Redline
“You’re makin’ a big fucking mistake,” Van said staring at me from the barrel end of my .45.
“Just give me the money, Van.” I was sweating, scared shitless, and about to be rich.
Van looked around the back office of the antiques store we used to launder cash. Jake and Cass, his two flunkies, stared stupidly back at him. Their hands were halfway under their jackets and their eyes asked Van what they should do.
Van shook his head at them and dropped the briefcase on the floor between us. I had just watched him run the bills through the counter—half-a-million dollars. A ticket out of here for me and my sister Michelle.
“Think you got balls, kid?” Van asked. “Don’t confuse nerve with makin’ the stupidest fucking mistake of your life.”
But his words were nothing to me. All I heard was the whir of the bill counter in my head, all the way up to five-hundred thousand. I knelt down with my gun still on him and reached for the case.
“Jesus Christ,” he went on. “What do you think Mr. D’s gonna’ do when he hears about this? That money ain’t for you, Mikey.”
“What are you gonna’ do, Mikey?” Jake asked. “Kill us so we don’t tell?”
I shook my head. “Nobody’s getting killed. I’m taking this cash and I’m walkin’ out that door.”
“Oh, you’re gonna’ get killed,” Cass said. “Maybe not today, but we’ll find you, you traitorous fuck.”
“Keep talkin’,” I said as I backed to the door. “I see anybody come through here, you’ll probably catch one. I’ll try not to aim for anything important.”
Van scoffed and shook his head. “Stupid,” he warned. “World-class fuck up, Mikey.”
“See you around.” I ducked out into the back alley.
Shell was waiting in the Camaro, her face a frozen mask of terror and excitement. I could see her white knuckling the wheel from twenty feet away. I sprinted through the trash and winos to the passenger-side door. The tires were squealing before I was all the way in, and then we were gone.
“You got it,” Shell said. She kept glancing from the street, to the briefcase in my lap, to the rearview mirror without moving her head.
“Hell, yeah,” I whispered as I ran my hands along the case. “We set to meet with Willy?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “We meet at Halehurst, pay him for the passports and tickets, and drive all night to Philly. Sun comes up, we’re on a plane to Jamaica.”
I looked out the window and watched the twilight coming on. Streetlights flickered to life as we fled out of town into the rural forests and Halehurst mansion. I checked my watch. It would take us a good hour to get there.
The road wound into the woods and hills. The shade of the trees made everything seem darker as the sun set. I started to get lost in the scenery passing by outside—deep forests so thick they seemed like a solid wall of trees…primordial…ancient.
“Shit!” Shell growled. She was looking in the rearview. I turned and looked behind us. A black Cadillac was bearing down on us fast. Behind it, the red and blue lights of a cop car played in the air.
“Stay calm,” I said. “Just keep driving.”
The Caddy screamed out around us and passed. I couldn’t see the driver through the tinted windows. The car lurched and shifted from lane to lane, like a living thing hell bent on reaching its destination. The cop car passed, ignoring us. Soon they were both lost in the distance and darkness, dim taillights swallowed up by the night.
“Jesus,” Shell said.
“What are the chances of that?” I asked. “We haven’t seen anybody on this road since we left town.”
Five minutes later, Shell hit a blind corner. Too late, I saw the lights from the police car swirling in the dark.
“Watch it!”
Shell cranked the wheel. The Camaro skidded, then caught the road and screeched to a stop.
The cop car was halfway off the road. The Caddy was just beyond it, wrapped around a tree. Steam boiled from the radiator and the driver lay dead on the hood, nearly cut in half when he was ejected by the impact.
“Holy shit,” Shell murmured. I looked at the driver. He was a young guy, blue jeans and leather jacket. Not the kind you’d expect behind the wheel of a Caddy. Must have stolen it.
“All right, Shell,” I said. “Let’s get out of here before the cop….” I fell silent.
Two things that I saw registered in increasing order of alarm. One: the lid of the Caddy’s trunk had been torn off. The trunk was full of dirt, scattered and dribbling down the back of the Caddy. Odd.
