by N Gray
Mr. Bronze turned on his heel and ran with Miss Red beside him. “I think he’s hiding in those trees over there.”
“Go left while I will flush him out on the right,” Miss Red said as she ran.
Mr. Bronze obeyed and ran to the left-hand side of the clump of dense trees while Miss Red went to the far right. The trees were tall, thick, and dense, with vegetation all around. He glanced back at the others; they had stopped a short distance away and spread out. They must’ve realized what they were up to and would get the boy if he slipped past them.
Mr. Bronze stopped and listened. The property Mr. Green owned was extensive, with enough trees to make it look like they were in a mini forest—but without the getting lost part of it. The outside perimeter had high electrified walls—not fences, but thick brick walls. The only way Vincent was getting out was in a bag of ashes.
Birds flew overhead. As Mr. Bronze glanced up, the sun caught him in the eye, forcing him to squint. To his right, a squirrel ran up a tree, and bugs. Lots and lots of bugs. Mr. Bronze shuddered. No matter how many times he came here, he still didn’t care for the critters.
A twig snapped, and he turned in that direction. He lifted his compound bow and aimed in the direction of the sound. He inhaled and held his breath as he took one step, listened, then another step, exhaled and listened again. Nothing. He lowered his bow and meandered. Leaves crunched underfoot, twigs snapped, and he pushed branches out of his way. All he heard was his own steps and breathing.
Movement caught his eye.
Vincent’s blue shirt blurred past in the distance. The boy was quick.
He lifted his bow, grounded his feet and exhaled. He released the fiberglass arrow and watched it hit the boy.
The arrow lodged in Vincent’s thigh, and he plummeted to the ground. The loud crash sent birds flying skyward and lizards darting for hiding places. Vincent was determined to escape and crawled on three limbs while dragging the injured fourth while Mr. Bronze walked beside him, as if cheering him on in a race.
Mr. Bronze lifted his left foot and pressed the thigh with the arrow sticking out; the arrow moved, and blood oozed out.
“Aargh!” Vincent cried, fell onto his back and pressed his large hands around his thigh to stop the bleeding. “Enough! Stop. Please.”
“How many times did she cry out, Vincent? How many times did she beg you? Her pleading with tears in her eyes, beseeching you to stop?” Mr. Bronze asked through gritted teeth. His pulse thundered in his ears and bunched his free hand into a fist.
Vincent stopped cradling his leg, rested it on the ground and leaned against a tree. His blue eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. He scratched his stubbly jaw, leaving a bloody handprint. “How do you know what went on between her and me?”
Mr. Bronze crouched, pulled his knife from his ankle sheath and held the sharp blade with its serrated edges near Vincent’s eyes. “There isn’t much we don’t know, Vincent.” Mr. Bronze watched Vincent’s blue eyes follow the blade as he moved it in front of his face.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” he whimpered. Vincent didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate like a guilty party.
Mr. Bronze nodded his approval and pushed his blade into the injured man’s jugular. “May your god have mercy on your soul.” Blood pulsed over his hand as he pushed his knife deeper into Vincent’s throat.
Mr. Bronze lifted his bow when he saw movement to his left. It was only Miss Red.
“Well done on your catch, Mr. Bronze,” she said as she approached him. “This was a quickie, and we still have enough time for a drink. You gonna stay this time?”
Mr. Bronze freed his knife from Vincent’s neck; the feel of soft flesh being torn by the sharp blade sent pleasurable shivers up his spine. He cleaned the blade on Vincent’s shirt, returned it to his ankle sheath and rose. “Yeah, why not?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Horsemen sat around the bar and sipped from their glasses.
Mr. Green poured himself a drink, glanced at each of them individually and smiled. “That was the quickest one yet, Mr. Bronze. Well done!” Mr. Green turned to update the score board that hung on the wall behind him. “A record. It only took you six minutes. And Vincent was a fast fucker.”
“It must be that bow of his. At least we know he can aim again,” Mr. Maroon said, his red mustache moved like a hairy caterpillar crawling on his face as he chuckled. He clinked glasses with Mr. Bronze, who sat beside him. “It was such a good day for Mr. Bronze that he even decided to drink with us for once.”
Mrs. Platinum twirled her olive in her dry martini. “Hell might freeze over because of that.”
“The only time Hell will freeze over is when you get that broom out your ass, Mrs. Platinum,” Miss Red said, and everybody laughed—even Mrs. Platinum.
“Slaughterer.”
“Destroyer.”
“Okay, ladies, as much as I love it when you talk dirty with each other, that’s enough,” Mr. Green chided playfully. “Because Mr. Bronze was so quick, we still have enough time before we resume our normal lives. I suggest we finalize the candidate for our next hunt?”
Everyone agreed and clinked glasses with each other, and Mr. Yellow whistled.
