(The following post is the exact text for a short story that will be appearing in an anthology of online writers called *.fiction. The editor is Scott McKenzie, who can be found at this blog site: www.stardotfiction.blogspot.com. This story is based on the prior posts comprising the South Beach Diet series of posts--you can find the original series of posts in the November 2006 archives of this site--November 15-30, 2006 When the book is available, further information on how to get a copy will be posted and provided at that point. Until then, enjoy the story. More original posts are due over the next week.)
South Beach Slayer
I stood high above the crowd below, hidden from curious eyes by darkness and distance in my rooftop perch. From this spot, I could watch both the pulsating crowd below and the wide, nearly empty stretch of sand and waves known collectively as South Beach.
I wasn’t here to enjoy the sights and sounds of South Beach. This was a hunting trip.
There was a very prolific, very sick serial killer loose on South Beach. This unknown killer had killed four young people on four consecutive nights and left their bodies ripped open and splayed out on the beach to be discovered in the morning. Each body had been missing at least one vital organ.
Somehow, in one of the busiest nightspots in the United States, each victim had been killed, laid out on the beach, and been at least partially eaten all without any witnesses who were willing to come forward. The killings had continued even as the police presence had been doubled after the second killing and redoubled again after the third. The local authorities were at their wits end. That was when they called on the FBI to do something.
The fourth killing took place despite the presence of nearly twenty undercover FBI agents blanketing the most popular nightspots and a very sophisticated surveillance project that had been hastily put into place all over the area. The media was now crawling all over the story and the whole region was seemingly in the grip of panic over the lack of any progress on finding this mysterious, cannibalistic killer who had been named the South Beach Slayer by an enterprising news anchorman.
This was the fifth night.
The Bureau was desperate to put a stop to these gruesome murders. One of their best profilers, Agent Jennifer Wilson, had told them that this killer was something more than human. That’s when the decision was made to call on the Bureau’s only agent who also happened to be something more than human…or, as I preferred to think of it, formerly human.
Before I get much further, however, a brief introduction is called for. I am Agent Rusty Bones. I was a street cop from Dearborn Hills, Michigan who was killed in the line of duty. I was brought back to this…unlife…because I had also been a participant in a formerly secret (and definitely evil) government program called the Omega Project that sought to reunite the souls of slain subjects with newly enhanced bodies in an effort to show that it was indeed possible to create immortal super soldiers. I was the lone success of the project-- and its biggest failure-- since I subsequently helped to shut the thing down. I don’t quite think of myself as an immortal super soldier, but I do benefit from the fact that I can’t be killed. I have also acquired a few other special abilities that have been useful from time to time.
Seeing nothing of note moving on the beach, I turned my gaze towards the crowd below. While most sensible people were sensibly tucked away in their homes, there was still a sizable core of young, rich daredevils of all ethnicities gathered beneath me. They were partying with reckless abandon that I found quite amusing. There was a tension in the air that was palpable. These were the type of people who would throw a party on the eve of Armageddon.
From this distance I could pick out the undercover police officers and FBI agents as they mingled through the crowd looking for any likely suspects. The Slayer wouldn’t be so easily spotted. If Agent Wilson’s profile was to be believed, the Slayer was a doppelganger—a mythical creature that could change shape at will, exactly mimicking its victim.
I unfocused my eyes and shifted my vision from this world so that I could survey the scene below in the Shadowland—a separate dimension that parallels the physical world that you are already familiar with, but where the spirits of both the living and the dead are visible to those who can access it.
In this view, the police officers and undercover agents were even more distinct from the more colorful, inebriated spirits of all those potential victims. The spirits of the law enforcement officers were less colorful, more subdued in their hues, focused and vigilant.
There! About halfway down the block at a small, open-air sidewalk café, I caught a glimpse of someone, or better yet, something that was out of place. It was a small, dark spirit that seemed oddly out of place. As soon as I tried to lock my gaze on it, it slipped away into a thronging mass of spirits that obscured my sight. I was going to have to get closer. It seemed to sense me almost as soon as I saw it.
I slipped back into normal vision long enough to get a fix on the place and called the Shadow.
The cool, comforting darkness of the Shadow surrounded me. Using my will, I shaped It into a portal and stepped through.
I emerged from the Shadow in a side alley. I stopped at the mouth of the tight space for a moment to take in the festive scene from my new vantage point—pounding music, snarled traffic, pulsing neon lights, and a gyrating crowd of underdressed people of all races, genders and orientations milling about in their desperate searches for excitement and hook-ups.
A young woman in a skimpy bikini top and a multi-colored skirt stumbled into the dark alley and retched onto the ground right at my feet. She looked up from my puke spattered boots, staggering up to one knee. “Hey buddy, whatcha doin’ back here?” As her eyes traveled upward from my boots, her eyes grew wide. She got up quickly and stumbled off to rejoin her friends.
I stepped over a puddle of fermented vomit, emerging from the comfort of the shadow. I joined the pulsating stream of tense human sexuality that was the South Beach night life. I started towards that open-air café where I had seen that strange spirit.
If the dress code of the partying crowd was any indication, it was about 80 degrees and humid out. Even the bikini-clad gals and the bare-chested young studs were shiny with beaded sweat. I was, of course, the lone exception. I was wearing a lightweight, black windbreaker over a loose black sweatshirt. My sturdy jeans were properly distressed while my heavy black steel-toed work boots were brand new. I wasn’t used to being this exposed.
While preening, inebriated minnows darted and dodged all around me, I was the trolling, brooding shark seeking bigger, more dangerous prey.
I switched my vision back into the Shadowland so that I could scan the crowd easier for that spirit. I had gotten pretty good in the last year at moving my body through the physical world while keeping my vision primarily in the Shadowland. Compared to the kaleidoscope of colors of the Shadowland, the neon signs and Art Deco décor of the physical South Beach was almost bland and boring.
It wasn’t long before I caught a second glimpse of that strange spirit again. It stood out from the large cluster of younger, brighter spirits gathered outside of a particularly flashy nightclub just down the street from the café. It was a darker, smaller form than those of most humans, and it felt my presence as I honed in on it.
The small head of the form swiveled in my direction as soon as I locked my gaze onto it. Two laser red eyes bore into me for the briefest of moments before a massive explosion of intense light knocked me from the Shadowland and back into the realm of normal vision.
The crowd was milling about, oblivious to the dance between two hunters as I tried to associate the out of place spirit I had seen with the right physical body in the swirling, dancing, flirting mass of humanity.
With all of the glances of fear, disgust, and disdain that I was getting, I knew that my appearance was even more zombie-like than normal. I hadn’t found my prey yet. I was reasonably certain, however, that I stood out well enough to let the Slayer know that he or she wasn’t alone at the top of the food chain any more. The minnows danced and darted about, too exhilarated by life to realize that the true dance of death had only just begun.