Two: the thing that hunched over the headless body of the cop, just beyond the trees bordering the road. It was a naked, dirt-streaked caricature of a man. Thin, like an emaciated corpse with dark, matted hair hanging in its face. It sucked hungrily at the stump of the cop’s neck, blood oozing down its chin. The whole scene was lit with flashing red and blue, a vision of Hell.
“Shell…go,” I whispered.
“What?” she asked.
The creature dropped the body and looked up as if it had heard us.
“Go. Go, Shell,” I said. “Go now.”
The thing stood up and took a step towards us. I could see its terrible human eyes staring at me with hunger and lust. Blue eyes.
“Fucking go, Shell!” I screamed. “Drive right god-damned now!” I shook her violently by the arm as I stared out the window.
“Jesus Christ, Mike!” She stomped on the gas. The tires spun, caught, and we were moving. “What the hell?” she asked.
I looked out the back window at the fading, flashing lights. It looked like the thing had stopped by the side of the road, watching us speed away.
“Did you see that?” I yelled.
“What?” Shell checked the rearview mirror.
“That fuckin’ naked…crazy fucker!”
“I saw a dead guy on the hood of his car,” she said.
“You didn’t see the guy eatin’ the cop?”
“The guy…Jesus, Mike! It was a car crash. You need to calm down,” she said, sounding nervous. “We’ll be at Halehurst soon, get our shit from Willy.”
“Right,” I sighed. Had I really seen that? It seemed pretty fucked up and unbelievable as I played it back in my head. Maybe it had been a trick of the lights, or too much stress, or…or somethin’. I tried to concentrate on the road ahead, think about Jamaica, sun, the ocean, girls.
Shell kept glancing at the rearview, frowning.
“What are you lookin’ at?” I asked as my gut tightened.
“I keep thinking I see…nothing. Never mind,” she said. I looked back. It was dark, but every now and then…was that guy following us? Running after the car? No. It wasn’t possible. I shook it off. But Shell, she saw something too.
“Just get us to the place, Shell,” I said. “We’re almost out of here.”
Halehurst was a fat broken down whore of a mansion squatting at the end of a long driveway. It had been abandoned for years. It stared out of broken windows set in its flat face as we hurtled down the drive and screeched to a stop in front.
I gripped my .45 and glanced over at Shell as she pulled her own from her waistband.
“Just in case,” I said. Shell nodded. We bolted out of the car and into the moonlight. Shell ran up to the front door. I followed, briefcase in one hand, the other scanning the darkness around us with the .45. No psychos on their birthday suits.
Shell kicked the door open. Inside, we squatted in the shadows, listening.
“Do you think there’s really somebody out there?” Shell asked.
I looked at my gun and back at Shell. “So what if there is?” I said. “We got nothing to worry about, right?”
Shell checked her watch. “Willy should be here soon.”
I looked around for a place to stash the briefcase. I didn’t want Willy to know how much we had on us. Just pay him for his end and get out.
The moonlight lit the foyer in strange tones of blue and shadow. I tucked the briefcase under some loose floorboards.
“There’s a car coming down the driveway,” Shell said. I looked past her, out the window to where a sedan slid into the shadows and killed its lights. It was too dark under the trees leading to the house. I couldn’t see shit. If there were some psychotic bastard out there, Willy wouldn’t see him either.
“Hello?” I heard Willy’s voice from the front door. Shell and I walked over and found him standing in the entryway.
“Willy, “ I said, glad to see him. Then I noticed the look on his moonlit face—the way he turned his gaze to the floor.
The double barrels of a sawn-off shotgun slid over Willy’s shoulder to stare me in the face.
“Mikey,” Van said as he peeked from behind Willy. “Drop ‘em.” Cass and Jake slithered from either side of the open doorway with their pistols covering Shell and me.
“Shit.” I dropped my .45 and backed away, hands up. Shell did the same and looked at me. I could only shake my head. They had us.
“Sorry, guys,” Willy sighed as Van nudged him into the foyer.
