15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  Sammy decides to stretch his legs and gets up from his seated position. He makes his arms wide and yawns in a sleepy manor. He realises that he hasn’t slept for a good while. He also realises that the many vending machines and dispensaries in the stadium will run dry soon if he doesn’t ration the food. He decides not to wallow in pity. He picks himself up and wonders on through to the section of the underground where the group are housed. He walks into the makeshift camp which in its usual use was a generator room. The sound of electrical buzzing and the smell of seared wires are drowned out by the odour of freshly spilt blood. He realises that the bodies are going to need to be disposed of. He looks around at the mass of humanity in front of him, some of them dead, some of them grieving. He knows that if he asks everyone to pitch in, then moving the dead bodies will take less time. But he also realises that the group are probably fed up of hearing him give orders. He decides to go ahead and move the bodies himself.

  He goes towards the nearest one and spots it’s a woman. He bends down and grabs the corpse by the legs. He starts to drag the bullet ridden body away. A small group of people watch him as he does so in silence. After a few minutes of him moving the bodies off towards the furthest corner and returning for another, a few survivors chip in and start to help. Before Sammy knows it, nearly all of the men and women of the group are moving the dead off to be burned. Not one word is spoken between the 100 plus survivors. Sometimes words just don’t cut it.

  Eleven

  ‘Any news on the National Guard?’ asks the President as he takes a sip of his coffee, deep and dark, steaming up into the Oval office air.

  ‘They lay about six clicks north. It shouldn’t be too long until they get to the Hill,’ says one of the advisors.

  ‘How about the nuke?’ asks the President

  The office’s atmosphere changes immediately. A few murmurs here and there pepper the air, but the majority of the room full of officials is quiet as they contemplate their responses to such a bold move.

  ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ says one of the men

  The president remains seated behind his desk as he continues to sip on his smouldering hot coffee.

  ‘I don’t really care what you think James. I want the place nuked,’ says the President

  The man called James drops his head in embarrassment but still manages to look confident.

  ‘What about the fallout?’ asks another advisor

  ‘Shit happens,’ says the President

  The room is in awe at the complete viciousness of the President. Everyone knows of how serious the situation is, but nuking a national instillation to get rid of some terrorists seems rather aggressive, even for the severity of the situation.

  ‘We nuke the base, and then we clean up with ground units,’ says the President

  ‘But…’ says James

  ‘No but’s, get it done. We need to move fast on this, or we could have missiles heading towards Washington before we know it,’ He says

  The room quickly empties as a dozen men and women start making the right calls. The last man leaves the Oval office and quietly shuts the door behind him. President Harriet is left sipping the last mouthfuls of his coffee while working out a plan of action in his head.

  ‘Nuke em’, he says to himself as he slams the empty coffee mug down onto his desk, cracking the ceramic handle.

  ‘Nuke the bastards,’ he says

  Twelve

  Deshaun has pulled up in his SUV to the alleged safe house of the missing Mayor of New York. It’s a county residential area that looks much like a farm or a ranch. It seems out of place in the New York State area, and is miles apart from the daily grind of the city that Deshaun is used to, be it New York or Washington. The tree’s canvas the area in greens and oranges as the weather of fall time engrosses the freshness of the leaves, making them glide down to the ground in a sea of blossom and pollen, the air is saturated in all manors of flowery smells, the sound of sticks and brambles crunch under the heavy shoes of Deshaun as he exits his car. He shuts the door and takes in the sounds of the birds in the trees. He looks around and sees another car run up the driveway of the peaceful safe house. The photo reflective images of the sky shine off the dark black tinted windows of the approaching car. Deshaun watches as the car stops and Peter Foster steps out. His tall and slender but bulky build dwarfs the sunlight as it hits his back. Deshaun gives Peter an uneasy smile.

  ‘So this is the supposed hideout of the Mayor?’ asks Deshaun

  Peter smiles as he reaches the dark and handsome Washington agent.

