Dark*Matter: Gators Under Gary (Was Exit 23)

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Nine

Bullets ploughed through the door's cheap wood , sending Nick scrambling backwards. He pressed himself against the wall. Splinters went flying as another shot punched through the veneer.

“Give yerself up, Officer,” the trucker yelled. “You have meddled in the affairs of Le Triez Corbien, and you cannot hope to stand against our righteous fury.”

Another warning shot hit the doorway, a few inches from the doorknob. Nick held his weapon at the ready. From the sound of his voice and the angle of his shots, the trucker was still standing on the counter. Bad tactical position - the trade off for the range of fire was a complete lack of cover. Nick drew a deep breath and prepared to prove that point.

***

Ammie turned the key in the state troopers ignition. Nothing. She sighed and leaned forward to yell through the shattered windscreen.

“Figure out what’s wrong?”

Zac yelled something in reply, but it was swept away by the wind. A moment later his face appeared from beneath the bonnet, nose red with cold.

“Batteries dead,” He yelled. “Again.”

Ammie swore. The third car they’d tried, all of them dead. Even the Nemo torches they were using for light gave out within a few seconds of walking outside.

“You hear something?” Nick asked.

“Wind,” Ammie said. She wasn’t happy. “Snow. Cold. Psycho-demon-things that want to eat my head.”
“Rip it off, not eat it. They need it to replace their own.”
“Whatever.”
“And that’s not what I meant. Do you hear something…something like a firecracker.”

Ammie listened hard.

“Nope. Nothing.”

***

Nick leapt out from behind the door, throwing himself down as he pulled the trigger on the SiG. His shot went wide, shattering a jar of cookies near the truckers foot. The trucker laughed wildly, his magnum kicking as he fired another round.

“You haven’t stopped my pet,” the trucker screamed. Nick’s second shot was no closer than the first. “You may have taken its first head, but it will return for another. You are doomed, lawman. Doomed.”

"Lawman?" Nick yelled back. "What, you're a crazed cultist from the old west?"

The magnum fired again, and Nick grunted as he caught a slug in the shoulder. Blood streamed from the wound, and he swore as the trucker started lining him up for another shot.

“Bastard mother-*&#%$,” Nick grunted. He rolled desperately, finding cover behind one of the tables. The truckers shot ricocheted off the tiled floor.

Nick looked back accross the floor. Blood coated the tiles, all of it his.

He felt a little dizzy.

***

“I heard it,” Ammie said. “But that’s not a firecracker…”

The realization dawned on both of them in tandem.

“Crap.”

Running through the storm wasn’t much of an option, but Zac did a good job ploughing through the snow. One of the glass panes in the door to the Rest stop shattered as a bullet passed through. Ammie ducked out of reflex, then scowled.

“Double crap.”

They made it inside just in time to see Nick pull himself up over one of the tables, his pistol held in one hand while blood streamed from his shoulder. One of the truckers, a bear of a man wearing a patched jacket, was firing at him with a pistol the size of Ammie’s arm.

Ammie swore and dove towards the booth where their gear was sitting. Zac immediately decided that discretion was the better part of valor and took cover. Nick snapped off one last, desperate shot.

The trucker’s brains spread along the back wall.

Nick nodded, once, and slipped into unconsciousness on the floor.

Stillness settled over the rest stop. No-one said anything, they just waited and listened to the wail of the wind.

“*&#%$,” Ammie said.

Then she drew a gleaming katana out of her gear and glared at everyone in the donut shop, wordlessly daring one of them to draw a gun or cause trouble.

 

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Ten

First aid wasn’t really a big part of Zac’s life. He’d attended a course, way back in ’98 when he first started work for the local paper, and he figured he’d stretched the limits of what he’d learned in those four days further than human memory was meant to be stretched. Half-forgotten techniques of wrapping wounds were coming back to him, and he managed to muddle through extracting the slug from Nick’s shoulder without causing to much pain. It wasn’t a professional job by any means, but it was good enough to get the ATF officer back on his feet and ordering folks about, so it had to do.

“Welcome back,” Zac said cheerfully. He loomed over Nick, grinning as the smaller man regained consciousness.
“I get him?”
“Yep. Not much to question though.”

Nick nodded wearily, then pulled himself upright.

“You got his gun?”
Zac nodded.
“Hand it over. Unless you’ve got some kind of training, you’re more dangerous to us than anything you’re shooting at.”
Zac nodded again and handed the gun over. Nick tucked it into his waistband, next to the SiG, and scanned the room.

“Zac.”
“Yeah?”
“Why does Ammie have a sword?”

