It's time to let these Urban Cowboys meet who they've been tailing for the last couple of miles.
Not wanting to have witnesses to what might occur, I turn off the main road and drive down an alley between a high-rise bank and an empty office complex.
The truck slows down and then turns in to follow me.
Fifty yards down the tight corridor I stop the bike, turn it off and dismount so that I can turn around and face my pursuers.
"Hello gentlemen," I whisper just loud enough for the empty trash barrels around me to hear. "Welcome to the worst night of your life."
CHAPTER FIVE
Leaning slightly against the bike, I watch the truck pull up to within twenty feet of where I'm parked and stop. They keep their headlights flipped on to the brights and they bathe me and the surrounding alley in all the light that fifty thousand dollars of designer truck can buy. I might as well be standing in the middle of a football stadium with all the light that is being flung at me.
Yet with all this light on me, my senses aren't screaming for mercy at all. I can sense the light on me, but my visor has almost gone middle-of-a-cave-at-midnight black and is blocking all but the dimmest of the rays from hitting me. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it is pleasant, but it is at least far from painful.
After nearly a full minute of my standing in the alley and watching the idling truck, I get bored waiting for them to make a move. I can see multiple outlines of people inside the truck, but they are indefinite beyond looking simply "large and impressive". Reaching up to my ears, I open the filters there to let in as much sound as possible. Even if I can't see them, maybe I can at least eavesdrop on their conversation.
I can't make out every word being said, but I do notice raised voices and a bit of arguing going on. There appears to be some dissention among their ranks.
"They haven't even gotten out of the truck yet, Ren," I say quietly enough for the microphone to pick up, but not loud enough for it to carry beyond a few feet. "They seem to be fighting amongst themselves. And I'm getting bored. If they don't do something soon, then I'm..."
I let my words trail off as three of the truck's doors pop open at once. It's a big vehicle and appears to have ample seating on the inside. I wonder how many men they have with them tonight.
"Never mind," I continue. "They're getting out. Will update in a moment."
The driver who steps out of the truck could not be any more of a clichéd City Hillbilly if he tried. Pristine trucker hat with the number of what I assume is a NASCAR driver emblazoned on it. Thick, well-groomed beard. Stout build that looks like he makes a living lifting beer kegs on a daily basis. Clean and pressed t-shirt proudly featuring a flying confederate flag over new dark, blue jeans held up with the shiniest, flashiest belt buckle I've ever seen in my life. And to finish off his look, he's sporting what appears to be painfully expensive leather boots with gleaming metal toe studs. I'd have to guess that this guy's outfit cost more than most hill folks make in a week. He's working really hard to connect with his redneck roots without actually embracing the bit about living a dirt poor life. Interesting.
The other three guys that get out of the truck don't follow their leader's fashion example but they're still an interesting collection of souls. Two appear to be fresh off of a Fraternity Monthly magazine cover with their pressed khaki pants and button up shirts. Even through their well-tailored clothes, I can sense their muscles and athletic frames. Their builds reflect a regular gym routine that their outfits do not. Something to keep in mind.
The last man to step out of the cab of the truck on the passenger side is actually wearing a dark gray pin-striped business suit. He looks like an accountant. Or a lawyer. Or a junior executive at Nabisco who just got off work. He certainly doesn't look like a threat. Or like someone who came out to collect a drug cartel's bounty.
Shaking my head at the group in front of me, I sigh. These men aren't going to be giving me a fight. These aren't hardened criminals in need of the Vengeful Fist of God to be brought down upon them. They're just a bunch of old college buddies who got together and decided to make a really poor choice. They're just stupid. Not dangerous.
"It's a no go," I say into the microphone. "These guys aren't worth my time. They're just a bunch of high-class dudes out for a thrill. Not the scum I'm wanting to take off the street. I'm heading back out."
Raising my voice, I yell over to the men at the truck. "Go home gentlemen. This isn't what you want. The world is going to be a nasty place tonight, and you don't want any part of it. Trust me."
Turning my back on them, I step over to my motorcycle so I can start it up and get out on the road as quickly as possible.
"Don't you turn your back on us, witch!" One of the men yells from behind me (And, again, that isn’t the word he used, but I’m not sinking to his level, yet.). Judging from the sound and volume of the voice, I would guess it to be the accountant. It’s not deep enough to come from the chests of the others. Apparently someone is trying to compensate for his size.
Shaking my head, I respond without turning around, "Guey, people are going to die tonight. Some really awful people. And I'm going to be making sure that happens. You really don't want to add yourself to that tally. Get back in your monster truck, forget about everything you heard about making money and go hit some bars." I know I should stop there, but sometimes I can't resist just taking a comment a step further. "And maybe if you throw enough money around, the girls that you creep on there won't notice how small you are compared to your buddies."
I can hear the hiss of his breath as he sucks in air with the processing of my insult. His buddies pause for a moment and then I can hear them trying to stifle laughs...but not very well. Apparently I've hit a bit of a sore spot in the group. I should feel bad, but then again, he should have been more careful in his choice of words when addressing me.