  ‘Yeah, my people say the Mayor comes down here to get away from the city when things get tough. It’s my estimation that the current state the city is in is tougher than it ever has been, hence us being down here,’ says Peter, still smiling as he crackles through the floor caked in leaves and twigs.

  ‘Well he better be here,’ says Deshaun

  ‘He will,’ says Peter

  Both men stand still for a few seconds and take in the scenery.

  ‘It’s mighty beautiful down here, don’t you think?’ asks Peter

  Deshaun tries to humour the burly security man.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose,’ says Deshaun, feeling a bit surprised at the sensitivity of the rough looking guard that had been appointed to him.

  ‘I like coming out to places like this, it helps me think,’ says Peter

  ‘I didn’t think you would be into such things, considering most men in your profession are into motor bikes and bars, you know, the fast life’

  Peter laughs

  ‘Well I’ll be dammed, I think we have a stereotypist in our midst,’ says Peter

  ‘Stereotype or not, I don’t think this is the time to talk about what you like to do on your days off,’ says Deshaun

  ‘Who says that you can’t have fun on the clock as well?’

  Deshaun doesn’t respond, he just looks around his surroundings once more and decides to move towards the big oak house up the driveway. The sound of gravel shifting under his feet bounces off the trees and makes their footsteps sound louder than most highways at rush hour.

  ‘Jeez, wouldn’t be able to sneak up on this place very easily,’ says Deshaun

  ‘That’s how the Mayor likes it. He likes to know who is approaching his driveway,’ says Peter who is looking down at his smart black shoes turning white as he walks through the gravel path.

  They continue to crunch up the driveway until they reach the patio leading to the front door. Small flower pots sit side by side up the patio width. All sorts of flowers burst out of the pots, each one a different colour, some even translucent. None of the flowers look unkempt; in fact the whole garden looks like it needs at least three full time gardeners’ to maintain.

  ‘Taxpayer money sure buys nice things,’ says Deshaun as he approaches the big oak door.

  ‘Money is money, some people have it, and some people don’t. Some people spend it on crack, and some like flowers. Who can fault somebody on either of those choices?’ asks Peter

  ‘Um, crack and flowers are two totally different things,’ says Deshaun

  ‘I’m just saying; would you prefer the Mayor to be spending his money on drugs or flowers?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question. Besides, I bet his actual house has plenty of questionable stuff in it. You did say after all that this was his GET AWAY house. To me this looks good enough to live in,’ says DeShaun

  Peter smiles as he leans in to knock on the door.

  ‘Nope, I said this is the safe house,’ he says, knocking on the hard oak door, his reflection shining in the glossy finish.

  ‘Why would he need a safe house?’ asks Deshaun

  ‘To keep him safe,’ says Peter bluntly

  ‘From what?’

  ‘People who want to kill him’

  Thirteen

  David grabs the militia man’s right hand and moves the pliers he is holding closer to the screaming man’s thumb.

  ‘No, don�
�t!’ says the prisoner as he cries for help.

  The makeshift camp under New York is looking empty as David and the captured man are the only two people present. David had sent the others off to scavenge food from the underground railway network, hoping that they come across some sort of platform with a couple of vending machines. David has provided them with some hammers he had brought down to the sewer, while he kept the pliers for the work he is about to do on the prisoner.

  ‘You forced me to do this,’ says David as he edges the pliers closer to the man’s thumb, and opens the pincer

  ‘Don’t! I’ll tell you…’ before the man can say anything David had fastened the pincer onto his thumbnail and pulled. The force of the sharp pincer had managed to pull his thumb’s nail completely off, revealing the fleshy pink skin under the man’s nail. Small botches of blood start to outwash the pink, soon dripping off the man’s thumb.

  ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhh, fuck, fuck, my fucking thumb you stupid bastard! I told you I’d tell you whatever you wanted to know,’ screams the man whose still in his army styled fatigues, but looking incredibly dirty.

