{"id":6011,"date":"2020-11-01T00:27:27","date_gmt":"2020-10-31T16:27:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.benjamincheah.com\/?p=6011"},"modified":"2020-11-01T00:27:27","modified_gmt":"2020-10-31T16:27:27","slug":"sheriff-of-the-swamps-chapter-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/?p=6011","title":{"rendered":"Sheriff of the Swamps Chapter 5"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Black Hatchet<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Clark had kicked up the hornets\u2019 nest. They weren\u2019t going to stick around to see what came swarming out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Clark family lived in the suburbs at the northwestern edge of Saint Lucile. Here the architects had envisioned a slice of the pre-Cataclysm world, a homage to long-lost Americana, coupled with adaptations to modern living. Rows of modified double-width camelback shotgun homes dominated the street, each of them obeying the same design aesthetics, yet subtly different in their own ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Clarks enjoyed the nicest house in the neighborhood. Fresh white paint, tinted blue windows, wrought iron gates tall as a man, tipped with blunted spikes. The attached two-car garage was at least as wide as the house itself. Blooming bushes lent splashes of red and pink and violet to the neatly-trimmed lawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was almost a shame they had to leave. Forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nine people lived in the Clark home. The elder Mr. and Mrs. Clarks, Janet and her brother Ed, Ed\u2019s wife and their four children. Examining the house, Kayla had no idea how the hell they managed to fit so many people in such a small space. But, she remembered, the house looked narrow from the front, but it was deceptively long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before departing the ferry terminal, Janet had sent marching orders to her family. Pack up their clothing and valuables, keep an eye on the street, get ready to move out to somewhere safe. Civilians being civilians, though, Kayla was certain their preparations were nowhere near complete. If nothing else, four children, all of them under the age of eight, would make rapid stowing and movement a vain dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James parked Janet\u2019s vehicle down the street. Rifle slung over his shoulder, he escorted her to the front door. That left Kayla on the driver\u2019s seat watching the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t like her position. The Hatchet Crew knew what Janet\u2019s car looked like. If they saw the vehicle here, away from the house, they\u2019d suspect something. And they had to rely on their eyeshields for comms. Which could be tracked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t have a choice. The car rental agency at the ferry terminal timed its opening hours with the ferry services. In the long hours between the morning and evening ferries, the agency shuttered its doors. There was no time to secure another car en route to the bar, even less time during the rush here. No time to secure alternative comms channels either, beyond firing up a secure comms app on the eyeshields and bringing everyone into the conference call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She just had to make this work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which was why she\u2019d rested her borrowed RM-77 on her lap, just out of casual sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She fell into sniper mode. It came naturally to her, after a childhood spent hunting in forests and fields, rivers and streams. It was the gift of stillness, a stillness close to death, the illusion of perfect immobility broken only her breath and the slow beating of her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her gaze swept through a wide arc, covering the Clarks\u2019 home, the neighbors, the road, the rear and side view mirrors, the feed from the license plate cameras. Janet had calibrated the mirrors and cameras well, giving the driver as close to three-sixty degree situational awareness as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the absence of concealment and mobility, visibility and firepower would have to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She just hoped the civilians wouldn\u2019t take too<\/em> long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The house was chaos personified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two boys tussled in the living room, rolling all around the floor. The Grandma Clark held a screaming baby to her bosom, cooing soothingly at it, while Grandpa Clark manhandled a huge pair of suitcases down the steps. Ed and his wife Naomi shouted at each other across the house, checking off items and posting constant reminders and updates. A sullen girl, the oldest daughter, pouted on a couch, sitting on her hands, kicking her legs back and forth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the door opened, only the daughter noticed. She frowned at Janet. Then looked at James. At his rifle. And her eyes popped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet smiled at her niece and patted her head. \u201cJust a precaution.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grandma Clark looked up and startled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJaney, honey, we got your message,\u201d Grandma said. \u201cWhat\u2019s happening? Who\u2019s he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is James, my bodyguard,\u201d Janet said. \u201cI don\u2019t have time to explain yet. Are we ready to go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grandpa rolled the suitcases over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNan and I are ready. But Ed\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you pack the diapers?\u201d Ed called, somewhere in the back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDiapers? I told<\/em> you to pack them!\u201d his wife shouted from upstairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEd will need more time,\u201d Grandpa finished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet breathed in. Out. And nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll help. Could you stay here and watch over the kids?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James stood where he was, in between the door and a window, rifle slung at the low ready. He wished he had more manpower for this job, at least one protector per principal. But if wishes were fishes\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boys picked themselves up. Slowly, reverentially, they approached him, wonder in their wide eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMister, is that a gun?\u201d the older one said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d James said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAn RM-77.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs it like\u2026 like the gun the Army uses?\u201d the younger asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClose. This version is for civilians.