Bright flashing light flooded the great space scattering the shadows and gloom completely. A roar filled in my ears, and I felt the impact of my body against the flood long before I realized I’d been knocked to the floor.
The deep growling voice of the beast rolled over me like thunder after lightning strikes, “You’re not afraid? Why aren’t you afraid?”
Silence followed as I tried to suck in air, but I only managed short hiccupping breaths. After a few moments, I opened one eye and looked around. I was back in the office again. I was lying flat on the floor with my back pressed against half a dozen of those disgusting wax containers.
“That hurt,” I said and tried to roll over only to feel that left shoulder scream at me in protest. The gloom of the fog and darkness in the room was still oppressive and dreamlike. Somewhere across the room, a light flashed, rather its reflection from under a door caught my attention briefly, then the sound of claws on tile scattered my focus.
“Okay, I think I took round one, but round two was brutal,” I said to myself, feeling like the loser in a King of the Cage fight night.
My nerves had that stretched and dirty feeling to them. I would wager if there was a smell to it, it would smell like burned fuses and ozone after a lightning storm, but that didn’t stop the shiver from running over my skin.
The feeling was coming back into my right hand with a searing agony like a hot ice pick was being plunged into my wrists, but at least I could wiggle my fingers fully. It was just enough to let me curl my fingers around the plastic handle of The Judge and pop open that cylinder once more.
The low rumbling of the beast’s voice came again and my frayed nerves sent me scurrying, “It’s not that easy.”
Panting, I rested my weight against the wall as I fished out one of my two-speed loaders. It took me a bit longer than it should have to line everything up and get it all closed up again, but with the reassuring weight of it in my hand, I felt a little better.
Down the wall from me, I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. It was those putrid yellow and green eyes again, just a flash in the shadows, and reflexively I fired two blasts.
The noise crashed into my hearing nearly making them distort like old-school speakers, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
“Such sweet marrow, it’s sweeter still when they fight.” The beast’s voice came from another direction altogether and I swung the barrel of the weapon toward the sound.
“Boy, you want to throw down, just fucking around and find out,” I said but if my words held bravado, the tone of my voice said exactly the opposite. I was shaking in pain, fear, and anger, and all of it came through with every word I spoke.
Another flash of those eyes from the far corner, and this time I caught the second light of its mouth opening as it spoke.
“It’s more fun if you fight. I do like a nice chase.”
I fired again, but only one round this time, as the recoil reminded me of the injury to my wrist. A small cry escaped me, a pathetic sound I hated to hear, but I didn’t think there was much more my beaten arms and hands could take.
Hesitantly, I switched the gun from my right to my leg hand. I practiced with both hands, but being unable to lift my left arm past level was going to be like sticking my hand in a raccoon trap. I couldn’t really not use the gun, but if I did it was going to hurt like hell. Still, I knew I might be able to support my left with my right, and if it came at me I had a shot.
Well, I had two shots. The downside of my dear old friend, The Judge, was a five-shot cylinder. ”Seeehit!” I hissed between clenched teeth and quickly patted my pockets with my numb hand.
“There!” I celebrated as I felt the familiar lump, but now wasn’t the time to reload.
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The sound of claws on tile came again, that click, click, click of death passing like the seconds on the clock. It was stalking its prey and I was obliging it too much. Only then recalled the flash of light from under a door across the room.
“I’m in a morgue, an office space. There are exits everywhere,” I thought, pushing myself up on my feet, and started carefully moving away from the wall.
“Yessss, scurry, little mouse, scurry away,” It mocked me, but rather than responding once more I left The Judge do my talking and fired in the general direction of the voice.
Each step was uncertain, but unlike my arms, my legs worked just fine, so I ran. Looking back didn’t even occur to me as I ran, but through the muffled ringing in my ears, I could hear the creature in pursuit.
Breaking from the haze and fog, the outline of the door emerged, but just as seeing it filled me with hope, knowing how many steps away sent a wave of anguish through my spirit. “No,” I gasped, and a small cry came out with it.
