Fanghunters (Book 4): The Claw Order

by Leo Romero

  He fiddled with it some more and a latch came loose; the whole thing began to unfold. He pulled it fully open and threw it down on the sand. He smiled. He looked from the stretcher now ahead of him to Mack. A perfect fit. He didn’t waste another second. He took the stretcher over to Mack and placed it down next to him. He heaved Mack’s body into it and strapped him in, the whole time Mack mumbling and groaning. Rufus grabbed handfuls of Mack’s long, gray hair and pulled it forward to cover his face. Now he looked like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family, but at least he had some protection from the sun. Next, Rufus grabbed the harness and sling used to hoist the stretcher beneath the chopper during air rescue and attached it. He took hold of the length of rope and pulled. It was tight, secure. He nodded in approval.

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead and gazed up at that sun. He’d need to protect himself from it. He took off his shirt and peeled off his tee, which was glued to his body with sweat. His exposed torso immediately began to heat up. With a sharp tug, he tore the front of the tee from the neck down to the waist. He poured some of his water on it to help keep it cool for as long as possible before wrapping it around his head, creating a headdress. He tied it, then pulled it up over his mouth, leaving only his eyes exposed. In the searing heat, it would help prevent heat stroke. He put his shirt back over his bare torso, strapped the sun cannon over his back, had a glug of water, and went and got Mack.

  Rufus grabbed hold of the rope attached to the stretcher with both hands and pulled it toward him. The stretcher stayed where it was. Rufus clenched his teeth and exerted more pressure. This time, the stretcher complied and shifted forward. Rufus began backing up. The stretcher picked up momentum and began gliding through the sand, leaving a trail. Rufus upped his pace and the stretcher slid along with more fluidity. He spun away from the stretcher and hitched the rope up onto his shoulder where he dragged it along like Santa dragging his bag full of presents on Christmas Eve. He took slow, purposeful strides across the sand, Mack sliding along behind him, moaning and groaning.

  Rufus’ heart began to pound hard and fast under the pressure. He managed to drag Mack up a small dune and from there, the horizon came into view. Deep blue met gold. Speckled on the gold in the far distance were black dots; the convoy peppering the sand. Beyond them, jutting out of the horizontal yellow line was a golden triangle. The Pyramid of Osiris. Their original destination. Between them and it was miles and miles of desolation. Rufus’ heart sunk.

  He glanced down at the three-quarter full bottle of heated water in his hand. The precious liquid glinted under the harsh sun. He looked from it up to that ball of fire in the sky. It blasted down at him. He checked his watch. 9:59 am local time. He had just barely two hours to make it to the tiny triangle in the distance. The sand between him and it was like a carpet of fire. How long would the water last? Would it be enough? For both of them? Could he make it in time?

  He glanced back at Mack. His prone body lay there in the stretcher. He let out another groan. Rufus sighed. He had to save Mack as well as the others now. He couldn’t let them down. He had to make it across this sea of boiling gold or who knew how many people would be lost? He couldn’t let Vincent down, he’d put his faith in him.

  Get moving!

  He gave himself a firm nod. He stuffed the bottle of water in his belt, adjusted his makeshift headdress, and set off on his journey.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Where the hell am I? Rufus thought to himself as he dragged Mack through that dry box of agony. A brief look left, right, then up told him that’s exactly where he was. Hell. An oceanless beach. A vast, sunbaked plain of Hades. He looked about him, sweat stinging his eyes. There wasn’t a soul, plant, or animal in sight; only a flat yellow landscape, broken by the odd sand dune. It was a cruel place, an alien world. The sun bore down on him like nothing he’d ever known. It hummed in his mind like a beehive, frying his brain cells. The heat was real. It smothered him like it was a physical entity, as if it was liquid. And it was relentless, every second infinitely worse than the last. His mind was already rocking, his elbows already ached from pulling Mack’s leaden body. And yet that triangle in the distance was still the same size. A zillion miles away.

  There’s no way I can make it.

  He gritted his teeth, pulling his foot out of the baking sand to take another step forward. Mack let out another groan as he slid along, the only thing audible in the dead world they found themselves in.

