Let Slip the Dogs of War
Chapter 7: Elle, Part 1
By Chris Ward
March 16, 2003; Dominican Republic
With a racking cough I rolled onto my side. Weak as a half-drowned kitten, all I could
manage was to lay there gasping for air. When the coughing and hacking finally died away, I
forced myself to sit up.
Opening my eyes, I looked around the small clearing. I wasn’t the only one here,
although I was the only one moving. Using a nearby tree for support, I leveraged myself to
a standing position and lurched to the nearby stream.
Falling to my knees, I stripped off my bloodied and torn clothing, and carefully slid into
the cold stream. After adjusting to the shocking temperature change, I bathed my arms and
torso.
***********
March 4, 2003; Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
After landing, we went straight to the hotel. Dropping my bags on the floor, I dug out the
files and my notes. Elle, still sulking over my refusal to tell her what Linderman and I had
talked about, dumped her bags in her room and went to the nearest bar.
Several hours later, shortly after 10 that night, I heard her drunken giggle as she
stumbled toward her room. Hiding the files I was looking through, I opened the door. Elle
had just managed to unlock her own, but had been distracted when the young man she was
with pinned her against the wall with his hand down her pants and his lips on her neck.
Clearing my throat, I chuckled quietly when both heads jerked in my direction. “Who’s this?”
Blinking rapidly, she narrowed her eyes in thought. Her drink slurred voice sounded
confused. “Who'sh'who? ‘Ish guy?” When I nodded, she shrugged. “He’sha guy from'a bar.
His name'sh… uh…” Leaning her head back to look at him over her shoulder, she asked,
“Whash’er name, ‘gan?”
Still staring suspiciously at me, the dark skinned Hispanic said, “Alejandro.”
Grinning, she looked back at me. “Tha'sh ri’. Ale…Ale…Al’han’ro” Pushing open her
door, she glanced back at her evening’s chosen entertainment. When she saw he was still
staring at me, she frowned. Turning around, she drew him into a deep kiss. “Don’ min’ him,
‘An’ro. He’sh jus m’partner; Michael-The-Asshole.” Releasing him, she walked into her
room. “Now, c’mon. I wanna fin’ out if yer tongue’sh good fer more’n jus’ yappin’.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I need you conscious and working by 9.”
As Alejandro followed her in, she called out, “Yeshir, Mashah Mikey!”
Closing my door, I went back to the small table. Taking a memory stick from the lining of
the laptop’s carry case, I slid it into place and began browsing through its files. Within half
an hour my suspicions were confirmed. The noises next door were coming from the male
half of the Herrera twins. The files indicated what his scent had confirmed, he had not yet
manifested. However, the family line was such that manifestation, in one or the other
sibling, was something more than a mere possibility.
Powering down the computer, I hid the memory stick and stored the files and notes. The
sounds and scents coming from the acrobatics in Elle’s room were growing overpowering,
so I went to the bar for a few drinks in search of my own entertainment for the evening.
***********
March 5, 2003; Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
After a late breakfast, accompanied by Elle’s still sullen silence, periodically interrupted
by her bitching because of her hangover, we split up and began our information hunt.
With a false Interpol identity, I made the rounds of the law enforcement agencies. Among
them, my story was that Bernhelm was a former German Army demolitions expert who, upon
being forced from the service, decided to offer his services commercially. I provided
documentation linking him to bombings in Berlin, Baghdad, Jerusalem, London and Paris.
By the time I told them about tracking him this far, they were more than willing to help me
out. They gave me the names of contacts that would be able to help locate him, as well as
individuals most likely to be in direct contact with him.
Getting in touch with the informants was fairly simple. Promises of money for
information, combined with other promises of violent retribution if I found them concealing
said information, served to persuade them to assist. My motel room rapidly became a
clearing house for every scrap they could find.
Elle’s methods were as standard as they were successful. Unlike me, she skipped the
middle man and carefully worked the streets. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and murderers; if
there was a classification of criminal, she met with them. Using the same combination of
money and threat, combined with seduction and blackmail, she turned her motel room into
a similar clearing house for information.
Between us, there was a semi-steady stream of men, women and children from all walks
of life through the motel.
***********
March 8, 2003; Outside Las Calderas, Dominican Republic
I perched overlooking the home of Santiago Ramirez. When Elle and I compared
information yesterday, this man was the primary overlap. Law enforcement couldn’t touch
him, and the underworld feared him. Apparently, he was known to make examples of those
who crossed him. With a vicious grin, I awaited our time to strike.
It had been several hours since we had driven into Las Calderas in a stolen car; which
we cleaned and destroyed. Booking motel rooms under another set of false identities, we
waited for night to fall. When it did, we stole another car and drove a mile out of town
before destroying it as well; we weren’t going back.
