Mutilator from the Grave (8 page)

His lungs were inflamed, struggling to breathe the crisp, icy air, they could have popped in his chest in a cluster of oozing gunge at any minute. His legs were heavier than lead weights, his muscles were aching all over, barely able to go another mile without giving in and sending their carrier crashing onto the cushioned blanket. His feet were sore, his soles were pushed to the extreme, each step hurt worse than the last. He peered over his shoulder, the shadow of his damnation was tailing him, gaining on him, following his every move. He had to force his own body against its will to press on.

Up ahead, his eyes could make out a distinct assortment of long shapes in the night. Alyosha could not have asked for a more finer means of evading his undead tormentor. He was heading for the train yard, there were plenty of ideal places to hide and escape without being spotted. Even the living dead could not catch what they could not see.

He would leave the vengeful cadaver lost in the rows of trains and carriages, looking for a ghost of his own who was nowhere to be found, long gone from his rotting grasp, running to the nightclub to get the only help to lay the nightmare to eternal rest.

Evengi had enough firepower and men at his disposal to blow that sucker back to the pit he crawled out from.

Victor's corpse did not have a hope in hell of taking on the entire syndicate on their own turf, he would be dead again the minute he was caught in their sights. A few shotgun shells and machine gun fire would blast him away to ashes, giving him the cremation he should have received. Specks of ash could not come back and pose a threat.

Alyosha ducked into the metropolis of stationary trains, he hid under one of the carriages, he used his cover as an opportunity to gather his breath and ease his legs. His entire body had been through a punishing workout, he would be twice as sore in the morning than he was lying flat on the snow and metal of the train track.

It wasn't long, the shadow of the executioner entered the train yard, searched high and low for the evasive trash. He was onto his tactic, the convicted thought the hiding spots would be an ally to him. Victor would put a dent in his plan, there was no chance for him to hide from him or run away from him.

He could not escape from the means of his damnation, it would forever haunt him wherever he was, Victor would be affiliated to his every move like the shadow he was. The guilty could not be absolved, the condemned would pay dearly for his crimes.

The blood could never be washed from his vile, filth invested hands, it would be a part of him, staining his flesh and his spirit.

Alyosha could feel his breath coming back to him at a steady pace, his lungs did not feel like a knife was piercing it.

His leg muscles were not as tense, the flaming aches were simmering, the hefty weight was released.

His feet were capable of pressing onto the ground without sending surges of pain to jolt through his ankle.

Crawling softly from under the carriage, Alyosha had recovered enough of his drained stamina to make a silent run for it. The bringer of his untimely death was none the wiser to his position, he was too busy examining one of the cargo trains, his back to the carriage his adversary was tentatively backing out of.

The slippery culprit held his breath, calmed his shook up nerves. He could hear the thumps of his heart pounding at his chest, on the verge of exploding. The pressure was too great, one mistake and Victor would be on Alyosha quicker than a flash, dishing out a dosage of justice and forcing it down his neck.

The mutilator had finished inspecting the cargo train, moved on down the various metallic rows, his search continued. He was getting closer to the slick fiend, he could feel it in the empty decayed hole he called his guts.

Alyosha climbed up off the snow, placed his back beside the train, checked his surroundings, there was no sign of the undead avenger lurking anywhere, only darkness with flecks of white snow dancing majestically all around him.

He stepped quickly with extreme caution, he could taste his freedom from the decomposing walking dead, the cool gangster would be protected in the neon lit, vodka drenched, well armed shelter of Evengi's nightclub.

Heading past the elongated line of metal connected to metal, crouching under the last cover of the train itself, he peeked out the side, the gate to the outside world was all clear, the vengeful zombie was nowhere in sight, he must have been lost in the complex of unused railroad trains. There was a lot for one man to cover, it was impossible for the undead executioner to find him among all those empty carriages.

Home free, it was now or never, Alyosha dashed for it, his feet stampeded off the snow in heavy thumps, he approached the only means of entry inside and outside of the train yard. His deliverance was in plain sight, each step got him closer to ridding himself of the undead bane to his life. He had never been more relieved in his entire lifetime, when his whole well-being was jeopardy, it gave him a bigger appreciation of seeing another day intact.

Passing through the opening, the wide open street smothered in snow expanding in the distance, the cool handed criminal gloated to himself, he had outsmarted the living dead with his own smooth cunning. That was not a feat any regular person could claim, they would likely be considered insane and locked up for stating such raving lunacy.

The spacious area hit a slight obstacle ahead, it moved in towards him at an alarming speed. A white flash blinded Alyosha, he was sent falling onto the ground with a busted nose by the velocity of the hard object hitting him in the face.

Dazed from the solid blow that struck him head on, he was dragged off back into the train yard by the obstruction. His double vision cleared, he came to, he tried to stand and move, his body could not, it was held down by rope tied around his hands and ankles. He attempted to speak, his muffled words could not come through the gag holding his mouth shut. All he could do was look up at the shape standing over him, the cause of his capture.

His heart could have stopped, Victor had caught him in the end, as he foretold. Alyosha was only succeeding in wasting time.

Victor was two steps ahead of the opposition, he had predicted he would attempt making a run for it out the train yard, so instead of trying to come to the criminal, the mutilator bided his time, he waited for the criminal to come to him then subdued him straightaway with a well orchestrated punch to the nose.

