by David Morgan
Chapter 27
Dex and the guild entered the building from the rear, stealthily making their way through the cavernous hospital towards a wing labeled “morgue.” The wing was huge, featuring a crematorium, storage of corpses, and student laboratories. They really had their work cut out for them.
“Wouldn’t it be quicker if we split up?” Fantasia offered.
“It’d be more dangerous,” Dex responded. He was dead serious—he had come this far—his life’s work culminating to this point. “On one of these four floors,” he said, “lies our target. We’ll get her…and we’ve got plenty of time until sunset.”
“It’s almost too easy,” Mickey whispered to Cruxx, “I mean she doesn’t even have a fighting chance…killing her in her sleep.”
“Screw that,” Cruxx answered, “The sooner we take care of her, the better. Let the search begin.”
They made their way through each floor, leaving no table unturned, or closet unopened, tearing corpses out of storage trays, even checking inside of the crematorium furnace.
Floor by floor, they rose through the building, with anticipation building as they slowly narrowed down the places left for her to hide.
“Crap.” Fantasia sighed as they swung the doors open to enter the fourth floor. “There must be thousands of cabinets in here. She could be in any of them.”
The guild stood dumbstruck staring out at a large open space the size of a football field, lined with rows and rows of cadaver storage cells.
“Better get cracking,” Cruxx said, and he swung open the first cabinet on the left. “Ahhh!” He let out a howl as the body of an old man rolled out on a human-sized tray.”
Mickey grabbed the tag on the toe, “Jeffrey Summers. Cause of death: heart attack.” He said. “Hmm. Not very interesting.” And he walked forward.
Dex pointed to Mickey and Fantasia, “You two start on that side, Cruxx and I will go through this one.” And one by one they opened each cabinet.
After about ten minutes of searching, Fantasia yelled, “BINGO! We’ve got her!”
The rest of the guild quickly joined her. “Lucky 666,” Krux said, pointing to the number on the cabinet. “Probably should have started there.”
Dex called everyone to order, “Brace yourselves and ready your weapons. When we open the casket—she will sense it and try to take human form as danger is near.” He grabbed a large wooden crucifix from Fantasia’s belt, “This.” He showed it to the group. “Fantasia—place this on her directly—it will paralyze her from moving.” Fantasia nodded.
“Cruxx, you will try to hold her down, and Mickey—you will drive the silver stake through her heart. I will then cut off her head.” And he held his samurai sword in one hand with cloves of garlic in the other.
Slowly, Fantasia rolled out the tray, showing a long, wooden box.
“When I say,” Dex’s voice quivered with excitement, “on ‘three’.” He positioned himself next to the casket.
“One.” Fantasia raised the crucifix.
“Two.” Cruxx readied his hand to lift the lid as Mickey steadied the stake.
“Three! NOW!” Dex yelled.
Cruxx threw open the lid of the makeshift casket and Fantasia closed her eyes and thrust the crucifix down inside of the wooden box.
“Wait, what?!” She said, confused.
“No.” Dex said. “Where is she?!” The guild peered into the empty box. “NO!!” Dex yelled, furious, and he threw the casket across the room, shattering it into a million splinters.
A small, white piece of paper floated to the ground from underneath the casket.
“What’s this?” Fantasia bent down to pick it up. “It’s Japanese.” She said after a moment, handing it to Dex.
Dex held the note in front of him, reading softly to himself. He looked up, his pupils narrowed. “It’s a trap,” he muttered softly to himself.
“What is it?” Mickey asked.
“Johnathan,” Dex spoke with uncharacteristic calm, “Tell Randall to wave the signal.”
“What is it, Dex?!” Fantasia demanded.
“NOW!” He yelled. “We’ve got company!”
And he gestured for the group to turn around. Along the wall of cabinets a single door opened and a tray slid out. A skinny-fat neckbeard of eerie height lowered a spindly leg to the ground before propping itself up. Then another opened, and another and another. One after the other, dozens, hundreds, of the doors swung open bearing neckbeards and nightbeards on their racks. As they saw their targets, some began to race towards them—others hissed, bearing fangs before charging at them.
They were surrounded.
“RUN!” Dex said, and they began racing down the hallway back towards the entrance. Johnathan was calling desperately over the radio to Randall, requesting furry back up.
They raced through the entrance to the third floor and sprinted through rooms, halls, and offices, desperate for an exit. The beards closed in around them, pouring down the halls and flooding the rooms.
“Guys! Wait for me!” Johnathan shouted desperately, trying to keep up with the rest. A nightbeard lunged at him grazing his ankle with a sharpened fingernail. Cruxx slammed his Warhammer down on the creature’s head, popping it into a bloody mess like a zit.
“C’mon!” He grabbed Johnathan and pulled him along.
“In here!” Mickey yelled, ducking into a room that they might fortify. They slammed the door behind them, locking it just as the neckbeards came crashing against it, hungry for their victims.
