Gabriel's Sacrifice (The Scrapman Trilogy Book 2) (19 page)

Hazel took to the deck, rabbit in hand, as the hunter shouted for all to man their posts in a hurry. Jackson was yelling also, some nonsense the hunter didn’t understand at the moment. Following the large man’s voice as he eluded the usual debris, he found him as the two reached the same aisle, Jackson’s eyes enormous, his breath shaky and shallow.

“What happened?!”

Jackson was still very much enthralled with whatever he’d just witnessed. It took him several moments to answer. “I saw it Boss,” he said finally. “And it’s exactly like what I’ve been tellin’ you!”

“What did you see?”

“It was dark … but it’s face … ” He looked behind him, uneasy as they walked, gripping his weapon with both hands.

“What about its face, Jackson? Spit it out.”

“Its face is a skull, no eyes, just … nothin’.” Jackson turned to point toward sporting goods. “And it wrote something on the wall back there. A six in Roman numerals–the five in red and the sixth in black.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Ya got me, but this thing is a ghost, Boss. We’re dealin’ with a whole other realm here.”

“Bullshit,” the hunter huffed. “This guy’s just as human as you and me, Jackson.”

“Whatcha guys got?” Kyle called from his post at the store’s entrance.

“Everyone, stay where you are, Bastard is still in here!”

No way could this bogeyman get away this time. The hunter had covered every angle, every possible way he could slip free.

An aisle collapsed somewhere within the store, the clatter of its cascading merchandise echoing through the darkness as Jackson and the hunter rushed to reach it. Another crash of a falling aisle, not far, along with the crisp sound of someone’s scream. But his were not the only footsteps he heard stampeding in that direction. Many had left their posts to investigate the shrill cry.

“Everyone, back to your places!” His anger was prevalent, red-hot off his lips. “God help you if he escapes!”

“Dad!” Coda’s voice was next to twine through the labyrinth. “We got him!”

“You got him?!”

“Yeah!” the boy laughed. “He’s right here!”

They came upon the fallen aisle, discovering the man Jackson described wedged beneath it, his skull-face shouting obscenities from a possible snapped femur, his crimson hand leaving marks where he was trying to claw free. His skull was nothing more than a black, fabric mask, in which he was able to see through seemingly vacant sockets.

“Here’s your ghost, Jackson.” He jabbed the large man on the shoulder. “Now let’s see who the bogeyman really is.” He reached down, curling his fingers into the top of the mask, and looked to Coda. “Fuckin’ Scooby Doo.”

The boy grinned.

The hunter yanked the mask off, only semi surprised to find the wild hair and eyes of Rick looking back at him. Others were gathering around, the occasional gasp of shock resonating throughout the congregation.

“Here’s your bogeyman, People! The thing you were so afraid of!”

“No!” Rick shook his head, pain forcing him to talk through clenched teeth, his eyes and nose leaking profusely. “Someone grabbed me! Put this thing on me!”

Victoria’s face added to the mix, her mouth agape at the sight of the unmasked bogeyman.

The hunter pressed his .45 to Rick’s head. “Number 281.”

“No!” He tried to yank himself away, tried to pry his leg free. “John, you did this!” he shouted, looking back at the sea of faces, then back at the hunter. “It was him.
He
was gonna kill you tonight!”

“Is that so?” The hunter only smiled. “Then it seems, Bogeyman, you were in on it, too.”

He buried several bullets deep into Rick’s back. Hardly deserving of a quick death, the man had a little time to think as his lungs began to fill with blood. The hunter knelt beside him, lifting his head by a tuft of hair to whisper in his ear. “If you ask for the hunter, Bogeyman, you will get him.” Rick’s face hit the floor again, the wet sound of his cheek against the tile. The hunter turned then to his very attentive audience. “Now where are you,
Saint
John?”

Jackson came to shove the man forward, confiscating his weapon, John’s icy-blue eyes staring back at him.

“Explain what … ” He motioned toward Rick, who was currently gurgling, his arms still moving. “Explain what he just said.”

“I don’t know what he was talking about, Maddox,” John insisted. “People say crazy stuff when they have a gun pointed at them.”

“Really?” He aimed the weapon at John as those behind him parted like the Red Sea … save for one, her little face marked with concern, her rabbit dangling there at her side.