“Next is Daryl Wallace, twenty-seven, carjacker, connections to the mob and recently released from prison.”
“Why him?” Mr. Bronze asked, running his fingers through his grey and copper hair.
“Well …” Mr. Green finished his drink. “Remember four years ago when we first met my little FBI friend?”
Everyone nodded.
“Well, this asshole has been messing with my Dana. Shot up a coffee shop and almost hit her.”
“Are you still chasing this woman?” Mr. Yellow asked.
Mr. Green scowled. “I never stopped chasing her, Joe, and I see her on a regular basis actually.” He smirked cryptically and poured himself another drink.
Now read the series
Nightcrawler is the prequel novella to the DANA MULDER series. Available on Amazon.
From the author
Dear Reader
I hope you enjoyed Nightcrawler.
I’m a South African author living in Cape Town with my hubby, daughter, and two fur babies.
During the day I’m an analyst and provider profiler for a medical insurance company. And at night I type on my curved keyboard creating fictional characters some may love, and others you want to kill yourself.
Reach out to me on any of the below places, and say hi.
2020 has been a tough year for everyone. I don’t know about you, but I struggled to keep my focus on writing but I did it, I finished my thriller series.
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Until the next book, stay safe and keep reading.
www.ngraybooks.com
Email [email protected]
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I write in THREE genres, hopefully one of them tickles your fancy…
Short Story Collections
What’s for Dinner?
The Hunter
Horror Features Series
Creature Features
Monster Features
Dana Mulder Suspense Series
Deadly Pattern
Devil Mountain
Chasing Evil
Blaire Thorne Urban Fantasy Series
Ulysses Exposed
Voodoo Priest
Butterflies & Hurricanes
Salvation
Underworld Legacy
https://www.ngraybooks.com/series
Also writing as SD Syns
Red Lace Diaries
Coming soon: Black Tie Diaries
1st Chapter - Monster Features
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ravenous Part 1
ERIK
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Norway, Circa 960 AD
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Erik stopped beside a tree and watched his father enter the chieftain’s home where all the men had gathered. They were about to decide their family’s fate, a decision that could result in their entire family moving far from Norway.
“Do you know why they blame your father?” Erik recognized his friend’s voice without having to turn to answer Torsten.
“They think my father killed three men.”
“Yours and mine.”
Erik hadn’t known Torsten’s father was involved. He turned to look at his friend, his face stained with tears and dirt. “I thought it was only my father?”
Torsten shook his head. “Mother says Father helped. It’s all because of the land they farm on, and the chieftain’s cousin wanted it—”
“And they fought?”
“Yes.” Torsten nodded, wiping away a stray tear.
“And three men lost their lives because of it. And they’re blaming our fathers because the chieftain’s cousin wanted our land?”
Torsten nodded again.
Erik rarely got angry, but since turning ten, things easily set him off. His anger flared to life the moment he had found out his dad was in trouble, and now again, his anger was as ripe as any adult’s, knowing his best friend’s father was also involved. If he could, he would grab an axe and charge the chieftain’s cousin—put an end to this fight once and for all. If the cousin was no longer around, then the chieftain wouldn’t have to defend him all the time. Or send hard-working men away.
A loud noise erupted from the chieftain’s home as men screamed their votes. It was unanimous. Erik’s father exited the house with his head down and shoulders rounded forward.
Erik left his friend and ran to his father, who pushed him away. “Not now, Erik.”
“What happened, Father?”
“Pack your things, son. We leave at dawn.” His father’s reply was curt, and he pushed past Erik.
Erik stopped dead—his body numb, his mind clouded over. For a boy entering manhood, he felt stuck. This land was his birthplace, and now they had to leave because of a vote. That something as small as one vote by each of the men he had grown up to admire could cause so much heartache. And that all the men wanted his father, their family, gone. Now they had to travel across the rough seas in search of unknown land. They had heard of many families moving to Iceland. Perhaps it would be an adventure, or their demise.
Torsten approached him. But before he could mutter anything, Erik screamed and punched Torsten in the face. Anger and frustration coursed through his veins, and his face matched his fiery hair. Torsten nursed his aching cheek, fell to the ground and cried.
Shocked by what he’d done, Erik blinked back tears and ran home. When he opened the door to their house, his mother was crying into a cloth, and his father was packing.
The next morning, they were waiting near the boats with what they could carry. Everything else they would source when they arrived at their new land. Erik’s father brought the rest of their possessions as Torsten and his family approached.
Erik dropped his belongings near his mother and ran to his friend. He had to make amends for his behavior yesterday. Torsten was his one and only best friend; they were like blood brothers, and it was awful of Erik to take out his frustration on Torsten. He regretted his action more than anything.
“That’s close enough, boy.” Torsten’s father stopped Erik from coming closer with a finger to his chest.
