New Eden Chronicles - The Animal Interlude - Chapter 8

Twenty Years and One Day Earlier...

The hurricane which had so perfectly provided cover for Nathan's mission now drastically hampers his escape as the lashing rain and wind fight hard to resist his forward movement. Racing through the flooded back streets of Managua, Nicaragua his lungs burn as he gulps in the cool humid night air. Convinced his heart will explode if he doesn't soon find some place to hide Nathan considers sneaking a glance over his shoulder to gauge the distance between himself and his pursuers. But the sound of gunfire, and whir of a bullet passing close enough for him to hear, then a second, and third ricocheting off the brick wall of the building to his left change his mind.

He cuts a hard left at the end of the brick wall and down a narrow alley way as more gunfire erupts and three more bullets strike the opposite wall spraying chunks of shattered brick back at him. Pressing hard he finds another gear and breaks right into another narrow passage less than a hundred feet from where he had just entered. Nathan momentarily loses his balance as his foot lands in a pothole unseen in the ankle deep water covering the streets and alleys sending his body smashing into the hard stone building wall.

Nathan rolls out of the hard crash keeping his forward momentum and sprints toward the street maybe a hundred yards ahead. " I've got a chance If I can make the street before Cordova's men round the corner behind me.", he thinks to himself.

Halfway down the passage headlights fill the street ahead from Nathan's right and a military transport streaks by then skids to a halt what sounds like several hundred feet to his left. Nathan drives to the ground landing hard with a splash and lays prone just fifty feet from the street's edge.

"Damn!", Nathan curses under his breath as he considers his limited options. Reaching under his jacket he unholsters the Glock 17 and ejects the clip for a quick ammo check. "Five rounds in the clip—one chambered—six shots—two dozen, maybe more men after me." Nathan thinks to himself not liking the odds. Six rounds, and the survival knife sheathed on his chest, we're not going to be enough weaponry to get him through this alive.

"Can't go back the way I came—can't go out on the street..." Mind racing Nathan hurriedly asses his options in the narrow passage way and spies a wheeled dumpster a few feet behind him big enough to hide in. Knowing it would be the first place he'd look under the circumstances, "Hell, I'd pump it full of lead before I even opened it.." he surmises, but it may be his only chance to get a jump on his pursuers.

Just as Nathan presses his hands flat to the alley floor to push himself up his feet he catches a glint from the back wall under the dumpster. He scurries to the wall and sidles up beside the dumpster, then wheels it away from the wall a few feet revealing a narrow basement window peeking up at him from the alley floor. It's small blacked out form blended against the rain soaked dark stone wall and was nearly invisible except for the small chip in the glass that captured Nathan's glance.

Nathan removes his coat, wraps his arm and hastily smashes the tiny window. He removes his holster, flack jacket, and remaining gear dropping it inside the dark filled room behind the window. Hearing the thud he knows the floor is not to far below, but if he is going to keep this camouflaged he has to make certain the dumpster is pulled back into place.

Nathan unbuckles his belt and loops it around the dumpster's back center wheel. With a death grip on his belt Nathan forces his muscular frame through the constricted rectangular window. Small shards of glass rip and tear at his flesh as Nathan soaked and exhausted guides himself stealthily to the floor below gently pulling the dumpster tightly against the wall behind him.

Nathan's squats probing the floor for his flack jacket and holster. Finding them he immediately dons the jacket, unholsters his weapon, and pulls the knife from its sheath. He presses his back flat to the wall beneath the window—and listens.

The pounding splashing footsteps come almost immediately. So quickly in fact, Nathan expects a hail of gunfire to erupt through the window any second. Along with the footsteps Nathan can hear the racket of several men barking orders in Spanish, with the sounds seemingly coming from different directions. Suddenly, the pounding stops, replaced by a shuffling wading sound, and the chatter grows quieter. Nathan can hear the men conversing but the wind and rain still overpower the voices so he cannot make out what is being said. Then automatic weapon fire explodes with the distinctive sound of bullets ripping through steel and ricocheting off hard a stone surface.