Her presence definitely complicated the matter.

Sighing, the hunter slowly lowered his gun. “Get your shit, John, and get out,” he ordered. “And know your daughter saved your life today.”

Jackson approached the hunter as he fully anticipated the large man’s following statement. “Boss,” he whispered, “what about Hazel?”

“I’m not going to kill her father in front of her, Jackson; and I’m not going to kidnap her, either.”

“She’s not going to survive out there,” Victoria came to voice her opinion.

“Fine.” The hunter nodded. “Tell you what. If you two want to take her from him, I won’t get in the way.”

Victoria turned to John, whose face was meshed somewhere between sadness and anger. “John, please,” she started. “It’s no world out there for a little girl.”

“Hazel comes with me.” His voice was stern, unyielding.

“I’ll look after her,” Victoria offered. “She’ll be safe. You can leave her here.”

“I leave her here and I’ll never see her again.”

“That’s not true.”

“And who cares if it is,” Jackson interrupted. “You’ll never see her again if she’s dead, either. At least here she’ll be safe from the outside.”

“We’ll find a place,” he spat. “C’mon, Hazel, we’re not welcome anymore.”

Victoria passed him to wrap her arms around Hazel, then pushed numerous strands of unkempt hair from the kid’s face to see her more clearly. Tears were beginning to form in the child’s eyes. Even at five she seemed keen enough to recognize the coming of drastic change, and wise enough to be frightened beyond all Hell of it. Victoria could hardly contain her own tears as others came to bid Hazel their heartfelt farewells.

“It doesn’t need to be this way, Boss.”

“Then do something, Jackson,” the hunter suggested coldly. “You already know your options.”

“Let’s hold a vote, who thinks she should stay.”

“Either way you’ll have to pry her from John; and either way is traumatic for Hazel.”

“Her whole life is trauma,” Jackson stated. “Kid’s probably immune to it by now.”

“And what if it was your kid?” the hunter asked. “I’d have no problem taking his life, but taking his kid … ” The hunter shook his head. “I haven’t allowed myself to fall that far just yet.”

Jackson looked back at Hazel, silence overtaking him.

“You keep an eye on John.” He patted Jackson on the back. “I’ll give them until sunrise; and that kindness is only because of her.” The hunter unfolded Rick’s skull mask, stretching it out to behold the sinister design. “And when the bogeyman finally dies, get Kyle and Kevin to take him out back and burn him.”

Jackson nodded, his somber mood apparent in the tensing of his jaw.

“Hey.” He slapped the large man on the shoulder. “The bogeyman’s gone. Let’s try to cheer up a little.”

T
he night had gone down with hardly a hitch. Mohammad couldn’t image it going any better, in fact. In allowing himself to be seen by the large man, Mohammad put a face to the myth and was successful in framing Rick before Rick was able to frame him for the murder of the hunter–and one less for Mohammad to worry about in the end. He’d also left them another numerical message, the meaning of which would be revealed soon enough.

There was a minor casualty, however, that didn’t sit right with him–a little girl soon to be tossed out into the world, the daughter of John. But there was nothing he could do about that, and to add it to his plate was out of the question. Despite the way he might have been perceived as the bogeyman, he still couldn’t be at two places at once. To also watch over her was a burden he just couldn’t carry; and it was a decision he knew his former self wouldn’t have been strong enough to make. So he cut her loose from his mind, and placed her instead in the hands of fate.

But to have expected a relaxing night from then on was simply absurd, for the hammer, with scraping claws, came soon to call upon him a second time. Mohammad, not yet asleep, peeled the shirt off his back–best to keep it clean of blood, his or the drone’s. Leaping from his nest, the hilt of his knife was clenched firm in his fist. The thing lunged for him and he split it cleanly open along its abdomen. Spilling some synthetic liquid, the hammer howled. The sound of its agony pleased Mohammad as it clawed fruitlessly for his jugular. He remained unscathed as he exited the rollroom and already felt the thing regarding him differently than before. As the deathly drone didn’t come immediately in pursuit, he must have earned its respect with that strike. With blackish blood leaking between its taloned fingers, it waited for a moment, undoubtedly reanalyzing its method of attack.

“C’mon, Hammer!” he beckoned it.

