Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4) (26 page)

“Now, you are going to tell us where this man’s wife is, and where Terzini is,” he said in a voice that was far calmer than he appeared.

He did not know what the man anticipated his reaction would be, whether he would be so terrified of the tiny man with the large knife that he would offer ant information demanded of him.  If that had been the expected reaction, the little man would be disappointed.  Jarrod began to laugh again.

“Do you think you’re scaring me?” he asked the Asian man. “I am not afraid to die, and I am incapable of revealing my maker’s location even if I wanted to.” He snickered then added, “Such fools, all of you, to think I would ever betray Dr. Terzini.  You will never get what you want from me.  You’ll just have to kill me.”

The stunned silence that blanketed the room was priceless.  Jarrod laughed to fill it with the sound of something he enjoyed hearing: the sound of his own voice.  To rile them further, he said, “But before you kill me, maybe you could give me a few minutes with the little bitch tied to my bed.  I’d like to leave her with a memory she’ll never,” Jarrod did not get to add the word “forget” to his sentence.  Before the word was formed on his lips, the small Asian man descended on him unexpectedly and seized his throat.  He raised the knife, dangerously close to Jarrod’s temple.

Jarrod was certain the man would drive it into his skull and put an end to the ridiculous game they were playing.  But the man did not.  Instead, he turned the knife-edge away, parallel to his temple and sliced downward in one swift motion.  

Agony did not arrive immediately.  The throbbing was halted briefly as shock took over.  Jarrod’s mind spun, incapable of processing what had just happened.  He looked to the floor, saw his bloodied ear beside his foot, but still could not comprehend what had transpired.  

“Now, please, listen to me
with your remaining ear
,” the man hissed.  “I have no intention of killing you.  No.  I’m going to carve you up so bad that you will be the most hideous being to ever walk the Earth. Every person, each
human
that sees you will pity you.  That is, if they can stand the sight of you.  And you won’t be able to do a thing about it ‘cause I’m betting you’ve been programmed to
not
kill yourself; it’s another thing you cannot do, isn’t it?”

Jarrod’s entire world seemed to tilt on its axis.  He had assumed he’d be executed ultimately, not left disfigured, so hideous in appearance that lowly humans would actually pity him, or worse, be forced to look away.  He lowered his eyes to the floor, saw his amputated ear and knew the Asian man would make good on his threat.  The thought of being looked down upon and pitied by humankind was more painful than his injury, more shame-inducing than his emotionally driven mistake.  All of it was more than he could bear.  He could not survive a life filled with misery of that kind.  Suddenly, his thoughts began to swirl together in a single muddled mass; none distinguished itself from the bulk.  He did not feel angry or sad.  He no longer felt ashamed.  In fact, a formal reaction evaded him.  Another sentiment entirely encroached.  An unpleasant, anxious feeling of intense threat had intruded upon his mind.  And for the first time in his existence, Jarrod Richards felt fear.

He began to plead with the man.

“Kill me,
please
.”

“Where is Terzini?” the man asked and pronounced each word with emphasis.

He desperately wanted to answer.  The words were formed, and waited to be spoken.  Yet as he tried to move his lips and speak, his body convulsed violently.  His breathing became difficult.  He tried to inhale, to draw in enough air to fills his lungs and calm himself.  But no matter how hard he tried, deep breaths would not come.  He felt as if two-thirds of his lungs had been filled with concrete, rendered leaden, useless.  Only when he changed his thought pattern and shifted from offering a specific location to bringing his maker to them did his breathing return to him and steady.

“I could get him to meet me somewhere,” he finally managed to wheeze.

“The old brewery on Route 44 just outside of Napa,” the stocky man chimed in immediately.  “At eight o’clock.  That gives us three hours to prepare.”

“If I arrange this, you’ll kill me, right?”

“We will,” the Asian man assured him a bit enthusiastically.