  You have to make it!

  He focused on the shimmering horizon and pulled, straining more sinew. He took another step, then another.

  One step at a time, Rufus, one step at a time.

  With each step he took, he was closer to that pyramid, but it was still oh so far away. He tried to swallow, but his throat was sandpaper. His body was wasting vital fluids pouring sweat out of every pore. Heated sweat plastered his shirt to his back, his headdress was already soaked through. And that sun never gave in, never let up. It roasted the whole area like an oven, Nature’s furnace, unforgiving, merciless.

  Rufus ploughed on, determined to match the challenge set ahead of him. He had no choice. He couldn’t let anyone down. Especially Mack. He’d die if he didn’t make it. Another Mack groan reminded Rufus of the fact. A Mack groan. A McGroan. Ha ha! Want fries with that? Fries? Too hot. How about a cola? With ice. Hmm. Or a double chocolate milkshake? Nice and cold, slips down that dry throat smooth and cool.

  Yeah, I’d kill for one of those right now.

  Rufus’ eyes fluttered. He’d kill for a cold shower or a bucket of ice poured right over his throbbing head. Cool water, ice, ice-cream sundaes, iced-tea, rain! Sleet, snow, blizzards, oh man, for a snow storm to whip up right about now! He’d dance a jig of delight, outstretch his arms and open his mouth wide to swallow every flake of snow that passed his way.

  Instead, he got another McGroan and he was sucked back into the furnace. Ocean-blue sky and a golden blanket as far as the eye could see. Dry. Hot. Baking. Cracked lips, sunburn. Heatstroke. A blazing ball of fury in the sky, determined to incinerate everything in its path. A merciless God of fire.

  Rufus grabbed his water bottle and had a swig. The water was hot, nasty, but lubricated his throat. The sensation was paradise. But, in a second it was gone and he was back to dry well season. He wanted to take another sip, but knew he had to save it. It was all he had.

  He trudged forward some more.

  A couple of sand lizards darted left and right. A desert spider raced up to him, hoping to get into his shadow in the vain hope of cooling down. Rufus brought his foot down on it, pushing it into the sand; the last thing he wanted was a bite from that thing. He gazed up at the horizon with woozy eyes. The pyramid was still the same size as before; a faraway jewel, an unobtainable goal. He kept going. Mack kept groaning.

  Rufus dragged Mack past a set of animal bones, half-buried in the sand. The skull’s vacant eyes watched them crawl by, its ribcage sticking out of the sand in a skeletal dome. With every step Rufus managed, his energy was depleted like he was a battery plugged into a giant machine that was sucking the life out of him. He didn’t know how much juice he had left to give. He was going on and on, and the surroundings remained the same; sand, sand, and more sand.

  You’ve got to keep going, Rufus! You’ve got to keep going, he kept telling himself like a mantra. But deep down, he was struggling to believe it.

  You mustn’t give up. You mustn’t give up. For Trixie and Dom. For Mack and Vincent. For everyone.

  His head throbbed. It felt like it had swollen to the size of a melon. His eyeballs stung, his eardrums thrummed. His mouth was like an ancient piece of arcane parchment locked away in the deepest dungeon, untouched for centuries. Like old bones, dried out in the midday sun. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but there wasn’t even a thin film of saliva there. His heart beat hard against his ribs as he exerted more and more effort in pulling Mack through the sand. He was panting like a thirsty dog, h
is body overheating, the sun absolutely relentless. It was cruel, unempathetic, unable to feel compassion for the guy dragging his pilot through the desert in his pursuit to destroy a clan of evil vampires.

  And all the while, that triangle remained as it was, no closer.

  The ugly notion that his quest was futile began jabbering in his mind like a madman. There was no point. The desert had slain many victims over the centuries, animal and human, Rufus and Mack were nothing new. It was no shame to perish at the hands of the Sahara. Many stronger and more capable men and women had been its victim. The midday desert sun had broken many minds and bodies. Why would Rufus be able to beat it if all the others had fallen?

