KILL KILL KILL Page 9

  “You don’t waste any time.”

  “I’m done wasting time on this one. Good people are dead. Somebody tried to blow me up this afternoon. And I got a feeling this isn’t the end of it. There’s somebody else in this game, and I think the group knows more than they’re letting on.”

  “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

  “Survival. If you want me to do my job and keep you alive then you’ll give me what I need to do my job the right way. That and I think you don’t agree with them anyway.”

  Victoria grins just slightly and that lets him know he’s right. She sits down with her drink.

  “What if I tell you and you don’t believe me?” Victoria says as she swirls the dark red wine in front of her.

  “I’ve seen a real live ninja vanish in a puff of smoke, an eight-year-old kill a Spetznatz team with a spork, and the pieces my daddy brought home from the Roswell crash. I believe what I see right in front of me, if that makes any sense to you.”

  Victoria smiles. “You saw Van Duyn right in front of you. What do you believe about that?”

  “I liked Star Trek when I was a kid. Spock used to say once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains has to be the truth.”

  “It’s from Sherlock Holmes,” Victoria interrupts, unintentionally reminding Walter that she has a doctorate in English Literature.

  “Huh,” Walter stops, puzzled. “Sorry. I went to a fox hole instead of college.”

  Victoria smiles and makes a feint exhale of a laugh that makes Walter think she likes him, but that she pities him at the same time. Walter grows more serious.

  “I think something ate Eli Van Duyn’s legs and his wife’s head. Maybe the killer, the bad man, fed them to something. I don’t know. The real question is: why? I think you know why.”

  She takes an uncharacteristically large swig and finishes the glass. “No,” she says. “Not really.”

  “But you know more than I do, and that’s enough to freak you the fuck out. What is it, Victoria?”

  “Van Duyn spent the last few weeks before he was killed trying to convince us that something very strange was conspiring against us,” she stops and sighs. “Specifically, reptilian humanoids from another dimension.”

  A tall man in his early twenties walks into the parlor wearing nothing but a leopard print thong. His frosted tip hair is gelled and spiked into a faux hawk. His bulging six-pack is shiny and hairless like the rest of his body. He raises an eyebrow to her last comment. Walter notices him but Victoria has her back turned.

  “One of your toys got out of the box,” Walter says quietly.

  Victoria turns to see the modelesque youth.

  “Charles! Go back in the bedroom. I have business,” she belts out angrily. The boy follows directions.

  “Now what was that you were saying?” Walter reminds her.

  “Walter, do you know nearly every culture in the world has depictions of dragons in its mythology? Many include serpents in their creation myths. In Indian legend, the Naga passed down knowledge to their human followers. It was a serpent that convinced Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge, Walter. There are ancient Sumerian texts which refer to people from the sky who brought them the divine right of kings. What do you think of that?”

  “I think you really did your research for this conversation.”

  “My concentration was in folklore, not a fox hole. That and recent events have inspired me to brush up a bit. Van Duyn believed that the creatures came here during the late Neolithic era for uncertain purposes. They used early humans as slaves and may have interbred with them. They eat human flesh and drink blood, a conclusion you seem to have drawn on your own as well, and they can be quite large.”

  “Then where did they go?”

  “It’s hard to say. Certain Sumerian texts say they were banished to Irkalla – Sumerian hell. Some of the more thick-headed interpretations state they hid underground in subterranean cities. Van Duyn thought they were trapped in an alternate reality. One of the problems with ancient texts is that the writers had very limited comprehension of what they were seeing and we are working through that filter. I’m certain you’re familiar with Clarke’s laws.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Really, Walter, you should read more often.”

  “I read current events.”

  She furrows her brow and frowns at him. “There are rumors, urban legends, if you will, that Hitler was secretly in league with the reptilians. Some say he managed to bring some of the creatures back to Earth. Eli was particularly interested in these stories; so much so that he occasionally sent Graveyard operators to collect old Nazi documents by means which were sometimes less than civilized. On our last weekly video conference he mentioned some files he had just obtained which were particularly exciting. Two days later he was dead.”