"Was that really necessary?" Ren asks over the radio. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'don't poke the bear'? The world doesn’t always require you to stir up trouble." He stops talking for a moment, and I can hear him softly clicking keys. "Get back on the road, and let's see what you can find out when you try to turn in a bounty."
"Agreed. I'm out of here," I tell him.
While Ren was talking I could hear the boys behind me doing something, but Ren's new helmet setup makes it tough to focus on background sounds while he's talking. With his voice right next to my ears now, it dominates most of my concentration.
Pushing the ignition button on the bike, the world suddenly explodes with a clap of thunder. As the echoing boom of the thunder reverberates around me and covers everything in the alley with its sound, it brings with it a bolt of lightning that strikes me square in the back and knocks me from the bike.
The world slows around me as my adrenaline surges up to superhuman levels and prevents time from becoming an enemy. Twisting as I fall sideways off the bike, I see the sky above me is still clear and free of any clouds which comes as a bit of a surprise. Continuing my spin as I head towards the ground, I turn until I can see the four completely dry guys behind me all looking very sure of themselves. And that is when I see the cause of the unexpected lightning strike wasn't from a thunderclap, but from a humongous pistol gripped in the accountant's hands. He is in a shooter's stance with both fists wrapped around the gun's massive grip, and I can just see his evil grin peeking out from behind the smoke rising up from the barrel.
That pendajo just shot me in the back! Who does that? Shoots a person in the back. And a girl at that.
As I hit the ground, the impact ricochets up through my body and instigates enough pinpricks of pain to focus my attention. He just shot me, I think. I guess I just tested Ren's armor after all.
Once on the ground and with my eyes on the men in front of me, I willfully release my grip on time and let it snap back to its normal speed. I don't need to be fast to end this. I just need a little Darkness. And a touch of the Hunger. My two new co-pilots will help me make short wor
k of these four mistakes that are about to cease to exist.
Listening to the three larger men bellow laughter at me while the fourth man releases his stance and stands back up slowly, I grope around on my back to feel if the bullet penetrated Ren's armor. My back hurts to the touch and once I find the bullet lodged in the BioSteel's mesh I begin to suspect it is only bruised. Working the chunk of lead loose with two fingers, I remove it and bring it around so that I can get a better look at what was fired at me. The slug that hit me is about half the size of my thumb and still almost too hot to touch. If I hadn't been wearing armor, then this would have punched a very frightening hole through me. This little piece of metal might have been enough to kill me if the armor hadn't intervened. Once again, I owe Ren my life.
Unfortunately for the four boys still laughing at me, the slug didn't kill me. It just pissed me off. And that is about to be bad for their health. Very bad, indeed.
Ren's voice immediately pipes back up once I release my hold on the clock, and I can hear him doing his best to keep his voice calm as he fires questions at me. "What just happened? Was that a gunshot? Are you OK? Did they hit you? Did the armor hold up?"
I know he's concerned, but I'm not in the mood to respond to him. He'll just have to get his answers from what he's about to hear.
Rolling out my shoulders and letting my body get to work with its increased healing, I raise my voice enough so the laughers can hear me over the noise they're generating.
"You shot me," I say calmly. "In the back. That was stupid. You shoulda just left when I told you to."
As I stand up, I watch as their laughter dies on their lips and they just stare at me. It's as if they're watching Jesus walk out from behind that boulder on the mountain. Or a zombie. Either way, they're pretty sure I should be dead. And I'm not.
"Now I have something for you gentlemen," I continue in that same calm voice as I bend over the bike and rummage in the side pack for a moment before standing up with several shiny objects in my hands. "I hope you enjoy them."
"Don't do this, Catarina," Ren says quietly over the speakers, but I can tell he knows he's already lost this battle. "They're not worth it."
Ignoring Ren's comment, I open myself up to the well of Darkness that rests deep within me and let it guide my next movements. The pleasure it gives me as it slides through my veins and envelopes every muscle and tendon I possess with its power is overwhelming and refreshing.
"Too late," I say as my voice takes on a new deepness that isn't reflected in my eighteen year old female body. The Darkness is part of me tonight. "It's already happened."
Walking towards the men and crossing the handful of yards that separate us, my hands begin to dance and flick as I release the silver objects I held in them. Lightning streaks across the distance between us as I unhurriedly continue towards the truck. Nearly two dozen times my hands flip and spin as I fire heavy, nine-inch long nails into various soft spots on the men. With the Darkness guiding me, my aim is as true as if the nails were following a guided wire to their targets. Each time my fingers flick out, a silver dart of pain zings out and into one of the men. Each nail slams into its new home all the way until the oversized head on the back brings it to a stop. Often leaving several inches of exposed, and now bloody metal, protruding from the other side of whichever limb I launched it into.
I do not kill these men. Not tonight. Ren was right about that. But not because they deserve life. I leave them alive only because I still have a need for them. Their continuing to breathe life serves a purpose for me.
And though they may be alive, they are far from unharmed. Two of the men may never walk again after the damage my nails just did to their kneecaps, and the accountant who shot me most likely will never again have the use of his legs. I sent a nail clean through his stomach and out through his spine severing several of the vertebrae. I could hear them pop apart as the metal separated them even over the screams he was using to drown out his pain. Screams that were music to my ears. Screams that only pleased the Darkness and made it swell within me.
