Banshee Hunt

by Curtis, Greg

  His trap worked perfectly. The first two men came running out at high speed thinking there was a fire somewhere, and immediately ran into the cloud of gas that had filled the ground floor. They never had a chance. He shot them both in the groin as they stumbled around wiping their eyes, their weapons forgotten. After that while they lay on the ground crying out in pain and when he'd made sure that no more were coming up the stairwell, he kicked their weapons away and then kicked both of them in the head. It wasn't what he would have done as a cop. Instead they would have been arrested and carted off to the cells to await trial. But he wasn't a cop. He was alone. And they wouldn't be causing him any more trouble.

  Five down now he figured. Perhaps three more left. Maybe more. Either way the odds were shifting in his favour.

  But anyone in the actual stairwell would have heard the blasts. He was sure of that. And anyone who had, was now taking up positions below. Preparing for him. After all they would also have come running out if they hadn't. And that meant that it was time for phase two of his plan. A phase that began with him stepping out in front of the stairwell, cracking open the door a fraction and then rolling three tear gas canisters through it.

  They rolled and then clattered as they found the stairs and fell down them, spraying their gaseous contents everywhere as they did so. The sound they made was greeted by the sound of at least one assault rifle spraying bullets as whoever was below tried to kill him. As he'd expected someone had been left in the stairwell to guard things. But that was alright. They'd left themselves with one other weakness. They had light below.

  It was the work of seconds to open the door once the assault rifle had stopped and rush through, keeping his head down and then aim at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Once they went dark, the only light coming in was from the window in the heavy door connecting the stairwell to the basement. James was a little blinded from having stared at the light for a couple of seconds. But whoever was below was completely blind. His eyes hadn't had time to adjust to the darkness and they were no doubt now filled with tears.

  The man at the bottom of the stairwell responded exactly as James would have expected, firing straight up the stairwell, spraying bullets everywhere. But none of them could hit him as they smashed into the concrete undersides of the stairs. A few ricochets came close, but soon the man had emptied his weapon and James knew he had him.

  That was his signal to advance down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom to blast another round into the man's groin.

  Those inside the basement immediately responded, firing scores of rounds into the door leading to the stairs. But the door was a heavy wooden affair, and James wasn't standing in front of it. He wasn't that stupid. So as the bullets streaked through the door and bounced off the concrete block walls, he headed back up the stairs a little way and waited. This time he got hit. One bullet ricocheted off the wall to smash into his vest and another grazed his leg. But they weren't serious problems, the bullets having lost most of their power from blasting through the thick wood and then bouncing off the concrete walls. They hurt but he ignored them.

  Twenty seconds or so later the gunfire stopped, and James could almost hear what the men inside were asking themselves. Was he dead? Or was he coming through shortly? They were scared and panicking; and frantically reloading. But they weren't prepared. He could also hear the sounds of children screaming in terror as the bullets sprayed. And one of them he knew was Matti. But James' only question had to be how many were there?

  James walked carefully down the stairs once more, reached into his bag for all his remaining tear gas canisters, and tossed them through what had been the door's window and waited. It wasn't long before he heard the men opening fire again as they realised he was still alive, and he had to retreat back up the stairs once more. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that the men were being overcome by the tear gas.

  Eventually the weapons fire stopped and he could hear the sounds of men choking and calling out to one another in fear. He also heard the sounds of frightened children screaming. And he knew that was his doing. The gas would have reached them too and the sounds of gunfire must have terrified them. That had always been inevitable.

  With a rush James burst through the remains of the door and ran for cover, turning to shoot the man nearest to him as he did so. The man was a perfect target. He was standing there desperately trying to reload his weapon with eyes streaming tears. He went down in a heap, screaming in pain and terror and dropping his weapon in the process. It went sliding away and James knew he was no longer a threat. He'd shot low, so the chances were the man wouldn't die, but he was incapacitated.

  Seven down. How many more did that leave he wondered? One? Two? He didn't know. But he did know as he started pushing more shells into the slide that he had to take them down.

  Then things took an unexpected turn for the worse when suddenly he caught sight of children not just screaming but also running. Blind, terrified children were running in all directions. The remaining men must have released them, no doubt hoping to use them to add confusion and perhaps cover his escape. It was a clever strategy. It meant that James had no clear shot. He couldn't shoot with children in the line of fire.

  That left him with the unenviable task of having to hunt down the man without being able to shoot. But that was simply as it had to be, and he still had the advantage that he could see.

  The basement was fairly typical of underground car parks. There were a number of concrete pillars, and the walls, floor and ceiling were also made of concrete. It was built like a cold war bunker. And he knew as he started searching that the next gun man could be anywhere, hiding behind any pillar, just waiting to shoot him. He could also be behind one of the trucks, of which there were several. They were old and wrecked, and the chances were that they had been left behind when the warehouse had closed because they were already beyond use. Time had just added to their decay. But there was still a lot of metal in them and they made good cover.