  Walter winces as he thinks. He puts his hand to his face. He does not like the implications of this information.

  “You would think a fifteen foot lizard man with a mouth like a killer whale would be easier to find.”

  “Oh no, Walter. That’s the worst part of it all. You see, the reptilians are shapeshifters. They can take human form.”

  Walter winces with disbelief.

  “I don’t buy it,” he says.

  “I know it sounds crazy, Walter,” she says, rolling her eyes. That’s why I didn’t tell you before.”

  “Somebody probably killed Van Duyn to cover up something, but it wasn’t a reptilian humanoid shapeshifter vampire conspiracy.”

  “I’m not saying that, but…” she pauses. “It might have had something to do with why someone killed him. Could you at least keep an open mind?”

  Walter considers it for a moment.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

  IT’S AWWWWRIGHT!

  Sid snaps awake long before anyone else in the room. He sleeps lightly and with a pistol in his hand, just like his father taught him. The pistol levels almost on its own at the source of the commotion. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Around him, other members of Kill Team Three begin to rouse. Abo is up quickly, but Safari is slow and John Q keeps sleeping. Ashley is nowhere to be seen. Sid lowers his pistol a second later when he sees what woke him.

  Victor, standing in the doorway to the barracks with that wavy kris knife in his left hand, has a hold of something – a person. She is wearing a dark brown kurti that covers her down to her feet. Her dark hair is a mess in her face from Victor dragging her by it. The room is still dark and Sid can’t be sure. He stands up from the bottom bunk and looks closer. It’s the girl he saved from the dogs.

  “Wakey, wakey,” Victor says, dragging the girl over to the card table in the middle of the room.

  The girl starts to scream, but he bashes her through the table, knocking it over and scattering playing cards across the floor. He has the knife point at her eye before she can figure out where she is.

  “You want a lobotomy, cunt?” He growls. The girl silences herself.

  “The hell are you on about?” Safari asks, groggily, from the top bunk next to Sid.

  “I caught this little whore in the supply shed trying to steal water bottles.”

  “Pesky little waif,” Safari chuckles.

  But Victor is wearing body armor and that green duster he likes. He has two guns strapped to his legs and, obviously, his knife. He didn’t put on all that gear just to go to the bathroom. Sid knows right away that he’s lying. He went over the wire and found that girl.

  “I think we can have a little fun with her,” Victor says. “Get some, get some.”

  He starts by pinning the girl to the floor under his knee. He smacks her face a few times and then clamps his hand down over her mouth as he slides that kris knife into the neckline of her kurti and slices down the length of her clothes like he’s unzipping a jacket.

  The sight of her naked body is startling to Sid. She fights to cover herself with a forearm and her crotch with a hand, but her
attempts are futile. She is not like the naked children that run in the road sometimes. She has thin fuzz where children do not and little knobby breasts.

  Victor bites down on his knife like a high seas pirate as he reaches to explore the unshaven fur between her legs. Sid can tell she doesn’t like it, but it is not like Victor is cutting her or breaking her bones. He’s just touching her. He’s even being gentle about it. Sid doesn’t understand why the girl is so upset.

  Then Victor starts to undo his own pants. Sid almost interrupts to ask him why, but then decides better. Abo comes down from his bunk and sits on the floor next to where Sid is standing and simply spectates. The giant black man nudges Sid on the shoulder and nods, smiling with approval.

  When Sid turns back from Abo’s face, he sees Victor has his dick out. The girl’s muffled screams intensify. She lets her breasts go exposed, no longer a priority, as she reaches with both hands to shield her genitals. Victor slaps at her defenses briefly. Then he rolls his eyes and punches her hard under the sternum. She stops screaming. She stops doing much of anything except gasping for air. Her shield is down and he begins to stab into her.

