The Last of Her Kind Ch. 05

"Super intense, though. I'm surprised you can walk." Little Mike kicked a branch off of the path, his rifle held low.

"Why are you guys still here?" he asked, blinking tears of confusion. "Why do you still follow me around?"

"That's simple, little brother." Dwayne put his hand on Darren's shoulder. "No man left behind."

"But I left you behind. I left all of you behind."

Little Mike chuckled. "If that were true, would we still be here?"

When Darren stepped off of the path and onto the road, he felt the cold chill of the night breeze across his face, and he was once again alone. The stars were smeared across his vision, and he wiped his eyes off with his shirt. Sticking to the sidewalks, he navigated through town, his eyes focused on the steeple of the church. So many things made sense now. Ana hadn't planned this either, hadn't forced the two of them together. He had moved into her territory against her wishes, had probably put her existence in danger, and she had done her best to tolerate him.

How many times could she have killed him? He slept just a door away, after all, and she could move so quietly. If she had killed him that first night, everyone would have assumed he just up and left. These thoughts tumbled through his head, the vision of her face as she mounted him, her voice crying to the sky above when she came. Truthfully, she had every opportunity to be the monster his mind told him she was, but his heart said something different.

She was no more a monster than he was. Stepping beneath a streetlight, he saw the phantom blood on his hands for just a moment. He supposed now that she had injected him with something, the spider's bite chasing away the shadows that had tormented him. Now that she was gone, how long would his peace last? Was her absence something he could deal with, or would those old feelings gradually return, threatening to consume him once again.

The walk across the front yard of the church was long, his footsteps weary. He fumbled the keys out of his pants pocket and opened the door to his home, his eyes on the yawning darkness before him. He hadn't known it this morning, but Ana would never come here again. This place was now his, but for how long? Ana had disappeared so suddenly, and he knew that suspicions would arise. In granting him his freedom, she had consigned him to a different kind of prison.

Fire blossomed in his right temple, the punch coming from nowhere. He fell sideways, crashing into the wall and raising his arms to block the following kick. Clumsily pushing his attacker's foot aside, he stood and tackled him into the opposite wall, plaster cracking and falling down around them.

A strong fist knocked him for a loop and then he was launched across the room, colliding with the couch and rolling over the top. The lights came on and he saw Jeffrey, the guy from the bar, walking toward him. His friend Cyrus stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

"What do you want?" Darren groaned, pushing to his feet, but he already knew. His lower half was concealed by the couch, so he took the slip of paper from his pocket and tucked it into his boot. He couldn't let them find it.

"We want the spider," Cyrus said, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other. "We know that she lives here, and we know that you're involved."

"I have no no idea—"

The air was knocked out of him when Jeffrey kicked the couch and sent it into Darren's gut. Such a feat should have been impossible, but Jeffrey followed it up by circling around to grab Darren by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"We really don't have time for this. We've been watching, and we know." Cyrus licked the spoon and then eyed the jar with shame. "We've been waiting a long time for you to come home. Sorry about this."

"I... you..." He couldn't speak, not with the grip that Jeffrey had on him.

"Tie him up," Cyrus said, and Jeffrey forced Darren to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. A rope appeared in Jeffrey's hand, and with a casual toss, it circled Darren's arms and legs, binding him to the seat as if by magic.

Of course. Why not? Darren glared at them.

"I must admit, she had us fooled. We racked our brains for quite some time, trying to figure out where she was hiding. And then we couldn't quite lock down how you kept her hidden from your roommate." Cyrus took another bite, then set the jar down. "Neither of us expected her to be playing the role of crippled librarian. That was a new level of subterfuge."

"Probably waiting to snag a kid when their parents weren't looking." Jeffrey gave Darren's chair a kick. "Do you know what kind of monster you've been helping?"

He looked back and forth at the two of them, his heart racing. Who were these guys?

"It's not like that," he told them. "She's not like that."

"How long have you even known her?" Cyrus asked, pulling up another chair and sitting across from Darren. "Do you even know what she is?"

"I... um..." He hung his head. "I want to talk to my lawyer."

Jeffrey laughed, and Cyrus just shook his head.

"You're not under arrest," he explained, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing Darren's lips. Fresh blood came away, staining the white fabric with crimson. "We answer to a much higher authority than the sheriff."