  ‘I will listen to you when I please, not when you say. I have given you ample chances, and yet I still don’t know your name! You haven’t told me anything, that is why I’m going to pull all your fingernails off until you do,’ says David, bending down on one knee.

  ‘My name’s….’ again, David pulls another nail, this time on the index finger.

  The man lets out another scream, this one louder than the one before.

  ‘Fucking stop it you prick!’ says the man, struggling for breath

  ‘You sure are rude for someone who is trying to convince me that you are going to be cooperative’

  The man laughs

  ‘Fuck you,’ says the man

  David grabs the man’s middle finger and snaps it back, breaking it.

  ‘Fuck!’ screams the man

  ‘Tell me what I want to know and I won’t take the nail off,’ say David

  ‘My name is Tony. I work for a group called the Covert Army. We are an anti-establishment militia and our goal is to take over the Whitehouse,’ says the man named Tony, speaking faster than he had ever spoken before.

  David starts laughing.

  ‘Take over the Whitehouse?’ he says in disbelief

  ‘Yeah,’ says the man calmly, trying to catch his breath back.

  ‘And how do you suppose you accomplish that with the blinking lights that are making people explode left, right and center?’

  The man smiles a sadistic smile.

  ‘We deployed those lights. We are responsible for those deaths. That’s how we are going to take over the Whitehouse,’ says Tony

  Fourteen

  Jesse Manteo and Ricky Pastori are walking down the cusp of 9th on 10th after witnessing an explosion just above them in which an apartment building’s windows were blown outwards and shards of glass had rained down on them.

  Jesse has brung along a woman in which he had rescued earlier that day from a group of young men who had some evil intentions.

  ‘So when are we getting to the police precinct?’ asks Gianna

  ‘I don’t know, are you a kid or something? Stop it with the are we nearly there yet? Routine,’ says Ricky, bringing a smile to his partner’s face.

  ‘I’m sure we will get there soon Gianna,’ says Jesse, looking back at the pretty blonde who is tagging along a few paces behind the two broad-shouldered cops.

  ‘I tell you what, these streets are looking less and less lived in with every new block we take,’ says Ricky, looking on at the empty and derelict streets surrounding them.

  ‘Well maybe the people who lived on these streets were a tad smarter than us, and decided to leave the city already,’ says Jesse

  ‘If only we were smarter,’ says Ricky

  ‘Well at least we don’t have any of those symptoms the exploding people get,’ says Gianna

  They all look down at their wrists and see nothing but bronzed skin.

  ‘Well, there’s always a bright side, that’s what I say!’ says Jesse.

  Suddenly a massive set of explosions are heard in the distance, followed by an even bigger flame ball mushrooming in the air.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ says Ricky

  The sky goes bright orange as shards of glass and specs of molten pepper the air.

  ‘Everyone, get inside that building,’ shouts Jesse, pointing at a hardware store.

  ‘Why? What’s happening?’ asks Gianna, the fear in her voice is as audible as the sounds of the explosions.

  ‘We’ve just been hit by a nuke,’ says Jesse

  Fifteen

  The ground shakes below Donner and the group. Ray looks at her in fear as they stop dead in the middle of the tracks. The static light bulbs above their heads start to swing from side to side as a crescendo of dust kicks up off the muggy walls and thick air.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ asks Ray, more of a thought, than a question.

  Donner looks at the two little girls beside them and smiles.

  ‘Probably just a quake,’ says Donner

  ‘In New York?’ says Ray

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ says Donner

  The both of them look down at the girls and try and limit their ability to scare the two already frightened little ones.

  ‘I’m sure your right, yeah an earth quake isn’t so bad is it?’ says Ray, smiling at Abigail and Tristan

  ‘Not if the walls come crashing down and burry us alive,’ says Tristan

  Ray starts to chuckle at the fortitude of the little girl.

  ‘Well they won’t come down on us, you hear me Tristan?’

  She nods her head. Abigail smiles at her sister.

