Chapter 9 (part 1)

Max Young was lying on the desert floor with a pair of night-vision binoculars cupped in his hands. He held the binoculars to his face and lifted his upper body slightly by digging his elbows into the dirt. He gazed into the lenses and let his eyes become adjusted to the bright lime green images the night-vision showed him.

He watched for five minutes as the bizarre events unfolded. He saw the men in blindfolds crouch on the ground and then watched as they were beheaded without mercy. This was nothing new to Max; he had seen the entire act carried out four times before tonight.

He knew the routines of these people. After the beheadings, two vans would come from somewhere else out in the desert and take the bodies away. Then the others would pile back up onto the bus, drive further into the desert and eventually cut the headlights off.

It was at this point that Max had always lost them. But tonight was different. First of all, he had purchased the night-vision binoculars from a highly illegal internet site. It had been a risky venture mainly because he was a member of law enforcement. But if he was able to track these lunatics down, he wouldn’t care if he lost his job.

Hell, he wouldn’t even care if he did jail time for it. He had his own reasons for taking such a risk. These were the same reasons that had essentially placed him on the Shinoe police department in the first place.

Another change in the group’s activity tonight was the fact that after the beheadings, something new had taken place. Whatever it had been, Max could tell by their actions that it was being improvised and had not been expected. Max watched as several members of the group boarded the bus while the remainder of them stayed outside. Moments later they had come off of the bus, carrying a struggling man overhead. This man was then thrown to the ground and whacked across the head. The fact that this man was not beheaded was puzzling to Max because the maniacs on the bus were usually very ritualistic in their killings.

Why had things changed tonight? he wondered.

Max continued to watch as two vans with their headlights turned off drove up from the west. Two men got out of each van and then the beheaded bodies were loaded into the back of one of the vans. With the bodies loaded, this van headed back the way it had come while the other one stayed behind. There was a brief discussion between the leader and a few of the other members. They stood around the fallen man that had been pulled from the bus, as if discussing what the unfortunate fellow’s fate would be.

In the end, they had placed this man in the back of the second van. Max was a good two hundred yards away from the area, so he could not tell if the man was dead or not. He assumed that he was still alive because if the maniacs had have wanted him dead, they would have probably swiped his head off, too.

Max remained still and quiet on the desert floor, making sure not to move at all until the killers had boarded the bus again. As had been the case on the other nights Max had spied on them, the leader that carried the axes got into the remaining van rather than the bus. Max had no idea why things were carried out in such a manner, but it was exactly how they had always done it.

As the killers finished up things, Max found himself wrestling with guilt. He had watched this twice times—three times including tonight—and, as a result of his private investigation, at least fifteen people had been beheaded. But Max knew that if he sprung out at them before he knew their exact intensions, the last two years of his life would be wasted.

Maybe tonight, he’d finally be able to find them. Something in the air felt different tonight, something he couldn’t place. Maybe the cult’s ritualistic killings came to an end tonight.
Tonight, maybe Max would get his revenge.

He remained on the ground until he saw the bus’s lights came on. Once Max could tell that the bus was in motion, he got to his feet. He studied the bus for a while longer through the binoculars, making sure he knew which direction it was headed. When he had a general idea of its course, he removed the binoculars from his eyes and began to run in the opposite direction.

About twenty yards behind him, he had parked a dirt bike. It was a sleek black color that was just about impossible to see in the dead of the night. He had purchased it a week ago from a dealership that had customized the bike so that it was exceptionally quiet. The muffler subdued almost all sounds from the exhaust and the engine purred like a kitten. It had gotten him out here unseen and unheard so far, but the next stage of his pursuit would be the toughest.

He adjusted the gun holster that he wore on his hip so that it would be comfortable while he rode. Comfort would be key in the following pursuit; he wouldn’t be able to use his headlight because it increased his chances of being spotted by a ridiculous measure. Instead, he’d have to creep far behind the bus, using the night-vision binoculars very frequently. Not only did he have to keep up with the bus, but he also had to keep an eye out for any rocks, shallow ravines or other obstructions in his path.