From my perch in a tree overlooking the house, my grin broadened when the last of the
lights winked out. After another quarter hour, I keyed the mike. “Time to rock, babe.”
“Fuck you, Hav.” Even bitter and resentful, she still did her job well. Seconds later there
was a brief lightning storm on the other side of the house as his power and security boxes
were destroyed. Even as the light died, I leapt through the air, drawing a brace of pistols as
I crashed through the window.
Rolling to my feet at the foot of the bed, I found myself confronted by a major case of
coitus interruptus. Without giving him a chance to speak, I pressed the barrel of my pistol
into his head. “If you want to see the sun rise, keep that fucking mouth shut!”
Glancing toward the door and back, I saw his hand moving toward the dresser. Smashing
it with a bullet, I swore fervently. “Don’t push me, shitbrain. I want to talk to you, but I can
learn everything I need with you dead.”
The door slammed open. A group of six security thugs charged in, having apparently
been alerted by my entrance and then the gun blast. Before they had a chance to do more
than register my presence, they were all dead from head shots. “Fuck!”
Keying the mike, I called Elle. “Tell me you’re on your way, girl. Things are about to get
really fucking ugly.”
Sensing his movement behind me, I slammed my pistol into the side of Ramirez’s head.
Aiming at the girl, I grunted, “Tie him up.” Hearing another group coming down the hall, I
swore under my breath and checked my loads. Leaping over the bed, I took aim at the door.
When the new group burst through, I opened fire. There were no less than a dozen in this
group, and the last four were firing in my direction even as they entered. By the time I
managed to kill them, I was carrying a half dozen chunks of lead myself.
Glancing at the woman, who had ducked into the closet to escape the gunfire, I
reloaded. “How many does that idiot have?” When she stared at me blankly, I glanced at
Santiago’s unconscious body; untied where he had fallen. Switching to Spanish, I repeated
the question.
Blinking, she shrugged. In Spanish, she said, “At least thirty.”
Thirty? Fuck, that meant at least another dozen. And the blood I was losing would cost
me when they got here. Grimacing, I set myself against the wall and got ready for the latest
group I could hear coming.
Just outside the door, their footsteps faltered as a new sound intruded. Their puzzled
voices changed almost immediately to shrieks of agony as they were caught in a massive
lightning storm. As the lightning died, I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes in
relief.
Several seconds later, I opened them as Elle came in, one hand still glowing. Raising an
eyebrow she looked around. “Only eighteen? You’re slowing down.”
Grunting, I cut off my shirt to trace the bullet wounds. “A couple of them got lucky. I was
losing too much blood to be sure of myself. How many’d you get?”
Fixing her eyes on Santiago, she shrugged. “Maybe a dozen. This him?”
Nodding, I grimaced as the wounds began the slow process of forcing out the bullets as
they healed. “You said a dozen? Good job.”
As always, she seemed almost to glow at the compliment. “You all right?”
Pushing myself up the wall, I tried to shrug. “Sort of. At least nothing vital got hit this
time. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. You?”
With a sudden laugh, she shook her hair out of her face. “They were so intent on getting
you, they didn’t know I was around until I decided to tell them. By then it was too late. What’
s next?”
Thinking quickly, I looked to where the girl had hidden in the closet. “Do you understand
any English?” At her blank look, I swore and switched to Spanish. “Do you have a name?”
Her dark eyes wide with horror, she nodded. “Marisol.”
Wincing as the shallowest bullet popped free, I nodded. “Marisol, I assume there’s a
backup generator somewhere. Do you know where it is?”
Hugging her arms around her nude body, she said, “In the basement; near where he
keeps me.”
Grimacing as the second bullet worked free, I shifted my glance to Elle, who was staring
at the closet in shock. “What? You didn’t think I was the reason for his fat ass was naked
and sweaty, did you? Did you hear what she said?”
Rolling her eyes, she glared at me. “Do you want a fucking recital too?”
Squinting in agony as my shattered shoulder reset itself, spitting out the fourth bullet, I
bit off a couple curses. “Can you turn it on?”
Narrowing her eyes in anger, she demanded, “Why?”
“Because I’m out of action for probably another 10 minutes or so, until these last two
work their way free and my body replaces the blood I’ve lost, damn it.”
Muttering under her breath, she left the room. Closing my eyes, I finally started trying to
sort out the scents around me. One had been tugging emphatically at me since I entered. It
belonged to my past, somehow, but could find no grip in my memory. Try as I might, I couldn’
t place it. Opening my eyes, I stared blankly at the wall across the room. “Christ, Adam was
fucking right. They did wipe me.”
Muttering under my breath in irritation, I glanced at Marisol. Trying to sound gently
reassuring, I gestured to her. “Come on out. The violence is done, and we won’t hurt you.”