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s a civilian?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSomeone\u2026 ordinary. Not a soldier or a cop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he was a civilian too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A shockwave rolled through him. He\u2019d been in law enforcement most of his life, an operator of some kind or other. Even after the STS had disbanded, he\u2019d merely assumed a new mission. He\u2019d never thought of himself as a civilian. Not until now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan I touch it?\u201d the older one asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I\u2019m working now. Can\u2019t let anyone touch it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAw man!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re bothering the nice man,\u201d Grandma said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw, I\u2019m good,\u201d James said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat kind of work do you do? Are you a bodyguard?\u201d the younger boy asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClose protection agent.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2026A bodyguard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say so?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 more complicated than being just a bodyguard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the difference?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have a lot of questions, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell? What\u2019s the difference?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI could explain later, but right now I\u2019m working.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re just standing there!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot just standing. Watching.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he spoke, he scanned the house. The spacious great room, combining the living room, dining table and kitchen, fed into a narrow corridor. Doors spaced along the walls opened into bedrooms, bathrooms, storage. A steep staircase on the left headed to the second\u2014technically, one-and-a-half-floor. By the foot of the stairs, a door opened into the garage. At the far end, a door opened out into the back porch. From where he stood, James had a straight shot to the rear door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you watching for? Bad guys?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. You can go back to playing. I need to keep watching.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But not here, he realized. He had to check out the rest of the house. Just in case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ed emerged from a room, hauling a pair of large bags. Behind him, Janet hoisted two more. A woman headed down the stairs, cradling an enormous piece of luggage to her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, hello,\u201d Ed said, blinking through his enormously thick smartglasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James nodded. \u201cGood day, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d have to hold off checking out the house until they cleared the narrow hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you the bodyguard?\u201d his wife asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs the gun really necessary?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The venomous disapproval in her voice cut deep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Men tried to kill your sister-in-law this morning. They might make another run soon. But, sure, we don\u2019t need any guns.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI hope it\u2019s not,\u201d James said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome help us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman snarled, setting down the bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, \u2018no\u2019? That\u2019s what you\u2019re paid to do, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy job is to protect everyone. I can\u2019t do that if I\u2019m hauling around luggage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re just going to stand there and do nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaomi, leave it,\u201d Janet interjected. \u201cLet him do his job.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut he\u2019s not doing anything!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James opened his mouth and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Full-throated engines roared down the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kayla\u2019s voice cut into his earbuds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHeads up! Swarm of bikers incoming!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six, eight, ten, twelve, fifteen of them, roaring down the street in their hogs. Some had covered their license plates with cardboard, others had stuck on poorly-aligned stickers. Dressed in dark riding leathers and full-face helmets, they were completely anonymous. No patches, no flags, a squad of ghost riders on the prowl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many of them had messenger bags slung over their shoulders. Some bikes sported top and side cases. They weren\u2019t openly carrying heavy firepower, but Kayla knew the kind of hardware that could fit in the innocent-looking cases.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne-five bikers approaching from the west,\u201d Kayla said. \u201cThey are past my position and headed your way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoger. Are they hostile?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUnknown. Stand by.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six of them peeled off from the formation, pulling up across the street from the Clarks\u2019. The others drove on, disappearing around a bend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve split into two groups. One group of six parked on the other side of the road from the white side. All of them have messenger bags. The others are moving on. Looks like they\u2019re trying to circle around the block.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to gather the principals in the great room. Keep an eye on them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoger.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Arraying themselves in a skirmish line, the bikers swung their bags around and reached in. Out came short-barreled shotguns and bulky machine pistols.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSubjects are armed. Shotguns and machine pistols. They\u2019re approaching the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll come out and say hello.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFarmer\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCover me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James leaned out, exposing only half his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And his suppressed rifle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFREEZE!\u201d he screamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bikers hesitated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDrop your weapons and leave now!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho the fuck are you?!\u201d someone shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of your business. Go away now!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got business with Janet Smith. Bring her out!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t do that. Leave!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFarmer, they\u2019re buying time to surround the house,\u201d Kayla warned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou<\/em> leave, nigger!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A biker stepped forward. His brothers followed, closing the gap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSTOP! Stop right there!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kayla softly opened the door and eased her way out. She knelt by the hood, placing the mass of the engine block and the wheel between her and the bikers, and brought up her weapon. At such close range, the LVPO and its 6x zoom was overkill. She canted the weapon instead, aiming down the offset red dot sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBring out the pig, or we\u2019ll burn you out!\u201d the biker yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It took guts to threaten a man aiming a rifle at you. Or maybe just stupidity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSights are hot,\u201d Kayla said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoger,\u201d James whispered. Out loud, he said, \u201cOne last chance! Get lost or\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A biker swung up his shotgun and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

POP.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The biker spiraled down to the asphalt, arms flinging wide open, blood spraying across the ground. The others scattered, cursing and hollering, retreating to their bikes, extending their guns at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James fired again. A second biker went down. A third shot. A third hit. And the others opened fire, a hellstorm of full-auto firepower and semiauto blasts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Windows shattered. Sparks flew. Metal whanged crazily. James pulled back from the door. Emboldened, the bikers advanced, still blazing away\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, as one, ran dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two of them fumbled a reload. The third man reached into his bag and pulled out a thick cylinder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pipe bomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He drew a lighter. Fired it up. Touched the flame to the fuse. Lifted the bomb to his ear\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIED! Engaging targets!\u201d Kayla warned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And shot him in the chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The supersonic ballistic-tipped round blossomed on impact, the polymer nose cap driving backwards to force rapid and lethal expansion. The mushroomed bullet carved a path of obliteration through his chest cavity, shedding fragments as it passed, snapping his spine, destroying his heart, ripping his lungs as collateral damage, and blew right out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the pipe bomb dropped from nerveless hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bikers froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the fuck was that?\u201d a biker shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBehind us!\u201d the other survivor yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The biker spun around on a heel, racking the bolt of his machine pistol, hunting for\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kayla fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The round shattered his sternum and kept on going. Wonder of wonders, he remained on his feet. She rode the recoil, saw the red dot over his upper torso, fired again. The bullet tore out his neck and knocked him down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The last one finally snapped out his shock. He turned around and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pipe bomb exploded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A muted flash. A thunderous shockwave. Windows across the street trembled and shattered in their frames. Heavy shrapnel cut the last biker down. Kayla trained her red dot on his prone form, broken and bleeding on the asphalt. Wonder of wonders, he was still holding on to his gun in a death grip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStay down! Don\u2019t move!\u201d she shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pushed himself off the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fired again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he went still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sighed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a storm of gunfire erupted inside the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bullets screamed. The kids screamed. The adults screamed. Everybody screamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSTAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!\u201d James screamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet took up the cry, but their voices were lost in the madness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rounds blasted through the windows and walls, sending shards and shrapnel scything through the living room. Thick clouds of choking dust billowed about. Grandma curled around the wailing baby, holding her close to her chest. Grandpa wrapped himself around them both. His granddaughter huddled up against him. Janet pulled the boys close to her, shielding them with her bodies. Ed and Naomi flattened themselves against the floor. James kissed the concrete, his brain tracking the sheer firepower coming their way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019re gonna run out of ammo sometime. And when you do\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shooting stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pushed himself up to a crouch, pulled his carbine into the pocket of his shoulder\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIED! Engaging threats!\u201d Kayla said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A suppressed shot diffused through the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kayla could take care of the rest. He had to worry about the principals. He went down again, covering his head, opening his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDown! Down! Everybody stay down!