Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 14

At the far end of the motel, Erica and Griffin, half asleep. They lay in the bed on sheets that were destroyed by oil, sweat and semen but they were oblivious to it. Erica's ass pressed into his crotch as his long dark cock penetrated her pussy. His arms enfolded her, pulling her back comfortably into his strong chest, holding her close as he gently stirred the contents of her snatch.

Arlene winced in the shower, hot water scouring the oil from her body while Daran crouched behind her, opening her butthole with his unflagging cock, as hard now as it had been hours before. She bit her bottom lip as he pressed deeper inside, his need to possess her body totally mirrored by her desire to let him do so.

All of them knew that sleep was a better friend as they were about to enter battle but none of them ready to surrender totally to it yet. If death were to come that morning, then each man and woman in that motel was preparing to drain the last vestiges of delight from an increasingly shitty world.

Chapter Three: "The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein"

Arlene roused everyone at 2am.

The debauchery of a few hours ago might have seemed a stupid idea as they stumbled out into the parking lot, armed and dressed for battle. Only Daran, Griffin and Denisa seemed to be relatively untouched by the strenuous few hours of sex.

That said, Denisa did seem to be uncomfortable when walking, her hand patting her ass occasionally, her dark eyes throwing furious glances towards a grinning Duncan.

They headed off, Duncan and Arlene at the wheel of the two vehicles, the rest squeezed in with the body armour, weapons and explosives that they carried either on their person or in small canvas bags. There wasn't a lot of chatter among them, Erica feeling a bit intimidated by the silence and the grim expressions on her companions. Griffin sat up front beside Duncan, Sondra in the back seat with her. The black woman took Erica's hand in her own, raising it to her lips to kiss it.

"This is for Amos, for my Boo," Sondra said.

"For all of us and all we lost," Erica agreed, kissing Sondra's hand in return.

"Don't you worry, you just hang back and let me and my babies do their thing," Sondra said, patting the two holstered handguns riding her hips.

The cars sped through the night; the roads empty. Even so, both Duncan and Arlene made sure to stay within the marked speed limits. The last thing they needed was for a state trooper to pull them over for speeding, not when they were looking like they were on their way to a warzone.

Erica found her mind drifting as she watched the darkness scroll past the window. Everything that had happened, each trauma her mind had suffered in conjunction with her bodie's pain filtered through her consciousness like someone was running old 8mm film stock. Dispersed among the horrors were clips of joy and rapture, the only things that had kept her from falling off the cliff of insanity, keeping her on track with the self-appointed crusade she was on. Highlights like meeting Arlene and Sondra, pleasure-soaked moments such as her time with Amos, the time she had been fucked on a pool table in a bar, mind melting orgasms with Saul in his farmhouse.

The sky was brightening in the East as the sun began its ascent into the heavens. A feeling came over her as Duncan pulled off the road to come to a stop by the car Trent, Lincoln and JP had used the day before. Somehow Erica knew in her gut that before the sun had fully risen, either she or Butterman would cease to be a worry for the world from then on.

<<0>>

It was a ten-minute walk to the industrial property where the safe house was located, Griffin and Daran agreeing with Arlene's plan to go on foot the last distance. Before the group set out, Arlene texted on the WhatsApp group she had created, wanting to keep talking to an absolute minimum.

'On foot, seven of us approaching from vehicles to west. T, L, JP... all good?'

In seconds she had three fresh texts from the men acting as overwatch, all confirming they were in position and waiting.

"Let's finish this," the Deputy Sheriff said, four figures striding behind her as she moved off. Duncan however held up a hand, making Erica wait.

"Take that gun off," he said brusquely. Erica did so immediately, thinking she had somehow done something wrong in her gearing up. That wasn't the case however.

Duncan had shrugged off the canvas bag on his back, pulling out an old-style military canvas web belt and holster which he proceeded to buckle around Erica's waist.

"It was Amos's, figured he'd want you to wear it, use it, in your first fight," the black man explained, his voice a little hoarse with emotion. Erica unsnapped the holster, seeing a 1911 Colt .45 within.

