On the Far Side of Darkness (16 page)

I watch the security device, number the seconds of its pattern. Once I have the rhythm I squirm to the door on the far side of the car. At the proper moment, I pop it open, roll to the ground and close it again.

As I keep the count, I rise to my knees and shuffle to the rear end of the car. When the number tells me that the camera isn’t pointed at me I dash towards a spot on the wall far from its line of vision then to the door. Being what I am the short trip takes less than it does to tell. I’m now directly below the camera and out of its sight.

I listen at the wood panel. Nothing sounds beyond it. Gently, I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. A quick look reveals that the room beyond is empty.

In an instant I’m in the foyer of my foe’s manor. A hall opposite the door leads to the ground floor. The babble of many voices drifts from it. Stairs going upwards are to my left, which I use. It would be best to avoid meeting any of the inhabitants here until I know what it is I’m facing.

At the top of the stair, I come to another hallway. When I peer around the corner with one eye I find stretches some distance from where I am. On my side there are two doors cutting the wall in thirds, then a stretch of railing broken by what I assume is the head of another set of stairs and two more doors beyond that. The opposite wall is more doors at the same intervals, with the mouth of a hallway opposite the stairs. The second door from me on that side has a keypad lock on it.

The babble I heard downstairs is louder, a mixture of women’s moans and cries punctuated by men cursing and grunting. It oozes from over the railing.

At that moment, a man emerges from the hallway. He’s the biggest of the black men I’ve seen so far, nearly a giant. It’s his face that catches my attention though. I’ve seen such features on many leaders of men. His expression is confident. He knows things will happen if he commands it. There is also an edge of complete arrogance. This man believes he can never fail.

As he walks to the stairway and a man’s voice hails him. “Yo, Duke! Come on down, the water’s fine.”

So, this is my opponent.

Mr. Duke smirks and descends the stairs. A chorus of female voices greets his arrival, harsh with lust and carnal need.

I steal down the hallway, keeping my steps silent. As I pass the locked door a familiar scent tickles my nostrils. A scent of plastique, gun oil and propellant. When I reach the edge of the open area I glance around a corner and gaze into the room below.

An orgy is in progress.

There are half a dozen of the large black men. All are naked and all have their enormous manhoods in a woman. The same expression is on every man’s face; a contempt for the people they’re using. What they are doing is not an act of love or lust. It’s one of domination and degradation.

There are twice as many women participating and they could care less about how they’re being treated. They want only one thing; to be taken hard and often.

All the women are young. I recognize the girl from the beach. The man from that night is using her again. He’s pushed his full length up her rectum, and she doesn’t care, loves it in fact. The brunette girl grunts and groans, working her hips. Her face loudly displays her absolute ecstasy at being so full.

I spot Mr. Duke. He’s removed his clothes and sitting on a large chair like a king, his scepter the ebony piece of lumber rising from his crotch. He’s watching the goings on with an amused detachment.

The one exception to the young women is kneeling in front of him. This person is over forty, full in build and brown haired. She’s looking at him with awe and desperation. “God, Duke,” she gasps. “I need you. You haven’t fucked me since yesterday and I need it so bad.” Her words tremble with the intense lust she feels.

“Is that so, Mrs. Police Chief?” he drawls at her. “Is there some reason I should fuck you? What will you do to earn that?”

“Anything, Duke, anything!” is her panting declaration. “Tell me and I’ll do it. But just put that wonderful cock in me.”

“Tell you what,” Mr. Duke sneers. “Give me that specialty of yours and I’ll think about it.”

Without a reply, the woman shuffles over to him, grabs his manhood and takes him in her mouth. She works demandingly. The look on her face is that of an addict getting their hit.

A derisive expression twists my face as I pull back. It’s difficult for me to tell which I dislike more. Those willing to use other people or those wanting to be used.

I crouch so I won’t be observed from the main floor, move to the far wall and head to the hallway. It’s rather short with a single door at the end, also locked with a keypad.

With care I make my way to that door. I move the palm of my right hand close to the array of buttons. A moment’s concentration pushes a very small amount of power to it to raise the sensitivity of the nerves there. Three buttons are slightly warmer than the others. It takes only two tries to open the lock.

Inside is a spacious and very well appointed den, the walls lined with excellent books. An ornate and expensive desk sits opposite the door. A fine chair is placed behind it so where I’m standing can be observed from the desk. On top of the desk sits a computer monitor with the tower set to one side. As everything here is, it’s top of the line.

I go over and sit myself down. The computer is sleeping so I tap a key to bring it up. My skills with these machines is sadly limited but Mr. Duke’s is very well laid out so I quickly find something useful, a document marked ‘Journal’. It opens on my double click, and there’s no security. Mr. Duke’s a trusting sort for such a powerful man.

Hopefully, I won’t be disturbed for a bit,
goes through my mind as I start reading.

* * * *

An hour’s perusal tells me a very great deal about Mr. David Duke and his plans. His journal goes into great detail.

Three years ago, the man was a street person, a drunk. Sixty years old and suffering from all the problems that come from homelessness and alcoholism, he wasn’t long for this world. No one would miss him.

Which made him perfect for the people that kidnapped him. They were members of a secret government project that meant to create a new type of soldier. Snatching him up one night, my opponent was carried to their lab and injected with the latest version of the drug they had created.

It worked. The result was the David Duke I saw in the hall.

They kept him around for study, to determine how full the effects were and if there would be any adverse consequences. Mr. Duke played along but barely. The newly altered man made it appear that his change wasn’t as severe as it looked. He was now clever enough to make sure the fact that his mental faculties were repaired were a complete secret.