  In the centre of the car park was a large iron cage, something that looked like it had come out of the middle ages. But it was probably serviceable. There were buckets in the corners for the children to do their business. Scraps of food – bread mostly – on the floor. The children had been penned up in it like animals. And he had no idea how long any of them had been there. Worse though was its size. The cage could hold thirty or more children in it. That angered him. Obviously this was no small operation, and he doubted it had just started operating. How many children had already been sold by these scum over the years?

  However many children there had been locked up in the cage, they weren't there any more. The iron door was wide open and the cage was empty. The children were running around, screaming and crying, tears streaming from their eyes, and crashing into one another. And they were all so young. He was looking at eight year olds like his daughter. Some were even younger. They should never have been gassed.

  But he'd had to use the tear gas. It was the only way he could have taken the basement, especially when he didn't know how many enemies were down there. But it had been a cruel thing to do when it impacted the children as well, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself even more when he knew that his daughter was one of the children running around in blind terror.

  He wanted to go to her. He knew he should be comforting the children and getting them to safety. But he was only one man and there was at least one shooter still out there trying to kill him. If he'd tried either of those things the man would have killed him and maybe some of the children too. And then everything fell apart. The men would recover, lock the children away again and the operation would continue. Matti would be sold. It was a hard thing, but he had to ignore the children and concentrate on the gun men.

  James began with a simple quarter search. Darting from one pillar to the next, avoiding the panicking children, and little by little clearing the part of the park closest to the stairs. It took time, and whenever any
of the children spotted him through their tears, they gave his position away as they screamed. They had no idea that he was there to rescue them. And what they would have seen through the tear filled eyes was a big man in a black mask. A monster.

  But he was more worried when he saw that many of the children had started climbing on to the trucks' roofs. They were blind, far too young to be up so high, and the floor was hard concrete. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not without frightening them anymore and giving his position away which he had no doubt would result in a hail of badly aimed bullets heading his way. He had to ignore them as he continued clearing the car park.

  He had to ignore Matti too. He looked for her, but in the poor lighting and confusion he couldn't see her. And while every instinct in him was telling him to go and find her, he couldn't. Not while there was a gunman on the loose waiting to shoot him.

  The first truck when he reached it was empty. He even checked underneath just in case. He did find out how the children were climbing up though. For some reason on the back of each truck there was a ladder. Why, he couldn't begin to guess. But he used it just to make sure the slaver hadn't had the same idea.

  And then he spotted the next man. Maybe the last gun man as he dared to hope. Half a dozen pillars away, taking shelter, and with another assault rifle in his hands. This gang was well armed. But there was probably a lot of money in selling children. Sheryl had talked about twenty thousand. And if that was what she had got for selling Matti to them, they had to be selling them for twice as much.

  It was nearly over. James clambered down the ladder and then jogged silently for the gunman, knowing he had to end this before any children got hurt. Once he'd reached the pillar the gunman was hiding behind he took up a position on the other side, waiting his moment, while he worked out how to take him. In the end it was simple. The concrete pillar was just wide enough for a man to hide behind, but not if he held a rifle flat in his hands as he was. James could see the weapon's barrel poking out. And that was his point of attack. James slung his shotgun over his shoulder, knowing he'd have to do this by hand and then readied himself.

  He struck fast, grabbing the barrel with both hands, yanking it upward so it pointed at the ceiling, catching the man by surprise. But the man had his finger on the trigger and as James ripped the assault rifle up, it started firing. Bullets started ricocheting in all directions, filling the dimness with sparks. Children who had grown quiet started screaming again, and the man started struggling to pull the weapon back. But he was too slow and unprepared.

  James didn't try to pull the rifle from his grip. Instead he stepped toward the man and smashed the barrel the rest of the way into his face causing him to let go and scream. He should never have let go of the weapon. Because suddenly finding himself holding it by the barrel James swung the weapon like a baseball bat, smashing the stock into his face. It was a vicious blow, breaking some bones and knocking him backward onto the floor. Then James drew his own shotgun once more, pressed it into the man's flesh and blew the man's groin apart.

  After that he took shelter behind the pillar once more, and waited. He waited for the children to stop screaming. And for anyone else who was out there to start hunting him. But as the long seconds and minutes began to drag, he began to think that maybe there was no one else. Still he stayed where he was, waiting until finally he was sure.

  The silence was like a victory bell, and as James stood there, he eventually realised he'd done it. He’d rescued the children. And he'd survived.