Nathan crouches, twists hard to his left, and springs away from the wall slamming his back to the floor leveling his pistol at the window and flipping the knife in his other hand to a throwing position. Eyes trained on the narrow window, survival knife cocked back ready to throw, he waits for the dumpster to move. Nathan hears the squeak, then ting as the dumpster's lid is flung open and slams against the stone wall.

"Nada!" one of Cordova's men loudly proclaims as he checks the dumpster expecting to find a bullet ridden corpse.

"Ondele ondele!" another voice screams in Spanish, "He's got to be around here somewhere." the same voice continues in English. "Tell your men we'll have to start searching the buildings soon if they can't find him."

The English voice is familiar to Nathan, but hard to discern how over the roar of the wind and rain. At any rate, Nathan hasn't the time to consider this any longer. The pounding and splashing resumes, but fades fast as Cordova's men distance themselves from the alley.

"I've got to make my way through this building and find an exit before Cordova's men make their way inside." Nathan considers.

The inside of the basement is pitch black and slow going as Nathan must feel his way about in total darkness. He supposes the power is probably out, but knows also the use of any light would be ill advised under the circumstances. He makes his way along the cluttered wall encountering shelves, boxes, furniture, and some things he can't determine exactly what they are—until he finds a door. It's unlocked, and yielding no sounds from the other side, so Nathan slowly opens it and passes through.

Reaching both hands out to either side he presses against cold hard walls with each and guesses this is a corridor, or hallway of some sort. Just a few feet ahead he finds a staircase leading up and carefully ascends the steps using the right wall as his guide—gripping the Glock in his left hand.

Fourteen steps up—another door. No light creeps in from the tiny gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. Nathan listens, but hears only the sound of rain and wind beating against walls in the distance. Grabbing the knob, Nathan gives it a twist, but it's locked—from the outside.

He presses hard against the door but it doesn't budge. Nathan grips the knob tightly and tries to wrench it open but to no avail. He will have to bust the door open. Something he knows he's quite capable of doing, but he has to do it in a such a way that it doesn't alert any of Cordova's men who might be in earshot of the building.

He assumes, based on the amount of goods in the basement, this is some kind of business, or warehouse, and it's unlikely he'll encounter anyone inside the building. Still, timing is everything if he's going to conceal his whereabouts.

He holsters his gun, and sheathes the knife. Taking a deep breath Nathan reels back and prepares to lunge shoulder first at the door when he sees the splash of light from under the door and hears the distinct sound of a key being inserted in a lock.

"Damn!" Nathan curses in his mind, "Cordova's men must have entered the building already." Gripping his pistol and listening intently he thinks this may be only one man. It seems unlikely they would search in anything less than pairs, but even if it is two he's got the jump on them and the pistol would give up his position. Nathan retreats his grip on the Glock and slowly embraces the hilt of the survival knife as he unsheathes it.

"Only one man?" he repeats in his mind again somewhat puzzled. It's important because he can easily kill a man, two men, or three if necessary before they know what's hit them. But if he's going to escape he's got to use their clothes, and he's got to kill with as little blood as possible.

Nathan presses his back tightly against the left side wall as he positions himself opposite the door knob so the door will shield him as it swings in. The clicking tumblers may as well be screams to Nathan's ears as they release and the door unlocks. The heavy wooden door creaks and groans as it tugs at rusted oilless hinges that shrill to life and pierce the stagnant silence of the stairwell. A gush of light floods the stair and momentarily burns Nathan's eyes as they struggle to adjust.

"One set of footsteps." Nathan decides as he tightens his grip on the knife's handle. Through blurred watery eyes Nathan catches the silhouette of the man with the flashlight in one hand, and something else, a bayonet perhaps, in the other, but washed out by the light he's unable to tell for sure. As the man passes the doors edge and starts down the stone stairs Nathan's moment is upon him ... he must strike before his enemy knows he is there and can alert the others.

Nathan springs at the man with tremendous force reaching around from behind to cup his mouth. Startled by the sudden attack the man tries to scream but his cries are muffled by Nathan's huge powerful hand now clamped over his lower jaw. Nathan's upper body slams hard against the man's back and the flashlight flies through the air as Nathan's adversary flails his arms vainly trying repel the attack.