I slipped back into the Shadowland, hoping to catch a glimpse of my prey yet again, only to find that the creature had slipped away for the moment. I shifted back to normal vision, clenching my fist in frustration. I pulled the Shadow closer, hoping to use It for cover as I redoubled my efforts to locate the Slayer before it struck again.
Standing on the edge of Light and Night, of City and Beach, I was in Shadow. A watchful, vigilant Shade that moved from one world to the next with the ease of a moth flitting around a light bulb, one moment fully visible and real, the next moment a figment of the imagination.
In this new state of being—suspended halfway between the living and the dead—I could walk among the evening revelers leaving no more memory of my passing than that of a strange, cold shiver that caused a tingle along the spine and raised the hairs on the back of the neck.
There was a certain timeless quality to this half-in, half-out existence that I was now in. I was unsure whether I had been searching for five minutes or an hour when I noticed the strange cloud of Shadow darker than any normal night obscuring part of the beach across the street.
Without hesitating, I turned, stepped out into the street, easily slipping between the cars stuck in traffic. I needed to see what was being concealed over there.
I slowed from a jog to a cautious walk as I reached the threshold of the obscured area—it was large enough to conceal any number of dangers. The Shadow parted for me like a curtain. What I saw on the other side of that shade would have caused me to retch if I had been physically capable of it.
The body of the Slayer’s fifth victim lay spread-eagle in the sand, her torso ripped open. A man knelt down beside her with his back to me, holding something dripping and wet to his mouth and tearing into it with his teeth. The lip-smacking sound of him eating one of her organs was enough to throw me into a rage. But one glance at this man’s sickly spirit was enough to convince me that this man couldn’t be the one responsible for weaving the curtain of darkness that was obscuring him from being seen by anyone else.
I reached out and grabbed the man by his long, greasy hair, yanking his mouth away from his disgusting meal and lifting him from his knees. “Hold it right there, asshole! Who helped you do this?”
The man’s eyes were glassy, his mouth dripping blood and bits of the young woman’s liver. He tried to ignore me by bringing the rest of the organ up for another mouthful.
I knocked his hands down with my left hand and spun him around. “I’m talking to you! Who helped you with this?”
Still dazed from his orgiastic feast, his eyes grew wide as he laughed. Bits of liver and blood spewed from his mouth as he did. As I raised a fist to bring an end to his sick display, his eyes narrowed. “Are you Bones?”
That shocked me enough to halt my fist. I could barely keep my response civil. “Yes, how do you know who I am?”
The sick bastard giggled. “The Beast said you would come.” He nodded towards the waterline to his left. “It wants to talk to you. I don’t know why, you don’t look like you would taste very good.”
I ended the conversation with a blow that was sure to keep him unconscious for hours and dropped his sorry ass next to the poor wretch he had been feasting on. I had a date with a doppelganger. I stalked off in the direction the maniac had nodded in.
A figure strolled in the darkness near the gentle surf off to my right. It was walking that line between earth and ocean, alone, just as I moved between the world of Shadow and Light. Its physical form was that of a lithe young man. Its spirit was something other, something that I had not seen before. It was small and dark, exuding a roiling, seething hatred.
The doppelganger was issuing its challenge to me. Come play.
It was time to make a proper introduction. I called the Shadow, wrapping myself fully within it. I gave the dark energy the twist that took me from one place to another and stepped out directly in front of the creature.
The fleshy face of the young man melted away as I stood at arms length from the creature. I was standing face to face with a being that now had no discernible face.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Hunter.” No mouth opened as it spoke, only a slow, grating whisper emanated from the creature.
“Why are you killing these people? What have they done to you?” I stood facing the thing in a combat-ready stance. My hands were open and ready to trigger my batons to drop into place from my wrist holsters at the first sign that it was done talking.
“It is time to hunt again. Have you not heard the call?” Its form shifted slightly, its arms growing slightly longer than would be normal for a human being of its height. Its hands shifted into large, wicked looking claws.
“What call is that?” I rose up on the balls of my feet and shifted my balance forward ever so slightly.
“The Call of the An’girasii, that which has not been uttered in over six hundred years, ever since the Burning Times. How can you not hear it, Brother?” It reached one razor sharp talon towards me slowly, pointing towards where my heart used to be. “Lord Dracaar walks the land once more. My spirit sings with his Call. I feast so that I may grow strong enough to serve him once again! Shall we dine together tonight?”
I brushed the talon away with a sweep of my left arm while reaching up to the sheath across my back that was not actually present in the physical world. Somehow I didn’t think my batons would be of much use against this creature.
“Look buddy, I don’t hear any call from Dracaar or anyone else, but I think you’ve had your last meal on this or any other beach.”
It drew back from my brush off and gathered itself for a lunging attack, both monstrous claws ready to strike with its leap.
It leapt before I could get my hand on the hilt of Excalibur, knocking me backwards onto my back in the wet sand. We became a tangle of grasping hands and claws, kicking legs and tussling forms in the gently rolling waves.
It wrestled with the strength of several men, moving lightning fast with the ferocity of natural predator as it tried to keep me from reaching the blade that it somehow knew was there.
“You are known to us, young Hunter. You have much to learn before you will inspire fear in any of us the way your father did.” It was not straining to speak as we wrestled, it kept the upper hand, always anticipating my next attempt to wrest my hand free to reach for the blade.
“Drake was not my father, dammit!”
It gave off what could only be considered a chuckle as it leaned its grey, blank face close to mine. “It was only through him that you were born into this existence. He is your father in every way that matters.”
I stopped struggling when I realized that this creature, this doppelganger, was sitting astride my chest in the shallow surf, holding me down, but not otherwise trying to harm me. I stared into its blank mask of a face, trying to pierce the veil into its spirit. “Who or what exactly are you and why did you draw me here?”
Two pinpricks of red light grew into glowing orbs of eyes. “I am a humble Servant, a messenger, if you will. I have something for you.”
“What is it?”
It reached into the dark robes that I now realized it was wearing and drew out a rolled up piece of what looked like leather sealed by some sort of wax. It placed the bundle on my chest as it let go of my right arm with its other claw and stood up.
“Read this soon. It is a message for your eyes only. You’ve seen the fifth and final victim already. The human feasting on her carcass is my gift to you. He will serve the needs of your human justice system well enough for now.”
“I can’t scapegoat some poor schmuck for your crimes!”
It stood over me, its eyes fading back into the grey of the mask. “Oh, I’ve chosen well for you. He’s killed far more of his fellow men than I have lately. If he weren’t so fallibly human, he might have been of more use to us. I have enjoyed this meeting, young Hunter. Until we meet again, fare thee well.”