Ammie stalked over, sword still held at the ready.

“It’s mine,” she said. “This is what I do, okay?”
“You own swords?”
“I teach martial arts.”
“Oh.”
Nick paused for a moment. Everything was still quiet.
“As long as you’ve got a permit.”

Ammie looked at Zac, her expression inscrutable.
“You sure he’s okay?”
“Fine. Minor painkillers, nothing major. Lot of pain and bloodloss though.”
“You sure he’s okay with the guns?”
“I’m fine,” Nick assured her. “Not great, but I’ll live.”
He dropped off the table, wobbling unsteadily on his feet.
“How’d you go with the cars?”

Zac and Ammie shared a glance.

“Most of them are totaled,” Ammie explained. “The rest have dead batteries. Torches are gone too, except for mine.”
“Demon may feed on electricity,” Zac added. “Rubber on Ammie’s camp torch probably protected it, but the Nemo’s were toast the moment it showed up. We got some more maglights out of the troopers car, which should last us a while longer.”
“Right,” Nick said. He rubbed his face blearily. “Have you tried replacing the batteries in one of the cars?”

“Sure,” Ammie said. “Of course we did. We’re in the middle of no-where, so naturally we dropped down to the local auto-store and picked up a spare battery.”
“That could have been an option,” Nick said. He seemed to be immune to sarcasm.
“Riiiiight.”
“Although you could have just nabbed one from the general store,” Nick said.
Ammie blinked.
“…or we could have just nabbed one from the general store ,” Ammie said.

She looked at Zac. “Why don’t we try that then?”

Nick watched the two of them go, Ammie silently berating herself for not thinking of it in the first place. Once they were gone, he did a quick check of the other refugees from the storm and double-checked the bindings on the wounded businessman. Somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the cause of all this, but Nick couldn’t figure out why. Sharply dressed, dignified, every inch the power executive. The only thing this guy was missing were some necessary parts of the chest cavity and a briefcase.

Nick paused. A briefcase. He was sure the exec was carrying one when he first entered the donut shop. It wasn’t here now.

Slowly, quietly, without causing any alarm, Nick left the donut store and returned to the rest-rooms.

 

[Terwox]

Cool, really cool, excellent intro, keeps being steadily entertaining. Keep it up!

 

[Sidekick]

Well Arwink this is a very good SH. So I take great Pleasure in taking the honours as the

FIRST. BUMP. EVER

 

[arwink]

Thanks for the bump.

Sadly, the Storyhour writing time is on hold for the next two weeks - I'm trying to put together a job application, find a new place to live and get my semesters marking done before the middle of November, and the three goals aren't really working in tandem.

Once it's all done, however, expect a whole mess of updates

 

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Eleven

The floor of the restroom is slick with bloodstains and melting frost. Nick holds one hand to his shoulder as he paces out the fight as best he can, judging the position of the beast and the exec based on the angle of blood splatters. He’s been part of a forensics team for nearly three years now, which makes it easier, but forensic science hasn’t quite caught up with the challenges of seven-foot snow demons in hotel restrooms.

It takes a while, but eventually he gets the fight clear in his mind. The beast comes in…Exec turns to face it…gets a claw to the ribs, goes flying…picks himself up near the washers….tries to run for the door…gets pulled from the hinges…

Nick pauses, midway through the pace. He retraces his stems and follows the blood, just to be sure.

The executive isn’t running for the door, not to open it. Instead, he’s running for the side that doesn’t open. And the bloody handprints in the corner don’t match someone clawing at the door in a panic.

***

Ammie looked at Zac over the windshield.

“Anything?”

Zac shook his head. They’ve hooked up the battery twice now, tried to match the plugs as best they could. It’s not working, but the last time Zac had looked on the inside of a car engine he was twelve. It’s entirely possible he was trying to hook the battery up to something completely unrelated.

Or the battery could be dead.

“I think we’re stuffed,” he yelled against the wind. “Unless we can convince that kid to come out, we’ve done the best we can with my knowledge of engines. ”

Ammie leans her head against the steering wheel, the frost slowly settling in. She feels tired. Very tired. She’s acutely aware that her own mechanical skills add up to less than Zacs.

“Think we could force him out at gunpoint?” She asks. It’s a hopeful question, but not very serious. Zac just shakes his head.

“Lets head back in then. I’m freezing, and this is getting us nowhere.”

***

The briefcase was in the wastepaper basket, its hefty weight making it awkward to carry with his shoulder. Nick steadies himself against one wall, forcing himself to keep walking. He’s almost thankful when Ammie meets him at the door to the rest stop and takes the burden.