Taking a deep breath, Max cranked the dirt bike to life. He took a final quick glance with the binoculars, then kicked the bike into gear and followed after the bus. He’d been after that bus for a damned long time now and by God, tonight he would find out where these lunatics were hiding out.

Chapter 8 (part 3)

The bathroom was terribly hot and the smell of piss was almost sickening. But Evan looked past those things right away, sure that within a matter of seconds, the five men on the outside would start hammering away on the door and eventually break it down. He could imagine the tire iron beating dents into the door but the scarier thought was the blade of the skinny man’s axe splitting through the door as if swung by Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

The small square that served as the restroom was no more than six feet wide and Evan suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He looked around the small space as he heard the footfalls of the passengers getting closer. A small mirror hanging over an even smaller sink and the silver-colored toilet were the only features in the room. The toilet lid was up and the hole in the center of its base looked impossibly black.

As disgusting as he knew it was, he could not take his eyes away from the toilet. The hole where countless passengers had sat to take care of business seemed like a desolate black hole that had floated down from the depths of space, landing here next to him, in this charter bus bathroom with its sticky floors and reeking of piss, with death marching towards him on the other side of the door.

The hammering on the door began and at first the attacks seemed much louder than they actually were. Each strike absorbed into the small confines of the restroom and seemed to resonate in Evan’s head. He flinched back against the wall and jostled the entire bathroom a bit. He once again looked to the toilet, not sure why his eyes kept returning to it.

This time when he looked at it, something was different. There was something inside of it, moving around.

As Evan watched in disgust, something splashed from within the murky water. Following the splash there was a smell that was mostly pure sewage. There was another putrid smell as well but Evan could not place it, nor did he want to.

His nostrils seemed to singe and he felt his stomach lurch. He gagged and did everything he could not to vomit. Inside the toilet, the unseen thing splashed again.

From outside, something hit the door hard and for a terrifying moment, Evan was sure that the force of it would cause the bus to fall over onto its side. The door was dented and it buckled in its frame with the force of the strike. There was a heavy creaking sound as one of the hinges gave way. Evan let out a weak scream, one that he was ashamed of, one that he didn’t want the maniacs outside to hear, but one that he could not contain.

To his left, the water in the toilet continued to splash. Evan glanced over and for a moment the lunatic part of his mind crept into play and instantly thought of Mr. Hanky, the talking turd from South Park.

But Evan clearly saw something come out of the water and slap the side of toilet’s rim. It was slick and light green in color, covered in sludge and muddy grime. Evan blinked against what he saw but there was no denying that it was an appendage of some sort, an appendage with horrid speed and fluid movements.

As he continued to watch, two more of these things came out of the toilet, one of them clinging tightly to the rim. There were no fingers, nothing to grip with, but it wrapped itself around the edge of the toilet with an eerie speed and strength. Evan was sure that all of these tentacle-like appendages were from the same source rather than individual creatures. He tried to imagine the torso and head of such a creature but could not wrap his mind around it.

Suddenly, he found himself wanting to tear the door off and let the passengers have him. He began to whimper and somewhere in his head, he could feel something like a cold drop of water sliding around. He wondered if this was the feeling of having his sanity slip away.

Another tremendous thud sounded out in the bus as something or someone else banged at the door. This time it was a rather metallic sound and Evan once again remembered the man with the tire iron loading up onto the bus as he had retreated into the bathroom.

The door gave a few inches and Evan could now see through the widening crack between the door and its frame. The five people that had originally come into the bus for him had been joined by others. Their eyes looked cold, and insane; the totally blank slates of their faces only added to this appearance.

A louder splashing sound from the toilet drew his attention away from this crowd. This time when he looked over, he saw the slight spherical top of a shiny dome breaking the water. It was dented and had small pucker marks on it, covered in the same slimy residue that clung to the tentacles. As the form broke the water, it made a hideous gurgling sound.