  He staggered on, his mind reeling, every part of his body pulsating, throbbing. His head, his heart, his lungs. His body temperature had reached sweltering point. The sun was liquid fire, blasting him like he was in the path of a flamethrower.

  He tried his best to trick his mind by thinking of cold stuff. Water, ice, snow, glorious snow.

  Ice cream.

  Ice cream. I scream, you scream, we all scream for... ice cream. Ninety-nine cents, get your ice cream. Ice cream. You scream. WE ALL SCREAM!

  Delirium was fast setting in. His whirling mind was descending down a dark tunnel of madness. A dizziness overcame him. The world spun. The glare bouncing off the sand as if it was glass was almost blinding. He squinted against it, green and purple blotches forming in his vision whenever he blinked. With a shaking hand, he whipped out his bottle of water. It was almost too hot to touch, the plastic had slightly softened. He went to take a swig, but missed his mouth. Precious water hit the sand, staining it dark. His eyes widened in horror. He wanted to bend down and lick that sand; water was way too vital to waste. He needed every drop. He tried again, this time with more success. Hot water spilled over his tongue and vanished down the bottomless pit that was now his throat. His whole mouth dried in an instant.

  Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream...

  The chant came from somewhere over the rainbow, from a faraway land. A land of milk and honey, and ice-cold cola. A world of waterfalls cascading into crystal-clear streams. A planet made entirely of ice cream. Mmm, ice cream.

  Ice cream, ice cream, we all scream for ice cream.

  Rufus wanted to scream for ice cream, but he didn’t have the energy. He was a spent fuel rod. He yanked Mack some more instead, his feet disappearing into heated sand.

  Ice cream, ice cream, came that ghostly voice from the horizon, cruelly tempting him. We got it all. Vanilla, blueberry, chocolate chip cookie, raspberry swirl. Come and get your ice cream. Luscious, cool, creamy swirls. Ice cream, ice cream, we all scream for ice cream!

  Rufus’s eyes rolled in their sockets as he took more pigeon steps forward, his energy totally zapped. He began gasping. His throat burned like fire. He stopped for another glug of water. It fell down his throat where it evaporated on impact. He gazed around him with woozy eyes, his focus zoning in and out, the bright blue and yellow world shimmering as if alive. He watched the horizon dance while panting so hard, his whole body shook. His limbs flopped under the strain like the leaves of wilted plants, and he involuntarily tipped his bottle of water. The sound of liquid slapping against the sand registered somewhere at the back of his kaleidoscope mind. By the time a spark went off in his subconscious, most of the water was gone. He gasped, his focus zoning in for a split second. He whipped his head to the side and looked down. The stained sand to his left stared back at him. He swore the water had landed in the shape of a smile. A big grin mocking him from the baking floor.

  Oh no...

  Horror bombed into his pounding mind. He tipped the bottle back upright and stared at its contents. There was a sliver of water left at the bottom, glistening tantalizingly. With his mouth agape, he stared at that tiny reservoir with unabridged terror. That was all the water he had, and he was nowhere.

  “You asshole!” he heard Mack sneer. He spun his head back. Mack was still strapped to the stretcher. Rufus faced the front again.

  “That was all the water we had. You and me!” Mack continued in his mind. “Well, now you’ve gone and done it, kid. We’re done for. It’s gonna get hella hot from here on out, so hold onto your butt!”

  Mack began cackling, the noise reverberated with every pulse of Rufus’ brain as it broiled inside his skull. He gulped the last of the water and slung the empty bottle to the side. Subconscious Mack continued to cackle as Rufus took up the reins again and began pulling with every bit of strength he had left. He kept his bleary stare on the golden triangle way off into the eternal distance as he slogged on through the sand.

  Gotta... make it. Gotta... get there...

  He pushed on more, the heat intensifying with every step.

  Gotta get there... before we... die of thirst.

  Mack cackled harder, the noise like the caw of crows.