So he learned a lot. Access codes, layout of the facilities, capabilities of all personnel. Most importantly he learned of the other drugs they were working on.

When the time was ripe, he murdered every person in the lab. Since Mr. Duke had access to the storage area, he stole all samples of the drug that created him as well as one other that had caught his attention. With access to all the project’s computers he printed out the formula for them. He then destroyed the lab.

The new superman cashed debit cards lifted from the facility and made his way to New York. With those funds he started dealing drugs. He also got to work on his grand plan.

Mr. Duke had always hated white people, blamed them for his life. Now he had a chance to get back at them. His plans required the drugs now in his possession. These drugs were code named Nhance and Nympho.

Nhance is the one that created Mr. Duke. It causes subtle changes to the subject’s DNA, in effect redesigning it. The subject’s body then transforms to meet the new blueprint. The result is the people I’ve been in conflict with for the last few days. The extremity of the change can be controlled by the dosage, and Mr. Duke has been careful that none of his creations match or exceed him.

Nympho is the drug responsible for the women I’ve been seeing. Simply put, it reduces women dosed with it into raving nymphomaniacs. Unlike Nhance, it can be used to spike other liquids. Any female so exposed have their libidos are pushed to levels where rational thought is nearly impossible. By administering the drug in places where one of his enhanced associates is the first man they encounter in this state the women quickly become addicted to them. All they’ll ever dream about is the next time an enormous, black phallus is thrust into them.

A side affect of Nympho is that it causes men, save those enhanced, to become impotent. Another factor in Mr. Duke’s favor.

As it turns out my adversary is here for reasons other than a vacation. First, he’s testing the next step of his plan.

One of his associates has obtained a job at the water provider here. This person had added a device that releases Nympho into the water system. Everybody in town is exposed.

The dosage isn’t high, but enough. Few men will be able to perform, and the women will be desperate for performance. It’s a playground for Mr. Duke and his cronies.

Secondly, there is a small pharmaceutical company nearby, which he has bought. One of his confederates is surprisingly well educated. This man has been entrusted with the formulae to Mr. Duke’s drugs, and the company is beginning mass production.

Why is he doing this? His diary makes it clear his goal is to destroy all white people. When he expands the plan to the whole country, only babies fathered by black men will be born. In a few generations, all people of European descent will be gone. Mr. Duke gloats frequently about this fact. How he feels about people not of European or Sub-Saharan ancestry he doesn’t say but I doubt they’ll fare well.

He also uses the women he’s changed to blackmail powerful people, as with the local police chief.

On top of that Mr. Duke just finds the whole thing fun. As many mortal men would. To refuse a woman who needed sex as badly as the ones Mr. Duke has made would be beyond the ability of most people.

A snort passes through my nose as I admit to myself that Mr. Duke is no fool, and ambitious. I would admire the man if what he wanted to accomplish wasn’t so evil. In some way I’m glad for I dislike conflict for its own sake. What I’ve discovered gives me a more important reason to stop him than personal survival and pride.

The door opens then and I look away from the computer screen in dismay. The sound proofing here is very good.

Mr. Duke walks in. It’s a credit to him that he shows only an instant’s surprise. “I’m impressed,” he says to me then.

“I’m not, I’m afraid, David Duke,” I retort with scorn in my voice. “Genocide doesn’t rate highly on my list of possible accomplishments a person can strive for.”

He shrugs. “Ask me if I care, white man. I can’t say I know your name though.”

“And you never will. It’s of no concern to a dead man.”

My opponent is not intimidated and grunts in contempt.

I smile at him. His ignorance shall make his passing more pleasurable. The discovery of what I am will be a delectable shock.

Mr. Duke reaches to a shirt pocket. As his hand stays in sight and is not moving quickly I let him continue. There’s no threat to me.

From the pocket he pulls a cell phone, flips it open and dials a four digit number.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to shout?” I ask him. “Not that anyone could get here in time to save you.”

“I’m not calling for help,” he tells me, and presses a button with his thumb.

Darkness.

* * * *

Sentience returns and my first thought is,
Why is my face sitting in this mess?

The pain hits then. My consciousness almost fades under it again. But the agony is only above the waist. I can’t feel my legs.

My arms push and with great effort I succeed in sitting up. Despite my head wobbling on my neck I discover that there’s a large hole blown in me, my spine severed by what must have been an explosive charge in the chair. The mess that I awoke in was my stomach and its contents.

That thing inside smashes into my mind and the disguise I maintain fades from my features.
That stupid human! He dies!

No longer aware of anything save my rage I concentrate. The little blood remaining to me is pushed to my wound, my spine and stomach begin to re-grow. It’s barely enough but feeling and motion return to my legs, and I’ll need my stomach to feed. I groan as I stand. Even in my state it’s anguish to move. Then I totter towards the door, starvation driving me to find a meal.

I’m almost there when voices drift from up the stairs, approaching me. I’m in no shape to fight straight up. It takes only an instant to form my claws. Then with a small leap I sink them into the oak lintel at the top of the door and lift myself up, parallel to the ceiling and flat to the wall. I doubt they’ll look up, they expect me to still be in the chair.

“Don’t know how he got in, but he’s dead.” Mr. Duke’s voice comes to me. “Ruined my desk and chair though, the fuck. Take the body, dump it somewhere. Don’t know where some dumb white boy thought he could stand up to us.”

I smile, showing my fangs, at that statement. I’m hardly ‘some dumb white boy.’

Two of Mr. Duke’s men come through the door, one at a time. They stop on seeing the empty chair. After a moment’s pause they step further into the room and apart a little. “Duke,” says one of them, “you better see this.”