Making a quick guess, I asked, “You’re not here willingly, are you.” When she shook her
head, I asked, “Do you have a home?”
Unclenching herself a little, she nodded. “A small village outside Azua. He had me stolen
a few weeks ago.”
“Azua? That’s, what, twenty or twenty-five Kilometers from here? Do you know anyone in
Las Calderas?” When she indicated she did, I nodded. “Good. We obviously can’t let you go
anywhere tonight, but you will be free to go to town either tomorrow or the next day.”
“He will stop me.”
Hearing the quiet hum of the generator kicking in, and feeling the last of the bullets pop
loose, I stood and crossed to where he had fallen on the floor. Picking him up, I dropped
him on the bed. With a vicious laugh, I looked back at her. “Trust me. He won’t be doing
anything tomorrow.”
Turning on the main lights, I muttered, “Now let’s get a look at our little songbird.”
Approaching the bed again, I rolled him over to look at his face.
It wasn’t much of a face. In color and general build it was a fairly stock Latino face,
although slightly doughy since he was carrying fifty or sixty unneeded pounds. Taking a few
seconds to secure his wrists and ankles, I started slapping his cheeks to wake him up.
When he opened his eyes, the key turned in my memory, and I knew him.
***********
Unknown Date; “Home”
The noise woke me. Mamí had tucked me in earlier, after telling me another story of the
man who had stolen her heart; the blonde hero who could not die. As always, the beautiful
melody of her voice lulled me to sleep.
All was dark; no, not all. There were flashes of light from the gunfire that echoed, as well
as flame from burning houses. I heard Mamí’s voice raised in fury, although I couldn’t make
out the words.
Her voice was overridden by another, harsher voice moving toward my room. Her
angered tone became a pained scream as she was thrown through my door.
Rolling to her feet, she leapt at the man, her body seeming to blur as an inhuman scream
erupted from her throat. The sound was abruptly cut off as a shot echoed through the
room, nearly deafening me.
The leader stepped over her lifeless body, barely glancing own. “The bitch is dead. Now
to collect the cub.”
Approaching my bed, he grabbed my chin with one hand and ripped the bedding away.
Lifting me up, he twisted me around. “Yes; excellent. I believe we have a buyer in place
already.”
And then he smiled; a cold, brutal grin that did nothing to warm his eyes.
***********
March 8, 2003; Outside Las Calderas, Dominican Republic
They were the same eyes I was staring into now. With an uncontrollable rage, I wrapped
one hand around his throat and threw him across the room, shattering his dresser.
Growling deep in my throat, I leapt toward him, only to be slammed into the wall by a violent
bolt of pure lightning.
Twisting to my feet, I shrugged aside the pain. Snarling, I leapt toward him again, this
time being smashed through the window by another violent blast. Crashing to the ground
below, I blacked out for several seconds.
When the world swam back into focus, I was staring up at the window I had just flown
through. Grimacing, I tried to make a mental catalog of my injuries; four broken ribs, a
punctured lung, one leg shattered, both arms broken in at least two places, and what felt
like a ruptured spleen as well as third degree burns over most of my body, not to mention a
concussion. Not a good day. I’d be mobile again in a few minutes, but it would take hours
for the damage to be fully healed.
Turning my head slightly, I watched as Elle, more beautiful than ever in her violent fury,
came almost literally storming out of the house. Her grey eyes flashing, her hair still
writhing in the Medusa affect of her extreme discharge, she stood over me. Clenching her
teeth in fury, she ground out, “What the FUCK was that? We need him ALIVE, you FUCKING
MORON!”
Using my elbows to leverage myself to a semi-seated position, I swore under my breath
as the broken bones began to grin together. Drawing a deep breath, I began the agonizing
process of setting the worst of them into position. Once that was done, I closed my eyes for
a second and swallowed the pain.
Opening them again, I looked into her enraged face. “Sorry, I guess I lost it up there.”
Her eyes widened in sarcastic astonishment. “No shit? Ya think? What the fuck
happened, Hav? I’ve never seen you fly apart like that.”
Grimacing as the bones began knitting together, I stared blankly at the house and
explained as best I could. When I finished, I asked, “How is he?”
“He’s still breathing.”
“Good. I’ll let you handle the interrogation. I don’t think I can trust myself with him.”
***********
March 14, 2003; Dominican Republic
Based on the information Santiago gave us, we had begun trailing his old gang. He didn’
t know all the details, and we wanted to confirm some of what he did know, but Bernhelm
had found him several days before we arrived in country. Bernhelm had him set up contact
with his slaver gang in the interior.
We spent that night in his house. The next day, the ninth, was spent preparing for an
extended trip through the Republic’s interior. Ramirez thought Bernhelm had already left
the country, but he wasn’t certain.