“Any luck?” Nick asks.
“Cold thumbs,” Zac tells him. The big man is grinning despite the dire straights. “What’s in the case?”
Nick shrugs, winces.
“It’s the suits,” he says. “I remembered he had it earlier, found it in the wastepaper basket. Hopefully, it might have some clues.”
“How you figure?”
“Demon attacked him first.”

Zac nods carefully. It makes sense.

They start jimmying the lock with a butter knife the moment they get into the store. It’s a cheap case, all told, but it still takes them a few minutes to force it open. When it pops, they lean in and stare with bated breath. It’s contents don’t disappoint.

One stack of papers and files, all prominent displaying the letterhead of something called the Hoffman institute.

One small mobile, although no one can pick the design.

One small glass sphere, about seven or eight inches across. It’s interior spins with white dots, like the tourist snow globes out in the store. Just like those snow globes, this one depicts the rest stop deep in the heart of the storm. Only the snow never settles in this globe, and the howl of the wind turns into an unearthly shriek the moment Zac reaches out and touches the globe with his finger.

 

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Twelve

“Jonas Riley.” Nick says, flipping through the exec’s wallet. “Hoffman Institute.”

“They’re an independent think-tank,” Zac tells him. “New energy sources. Cold fusions, perpetual motion, that kind of thing.”
“Not terribly demonic,” Ammie says. “What makes you think he’s attached to our psycho-killer?”
“There’s rumors,” Zac says. He rubs his forehead, trying to recall his perusal of the conspiracy mills. Somethins he's amazed by his own ability remmeber scraps of message board posts. “Apparently they do a sideline of debunking phenomena. Back a few television shows and cable documentaries, that sort of thing. They’re said to investigate the occult and alternative medicines in case it has any scientific value.”
“Still not seeing demons,” Ammie says. She sound less convinced.

“He was an agent,” Nick says. He’s got an open file in front of him, his eyes flicking back and forth as he speed-reads the contents. “Was looking into the estate of a dead occultist known as Michael Galvin, the head of some small cult called the Thirteen Ravens.”
“Les Triez Corbins,” Zac translates. “Thirteen Ravens in French, I think.”

Nick shrugs.

“Seems Galvin had bound some kind of demon,” he continued. “Stole its head, forced it to wear the guise of the creatures whose head it stole…”

“…A beast of snow and evil,” Zac continued, his own memory suddenly jogged. “Immortal as long as their head stays whole, their bodies can be slowed by silver. Once the head is in your possession they can be bound to service with the right ritual and commanded with a talisman…”

“…which Riley took to keep out of the hands of Galvin’s followers,” Nick finished. “Hence our cheery snow globe.”

Everyone thought about that for a second.

“Okay,” Ammie said. “Now I see where the demons come in.”

The debate of what to do with the information is short. Riley is still breathing, but consciousness is a long way off. Even if he can help, it's not going to be anytie soon. The notes offer a little more information, and breaking the snow globe is quickly deemed a bad idea. That leaves the phone, and the hope that whoever Riley knew can help in some way.

Nick picks it up and hits redial. The words HOFFMAN HOTLINE appear on the screen. It rings three times before someone answers, the connection startlingly clear through the storm.

“Wilkins,” a voice says. “What you got?”
“This is Nick DeLatre of the ATF,” Nick says. “We’ve got one of your agents in a critical condition, we’ve been snowed in by a demon summoned by crazed cultists, and we’re trying to keep a bunch of innocent people alive. How can you help?”

“How did you get this phone?” Wilkins asks. “This is a secured line.”

“Let me repeat Mr. Wilkins. Jonas Riley. Critical Condition. The phone was in his case, we broke it open. Now, How…Can…You…Help?”
“It’s a harriken,” Zac offered helpfully. “Tell him it’s a harriken demon.”
“Did someone just say harriken?”
“Yes.”

There is the brief sound of someone typing on a computer.

“Do you have silver weapons handy?” Wilkins asks.
“We’re in the middle of a freaking rest stop,” Nick says. His tone is dangerously even. “I was going camping. We have one sword, two guns and some wounded.”
“Do you have its head?”

Nick glare is tangible even through the phone connection.

“In that case, Mr…DeLatre, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you’re all going to be dead by morning. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t call this number again.”

The phone line goes dead. Nick stares at it in disbelief.

“What?” Ammie says.
“They hung up.”

Then the glass doors in the foyer SHATTER, wind rushing past with the force of a gale. The demon is intangible, but this doesn’t stop Ammie and Nick from attacking with guns and sword. Ammunition rakes the ceiling; the sword passes harmlessly through the demons form.

