by Hunter Blain
I regathered my will and focus, and stared at the first strip. After a moment, it blazed up in a tiny pyre, reaching fruitlessly for the sky.
Depweg moaned loudly and tried to reach a hand back. I grabbed it and moved my focus to the next strip.
After they were all lit, I let them burn for a moment, and then blew them out using my preternatural strength to force the air out of my lungs like a quick shotgun blast. The flames blew completely out, leaving behind ashen skin. I sat upright and admired my were-birthday cake.
“There ya go, buddy. Let those people digest in your tum-tum, and you’ll feel right as rain soon enough,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as him.
After carrying Depweg back to the jeep, I dressed him, intentionally putting his jeans on backward. As I buckled him into the seat, I snickered to myself at the thought of him waking up and being all, “Why are my pants on backward?”
I let the seat lay as far back as possible, to provide him as much comfort as the jeep would allow. With a wince, he shifted his body weight to his good side, relieving the pressure on his brand-spanking-new collection of scars.
After securing him and putting the cleaned off kukri back in his bag, I sauntered over to where the dead men lay and rifled through their gear. Most of the guns had been damaged in the earth blast and almost all the ammo had been expended, but I was able to grab a few Sig Sauer MPX’s with full auto option and suppressors. I whistled loudly, as I knew they were expensive weaponry. I emptied all the partially used magazines into one of their duffle bags, and saw there were about three full mags worth of ammo. I grabbed three empty mags and threw them in with everything else.
As I started to walk back to the jeep, I heard a muffled voice coming from one of the hit men’s headsets. I stopped, pivoted on one foot, and walked over to where the dead man lay for his final rest.
“You must have been the leader, huh?” I asked the decimated corpse, lightly kicking the chest as if expecting a response. He looked odd with his thighs and arms eaten away, leaving behind calves, forearms, and a plump torso. His glinting blood looked black in the moonlight.
I bent down and removed his headset, placing the earpiece in position over my head. A voice chimed over.
“Parker. Parker, do you copy? Over,” the voice asked methodically.
I pushed the switch on the earpiece, putting on my super scary voice, and said, “Parker’s…indisposed.” I glanced down at the mutilation that had once been a human. “Maybe I can help. Where are you?” I let the last syllable linger in the air.
Silence was the response I got.
“Oh, ah, over,” I said, finishing the appropriate radio etiquette.
An unmistakable voice came over the line and violated my ears like they were a pair of roofied prom dates, “Is that you, Jonathan?”
“It’s just John. And you didn’t say over. Over,” I said to Locke.
“I assume that your dog survived?” Locke asked absently, already knowing the answer.
My mind flashed to Tiny Tim and anger grew in my chest, white-hot and deep. I couldn’t let him know I was affected. In my best cheery voice, I half lied, “Nope. But he did eat your men while they were still alive. Their screams, oh, their screams. Most of them even pooped themselves.” Growing ballsy, I said a little louder, targeting the other people surely listening in the room, “I ate a few myself. Got to read their minds and learn their secrets, like where your base is.”
Locke called my bluff, “And where is that, exactly?”
Damn it. I knew I should have dove into the last-man-standing’s head. With Depweg over my shoulder, I had wanted to look all cool and stuff. Shit.
“Oh, you’ll see soon enough. It was bad enough you were on my shit list, now you have two of us hunting you. Everyone who works for you will be food for us. Then I’ll—”
I was cut off by a voice next to Locke. “Got him, sir.”
“Show me on the map,” Locke said from further away, as if he had put the microphone down.
“Here, sir,” the man responded.
“Excellent,” the voice grew louder again. “Hey, Jonathan, don’t move.”
A sickening feeling grew in my stomach, and I instinctively dropped the headset and started to run. Several bounds in, I cursed myself and turned around, running back to the body. I grabbed the bag containing the weapons and noticed there were shadows dancing on the ground. They grew longer, causing me to stop and look around. The ground grew lighter, and I looked up to see a small, bright moon growing larger.
“That’s no moon,” I whispered to myself and turned to start sprinting back to the jeep.
As I ran, the ground around me turned as bright as day. I slowed for a millisecond as I looked around in awe. I hadn’t seen the world lit up like this in hundreds of years, and for the first time since my transformation, I was in wonderment at how much I actually missed the sun. The greens and browns were vibrant all around. I hopped over a body that was in my path, and I stared at the ruby-red blood with my mouth agape. Even with the brightest LED lights on the market, blood could never be as red as what I saw.
Snapping out of it, I risked a glance over my shoulder to see the ball of light was the size of a house and plummeting toward where the dead men lay.
I picked up speed and leaped into the air, dropping the bag into the back seat. Landing in the front seat, I fumbled with the keys that were still in the ignition. Grabbing hold of them, I turned them and was rewarded with clicking that sounded like an empty machine gun. I let go and turned again, but was met with the same result.
I leaned out the jeep and looked at the engine block, which looked like swiss cheese, and yelled, “Fuck!”