I sat up, grabbing the thick leather scroll before it fell into the water. As I did, the creature faded into Shadow and was gone
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A Presidential Conversation
Zulu retreated from the room with a deferential nod when the President-Elect nodded acknowledgement to him. Before long it was just the newly elected 44th President of the United States and me, if you didn’t count the half-dozen Secret Service Agents standing in vigilant pairs at discrete distances in the room.
He crossed his legs after he sat in a seat directly across from me. There was nothing but about a couple of feet of empty space between me and the next president. It was a very surreal moment.
He was the first to break the silence. “Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Rusty, I hope that you don’t mind if I address you by your first name.”
I nodded, finding it hard to find my tongue. “Not at all. It’s my pleasure to see you, Sir. I’m very surprised that you would even know who I am.”
He grinned as he clasped his hands over his knee. “Your friend there,” he nodded towards where Zulu had gone, “has been instrumental in bringing me up to speed on some of the less than savory activities of the current administration. He made sure that I had access to several classified databases that contained quite a lot of information. He asked to pay particular attention to one particular dossier simply titled the Omega File. As you might imagine, you and your family and associates are the primary subjects in that dossier. I must say that reading your file has opened my eyes to a number of things that I had never considered to even be possible before.”
I swallowed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s in that file, Sir.”
He gave the briefest of nods. “It was not pleasant reading, Rusty, but I am better prepared for having done so. I have also had a chance to read through much of your blog. I think I have a pretty good handle on who you are and what you have been through over the past few years.”
“So, what I can do you for you, Mr. President?”
His expression became more serious. “Rusty, I asked you here so that I could judge for myself how much of what I read was the truth. If I am to be the best President that I can be, I will need to have as much information about the dangers this country faces and to know as much I possibly can about the people and resources that I can call upon to help me face those dangers…”
“Sir, you have my full support. I…”
He raised a hand from his knee to stop me. “I appreciate your support, Rusty, but please let me finish. I can see now that there is so much more to this job that any one person can possibly anticipate. The revelations from your file and the others that I have read have been extremely disturbing.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before continuing. “As much as I want my administration to be open and transparent, I can see that there are a great number of areas where I will need people that I can trust to act with professionalism, honest, respect and dignity to resolve crises and problems far away from the public eye. I am going to need people who can act independent of direct governmental oversight, but to do so while acting in the best interests of the American people, perhaps even in humanity’s best interests. I know from reading your file that you were targeted by Drake Kampmann and his team on the Omega Project long before they tricked you into participating in that sham of a program. I also know that you were assassinated so that you would have little choice in taking part in the real Omega Project.”
It was my turn to shift uncomfortably in my seat. I nodded as he continued to speak.
“I would like to ask you to serve with me to protect this nation and its people from the forces and enemies that threaten it. Will you serve with me?”
I was shocked. To actually be asked to help out rather than be tricked and manipulated into it was something completely new to me. “Sir, I would be honored to serve with you. How exactly can I be of service?”
“I have asked…Zulu…,” he hesitated with using that name, clearly uncomfortable with using Zulu’s handle rather than his very well known name, “to join my administration publicly as one of my Senior Advisors, but his real role will be that of a Secretary of Supernatural Affairs, a sort of shadow cabinet level position that will be in charge of dealing with these issues and crises as they arise. I would like you to report directly to him when he calls upon you for assistance. He will have a direct line of communication with me whenever he needs it. I will be issue the appropriate orders to ensure that you and your companions, if they also agree to serve with me, have all the resources and authorities that are needed to act when called upon to do so.”
“Absolutely, Sir. I will be glad to serve under you. I’m sure that everyone who came with me will also agree, but I will let each them speak for themselves. Sir, I do have one question.”
“Only one question, Rusty? From what I have read, you usually have more than that. Go ahead.”
I smiled, he had read my blog! “Yes, what about my blog? Can I write about this, or should I treat this meeting as classified?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I actually want you to continue to write about these events, including this conversation with me, on your blog. One day, all of this...strangeness…that you have been involved in will come out in the open. Some day, the American people will be ready to face the truth about the world, or worlds, that they live in. Until that day, your blog may be seen as pure fiction by those who simply cannot accept these truths, but it will be there for any who are truly ready to see things as they to see it for themselves. You have my blessings to continue writing as you see fit. From what I have seen, you have been quite diligent in protecting information that has needed to be protected. But the truth is in there for those ready to see it.”
“Sir, I do know that some of my enemies have found this blog. Are you sure that you want me to let them know that you are aware of them as well?”
His smile was radiant. “It is especially important for those enemies to know that you have my full support. Zulu will see to it that we take all reasonable precautions against the infiltration of these enemies.” He stood up, signaling that this conversation was coming to a close. “I will need to speak with each of your comrades as well. Thank you for agreeing to serve. It means everything.”
I stood up as well, extending my hand to him.
He took my hand in his and gave me a firm shake. I could feel a certain kind of strength within him that had only been hinted at in his campaign for the job. “Oh, and Rusty, one of my first assignments to you is to continue the search for your daughter Alexa and her mother. I would very much like to meet with each of them.”
I couldn’t help the tears from streaming down my face. “I will be glad to make that happen, Sir.”
With that I turned to see Zulu had reappeared. He motioned for me to follow him out. I wiped the blood red tears from my cheek as I left…
He crossed his legs after he sat in a seat directly across from me. There was nothing but about a couple of feet of empty space between me and the next president. It was a very surreal moment.
He was the first to break the silence. “Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Rusty, I hope that you don’t mind if I address you by your first name.”
I nodded, finding it hard to find my tongue. “Not at all. It’s my pleasure to see you, Sir. I’m very surprised that you would even know who I am.”
He grinned as he clasped his hands over his knee. “Your friend there,” he nodded towards where Zulu had gone, “has been instrumental in bringing me up to speed on some of the less than savory activities of the current administration. He made sure that I had access to several classified databases that contained quite a lot of information. He asked to pay particular attention to one particular dossier simply titled the Omega File. As you might imagine, you and your family and associates are the primary subjects in that dossier. I must say that reading your file has opened my eyes to a number of things that I had never considered to even be possible before.”
I swallowed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s in that file, Sir.”
He gave the briefest of nods. “It was not pleasant reading, Rusty, but I am better prepared for having done so. I have also had a chance to read through much of your blog. I think I have a pretty good handle on who you are and what you have been through over the past few years.”
“So, what I can do you for you, Mr. President?”
