Debauchery Falls Ch. 06

That was when she heard a voice, loud and commanding.

"Put 'em down," he said.

From among the throng of pursuers, she spotted a familiar face back lit against the nightmarish flicker of red and blue LED lights.

What concerned Galloway was that he wasn't scared of this horde of hooded zealots, and they weren't scared of him. The Sheriff held the bull horn to his lips. His deputies standing in a line behind him holding shotguns. Their pursuers stopped running. They held their ground, waiting expectantly to see how this would play out.

"Put down the guns," Lowery shouted again, only addressing Galloway's team.

Galloway didn't want to. She'd rather shoot him in the face... she wasn't sure why, she still didn't know why any of this was happening, but she was sure that it wasn't good.

"You know you'll be dead in seconds if you don't," Lowery cautioned, as the cultists stood with him.

"Fine by me," Galloway shouted back, centering her sights over the Sheriff's round face.

He momentarily paused.

"Your boys will kill me in seconds but not before I put a bullet through your head," she pressed.

"There's more going on here than you might realize," he said hesitantly.

"I figured out all I need to!"

"Clearly you don't mind dying, but do you really want the civilians getting killed because you're a hothead? Or your teammate?"

Galloway scowled. He was right about that.

She glanced at Andrea and Brad. They were terrified. Quinn might be willing to make a last stand with her, but she knew that Andrea wasn't ready to die. And there was the nagging unanswered question of what the hell was happening. And why.

There was no guarantee that if she put down her gun, they wouldn't just kill her on the spot, but they would if she held her ground. This was a stalemate. One that she would never win.

Galloway watched as Andrea shut her eyes, struggling to find some inner peace-- to come to terms with her approaching death. Brad softly put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. His face was resigned.

That was what broke Galloway. She swore at herself.

Reluctantly, she put her rifle down.

***

Halley sat up.

Her ears were ringing. She could hear her own heart pounding through them. Above the high-pitched octave that drowned out all other noises, was the distant fire-cracker sound of gun shots.

It took a moment to orient herself. There was heat on her face. She had to blink in the bright orange flickers of the flames around her. Her jeans, shoes, and shirt were soaked with cold water and wet mud.

She climbed wearily to her feet. Her head was swimming but her memories were returning to her. The RV was burning. There was an incredible amount of debris. A shard of twisted metal next to where she'd taken cover was smoldering.

She glanced down at her feet and nudged one of her melted laptops with a strange sense of detachment.

"Well so much for that," she muttered.

She spotted him after a few seconds. One of the leather upholstered seats was on fire and laying across his back. Halley ran over and kicked it off of him. She pulled Jessup to his feet.

He was dazed, blinking at the inferno all around them. "Are we dead?" he asked with wild eyes.

"We should be so lucky," she said. They were stranded, their vehicles destroyed, and their men missing. Death might be a relief compared to this shit storm.

"Do you have your weapon?" she asked.

He thought for a second, then nodded his head vigorously. He scanned the ground and recovered his rifle among the debris. He checked it.

After a second, he noticed that Halley was bleeding. "You're hurt," he said immediately crouching and inspecting her leg.

She didn't even feel it but spotted the trickle of blood below her knee. A jagged piece of metal protruded. "It's fine."

"It's not fine," he reached for the first aid kit in his vest.

Halley didn't wait for his bullshit chivalry. She reached down and yanked the splinter from her leg with a soft grunt. She held it up, inspected the shard then tossed it away.

Jessup was momentarily queasy.

She did a cursory inspection of the meat of her leg. "I said it's fine, lover boy. It won't be my first scar."

Halley reached into her coat and felt for her pistol. She touched it for reassurance, and made sure it was locked and loaded. Then she led them away from the wreckage.

An unidentified group had deliberately attacked them. The first order of business was putting distance between them and the threat until they could assess the situation. She wasn't sure who had blown the RV or why, but clearly they'd wanted her and her men dead. She thought of Poe, Lincoln, and Chaney, wondering what had happened to them. She needed to find them. But first, they had to get away from the blast. Whoever had attacked them might come back in a few minutes to inspect their handiwork. She wanted to be as far away as possible when they did. She and Jessup ventured into the soggy darkness of the forest, moving quickly north.