I turned in my seat and grabbed the bag, slipping the strap over one shoulder and across my chest. Pulling the strap tight, I leaped out the top of the jeep and onto Depweg’s side. I reached in and undid his seat belt while chancing a glance at the ball of death. It was hurling toward the trees with the ferocity of a falling star.
With renewed vigor, I threw Depweg over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry and started sprinting down the dirt road in the direction of the highway. A moment later, I saw my shadow extend out in front of me, growing tall in the falling light. It was about to hit.
There was an earsplitting boom and a shock wave that propelled me forward, almost launching me off my feet. I felt the heat creep up as I ran, and my once long shadow started to retreat back toward my face as a ball of fire erupted into the sky. Depweg moaned at the movement and probably the burning air as well. Luckily, his girth was keeping most of the immense heat off of my shoulders and head. But man, oh man, did my ass and legs burn!
I made it to the edge of the road and looked back. The fireball had diminished to black smoke, violating the night sky. The woods around the area were blazing.
Depweg moaned, and I turned my face just in time for him to vomit chunks of man-flesh all over my face.
“Sorry,” was all he could manage before passing out again.
I stood there, with my face scrunched in disgust, and spit out a dribble of flesh that had flown into my mouth. I turned my head and wiped my face on his jeans, clearing my vision.
When I dared to open my eyes, I looked around and tried to figure out what to do next. A beautiful sight came into view as I spotted the twin, white commercial vans sitting on the side of the road a quarter mile up the side of the road. I chuckled to myself and started walking toward them.
As I got closer, I could see orange traffic cones around both vans and the official-looking equipment on top. “Locke’s City Services” was printed on either side of both vans. Sonofabitch was humble.
I walked around to the back of the first van and grabbed the handle. Locked. I was sure there was a pun there somewhere.
“Shit,” I said, knowing there was no key left in existence after that firebomb had incinerated the remains of the hit squad.
I pointed my index finger at the lock and willed my blood into the keyh
ole. Once it was filled, I pushed on the tumblers and twisted, unlocking the van. The blood retreated back into my finger, and I opened the door with a little, “Yes.”
Inside, the work van was an organized treasure trove. Cabinets ran along one side of the van with a bench parallel on the other.
I stepped in and laid Depweg down on the bench with his wounded side facing up.
I turned and saw that most of the cabinet doors were open. The first revealed hard foam slots where the automatic weapons had been. I closed the empty cabinet and moved on to the next. Boxes of silver rounds were stacked on top of each other. I counted ten unmarked boxes of the expensive ammo and mentally smacked my forehead for not grabbing more magazines. After closing the ammunition door, I went to the final cabinet that was at chest height and mentally unsmacked myself once I saw the spare magazines lining the wall. Most were gone, but three remained, bringing my total magazine count to six. I closed the last door and kneeled down to the lower cabinets, which were situated under a work bench.
The first had a red cross on it, and I opened it to find a well-stocked first aid storage unit, complete with operating tools, bandages, and even pharmaceutical vials. I found some burn ointment and grabbed it. Turning to face Depweg, I lifted his shirt to reveal the blackened holes, which were a reddish pink around the edges. I liberally applied the burn medicine to his wounds, which Depweg met with a quick jerk and a gasp, followed by him relaxing and laying his head back on the bench. His breathing went back into a deep rhythm a minute after that.
I turned back to the cabinet, grabbed a large bandage, and removed the adhesive covers along its perimeter, laying it over the wound and smoothing it out.
The other cabinets contained slots where body armor had been at one time, radios, and even one full of MREs and water bottles. I was sure Depweg would appreciate those once he woke up.
Before getting in the driver’s seat, I did a quick search of the other van for supplies. I grabbed the first aid kit, thinking it could be useful at home in case of an emergency, and grabbed the other mags and spare ammo. There wasn’t as much as the second van, suggesting the lead vehicle had contained the bulk of the force.
After throwing the supplies in the back of the second van, I made my way to the front and settled in the driver’s seat. Reaching for the ignition, I noticed the keys weren’t there. A quick check of the glove box and center console revealed nothing.
“That’s odd,” I muttered to myself. “What if the driver went down in battle and was, like, eaten or something.” My brow was furrowed in confusion, and then I remembered every movie ever and grabbed the visor. A set of keys fell into my lap as I did.
“Neat,” I said as I picked up the keys. “But, why was the van locked?” I looked at the driver’s door next to me and noticed the indicator in the up position. “What a confusing bunch,” I said out loud as I put the only key on the chain into the ignition.
After adjusting my mirrors and clicking my seat belt (you know, for safety), I threw the van into gear and did a U-turn. Destination, Houston.
Chapter 32
Present day
Locke was going to pay. Besides revenge and the obvious, he just wasn’t a good guy at all. I bet he snapped at waiters and told retail employees to go get their managers. I’d be doing the world a favor by sending him to the pits of Hell to roast like so many assholes before him. He had haunted me for far too long, and now I was going to return the favor.
A question tickled just behind my forehead; how had he survived for so many centuries? I had never heard of a warlock being able to extend their life for more than a few decades.
Depweg rousing in the back broke my train of thought.
“Heeeeeyyy,” I said with an elongated syllable. “How we doin’ back there, champ?”