\u201d James yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More suppressed shots rang out. Then the improvised explosive device exploded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The house shook on its foundations. The civilians screamed. The shockwave passed harmlessly over him, a high-speed caress over his back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And suddenly the world went quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the fuck was that?\u201d Janet demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBomb. Not a powerful one,\u201d James said, rising from the floor. \u201cEveryone listen up! We\u2019re going out the back! Stay low and go! Follow me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Doubled over, he advanced to the dining table. More shots echoed outside. His heart urged him forward. His brain ordered him to look back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet was with him. But the other civilians\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on!\u201d Janet screamed. \u201cWe\u2019re getting out of here!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got a car in the garage?\u201d James asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes!\u201d Ed replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet everyone inside and go! I\u2019ll cover you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James moved up to the stairs. At the foot of the steps, he knelt and braced his carbine against a baluster. Behind him, the civilians hustled into the garage. They bumped up against him, against his shoulder and back, throwing off his aim. He canted his weapon, training it at the back door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The car engine rumbled to life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEveryone\u2019s in the garage,\u201d Janet said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlright. We fall back to the car. You first. I\u2019ll\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The back door blasted open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In stepped a burly man, almost as wide as the frame. An epic white beard covered everything below his nose, leaving only his mouth exposed. Thick goggles covered his eyes. A steel helmet covered the rest of his upper head. His armored riding suit bulked out his mass further.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In each gloved hand, he held a black hatchet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He threw his head back and howled. The hatchets flung up and outwards, pulling his hands along, buzzing and crackling. They glowed with an evil light, an anti-light, a darkness that sucked down all color that fell upon them. The black light poured into the biker, staining all of him in an all-consuming darkness, transforming him into a figure of living shadow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John Sullivan. And the hatchets of the Hatchet Crew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hatchets flashed up, faster than a man should move, guarding his face. The round sparked off the thick metal heads, ricocheting crazily into and through a wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No fucking way!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan lurched forward, squeezing through the frame. James rested the red dot on his chest and fired. Sullivan\u2019s arms blurred again, and the hatchets blocked the shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the fuck?!\u201d Janet shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFIRE!\u201d Sullivan shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet fired, so close to his face the muzzle blast pounded his skin and forced his earbuds to mute the world. Sullivan\u2019s left arm smeared, and now the hatchet guarded his head. Pistol rounds bounced uselessly off the infernal metal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James blasted away, walking rounds down his chest, belly, groin. Sullivan\u2019s hatchet blinked, his elbow and wrist contorting through impossible angles, catching every round.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was no use. They needed a third gun. They needed Kayla.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the thought flashed through his head, Sullivan entered the master bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the hatchets split.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pairs of ghost hatchets burst from the black weapons, a semi-translucent replica of the original. Two, four, now eight of them, hovering protectively around Sullivan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We need Yuri<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan charged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatchets leading the way, he bulled down the narrow passageway. Janet shrieked, firing away. A ghost-hatchet caught her shots and burst into nothingness. James hammered Sullivan, working the trigger as fast as he could. A second ghost exploded, a third, a fourth, and now Sullivan whipped around, his back and right arm elongating, the black blade whooshing through the air to come crashing down on\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James leapt away. The hatchet hissed past his nose, missing him by a hair\u2019s breadth. Sullivan windmilled again, bringing his other arm around. The blade parted the handrail and the baluster like water, as if it weren\u2019t there, carving clean through them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet yelped and clambered up the stairs. Bringing up his carbine, James backed up again\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014stumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His feet danced a hurried jitterbug, propelling him through the door and into the garage. He dropped his weight, killing his momentum. The doorway framed Sullivan, a miniature titan of pure darkness, hatchets in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The black hatchets flashed. Zipping back and forth, they deflected a flurry of incoming rounds, from James and Janet, appearing a moment before impact, sending rounds bouncing off. A bullet whined past James\u2019 ear. A second destroyed a pair of ghost hatchets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The baby screamed. The children screamed. The civilians screamed. James fired, and screamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A white crescent smile split Sullivan\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he burst up the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Leaving behind two ghost hatchets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The ghostly weapons hurtled through the air, spinning towards him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All thought fled James\u2019 brain. He was completely in the moment, mind and body and spirit becoming one. All notions of danger and pending doom vanished. There were only targets and trajectories and the solution to destroy them both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He fired twice, so fast the shots blended into each other, a single long reverberation filling the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hatchets vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bolt clicked back on empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James blinked. Breathed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then ejected the magazine. Parted his jacket. Grabbed a fresh mag from his belt carrier and locked it in and worked the bolt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A voice filled the world. Deep and low-pitched, sandpaper and gravel, the voice of a man blended with something<\/em> else, a being that knew the tongues of man but did not have the lips to properly enunciate them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWheeer arrrrre yuuuuuu?