From somewhere in the distance, a gunfight was raging, and Halley had a rough idea that it was Galloway and her team. She had to regroup with them.

They hiked as far as Jernigan Creek before stopping to rest. Halley and Jessup crouched down among the bushes and dense plant cover.

"I have my radio on me," Jessup said.

"Don't," Halley cautioned.

Jessup looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

She blinked at him. "If Poe, Chaney, and Lincoln were compromised, that means our radios are in hostile hands, and are probably being listened to. I don't want *them* to know we're even still alive. Best if whoever attacked us thinks we died in the blast."

Both of them had their cell phones but out here, neither one had any bars. They couldn't dial out. Halley wasn't amused at the thought that her best sources for outside communication had gone up in flames with the RV.

"Maybe... maybe I should get you out of here," Jessup suggested. Halley cocked her head at him as though he'd just suggested that they strip their clothing off. For the last few minutes Jessup had followed like a lost puppy. Now he was trying to be the protective sheep dog.

Halley understood. He was the soldier, she was the pretty bookworm. But this wasn't his place. "How old are you, Jessup?"

He looked uneasy. "I'm twenty-two, ma'am."

"Okay, so I was learning how to drive when you were learning your ABC's. "Have you ever killed anybody before?"

"N-no," he admitted.

Halley just grunted. She didn't tell him, but she had killed before. On more than one occasion. It wasn't pleasant. But it was necessary... and it was easy.

"Jessup, I've read your resume. I've run your background and I've called your references. Just because you look exceptionally pretty in your camo pants, and your big gun... that I paid for... you are not John McClane," she told him. "I'm not a damsel in distress. I didn't get into this line of work by being pretty and helpless. I have put way more into this world than your generation has. So if we're going to do this, know your role. And from where I'm standing, you are the damsel in distress."

Jessup looked away, deflated.

"You got that?" Halley arched an eyebrow.

"Yes ma'am," he replied. She felt bad for him in a way. He was the youngest guy on the team. That made him the whipping boy by default. It wasn't that he wanted to impress her. He wanted to impress himself. He wanted to step up and be a hero. But this wasn't the time, and Halley didn't have the energy to inflate his ego. She wanted to gather her team.

"Then let's--"

A hand suddenly grabbed her from behind, clasping over her mouth and shutting off the last of her pep talk. Jessup looked taken aback, bringing his gun up. But then his eyes recognized someone beyond Halley's shoulder, and he instantly relaxed.

"Both of you, shut the hell up," A voice behind Halley's ear whispered so softly that she almost didn't hear him.

The hand released Halley when it was sure she wouldn't scream. She turned and saw Brubaker crouched among the ferns.

"Dude, thank god," Jessup said with a sigh of relief to see his squad-mate.

Brubaker's hard grizzled face was strained with tension. He held his finger to his lips. Jessup stopped talking. Brubaker pointed to his eyes, then to the south, through the trees.

Halley followed his gaze.

Much of the wreckage was still on fire, burning a few hundred feet away and illuminating the trees. Thankfully the woods were too wet to allow the fire to catch.

Halley and Jessup squinted into the night. At first, they didn't see anything. But then from the darkness they emerged. Shadows that materialized out of nothing, like ghosts. Shapeless phantoms moving among the debris. The unmistakable black robes and pointed hoods. There was a Grim Reaper-like quality to them. Halley shivered. If she could imagine a crazed cult wielding pitch forks... even they would be scared of these guys.

They counted four. Brubaker pointed out seven. "Those are just the ones I've seen," he said, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper.

"Who are they?" Jessup breathed. He was clearly terrified.

"How the hell should I know?" Brubaker snorted. "When I was on patrol, I saw these weirdoes poking around the camp."

"You could have warned us," Jessup scolded.

"I didn't know what they were about to do until they started running," he shrugged.

They watched for several minutes. The hooded men traversed the wreckage. Their eyes were on the ground, they were slowly scanning. It dawned on them that they were searching-- searching for bodies or for survivors.

"We can take them," Jessup said, gripping his rifle.

"I doubt that," Brubaker said. He pointed and after a second they noticed that at least a few of them were carrying guns-- rifles tucked closely against the sides of their cloaks. "They're like roaches," Brubaker said. "For each one we're seeing, there's probably twice as many that we're not."

