Machines of the Dead 2 (18 page)

Here it comes.

She drew a long breath, wondering and worrying if this was to be her swan song. No telling what was on the other side of the door. Maybe they were waiting for her… 

How long am I going to keep getting lucky?
             

That’s all it was, luck. She had no illusions of it being anything more. Dexter liked to say that she was born and bred for this shit, but he was being supportive. Nobody was truly cut out for this sort of life. 

Least of all me, she thought. Her life would’ve been over thirteen years ago had it not been for him, and she’d found it difficult to escape the feeling of borrowed time ever since.

Adrenaline and anxiety swirled through her being in equal parts. Without giving it another thought, she steadied the muzzle of the weapon just above the doorknob and squeezed off two, three-round bursts. The shots were little more than muffled whelps that found their target with a sound no louder than splintering wood. Wounded, the lock failed as Amanda kicked into it, sending the door swinging open into the smoky interior.

She was inside before the inhabitants knew what was happening, her nose wracked by a bouquet of miserable odors. Through the haze, she took aim at the mass of bodies, two by her count, strewn naked across the bed. 

Her nostrils flared at the noxious scent, a mixture of bleach, excrement and what she vaguely recognized as spoiled milk. It was almost enough to knock her off kilter. 

Almost.

The man and woman were entangled and just now pulling themselves out of the throes of sleep. The woman turned first, startled by Amanda’s intrusion. The man was on his knees before she had time to process the scene, his bare body glistening with sweat in the nearby light of the desk lamp. He was faster than his lover, leaping for the intruder in one swift motion. Then he was on the floor and moving forward. Amanda didn’t let it go any further than that. She squeezed off another three bursts, sending nine bullets into his upper chest. They tore into him with a bloody puff and he flew off the bed, knocking the desk lamp to the floor as he crashed atop it. His blood splattered across the nude body of his lover, now roaring with rage.

Amanda already had the gun leveled at her. She fired off two more bursts, blowing her brains through the newly formed exit wound at the back of her skull and exploding into a mess of brain and bone. The corpse fell to the natty berber carpet at her feet. Amanda rolled the corpse over with her boot and took aim, firing again. The heart stopped beating beneath three smoking and bloody holes.

All that was left was to make sure the lovers were dead. A quick check of their vitals revealed that the two of them would be in hell for breakfast. She went about a quick sweep of the room, finding nothing of interest among their possessions. These degenerates weren’t likely to have anything on them, but it bore checking. Protocol, according to Dex. 

Her boots stepped into a moist spot directly in front of the bathroom and water seeped into the rug from beneath the closed door. 

Amanda tensed, readied her weapon and pulled on the sleeve of her shirt until its length overextended the olive bomber coat. She covered her hand and pulled at the door handle. It came free, opening inward. She lowered the weapon and splashed onto the flooded linoleum. Water cascaded over the side of the tub, raining a mixture of clear and crimson onto the floor. Submerged in the bloody bath was a girl that might’ve been thirteen but was probably younger. Her glazed over expression indicated she was only faintly aware of Amanda’s presence and threatened fleeting consciousness. Her neck and shoulder were badly mutilated; bone was broken and jagged, jutting up through the gaping wound while blood erupted like a geyser. It ran down her naked chest, into the bloody bath water. Her mouth was open; a faint moan passed beyond her lips bordering on inaudible.

She was in hell.

And it was much too late for her.  Amanda aimed the MP5 at the girl’s skull. “I’m sorry,” she said and turned away.

She tried to speak. 

Amanda’s trigger finger lightened.

The girl appeared somewhat aware of Amanda now; heavy eyes looked up as she tried to speak. The voice was weak but distinct.

“I’m going to be okay,” she said with a smile. “This is what I needed.”

“They killed you. That’s what you wanted?”

“It was.”

Amanda felt a swell of sadness for her and wished there was more she could do. No way of telling how long they’d been using this girl, but her wounds were fresh. 

“Just rest,” Amanda said, her finger coiling back around the trigger.

This is the best thing for her...

“Will you stay with me? They said this was going to be the scariest part. The nightmares…” 

“Of course I will.” 

“Will you,” her voice trailed off, taking the last traces of life with it. Breathing was almost nonexistent now and her face had fallen as still as a statue. Amanda watched carefully and noticed the tiniest spark of life beneath heavy eyelids. They dulled to the point of extinction before roaring back to life with some sense of forgotten urgency. “Will you call my mommy,” the girl said, her voice suddenly animated. “I-I think she might be worried and I want to tell her she shouldn’t be.”

The bleeding mess of a girl provoked equal measures of pity and rage inside of Amanda.  What little of the life she’d lived was over, cut short by creatures so cruel that to them, torturing a child was just something to do. Her own past hadn’t been terribly different, with the only discernible difference being that someone had managed to reach her in time. The tub girl aroused memories of violent teenage years that she had no desire to relive.     

“Don’t worry,” she said, determined to end this. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I just need to sleep,” the girl mumbled. “That’s what they told me to do.  Said I’d wake up and this would all just seem like a bad dream.”

They lied to you, she thought.

Turnings were always ugly and the sight never got any easier to see. The girl was teetering on the brink of consciousness and if she slipped under, there would be no coming back.

I can’t let that happen…

She crouched beside the tub, leveling her eyes with the narrow and lifeless slits. “Where did you meet them?” She had to know this was truly the end of things. 

