of action. Hopefully, Nixon and his buddies had a stash of weapons waiting for them as well, preferably the vampire slaying kind.
They finally reached the road. The camp was behind them and they were almost home free. A jolt of excitement juddered through Dom. A nonchalant grin arced up his cheeks.
“Okay, get in,” Nixon said over his shoulder as he stepped up to the vehicle. He grabbed the rear door handle and pulled it open. The moment the door swung open, something bolted out from inside. Faisal cowered back. Nixon watched the cat dart through his legs with a dumb stare. Dom frowned. Trixie gasped.
Dom snapped his head up to meet the interior of the vehicle. Slumped in the seats were guys with glazed eyes, their throats torn open. Sitting in the lap of one was a white cat. The fur around its lips was stained red. It was busy licking the residues from its lips while giving them all a cold, robotic stare.
Nixon looked the scene up and down. “What the—”
The other figure sitting in the seats opposite the corpses switched on his eyes, icing Nixon in place. “Leaving so soon?” the vampire asked, a wide grin on his bloodstained chin.
Both Nixon’s jaw and his grip on his machete went slack. The machete hit the sand. Dom reacted. He grabbed up the blade. By the time he stood upright, more armored vehicles screeched onto the scene. Trixie was already spinning left and right, trying to take it all in. Faisal joined her, his hands outstretched. In an instant, they were banked by vehicles skidding to a halt. Doors flew open and out jumped guys with assault rifles, shouting aggressively in Arabic. One of them raced right up to Faisal and smacked the old guy with the butt of his rifle. Faisal groaned and hit the sand.
“Hey!” Dom shouted and raised his machete. The business end of a rifle jabbed his way. Dom’s chest seized up. He froze.
Trixie met his stare. She lowered her gaze and shook her head, her shoulders slumping in resignation. Dom’s head dropped. He got the message. He lowered the machete and let it drop. It hit the sand.
The thugs now surrounding them closed in, barking and shouting. Piercing their noise was hard laughter. Dom turned around slow. Beyond Nixon’s stiff, frozen body, the vampire in the armored vehicle was cackling at the spectacle, while stroking the cat now sitting in his lap. Dom gazed at him with hatred brewing in his stomach. He was glad to have his lenses in to stop the icing, but wished more than anything he had a holy water dart gun in his hand so he could smoke that sucker. Hell, he’d even do it and get shot for his efforts, it would be worth it.
He glanced over his shoulder. A guy was rough handling Trixie. “Hey!” Dom sn
apped. “Leave her alone!”
Before he had a chance to step toward them, he got a sharp whack on the back of his head. He hit the hot sand, and everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Vincent paced around his lounge like an out of control windup toy, his brow caught in a permanent furrow. Trixie hadn’t been in contact for too long. She usually would’ve reported something in by now. Her phone was also unavailable whenever he tried dialing it. It was unusual for her. She was prompt, knew it was her duty to call in and inform him of her safety and mission updates. He couldn’t help but think the worst. That the Middle-East was a bridge too far for her and young Dominic. Vincent knew all too well how treacherous that part of the world could be. Had experienced it for himself all those years ago during the fake excavation he arranged under one of the many pseudonyms he’d acted under during his existence. Rah was not to be trifled with. His followers were brutal and committed. Their commitment was beyond material reward and venom; no, its promise was eternal, seated in the afterlife. They believed they were acting out the will of God himself. And that fact was what made their mission to destroy the House of Rah and the Claw Order a monumental task.
He checked his watch. 7:28 pm. He flipped his hand on the air. Argh, what does it matter?
It wasn’t as if he was expecting them to arrive home at a certain time. He stopped and stared out into the darkness outside. Rain smeared the window. At least the plants are happy, he thought to himself with a grim sense of irony.
A surge of frustration bolted through him. He was going crazy in this mansion, waiting for Trixie to contact. He marched over to a sideboard and grabbed his tablet. He switched it on in the hope it had a message from Trixie stored on it. He tapped his foot on the carpet and let out a huff while he waited for the thing to boot up. When it flashed on, he scanned the desktop with eager eyes. His head dropped. Nothing. He balled his fist up and thumped the air in frustration. Just as he managed to get Rufus back, he now lost Trixie and Dom. He wished he had something. Just an inkling of whether they were safe or not, then he could formulate a plan to go about saving them.