  Rufus fought against the dreadful din. He gritted his teeth and ploughed on through the roasting sand. The horizon split into two lines as his vision began to separate. Mack found this even funnier. Rufus’ eyes zoned in and out like a schizophrenic camera lens. The sun pounded him even more. The skin on his hands was red raw; it had started to peel in the webbings between his fingers, the sun melting him like he was a vampire himself. The desert didn’t tolerate outsiders, didn’t welcome strangers with open arms. Instead, it broke them down. Slow. Agonizingly slow. He edged forward, fighting the pain, fighting the delirium, fighting Nature itself.

  His head throbbed like it was about to explode. His vision deteriorated into a dizzy blur. But, on he pushed, with every last ounce of strength he had.

  Subconscious Mack cackled some more. “Hold onto your butt!” he yelled and burst into a fit of laughter.

  Rufus pushed harder, his body a torture chamber. Pain wormed into every joint, aching, throbbing. His insides were shriveled dry, wrinkled like prunes.

  Keep... going. Keep...

  Mack cackled.

  Going...

  The sun bore down, cooking him like a morsel of meat on a spit roast. His exhausted limbs tugged on his defeated soul as he willed himself forward through the sea of desolation. He took another couple of slow, pain-riddled steps.

  The sun continued to beat down. Rufus dragged Mack a little more.

  “Ice cream, ice cream, get your ice cream!” Mack sang merrily.

  Rufus stumbled and fell to his knees. He tried to get back up, but his legs wouldn’t respond.

  I can’t... go on... any longer...

  Mack let out a hearty cackle. “Ice cream, ice cream! Get your ice cream!”

  The sun sent them a final blast of insane heat.

  Everything went dark. And Rufus collapsed into the sand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The convoy finally reached the mighty pyramid and they came to a halt at its base. The whole area was swarming with Global Jihad militants, waiting for their masters to arrive. The convoy was greeted with gunfire and cheer. The ceremony to mark the beginnings of the caliphate was about to begin. The air buzzed with excitement.

  Dom and the others were shoved down from the truck. Dom’s feet hit hot sand. He watched as the other hostages were dragged off the convoy vehicles and frog marched toward the area next to the pyramid. A gun was shoved in Dom’s back and he reluctantly got moving, fear and adrenaline flowing around his veins, making his legs shake. He glanced over his shoulder; Trixie, Faisal, and Nixon were following single file. Dom craned his neck up at the mighty pyramid; it dominated the area, huge, bulky, ancient. It emanated a sense of power and control. It made Dom wanna puke.

  He got to where the militants wanted him to be and he was forced down on the sand on his knees. Trixie came down next to him with a small yelp. He whipped his head her way. He scowled up at the jihadi who shoved her down. That asshole was gonna get his someday, just like all of them were. Faisal was shoved down somewhere over to the left alongside Nixon and slowly but surely, all the hostages were on their knees in rows, a
waiting their fate. Trembling faces and wide eyes surrounded Dom. Frightened demeanors and a loss of hope. Above them all, the sun blazed over them, burning tender skin as the minutes ticked by.

  Masked jihadis took their places to stand watch over them, machetes and assault rifles in hand. Dom eyed them with nothing but contempt. His eyes fell on Trixie’s trembling hands resting between her splayed knees and anguish swelled in his heart. It was tearing him up watching her suffer like this. And it was worse that he couldn’t do anything about it.

  With all the hostages now lined up ready for slaughter, the assholes began setting up cameras to film the event. Dom watched them fiddle with cameras and laptops in revulsion. They wanted to make a statement, show their superiority, their control, strike fear into the hearts of everyone watching. They wanted the world to know that it was their time. The threat was real and the world had to bow down at their feet. The feet of the House of Rah, the Claw Order. The vampire clan dominating the Middle East.

  And on that note, they arrived. The children of Rah. Four locked coffins were unloaded from the armored vehicles by flustered jihadis all scampering over to serve their masters. Dom watched them in hatred as they carried the coffins toward the pyramid, where they vanished inside. He pitied the assholes falling over themselves to carry that scum into the pyramid, knowing those brats lay inside, demanding to be escorted around like royalty. He turned his head to the side and spat.

  He gazed up at the wonderment of the pyramid, a noxious mix of hate, fear, helplessness, and a dark sense of grief simmering inside him. All he could do was wait. And pray for a miracle.