Both men moved closer.  The Asian man slid the knife along his left wrist and cut what looked to be telephone wiring that had bound it to the back of the chair.  The other man kept his shotgun pressed against Jarrod’s midsection the entire time.  Jarrod, though feeling cowed, was relieved to know that neither man would hesitate to kill him.  In fact, they seemed to be looking forward to it.  They would not mutilate him further, provided he upheld his end of their agreement.  He reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone.  He depressed a button and lifted the phone to his remaining ear.  Terzini answered on the third ring.

“Yes Jarrod,” his maker said, mild annoyance lacing his tone.

“Dr. Terzini, I need to meet with you today.  Eight o’clock at the old Langer Beer Brewery,” Jarrod said.

“Why?”

“I need to speak with you and it cannot be done over the phone,” Jarrod replied and hoped he would not need to elaborate.  Elaboration would include lying, and lying to his maker was against protocol and therefore impossible.

“Then come here, you fool,” Terzini protested.  “I am working and I don’t have time to go traipsing around after you.”

“I can’t come to you,” Jarrod said agitatedly.  “I’ll explain when we are there together.  I assure you it is urgent and worthy of your time.”

Jarrod decided to not give his maker opportunity to argue.  He depressed a button and ended their call instead, then turned to the two men.  He felt a degree of relief after ending his call with Terzini.  His relief was a result of two important feats he’d accomplished.  He had managed to deceive for the first time, although his deceit was slight, it was deceit, nevertheless.  He had also warned his maker in a subtle way.  His tone and demeanor suggested more than the men in the room were capable of deciphering.  Only a man as intelligent and perceptive as Dr. Franklin Terzini would be competent enough to detect the distress in his voice and suspect a trap.  Deceiving his company and stealthily communicating with his maker had been monumental accomplishments.  His only remaining deed was to die.

“You’ll kill me now, right?”

“In time, Jarrod Richards,” the stocky man replied. “I have another question for you.  Are the numbers for all your people in your phone?”

“Of course,” Jarrod answered stunned that the man would even ask such a dumb question.  He was a membership field leader, after all.

“And they will come if you call them?” the man asked.

“I am their leader.  If I send them a message requesting their presence, they will drop whatever they are doing and run to be where they are told to be.  Now, are you going to honor your end of our arrangement, or are you liars like most other humans?”

He watched as the Asian man looked to the stocky man.  They were communicating in some sort of wordless, primitive way that he found grating.  The burly man nodded and the Asian man left the room quickly.  Left alone with the larger of the two men, the one who clearly held some sort of rank among their motley group, Jarrod watched as he pulled the shotgun away.  He was briefly disappointed and thought that the men had decided against honoring their pact.  It wasn’t until the thunderous sound of the shotgun firing, followed instantly by all-encompassing, exquisite pain unlike Jarrod had ever experienced, did he realize that a large, craterous wound had been blasted into his abdomen.  And then the world went black.

Gabriel breathed the evening air and leaned against Jack’s pickup truck holding Melissa in his arms.  For a few fleeting seconds, the world felt close to normal, and safe.  Of course, he knew it was neither safe nor normal, and would not be, until Dr. Franklin Terzini was dead.   Ridding the world of his maker was a necessary task.  He doubted his ability to carry it out but was encouraged by his friends’ assistance, particularly Jack’s.  Jack had proved to be an integral participant in their cross-country trek.  His love for his wife and unborn child fueled him and gave him unwavering courage.  Gabriel was certain Jarrod Richards would be executed following an intensive interrogation.  He had not wanted to stick around for either.  He knew it was necessary, deserved even, but remained averse to torture and death.  He’d seen enough of both to provide him with a lifetime’s worth of nightmares.  If given the chance to avoid witnessing such acts, he would choose to leave each time.

As memories of brutality flashed in his mind’s eye, he clutched Melissa more tightly and allowed the strength of his love for her to purge them.  She seemed to sense his need, and returned the tightness of his embrace.  It wasn’t until Yoshi emerged from Jarrod’s house with Alexandra that she loosened her grip.  She leaned forward, strained to see her friend.  He looked at Melissa’s face in the waning light of day and saw the tension leave her features at once.  Alexandra, hand-in-hand with Yoshi, moved toward them.  Though he had told Melissa that Alexandra was okay, assured her that she had not been harmed physically, visual confirmation turned out to be worth more than any assurance he could have offered.  Melissa released him from her embrace at once and strode toward her friend.