The girl smiled, as if she had nostalgic memories of them. Blood dribbled down her chin as her mouth curled upward. “Asked me if I wanted someone to belong to. Told me I would be joining a cause. That I’d finally have a family I could love. Please, just call my mom and tell her that I’m okay.” Her head slid backward against the acrylic tub as her eyelids collapsed over the foggy eyes.

“Where were they taking you?” She asked. “Where’s this new family?”   

No answer. The room went silent, save for the dribbling faucet. Amanda remained at the girl’s side hoping she would regain consciousness. After a few minutes, once it was certain that she wouldn’t, she stood and raised the MP5. A three-round burst exploded into her skull in a puff of red. Her head slammed hard against the acrylic and then disappeared beneath the ripples of crimson water.  

Another search of the room, this one was more thorough. Amanda found herself powered by renewed curiosity and the unease being provoked by something the girl had said...

“I would be joining a cause.”

Amanda had never known them to recruit.

She fished through a large blue duffel bag that reeked of perspiration and excretion, pulling out a single, crinkled piece of paper from the bottom. It was a map of Massachusetts that had been marked up with a green marker. A line was drawn along Route 90 from where New York became Massachusetts, running all the way into a town called Greifsfield.

“Great,” she mumbled. No idea what was there but she was going to have to check.

Just when I thought I was four nights away from an endless bubble bath and two bottles of wine…  

She folded the map, slipped it into her pocket and finished her sweep. When nothing of interest turned up, she tucked the MP5 beneath her coat and slipped back through the busted entrance. 

Amanda trotted down the stairs, taking the closest set this time. A quick glance over her shoulder said nobody was following. In fact, there was no sign that anyone had heard anything. And there wasn’t any reason why anyone should’ve; aside from kicking in the front door, there hadn’t been any noise. It shouldn’t have sounded any differently than someone slamming a door.

Back at the truck, she climbed into the cab, flicked the safety catch on the MP5 and stuffed it back into the storage space. Then she switched on her cell phone and brought the engine to life, driving off into the night and leaving the obnoxious neon glow of the Thunderbird Motel behind.

You can relax for now…

The Thunderbird’s blinking neon sign slipped out of sight and out of mind, vanishing from the rearview as the road twisted around the endless rows of trees. She brought her speed down to 40 after passing a sign for the posted limit. No need to get pulled over for that.

Amanda couldn’t take her mind off the young girl she’d just slain.  The thought made her want to cry. With so much darkness out there, she wondered why there wasn’t an equal measure of light. There she was, mutilated and suffering, yet still of the belief that she’d get better. Those bastards had preyed upon her naïveté. It was their fault that she’d been forced to kill an innocent girl. Amanda couldn’t help but feel they’d gotten off easy, despite the fact they were dead already.  Was there any career out there more thankless than this?   

But it begged a more troubling question:  Who in Greifsfield was expecting her?

She dug the map from her pocket, switched on the cab’s interior lights and glanced at the marked path. An address was scribbled in pencil in the upper most corner.   

Christ.

This was ballooning into something. What did they want with her?  Her mind calculated the endless possibilities.   

“Oh shit,” she said. “Dexter.”

She pulled up Dexter’s number on the cell. He’d be pissed. She was supposed to check in with him as soon as she’d crossed the state line – some ninety minutes ago - but the isolation of the barren countryside had freaked her out and made her forget.

He answered halfway through the first ring.

“Christ, girl. I was worried about you.” He didn’t bother to mask the annoyance in his voice, not that she could blame him. These ‘checkpoints’ were an important component in her line of work. Missed one and people tended to think you were dead. She immediately felt bad for making him worry.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m okay and we’re all clear.”

“I thought we were all clear yesterday?”

“We were supposed to be. I ran into some trouble in Albany. Had to follow ‘em to Massachusetts. I’m in the Berkshires now.”

“Okay. I’ll put in for clean up. Where’d you find them?”

“A real nice place. The Thunderbird on Route 90. You would’ve loved it.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Okay. I’ll call it in now. You won’t even read about it in the papers.”

“Good. That’s how I like it.”

“Making your way back here, then?”

“Not yet.”

“Trust me, you won’t like Massachusetts in the summer, it’s too sticky.”

“As opposed to California? It’s actually pretty nice right now. There’s a cool breeze in the air, but believe me that’s not why I’m sticking around.”

“Finally find a cute guy worth your time?  It’s Massachusetts, kid.  He’s probably a fag.”

“Not funny. I’m heading to a town called Greifsfield. Our boy seemed determined to go there and I’d like to know why.”

“Probably figured it’s a small backwater town with lots of tourists. Nobody notices it when the occasional one goes missing.”

“There’s more. I’ve got an address to check up on. Something’s up.”

“Be careful,” he said. “Check in with me twice a day. First time you don’t, I’m coming out there myself.”

“You? Sorry Dex, this job requires tact.”

“Fuck you. And be careful.”

“As can be.”

She tossed the phone into the empty seat beside her and yawned. Route 90 didn’t yield another sign of life, although she might have welcomed one. That creepy isolated feeling was coming back. For some reason, the barren landscape unnerved her. Frustrating, considering she usually felt victorious after pulling off a successful job. Not tonight, however.

Amanda did her best to combat the dread, switching the radio over to 80’s hits and crooning along to Flashdance, What a Feeling. 

The bad feeling gnawed at her gut, no matter how many times she tried dismissing it as intuition. It told her things were going to get a lot worse in the upcoming days.

I’m too much of a pessimist, she thought. 

But she paid it no mind as she passed a sign that read:  Greifsfield, 40 miles.

Amanda read it with a sigh. 

It wasn’t ending tonight.

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