  That first stab is the worst. Though she cannot scream, the dreadful look on her face, with her mouth hanging and her eyes wide, shakes Sid to understanding that something terrible is happening here even if he doesn’t comprehend it. He steps closer.

  “I don’t think she likes this,” he says to Victor, who ignores him. He repeats himself. “I don’t think she likes this.”

  Victor halts the fucking for just a second and swivels his head toward his brother. His expression is one of pure glee. This is exactly where he wanted this to end up.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” Victor says through the knife in his teeth.

  Sid does not have an answer. He turns to the others. Abo and Safari stare back at him waiting anxiously to see how he responds. John Q is still sleeping. The guy could sleep through an artillery shelling. He looks back at Victor. He can’t fight Victor. He has before, and it always ends the same way. He has knife scars all over his body to prove that. He could keep him busy for a while maybe, while the girl escapes. No. Not worth the risk. The others might jump in and subdue her. Victor might just beat him that quickly and chase her down. Worse yet, Victor might just kill him. His brother is prone to fits of rage.

  Sid backs down. Victor chuckles. He keeps looking at Sid as he takes the knife from his teeth and presses the point into the girl’s pelvis. Blood runs from her flesh as he begins to carve his name into her waist near her hip. He is remarkably precise considering all of her squirming and thrashing – and that he never takes his eyes off his brother the entire time.

  Sid feels more compelled than ever to stop this somehow. He can’t do it by himself. The only other person who might help him is Ashley. Ashley might stop this. It’s his job to keep his soldiers in line. He has to make Victor quit. Sid dashes from the barracks, leaving the rest of the kill team laughing at him.

  The night wind blows cool against his skin as he tucks his pistol into the waistband of his boxer shorts, the only clothing he has on. The gun flops loosely in the pants waist. He has to tug at it several times to keep it from falling all the way through and down his leg to the ground.

  He thinks he can find Ashley in a trailer behind the com shed. If the kill team commander isn’t with the rest of the team, he’s usually in that trailer. Sid hauls it as fast as he can. He runs into an MP on the way, who remarks about his underwear and tries to get in his way. Sid takes him out with the flying knee and it doesn’t even slow down. He keeps moving.

  When he reaches the small aluminum trailer he sees that the small port windows are lit up. The flimsy screen door to the trailer is propped open. He dashes through without thinking about what he might be interrupting.

  Inside, Ashley sits at a desk with a laptop computer. He is wearing a gray hoodie and sweat pants. Ashley quickly shuts off the computer monitor.

  “Victor is...” Sid belts out before he realizes he doesn’t know the word. He starts over. “Victor is torturing a little girl in there.”

  “What?” Ashley says, looking very bothered.

  “He went over the wire and kidnapped a little girl. He’s torturing her for fun.”

  Ashley furrows his brow and stands up. “We’ll just have to see about that.”

  Ashley marches back to the barracks at a steady clip, like a man walking to a fight. Sid feels like he’s just tagging along, awkwardly uncertain whether he should run ahead or lag behind, or keep the exact same pace.

  When they reach the barracks, Ashley pounds open the front door and everything stops. Victor is in the same spot, raping the girl, only now he is holding the kris blade underneath one of her breasts and threatening to saw it off. He halts when he sees Ashley.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” the commander barks.

  Neither Victor, Abo or Safari have an answer, only a puzzled look. Sid stands at Ashley’s side ready to fight in case Victor flies into a rage against them.

  The seconds tick by. Even the girl is almost silent, except for a few whimpers.

  “I’m raping the shit out of this sand-nigger,” Victor finally says.

  Ashley nods slightly. He reaches into the big front pocket of his hoodie and pulls something out. He tosses it down on the floor near Victor. It’s a hundred dollar bill.

  “Ben Franklin says I can make her scream the loudest,” Ashley says.

  Victor cackles loudly. “You’re on. You’re all on.”

