A Mixed Bag of Blood (8 page)

“Go ahead, run me through,” Makito said. “My plans have been set forth and you can’t stop them.”

“I’ve already taken the necessary steps in dealing with this mess. I should’ve killed you long ago, but master had hope for you.”

“You would never kill your own brother. You are weak, but slice me, so that I may rise again.”

“You really are demented, Makito.” Kenji sliced his brother’s legs off above the knees. Makito lay, writhing and screaming in disbelief.

“I leave you for the zombies, Makito. May they rid the world of your evil and devour every piece of you.” Kenji left his brother on the ground as a group of undead began tearing at him and eating his flesh.

Kenji sliced his way through hordes of undead, some of them the villagers he’d just seen in town. He returned to his master’s quarters. His knees ached and he had a fever. The disease was working through him already. Hopefully the Emperor’s men would arrive soon and wipe out the town, stopping the undead plague from spreading across the lands. Kenji wouldn’t be around to see the outcome, realizing it was out of his hands. He knelt by his headless master and bowed his head. Placing the tip of the tanto to his temple, gathering his chi with measured breaths, he shoved the blade into his skull. The knife penetrated his brain, killing him, and making sure he would never rise again.

Small Town, Big Trouble

Hank drove down Mott Street, an area of Seattle, Washington where one could travel to elicit the services of a woman of the night. He hated the city with its overcrowdedness, noise, and putrid odors. But it was part of his duty, his oath. Still, the task always made his stomach turn, no matter how many times he performed it.

He loved his small town of Fairhaven and the people in it, especially his immediate family: a wife and three children. They were his world and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect them. And that’s why he was in Seattle picking up a prostitute.

“Hello, Darling,” he said, after rolling his Chevy Malibu’s window down. The scantily dressed vixen strolled over to the car, leaning into it.

It wasn’t that he hated or even despised these poor souls of the night. No. But they were the easiest people to acquire without incident. And when they went missing, very few were looked for. Most were runaways or drug addicts, coming from broken homes. They were the ghosts of small town innocence, now lost and forgotten.

“You a police officer?” Hank asked, softly.

“Do you smell bacon?” the woman responded.

“Please, just answer the question.”

“No, I’m not a cop.” The woman lifted her top up, exposing her large breasts. “Good enough?” she asked.

Hank nodded, closing his eyes as he did so. He was so tired of the routine. He felt bad for the women in general, especially the ones he took. People lived hard lives, but prostitutes, if they lasted long enough, became like flavorless gum: chewed up and discarded.

“Hop in,” he told the woman, trying to sound upbeat and not wanting to scare her off.

“Don’t you want to know my rates?”

“No. I want it all and I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. With a huge, gleaming grin, she opened the car door and got in.

Hank drove to a remote warehouse area down by the river; the same place he took all the prostitutes. Glancing around, the way seemed clear. He shut the car’s engine.

“Where you want to get it on, sugar?”

“Right here,” he said, producing a handgun from the side of his seat. He pointed it at the woman and pulled the trigger. The weapon hardly made a sound.

The woman’s eyes went wide with panic as she turned, fumbling for the door handle, but the tranquilizer in the dart that was lodged in her neck worked quickly. Her head began to sway; her movements slowing until she fell unconscious.

Hank popped the trunk, got out of the car and walked over to the passenger’s side. He scooped her up, carried her to the trunk and laid her down, gently.

* * *

Crystal awoke some time later. Her head throbbed and her throat was dry, as if she’d been snacking on sand coated crackers. What the hell happened? The last thing she remembered was . . . a gun. Someone had shot her.

Opening her eyes, she saw that she was in a small clearing. A dense woodland area stood before her, illuminated only by the full moon’s glow. She tried moving--her mind confused, unfocused--but couldn’t. Looking down at herself, she saw that she was tied in place to something. Some kind of wooden post. She began yelling for help; her cries dying in the black void that existed beyond the trees.

“Do you have any family?” a male voice asked.