His expression became more serious. “Rusty, I asked you here so that I could judge for myself how much of what I read was the truth. If I am to be the best President that I can be, I will need to have as much information about the dangers this country faces and to know as much I possibly can about the people and resources that I can call upon to help me face those dangers…”
“Sir, you have my full support. I…”
He raised a hand from his knee to stop me. “I appreciate your support, Rusty, but please let me finish. I can see now that there is so much more to this job that any one person can possibly anticipate. The revelations from your file and the others that I have read have been extremely disturbing.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before continuing. “As much as I want my administration to be open and transparent, I can see that there are a great number of areas where I will need people that I can trust to act with professionalism, honest, respect and dignity to resolve crises and problems far away from the public eye. I am going to need people who can act independent of direct governmental oversight, but to do so while acting in the best interests of the American people, perhaps even in humanity’s best interests. I know from reading your file that you were targeted by Drake Kampmann and his team on the Omega Project long before they tricked you into participating in that sham of a program. I also know that you were assassinated so that you would have little choice in taking part in the real Omega Project.”
It was my turn to shift uncomfortably in my seat. I nodded as he continued to speak.
“I would like to ask you to serve with me to protect this nation and its people from the forces and enemies that threaten it. Will you serve with me?”
I was shocked. To actually be asked to help out rather than be tricked and manipulated into it was something completely new to me. “Sir, I would be honored to serve with you. How exactly can I be of service?”
“I have asked…Zulu…,” he hesitated with using that name, clearly uncomfortable with using Zulu’s handle rather than his very well known name, “to join my administration publicly as one of my Senior Advisors, but his real role will be that of a Secretary of Supernatural Affairs, a sort of shadow cabinet level position that will be in charge of dealing with these issues and crises as they arise. I would like you to report directly to him when he calls upon you for assistance. He will have a direct line of communication with me whenever he needs it. I will be issue the appropriate orders to ensure that you and your companions, if they also agree to serve with me, have all the resources and authorities that are needed to act when called upon to do so.”
“Absolutely, Sir. I will be glad to serve under you. I’m sure that everyone who came with me will also agree, but I will let each them speak for themselves. Sir, I do have one question.”
“Only one question, Rusty? From what I have read, you usually have more than that. Go ahead.”
I smiled, he had read my blog! “Yes, what about my blog? Can I write about this, or should I treat this meeting as classified?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I actually want you to continue to write about these events, including this conversation with me, on your blog. One day, all of this...strangeness…that you have been involved in will come out in the open. Some day, the American people will be ready to face the truth about the world, or worlds, that they live in. Until that day, your blog may be seen as pure fiction by those who simply cannot accept these truths, but it will be there for any who are truly ready to see things as they to see it for themselves. You have my blessings to continue writing as you see fit. From what I have seen, you have been quite diligent in protecting information that has needed to be protected. But the truth is in there for those ready to see it.”
“Sir, I do know that some of my enemies have found this blog. Are you sure that you want me to let them know that you are aware of them as well?”
His smile was radiant. “It is especially important for those enemies to know that you have my full support. Zulu will see to it that we take all reasonable precautions against the infiltration of these enemies.” He stood up, signaling that this conversation was coming to a close. “I will need to speak with each of your comrades as well. Thank you for agreeing to serve. It means everything.”
I stood up as well, extending my hand to him.
He took my hand in his and gave me a firm shake. I could feel a certain kind of strength within him that had only been hinted at in his campaign for the job. “Oh, and Rusty, one of my first assignments to you is to continue the search for your daughter Alexa and her mother. I would very much like to meet with each of them.”
I couldn’t help the tears from streaming down my face. “I will be glad to make that happen, Sir.”
With that I turned to see Zulu had reappeared. He motioned for me to follow him out. I wiped the blood red tears from my cheek as I left…
Friday, November 14, 2008
Transition Team Zulu
My cell phone rang very early yesterday morning…the caller ID was blocked.
“Hello?”
The voice at the other end of the line was that familiar deep baritone of Zulu. “How are you Rusty?”
“Fine, Sir. How are you? I hope that you have fully recovered from your recent…ordeal.” He had been placed under secret arrest under the guise of a medical emergency during the big showdown between us and Klimm (El Diablito) and his allies.
He chuckled. “I am entirely fine. In fact, I couldn’t be happier about this country’s political future at the moment.”
“Really, funny, I would have thought that your politics leaned a little more to the right than the new administration’s do.”
“Oh, they do. But even religious conservatives appreciate competence in government, and I have no love for the buffoons that are now on their last months in office. That brings me to reason for this call, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I need you and your companions to come meet someone very important. There is much to discuss.”
I was definitely curious now. “Who are we going to meet with? Where do you want us to come?”
He paused. “I would like you to bring Ms. Fyre, Frau Tufts, Jasmine, Professor Karlton and…” I could hear his voice catch before he spoke the last name. “Cerrydwen. As to where you need to come, I will be placing one of Ms. Fyre’s beacons in one of the suites at the hotel I am staying at in Chicago. I will activate the beacon at 11 PM your time and will leave it active for exactly 15 minutes. Please be prompt, this is a very important meeting.”
The call ended before I could ask any more questions.
***
The six of us gathered just before eleven o’clock. Trusting that Zulu wasn’t setting us up for an ambush, we were for the most part only lightly armed.
I was carrying my batons in their normal forearm holsters, but they were concealed beneath my heavy leather jacket. I was wearing my normal heavy duty jeans and work boots. I topped it all off with a pair of mirrored sun-glasses despite the time of night.
Except Cerrydwen, everyone else was dressed more formally. Cerrydwen joined me in wearing jeans, boots, a shapeless sweatshirt covered up by a heavy leather jacket.
Jasmine looked radiant in a long black dress that complimented her figure and knee high black boots. The Frau was wrapped in one of her embroidered shawls that covered a nice blouse and pants. Jim was in his professorial uniform of a tweed jacket over a loose turtle neck matched with tan Dockers and casual shoes. Ravyn was more subdued than her normal colorful self, wearing a black and grey turtleneck sweater and black pants. The only touch of her normal flash was a sparkling bird-shaped broach made of gold and rubies that lay nestled between her neck and her right shoulder.
Once we were all assembled in the Transport Room the Frau closed the door and nodded towards Ravyn. We were silent now, but only because we had spent the better part of the day discussing who we were going to meet and why. The theories were quite varied from the wildly fantastic to mere mundane meeting with a new business associate.
Ravyn stretched her arms out like she was embracing the whole group in virtual hug and closed her eyes. “I can feel the Beacon. It is now active. Brace yourselves.”
By the nature of her source of power, Ravyn’s method of mass instantaneous travel was much wrenching and violent than mine used to be. The Shadow is subtle, silent source of soothing strength. Flame, however, is extremely energetic, noisy, and flashy. With a roar, we were enveloped in a burst of flames that didn’t burn and smoke that didn’t choke.
I felt the dislocation from our previous place followed by the disconcerting sense of falling that seemed to last several minutes before a second stomach churning sensation ended the fall in another popping flash and a puff of smoke.