  Sid steps back toward the door. Ashley spins to face him. He bends down a bit to meet Sid face to face.

  “Son,” he starts. “A long time ago I used to work for the CIA. I had two kids and the most wonderful wife in the world. Then I found out she was a Soviet spy. You know what I did? I murdered the bitch and sent her head to her KGB handler in a box with a nail bomb. Killed him. I roasted the rest of her on a spit. I made the kids eat the meat and I told them ‘this is what communism tastes like.’ You know why?”

  Sid shakes his head. He doesn’t know the answer.

  “Because the enemy is the enemy. Ain’t nothin’ more.”

  Ashley smiles at Sid, pats him on the shoulder and turns around to face the rest of Kill Team Three.

  “Alright boys,” he elates. “Let’s get to it.”

  Sid takes one last look at his brother. Victor smiles back at him. The girl reaches out for help, but there is nothing else he can do. He can’t fight the whole kill team. He feels defeated. He feels disgusted.

  He does the only thing he can do. He walks away.

  Encrypted Chat Log 2

  KILL TEAM ONE

  What makes a man a killer? I mean a killer. A real killer. It isn’t special training or secret weapons. It isn’t a badge or a uniform patch or a scary tattoo. It isn’t a killer instinct. All of that is bullshit. I know what makes a man a killer. It is simply hate.

  Men tell stories about me and where I come from. Some of them say I’m a demon from hell or the angel of death. Some say I am part robot or that I descended from Vlad the Impaler or that I was genetically engineered to be a superhuman killing machine. All of that is bullshit too. I am just a man with a lot of hate.

  I was born in Norilsk sometime in the fifties. I can’t be sure what year. Things were… difficult then. Do you know Norilsk? No. No one does in this part of the world. Americans can tell you the result of every Super Bowl, but they don’t know what goes on outside. It is okay. People are ignorant everywhere in the world. They’re just ignorant about different things. I promise, there they don’t know anything about you either.

  Norilsk was a labor camp once. A gulag, as they say in my native Russian. It is in the northernmost reaches of Siberia, as far north as humans dare to settle on this Earth. My father worked in the mines there, although I don’t know his name or what he did to end up there. My earliest memories are of him beating my mother, which he did often. He died in the mines when I was a small boy. My
mother starved and my older sister was eaten. Not by animals.

  I escaped into the wilds. That was certain death. The temperature is often twenty below. Birds fall from the sky frozen dead and shatter like glass when they hit the ground. In the winter, the sun does not come up for weeks on end. The air is choked with smog from the smelting ore and there is no escape from the acid snows that killed all of the trees long ago.

  I nestled in the barren forests with a litter of wolf pups for warmth and when the she-wolf returned it let me be. There I remained, following the wolves for food. In time, I became like them. I spent at least a decade out there I think. I think. It is hard to tell when the nights can last months and there are no modern devices to keep time.

  What? You don’t believe me? That is perfectly fine. Believe one of the stories the operators tell then. But you have come here to join a fight against monsters from a world outside this one, so you should probably try to have a more open mind.

  You can learn much with the wolves that you cannot learn from men. Wolves are like people but not quite. They have more base concerns. They are concerned always with food and safety. Men ignore these things in favor of distractions and imaginings. More than anything the wolves can kill better than men. The wolves have to kill just to eat. Men need to hate to kill. I had to learn to hate just to eat.

  I was a young man by the time civilization found me. Oil drillers came across me out there and thought they could make money selling a boy raised by wolves to the circuses. Their plan did not execute well. I killed three of them when I woke up at the drilling station with a tranquilizer dart in my arm. Tore their throats out. Tore their wrists open. Ate some of the pieces. They knocked me out again.

  I woke up in a prison, or an insane asylum. They were much the same in that part of the world and in those days. There it was test after test, day after day, and more of the same violence. They did not understand me anymore than the zookeeper understands a wolf. It was weeks before I did not lunge at the glass and months before I did not lunge at them when they came to feed me.