Both men crash hard against the opposite wall with an audible gut wrenching crunch. A gush of air tries to escape the man's lungs through his mouth but is repelled by Nathan's vise grip and is forced through the nostrils instead.

Nathan feels the warm droplets of blood spray his hand as the man's lungs expel their contents from the force of the crash, and knows the crunching sound was that of the mans ribcage collapsing in and piecing the lungs.

From the instant Nathan had grabbed the man something didn't feet right. His size, his body, and his reaction were not that of a soldier. And now his clothes, Nathan could tell, were a much softer material than the rugged jungle fatigues Cordova's men wore. Whatever the reason, whoever he was, it was too late for him ... Nathan was committed.

Nathan followed through the crash and rolled left against the wall wheeling the man around with him still forcibly held in his grasp. Nathan plunged the knife first up under the right ribcage, then left, just missing internal organs to limit bleeding, but deep enough to puncture both lungs. The ribs had probably already done the work for him but Nathan had to be certain the lungs would collapse.

With no air in the lungs he'd be unable to scream, and would eventually suffocate.

Nathan lowered the man's crumpled form to the cold stone stairs. The only sounds now in the stairwell were the gurgling that severed fluid filled lungs make as they fight for air. Nathan quickly went to the top of the stairs and looked through the doorway. Still no lights anywhere in sight, and the only sound was that of the rain and wind spattering the outside walls.

Shutting the door, Nathan descended the steps to retrieve the flashlight. With the doors closed at both ends the stairwell should hide the light well enough to allow Nathan to change into the man's clothing—hopefully his means of escape.

The flashlight had landed hard spilling its guts out on to the short hallway floor at the bottom of the stairs. Nathan managed to feel around and find all the pieces to reassemble it but it only sputtered now providing very little in the way of illumination for Nathan's purposes.

"Dammit!" Nathan cursed softly as he clicked the light off to conserve what little power may remain in the batteries, "I'll have to play dress up in the dark!"

Nathan's foot kicks something else on the stairs as he ascends to where his adversary lay dying. "The bayonet." he thinks to himself as he reaches to retrieve the object.

Even in the absence of light this object is undeniable in its form—and Nathan feels sick in the pit of his stomach. Object in hand Nathan slowly makes his way toward the gurgling sounds of the dying man. Kneeling beside him, Nathan runs his hands over the man's clothes trying to dispel the growing sickness welling deep within him, but instead—his fears are confirmed.

A weak trembling hand reaches out of the darkness and contacts Nathan's arm, then unsteadily makes its way to his shoulder, and with a tender squeeze urges him closer to his victim.

Nathan leans in and the silhouetted face of his victim gives way, not to the hardened face of a drug lord's henchmen, but to that of a kindly fragile elderly man. His lips move trying to form words as bloody bubbles of air and foam escape them and run down his cheeks to pool on the steps. Nathan resists leaning in further but the man reaches in to gently guides Nathan's ear to his mouth.

Barely audible, the three guttural words the man speaks will haunt Nathan Darke from this day forward, and forever change his life, "I—forgive—you."

With that—one priest dies—and another is born.

New Eden Chronicles - The Animal Interlude - Chapter 7

"Do you think the Priest is the Animal?" asks Grayson looking over his shoulder from the front seat of the black police Tahoe—but his question appears to fall on deaf ears.

Although Douglas heard him loud and clear, he chose not to answer. He had considered this notion himself, but only briefly, then just as quickly dismissed it. Nathan Darke was a trained operative who killed quickly and efficiently—the Animal was something else. But right now that wasn't what was on the Captain's mind.

They were entering Old Town, the part of New Eden where the original city of Sault Ste Marie still stood. Where New Eden, when it came into being, surrounded and absorbed Sault Ste Marie, and its populace. The Old Town moniker took on a double meaning when as the years passed the older residents of New Eden migrated to that part of the city. Most disturbing was the mass exodus of Old Town's residents immediately following the Founders disappearance. It literally became a ghost town overnight—completely deserted.