"She's not like that, though. She isn't." He shook his head in denial, the walls closing in on him. First she had left him, and now these two had found him. What other surprises did life have in store for him this evening?

"She's a killer, Darren. Her kind, they treat us like a delicatessen. They pick out the fattest cuts and take us home to feed to their children. They toy with humans, tying us up in webs and sucking out our insides. They are a lot of things, but human isn't one of them." Cyrus regarded him for several moments, sympathy in his eyes.

"She got to him," Jeffrey said, kneeling down. "Look at his pupils."

"My... pupils?"

"Yeah, you're right. They're dilated." Cyrus leaned toward him. "Has she bitten you?"

"I... don't..."

"Fuck it." Jeffrey grabbed the chair and tilted it forward, examining Darren's neck and arms. Darren shifted back and forth, doing his best to fight back, but Jeffrey slapped him in the face, stunning him. Unable to move, he felt the neckline of his shirt torn open, his chest exposed to the light of the kitchen.

"Yep, right here." Jeffrey flicked Darren's nipple, causing him to flinch.

"Several times, it looks like." Cyrus let out a sigh. "We need you to tell us where she is. Right now."

"Fuck you." Darren's mind cleared and he glared at the man in front of him. "You attack me in my own home and then—"

Jeffrey punched him in the face again, his head rocking back and his vision dimming.

"I hate repeating myself almost as much as Jeffrey hates hearing me repeat myself. This doesn't have to be unpleasant."

"No." What little he even had to offer would do them no good, but he refused to give them the satisfaction. Ana had left him, and the least he could do was ensure she had a head start.

Cyrus gave Jeffrey a nod. Jeffrey pulled a short knife from his belt and jammed it into Darren's thigh.

Darren screamed, fire ripping through his leg and bullets of sweat blossoming across his brow. His vision went dark again, but he was brought back suddenly by the warmth that spread across his leg. Letting out a cry, he looked down to see Cyrus holding a ball of white light over his bloody leg. His skin knitted itself back together, the sensation akin to a bad burn.

"We can do this all night," Cyrus told him. "Death won't come for you. By the way, the process of fixing you hurts just as bad as getting cut. It's a cost that you have to pay, but it works to our advantage."

"Eat... my... dick." Darren spit in Cyrus' face.

"Fuck this guy," Jeffrey muttered, slashing Darren's face with the knife. Darren cried out once more, the pain of the wound ripped away by the fiery sensation of his skin knitting back together. The knife found a perfect place between his ribs, and he coughed up a copious amount of blood.

"These ones will hurt the worst," Cyrus told him, but Darren was looking past Cyrus now, his eyes locked on the dark shadow that had formed behind him. The leaves of the jungle hung low in his kitchen, and the shadowy figure sneered when he stepped into the light.

"Taste of your own medicine, ain't it?" Cutter asked, an evil grin on his face. "Serendipitous, I would say."

"You deserved it," Darren growled, earning a pause from his attackers.

"What did he just say?" Cyrus asked.

"I didn't deserve it, none of us did!" Cutter spat on the floor, his phlegm a tarry black color. "None of us deserved to rot in that God-forsaken country, and you couldn't even leave enough of me for the rats to eat."

"What you did was wrong." Darren tensed up against his ropes, his eyes boring into Cutter's. "You got what was coming to you."

A knife in his gut made him cry out his brother's name, but Dwayne didn't come. Cyrus asked him something, but all he could focus on right now was the stink of the jungle, the dank smell of rotting vegetation, and the his former squad captain hopping from one foot to another, his pistol gripped tightly in one hand.

"They deserved it, they were nothing more than animals." The room was gone now, and Cutter stood in a small hut. Behind him was a young girl of about ten, bent over backwards on a table with blank eyes on the ceiling. "This is what we do! We aren't just here to fight Charlie, but to demoralize them, to make them regret taking up arms against us!"

Little Mike gagged and stepped outside. Hayden just shook his head in disappointment.

"This is FUBAR, Cutter. She was just a kid."

"Yeah, well, she was a woman when I was done with—" Cutter's words were cut off when Dwayne crossed the room and, in one smooth movement, ripped off his helmet and clubbed Cutter across the face with it. He fell to one knee, blood pouring from his nose.