A long, drawn out moan was his response as he pulled himself up to a seated position.
In a voice that’s usually reserved for a parent trying to lift the spirits of their sad child by telling them they had made pancakes, I said, “There are MREs in the cabinet, sweetie.”
Without looking back, I could hear Depweg rummaging through the cabs.
“Bottom left,” I said.
“Mmph,” was his response.
The next sound I heard was a package being torn open and consumed greedily. The noise sounded like an old ’80s zombie movie where they zoomed in on the body being eaten to gross you out. I’d always laugh at the production quality.
We drove like that for some time, starring me as Morgan Freeman in Driving Mr. Deppyweg. In short order, Depweg had consumed all of the MREs. Once he was done, he made his way up to the passenger seat, waving his ass by my face as he did, and let one rip.
I thought my face was going to melt off from the heat. The ball of fire Locke had thrown was nothing compared to the unholy abomination that emanated from Depweg’s rusty starfish. Thank Lilith I didn’t need to breathe oxygen or I might have thrown up. My eyes did water, however.
After sitting down, Depweg looked at me and said, “‘Ode to Ass’ by Johann Sebastian Bach.”
I turned my head toward him slowly with a deadpan look. We sat in silence, looking at one another. We both burst out laughing at the same time. Unfortunately for me, the process of laughing involved air going in and out of my lungs, and I got a shotgun blast of were-fart in my mouth and nose.
I started coughing, heartily. This only increased Depweg’s mirth, and he bent over laughing. He stopped with a gasp and grabbed his side.
“That was…sidesplitting, wasn’t it?” I said with the taste of refried man-flesh sitting on my tongue.
Depweg looked at me and tried his best to control his laughter at my dad joke.
A rain of gunfire barked in the night, startling Depweg and myself. Bullets slammed into the van on the passenger side. Looking at the side mirror, I saw two similarly decked out white vans with black-clad men hanging out of the vehicles.
The window shook violently, looking like giant rocks covered in white dust had been thrown at the window.
“The van’s bulletproof,” I said to Depweg. “Grab one of the Sig’s in the back and slap in some mags. We are in for a bumpy ride.”
As Depweg moved to the back, a battering ram slammed into the passenger side. Depweg was thrown into the bench, reminding him quite abruptly about his perforated, well-done side. He cried out in pain and collapsed to his knees, clutching his wounds.
“Get up!” I yelled, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Now is not the time for your ‘play dead’ trick.”
Depweg moaned angrily through clenched teeth and grabbed the countertop for support.
Another ram nearly threw us off the road, forcing me to overcorrect back and forth until we leveled out.
“Damn, this bitch has a fat ass,” I said, fighting with the wheel. “How much do you weigh, Depweg?”
“Two-fifty with my pretty face on,” he replied, slapping a magazine into an MPX and priming the bolt.
“Go for the tires and the grill,” I told him while letting the van slow, watching the others match our speed. After we dropped to fifty, I slammed on the gas, giving Depweg a clear target.
Depweg grabbed the handle of the back door with a smile and pulled. Nothing happened. He jiggled the handle several times in confusion.
“Oops,” I said, pressing the unlock button next to my arm. “Child safety locks, for your protection.”
With that, Depweg threw the back door open, though his action smile had disappeared and had been replaced with a scowl. With one hand braced against the roof and half his body protected by the other door still closed, Depweg let loose a volley of gunfire that ripped into the front of the first van. He kept the gun in control with three-second bursts, allowing him to better control his aim. We were traveling at almost a hundred miles per hour at this point. I was impressed at the modifications the men had done on the seemingly innocuous vans.
A few of the rounds struck home, and the van started to smoke out of
the hood, slightly obscuring the driver’s vision.
In front of us, a semi-trailer was coming on the opposite side of the four-lane road, and a delicious idea popped into my head.
“Semi coming. Blow out their driver’s side tire on my command,” I said.
Depweg took aim but didn’t shoot, waiting.
“Now!” I yelled.
A quick burst of fire hit the intended target, and the tire blew out with an explosion of tread. At the speed we were going, the van lost control immediately and was thrown into the oncoming lanes, where it was met with a fully loaded semi-death machine.
There wasn’t an explosion like in the movies, only the sound of crunching metal, like someone crushing a beer can right next to your ear. I was really getting sick of how much the movies lied. The howling of tires followed as the huge semi slammed on the brakes.
I watched the carnage unfold from the side mirror, smiling widely. The van mimicked an accordion while the massive semi only suffered damage to its extended engine block, leaving the driver relatively unharmed, though a little rattled.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” I said in my best Hannibal Smith impression. Depweg turned his head toward me and smiled.
A pair of headlights squared up in my rearview mirror and then grew in size, fast.
Looking down, I noticed I had rubbernecked and let my speed drop back down to eighty, giving the second van a chance to move into position.
“Hold on!” I screamed right as the other van slammed into our rear. “Lilith damn it! I said no anal on the first date! No means no!” I slammed on the gas, but didn’t pull away. There was a moan of metal, and I realized we were stuck.
Depweg cried out from behind, “We’re stuck!”