Douglas had sent men in to investigate the disappearances, but found no evidence of foul play, and very little evidence that anyone had recently lived there at all. It was just another one of those strange happenings that until the Founders recent disappearance hadn't registered with anyone, including Douglas. With the city unraveling before his eyes, Douglas eventually had to pull his men out to focus on the escalating crime spree.

Old Town quickly became a draw to those various and sundry criminal elements both inside and outside the confines of New Eden. Gangs, drug dealers, and prostitutes found a home in this relinquished portion of the city and Douglas had little choice in the matter. With such a small force of inexperienced men dedicated to the protection of the citizenry who hadn't lost their minds, the Captain was content that the bulk of the criminal enterprise was confined to a single area.

"No," Douglas finally offered to Grayson, "these two men are completely different."

Two recent sightings of Nathan Darke had yielded the best possible chance of finding him but it meant Douglas and the six men protecting him would have to split up. These were his best men and he wasn't going to risk sending in anyone else. And although it wasn't a popular decision amongst the group, it made sense if they were going to put a stop to the Priest.

To equalize the odds Douglas took his two Sergeants, Dan Grayson and Lyle Morgan with him to the most recent report, and sent the other four men to "K" Street under the command of Lieutenant Thomas.

"K" Street, or King Street as it had been known, was just a single block long but was the focal point of most of the criminal enterprise in Old Town. A Canadian biker gang, the Korpse Krüe, had swept in after the police vacated the area and turned K Street into drive though of sorts dedicated to those given to debauchery.

Its close proximity to the canal had meant that they could move product in and out with ease during the earliest days of their occupation, and Douglas was certain they had set up shop in some of the abandoned buildings nearby to manufacture and store drugs.

He had never felt so helpless in all his years. So much crime was plaguing his city and he was powerless to stop any of it at this point—and too proud to ask for help.

Both the governments of the United States and Canada had offered troops and assistance, but Douglas feared allowing them in the city would bring about an attempt to regain the lands each had surrendered to New Eden during the Founding War. He had rebuffed their respective offers and thus far they had kept their distance, all the while Douglas knew if either made the decision to cross New Eden's borders there was no stopping them. He feared the worse this situation grew the greater the chance was one, or both governments would invade—it was inevitable.

Neither government had ever fully embraced how each could endure their greatest losses of men and equipment in their respective histories without suffering a single casualty. Come to think of—neither could he…

There was one thing for certain, and Douglas took some solace in the fact, that there would be no new criminal elements moving into New Eden, nor any product moving out. Both countries, while remaining outside his borders, had placed a naval blockade on their respective sides of the canal, and cordoned off all access roads into and out of New Eden; in effect completely isolating New Eden from further outside influences.

Battle lines had been drawn, and the enemies of New Eden were apparent to the Captain. First he would deal with the Priest and the Animal—then the Korpse Krüe.

"Do not, I repeat, do not engage the priest if sighted." was one of the last things Captain Douglas had said to Thomas, Fisher, Sole, and Franks before he dispatched them off to K Street. "Investigate, document, and report your findings directly to me." he had continued. "And above all, do not hesitate to call for back up if you need it."

Although somewhat offended, after all they were four trained officers, and the priest was only one man, they knew better than to disregard the Captain's orders.

As their black Tahoe pulls onto K Street Thomas spies a small crowd gathered halfway down the block in a chain link fenced parking lot. Several vehicles speed away upon sighting the police presence and the crowd begins to disperse rather quickly.

"Keep your eyes peeled men" Lieutenant Thomas says as he's pulls the vehicle into the fenced lot.

All but two of the crowd had fled the scene by the time Thomas brought the vehicle to a stop just a few yards from six lifeless looking bodies.

The four men exited the vehicle weapons drawn and at the ready.

"Fisher, Sole, watch our flanks," the Lieutenant barked at his men, his military training was suddenly fresh in his mind. "Franks, cover the rear!"

Thomas' men vigilantly took up their positions as "Tom" himself set his sights on the six bodies a few yards in front of him.

Tom was a nickname he had embraced partially because of his smaller stature, standing only five feet six inches tall, which had drawn references to Tom Thumb throughout his life, but mostly because he never cared for his given name, Maximilian.

The two people who had remained when everyone else scattered appeared to be a member of the Krüe, and one of their "old ladies", probably belonging to one of the fallen members.