"Freshly oiled and ready to use," Duncan said, then his big hand squeezed Erica's ass. "From what Griffin said, it aint the only thing," he added with a laugh.

"Jesus Duncan!" Erica exclaimed, blushing.

"I know what I'll be doing when this is over," he said laughing, the squeeze morphing into a pinch that made Erica hop on the spot. Before she could say anything else, Duncan was leading her by the hand after the others.

The black of night had slowly melted into a dull grey. Behind her, Erica heard Denisa mutter something about the drab like making the empty landscape about them feel like a kind of soulless purgatory. Erica smiled, amused that the normally brash Romanian had a poetic side to her.

Then they could see the building Adin Hodzik had described, an abandoned factory space that had been stripped clean a decade before, only the metal and concrete shell remaining. Time for a last WhatsApp message before moving in.

'Moving into structure. If underground, no more comms. Be sure of targets before firing. All copy."

Once she had received a copy from Trent, Lincoln and JP, Arlene nodded at Griffin and Daran to take the lead. From here on out, it was their show.

Griffin, Duncan, Sondra and Erica formed one line, Daran, Arlene and Denisa another. Both groups moving separately towards the building, approaching a metal door that clung to the side of the building by a single hinge, the entrance beyond it, darker than the pre-dawn half light that the seven figures jogged through. Griffin led his group in first, skirting clockwise through the building, Daran's team entering next and moving counterclockwise.

The building had been gutted. Adin had already alluded to this, informing Erica that the actual safe house was beneath the old factory, utilising its maze of corridors in the basement. He had said there was a single point of entry, a stairwell leading down, to prevent anyone from accessing it, outside of the organisation of killers known as 'The Web', a steel locked door was set above the stairwell. It took about three minutes to work their way to the locked door's location, both teams converging on it at approximately the same time.

Daran pulled a set of lock picks from a pocket in his combat pants, preparing to crouch in front of the lock to work on it. Griffin however suddenly raised a clenched fist, signalling for attention. Soundlessly, the young soldier pointed to a spot on a wall no more than twenty feet from where they stood.

Now that he was pointing it out, they could all see the small led light that was mounted on the front of a closed-circuit camera. Erica pointed a flashlight at it, shining an illuminating beam so that she could see it better. The security camera wasn't new but it certainly wasn't as old that it might have been part of the original factory and the fact that there was power going to it...

"They know we're here," Erica whispered nervously.

"We have to assume that," Griffin agreed. Daran shrugged as if unconcerned by the prospect, kneeling down and fiddling with the lock until he gave a satisfied grunt as it made an audible click.

"Daran, you got the lead, secure the base of the stairwell, we'll follow," Griffin said, his friend nodding in agreement. Griffin pulled the door wide, pulling back quickly in case there was a shooter just waiting for that action. He counted off three on his fingers and released Daran who stepped through the entrance, a small flashlight mounted on his MP5 lighting his way.

In close order, Arlene and Denisa followed, Arlene also armed with an MP5, Denisa holding a shotgun. A minute or more passed before Erica heard a 'clear' from down below and they followed Griffin down, Erica in last place.

At the bottom of the stairs, there were three corridors, all dimly lit, connected to a small open space around the stairwell. Erica had been expecting the basement to be cold but instead the air was tepid, a musty whiff however was pronounced, making her nose twitch.

The walls of the factory upstairs had been daubed in a bland taupe colour, the basement walls escaping that horrible fate, left bare instead. Steel pipework ran in tight batches along the ceiling of each corridor, painted in reds, blues and dark greens. At one point they would have carried water, chemicals or waste to and from the factory but Erica reasoned they were empty now.

Beneath and around the stairs was a few piles of wooden crates and two steel barrels, debris from when the factory was a going concern. There was no sign of Daran or Denisa, just Arlene waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.

"We need to search the place room to room, we are taking the corridor to the left, you guys go down the right. Erica. You stay here. Anything goes wrong, you get out, make for cover, call the snipers for help. You understand?" Arlene gave Erica a tense, impatient stare and Erica answered with a quick nervous bob of her head.