He was right. Plus, they didn't know what they even wanted. "Lincoln? Poe? Chaney?" Harley asked. "Have you heard from any of them?"

Brubaker shook his head. "No. But I heard screaming. There'd have to be a lot of them to take down Lincoln." He said sadly.

Halley chewed her lip, still staring into the night. To punctuate her fears, another set of gunshots went off to the northeast. But they were dwindling. After a series of half a dozen shots, they fell silent. The shooting stopped completely.

Silence descended on the town of Jasper Falls once again.

"Lieutenant Galloway?" Jessup whispered to himself. His voice sounded deflated, heartbroken.

Brubaker swallowed. Halley turned to her men. They were staring at her. They both looked afraid, even a veteran like Brubaker. It dawned on her that they were waiting for her to call the shots. She was their boss, and at the moment, she was their leader. Truthfully, Halley didn't have the first damn clue what to do. She fought the urge to tell them so-- that Galloway had trained them for shit like this. This was their job to know. But after that big lecture she had just laid on Jessup about her having logged way more time in dangerous situations than he had, she realized that she had been right. She *had* experienced desperation in the past. And this wasn't it... not yet, at least.

Halley glanced again at the northeastern rim of the town. Somewhere out there were half a dozen men that she was responsible for. That she had signed up to take care of. It was on her to find out what was going on, not sit here hiding among the ferns in the dark like a scared kid.

"C'mon," Halley said, drawing her pistol. They were going to find out what the hell was going on.

***

Halley, Brubaker, and Jessup weren't the only ones sitting in the dark, watching the hooded cultists poke through the debris of the exploded RV.

Near the trees, the sound of fast heavy breathing filled the small space of the Jeep. Lucy's heavy chest was rising in quick terrified breaths. Her enormous boobs straining the fabric of her tank top. She watched the cultists with wide eyes.

Graver's face was stone. He was scanning, counting, noting weapons and details. Lucy found his stoicism soothing, and when her terror levels were close to panic, she reached over without thinking and groped for his hand. She squeezed it, needing some sort of reassurance.

He squeezed back, but never tore his eyes from the haunting sight before them.

As mush as Captain Graver had wanted to go screaming back to the blast sight, high beams on, and guns blazing, he figured that might not be smart. Especially given the missing men, the gun fight, and now the explosions. This was a coordinated attack on his team. He needed information, not to go blindly charging into battle, just himself, and a twenty year old college girl who was close to hyperventilating.

When they'd neared their base camp, he'd popped the Jeep into neutral and killed the lights and ignition. The Jeep coasted silently into the forest until it came to rest within view of the flaming wreckage. That was where they sat in silence and watched.

"This is torture," Lucy finally whispered. "What if they're hurt? What if they're laying there, and we can't get to them?"

"They're not," Graver whispered, sure of himself.

Lucy peered at him.

Graver's eyes stayed fixed ahead. "They're searching. That's what they're doing right now. If Halley and the rest of them were captured, killed, or hurt, these guys would be moving with a different purpose. But they're moving slowly, they're listening, they're scanning, they're lifting up debris, and poking through rubble. They're looking, because they can't find anyone."

Lucy watched Graver talk, especially those big expressive eyes of his. She expected to see insecurity there... expected that his words were to convince himself, because he was worried for Halley. Instead, she was shocked to see that he was surprisingly calm, which was weird, because during his social interactions around the office, there was a nervous bashfulness to the man. She had always thought it was cute, but strange for a leader. She had never seen him in a dangerous situation. Now that she was alone and scared, she found that his demeanor was solid and even... like a rocky lighthouse island in a hurricane. It wasn't going to be knocked over by the crashing waves.

She found that to be a comfort beyond all others. Graver knew what to do. He had disconnected from all of his insecurities and trivial worries. He was in his element right here and now. A jungle predator that doesn't always know how to shake hands and smile, but one that knows how to hunt and fight.

Lucy suddenly realized that it wasn't just a simple crush that she had on Graver. She didn't just want him to hold her hand and smile and kiss her. She wanted him... she wanted him *very* badly.

"What are we going to do?" She asked, licking her lips, not able to pull her eyes from him.

"We're going to wait, we're going to see what they find, and when they leave, we're going to follow them."

"Okay, Captain Graver," she said, feeling a little starry eyed.

"Jack," he replied.