“I would like to own up for my behavior and apologize to my friend.” Erik’s chin trembled as he composed his emotions.
Torsten bit his lip. Tears welled in his eyes when he looked at his father. “It’s all right.”
His father nodded and carried their belongings to the boat they would share with Erik’s family.
“I’m sorry, Torsten. I should not have taken out my anger on you. Do you forgive me?” Erik averted his eyes and stared at the mud at their feet.
Torsten dropped his bag and hugged Erik.
“Only women hug,” Erik’s dad said from behind them and chuckled. “Come, boys, we must go now before something else happens.”
The boys hugged one last time, carried their belongings to the boat then helped their fathers pack the rest of their things, so they could set sail.
Two other families were aboard the boat; four men had been exiled after last night’s voting for various deeds that some may not think warranted such hefty sentences. But no one went against their chieftains’ word, as that would be treacherous and dangerous. That person could be killed, along with his entire family.
Now the men and their families had to leave Norway for Iceland.
The voyage they were about to embark on could take as little as three days if the weather was favorable, but, if the wind was against them, it would take them longer.
Torsten and Erik sat beside each other and watched Norway become smaller until it winked out completely, and the ocean surrounded them.
There were stories of monsters in rough seas, and Erik wondered whether they would encounter them on their voyage. He had only been out to sea once with his father, but that was only a day’s trip, and they were back before dark. Now they would travel all day, all night, for at least three days. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
Their first evening at sea was uneventful, and Erik was grateful. If anything happened to the boat and threw them overboard, he could only swim for a short while. He shoved down the daunting thoughts where they belonged and tried to think of other, more pleasant things.
Erik and Torsten played games with the other children around their age while the adults spoke in low tones. No doubt they were discussing what had happened at the vote the day before and the land of their future. Erik could see his mother was glad one of the exiled families owned a boat for them all to leave on. That’s what Erik had heard when he passed them; when they saw him, they spoke quietly again.
Their meals comprised of porridge and dried fruit, or perhaps buttermilk and bread, while in the evenings, they ate fish or meat stewed with vegetables. Their mothers also gave them dried fruit with honey as a sweet treat.
Two other kids and one mother experienced sickness aboard the boat, but, after the third day, they were fine. Erik was glad the movement of the sea didn’t affect him as badly, although Torsten was slightly ill the first day and gave him his buttermilk.
Late afternoon on the fourth day, thunder cracked in the distance. Both boys’ heads shot up at the gloomy clouds looming above them. The air smelled of rain while the wind caressed their faces and sprayed them with sea water. They were blessed to have great weather during their time at sea, even though the winds had been against them. But now, chaos erupted on the boat as the adults moved about, locking down items, closing latches, and ensuring everyone was safe.
The seas darkened around the boat, and the waves splashed over them—but not enough to worry the adults, yet. Erik and Torsten sat beside each other and held on as the boat rocked. Lightning struck in the distance, and the light flashed brightly enough for them to cover their faces. Erik’s arms pebbled at the cool breeze and pulled on his fur coat.
Erik glanced behind him when a strange sound caught his attention—a soft lullaby with soft music, a sound he’d never heard before. It was poetic and beautiful. His brows furrowed. It was not the sound he had expected out here during a storm. When he glimpsed his surroundings, the music stopped. Above them, the cumulonimbus clouds neared, bringing with it thunder and lightning.
Erik stood when the music started again. The song reminded him of a rhyme his mother had sung to him when he was young and had struggled to fall asleep. The water rippled. The waves splashed against the boat and sprayed salty water in his face. Licking his lips, he squinted a
t something in the rippling black water. The objected grew bigger the closer it came to the surface.
The water had calmed enough for him to grip the side of the boat and safely lean overboard to see what it was. The clouds covered the sun and helped him see the object in the water clearer, and she smiled at him.
The youthful woman was at least five years older than him. Her skin was pale, eyes the color of cerulean seas with a cloudy undertone that shimmered, reminding him of mother-of-pearl his mother had shown him once. The woman smiled again and beckoned him to follow her. He shook his head and peered over his shoulder at the adults now bracing themselves for the approaching storm.
He turned to the woman, and her face was completely out of the water. He saw more of her and felt his cheeks heat and something stir in the pit of his stomach. The woman dove through the water, revealing her glimmering scales the same color as her eyes. The enticing lullaby sounded again, and Erik had the urge to dive into the water and join the young maiden within the deepest waters where he would remain. If only he could touch her just once, then he could belong to her, to be hers, and to love her forever.
“Erik! What are you doing?” Erik recognized his father’s loud voice behind him, but it sounded far away. A hand gripped his shoulder, and it felt like a bubble popped in his face, and his thoughts became his own again.
He swallowed hard, turned to his father then back to the murky water, but the woman was gone.