"Good, lets go people," Arlene said, jogging down the corridor on the left to catch up with her team, Griffin, Duncan and Sondra going right. Erica swallowed nervously, the beam from her flashlight jiggling on the wall as her hand trembled with a mix of fear and excitement. She unsnapped the flap of the holster, pulling out the heavy gun. There was something comforting its weight, the walnut grip warm in her hand.

The lights from the two teams' flashlights were swallowed up by the dim lights of the building and then the figures moving were gone, rounding corners to disappear from view. Erica was alone.

<<0>>

Two minutes felt like ten as she nervously paced back and forth in front of the stairs. There was a crackling echo of gunfire, she couldn't tell from which corridor, sharp bangs that echoed noisily in the claustrophobic concrete corridors. It had sounded like a burst of gunfire and so she hoped it meant that it was coming from one the teams' submachine guns. If it was, the fact that there was no return fire had to be a good sign, that they had found and killed Butterman or one of his compatriots without being fired on themselves. Erica even allowed herself a sigh of relief, things were going well.

Blam, Blam, Blam-blam

Rat-atat-atat

Blam, Blam

A boom that could have been a shotgun... Denisa? Then silence again. Erica swallowed nervously. Then a long scream cut horribly through the air, echoing, bouncing off the walls so that it seemed to be all about. It was unmistakably the scream of a woman.

Blam

The scream cut off with a dreadful finality. Erica almost started down one of the corridors. What if Arlene or Sondra had been hurt? Erica felt she needed to go, at least she could help tend to anyone who got wounded. The tremble now in her hands was all fear.

Her eyes kept coming back to the middle corridor. With their limited numbers, they couldn't have searched all three corridors at once, not without making their teams too small, too vulnerable. Erica understood that, she even understood the sense of leaving her here alone. There was only a one in three chance that anyone would come from the middle corridor and it was important that someone guard their only means of exit, in case things went wrong. Understanding was one thing; it was very different when plans became reality.

Erica thought about maybe barricading the corridor, dragging the barrels and crates over the block it off. That might offer her some cover if someone came. Then she thought better of it. Moving the stuff would make noise, noise attracts attention. Besides, if someone did come, the plan was for her to withdraw up the stairs, lure them out so that the three snipers could kill them.

A roar of an explosion came up from the left corridor, the one she had seen Arlene dash down. It sounded like some fantastic beast from a monster movie, the warped, echoing, concussive whomp akin to a monster's shouted challenge. The lights flickered once, twice and then died. She wasn't in total darkness though, a grey gleam from the open doorway into the factory forming a slightly brighter roundel where she stood.

Now though every sound that came to her seemed steeped in danger. The creak of the open door above her head leading back into the factory, the groaning of pipes carrying along their lengths every pulse, peal and pop from within the labyrinth of the basement. In the light she hadn't noticed it all, in the darkness Erica seemed to be aware of everything.

Tap-tap-tap

The sound came to her faintly. Footsteps? Something as simple as liquid drops landing on pipework, their echo magnified. Erica turned on her flashlight, sending light down one, corridor after another, seeing nothing untoward. She turned it off, aware that it made her a target by leaving it on.

Remembering her training with Sondra, Erica rechecked her weapon. She slid the magazine out of the butt, checking there was nothing out of place that might interrupt the feed, sliding in back into place with a click. Again, she used her flashlight, a quick reassurance that the corridors remained empty.

Safety... off. Aim centre mass... don't rush your shot but don't hesitate either... squeeze a trigger, never pull... point and shoot, keep your eye on what you want to hit...

Sondra's coaching tumbled through her brain. Erica would have much rather having her friend beside her than just her advice in her head. She checked her phone, there was one bar of service. Maybe she could call in Lincoln to join her. He wasn't as good a sniper as Trent or JP, he could help her defend the exit... no, stick to the plan, trust in Arlene.

She pushed the big gun into the crook of her armpit, clamping it in place so that she could drag her sweating palm along her pants leg, worried she might drop the gun, her hands slippery with nervous flop sweat.

"Hello Erica," a voice said. Butterman seemed to just appear, sauntering out of the centre corridor with an air of inscrutability. A silenced handgun was pointed directly at her so Erica could do nothing but freeze in place.