We set out the following day, early on the tenth. After making certain Marisol had
clothing and food, we allowed her to go into town. Carrying our captive with us, we
destroyed his house. Several miles further, we stopped and chained him to a tree. Taking
my knife, I cut off his clothing and explained in exquisite detail what was about to happen.
Then I covered his chest and legs in shallow gashes, just deep enough to bleed. We left
him there, screaming in pain and terror.
We spent the next days trying to locate the group he had connected Bernhelm with.
Yesterday, I finally located their scent. With barely any rest we had trailed them to this point.
Now we were less than a half mile from their camp, moving as quietly and carefully as
possible. As we had separated earlier in an effort to flank them, we both wore the headsets.
“Havoc?”
Stopping my movement, I opened the mike. “What is it, Elle?”
“They’re in sight, but I think we have a problem.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I only have visual on six. Weren’t we following at least a dozen?”
Shit. “Fall back!” Closing my eyes, I stretched out with my ears and nose, but they were
still too far away. I could make out that there were at least twelve, but I couldn’t distinguish
them from here. I certainly couldn’t make out how they were camped.
“Are you nuts, Havoc? They can’t have…” Her transmission was cut off with a burst of
static over which I could make out her scream.
“Elle?” When there was no reply, I repeated the call several more times. Finally giving
up, I sank against the tree. I had to assume they had grabbed her, which made my job even
trickier.
Setting my pack down in the crook of the branch, I pulled out my claws. Something told
me this was going to be close work, and they were better than anything else I was carrying.
Stripping off my gear, and going barefoot for noiseless movement, I began to work my way
toward the camp.
Approaching it as stealthily as possible was time consuming, but it was time well spent.
By the time I was within striking range, I knew everything I needed to; where each of my
targets was as well as where they had Elle. With a feral grin, I drew a deep breath and
flexed my hands in preparation. Then I leapt from the high limb.
Digging the claws into the skull of my first victim, I rode him to the ground. Rolling with
the momentum, I only released my grip when he was airborne, smashing into the middle of
a cluster of four. Leaping after the carcass, I slashed my way through the confused targets.
The remaining seven came boiling out of their tents. Spinning to face them, I wiped the
blood from my eyes, and began laughing as the bloodlust filled my mind.
Sprinting at them, I slashed through one rib cage, completely shredding his heart, even
as I nearly decapitated another. Turning the sprint into a forward roll with a leaping exit, I
slammed my claws into either side of my next target’s head, leaping from his shoulders into
the tree as he fell.
Perching on the lowest limb briefly, I spun and leapt back into the fray, slicing through
the skull of my next victim as I hit the ground. Quickly wiping the blood and gore from my
eyes, I looked around in confusion. I had slaughtered nine men; where were the other
three?
My silent question was answered by the sound of weapons being readied. Before I had a
chance to react they opened fire. Turning to face them, I watched their faces fall in horror
as I seemed to shrug off bullet after bullet. Growling, I began to rush them.
With horror, I saw one drop his weapon and unlimber the business end of a flame
thrower. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I watched him depress the trigger, unleashing a
sheet of liquid destruction into my chest. Less than a second later, I was on the ground,
trying to breath through destroyed lungs.
The last thing I heard was Elle’s voice screaming my name in horror and fear.
***********
March 16, 2003; Dominican Republic
Exiting the stream, I stripped the excess water with my hands before beginning a brief
physical examination. The worst of the hundred or so bullet wounds, as well as the gaping
cavity left by that damned flame thrower, had long since healed. The memory of what had
happened caused me to shudder as I dressed.
Heading to where I left my pack and gear, I considered what it meant. Given what had
happened, there could be no doubt I had died; nobody could have survived those injuries.
I guess I truly am my father’s son.
Climbing the tree, I opened my pack and began suiting up. Socks and boots were a
priority this time, since I was unsure how far the survivor’s had gotten with Elle. With a
savage grin, I began the always enjoyable process of arming myself; hunting knives in
quick-release sheaths were tucked inside each boot, with smaller companion blades
strapped inside each forearm; a brace of machetes were strapped to my back; I slipped a
gun belt holding a pair of semi-automatic .45s around my waist, and another pair was held
under each arm by a double shoulder holster. With a mild sense of regret, I traded my battle
claws for a replacement set of half gloves. Finally, I tucked a dozen magazines, carrying
thirty rounds apiece, and a garrote into the pouches at my belt.
Securing the pack into a comfortable position, that still left my movement unhindered, I
began my hunt. As I passed through the clearing, a stray memory brought a vicious smile to
my face.
“Even though I walk through the valley of shadow and death, I shall fear no evil. For I'm
the meanest motherfucker in the whole fucking valley.”