Crystal’s heart leaped with a mixture of joy and fright. “Who’s there?” she asked, straining against the ropes.

“There isn’t a lot of time, so please answer my question.”

“Who are you?” she begged. “Show yourself.” When nothing happened, she asked, “What do you want with me?”

“Only the answer to my question.”

“Yes, yes. I have family. A mother. A father. And a baby brother that care about me.” The realization of her predicament was hitting her harder; tears began welling in her eyes. She wanted to remain strong, not allowing the freak any satisfaction, but she couldn’t help it. She was terrified.

“Give me their mailing address.”

Crystal froze. Was this guy going to send her parents a ransom letter? “Why?” she asked.

“So I can send them your money.”

“Money? What money? I don’t have any money.”

“You had a hundred dollars in your purse. Add the two hundred I am going to give you and that will make three hundred dollars.”

Crystal was speechless. What was this guy’s game? She’d been scared out of her mind, thinking maybe the guy was going to kill her, or torture her, or both. But he planned on paying her, wanting to send the money to her parents.

“You’re not going to kill me?” she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

“No. I’m not going to kill you.”

Relief, like popping a Xanax, flooded her system. Had she just heard right? Was this guy just screwing with her? Trying to teach her a lesson? Get her parents involved?

“Then why’d you tie me up like I’m some Joan of Arc? Is this how you get off? Because if that’s the case, you didn’t need to drug me.” Crystal felt a hot kernel of anger growing in the pit of her stomach. “I would’ve done it free of charge.”

“Give me your parents’ address, please.”

Crystal heard unease in the man’s voice. He was almost pleading with her. “Look, you’ve had your fun. Now let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What’s your deal, huh? You’re not going to kill me so . . .” A loud animalistic roar erupted from the forest, silencing Crystal mid-sentence. Then she said: “What the hell was that?”

“Please,” the man said. “Give me the address. This is your last chance to help your family before . . .”

“Screw you!” she yelled. “And to hell with my family! My dad was a loser and mom was a junkie.”

Another roar, nearer this time, came from the forest.

“Oh my god!” Crystal screeched. “Is that a bear?” She began sobbing, her chest aching as her heart thumped like the piston of an overworked diesel engine. “You’ve got to untie me. Please, mister.”

“I’m deeply sorry, but I can’t. I have to be going now.”

“No! Wait.”

“Your money will be put to good use.”

“Don’t leave me,” she begged.

A thunderous crashing sound of broken tree limbs and kicked up forest debris filled her ears. Something big was heading in her direction. Looking around, she saw no food in sight. Wasn’t that what attracted animals?--especially bears?

The commotion grew louder as the thing neared. Maybe if she played dead--because that’s what people were supposed to do when confronted by a bear--the animal would leave her alone.

Closing her eyes, Crystal let her body go limp; the ropes holding her upright. The crashing sounds ended abruptly as the creature stepped into the clearing. A putrid odor, like wet dog and rotten fish, filled her nostrils. She tried to remain still, had wanted to so badly, but the odor was too much. She began coughing, breathing through her mouth to avoid the stench, and could feel bile wanting to rise up into her throat. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the animal.

A low, bass filled growl came forth, followed by a dead-fish smelling aroma. Opening her eyes, Crystal saw the face of horror.

Crouching before her was a hairy, man-like beast. It’s red, beady eyes--set deep within its skull--were filled with a malevolence she had never seen before. Crystal couldn’t move. She was frozen with fear and caught in the thing’s stare, like the victim of a vampire. Finally, she opened her mouth and began screaming. The creature stood up, standing over six feet tall and bellowed a roar. Its mouth was lined with jagged teeth that looked like they could chew steel, but it was the six inch canines that caused Crystal’s bladder to let loose. Saliva spewed from its mouth as she continued to scream.

In the blink of an eye, the beast swung its hairy arm and quickly decapitated the woman; its long ebony claws making easy work of the soft flesh. Blood, geyser-like, spewed from the severed neck. The creature lowered its head over the wound and commenced drinking; something it did before devouring its prey.