"Fuck you!" Cutter shrieked, lifting his pistol at Dwayne. Dwayne smacked him again and the gun went off, barely missing him and punching a hole in the house. Dwayne threw his helmet at Cutter to distract him, but Cutter swatted it away, standing up to shove the barrel of his pistol into Dwayne's chin.

Darren tackled him, both of them colliding with the table and knocking the girl's body down. When those lifeless eyes met his, something inside him snapped.

Cutter tried to pick up his gun, but Darren drew his knife and stabbed him.

With each flash of American steel, Cutter let out a cry of agony, yet nobody tried to stop him. Each time he pierced flesh, he felt it in his own body, years later and thousands of miles away. Darren screamed in agony, grief, anger, and sorrow as he plunged the knife into Cutter even after he was dead, lost in the moment. Every time he pierced Cutter's flesh, he saw their faces, the faces of the men and women he had watched die, staring at him through the fog of war.

It was Dwayne who pulled him away, dragging him off their dead captain. Darren was crying now, but nobody said anything, not even Little Mike who had come back at the sound of the gunshot.

"Hey, it's okay, shhh." Dwayne looked at the others, his features hard. "What happened here can't leave this room, do you hear me?"

The men looked at Cutter, then at each other. There had been no love lost for their captain, and they had all been worried about his recent behaviors. War was hell, and Cutter had decided to cope by becoming a demon.

"Take him outside," Hayden said. "We can report him for desertion, or even MIA. Just walked off in the jungle one day and never came back."

"Bring him over to the jeep," Dwayne said, supporting Darren. Little Mike and Hayden dragged Cutter through the dirt toward where they had parked. The jeep was stacked with jugs of diesel for a generator back at camp.

They moved quickly while Darren watched, tears streaming down his face. They dug a small trench and, after removing anything of value from Cutter that didn't have his name on it, tossed him in. They soaked the trench in diesel fuel, the smell burning Darren's nose. An hour had passed since Cutter had demanded they stop and inspect the village. Fifty minutes had passed since Darren had heard him shoot the girl. Cutter's eyes stared blindly at the sky as Little Mike used an acetylene torch to light the trench, all of them watching as the fire burned away any evidence that Cutter had ever existed.

Satisfied that he was done, they took turns filling in the hole. Nobody was left in the village to watch their deed, and only Darren remained to tell the tale.

Cutter's burnt hand forced its way through the dirt, smoke emanating from his charred flesh.

"Where is she?!?" Jeffrey screamed, and the jungle was gone. He stabbed Darren in the side, and his lungs filled with fire and blood, and Darren screamed in agony, one hell exchanged for another.

"She isn't coming back!" he screamed. "She's gone!" Cutter's ghost was no longer in the room, but he knew that he was on his way back. It was a long walk to get here, after all.

"Where did she go?" Cyrus asked. Jeffrey placed the edge of the blade under Darren's kneecap.

"I don't know. I really don't know." Tears streamed down his face now, his chest aching. "She left me behind. She left me..."

"I've had enough of this." Cyrus put the orb back in his pocket. "He's hallucinating half the time, and now he's apparently broken up over her. We would have more luck squeezing blood from a rock, and every minute we waste here makes it that much harder to catch her." He pulled a fancy pocket watch out of his jacket. "We'll just have to use this."

"Ugh. I'm not looking forward to that." Jeffrey spat on the floor. "Makes me motion sick."

"Yeah, well..." Cyrus looked at Darren and then flipped open the watch. Jeffrey smeared some of Darren's blood across the face of it using the knife, and then Cyrus snapped it shut. "Here goes." He twisted the knob on the top. At first, nothing happened.

Slowly, Darren became aware of movement all around him. Turning his head, he saw his own face, twisted in agony. Surprised, he leaned away from the phantom as it squirmed. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea rushed over him, and he leaned to the side and retched.

Phantom Darren twitched for another couple of minutes and then stood up, his legs bent oddly. After a few more seconds, the phantom tossed itself to the floor, then bounced off the wall and walked backwards out the door.

"God," Darren muttered, his eyes wide.

Cyrus coughed into his hand, his eyes face looking a little green. "I've got it paused for now. We should be able to track him for the last four hours at least, if not longer. Based on the dilation of his pupils, she bit him more recently than that.

"Good. The sooner the better." Jeffrey held onto the kitchen counter for support. "What about him?"