Another thud came from outside. This one freed the door from the frame and there was a moment where Evan felt relieved. He closed his eyes and sank against the bathroom wall, waiting for the coming violence. He waited to see what would take him first: the rough onslaught of human hands or the gruesome caress of that thing in the toilet. As he sank to the floor, he could still hear it splashing around and gurgling.

A pair of human hands fell on his shoulder and jerked him out of the bathroom. Ignoring his better judgment, Evan opened his eyes as he was thrown over a large man’s shoulder as if he weighed no more than a pillow. He didn’t bother fighting. At that moment, it didn’t even seem worth it.

He looked back into the restroom as he was carried away. The domed shape now peered over the toilet’s rim, having pulled itself up by several of the tentacle things. The dome shape was, of course, a head.

It stared out at the commotion as if eager to participate. It looked at the skirmish with five insect-like black eyes on a head that looked almost human and infantile. It cried out in a weak protest and then sank back down into the drain from which it had come.

Sorry, Evan thought mildly and from some far away place within his head. But you lose, my shit-smeared friend.

Evan wasn’t aware of too much after that. He was vaguely aware that he was being carried forward by a series of hands and arms, being carried in the air, over the heads of the passengers. He felt a slight jostling sensation as they carried him down the bus steps and then the next thing he knew, he had the wind knocked out of him as he was thrown to the hard desert ground.

Evan rolled onto his back, looking straight up into the night sky and gasping for breath. The crisp desert air was a blessing to his nose and head but the sight of the approaching group of people surrounding him sent him back into the void of unreality that he had been swimming in since witnessing that first appendage surface through the water in the toilet.

He was vaguely aware that the man with the crowbar was standing closest to him. Behind this man stood the white haired man in the army pants, still holding his axes. Far off behind them, Evan thought he could see twin sets of headlights floating out in the distance.

The man with the tire iron approached him and raised his arm. Evan watched as his arm came down, the tire iron quickly catching the glare of the bus’s headlights. The iron struck Evan squarely on the side of the head.

Evan heard the thunk of the iron against his skull and then felt the momentary rush of blood pouring from his head.Then he closed his eyes and felt nothing.

Chapter 8 (part 2)

Evan watched in horror, expecting much more gruesome results than what he saw. With the axes planted squarely in each side of his neck, the victim convulsed twice and then went limp. If there was time to scream, the axe blades apparently blocked the man’s windpipe because he died without making a sound.

Even when the skinny man with white hair pulled the axes away, there really wasn’t a lot of blood.

It was watching the man drop to the ground and seeing his head roll away that almost caused Evan to scream. Seeing the act of murder in such a brutal and odd fashion had not quite pushed him to terror, but seeing a human head rolling away from its body across a barren desert and illuminated by headlights had certainly done the trick.

Evan threw a hand to his mouth and it covered the little bit of scream that his voice mustered up before he forced his throat to close.

He watched as the same act was carried out on the other three men. The method was never the same, though. The second man caught the same motions—the blades crisscrossed in the air to fall down and eventually meet one another in the center of his neck—and then fell in almost perfect alignment with the first victim. The third and fourth men were treated to simple swinging motions, as if their heads were no more than the trunks of trees. With graceful but forceful swings, the skinny man lopped their heads off cleanly, as neatly as he might cut firewood.

The fourth man bled quite a bit, and it was the sight of all of the blood that finally made Evan step back from the windshield. He watched as the skinny man walked past the recently murdered as if they weren’t even there. He approached the man with the ZZ Top beard that had come back to speak to Evan before his nap. The bearded man nodded and then turned to speak to a few of the others.

Their circle now began to break up. Some of them went to the dead, pulling gloves onto their hands as they approached the bodies. The rest of them—at least a dozen—turned towards the bus.