"What did you just do?" Ren asks me over the quiet hiss of the speaker. He's not screaming at me. He knows better. He's witnessed the Darkness before, but he has yet to get used to it.
"Four targets neutralized," I tell him in that deep voice he has come to associate with my new friend. "Alive for now, but definitely no longer a threat."
Two of the men, one of the Fashion Lads and the large Hipster Hillbilly, have already passed out from the shock to their systems, so I step over to them and pull out several of the lampreys that Ren built.
"Attaching lampreys now," I tell him. "With their continued blood loss, their outlook doesn't appear too positive. I'm hoping to get enough to fill up, though."
Holding the metal and mesh devices over each man's carotid arteries, I'm still fascinated by how efficient the little devices are. As both men lay on the ground with engorging bags hanging off their throats, they look like weird, double-trunked elephants missing their tusks. Well...unless you count the multiple metallic tusks piercing their bodies.
I leave the lampreys in place for a moment and step over to the second of the two Soc wannabes who is moaning nearly inaudibly while attempting to remove one of the many nails sticking through him. He is impressively ineffective at the job.
Impassively I stand directly over him and watch for a moment as he doesn't appear to even register my existence any more. Just a minute ago he was laughing at the thought of his friend having shot down an unarmed girl on a motorcycle and enjoying his horrible little life. And now here he is contemplating whether death might be a preference to what he is going through. I can smell the decision on him. He reeks of it.
Pulling off the mask's faceplate, I bend over and bite into his throat and relish the warmth that his salty blood brings me. The lingering pain in my back immediately vanishes and my thinking crystalizes to a sharpness that just didn't exist moments before. It's delicious.
Pulling from the venal tap until his struggles become non-existent, I get my fill and lick his wound closed so that it can seal itself and prevent any further blood loss.
Standing up and reattaching the mask's filter, I walk over to the man who brought this fate upon his friends. He's still conscious, but he isn't moving. His eyes are not quite to the point where they stare around wildly and get all creepy, but I can tell I don't have much time left with him before he loses his connection to reality. I'll have to make this interaction quick.
Lifting his head slightly with my left hand, I smack him lightly with my right hand so that I can get his attention to focus on my face. His eyes spin for a moment before coming together and settling on me. I'm sure my reflective visor is disturbing, but I also hope it helps get my point across.
"Hey," I tell him and give him a few more light taps with the back of my hand. "You're going to do two things for me after tonight."
His only response is his pupils tightening up and his breathing increasing. The rabbit-like patter of his heartbeat tells me he heard my words, though. He knows what's going on right now, and that's what I want.
"Paramedics have been called. And police are inbound," Ren tells me over the speaker, but he sounds detached. There is little emotion behind his words. "You have less than a minute before you'll have visitors. Probably closer to thirty seconds."
Plenty of time for what I'm going to do.
"You, Bub," I tell the man on the ground. "Are going to start telling people about what happened here tonight. Tell everyone. And let them know this will continue to happen to anyone who tries to turn in a bounty. You only get to live if you talk. If you don't talk, then I come back for you. Understood?"
I don't really expect him to say anything, and I'm right. He just squints his eyes at me, and I see hatred bubbling up behind them. And that's fine with me. I recognize it. I embrace it. Hatred is a welcome roommate of mine.
"Good," I continue. "And you will also always remember that you did this to yourself. A
nd more importantly, to your friends. I was willing to walk away tonight, but you stopped me. You made this happen. No one else. Just you. Their suffering is on you.
“I have let your body live. What you do with your own soul is up to you. You shall live in the shadow of your own choices."
The hatred in his eyes flickers a bit as the words hit home. Good. Let him live with the consequences of his decisions from here on out.
Letting him drop backwards as I stand up, I can hear the shrill scream of sirens getting closer. Ren wasn't too far off. I only have a few seconds before the city's paid protectors pull into the alley.
"Grabbing the lampreys, and I'm out," I say as I sprint over to the two men laying on the ground and the now detached gray slugs lying next to them. Scooping up my prizes, I stuff them into the baggy pockets of my pants as I run for the bike.
Now that the excitement is over, the Darkness begins its descent leaving my body a bit chilled and missing its embrace.
Picking the Zero up from where it had fallen over with me earlier, I hop on, hit the ignition and twist the throttle hard enough to actually make the heavy bike skip into the air for a fraction of a second before it finds traction and launches out of the far side of the alley.
"Guide me, Ren," I say into the microphone with the returning, easy tones of my voice that we're both used to. "I don't want to run into any emergency vehicles on my way out."
"I’m on it," he tells me, but once again I can sense the lack of emotion behind his words. Ren doesn't like when I embrace the Darkness or what it does to me. And he doesn't try to hide that dislike very much.
That's fine with me. He's welcome to his opinion. Just as long as he keeps me alive long enough to finish what I started here, then he can feel any way he wants to.
But tonight...
Tonight, I have a feeling I haven't had my last dance with the Darkness. Not by a long shot.
Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 3