The smoke cleared to reveal a very well apportioned living room that was dominated by the breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline lit up at night at least forty floors up from the street seen through the huge floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows to our immediate front.
Jim cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I am certainly glad that you hit your spot, Ravyn, my dear, just 15 feet off and we’d still be falling!”
Ravyn looked down, pointing to a spot between her feet. “You can thank Zulu for putting the beacon right here.”
Zulu’s voice behind us got us all to turn around. “Thank you for coming. Please make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments in the kitchen and on the dining room table. Please help yourselves. I will be escorting you in to meet our host one at a time, starting with you, Rusty.”
I couldn’t resist. “So who is our host, Sir?”
He smiled mysteriously before extending his arm to me. “Why don’t you come see for yourself, Rusty. Please leave your batons here with your colleagues. You won’t be needing them.” He looked over to each of the others. “Please leave any weapons or items of particular power here in this suite when you come with me. Our host’s security requirements are rather strict.”
I hesitated before tapping the release mechanisms for the holsters on each wrist and dropping them onto the sofa. “Who could possibly need this level of security?”
He shrugged. “Please, our host is waiting. He has been exceptionally generous to give us this time from his extremely busy schedule.” He nodded as my holstered batons hit the sofa. “Rusty, if you would be so kind, please come with me.” He looked back to the others as he led me towards a door to the adjoining suite. “I will be back for each of you presently.”
He pulled out a magnetize proximity card from his suit jacket pocket and touched it up against the plain black pad next to the door. There was a gentle click and a soft buzz the let us know that the door was open.
I grabbed the door knob and pushed into the darkened room beyond.
I saw a single figure at the far end of an office like room. The figure was peering out his own floor-to-ceiling window with his back turned to me. I could sense several other people in the room, but they held vigilant positions at the perimeter of the room with a professional poise that told me that this was someone who was Very Important.
The figure was tall and lanky, his hands clasped behind him as he took in the breathtaking view. His profile was instantly recognizable from the past year and a half of a campaign.
Zulu’s voice called out softly, announcing our arrival. “Mr. President-Elect, I would like to introduce you to Agent Rusty Bones, formerly known as Officer Jason Smith of the Dearborn Hills Police Department.”
The newly elected man turned to face us with a calm, thoughtful demeanor. He motioned with a sweeping gesture for us to join him. His voice was smooth as silk while his eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance. I could tell that he was sizing me up. “Agent Bones, please come have a seat. We have much to discuss…”
“Hello?”
The voice at the other end of the line was that familiar deep baritone of Zulu. “How are you Rusty?”
“Fine, Sir. How are you? I hope that you have fully recovered from your recent…ordeal.” He had been placed under secret arrest under the guise of a medical emergency during the big showdown between us and Klimm (El Diablito) and his allies.
He chuckled. “I am entirely fine. In fact, I couldn’t be happier about this country’s political future at the moment.”
“Really, funny, I would have thought that your politics leaned a little more to the right than the new administration’s do.”
“Oh, they do. But even religious conservatives appreciate competence in government, and I have no love for the buffoons that are now on their last months in office. That brings me to reason for this call, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I need you and your companions to come meet someone very important. There is much to discuss.”
I was definitely curious now. “Who are we going to meet with? Where do you want us to come?”
He paused. “I would like you to bring Ms. Fyre, Frau Tufts, Jasmine, Professor Karlton and…” I could hear his voice catch before he spoke the last name. “Cerrydwen. As to where you need to come, I will be placing one of Ms. Fyre’s beacons in one of the suites at the hotel I am staying at in Chicago. I will activate the beacon at 11 PM your time and will leave it active for exactly 15 minutes. Please be prompt, this is a very important meeting.”
The call ended before I could ask any more questions.
***
The six of us gathered just before eleven o’clock. Trusting that Zulu wasn’t setting us up for an ambush, we were for the most part only lightly armed.
I was carrying my batons in their normal forearm holsters, but they were concealed beneath my heavy leather jacket. I was wearing my normal heavy duty jeans and work boots. I topped it all off with a pair of mirrored sun-glasses despite the time of night.
Except Cerrydwen, everyone else was dressed more formally. Cerrydwen joined me in wearing jeans, boots, a shapeless sweatshirt covered up by a heavy leather jacket.
Jasmine looked radiant in a long black dress that complimented her figure and knee high black boots. The Frau was wrapped in one of her embroidered shawls that covered a nice blouse and pants. Jim was in his professorial uniform of a tweed jacket over a loose turtle neck matched with tan Dockers and casual shoes. Ravyn was more subdued than her normal colorful self, wearing a black and grey turtleneck sweater and black pants. The only touch of her normal flash was a sparkling bird-shaped broach made of gold and rubies that lay nestled between her neck and her right shoulder.
Once we were all assembled in the Transport Room the Frau closed the door and nodded towards Ravyn. We were silent now, but only because we had spent the better part of the day discussing who we were going to meet and why. The theories were quite varied from the wildly fantastic to mere mundane meeting with a new business associate.
Ravyn stretched her arms out like she was embracing the whole group in virtual hug and closed her eyes. “I can feel the Beacon. It is now active. Brace yourselves.”
By the nature of her source of power, Ravyn’s method of mass instantaneous travel was much wrenching and violent than mine used to be. The Shadow is subtle, silent source of soothing strength. Flame, however, is extremely energetic, noisy, and flashy. With a roar, we were enveloped in a burst of flames that didn’t burn and smoke that didn’t choke.
I felt the dislocation from our previous place followed by the disconcerting sense of falling that seemed to last several minutes before a second stomach churning sensation ended the fall in another popping flash and a puff of smoke.
The smoke cleared to reveal a very well apportioned living room that was dominated by the breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline lit up at night at least forty floors up from the street seen through the huge floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows to our immediate front.
Jim cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I am certainly glad that you hit your spot, Ravyn, my dear, just 15 feet off and we’d still be falling!”
Ravyn looked down, pointing to a spot between her feet. “You can thank Zulu for putting the beacon right here.”
Zulu’s voice behind us got us all to turn around. “Thank you for coming. Please make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments in the kitchen and on the dining room table. Please help yourselves. I will be escorting you in to meet our host one at a time, starting with you, Rusty.”
I couldn’t resist. “So who is our host, Sir?”
He smiled mysteriously before extending his arm to me. “Why don’t you come see for yourself, Rusty. Please leave your batons here with your colleagues. You won’t be needing them.” He looked over to each of the others. “Please leave any weapons or items of particular power here in this suite when you come with me. Our host’s security requirements are rather strict.”
I hesitated before tapping the release mechanisms for the holsters on each wrist and dropping them onto the sofa. “Who could possibly need this level of security?”