Cyrus shook his head. "It pains me to say it, but he is under her thrall. You don't have to be with us, but you can't be against us." He stood up and put a hand on his stomach. "I'll be outside. We need to get rid of all of the evidence, and that includes the web."

"Cleansing fire?" Jeffrey asked.

Cyrus nodded. "Make it look like an accident." With that, he stepped outside. The overwhelming nausea was already fading, and Darren felt like he could breathe again.

"Always do." Jeffrey knelt in front of Darren. "It didn't have to be this way. That's something that you should think about for the rest of your life." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of plastic rods filled with a neon pink fluid. He cracked them in his hands and gave them a shake, an intense glow forming within.

Jeffrey walked out of the room and into the church. Darren fought against his bonds, but only succeeded in tipping his chair over. A soft pink glow came from down the hall, and he heard the subtle crack of another rod in the distance. When Jeffrey came back, he knelt down and frowned at Darren.

"Sorry it's gotta be this way, soldier boy." He cracked one of the rods and dropped it near Darren's face. "They burn pretty hot. Once it ignites, the end will come quick."

Darren didn't respond. So much hatred burned in him right now that he couldn't.

"Give my regards to your brother." Jeffrey slapped Darren's face playfully. "Yeah, we read about that when we looked you up. I know what it's like to lose someone, too. I'm actually envious, cause the two of you won't be apart for much longer." He stood up and looked around the living room, then grabbed the jar of peanut butter off of the shelf. Holding it up in a mock salute, he walked out the back door and disappeared.

Darren struggled against his bonds, yelling for help, but knew it was useless. Every time he felt like he was about to get a hand free, the rope around his wrists would retie themselves. However, he was able to twist himself around enough that he could give the glowing rod a quick kick with the toe of his boot, sending it a few extra feet away.

The soft puff of ignition rolled down the hallway, and a small plume of smoke drifted in as if checking the place out. Darren closed his eyes and stretched, hearing the wood of the chair creak. No matter how much the rope restrained him, it couldn't keep him tied to something that was broken.

"Yeah, that's right, wiggle!" Dwayne stood above him now, his hands balled into fists. "This is just like State Championships, remember? You and Robbie Thomway, only this time, you could actually win!"

"Fuck you," he muttered, straining his biceps. The arms of the chair creaked some more, and he heard the soft crackling of wood. Nearby, the glowing rod had changed color, and waves of heat came off of it, reminding Darren of a bonfire. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, memories of men with napalm burns in the medic's tent. Not like this, he thought to himself, adrenaline surging through him.

"That's right, pull!" Dwayne knelt down and grabbed Darren's wrist. "This one! This one is about to go!"

Darren let out a shriek of rage and yanked, the rope cutting into his wrist. The arm snapped free of the back, allowing him to move his forearm back and forth. He shoved against the ground, moving away from the glowing rod as the couch began to melt.

"Go! Go!" Dwayne cheered. "Kick those legs!"

Using his free arm, he tilted up onto his back, then swung himself over and onto the ground. The chair let out a pitiful groan, and he felt another joint loosen. Spasming wildly, he managed to tilt his legs back into the air, then bring them down again.

The front left leg of the chair snapped off and he kicked his right leg, the wood flexing beneath it. It broke just as the carpet caught fire, and he watched in horror as a ball of fire expanded from the rod, slowly encompassing the room. Scrambling onto his front, he made his way to the back door, using the hallway wall to help him stand. Hunched over, he grabbed at the doorknob, pulling it open and tumbling into the yard.

Above him, the sky glowed red, and he could hear the loud crackling of the steeple as it burned. He continued his slow crawl, moving farther and farther from the church, the heat licking at his back. Able to stand a bit, he scurried even farther away, his eyes on a nearby tree.

Once near, he crashed into it backward, breaking the back of the chair. The rope squirmed around his body like a nest of snakes, and he fought to get a hand free of them, searching the ground for anything sharp. A loud boom sounded, and took a second to watch a wave of fire roll its way toward the top of the building. The steeple let out a loud groan and collapsed inward, firing a ball of flame into the sky.

He watched the fireball climb into the sky. Though it had been brief, that had been his home. A wave of grief rolled over him, followed by anger. He wasn't going to allow them to get away with it.