Death Alarm Page 6
The man tilted his head as if pondering and then removed his arm from Chloe's chest. Thomas motioned for her to come to him and she did. He guided her to stand behind him.
Red and blue flashing lights flickered through the plastic-covered room's window and into the hallway.
"You promised," the man said as he backed toward the steps.
Thomas breathed in deep from his nose. He nodded his reluctant agreement.
The man ran down the stairs and out through the back.
Thomas carried Chloe, with his good arm, down the stairs and through the front door. Three officers stood on the lawn with their guns drawn. He set Chloe on the ground, raised his uninjured hand, and knelt in the overgrown grass. As an officer jerked his hand behind his back, another officer, a female, scooped Chloe into her arms.
"He's getting away," Thomas said calmly.
"Keep it quiet," the officer barked. "We saw what you did at the store."
Thomas was careful not to raise his voice. "I was only trying to find my daughter," he answered.
"Yeah, well, the detectives will sort all of that out."
"He's still getting away," he pleaded, his words seeming to fall on deaf ears.
Another cruiser skidded to a stop in the lane behind the old lady's truck. The officer apprehending Thomas directed the other officers toward the woods and announced that someone had fled. Thomas smiled; evidently his words weren’t lost after all. The officer helped him to his feet and led him to his cruiser. "We'll get you to a hospital for that arm."
Thomas nodded.
Then he searched the other cruisers with his eyes until he locked onto Chloe through one of the windows. She gently waved. He smiled, gave her a thumbs up, and mouthed, "I love you."
She grinned letting him know that she understood.
He sat on the rear seat of the cruiser and the officer closed the door.
Seven shots rang out from the forest behind the house.
Thomas lowered his head and smiled again.
END
Thank you for reading my collection of short stories. I hope you have enjoyed. As an added bonus, I have included the first two chapters of Tamed, my werewolf tale with a twist from Rhemalda Publishing. Check it out and buy Tamed in paperback or ebook now.
In Tamed, werewolves are real.
And they make excellent pets.
Owning one of the legendary creatures is the latest fad. The WereHouse insists their werepets are loyal, docile, and 100% safe, but what happens when these gentle giants turn on their masters?
While on a routine EMS call, paramedic Christine Alt is attacked by a rogue werepet. She escapes with her life, but the encounter leaves her with more than just scars. As her body begins to change, she discovers the WereHouse is hiding a terrible secret, and they will stop at nothing to keep her from exposing them.
Here is some of what others are saying about Tamed.
"Douglas R. Brown's TAMED does for werewolves what Michael Crichton's JURASSIC PARK did for dinosaurs!" ~ Cherie Reich, book reviewer.
"A big fan of Stephen King and H.P. Lovecraft, I have read numerous attempts by authors over the years seeking to reach their level of individuality. In my opinion, Douglas Brown has achieved his own level of greatness with Tamed." ~ Best-selling author Candace Bowen Early
"Brown's talents are immense and he has a decidedly twisted turn of mind - I have absolutely loved each of his books that I have read so far. His characters are clear and unique, his plots move smoothly along, and it is nearly impossible to put down the book once you get started. This one is highly recommended for fans of horror, urban fantasy, werewolves and good writing!" ~ Katy at Obsessive Bibliophile
"Tamed, by Douglas Brown, is vicious and brilliant in every aspect of the words - from the horrific, detailed scenes right down to its absorbing narrative - I did not put this book down until I was finished. What a breath of fresh air and such a new take on the boring old stories about werewolves! I thought they'd taken the subject as far as it could go, but Brown proved me wrong." ~ Author Ashley Knight
Enjoy.
TAMED
By Douglas R. Brown
In the year 10,000 B.C.E., the dog was domesticated by man.
12,000 years later, the werewolves get their turn.
1
FORTUNES BEGIN
Bernard Henderson was fresh out of college with a business degree and a mind full of drive. His helicopter touched down on the beach of a remote, little-known island off the coast of Costa Rica. Joining him was a team of eight mercenaries who were ready for action.
The young CEO had seen the island of Sandalio thousands of times in his research, but never in person. His first look at the thick forest ahead made him second-guess his decision to join his hired help. But he was a go-getter, and even this challenge wouldn't change that, especially since his secret investors trusted him to get the job done.
He followed his team through the thick brush of the jungle for nearly two days. Softball-sized insects dove toward his head only to divert past his ears at the last second. He swatted at them at first, but seeing the focused mercenaries unbothered by the insects, he concentrated on ignoring them as well. Each painful bite on his exposed skin from the oversized mosquitoes increased his worry of contracting malaria or some undiscovered disease, but those fears weren't enough for him to abandon his mission. There was too much money at stake.
Bernard's excitement grew as his team neared their destination. The hand-drawn maps from his researchers led him and his team to the edge of an indigenous tribal village. They travelled upwind to the perimeter of the village and hid within the overgrowth of weeds and thistles and poison ivy. Bernard scooted forward with a set of binoculars pressed against his face.