He shrugged. “Please, our host is waiting. He has been exceptionally generous to give us this time from his extremely busy schedule.” He nodded as my holstered batons hit the sofa. “Rusty, if you would be so kind, please come with me.” He looked back to the others as he led me towards a door to the adjoining suite. “I will be back for each of you presently.”
He pulled out a magnetize proximity card from his suit jacket pocket and touched it up against the plain black pad next to the door. There was a gentle click and a soft buzz the let us know that the door was open.
I grabbed the door knob and pushed into the darkened room beyond.
I saw a single figure at the far end of an office like room. The figure was peering out his own floor-to-ceiling window with his back turned to me. I could sense several other people in the room, but they held vigilant positions at the perimeter of the room with a professional poise that told me that this was someone who was Very Important.
The figure was tall and lanky, his hands clasped behind him as he took in the breathtaking view. His profile was instantly recognizable from the past year and a half of a campaign.
Zulu’s voice called out softly, announcing our arrival. “Mr. President-Elect, I would like to introduce you to Agent Rusty Bones, formerly known as Officer Jason Smith of the Dearborn Hills Police Department.”
The newly elected man turned to face us with a calm, thoughtful demeanor. He motioned with a sweeping gesture for us to join him. His voice was smooth as silk while his eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance. I could tell that he was sizing me up. “Agent Bones, please come have a seat. We have much to discuss…”
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Harshing My Mellow
Nothing soothes the savage, newly vampiric zombie like a nice, hot shower.
Before my latest transformation, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the act of taking shower. The sensual pulse of the spraying water would’ve been lost to me before, leaving behind a sopping mess of dead, wet flesh.
Now, however, I looked forward to being able to take a shower. The water was scalding hot since I didn’t even bother to use the cold water. The steam from the shower and the steady stream of sound created by the water crashing into my body helped create a cocoon of solitude that usually left me invigorated and refreshed.
Not even ten minutes into my late night ritual, my mellow mood was harshly interrupted by the insistent pounding on the glass shower door.
“Dad! Dad! Ravyn needs you right now!”
I turned off the shower to hear my daughter’s voice calling out as she continued pound on the shower door.
“Dad, hurry up! Ravyn needs you!”
“Calm down, Jazz. I can hear you. What’s going on?”
As the steam began to subside, I wiped away enough of the inside of the glass door to look out at her face as I reached for the towel hanging just above the door with my other hand.
Her face showed obvious concern. “I’m not sure. I was studying in my room when I got an emergency message from Ravyn through one of her special fire stones.”
I wrapped the towel around my waist before the glass door completely de-fogged. “What did the message say?”
“It was really short. All she said was ‘Get your father to the workshop, armed for battle.’ So I came to get you straight away.”
“Ah shit. She’s with Cerrydwen, isn’t she?” I opened the door and stepped out.
Jasmine nodded. “I think so.”
“Alright, go let Jim and the Frau know, rouse the others. Get everyone on alert and armed. Who knows what those two have come across this time.”
As Jasmine rushed out, I dropped the towel and padded into my room. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom since I didn’t have to sleep, but it was my personal space decorated to my own very bizarre tastes. (I will provide details and a description in a later post.) Cursing aloud, I opened the closet and quickly began gearing up for a battle.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my batons and slipped them into their normal placed and then debated between the modified M-16 assault rifle and the powerful .45 magnum Desert Eagle handgun. Both weapons were loaded with the special ammunition that Jasmine and her team of assistants had been working on for months now. In fact, the bullets in my weapons were unique even compared to the other rounds that Jasmine had been working on. I still refused to take up any firearms unless they could be designed to harm only the person or foe that I designated with each pull of the trigger.
It was only quite recently that Jasmine had made the breakthrough that could allow for the creation of these ultimate smart bullets.
Remembering the last time I needed to respond with similar short notice, I grabbed the belt that held the holstered handgun and snapped it into place on my waist and grudgingly reached for the rifle as well. It had taken me a couple of weeks, and buckets of fresh blood, to recover from that last battle, back before I had the advantage of these weapons. I really missed having Excalibur in that battle!
I slipped out the back door of the Den and ran down the twisting, wood-lined trail that led to workshop.
The workshop was actually a fairly innocuous looking steel-framed and roof barn that was set up with the rear end of the building butting up against a towering, ridgeline that allowed for the heart of the ‘workshop’ to be concealed inside the hill itself. The steel building held all sorts of rather mundane lawn and gardening equipment, ATV’s, snowmobiles, and other tools, but it was the door leading out the rear of the building that I was heading towards.
The door was slightly ajar, which was standard practice when Ravyn or Cerrydwen were working inside, so I yanked it all the way open and stormed down the rough hewn stone steps that led down towards the real workshop below. I was vaguely aware of the voices of Jim and the Frau calling out to the others as they followed a few hundred feet back down the trail.
I slipped the safety off on the assault rifle as I hurtled down into the unnatural darkness of the stairwell—that was one of Cerrydwen’s personal touches, “…to help scare away any curiosity seekers who happened to slip through our other wards,” as she had put it at the time. No mundane light would cut through this patch of darkness.
I pushed through the darkened zone confident that I could rely on my other senses to tell if anything was amiss.
Bursting through the other side of the ten foot patch of pure darkness, the stairwell leveled out to a hallway that was marked with several strong steel doors on either side. Small globes of flickering flames hovered on each side of the doors, Ravyn’s touch, of course. I ignored these side doors even though each led to someone’s individual workshop. None of these would be where the trouble was brewing.
No, it was the double doors at the far end of the hall that drew my attention. Those doors opened up into the Summoning Chamber. There were bright flashes of light and the sounds of a major struggle taking place behind those doors.
I slowed my advance just long enough to take a deep breath and to gather my strength.
With my finger on the trigger of the rifle and my resolve firmly in place, I yanked on the heavy silver lined-steel left door and stepped into the maelstrom.
The room was far larger than one would have imagined it could be. It was easily fifty feet wide, another fifty feet deep, with a ceiling that vaulted up at least 4 feet in the center. The center of the room was normally dominated by the etched image of a large pentagram that served as the summoning circle. At the moment, however, the center of the room was a blazing dark mass of writhing tentacles, misshapen heads, clawed arms and feet that seemed to be growing darker and stronger despite the best efforts of Cerrydwen and Ravyn. It was a true Lovecraftian nightmare.
Cerrydwen was wearing her highly modified travelling armor that she had designed for her journeys with Ravyn. Her torso was covered front and back with shiny plates of reflective metal that weighed no more than plastic might, but gave the protection of Teflon-coated steel. Her head was uncovered, her helmet having been apparently knocked off by a flailing tentacle. Her face showed a large purple bruise across her cheek and several small gashes that trailed blood as she dodged additional attacks by ducking behind a heavy table and lashing out with her carved black travelling staff.