Chapter 7: Elle, Part 1
By Chris Ward
March 16, 2003; Dominican Republic
With a racking cough I rolled onto my side. Weak as a half-drowned kitten, all I could
manage was to lay there gasping for air. When the coughing and hacking finally died away, I
forced myself to sit up.
Opening my eyes, I looked around the small clearing. I wasn’t the only one here,
although I was the only one moving. Using a nearby tree for support, I leveraged myself to
a standing position and lurched to the nearby stream.
Falling to my knees, I stripped off my bloodied and torn clothing, and carefully slid into
the cold stream. After adjusting to the shocking temperature change, I bathed my arms and
torso.
***********
March 4, 2003; Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
After landing, we went straight to the hotel. Dropping my bags on the floor, I dug out the
files and my notes. Elle, still sulking over my refusal to tell her what Linderman and I had
talked about, dumped her bags in her room and went to the nearest bar.
Several hours later, shortly after 10 that night, I heard her drunken giggle as she
stumbled toward her room. Hiding the files I was looking through, I opened the door. Elle
had just managed to unlock her own, but had been distracted when the young man she was
with pinned her against the wall with his hand down her pants and his lips on her neck.
Clearing my throat, I chuckled quietly when both heads jerked in my direction. “Who’s this?”
Blinking rapidly, she narrowed her eyes in thought. Her drink slurred voice sounded
confused. “Who'sh'who? ‘Ish guy?” When I nodded, she shrugged. “He’sha guy from'a bar.
His name'sh… uh…” Leaning her head back to look at him over her shoulder, she asked,
“Whash’er name, ‘gan?”
Still staring suspiciously at me, the dark skinned Hispanic said, “Alejandro.”
Grinning, she looked back at me. “Tha'sh ri’. Ale…Ale…Al’han’ro” Pushing open her
door, she glanced back at her evening’s chosen entertainment. When she saw he was still
staring at me, she frowned. Turning around, she drew him into a deep kiss. “Don’ min’ him,
‘An’ro. He’sh jus m’partner; Michael-The-Asshole.” Releasing him, she walked into her
room. “Now, c’mon. I wanna fin’ out if yer tongue’sh good fer more’n jus’ yappin’.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I need you conscious and working by 9.”
As Alejandro followed her in, she called out, “Yeshir, Mashah Mikey!”
Closing my door, I went back to the small table. Taking a memory stick from the lining of
the laptop’s carry case, I slid it into place and began browsing through its files. Within half
an hour my suspicions were confirmed. The noises next door were coming from the male
half of the Herrera twins. The files indicated what his scent had confirmed, he had not yet
manifested. However, the family line was such that manifestation, in one or the other
sibling, was something more than a mere possibility.
Powering down the computer, I hid the memory stick and stored the files and notes. The
sounds and scents coming from the acrobatics in Elle’s room were growing overpowering,
so I went to the bar for a few drinks in search of my own entertainment for the evening.
***********
March 5, 2003; Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
After a late breakfast, accompanied by Elle’s still sullen silence, periodically interrupted
by her bitching because of her hangover, we split up and began our information hunt.
With a false Interpol identity, I made the rounds of the law enforcement agencies. Among
them, my story was that Bernhelm was a former German Army demolitions expert who, upon
being forced from the service, decided to offer his services commercially. I provided
documentation linking him to bombings in Berlin, Baghdad, Jerusalem, London and Paris.
By the time I told them about tracking him this far, they were more than willing to help me
out. They gave me the names of contacts that would be able to help locate him, as well as
individuals most likely to be in direct contact with him.
Getting in touch with the informants was fairly simple. Promises of money for
information, combined with other promises of violent retribution if I found them concealing
said information, served to persuade them to assist. My motel room rapidly became a
clearing house for every scrap they could find.
Elle’s methods were as standard as they were successful. Unlike me, she skipped the
middle man and carefully worked the streets. Prostitutes, pimps, thieves and murderers; if
there was a classification of criminal, she met with them. Using the same combination of
money and threat, combined with seduction and blackmail, she turned her motel room into
a similar clearing house for information.
Between us, there was a semi-steady stream of men, women and children from all walks
of life through the motel.
***********
March 8, 2003; Outside Las Calderas, Dominican Republic
I perched overlooking the home of Santiago Ramirez. When Elle and I compared
information yesterday, this man was the primary overlap. Law enforcement couldn’t touch
him, and the underworld feared him. Apparently, he was known to make examples of those
who crossed him. With a vicious grin, I awaited our time to strike.
It had been several hours since we had driven into Las Calderas in a stolen car; which
we cleaned and destroyed. Booking motel rooms under another set of false identities, we
waited for night to fall. When it did, we stole another car and drove a mile out of town
before destroying it as well; we weren’t going back.