Zac seizes the globe and disappears beneath the table, praying quietly that it doesn’t notice.

Fortunately for him, it doesn’t.

Unfortunately for the unconscious form of Jonah Riley, the demon seizes him and disappears back through the shattered remains of the front door. Ammie and Nick follow, but the creature has the advantage of speed and natural camouflage in this form. They stand in the snow, blinking against the wind as they try to spot the creature.

Jonas Riley’s body falls from the sky, narrowly missing Ammie as it collapses in the snow. Blood fountains from the severed neck. Ammie looks at it.

“Well,” she says. “At least when it’s got a head we can hit it.”

 

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Thirteen

The best is made of increasingly limited options. The cars are a waste, the demon is still strong, and there seems little hope of help making it to the rest stop in time to save them. Inside the donut store, people are either frightened out of their wits or quietly resigned to the fact that death is inevitable. Behind the counter, Mabel is drinking and praying in roughly equal portions.

Ammie heads out into the parking lot, the keys to Riley’s car in hand. Nick has the truckers keys, slowly working his way from truck to truck until the keys fit. According to Nick’s logic, both forces where trying to contain or control the demon, so the odds are they may be relying on something more than a occult tourist toy.

Zac sits in the donut store, the occult tourist toy on his lap. He’s muttering to himself, loading scraps of arcane lore onto his laptop and trying to find something that will help him control the demon. Every now and then he holds the orb up and chants, silencing the quiet crying that permeates the donut store. When it becomes apparent that nothing has happened and everyone is still trapped, the crying starts again.

Eventually, Zac wonders if perhaps Wilkins is right. They are all going to die. He’s always believed in occult, but he’s starting to think he preferred it when it was something not quite as tangible.

Ammie is the first back to the donut store. She’s dressed in a heavy jacket, stolen from the diners freezer. She’s cradling a long, black object in her hands.

“What you find?” Zac asks.
“Uzi,” Nick says. He holds it up, the shape of a black gun distinct in dim light of the computer screen. “Our trucker friend was well armed”
“That’s hopeful,”Zac commented.
“How so?”
“It suggests he didn’t have quite the level of control over the demon that I thought,” Zac said. “Which means he was afraid of it, and that the cult doesn’t yet have the head.”
“Oh,” Nick says. “Good. You..ah...figure out where the head is?”
“Nope. ‘Course, I study this kind of stuff because it’s interesting. I don’t really have much call to try using the occult stuff I dig up. I might… I stress might…be able to use the sphere to control it.”
Nick blinks for a few moments. This isn’t what he expected to hear.
“And you haven’t tried because…”
“…Because if I’m wrong, I’ll probably attract the creatures attention and it’ll rip me into tiny little pieces.”

***

Ammie rips apart the car, tearing up seats and searching for secret compartments. If Riley was carrying something relating to the demon, it was probably important enough to keep hidden. She works her way through the list of likely locations Nick carefully told her about, explaining the most common tactics used by smugglers and drug-runners. The seats are a bust, but she hits the jackpot when she starts ripping apart the trunk.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a bad cop show?” she mutters. There’s not a lot in there, just pistol and a few clips. She takes the gun and checks the clips, hoping like hell she’s loading the weapon correctly. She thinks back to Nick’s handling of his gun, carefully checking to see that the safety is on.

One of the clips is loaded with short, lead ammunition. The second clip of bullets has a silvery sheen.

“Son of a Bitch,” Ammie says. “Just like the boy scouts.”

The wind picks up, howling like a wounded animal. She tucks the clip of silver bullets into her pocket and tightens the grip on her sword. Forty-five feet and she’d be back in the truck stop, alongside the others. All she has to do is make it that far. For the first time, she lets herself feel like they have a fighting chance of seeing dawn. All she has to do is get the silver bullets to the guy with the gun. Easy.

The demon hits her halfway there.

She screams, sword lashing out in wild swing borne of frustration and fear. The tip slices through the demons chest, opening a thin wound that bleeds blue blood and icy mist. Riley’s misshapen head leers at her from atop the demon’s hairy frame as claws lash out, knocking her aside and opening a wound in her stomach. Ammie lays on the ground, dimly aware that the sword is still in hand and the demon is coming towards her.

Two sets of instinct kick in at once. The first has her on her feet, countering the beasts claws with a series of lightening fast blocks with her blade.

The second has her screaming for help.