“Get their guns,” Van chuckled to his boys, and then turned to me. “I told you it was a big fuckin’ mistake, Mikey. What were you thinkin’?” He let his words hang for a while. “I know what you were thinkin’. There’s only one guy who can get tickets, passports, whatever that fast; no questions asked. Poor Willy, here.”
“Fuck you, Van,” Shell rasped.
Van stared at her ominously. “Play your cards right, Shell. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
My hands clenched into fists in the air. “Leave her alone.” I felt a barrel press against the side of my head. Jake leaned on it hard.
“Shut your god-damned mouth, Mikey. You fucked us over. Mr. D. is pissed.”
“All right,” Van said. “That’s enough of this shit. Where’s the money?”
Both Shell and I stared defiantly back at him.
“Oh, is that how it is?” he laughed. “I tell you what, Mikey. You tell me where the money is right fuckin’ now, or I’m gonna’ rape Shell and make you watch. And then Jake and Cass are gonna’ rape her and I’m still gonna’ make you watch. And then—“
“All right!” I yelled. “All right. It’s over here….” Someone else was in the doorway, now. My eyes widened. Everyone must have seen me gawking ‘cause they all turned towards the shadow silhouetted in the moonlight. I never thought I’d be happy to see that crazy, naked son-of-a-bitch.
Still, there was something different about him. He no longer seemed like the skeletal, malnourished freak in the woods. Wiry muscle strained under his skin and his eyes glittered in the dark as he cast his gaze over us. Strange party. He seemed more curious than anything.
Van leveled his shotgun at the stranger’s face. “What in the fuck is this?” he asked almost laughing. “Boyfriend of yours, Mikey?”
The stranger cocked his head to the side and regarded Van. Van wedged the shotgun under the man’s chin and drew him into the room. “Come here.”
Cass and Jake stood on opposite sides of the foyer, guns drooping but ready to take down anyone who moved.
“Dressed a little light, aren’t ya fella?” Cass murmured.
The stranger looked down at himself and then looked around sizing us up. He turned to Van.
“Your clothes will fit.” His voice was calculating, absolute, ancient. Something about it set the caveman part of my brain to “run away” mode, but there were too many loose guns in the room.
“How about this?” Van said sarcastically. “How about you get down on your knees and suck--” His voice turned to a wheeze. The stranger had reached into Van’s chest, ribcage snapping, blood spurting. Confused, Van stared at the point where the man’s forearm disappeared into the dripping, ruined crater. The stranger smiled at him, pulled him close, and put an arm around him. Van whimpered, the shotgun dropping from his hand.
In one fluid motion, the stranger ripped Van’s heart from his chest and took a massive bite from it before his dying eyes. Van slipped to the floor and lay on his face.
Shell gagged, put her hand over her mouth. I could only stand there and stare, cold terror flooding through me.
“Jesus…” whispered Cass.
“My name is Corvin,” said the stranger as he tossed Van’s heart over his shoulder like a discarded apple. “And now that I have your undivided fucking attention—ah!”
Gunfire erupted from either side of the room as Jake and Cass unloaded on him. The bullets left vicious welts dotting his body before dropping harmlessly to the floor. Corvin contorted in pain and rage. Shell and I dropped to the ground.
Corvin leapt over me. I turned back and saw him take Jake by the face. He pressed his thumbs into Jake’s eyes and crumpled his head in a splash of blood and bone until it was no larger around than a softball.
I crawled for the door, dragging Shell after me. Cass beat us both and was almost outside when Corvin dropped from the shadows above the doorway. He landed in front of us, reached out and grabbed Cass, and drew him back in. Corvin turned to face us, holding the struggling man like a child.
“Get off me!” Cass screamed. “Get the fuck off!”
“Shhhhh,” Corvin hissed. He opened his mouth wide. Elongated canines glinted in the dark like razors. Slowly, he lowered his face and bit into Cass’s neck. Cass shrieked as Corvin drained him.
Shell backed away. This time she pulled me with her. Willy cried in the corner.