Inside the bus, Evan froze. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he felt like all of their eyes were on him. From where they stood, they probably couldn’t even see him. But they knew that he was there.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Evan breathed to himself.

His occupation had sent him headfirst into several situations where his survival instincts were his only way out, but never anything like this. Still, it was those experiences that helped his knees to unlock, to start to let his mind see beyond the panic and fear and into his logical, fight-or-flight rationale.

He had to run. He had no idea where they were in the desert, but it was his only way out. He started for the door but saw that he had apparently frozen longer than he thought because the horde was already at the front of the bus. If he ran for the door, they’d easily cut him off.

He was trapped.

With no other options, Evan remembered the far back row of the bus, the row where the man with the axes had sat. Evan recalled the small enclosed cubicle of a restroom that had been back there and his legs instantly began to carry him in that direction. As far as ideas went, it sucked. But he’d be damned if he’d just stand there in the aisle and let them take him without a fight.
Evan heard the first footfall on the bus steps. As if that single footfall were the sounding shot to start a race, Evan quickened his pace and bolted for the back of the bus.

He never took his eyes off of the plastic-looking door of the restroom as he made his way to the back. Without bothering to look back even once, he grabbed the door handle and pulled. The door swung open so easily that Evan almost fell backwards into the row of seats that the skinny white haired man had occupied. But his senses were at full alert and he kept his balance with ease. As he entered the restroom, he finally glanced back before shutting the door.

There were five people marching slowly down the aisle towards him. One of them had a tire iron in his grip and while the rest were unarmed, they still looked sinister, all of their faces gaunt and zombie-like.

Evan practically fell into the restroom. He slammed the door behind him and set the lock. With his back resting against the wall, he finally allowed himself to scream.

Chapter 8 (part 1)

Evan was still sitting motionless in his seat when the man with the axes had made his way down the stairs and off of the bus. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides and his head felt like it would float off of his head. From outside, he could hear a hard clasping sound, followed by a few metallic clicks and clanks. This was followed by a slight scuffling noise, during which Evan could feel the bus move a bit.

He realized that what he was hearing and feeling was the luggage compartment on the side of the bus being opened and looked into. But as he pieced this together, another question came to mind: had he simply been overlooked during the unboarding process or had he been left behind on purpose?

The slight rocking of the bus continued, accompanied by a few more metallic clanging sounds and what sounded like muffled voices and grunts. Evan looked to the aisle once more and saw that it was still completely empty. He tried to slowly get to his feet but his legs were shaking and would not cooperate. He stood up anyway, bracing himself with the seat in front of him. He stepped into the aisle and walked a few steps forward.

The overhead lights were still at their brightest peak and when Evan tried to once again look out of the windows, he could see nothing more than the tint of the windows and the glare of the interior lights. As he walked, he noticed that the engine was still idling, something that he had not realized at first due to the rampaging thoughts in his head and the fact that his breath now seemed to be far too loud.

As he took another step, there was a loud metallic slamming sound from outside. The bus rocked a bit and Evan placed the noise to be the closing off the luggage compartment.

Evan froze where he was for a moment, ready to dive into the nearest row of seats when he heard the first footfalls on the entrance steps of the bus. He waited a few moments but the sound never came. Feeling somewhat sure that it was safe to do so, Evan headed forward again. He looked to the front of the bus and saw that the driver had also stepped off. Not only that, but he could tell by the dull glow in the front windshield that the bus’s headlights were still on.

Keeping his eyes on the shine of the headlights through the windshield, Evan walked further down the aisle. He listened closely for any kind of voices from outside but heard nothing.

When he reached the front of the bus, he was a bit tentative. The door stood open and when he peeked over the small enclosure that separated the steps from the bus, the opened door showed only a small area of hardpan dirt. He looked from this to the windshield. He was close enough so that he could now make out what lay in front of the bus and although he wanted to look outside, another part of him was afraid to do so. But, as it always was in Evan’s case, his curiosity was the stronger part of him and he found himself at the windshield, looking out.