  ‘What about the trains? Can they kill us?’ asks Abigail

  ‘No, there are no trains here. They have all stopped and are parked with all the other trains at the train station,’ says Donner

  ‘Is Thomas the Tank with them?’ asks Tristan

  Donner smiles, the rumbling of the previous explosion is still rippling through the tracks.

  ‘I think Thomas the Tank is in England,’ says Donner

  ‘He can’t hurt us?’ asks Tristan

  ‘No, why would Thomas the Tank hurt you?’ Asks Ray

  ‘Not Thomas, the man,’ says Tristan

  ‘What man?’ asks Ray

  ‘The one who made our parents go to sleep,’ says Tristan

  Both Donner and Ray look at each other at a loss of words. Donner’s eye’s hold more emotion in them than any other set of eyes that Ray has ever seen.

  ‘No, he’s sleeping too,’ says Ray

  ‘Forever?’ asks Abigail

  Donner shakes her head.

  ‘No darling, just until we know what to do with him,’ she says.

  Abigail’s face goes flushed, as she scrunches her eyebrows down and pulls a face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asks Ray

  ‘I want him to sleep like mommy and daddy! It’s only fair!’ she says, stomping her foot down in protest

  Sixteen

  Miss Harriet walks into Mr Conway’s office with a persistent smile on her face. Her boss catches the smile and winks at her, being able to read what good news she has.

  ‘It’s done then?’ asks Mr Conway, nearly bated for breath

  ‘Yes, it’s done Sir,’ says Miss Harriet

  Mr Conway gets up from his seat and nearly jumps up into the air in joy, but holds himself back, shaking his fist instead.

  ‘Yes!’ he nearly screams

  Miss Harriet smiles at the sheer joy on her boss’s face.

  ‘Well done Sir, you did good,’ she says

  Mr Conway shakes his head in disagreement and walks around his desk towards her with his arms stretched out for an embrace.

  ‘No, you did good. Without you I know this wouldn’t be possible,’ he says, hugging her tightly for a few moments, then letting go.

  ‘Thank you Sir,’ she say
s, still smiling

  He nods his head and stares at her for a few seconds, he then smiles, his eye’s widening as he grits his teeth under his thin lips.

  ‘So, when are we going to hit Washington?’ he asks

  ‘The second Hawk cruise missile is ready to be fired on your command sir,’ she says

  Mr Conway starts to pace the width of his desk, calculating the risks and rewards of the operation.

  ‘How about we use the A12?’ he asks

  Miss Harriet’s facial expression sags at the mere mentioning of the A12.

  ‘We can’t use that, it will completely destroy Washington,’ she says

  ‘Isn’t that what we want?’

  ‘No,’ she says

  ‘Well then, what do you suggest?’ he asks, starting to seem impatient.

  ‘How about we leave it for a while, haven’t we proven our point already?’

  Mr Conway starts to laugh as he sits back down in his seat. The bulk of his weight creaks the seat firmly into place as the room goes silent.

  ‘How about you shut up and do your job?’ he says

  ‘Yes sir,’ she says, trying hard not to express her true feelings.

  ‘Good. Now get that fucking nuke prepped, and fire it at DC,’ he says coldly, lighting up a cigarette as he waves her off.

  Seventeen

  ‘I told you to freeze,’ shouts the woman as she climbs out of the back of the white van.

  Mrs Novik breaths in deeply as she calm’s herself down. She looks the woman up and down, trying to gage a level of understanding of the situation.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ says Mrs Novik

  The dark woman shakes her head

  ‘Neither do I, bitch,’ she says, still pointing the shiny metallic pistol at Mrs Novik.

  The woman’s feet hit the ground with a thud. She is wearing knee high boots, made out of glossy imitation leather, but none the less impressive. Her green overcoat drapes down her back, it flaps in the Albany mid-day winds. She presses the gun against Mrs Novik’s head and firmly holds it into position.