Ravyn was on the opposite side of the chamber, surrounded by huge shroud of flame as she directed beams of highly concentrated fire to fend off the limbs that were trying to get at her. As quickly as she sliced off one offending limb, three more lashed out at her. She was ankle deep in the thick black goo of flambéed chaos, still apparently unhurt, but seemingly flagging under the constant assault.
Cerrydwen was the first to see me enter the room, followed almost instantaneously by the abomination. “Rusty, aim for the heads! It will be the only way to kill this thing!”
Even as I leveled the rifle towards the creature, it shifted its focus from both of the women towards me. Its body shifted constantly, heads appearing and disappearing every moment in different spots. There had to be at least six of them at any one time. Before I could begin to take a bead on one however, I was besieged by a wave of attacking limbs. A second wave of shrieking, wailing sound crashed over me drowning out all further attempts to communicate with either woman as the screams of thousands of tortured souls emanated from the creature.
Tentacles spiked with razor sharp teeth and nasty looking suckers lashed out my legs and hands, but I pushed forward anyway, snapping off a series of shots just to see what kind of impact these rounds would have on the creature’s body and limbs.
The noise from the creature was so great that I didn’t even hear the report of the rifle as it fired. The creature recoiled briefly as it was blasted by the bullets. The bullets seemed to burst into the thing, exploding in colorful flashes of energy that dissolved limbs and tore chunks from the body.
But that reprieve didn’t last long. The entire mass of the creature seemed to lurch forward. I was overwhelmed in an avalanche of tearing, rending, burrowing appendages. The rifle was torn from my grasp and I was driven to the ground, buried under its bulk as it tried to consume me.
Ignoring the nearly unbearable pain of the creature’s attacks, I managed to get a hold of one of large, malformed heads before it could recede back into its bulk again and squished it like a grape.
The bulk shuddered around me as I felt more than saw Ravyn’s renewed assault with her flame bolts. I could also sense another head explode just above me as Cerrydwen was able to focus her own considerable powers upon the beast now that I was its main offensive focus.
The next few moments passed in a haze of pain, struggle, and fear as we fought against this unfathomable horror of a beast. Eventually I was able to free up my right arm in order to draw the Desert Eagle hand gun and begin taking out the head as they appeared. Between Ravyn’s fire bolts, Cerrydwen’s sorcery, and my bullets, the creature finally succumbed and dissolved into a quivering mass of black goo that stunk worse than a chicken carcass left to rot in the sun for week.
Cerrydwen helped me up, extending a bloodied hand to me as she crinkled her nose at the stench. “Why do these things have to stink so damn much?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it sure makes miss those days when I couldn’t smell shit, literally.”
Ravyn laughed, as she wiped blood and goo from her own face. “I’m glad that Jasmine could get you here so quickly, Rusty. It was looking pretty grim there for a moment.”
“Yeah, well, I was taking a nice hot shower before you summoned me.” I looked down at my battered and thoroughly coated body. “I guess I’m going to have to take another one, aren’t I?” I shifted my gaze to Ravyn. “Where the hell did you guys go this time to attract such a nice…follower?”
Ravyn pointed to the rifle that lay under a few inches of slimy black ooze. “Finding the energy and the ingredients to make weapons like the bullets in those things requires to range a little further out into the multiverse than I’m really comfortable doing. But if we don’t take some of those risks, we’ll never come up with the resources to have a chance in this war we’re waging.”
I reached down into the ooze to pick the weapon up. “Still, if you risk bringing another one of these things back, we might have to reconsider these forays of yours.”
Ravyn punched me in the upper arm. “You’re just jealous because you can’t go gallivanting off like you used to. You never worried about the crap you used to bring back from your trips!”
I threw up my free hand in mock surrender. “OK, OK…I’m guilty on all counts. Let’s call it night.”
The Frau and Jim barged into the room with their own weapons in hand only to curl up their noses and step back in disgust.
I pushed past them as they recoiled, leaving Ravyn and Cerrydwen to explain it all to them. “Hey, I’m going to take a shower and the only other interruption I want is for someone to bring me a fresh pint of O negative.”
Before my latest transformation, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the act of taking shower. The sensual pulse of the spraying water would’ve been lost to me before, leaving behind a sopping mess of dead, wet flesh.
Now, however, I looked forward to being able to take a shower. The water was scalding hot since I didn’t even bother to use the cold water. The steam from the shower and the steady stream of sound created by the water crashing into my body helped create a cocoon of solitude that usually left me invigorated and refreshed.
Not even ten minutes into my late night ritual, my mellow mood was harshly interrupted by the insistent pounding on the glass shower door.
“Dad! Dad! Ravyn needs you right now!”
I turned off the shower to hear my daughter’s voice calling out as she continued pound on the shower door.
“Dad, hurry up! Ravyn needs you!”
“Calm down, Jazz. I can hear you. What’s going on?”
As the steam began to subside, I wiped away enough of the inside of the glass door to look out at her face as I reached for the towel hanging just above the door with my other hand.
Her face showed obvious concern. “I’m not sure. I was studying in my room when I got an emergency message from Ravyn through one of her special fire stones.”
I wrapped the towel around my waist before the glass door completely de-fogged. “What did the message say?”
“It was really short. All she said was ‘Get your father to the workshop, armed for battle.’ So I came to get you straight away.”
“Ah shit. She’s with Cerrydwen, isn’t she?” I opened the door and stepped out.
Jasmine nodded. “I think so.”
“Alright, go let Jim and the Frau know, rouse the others. Get everyone on alert and armed. Who knows what those two have come across this time.”
As Jasmine rushed out, I dropped the towel and padded into my room. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom since I didn’t have to sleep, but it was my personal space decorated to my own very bizarre tastes. (I will provide details and a description in a later post.) Cursing aloud, I opened the closet and quickly began gearing up for a battle.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my batons and slipped them into their normal placed and then debated between the modified M-16 assault rifle and the powerful .45 magnum Desert Eagle handgun. Both weapons were loaded with the special ammunition that Jasmine and her team of assistants had been working on for months now. In fact, the bullets in my weapons were unique even compared to the other rounds that Jasmine had been working on. I still refused to take up any firearms unless they could be designed to harm only the person or foe that I designated with each pull of the trigger.
It was only quite recently that Jasmine had made the breakthrough that could allow for the creation of these ultimate smart bullets.
Remembering the last time I needed to respond with similar short notice, I grabbed the belt that held the holstered handgun and snapped it into place on my waist and grudgingly reached for the rifle as well. It had taken me a couple of weeks, and buckets of fresh blood, to recover from that last battle, back before I had the advantage of these weapons. I really missed having Excalibur in that battle!
I slipped out the back door of the Den and ran down the twisting, wood-lined trail that led to workshop.