The tint of the windshield was obviously not as dark as the passenger windows. This, accompanied by the spotlight that the headlights cast, gave Evan a clear view of his surroundings. He saw that one of his theories had been correct, but this did not ease his mind at all.

At some point during his sleep, the bus had turned off of the main road and had trekked back into the desert. To all sides, as far as the headlights cut through the night, there were no roads to be seen. All there was to see was the large group of people that stood about twenty feet in front of the bus.

The group consisted of all twenty-four heads Evan had counted earlier. In the midst of the group, Evan easily spotted the obese man. He was waddling around as if drunk, with no particular destination in mind, weaving in and out of the people that were around him. Actually, they were all weaving around one another, huddled together as if coming up with a fourth quarter play that would win the game. They stood in a tight group and as Evan spied on them from the bus, he also spotted the biker type with the long grey beard. He could also see the driver among them. He looked closely for the Christopher Lloyd zombie but saw him nowhere.

Seconds later, he discovered why he had been hard to locate.

Eventually, the crowd separated a bit and within the center of the group stood the frail man with the axes.

The crowd began to distance themselves from one another, walking backwards but looking forward the entire time. As they walked away from one another, Evan noticed that they were spreading out into a circle. He watched with a knowing fear in his guts, feeling as if he were about to watch some demented marching band or flag core do a grotesque march.

As they effortlessly walked backwards and made their circle, Evan’s eyes went back to the zombie-like man with white hair. From this distance and through the windshield, his axes looked like extensions of his arms. He still stood in the middle of the circle, looking towards the sky. As he looked upwards, he carried the axes in that direction, holding them up over his head and making a perfect X with them in the air.

Sitting on the ground around him were four human figures, wrapped in what looked to be torn burlap sacks. The sacks started at their necks and covered their bodies to the knees. Their heads were exposed but they had all been gagged and blindfolded. Their arms were tied behind their backs and their legs were bound with thick strands of rope.

They fought helplessly but were unable to move. Evan watched as one—a bald man with a large cut on his head—fought to the point of toppling over, his face landing hard in the dirt.

Evan was pretty sure that these people were what had been taken out of the luggage compartment while he had still cowered in the bus. As he watched all of this unfold, he was suddenly very sure of what was about to happen, yet he could not tear his eyes away from it. Set in the exact center of the headlights’ glare, the whole act seemed like a play acted out by drugged performers.

The shirtless man with the axes looked down from the sky. He said something that Evan could not quite hear clearly from the bus. Whatever it was that he said caused a man to step out of the crowd of twenty-three people. This man was dressed in coveralls and boots, and he carried a large knife in his right hand.

He slowly approached one of the bound figures, walking directly in front of them so that he was almost exactly face to face with the shirtless man with the axes. The man in the overalls used his knife to make a very quick and shallow cut along the victim’s forehead. He said something and then advanced to the next figure where he performed the same act.

He placed this incision on all four of the bound people’s heads. From what Evan could tell, all of the bound were males. By the time the cuts had been made to their heads, their weak fighting and protests had stopped, as if they knew that it was useless. The fourth cut to be made was on the head of the bald man that had toppled over and when he was set back up by the man in coveralls, his fighting spirit was apparently drained.

The man in the coveralls said something else which also went unheard by Evan. He could see their mouths move, but could not hear anything clearly. He watched as this man backed away from the bound victims, reclaiming his place in the circular form the group had made.

Three second passed and then the skinny man with the axes spoke again. Whatever he said drew a unanimous reply from those around him. The reply was so loud and in unison that Evan could actually hear it, although it was apparently a foreign language. To Evan, it sounded like “Bainada.”

With that reply, the skinny man turned slightly to his right. Without any warning and with a speed that Evan’s eyes almost couldn’t keep up with, he brought both axes down in arched, swooping motions. Both blades met one another and would have made a nice clanging noise if they had not been slowed by the thickness of the neck into which they were driven...