The early-morning sun highlighted the opening within the trees enough for him to see his prize. Few civilized men had ever witnessed what Bernard now saw, and even fewer lived to tell about it.
According to his research teams, the village consisted of no more than a hundred villagers. The light bustle around the few primitive straw huts seemed to confirm the low numbers. Bernard glanced at his team of camouflaged mercenaries as they waited, itching for the coming bloodshed. Years of planning and research came down to this moment and he felt confident his hand-picked team could do the job.
He smiled. "Stick with the plan," he whispered.
They nodded, took one last visual inventory of their weaponry, and crept forward. If Bernard's research was solid, which he had no reason to doubt that it was, an early dawn attack was their best opportunity for success. The tribesmen would be well-fed from their frenzied night of hunting and less likely to be at their best.
He and his team crawled from the brush to the edge of the village. With no more forest to hide their approach, they separated and circled the small tribe. The men of the village, the hunters, celebrated around a magnificent bonfire while the women stood behind them, watching, waiting for their chance to feast. The hunters wore nothing but the blood of their prey as they danced in circles around the previous night's kills. Though the fire burned hot and bright, each man took his turn leaping forward and ripping into the raw flesh of the fresh carcasses with their teeth, not waiting for the meat to cook. With blood and raw meat hanging from their jaws, they bounced back to rejoin their celebrating brethren.
The women grew impatient, shuffling from foot to foot. The tribesmen appeared in no hurry to share their feast. A few of the younger women inched closer. An older, grey-haired man with a small bone pierced through his lower lip spun toward the creeping girls, snarled like a beast, and lunged at them. They retreated to the other women and the older man returned to his dance.
Bernard made eye contact with the mercenary at his left. The mercenary nodded back. It was time. Bernard crawled from the brush and rushed the celebrating tribesmen. He had no illusions of getting much closer without them catching his scent, so he had planned accordingly. The mercenary at his left squeezed off the initial burst of automatic gunfire.
One of the women fell, dead before her body hit the ground. The villagers' celebration ended. The tribesmen turned toward their attackers, stunned. They were used to being hunters, not hunted, and they were caught off-guard. Bernard's plan was working.
Two more villagers fell before the panic set in among the others. Years of being the undeniable kings of the forest had made them complacent, which worked to Bernard's advantage. The men of the village scrambled. The women ducked and scurried toward the false safety of their huts. The other mercenaries emerged from the woods, assault rifles blazing. More villagers crumpled to the ground.
Several tribesmen fled between their huts and toward the forest. Bernard had no doubt if they got to the trees the mission would be ruined. Their avoidance of the areas where his men waited told Bernard the savages had caught their scent and now knew their numbers and locations. The fight had begun.
Agonized screams followed gunfire throughout the village. Bernard lurched forward, his head on a swivel. He knew once the villagers made their transformations the counterattack would be sudden and violent, and he vowed not be caught unprepared.
One of the women bolted across his path. She hesitated when she saw him and released a beastly growl. The whites of her eyes turned black and soulless. Bernard lifted his weapon. She tilted her head like a confused Rottweiler.
An adrenaline rush unlike he had ever felt overtook him and he squeezed the trigger. She was the first person he had ever killed and he was shocked by his lack of guilt.
Bernard watched as an entire tribe, one that had existed for thousands of years if not longer, was annihilated in a matter of minutes. As the massacre dragged on, he smiled more and more, mentally counting the money that was sure to follow.
The gunfire echoed around him, beautiful to his ears. The natives had spears and primitive slingshots, but the unexpected attack took them by surprise and they were unable to regroup. Bernard removed a flare from his waistband, ignited it, and tossed it into the nearest hut. With the flames engulfing the straw, he jogged back to the village center where the celebratory bonfire only moments before had been so full of life. Around him his men chased and slaughtered every naked native they saw.
Behind a hut to his left, a roar like a lion's accompanied the terrified scream of one of his men. More gunfire rang out before the roar ended and the screams ceased.
Scurrying feet startled him from behind. He spun to see a Bigfoot-looking creature race from one hut and disappear behind another. Someone else from his team cried out, fired his weapon, and died with a wail.
Bernard watched in amazement as a few of the tribesmen transformed before his eyes. He also watched his murderous men with pride as one by one they appeared in the open for a moment, slaughtered their game, and then disappeared again. They were the finest mercenaries on the planet. He wouldn't have chosen them otherwise.
"Remember," he shouted. "We only need one male. Kill the rest of them."
The reminder wasn't necessary, but Bernard was getting caught up in the moment, the adrenaline rush making him brash and overconfident.
At the edge of the village, the flashlight beams of two of his men followed another fleeing tribesman into the dark, shaded tree line. The tribesman, still clinging to his human form, wasn't more than five feet tall and his ribs showed through his skin, indicating he was the runt of the litter. He was perfect. Bernard ran toward the chase, desperate to be a part of the capture.