* * *

Hank sat in his truck, listening to the woman’s screams go silent. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and prayed.

For generations, his and three other families had been feeding the beast. As long as it received one human sacrifice a month, the town would be spared. It was a grueling, hard-to-swallow duty, but a necessary one nonetheless.

Using his cell phone, Hank called his best friend, Joel. “It’s done,” he said, before hanging up. Then he dialed the third member of the Bigfoot Family, as it was called. “It’s done,” he told Pete, before hanging up. There was no need to say anything else to either man.

The legend dated back over a hundred and fifty years. It was said a disgruntled medicine man, that had lost his land to the bank, placed a curse on the town. Once a month, a human sacrifice was to be made in the forest to a blood-thirsty beast. Some believed the creature was the medicine man himself; that he had made a deal with a demon to be transformed into the Sesquac, a half man, half beast, that had a taste for human flesh.

Shortly after the man’s proclamation that the town would fall, he disappeared into the Cascade Mountains never to be heard from again. No one took his threats seriously and the town went on as normal, until the bodies started piling up.

Night after night the town’s people were being slaughtered; their bodies having been stripped of flesh, leaving nothing but minute grizzle and bone. Hunting parties were dispatched to the surrounding forest, finding nothing but oversized humanoid footprints. Word spread fast of the medicine man’s curse and a town meeting was called. After heated deliberation, the Bigfoot Families were established. It was the charge and responsibility of these three families to make sure the beast was appeased and the town kept safe.

It was originally thought to be a temporary position for the three families, maybe lasting a generation or two. The beast would eventually grow old and die. One hundred and fifty years later and the creature still roamed; the Bigfoot families having had to pass on the responsibility to new generations.

Hank waited an hour inside his pickup, giving the beast time to enjoy its meal before heading back to wherever it went. He trekked back to the killing ground to clean up the severed head—which for some reason the beast never ate—and bury the bones.

* * *

Three weeks later, a week before another sacrifice was to be made, Joel called Hank on his cell phone.

“What’s up, buddy?” Hank asked, sitting in his worn recliner with a bottle of Labatt Blue in his hand.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel said, his voice cracking something awful, like a kid hitting puberty.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Go on with the family business. My son’s almost of age to know the truth; to be brought into our little group. I can’t . . . I won’t pass this on to him, Hank. I won’t.”

“Calm down,” Hank said, sitting up in his chair and setting his beer down. He reached for his pack of smokes, pulling one out.

“Hank?” Joel asked.

“Hang on a sec,” Hank said into the phone. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he lit the smoke and took a long pull, inhaling the sweet tobacco deep into his lungs. He held his breath for a moment, then exhaled. He’d needed that.

“Hank, I’m serious.”

“I know,” Hank responded, quietly. “I think I’m done too.”

“What? Really?” Joel asked, elatedly.

Hank took another deep draw from his smoke, exhaling as he spoke. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. “I’m glad you called.”

“Oh, Hank. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear it. But what are we going to do? Tell Pete?”

“No, absolutely not,” Hank said, harshly. Pete Jorgan was a cowboy, a hot dog who had no qualms about the family business. He would never go along with them and would most likely cause a ruckus with the townspeople. And who knew what the town would do to his and Joel’s family. No, this would have to stay between himself and Joel.

“We can’t tell anyone, Joel. Not a soul, not even your wife. You understand what happens if this gets out?”

“Yeah, but what are we supposed to do? Leave town and let Pete recruit two more families to replace ours?”

“No. I want out, but not at the cost of the town folk. If we just up and left and anything happened to Pete, the town would be at the mercy of that beast.”

“So what then?”

Hank took another drag off his smoke, then said, “We kill it.”

“What? Are you nuts?”

“It’s our only option. Well, my only option. I won’t run and leave the town to suffer.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel said, his voice sounding a little calmer. “You’re right. But it’s been tried before and only to fail. Lives were lost. My great granddaddy lost his wife and eldest son to that creature.”