"Stand up and keep your hands where I can see them." Tom ordered the two as he approached them with his weapon at the ready. The Krüe member was just a prospect but he knew the drill and complied immediately, while the woman, visibly shaken, and crying, remained slumped over one of the bodies. "Ma'am", Tom said in a much softer tone this time, "please stand up and join you friend. I can't help these men if you don't comply with my orders."

With that her crying stoped suddenly, she is silent for a moment, then turns her head and glares at Tom through swollen tear filled eyes. The intense look she delivers pierces his Psyche and momentarily catches him off guard.

"He's fucking dead!" She abruptly screams at the top of her lungs as her mouth froths and spews spittle in Thomas' direction. "How're you gonna help a dead man you tiny piece of shit!” she continues springing to her feet at the same time—then starting at the Lieutenant.

With just a few feet between himself and the woman Thomas has little time to weigh his options—and to further complicate things the Krüe prospect has fallen into step a few feet behind her.

Alex Sole, who is at this point watching Thomas' left flank and having heard the scream, shoots a glance over his right shoulder in Thomas' direction. "Take them down, Lieutenant," he calls out, "we've got no time for this shit!"

"Stop where you are, ma'am, or I'll have to shoot!" is the warning Thomas delivers in a stern direct tone—but she continues her advance as the Krüe prospect closes in behind her.

Thomas tightens his grip on the weapon, clicks off the safety, and slides his index finger onto the trigger.

"Shoot them!" Sole encourages as the two are almost at arm’s length in front of Thomas.

"Five and a half pounds..." is what Thomas thinks to himself as the two approach. That's the amount of pressure necessary to fire his Glock 36; five and a half pounds to deliver a forty five caliber round into the woman approaching him who less than a minute ago was stricken with grief, and is now a half second away from joining her dead biker boyfriend.

Thomas hadn't heard Alex Sole encourage him to fire, or for that matter Marty Fisher, and Benjamin Franks who had chimed in to support Sole without even looking to see what was happening. No, Maximilian Thomas had put all his attention into the two people approaching his position and what he noticed was only one of them was focused on him—the woman.

Mere inches from the gun barrel the Krüe prospect throws two huge burly arms around the woman from behind enveloping her in a bear hug and scooping her up off the ground. Arms and legs flailing wildly she screams in protest and tries to escape his powerful grasp—but cannot.

A rapid fire utterance of "Shut up bitch!" by the Krüe prospect fails to deliver the desired response as she drops her head forward, then thrusts it back hard crashing the back of her head hard into the Krüe prospects chin. Momentarily dazed he releases his grip on her and she lands on wobbly legs having herself been dazed in the process.

Trying hard to regain her composure, and once more setting her sights on Thomas, she rambles back in his direction when powerful hands grip her shoulders, steadying her as the prospect delivers the full force of a head butt to the back of her skull sending the woman to the pavement unconscious.

"She's my sister." the hulking six foot six three hundred pound Krüe prospect offers to Thomas as if it should explain everything—but it doesn't.

"Is she going to prison?" he asks in an almost caring tone Thomas would have thought unlikely to come from someone such as this.

"That's up to you. “, Thomas responds sensing he needs to exploit this opening, "Tell me exactly what happened here and you’ll both be free to go.”

Thirteen blocks away the Captain, Grayson and Morgan are questioning a prostitute who claims to have seen one of her girlfriends talking to a man fitting Nathan's description outside this building less than thirty minutes ago.

Douglas' phone vibrates, "It's Thomas.” he says, and steps away to answer the call.

"Are you sure it was this building?” Grayson asks the prostitute.

"What did I say?” she shoots back with a look of contempt in her eyes.

"You said this was this building, ma'am.", Morgan offers to draw the heat off his partner.

"That's right," she says nodding her head emphatically, "now where's my money?"

"Ma'am, the reward is for information leading to the capture of the gentleman we're looking for." says Grayson growing weary that this woman's information is even credible.

"Well then, get you selves in there and capture his ass so I can get my money!” she says raising her voice loud enough for Douglas to hear forcing an end to his conversation so he can intervene in the questioning.