From my perch in a tree overlooking the house, my grin broadened when the last of the
lights winked out. After another quarter hour, I keyed the mike. “Time to rock, babe.”
“Fuck you, Hav.” Even bitter and resentful, she still did her job well. Seconds later there
was a brief lightning storm on the other side of the house as his power and security boxes
were destroyed. Even as the light died, I leapt through the air, drawing a brace of pistols as
I crashed through the window.
Rolling to my feet at the foot of the bed, I found myself confronted by a major case of
coitus interruptus. Without giving him a chance to speak, I pressed the barrel of my pistol
into his head. “If you want to see the sun rise, keep that fucking mouth shut!”
Glancing toward the door and back, I saw his hand moving toward the dresser. Smashing
it with a bullet, I swore fervently. “Don’t push me, shitbrain. I want to talk to you, but I can
learn everything I need with you dead.”
The door slammed open. A group of six security thugs charged in, having apparently
been alerted by my entrance and then the gun blast. Before they had a chance to do more
than register my presence, they were all dead from head shots. “Fuck!”
Keying the mike, I called Elle. “Tell me you’re on your way, girl. Things are about to get
really fucking ugly.”
Sensing his movement behind me, I slammed my pistol into the side of Ramirez’s head.
Aiming at the girl, I grunted, “Tie him up.” Hearing another group coming down the hall, I
swore under my breath and checked my loads. Leaping over the bed, I took aim at the door.
When the new group burst through, I opened fire. There were no less than a dozen in this
group, and the last four were firing in my direction even as they entered. By the time I
managed to kill them, I was carrying a half dozen chunks of lead myself.
Glancing at the woman, who had ducked into the closet to escape the gunfire, I
reloaded. “How many does that idiot have?” When she stared at me blankly, I glanced at
Santiago’s unconscious body; untied where he had fallen. Switching to Spanish, I repeated
the question.
Blinking, she shrugged. In Spanish, she said, “At least thirty.”
Thirty? Fuck, that meant at least another dozen. And the blood I was losing would cost
me when they got here. Grimacing, I set myself against the wall and got ready for the latest
group I could hear coming.
Just outside the door, their footsteps faltered as a new sound intruded. Their puzzled
voices changed almost immediately to shrieks of agony as they were caught in a massive
lightning storm. As the lightning died, I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes in
relief.
Several seconds later, I opened them as Elle came in, one hand still glowing. Raising an
eyebrow she looked around. “Only eighteen? You’re slowing down.”
Grunting, I cut off my shirt to trace the bullet wounds. “A couple of them got lucky. I was
losing too much blood to be sure of myself. How many’d you get?”
Fixing her eyes on Santiago, she shrugged. “Maybe a dozen. This him?”
Nodding, I grimaced as the wounds began the slow process of forcing out the bullets as
they healed. “You said a dozen? Good job.”
As always, she seemed almost to glow at the compliment. “You all right?”
Pushing myself up the wall, I tried to shrug. “Sort of. At least nothing vital got hit this
time. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. You?”
With a sudden laugh, she shook her hair out of her face. “They were so intent on getting
you, they didn’t know I was around until I decided to tell them. By then it was too late. What’
s next?”
Thinking quickly, I looked to where the girl had hidden in the closet. “Do you understand
any English?” At her blank look, I swore and switched to Spanish. “Do you have a name?”
Her dark eyes wide with horror, she nodded. “Marisol.”
Wincing as the shallowest bullet popped free, I nodded. “Marisol, I assume there’s a
backup generator somewhere. Do you know where it is?”
Hugging her arms around her nude body, she said, “In the basement; near where he
keeps me.”
Grimacing as the second bullet worked free, I shifted my glance to Elle, who was staring
at the closet in shock. “What? You didn’t think I was the reason for his fat ass was naked
and sweaty, did you? Did you hear what she said?”
Rolling her eyes, she glared at me. “Do you want a fucking recital too?”
Squinting in agony as my shattered shoulder reset itself, spitting out the fourth bullet, I
bit off a couple curses. “Can you turn it on?”
Narrowing her eyes in anger, she demanded, “Why?”
“Because I’m out of action for probably another 10 minutes or so, until these last two
work their way free and my body replaces the blood I’ve lost, damn it.”
Muttering under her breath, she left the room. Closing my eyes, I finally started trying to
sort out the scents around me. One had been tugging emphatically at me since I entered. It
belonged to my past, somehow, but could find no grip in my memory. Try as I might, I couldn’
t place it. Opening my eyes, I stared blankly at the wall across the room. “Christ, Adam was
fucking right. They did wipe me.”
Muttering under my breath in irritation, I glanced at Marisol. Trying to sound gently
reassuring, I gestured to her. “Come on out. The violence is done, and we won’t hurt you.”