Corvin dropped Cass’s body. The corpse was white, veins collapsed, eyes bugging. Corvin’s eyes flared in the dark.
“How many examples do you fucking people need?” he roared. He stepped back to Van’s body. Willy had crawled over to where Shell and I cowered.
“Don’t move!” Corvin pointed at us. He started to peel Van’s clothes off and check their fit. “You know all those quaint human colloquialisms that combine violence and scatology? Like ‘I’ll tear your face off and wipe my ass with it.’ Or ‘I’ll rip your head off and shit down your neck.’ Or, my personal favorite, ‘I’ll put my fist so far down your throat, you’ll shit teeth for a week.’ Well, I can really do those things. You dig?”
He buckled Van’s belt, pitched his bloody shirt, and put his jacket on over his naked torso. He slipped on Van’s boots and paraded around the room like he was breaking them in.
“All right.” He stretched his arms in the jacket. “Who’s got the keys?”
We were too terrified to speak.
He put his hands on his hips and spoke to us like we were children. “Who’s got the keys to the fucking cars outside?”
I heard a jingle and turned to see Shell holding out the Camaro keys on a trembling finger. Corvin smiled. He reached out and took the ring from her.
“Good girl,” he purred. “Shell is it? And Mike, and Willy?” He pointed to each of us in turn.
“Are you going to kill us?” Willy whispered with the only strength he could muster.
“Oh, Willy.” Corvin knelt down with a disappointed look. He patted the back of Willy’s head reassuringly and said, “Yes, I am.” He snapped Willy’s neck, and then leapt to his feet, exuberant.
“Who wants to go for a drive?”
“Most inopportune,” Corvin said from the back seat. “We were on the way to a conclave. Jeremy must have been driving too fast…again. Must have aroused that policeman’s suspicion. Poor Jeremy. He never was very good under pressure.”
Shell was driving again. I was in the passenger seat, Corvin directly behind me.
“You killed the cop, too?” I asked.
“Not my fault,” said Corvin. “He surprised me as I crawled from the trunk. I hadn’t eaten in a while, you understand. Oh, the look on his face!”
“What do you want from us?” Shell asked as we sped along the forest road.
“I want you to keep driving,” Corvin smiled. “I’ll tell you where to go. You see, I’m late for the conclave, now. There’ll be hell to pay with the Crones unless I bring a fitting tribute.”
“The Crones?” I asked. I tried to keep him talking while my mind raced for some way to get us out of this nightmare.
“Yes. The Crones, “ Corvin growled scornfully. “’The Three Who Are One, The Mothers Of The Undead, Queens Of The Night’, yadda yadda, blah blah.” He raised his hands in mock supplication. “They’re a powerful triumvirate of ancient and insufferable cunts who demand tribute at every conclave. You know: infants, the pious, the helpless.” He leaned forward, next to Shell. “Virgins.”
Shell’s eyes bugged. She cast a helpless look at me.
“Oh, yes,” Corvin said. “I could smell it on you back at the wreck. Followed it to that shit-hole mansion. You’ll be a fine tribute. Thirty-four and still a virgin. How…unique.” He had an odd way of making “unique” sound like “pathetic.”
Shell was quiet for a while. She looked at me again. I could see in her eyes that she knew there was no good way out of this. The Devil had come to claim us.
“Not me,” she said sadly. I nodded.
“Of course you,” laughed Corvin. “And you, Mikey, I think I’ll make you my new servant.”
“No,” I said and took Shell’s hand. With her other hand, she aimed the Camaro at a distant stand of trees where the road curved. She began to accelerate.
“Oh, you’ll get used to it. Just do what I say when I say it. Simple really.”
I seemed to hear Van’s voice in my head as Shell stomped on the accelerator. “World-class fuck up, Mikey.” We rocketed toward the trees.
Only near the end did Corvin suspect anything. He stopped his rambling and leaned forward.
“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” he asked. He saw the speed at which we were approaching the bend in the road. “What are you doing?”
We roared into the scream of rending metal; the twinkle of shattered glass in the stars; and the eternal freedom of the cold, dark night.