The workshop was actually a fairly innocuous looking steel-framed and roof barn that was set up with the rear end of the building butting up against a towering, ridgeline that allowed for the heart of the ‘workshop’ to be concealed inside the hill itself. The steel building held all sorts of rather mundane lawn and gardening equipment, ATV’s, snowmobiles, and other tools, but it was the door leading out the rear of the building that I was heading towards.
The door was slightly ajar, which was standard practice when Ravyn or Cerrydwen were working inside, so I yanked it all the way open and stormed down the rough hewn stone steps that led down towards the real workshop below. I was vaguely aware of the voices of Jim and the Frau calling out to the others as they followed a few hundred feet back down the trail.
I slipped the safety off on the assault rifle as I hurtled down into the unnatural darkness of the stairwell—that was one of Cerrydwen’s personal touches, “…to help scare away any curiosity seekers who happened to slip through our other wards,” as she had put it at the time. No mundane light would cut through this patch of darkness.
I pushed through the darkened zone confident that I could rely on my other senses to tell if anything was amiss.
Bursting through the other side of the ten foot patch of pure darkness, the stairwell leveled out to a hallway that was marked with several strong steel doors on either side. Small globes of flickering flames hovered on each side of the doors, Ravyn’s touch, of course. I ignored these side doors even though each led to someone’s individual workshop. None of these would be where the trouble was brewing.
No, it was the double doors at the far end of the hall that drew my attention. Those doors opened up into the Summoning Chamber. There were bright flashes of light and the sounds of a major struggle taking place behind those doors.
I slowed my advance just long enough to take a deep breath and to gather my strength.
With my finger on the trigger of the rifle and my resolve firmly in place, I yanked on the heavy silver lined-steel left door and stepped into the maelstrom.
The room was far larger than one would have imagined it could be. It was easily fifty feet wide, another fifty feet deep, with a ceiling that vaulted up at least 4 feet in the center. The center of the room was normally dominated by the etched image of a large pentagram that served as the summoning circle. At the moment, however, the center of the room was a blazing dark mass of writhing tentacles, misshapen heads, clawed arms and feet that seemed to be growing darker and stronger despite the best efforts of Cerrydwen and Ravyn. It was a true Lovecraftian nightmare.
Cerrydwen was wearing her highly modified travelling armor that she had designed for her journeys with Ravyn. Her torso was covered front and back with shiny plates of reflective metal that weighed no more than plastic might, but gave the protection of Teflon-coated steel. Her head was uncovered, her helmet having been apparently knocked off by a flailing tentacle. Her face showed a large purple bruise across her cheek and several small gashes that trailed blood as she dodged additional attacks by ducking behind a heavy table and lashing out with her carved black travelling staff.
Ravyn was on the opposite side of the chamber, surrounded by huge shroud of flame as she directed beams of highly concentrated fire to fend off the limbs that were trying to get at her. As quickly as she sliced off one offending limb, three more lashed out at her. She was ankle deep in the thick black goo of flambéed chaos, still apparently unhurt, but seemingly flagging under the constant assault.
Cerrydwen was the first to see me enter the room, followed almost instantaneously by the abomination. “Rusty, aim for the heads! It will be the only way to kill this thing!”
Even as I leveled the rifle towards the creature, it shifted its focus from both of the women towards me. Its body shifted constantly, heads appearing and disappearing every moment in different spots. There had to be at least six of them at any one time. Before I could begin to take a bead on one however, I was besieged by a wave of attacking limbs. A second wave of shrieking, wailing sound crashed over me drowning out all further attempts to communicate with either woman as the screams of thousands of tortured souls emanated from the creature.
Tentacles spiked with razor sharp teeth and nasty looking suckers lashed out my legs and hands, but I pushed forward anyway, snapping off a series of shots just to see what kind of impact these rounds would have on the creature’s body and limbs.
The noise from the creature was so great that I didn’t even hear the report of the rifle as it fired. The creature recoiled briefly as it was blasted by the bullets. The bullets seemed to burst into the thing, exploding in colorful flashes of energy that dissolved limbs and tore chunks from the body.
But that reprieve didn’t last long. The entire mass of the creature seemed to lurch forward. I was overwhelmed in an avalanche of tearing, rending, burrowing appendages. The rifle was torn from my grasp and I was driven to the ground, buried under its bulk as it tried to consume me.
Ignoring the nearly unbearable pain of the creature’s attacks, I managed to get a hold of one of large, malformed heads before it could recede back into its bulk again and squished it like a grape.
The bulk shuddered around me as I felt more than saw Ravyn’s renewed assault with her flame bolts. I could also sense another head explode just above me as Cerrydwen was able to focus her own considerable powers upon the beast now that I was its main offensive focus.
The next few moments passed in a haze of pain, struggle, and fear as we fought against this unfathomable horror of a beast. Eventually I was able to free up my right arm in order to draw the Desert Eagle hand gun and begin taking out the head as they appeared. Between Ravyn’s fire bolts, Cerrydwen’s sorcery, and my bullets, the creature finally succumbed and dissolved into a quivering mass of black goo that stunk worse than a chicken carcass left to rot in the sun for week.
Cerrydwen helped me up, extending a bloodied hand to me as she crinkled her nose at the stench. “Why do these things have to stink so damn much?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it sure makes miss those days when I couldn’t smell shit, literally.”
Ravyn laughed, as she wiped blood and goo from her own face. “I’m glad that Jasmine could get you here so quickly, Rusty. It was looking pretty grim there for a moment.”
“Yeah, well, I was taking a nice hot shower before you summoned me.” I looked down at my battered and thoroughly coated body. “I guess I’m going to have to take another one, aren’t I?” I shifted my gaze to Ravyn. “Where the hell did you guys go this time to attract such a nice…follower?”
Ravyn pointed to the rifle that lay under a few inches of slimy black ooze. “Finding the energy and the ingredients to make weapons like the bullets in those things requires to range a little further out into the multiverse than I’m really comfortable doing. But if we don’t take some of those risks, we’ll never come up with the resources to have a chance in this war we’re waging.”
I reached down into the ooze to pick the weapon up. “Still, if you risk bringing another one of these things back, we might have to reconsider these forays of yours.”
Ravyn punched me in the upper arm. “You’re just jealous because you can’t go gallivanting off like you used to. You never worried about the crap you used to bring back from your trips!”
I threw up my free hand in mock surrender. “OK, OK…I’m guilty on all counts. Let’s call it night.”
The Frau and Jim barged into the room with their own weapons in hand only to curl up their noses and step back in disgust.
I pushed past them as they recoiled, leaving Ravyn and Cerrydwen to explain it all to them. “Hey, I’m going to take a shower and the only other interruption I want is for someone to bring me a fresh pint of O negative.”
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