Making a quick guess, I asked, “You’re not here willingly, are you.” When she shook her
head, I asked, “Do you have a home?”
Unclenching herself a little, she nodded. “A small village outside Azua. He had me stolen
a few weeks ago.”
“Azua? That’s, what, twenty or twenty-five Kilometers from here? Do you know anyone in
Las Calderas?” When she indicated she did, I nodded. “Good. We obviously can’t let you go
anywhere tonight, but you will be free to go to town either tomorrow or the next day.”
“He will stop me.”
Hearing the quiet hum of the generator kicking in, and feeling the last of the bullets pop
loose, I stood and crossed to where he had fallen on the floor. Picking him up, I dropped
him on the bed. With a vicious laugh, I looked back at her. “Trust me. He won’t be doing
anything tomorrow.”
Turning on the main lights, I muttered, “Now let’s get a look at our little songbird.”
Approaching the bed again, I rolled him over to look at his face.
It wasn’t much of a face. In color and general build it was a fairly stock Latino face,
although slightly doughy since he was carrying fifty or sixty unneeded pounds. Taking a few
seconds to secure his wrists and ankles, I started slapping his cheeks to wake him up.
When he opened his eyes, the key turned in my memory, and I knew him.
***********
Unknown Date; “Home”
The noise woke me. Mamí had tucked me in earlier, after telling me another story of the
man who had stolen her heart; the blonde hero who could not die. As always, the beautiful
melody of her voice lulled me to sleep.
All was dark; no, not all. There were flashes of light from the gunfire that echoed, as well
as flame from burning houses. I heard Mamí’s voice raised in fury, although I couldn’t make
out the words.
Her voice was overridden by another, harsher voice moving toward my room. Her
angered tone became a pained scream as she was thrown through my door.
Rolling to her feet, she leapt at the man, her body seeming to blur as an inhuman scream
erupted from her throat. The sound was abruptly cut off as a shot echoed through the
room, nearly deafening me.
The leader stepped over her lifeless body, barely glancing own. “The bitch is dead. Now
to collect the cub.”
Approaching my bed, he grabbed my chin with one hand and ripped the bedding away.
Lifting me up, he twisted me around. “Yes; excellent. I believe we have a buyer in place
already.”
And then he smiled; a cold, brutal grin that did nothing to warm his eyes.
***********
March 8, 2003; Outside Las Calderas, Dominican Republic
They were the same eyes I was staring into now. With an uncontrollable rage, I wrapped
one hand around his throat and threw him across the room, shattering his dresser.
Growling deep in my throat, I leapt toward him, only to be slammed into the wall by a violent
bolt of pure lightning.
Twisting to my feet, I shrugged aside the pain. Snarling, I leapt toward him again, this
time being smashed through the window by another violent blast. Crashing to the ground
below, I blacked out for several seconds.
When the world swam back into focus, I was staring up at the window I had just flown
through. Grimacing, I tried to make a mental catalog of my injuries; four broken ribs, a
punctured lung, one leg shattered, both arms broken in at least two places, and what felt
like a ruptured spleen as well as third degree burns over most of my body, not to mention a
concussion. Not a good day. I’d be mobile again in a few minutes, but it would take hours
for the damage to be fully healed.
Turning my head slightly, I watched as Elle, more beautiful than ever in her violent fury,
came almost literally storming out of the house. Her grey eyes flashing, her hair still
writhing in the Medusa affect of her extreme discharge, she stood over me. Clenching her
teeth in fury, she ground out, “What the FUCK was that? We need him ALIVE, you FUCKING
MORON!”
Using my elbows to leverage myself to a semi-seated position, I swore under my breath
as the broken bones began to grin together. Drawing a deep breath, I began the agonizing
process of setting the worst of them into position. Once that was done, I closed my eyes for
a second and swallowed the pain.
Opening them again, I looked into her enraged face. “Sorry, I guess I lost it up there.”
Her eyes widened in sarcastic astonishment. “No shit? Ya think? What the fuck
happened, Hav? I’ve never seen you fly apart like that.”
Grimacing as the bones began knitting together, I stared blankly at the house and
explained as best I could. When I finished, I asked, “How is he?”
“He’s still breathing.”
“Good. I’ll let you handle the interrogation. I don’t think I can trust myself with him.”
***********
March 14, 2003; Dominican Republic
Based on the information Santiago gave us, we had begun trailing his old gang. He didn’
t know all the details, and we wanted to confirm some of what he did know, but Bernhelm
had found him several days before we arrived in country. Bernhelm had him set up contact
with his slaver gang in the interior.
We spent that night in his house. The next day, the ninth, was spent preparing for an
extended trip through the Republic’s interior. Ramirez thought Bernhelm had already left
the country, but he wasn’t certain.