 

[arwink]

Exit 23, Part Fourteen

The roar of the demon isn’t quite enough to dull the sound of automatic weapons fire. Ammie can barely believe it when the creature stumbles, knocked sideways by a hail of bullets. She glances towards the shattered doorway of the rest stop, sees Nick standing with an Uzi at his waist. The creature is already healing the bullet wounds, but its slowed by the damage.

“Nick!” Ammie screams. She pulls the clip free and tosses it towards him. “Silver!”

It falls into the snow a few feet from Nick’s feet.

Then the creature is on her again, darting in with claws and frigid breath that almost freezes her breath. Ammie contemplates standing her ground, but chooses to sludge backwards in the snow. Another round of bullets hit the creature in its side as Nick empties the Uzi clip. The demons spins, it’s eyes narrowing as it gazes at Nick and the weapon that’s causing it pain.

Ammie takes the opportunity to plunge her sword into its chest, right where the heart should be. It gets her a grunt, then the blade it almost twisted out of her grasp as the demon pulls away.

Zac rushes out of the rest stop, the orb gripped firmly in two hands. His voice is strangely clear as he holds the snow globe into the air.

“Harriken, I command you to obey me by the power of the talisman!”

The demon regards him for a few moments, then extends its claws and charges. Zac runs, orb still held in one hand. The demon almost catches him, it’s claws tearing at his jacket, but Nick gets off his first shot with the silver bullets and draws a cry of rage from the wounded beast. Zac dives beneath the nearest car, swallowing his fear as it sinks beneath the weight of the demon landing on top, and quickly digs a hole in the snow.

“Please don’t sense the orbs location,” he prays. The car above him rocks as the creature tears at the frame, trying to dig through to Zac’s hiding place. He can hear Nick firing steadily, the creature roaring, the sound of Ammie climbing over the bonnet to attack with her sword. None of them are going to kill the creature if they can’t find the head, but they may be able to weaken it as long as it doesn’t get it’s hand on the talisman. Zac deposits the snow globe in his hasty hole, it’s top still half-visible, and hopes its dumb enough to follow a diversion when its sees one.

The car rocks again, and Zac takes a deep breath before crawling free and preparing to run.

He’s airborne before he’s taken three steps, the cold pain in his leg a telling reminder of the demon’s reach and strength. Ammie and Nick watch as the creature snaps Zac against the car like he was a whip, blood spurting from his face as it smashes through the shattered remnants of a windscreen. Zac is struggling feebly in the creatures grasp, trying to kick free with his other leg, but the demon swings again and tosses the big man aside. Zac lies limply in the snow, unmoving.

Ammie hammers a blow into the creature’s head, screaming with rage. She splits the distended remnants of Riley’s skull in two, knocking it free. Nick fires a shot into the body, and another into its leg. Both of them circle cautiously as the demon falls to the ground, twitching and writing in the snow. It struggles to move, unable to stand where bullet wounds have shattered bones and torn muscle.

“Is it dead?” Ammie asks. One of the demon’s hands reaches out feebly, trying to claw at the orb beneath the car.

“Not yet,” Nick says. He walks towards the outstretched hand, clamps it down with one foot and fires a shot directly through the palm. The beheaded form shudders, the other arm stretching forward. Ammie stabs at it with her sword, hacking at fingers.

“Goddammit, why won’t it die.”

Sword wounds are already starting to close, forming up to leave unmarked flesh. Only the silver bullet wounds remain open, and even then she thinks she can see them starting to close.

Nick fires another shot into the creatures hand, knocking it away from the car as it rears and roars with pain. Glancing past the writhing form of the demon, he can still see the snow globe sticking up out of the whole, a small flurry of movement amid the chaos of the melee. He shoots the demon again, watches Ammie hit it so hard that he can see what passes for the demons ribs give way.

Still the creature keeps moving, clawing itself along the snow in a desperate effort to regain the globe. It's barely moving further than a few inches before Ammie beats it back, but it shows no sign of stopping.

Nick grits his teeth and hopes he isn't about to do something stupid.

“Hold on,” he shouts. “This’ll either kill it or kill us.”

Then he aims the gun at the globe and squeezes the trigger.

 

[ledded]

Awesome. Simply awesome. Very good job.

There is the brief sound of someone typing on a computer.

“Do you have silver weapons handy?” Wilkins asks.
“We’re in the middle of a freaking rest stop,” Nick says. His tone is dangerously even. “I was going camping. We have one sword, two guns and some wounded.”
“Do you have its head?”

Nick glare is tangible even through the phone connection.

“In that case, Mr…DeLatre, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you’re all going to be dead by morning. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t call this number again.”

The phone line goes dead. Nick stares at it in disbelief.

And *that* is how a pseudo-government organization is supposed to react. Classic.