It had me! I was dead.
“I hope you like hot tamales you piss ant poodle looking, -“ a hissing let loose and Mogwai’s voice cut off just as abruptly as it started.
“Mog?” I yelled, turning toward her voice.
“HHHAAACK!” the massive beast bellowed out a canine-like cough, and suddenly it was back peddling like something was attacking its head.
It burns!” Mogwai screamed and rushed straight at me her eyes closed and one hand waving in front of her face like she had something overheated.
Reaching out, I grabbed her and pulled her close so I could look at her face, “Mogwai! What happened? Why are you here?”
Her face was shining and a smell like a cantaloupe and agony came off her full cheeks. “I pepper-maced it!” She coughed and jumped in place, and instantly I knew the reason she was afflicted. She’d sprayed the pepper Mace into the fog, and a lot of it blew back on her.
“We need to get out of here, god knows how long that shit will linger in the fog,” I said and wrapped an arm around her petite shoulders, physically guiding her toward the far door.
Mog pulled her t-shirt up over her nose and couched hard as we struggled toward the door, “maybe, I released the whole can.”
“We will be fine. Just keep moving!” I commanded, but the pepper mace started working on me as well, and the first tear cough staggered me.
“I think it’s in my ears!” Mog complained, but I was more worried about where the beast had gone.
With panic growing in my breast, I urged Mogwai forward until we reached the metal door.
“Oh, thank god!” I cried and pushed our way inside, then realized I might have spoken too soon.
“Is this the embalming room?” Mogwai whispered, but I was too stunned to respond.
In the middle of the room, a single table was illuminated by powerful lights. There was something massive, the size of a cow at least, lay draped in those sanitized green sheets, and blood was everywhere.
“I recognize that Chort,” Mogwai said and pointed to where a single, thin goat-headed man, with a potbelly and too many chains around his neck, stood staring into the mass.
“Is that the Chort from outside the Convention center?” I asked, but Mogwai was too busy wiping the mucus on drool from her face with her t-shirt to look up.
“The fainting goat,” Mod nodded, and I was pretty sure behind all that skin irritation and snot, a smile was on her swollen lips, and puffy eyes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, but Mog was already moving toward the Chort, creeping up like some loonie tunes cartoon character.
While she moved, I locked the door and felt once more for the last speed loader in my pocket. The room was mostly tile and tables, except for the cold lockers against the wall and of course the unsettling drains on the floor.
I shivered again and tried to clear the corners and look for any more doors. If Mogwai’s fainting goat plan worked we would need a way out, and clearly, we were not going out the way we came in.
Popping open the cylinder, I dumped the empty shells into my coat pocket. I had one left, so I stuffed it into my pants pocket in case I needed it, and slide the speed loader home. It was still complicated with the messed-up wrist, but I managed quicker this time, hurrying as Mog go closer to the Chort.
Inches away, she reached out and tapped the Chort on the shoulder and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Hey Butthead!”
The Chort turned and looked at her, gasping as Mogwai screamed, “RRRAAWR!”
With a raised brow the Chort sighed and shook its head slowly. “Did you think that would work twice?” he admonished her, then leaned in close to look closely at her.
“Oh, my god what…. BRRAAAHHAAAA! “He screamed, as his eyes fell on Mogwai’s swollen snot covered face, puffy lips, and general plague-like appearance. In a second, his evil-looking gold eyes widened even as his pupils shrunk.
“I am your doom, mutton chop!” she screamed and wiped her snot-covered hand on his face, then cracked him with her 'Hello Kitty' Thermos on the head. The Chort screamed again, stiffened, then fall hard to the ground out cold.
“Damn Mogwai, you are going to give that dude some serious nightmares,” I said, coughing out a laugh.
“Yeah, but I think it’s chevon, not mutton,” Mog replied and turned to look over at the table.
The blood drained from her face, and she stuttered, but no words came out. Retching, she retreated to the wall and puked loudly for the second time that night.