Another hut to his left burst into flames, and then another. As he fled the village, the constant gunfire died down and he smiled, thrilled with how well the plan was proceeding. Short of an occasional fresh burst of gunfire as his men hunted down strays, the forest was quiet. Bernard took another few steps before realizing he had lost the trail of the men he was following. The matted-down weeds and brush they had trampled slowly lifted back to their pre-trampled state. He turned to retrace his steps to the village, but that path was lost as well. Though he waited for another gunshot to give him a direction, only silence returned.
In his excitement, he had overestimated his athletic prowess. With his hands on his knees and his lungs crying for air, he painfully remembered his lack thereof. He stopped, waited, and listened between gasps. He knew what he was up against if even one of the villagers escaped his men, and he knew he would pay dearly for that mistake. He cursed himself for leaving them. His assault rifle quivered in his hands. Just wait for the flare, he told himself.
Mosquitoes buzzed near his ears. The music of early morning crickets filled the dawn air, though he barely heard it over his own pounding heart. He raised his flashlight from his waistband and found only trees and shadows surrounding him.
His assault rifle in his hands did little to alleviate the terror that filled him. To his right beyond some trees, a long, steady growl rose and then died again. The brush rustled. He stopped breathing, afraid the sound of his breath would draw the waiting beast to him.
A creature as tall as a grizzly darted from behind one tree and disappeared behind another with the speed of a tiger. Bernard stumbled backward. He fumbled with his weapon, almost dropping it in his haste, but the creature was gone before he could aim.
The monster howled like a wolf. It had been wishful thinking to hope that the mission could be executed before any of the tribesmen morphed. All he could think about now was how foolish he was to let his men get out of his sight. Well, that and the urge to piss in his pants.
Bernard stumbled backward again until his shoulder blade met another tree. He aimed his weapon, but couldn't hold it still because of his trembling hands. The fearless creature shot into the open and disappeared again before he could fire his gun. He had no doubt the monster was toying with him. He squeezed off a burst of gunfire at the trees, hoping to scare the predator away. Tree bark ripped apart in the spray of bullets, but aside from making him feel better, his gunfire was useless.
His heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn't see the creature, though the sporadic cracking of sticks and rustling of leaves revealed that it was circling him. A twig snapped at his side. He retreated from the sound with his only hopes—the flashlight in one hand and his rifle in the other. He stumbled over brush and weeds and branches, somehow keeping his footing. He didn't yet see the beast, but its snorts and pursuing footsteps told him how close it was getting.
Bernard wouldn't make it without a fight; that much was clear.
The beast exploded from the trees. Bernard dove to the ground, rolled to his back with his eyelids clenched shut, and held the trigger down until there were no more blasts of thunder from the muzzle of his weapon.
The forest went silent. Even the mosquitoes and crickets seemed to have hushed. He prayed for the chatter of his men, or their gunfire, but there was nothing.
As he waited on his back in the middle of the rain forest, wondering if he was about to die alone, his body never to be found, he thought of his new wife and the closure she would never receive. He fought his defeatist doubts, instead calming himself with strategic thoughts and hopeful prayers.
With his adrenaline subsiding a bit, he noticed the ground moving beneath his back. A flash of his light revealed hundreds of maggots crawling over his hands and up his sleeves and pant legs. A few feet to his left the headless carcass of a slaughtered deer seemed to dance with the movement of the maggots infesting it. He fought his intense need to brush the maggots off of him for fear of the movement revealing his location. Not that his gunfire hadn't already given that away.
Branches snapped to his right. He jerked his head around, no longer able to remain still. The towering creature leaped from the trees. Bernard aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. His weapon clicked, and its following silence was deafening. The beast landed beside him, rose to his hind legs, and straddled him. Snot and blood and spit dripped from the creature's snout. The beast roared, celebrating its successful hunt. The hairs on Bernard's neck stood and his stomach turned.
The werewolf was bigger and more feroci
ous than what the aerial photographs had led him to believe. Its front hands slammed against the ground alongside each of Bernard's shoulders, its bloody snout lowered to within inches of Bernard's face. The creature's breath was hot and rank and wet against Bernard's flesh. Bernard pulled his face away until his opposite cheek was flat against the ground and the squirming maggots. The creature first sniffed his prey's face and chest and then licked his cheek as if tasting him.
When the beast tilted its head backward again and howled, Bernard couldn't help but imagine the pain of being eaten alive.
Bernard wiggled and pushed against the creature's thick, fur-covered chest, freeing himself slightly. With one fluid swipe, the monster pinned his shoulder to the ground with its talon-like claws. Bernard winced and groaned as the claws sank into his flesh. He thrashed with his free arm, but the beast was too strong, and his struggling did little to ease the agony.
The creature lunged forward for the kill. Bernard cringed. His bladder let loose. But before the beast could rip out his throat, it yelped, pulled away, and crashed to the ground at Bernard's side. As the creature scurried toward the brush in retreat, Bernard saw the yellow fletching of a familiar tranquilizer dart protruding from its neck. And then the creature disappeared.
Bernard scrambled for his flashlight and shined it in the direction from which the dart had come. Two of his men closed in, guns raised. His breath stuttered from his mouth in one relieved sigh. His men ran past him in pursuit of their game. One of them slowed long enough to ask him if he was okay.