“Alex,” she called out and emotion cracked her voice.

“Hey,” Alexandra called back but her voice did not project her usual demeanor.  It lacked its trademark enthusiasm and strength.

He watched as Alexandra walked more quickly.  Melissa allowed her arms to drop from his waist, looked to him and smiled then jogged toward her friend.  But just as Yoshi and Alexandra cleared the walkway and stepped onto the sidewalk, the sound of a shotgun blast echoed through the remote neighborhood.  Alexandra jumped, clearly rattled and skittish from her ordeal.  Melissa stared then froze. Yoshi remained calm.  Gabriel knew that his friend, like him, had anticipated what had happened seconds earlier, that the sound of the gunfire indicated that Jack had finished questioning Jarrod, and that Jarrod was dead.  Both girls stood, momentarily motionless, until the sound of the front door opening startled them anew.  He could only guess that perhaps they were expecting to see a new or different boogeyman materialize from beyond the threshold as they scrambled from the sidewalk closer to Jack’s truck, farther from the doorway, and closer to an escape vehicle.  They all breathed a collective sigh of relief, him included, when shortly after the gun discharged, they recognized that it was Jack who had stepped out from Jarrod’s house. 

Gabriel half-expected him to stagger toward them, wearied from a day of violence.  But he did not.  Instead, he marched in their direction with his shoulders back and his chest outthrust.  He seemed unperturbed by the events of the day.  Gabriel marveled at his composure, doubted he would be capable of maintaining a shred of calmness if it had been Melissa, pregnant or not, who had been abducted.  Jack’s presence, having him join them in their quest, solidified the fact that the time had arrived for them to devise a plan, a plan to hunt down the other creations, and kill Terzini once and for all.  He was about to suggest doing just that when Jack proposed a similar plot.

“We’re going to get them all to that brewery,” Jack said evenly.

“And then what?” Yoshi asked.

“We’re going to blow it sky-high and end this once and for all,” Jack replied.

“What about Terzini?” Melissa asked.

“He thinks he’ll be meeting with Jarrod at the brewery,” Yoshi said.

“I’ll grab him first and find out what I need to know.  He’ll talk.  He will not lie to me,” Gabriel said.

“Okay, that part is settled.  But what about blowing the place up?” Alexandra asked.  “How exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“I know a guy,” Jack said cryptically.

“Of course you do,” Alexandra muttered but without her normal degree of sarcasm.

Jack was not fazed by her comment.  Instead, he utilized it as a springboard to begin a discussion about plotting the incineration of an old brewery and all its inhabitants.

“A guy I know, lives not too far from here in fact, we did a tour together.  He came back in pretty bad shape, mentally, you know, and
really
liked to blow shit up.”

“Okay, so this guy’s a pyro or something. How does that help us?” Alexandra asked and had clearly regained her acidity.

Jack still refused to acknowledge her biting tone, and continued.  “You don’t understand.  Him blowing stuff up is less of a hobby and more of a former career.  He was an explosives expert.  He makes his own C-4.”

“C-4 is a plastic explosive.  Well, technically, the explosive component in it is cyclotrimethylene-trinitramine commonly called RDX,” Gabriel explained to Melissa, Yoshi and Alex.

“I think we get what C-4 does.  It blows shit up.  But thanks for the winded explanation,
genius
,” Alexandra said snappily.

Gabriel stopped talking abruptly, feeling suddenly self-conscious for his mini science lesson. After all, explosives were Jack’s friend’s area of expertise.  And military personnel had far more experience with it as well.
The explosive was a favorite among terrorists and guerilla fighters all over the world, and a primary weapon in the terrorist arsenal, particularly those in the Middle East.  This fact was not lost on Jack.