"You couldn't leave it alone, could you?" The older killer stepped closer, the gun remaining trained on her, long legs stepping shallowly as he manoeuvred around a web of broken floor tiles that the growing brightness of the day was making visible.

'Step on a crack, break your mothers back' went through Erica's head. Butterman was nothing if not a mish mash of contradictions. Ruthless in the extreme, unfailingly polite and now it seemed, prone to superstitious mannerisms.

"You know I couldn't," Erica said finding her voice.

"Drop the gun... slowly," Butterman said, watching as she did as he bid, slowly placing the gun at her feet. When it was done, he lowered the point of his own gun, Erica feeling no safer even without it pointed at her.

"It's over," she said, "My friends will be here soon."

"Will they? I have friends of my own," Butterman replied just as there was another salvo of gunfire, a back and forth return of fire from two... three... four different guns? "It seems like our friends are becoming acquainted," he added. He stretched out a hand to finger Erica's short hair. She flinched away from his touch.

"I can't say I approve but it will grow longer in time. Time where we can get to know one another better. Become friends. Couples should be friends."

"Never. Death first," and she spat at his feet.

"Don't be so narrow minded. I chose you because of your intelligence, how much you remind me of... my late wife. Don't spoil it now. We just head up the stairs, I have transport nearby. A few minutes and we'll both be safe. I, from your friends, you from mine."

"What do you see happening? You think I'm a replacement for your wife?" Erica didn't give a shit what he thought, all she knew was the more he talked, the sooner her friends would be back.

"What do I see happening? I see you bearing me a child of course. Someone to carry on my work, my name. Isn't it obvious?" He reached out towards her again, Erica twisting her head away.

"Too late then you fucking freak!" Erica's disgust blind siding her good sense, "I'm already pregnant and it was a black man who made me a mommy."

Butterman's face went paler than normal, all the blood draining from it in a heartbeat.

"You're lying," he snarled.

"Unlike you, I never lie. More to the point, he was someone your wife wanted to know better. Maybe you heard of him? Big Saul?"

The murderer known as The Graffiti Killer staggered to one side as if Erica had struck him physically. There was another harsh clamour of gunshots from somewhere in the factory basement and he had to shout to make himself heard.

"You fucking slut, you fucking black cock sucking bitch!" His hands shook as he raised the gun, stepping again to make sure he wouldn't miss. Erica closed her eyes as she saw his finger curl around the trigger.

"Fucking finally," a voice said, Butterman and Erica turning towards the source.

Denisa rose from amid the wooden crates, her taser already aimed at Butterman. Before he could adjust his aim, she fired the darts from the taser, watching as the tall, thin killer contorted and flailed on the floor as the voltage poured into him. The gun skittered away across the concrete surface, Denisa keeping her finger on the trigger as she moved to stand beside Erica.

"Talk, talk, talk... I thought he would never come close enough to use this thing on him," Denisa said, handing the taser to Erica.

"You... you saved me," Erica said in wonderment.

"Duh, obviously. Arlene told me to watch out for you, to wait and hide in case someone came. She's smart, she thought this might happen. You should have as well. Pretty stupid for someone everyone keeps saying is clever." Denisa unslung her shotgun, contemplating the three corridors.

"There'd better be someone left for me to kill or I am going to be pissed with you," Denisa added. At that moment a figure lurched from the central corridor, a large knife raised in his hand. The first blast from Denisa's shotgun nearly severed the raised arm from the killer's body, the knife flying through the air as his limb took the shotgun blast. The second round took him in the back of the head as his body pirouetted in pain.

Denisa stepped over to the twitching body as she pumped a third shell into her gun.

"Pathetic," she muttered before walking down the corridor the man had emerged from.

Erica stood over Butterman, the Colt .45 recovered and in her hand. She stared down at the man whose existence had haunted her for so long. She wanted to name out all his victims, those she knew of for certain, those she suspected him responsible for. The list was so long, the names burned into her mind. Yet what was the point. This... this creature, had long ceased to be a man in the truest sense of the word. There was no soul left within him, no glimmer of goodness. Even now, she doubted the enormity of his crimes would give him pause, if anything a rendition of his victims might even bring him pleasure.