We set out the following day, early on the tenth. After making certain Marisol had
clothing and food, we allowed her to go into town. Carrying our captive with us, we
destroyed his house. Several miles further, we stopped and chained him to a tree. Taking
my knife, I cut off his clothing and explained in exquisite detail what was about to happen.
Then I covered his chest and legs in shallow gashes, just deep enough to bleed. We left
him there, screaming in pain and terror.
We spent the next days trying to locate the group he had connected Bernhelm with.
Yesterday, I finally located their scent. With barely any rest we had trailed them to this point.
Now we were less than a half mile from their camp, moving as quietly and carefully as
possible. As we had separated earlier in an effort to flank them, we both wore the headsets.
“Havoc?”
Stopping my movement, I opened the mike. “What is it, Elle?”
“They’re in sight, but I think we have a problem.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I only have visual on six. Weren’t we following at least a dozen?”
Shit. “Fall back!” Closing my eyes, I stretched out with my ears and nose, but they were
still too far away. I could make out that there were at least twelve, but I couldn’t distinguish
them from here. I certainly couldn’t make out how they were camped.
“Are you nuts, Havoc? They can’t have…” Her transmission was cut off with a burst of
static over which I could make out her scream.
“Elle?” When there was no reply, I repeated the call several more times. Finally giving
up, I sank against the tree. I had to assume they had grabbed her, which made my job even
trickier.
Setting my pack down in the crook of the branch, I pulled out my claws. Something told
me this was going to be close work, and they were better than anything else I was carrying.
Stripping off my gear, and going barefoot for noiseless movement, I began to work my way
toward the camp.
Approaching it as stealthily as possible was time consuming, but it was time well spent.
By the time I was within striking range, I knew everything I needed to; where each of my
targets was as well as where they had Elle. With a feral grin, I drew a deep breath and
flexed my hands in preparation. Then I leapt from the high limb.
Digging the claws into the skull of my first victim, I rode him to the ground. Rolling with
the momentum, I only released my grip when he was airborne, smashing into the middle of
a cluster of four. Leaping after the carcass, I slashed my way through the confused targets.
The remaining seven came boiling out of their tents. Spinning to face them, I wiped the
blood from my eyes, and began laughing as the bloodlust filled my mind.
Sprinting at them, I slashed through one rib cage, completely shredding his heart, even
as I nearly decapitated another. Turning the sprint into a forward roll with a leaping exit, I
slammed my claws into either side of my next target’s head, leaping from his shoulders into
the tree as he fell.
Perching on the lowest limb briefly, I spun and leapt back into the fray, slicing through
the skull of my next victim as I hit the ground. Quickly wiping the blood and gore from my
eyes, I looked around in confusion. I had slaughtered nine men; where were the other
three?
My silent question was answered by the sound of weapons being readied. Before I had a
chance to react they opened fire. Turning to face them, I watched their faces fall in horror
as I seemed to shrug off bullet after bullet. Growling, I began to rush them.
With horror, I saw one drop his weapon and unlimber the business end of a flame
thrower. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I watched him depress the trigger, unleashing a
sheet of liquid destruction into my chest. Less than a second later, I was on the ground,
trying to breath through destroyed lungs.
The last thing I heard was Elle’s voice screaming my name in horror and fear.
***********
March 16, 2003; Dominican Republic
Exiting the stream, I stripped the excess water with my hands before beginning a brief
physical examination. The worst of the hundred or so bullet wounds, as well as the gaping
cavity left by that damned flame thrower, had long since healed. The memory of what had
happened caused me to shudder as I dressed.
Heading to where I left my pack and gear, I considered what it meant. Given what had
happened, there could be no doubt I had died; nobody could have survived those injuries.
I guess I truly am my father’s son.
Climbing the tree, I opened my pack and began suiting up. Socks and boots were a
priority this time, since I was unsure how far the survivor’s had gotten with Elle. With a
savage grin, I began the always enjoyable process of arming myself; hunting knives in
quick-release sheaths were tucked inside each boot, with smaller companion blades
strapped inside each forearm; a brace of machetes were strapped to my back; I slipped a
gun belt holding a pair of semi-automatic .45s around my waist, and another pair was held
under each arm by a double shoulder holster. With a mild sense of regret, I traded my battle
claws for a replacement set of half gloves. Finally, I tucked a dozen magazines, carrying
thirty rounds apiece, and a garrote into the pouches at my belt.
Securing the pack into a comfortable position, that still left my movement unhindered, I
began my hunt. As I passed through the clearing, a stray memory brought a vicious smile to
my face.
“Even though I walk through the valley of shadow and death, I shall fear no evil. For I'm
the meanest motherfucker in the whole fucking valley.”