"Ma'am..." Douglas starts but is quickly interrupted.

"Y'all can quit with that ma'am shit!” she says seemingly offended. "My name is Trixie—call me Trixie."

"Trixie," Douglas thinks to himself as he studies the fidgety middle aged woman with her deep set eyes and hardened completion that scream years of drug abuse to him.

"Ma... Trixie," Douglas starts, "are you suggesting the man we are seeking is in this building?" Douglas asks pointing a finger toward the entrance.

"I ain't s-s-suggesting shit," Trixie manages stumbling over the word, "I'm telling you he's in the damn building!"

"Did you see him enter the building with your girlfriend?” Douglas asks.

"Not exactly," Trixie says emphasizing her words with a little head jerk, "I had another friend come by and take me for a ride. We had some business to conduct. I was only gone about twenty minutes, but when I got back they were gone."

"So, if they were gone when you got back, what makes you think they didn't take his car and drive somewhere like you and your friend to conduct some business of their own?" Douglas asks with a skeptical tone.

"Well,” says Trixie with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "for one, he didn't have no car—he was walking. And two, we got us a room set up in this building on the fifth floor so I'm thinking that's where they went. Besides, I don't think he was looking to conduct the same kind of business."

"What do you mean by that?” Douglas asks.

"Because, I figure he's down her trying to save her!” Trixie says, "I mean I doubt a priest would be down here trying to get busy!"

The three men look at one another. Grayson says to Douglas under his breath, "We didn't specify the clothes as a priest's attire in the APB—just dark clothes."

"What did Thomas have to say?" Morgan asks the Captain.

"He said the priest killed six Korpse Krüe disciples on K Street, including their President, Vice President, Sergeant at Arms, and three bodyguards, and then left on foot."

"How was he armed?” asked Grayson.

"Thomas said he wasn't armed." said Douglas, "Apparently he was approached, threatened, and attacked. He disarmed his attackers and killed them with their own weapons, leaving them behind when he left."

"And now he's in this building trying to save a..." Lyle Morgan doesn't get to finish that thought as the sound of shattering glass erupts overhead followed shortly thereafter by an ear piercing scream.

The three men try to scatter, and get Trixie to safety, but she retreats from their attempt as the body of her friend slams into the ground at her feet with a gut wrenching thud followed by a hail of shattered glass and splintered wood raining down on them.

"Noooooo...!” Trixie screams as she drops to her knees beside the dead girl.

Douglas looks up and sees the dark shadowy form in the window and orders his men to cover the back exit.

"Do not approach the priest," he tells them, "but if you get a shot take it!"

Douglas pulls out his cell phone and hits redial as he crouches down to feel the girl’s neck for a pulse."She's dead!” he thinks to himself just confirming what he already knew. He looks at Trixie's tortured face and shakes his head—she cries out.

"Hello." Thomas says answering the phone on the first ring.

"Get your asses here,” Douglas barks at the Lieutenant, "We have eyes on the priest in the building. The front and back exits are covered but we need you here for back up!"

"Yes sir!” Thomas says, "Be there in..."

Thomas' response is cut short as the Captains cell phone dies.

"Dammit!” Douglas curses.

He glances up at the window—it is empty now. Something catches his eye to his left as a dark figure makes its way across the front of the adjacent building, then darts down an alley way.

Douglas can hear Thomas' siren but he can't afford to wait for them to get here or he will lose the priest.

"Trixie," Douglas says pointing to his left, "see that building with the alley beside it?"

She manages a quick glance, then a nod.

"Tell my men when they get here that I went down the alley after the priest—okay?" he asks.

Trixie acknowledges his request with another quick nod. Then weeping slowly collapses across the body of the dead girl.

Douglas hurries off toward the alley. His only chance for help to follow rests in the hands of a despondent prostitute he entrusted to pass on a critical message. A message Trixie no doubt would have delivered if not for the fact she didn't see the thin shard of razor sharp glass protruding from the chest of the young woman she had called her friend.

The shard of glass, that when Trixie collapses across the girl’s lifeless form, pierces her flesh—and heart before she even knows it was happening.

Trixie dies…