The slick thug had underestimated how resourceful his opponent was, he was thinking two dimensionally, that was his undoing.

The revengeful mutilator did not delay for one more second, the execution would commence without any hesitation. There would be no final words for the convicted, all Victor wanted from him was to suffer the way he and his party made the two departed lovers suffer. They were not entitled to any say in the matter, Victor and Indria were not permitted such a thing that night.

Alyosha squirmed on the track he was conveniently placed on. His executioner had something more creative and agonizing in mind concerning his capital punishment. An end that made his blood run cold.

Victor stood beside a behemoth of a freight train, built to carry over a hundred thousand tons, it had a sturdy and brawny weight under its wheels. He imagined what it could do the human body if subjected to such an immense physical property bearing down on it. It would be the flawless means to carry out justice on the guilty.

He set the behemoth into motion, stood to the side to get a good, close view of the execution. The steel wheels slowly moved, screeching off the tracks, hauled the gargantuan steel megaton train towards the riving and wriggling human worm attempting to break free from the rope, there would be no such luck. Victor had thought two further steps ahead and tied the rope not just to his hands and ankles, also around the track itself, he was held tight and secure. His destination was with the metal juggernaut and that alone.

The suffering he faced was too great, precisely how Victor envisioned it. He was not disappointed with the taste of the cold vengeance.

The wheels ran over Alyosha's head and groin. His skull and crotch were gradually applied an unbearable pressure, the tons and tons of weight was brought down on it, cracking and crushing at it until it gave in, splitting his head in half like a ripe melon and splattering his love organs into mush. A fitting demise for the scoundrel, his days of violating women were finished. The train ran over the mutilated body of Alyosha.

Victor exited the train yard, his work there was done. He left the butchered remains of the guilty to freeze over. Someone would discover it in the morning. The mutilator from the grave had bigger fish to fry. The mastermind who arranged the incident, responsible for pulling the trigger, along with his empire was next on his list.

He would wipe them all off the face of the earth, cleansed from existence. Victor would be paying Evengi's club an unexpected visit.

15

Evengi sat in his throne room, immersed in his world of organized crime, gloating like the monarch of death, mayhem and corruption he was. He basked in his powerful empire, big in the company of his armed goons at his beck and call.

Without them to protect him, he would be as weak and defenceless as the skeletal wretch he despised, for he saw a reflection of his own self in him, what he really was behind his operations, his desk and his suit.

The sins of his past were buried under a sea of ignorance and indifference, he was not losing sleep over the systematic murdering of two young lovers at the prime of their romance in cold blood. In fact, he enjoyed it.

Killing people was no different from shooting a deer or a bear, it was a cruel sport in his eyes, and the more crueller it was, the more enjoyment he got out of it. It was his favourite type of blood sport. He preferred pulling the trigger himself on his kill rather than allow one of his henchmen to do the honours. Seeing them die in front of his eyes, by his own hands was more rewarding for him than bedding a woman. His erection and climax came with inflicted pain and death on those below his imperial feet.

Some may have called him psychotic and homicidal, but those with a mouth on them did not live long enough to tell their tale after he blew their brains over the floor and dumped their bodies in the lake.

The crime boss did not consider himself a psychopath who got an intense thrill from killing, he looked at it in a different light, it was his profession and he was good at what he did. A talent like his could not be afforded to go to waste.

He enjoyed his job, and there was no finer work than one that was enjoyed. It became more of a hobby with perks.

Evengi leaned back, lit up a cigar and blew out a ring of smoke, he relished his kingdom forged by his own laborious hands.

It was so good to be the king.

The monarch's relishing in his mighty kingdom would have to wait. His castle had been invaded, the king was under siege.

Down below, calamity shook the floor. It was not the rowdy, boisterous yelling of the customers having a wild time. It was the piercing commotion of the dancers, drinkers and staff running for their lives, yelling in a panic at the invader barging his way in.

Trouble was forcing itself into Evengi's territory, a rival organization with some nerve or a death wish were storming his operation, with intentions to take it over. They had another thing coming. The crime boss would have their nerves cut out and grant their wish for death. His henchmen hurried out, locked and loaded to take the threat out. Evengi reached inside and pulled out his own pistol, any that came storming into his office unannounced, the last thing they would see is a well shot bullet flying for them.

Deep down, he hoped it would come to that. Evengi looked forward to firing his gun off and lightening its load into some penetrated flesh, filling the body full of his lead. His cock hardened at the very idea of it.

His weapon could not wait to go off with a mighty bang.

Evengi listened out for the gunfire and chaos of a furious shootout, awaited to hear the intruders mowed down by the oppressive fire of his lethal weapons. What his keen ears picked up was not the case.

Gun fire from his forces boomed and rattled throughout the nightclub, the opposition on the other hand did not fire a single shot. They had to have been the most passive adversaries to challenge the  Borisovitch family.

Except the enemy was not passive either. The shrill screams flooded the dance floor combined with the slashing of flesh and of bone. The intruder was using a bladed weapon to eliminate the competition.

When he glanced out his window to take a curious look at what was going on down there, Evengi was amazed to discover the threat was one solitary man hacking and slashing his men to pieces like they were paper.