  It was over. Eight men were down. He just had to pray that there were no more. But really, he thought as he stood over the fallen slaver, anyone else would have started firing when they heard the last shotgun blast. Which meant it was time to call the police and find Matti.

  Then his plans unexpectedly changed as he spotted a group of children on the ground beside another of the trucks and realised they were down. They looked hurt. Could they have been hit? He ran for them, fearing the worst and then discovered it was worse than even that. There were three children on the concrete and it looked as though they'd fallen off the top of the truck when the gun had gone off. Two were alive and crying, nursing injuries. But the third was lying motionless. And he recognised her long light brown curls.

  “Matti!” James screamed in panic as he saw her. He screamed some more when he rolled her over and saw her face covered with blood. Blood that was coming from a head wound. James’ training took over. He ripped off his gloves and immediately felt at her throat for a pulse. When he found it he almost died of relief.

  She was alive! But she needed medical care urgently. So did some of the other children. And they all needed to go home. Which was why he pulled off his mask, heedless of the gas and reached for his phone. They needed an ambulance.

  It vanished. Literally one minute the phone was in his hands as he started pushing buttons and the next it wasn't. His hand was empty. He must have dropped it he realised, and he quickly started searching for it. This was no time for dropping phones.

  “Looking for this?” A dry voice came from just behind him, causing James to jump as he realised there was one more gunman left. But then to remember he was armed. Except that he wasn't. James reached for his gun to find that that had gone too. Both the shotgun that should have been on his back and the Sig on his belt. How?

  “Or these?”

  James turned to see a cowboy standing there with his shotgun and pistol in his hands, and for the longest time he didn't know what to think. His eyes were already tearing up but there was no doubt that there was a cowboy standing just behind him. And a woman too.

  “Corinth, these children need care. If you could bring some please.” The cowboy spoke to the woman and immediately she turned, took a step and vanished. She literally just stepped into thin air! Even through his tears James was certain of that. But not what it meant. People couldn't just vanish like that.

  And yet suddenly everything Francis had said about his magic came flooding back to him. Up until then James had done his best to put the whole magic thing to one side, concentrating only on what mattered. And what mattered was that he believed his wife had sold his daughter to slavers because of Francis. The how hadn't been important. But if people could somehow vanish in mid air then maybe they could also magically compel others to do their bidding. But did that even matter then? And the fact was that it didn't when his daughter was hurt.

  “Now Mr. Henderson, we need to talk.” The cowboy tossed the weapons to one side and they too vanished into thin air. “About what you know.”

  “Know?” James didn't understand. All he knew was that his daughter was seriously hurt. He turned back to her to cradle her in his arms. Tears streaked his cheeks. He had come for her and feared he was too late. She couldn't die! Nothing else mattered.

  “Call a fucking ambulance!” He screamed it at the cowboy, uncaring of anything else.

  “Help’s coming. But we need to talk about magic.”

  James didn't answer the cowboy. He was beyond answering just then. He was almost beyond thinking. All he knew was that Matti needed a hospital. The rest of this was just insanity.

  “Call an ambulance!” He screamed it at the cowboy again, desperate to get him to do what mattered.

  But he was saved from screaming it a third time as the woman returned, stepping out of thin air once more and bringing a man with her. A paramedic with a big red bag in his hands, a white cross painted on its side. After that the only thing he cared about was that the man saved his daughter.

  The paramedic took her from James' arms, laid her flat and played a torch into her face as he began assessing her head wound. Despite everything else being crazy, James let him. Nothing else mattered. His daughter could not die.

  “She has a probable skull fracture. She needs a hospital now.” With that the man stood up, Matti in his arms and vanished together with the woman.

  It left James kneeling there, wondering what had just happened. Where was his
daughter? How could she just vanish? And what was he supposed to do? For the first time he simply didn't know. He didn't even know what questions to ask. He just knelt there wondering if he'd had some sort of stroke. The cowboy seemed to understand something of that.

  “Alright, long story short Mr. Henderson. Your little brother is a fascinator. He can make people do anything he wants with just a few words. All except you. He's being treated for his injuries now and in time he'll be locked away. Your wife's having some sort of nervous breakdown and people are with her too. Your parents are now with our people. They'll also be needing a lot of help. Your brother nearly broke their minds as well as destroying their lives. But your parents were the ones who managed to call us once Francis had been apart from them for long enough and the effects of his gift had had time to wear off.”

  “Once they told us there was a rogue on the loose we tracked him down. When we found him in your apartment we had to track you. We had your name, your face and some blood. That was enough to locate you on a map. When we got here we found the men upstairs and heard the weapons fire, so we knew something was wrong. We brought reinforcements.” He gestured at the others.

  “We could have ended this much more peacefully, but you were too quick for us. I don't suppose you want to tell me what this is all about?”