She blinked stupidly. "What?"

"You can call me Jack."

"Oh... okay... Jack." She said it as though she was sampling a foreign dish. And despite the situation, she smiled.

***

Andrea's heart was pounding as they were brought to a cabin in the northern edge of town, over a small gully, and nestled at the base of the mountain.

"Cozy," Galloway remarked. She was bleeding from a split lip, holding back a subtle smirk. Quinn's eye was swollen. They must have been mouthy on the drive over, in the back of their respective Sheriff SUVs.

Her dad had grown silent. He had begged them on the drive over to let them go, but the results were the same. They were prisoners, and now their fate was beyond their control. He'd withdrawn. For the sake of his daughter and himself, Brad stopped talking in the hopes to keep them as off-the-radar as possible.

"Oh, I think you'll like it," Sheriff Lowery remarked, holding the door for them.

Galloway spat in his face.

"You might want to get yourself checked now, Tex," Galloway remarked with a flutter of her eyelashes. "Even *I* don't know where I've been."

He scowled, and shoved her roughly through the doorway, making her stumble. She was laughing gleefully to herself. His anger toward her only made him manhandle her more. Which only made her cackle harder. When he paused to wipe his eyes, she half snarled and half laughed, "Always remember how I made you do that."

His deputies looked uneasy, but the Sheriff ignored it. Quinn eyed them up, as he was brought inside, his hands cuffed behind his back. "Hey, department of corrections," he noted one of their tattoos. It was sloppy and rough. The line-work thin and faded. He glanced from face to face, reading their gruff expressions. "You guys aren't law enforcement, are you?"

A couple of the deputies grinned. Dark evil grins. "Former guests," said a skinny one with boney cheeks and a shaved scalp. "The Sheriff was... until we showed up."

"Don't forget about Deputy Fuck Toy," another chimed in.

Of course Andrea recognized the woman they were pointing to. 'Deputy Dark Hair.' The woman's tits were spilling out of her overly snug uniform top. She was wearing a somewhat blank expression about her-- like a robot awaiting its next command. Andrea remembered the blank expression on her sister's face, when she'd attacked Officer Delacruz in the driveway. They were similar. She had a very bad feeling.

The cabin was a single room. A simple kitchen table, and cabinets off to one side. An exceptionally ugly couch sat in front of a stone fireplace. A fire was crackling, casting dancing ghosts of orange along the walls. And in the middle of the room, a large warm-looking king-sized bed dominated it all.

The group of captives felt ill at the sight of that bed. Even more so when Sheriff Lowery stepped up behind Galloway and gave her a hard pinch on her ass. She jumped.

One by one, they were ushered in and shoved onto the sofa. Galloway, Quinn, Andrea, and Brad. Their hands tightly cuffed behind their backs. Half a dozen deputies (if they could even be called that), and hooded zealots stood watch over the prisoners.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Finally, the sound of an approaching vehicle out front. A set of light footsteps entered the cabin. They turned their heads to try to see. They could just barely make out a small compact man speaking with the Sheriff.

"These are the survivors from that skirmish on the hill," Lowery explained.

A soft patient voice... almost hypnotic. "I would have preferred if you hadn't harmed any of them."

"I didn't have a choice," Lowery insisted. "One of them shot himself. The other was shooting at our people... your people." He corrected himself.

"And what of the explosion that I saw to the south, beyond the bridge?"

"I ordered a few men to destroy their base camp, so they won't be talking to anyone or leaving any time soon," Lowery explained.

"According to my intelligence," The patient voice continued on. There was a hollow, tuneless quality to his voice... like he wasn't altogether there. "There are four still unaccounted for-- the commander, two soldiers, and one special investigator. Have they been accounted for?"

"Our men are looking, but so far they haven't found--"

"Have they been specifically told to not harm any survivors?"

"Well... no but--"

"I told them to follow your orders, because I trust your leadership in these matters. But it's important that you realize, with each new captive, our side gains a soldier."

"I understand that, but it doesn't come easy," Lowery said. "We did the best that we could. But like we saw with the town, we can't take everyone... unless those freaky powers of yours can spread like lantern flies, there's always going to be ones you can't reach. And I don't really want to. Adding more and more parts to a machine doesn't make it run smoother. It makes it more vulnerable and easier to break."