It hissed through unhinged mandibles, its skin a glistening blackness; but unlike Mohammad, the thing couldn’t seem to mend itself on the spot.

That was his advantage.

If his knife were well-placed enough, he could end this thing–return it to Gabriel a grisly pile of severed extremities, his headache no more. That was his edge.

“You underestimated me this time, Hammer!” he continued to taunt the thing as he led it to the converting area, never letting it leave his sight. Already the hammer lost a portion of its speed as it advanced on him again. It shrieked past, earning itself a patch of skin along his left shoulder as Mohammad plunged the knife deep into its neck. Blood jettisoned from it in thick streams, its arms flailing about, tearing at his repairing flesh as he continued to cleave it apart.

With a boot on its chest, letting out a roar worthy of the jungle, he pulled hard. Various cords and tubing came up along its spinal column, coated in that same, slimy matter, as he relieved it of its head. And like that of a Gorgon, he held it high in the air, knowing Gabriel, in light of his victory, would have little choice but to be pleased with him.

The hunter wished to be present as Rick’s remains were reduced to barely more than ash; and to the blaze, the hunter added the bogeyman’s mask, hoping its incineration would somehow help to alleviate all his unanswered questions. If he was to return again a decent leader, he needed to let them go.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

May the same be true of his mind, may the riddles of yesterday burden him no longer.

He watched the mask as it shriveled within the fire, the flames as they crawled along its tattered edges. It was finished, the musk of flesh in the air–time to proceed to the following chapter of his story.

Despite the absence of Victoria, he went on to sleep peacefully that night, knowing she’d be coming back to him in time. But even Andrea didn’t await him on the other side of slumber. Perhaps other heavenly duties detained her that evening; but the hunter didn’t know in exactly which direction to count that omen.

The next morning held quite the teary departure as even the hunter felt the thick of emotion coiling there at the back of his throat. With not a dry eye in the house, the uncertainty of Hazel’s future was weighing heavily on all, her tiny body being passed from one hug to the next. As the sun only succeeded in breaking them far off in the distance, dark clouds had come to gather over them. And judging by the grayness of their bellies, along with the light drizzle currently flirting through the air, certain downpour was imminent.

“John’ll be my responsibility,” Jackson continued to insist. “I’ll keep him here … like a prisoner of war.”

“I’d hate to waste your talents on a man like John.”

“They’re not wasted if it keeps Hazel safe.”

With a duffel bag and sleeping gear flung over his broad shoulders, John held Hazel’s hand as they began their walk toward Cider. John never looked back, but Hazel did multiple times, her eyes red, bottom lip protruding.

“Please, Boss. To send her out is murder.”

Keep your friends close …
The hunter exhaled, rolling the scenario over again in his mind. “He’s your baggage, then.”

Jackson nodded, visibly hopeful.

“Keep him in the pit.”

He grinned. “Sure thing.”

“Fine,” the hunter agreed, holding his hand out in their direction. “He’s all yours, Jackson.”

A
t early dawn, as the light from the candle brought them closer together, Amanda’s fingertips were searching the area of Ethan’s palm where a puncture wound once resided.

“You still think it’s got something to do with that man?”

He nodded. “The guy just seemed like he knew something, like he was waiting for me to wake up.”

“Who do you think he was?”

Ethan churned her question in his mind, knowing what he wanted to say, but fearing the sound of it off his lips.

She was looking at him, awaiting his response.

After Ethan awoke, he’d climbed the fire escapes of her complex and beat upon her apartment window. She’d let him in, and quite curious of his story, had yet to ask him to leave.

“I don’t know,” Ethan answered finally. “But he wasn’t exactly what I pictured an angel looking like.”

“You think he was an angel,” she stated, smirking slightly.

“I didn’t say that,” he corrected, “but I do think he cured me somehow. I’m at a point now where I’d say anything is possible.”

“I tend to agree with you, there. After seeing the things we’ve seen.”

Gunshots then reached them from somewhere outside, Amanda’s features growing more firm.

“We’re safe up here, huh?” he asked.

“We’re not safe anywhere, Ethan. But it’s safer here than being down there. Not all of us have a guardian angel to protect us.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “You’re actually the only person who’s ever showed any interest in this place. Maybe it’s you I should be afraid of.”