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James rushed to the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From behind him, Ed called, \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James ignored him and swung out to the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He climbed the stairs two at a time, keeping to the outer edge of the steps, turning clockwise to cover uncleared space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan stood along at the landing, back to James. A door stood at either end of the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCuuuuuum ooooooout aaaaaaaan dieeeeeeeeee!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan\u2019s unnatural arms twisted around. His hatchets shielded his broad back. Bullets ricocheted into the floor and wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James kept on the fire, targeting the face, chest, groin, arms, legs, something, anything<\/em> he could shoot. Sullivan continued laughing, languidly turning around to face him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDaaaat wuuuuuuuun wuuuuuuuuuurk, hoooooooomeee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDEUS VULT!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

White light washed over him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan flinched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet stepped out of the left-hand landing, pistol in both hands, weapon mounted light trained on Sullivan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The round caught Sullivan in the side of his head. He stumbled, gasping in shock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet fired and fired and fired, sending a stream of rounds downrange. Sullivan held out his hatchet, but it was slower now, not quite able to block everything. Rounds grazed against his arm, tore into his side, bit into his hip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James clicked on his light. Five hundred lumens glared into Sullivan\u2019s eyes. Darkness burned off at the edges his form, unable to withstand the light. James fired, fired, fired again. The light overwhelmed Sullivan, slowing him down. His second hatchet caught the first round. The second clipped off the edge and caromed into his heart. The third caught him square in the forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sullivan went down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James fired him up, pouring bullets into him, keeping him in the light. Sullivan twitched and jerked and groaned, bleeding inky blackness. The unnatural blood soaked into the wood, dying it a rotting black. Janet jumped back, weapon still in her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKeep shooting!\u201d James yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s down!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s not dead yet!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hesitated. And fired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gunshots thundered in the landing. Rounds light and heavy pounded the Elect. Sullivan gasped and groaned and grunted. His hands opened, releasing the hatchets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All at once the black light gushed out of him, becoming a sticky, spreading pool. Colors and textures returned to his body, revealing a mutilated man lying on the floor, back torn up by enormous exit wounds, half his head blown away, arms and legs twisted and warped beyond recognition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

James reloaded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet reloaded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClear,\u201d James reported.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClear,\u201d Janet agreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the hell happened in there?\u201d Kayla asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cElect burst in through the back. Sullivan. We took him down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strength fled from his body. His limbs became rubber. His breathing turned shallow and ragged. He willed himself to breathe, long and deep, recharging his body, staying clear of the darkness dripping onto the steps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoger. I hear the bikers leaving. I think they\u2019re giving up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now he heard them, the roar of a half-dozen engines, slowly fading into the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hatchets pulsed angrily. But without a living hand to hold them, they could only glare impotently at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hoped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet slumped in a corner, pistol safely pointed at the floor between her knees, keeping a wary eye on the bodies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs it over?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sirens screamed in the distance. Police, fire, ambulance, every emergency service on Moreno Island was rushing over. Too little and too late to do anything, as always.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot by a long shot,\u201d James said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

If you thought this firefight was crazy, you haven’t seen crazy yet. Check out BABYLON BLUES<\/a> on Amazon!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Black Hatchet Clark had kicked up the hornets\u2019 nest. They weren\u2019t going to stick around to see what came swarming out. The Clark family lived in the suburbs at the northwestern edge of Saint Lucile. Here the architects had envisioned a slice of the pre-Cataclysm world, a homage to long-lost Americana, coupled with adaptations to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[68,106,143,168,216,253,277,278,284,289],"class_list":["post-6011","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-babylon-red","tag-cyberpunk","tag-free-story","tag-horror","tag-military-science-fiction","tag-pulprev","tag-science-fantasy","tag-science-fiction","tag-sheriff-of-the-swamps","tag-singlit"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6011"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6011"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6011\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6011"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6011"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6011"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}