“Put your crucifixes along the door,” Dex instructed. “Where is the back-up, Johnathan?! What’s Randall saying?”
On the other side of the road, in the office building, Randall stood on the balcony waving the white flag at the furries. Grabbing the binoculars, he checked for a response—none of the furries had moved. Were they not paying attention?
“Guys,” he said into the radio, “Something’s going on with the furries.”
Johnathan’s voice almost immediately cracked through the speaker, “What is it?! Aren’t they coming? We need help here! Are you signaling?”
“I am…signaling! They’re—not—responding!” He yelled into the radio.
“Nothing. They’re not moving!” he confirmed after looking through the binoculars once more.
“I’m going over!” He charged across the street, ploughing in through the entrance to the building and making his way towards the furries. He ran into the room to see about a dozen furries standing in place, milling around.
“What are you doing?! We need help!” He yelled to them from the entrance. None responded. None even moved.
“Guys?!” Randall said, “Hey!” He yelled. “I’m talking to you, you lazy furry pieces of---,” Randall pushed one of the furries. It tumbled over on its side, knocking the head off to reveal only a plastic manikin. His heart sank.
“John,” he said into the radio, “No help is coming.”
“What? No! Why not?! Tell them to get their asses over here!”
“They’re not here. The furries are gone. They’ve abandoned us.”
Johnathan didn’t bother to respond. He had nothing to say. He slowly lowered the radio, dropping it to the floor with a clack.
“NEVER trust a furry!” Cruxx yelled as he punched the wall. Fantasia hung her head in her hands, trying to think of a way out of this mess. Mickey sat silently in the corner, sulking over a picture of his wife.
None could say how long they sat there, but it seemed like hours, being driven half-mad with the mocking hisses and insults proffered through the door by the neckbeards, their halitosis slowly seeping under the cracks and into the vents.
“This is the end,” Dex said to himself.
Mickey looked to Fantasia and Cruxx, “It’s been an honor raiding with you both. My guildsmen…my friends.” Then he looked to Johnathan, “You’re very brave, John. If we had more time—I would have loved for you to join our guild.” John smiled, receiving th
e compliment with grace. Even in this hopeless hour there was something to be grateful for.
“Ya know what?” Cruxx said, “These are neckbeards—and we’re warriors.” He stood up, towering over the other members.
“They spend their days behind computer screens fighting keyboard battles, trying to disprove the existence of God with pseudoscience and no self-awareness.” His voice became louder, building momentum, “We spend our days training and bettering ourselves. We have swallowed the red pill, we have defeated the furries. We will NOT go quietly into the night! We will not surrender without a fight! Tonight--,” and he stood taller than he ever had before, “tonight, my friends—we scalp some necks!”
The speech was not without effect. In the midst of their despair, the guild sent up a roar of victory into the afternoon sky—the walls shook with the power of their solidarity---and for a moment the neckbeards trembled before them.
As the neckbeards outside waited, mocked, and joked about their enemies, the guild strategized, tightened their armor and readied their weapons to defeat theirs.
Then the time had come, the guild stood silent, poised to strike. Johnathan looked to Dex. Dex nodded back. Johnathan raised a finger, closed it back into his fist and then raised two fingers. Dex was to lead the charge, followed by Fantasia, Mickey and Johnathan with Cruxx taking up the rear.
As Johnathan closed his fist for the last time, his eyes brightened. He raised three fingers, and threw the door open.
Neckbeards jumped back in surprise. The Nightbeards hissed in agony, as the clouds---dark and grey, covering the sky, melted away. The brilliant afternoon sun flooded into the room and out of the door, reflecting off the glassy building across the street and pouring into the window. Their enemies shrieked and scrambled for footing, struggling for weapons and striking at empty air in the blinding light.
Fantasia’s daggers flashed bright across her enemies. Cruxx’s Warhammer pounded and thudded against the mountainous guts of the neckbeards, sending them flying this way and that, knocking some unconscious, and rendering most helpless. Mickey’s arms surged with power and his muscles burned as he swung his claymore, full scale from left to right, knocking out three or four bodies with a single swing. Dex’s Katana made quick work of anyone in his path, and Johnathan simply shoved crucifixes in the faces of his opponents.
As the sickle cuts down the wheat at harvest so the guild hacked, swung, and carved their path to freedom through the field of their enemies. Every man (and woman) did their part.
When the clouds again cast their shadow on the ground and the sun disappeared, the nightbeards gave chase.
The members of the guild shuffled down the steps to the first floor with their enemies in hot pursuit. None dared to look back, and they crashed out into the open—only to find Randall waiting in his car.
“Get in!” He threw the door open and popped the trunk as Johnathan and Fantasia hopped into the back while Mickey, Dex, and Cruxx dove into the front.
The tires screeched as they sped down the street. A few stray neckbeards lost their fingers as they reached out after the vehicle, being struck back with Fantasia’s blade.
Promises of revenge and vicious profanities spewed from the unholy hoard as their enemies had gotten the better of them.