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Rookie, Chapter OneThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Daniel | |
| Tuesday, 19 August 2008 | |
CHAPTER ONE
Officer Nathan Palmer, or Nate as his friends called him, coasted his police cruiser up to the gate of the abandoned textile factory and shut off the headlights. Darkness instantly enveloped him as the street lamps had been knocked out by various projectiles over the years. The silence was complete, and that made the seasoned officer nervous. It was harder to mask your approach when everything was still like this. A suspect could hear you coming from a mile away. That gave them the opportunity to either tuck tail and run, or set up an ambush. Even the summer insects that faithfully spewed a symphony of music into the night air were absent. They must have finally decided to leave Walter Valley for greener pastures, Nate decided. He couldn’t blame them. Things had gotten so bad around the small town lately that he half wished he could sprout a set of wings, a firm thorax, and relocate too. But he couldn’t do that, not after fifteen years on the force. When the local factories, that had been the life blood of the local economy, packed up and went overseas, the unemployment rate jumped drastically. And with it, the crime rate had soared. Hard working men and women, in desperation, had resorted to criminal acts to keep food on the table. Nate knew they weren’t bad people. Hell, he had even gone to school with some of them. But he had a job to do, lest he be turned out and forced into the same lifestyle to make ends meet. But not for much longer. He had put in his time, had paid his dues. At times, he could almost smell that pension. Tonight though, it seemed that retirement would never come. The Blackburn Fabric Company had been one of the first to shut down. Like so many others that soon followed suite, they relied solely on a chain link fence and a flimsy lock to keep intruders out. But the intruders apparently had opposable thumbs for climbing, so the precautions were inadequate. As had happened on so many previous nights, trespassers had made their way inside and were having a hell of a time, an anonymous caller had tipped HQ. Most of the time it was just teenagers, looking for a private place to do what teenagers like to do most. Occasionally a transient would show up, looking for a place to spend the night, or a junkie for a secure place to shoot up. They wouldn’t give an armed officer any trouble. But there was something about this particular night. Nate could feel it all around him as he exited his vehicle and looked up at the dark windows that sported only broken shards of glass instead of a full pane. The stillness was oppressive. The summer night air seemed to hang around him like a thick blanket, making movement and even breathing more difficult than it should have been. He didn’t like it, and lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. He was supposed to be quitting, but oh well. Better to have tar filled lungs than a shaky trigger finger any day. Over the years he had developed a strong sixth sense about when something wrong. This ranged to everything from when a suspect was hiding something, to singling out the vehicles carrying contraband down the highway. His fellow officers had referred to him and his friend Zeke, who showed signs of a similar talent, as the Wonder Twins. This was done partly out of grudging respect for their arrest record, and partly just to bust a fellow officers balls. Nate was proud to say that after so many years behind the badge, only Mrs. Palmer could successfully bust his balls now. Nevertheless, his sixth sense was certainly buzzing tonight. In the course of his career, it had made his arm hairs stand up on only three other occasions. None of them had ended well. He was glad to know Zeke was on his way to back him up. He would sit tight and wait for his old friend to arrive, then they would enter and clear the building together. Two guns were always better than one, unless they were both pointed at you. Departmental police clearly said that no officer, particularly a night shift officer, would approach a potentially hostile situation without backup present. The only exceptions were made under the most extreme of circumstances. As Nate smoked a cigarette and reflected thankfully on the wisdom of this policy, a scream of unbridled terror and pain resonated from the dark two-story building. Circumstances had just become extreme. Cursing, he threw his half-finished cigarette on the ground and sprinted towards the front gate. It took him a few seconds longer to clear the fence than it would have ten years ago, but he was in better shape than most men his age, despite the smoking. Four years in the military directly out of high school had instilled physical training as a part of his daily regime. As he ran, he spoke quickly but clearly into the portable radio he carried with him at all times while on duty. “Frank 134 to HQ. Some kind of severe disturbance inside the old Blackburn plant. I’m making entry.” “Copy, Frank 134,” the dispatcher responded. “Frank 150 to Frank 134.” Zeke’s voice sounded unusually strained as it came over the radio. He must have knew something was wrong too. Nate could hear the wail of his police siren in the background. He wasn’t surprised. “I’m about three minutes out.” Three minutes was too long. Whatever was going on inside would be over and done with in three minutes. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, he just did. Time was running out and he had to go in now. “Copy, Frank 150.” Nate bypassed the front door entirely, knowing it was one of the few doors actually secured in place with a heavy chain. Instead, he quickly went around to the left side of the building and found the loading dock. The persistent scream continued to fill the air and shatter the once thick silence, although during the brief pauses when the person on the other end drew breath it threatened to move back in. The sound was almost animalistic in nature, to the point where Nate couldn’t be certain if he was listening to a male or female. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that someone inside was having a very bad night. As he had expected, one of the large rollup doors that had been used to accept and send out deliveries once upon a time, was standing wide open. They had been used in the past as a main point of entry, and had apparently full filled that role again tonight. As he approached, the screaming suddenly stopped and the dense silence once again manifested. Nate approached the open door slowly, all senses on high alert and scanning for any clue as to the source of the shriek. A thick darkness lay just beyond the mouth of the entrance, threatening to engulf anyone that dared step inside. But his responsibility lay inside, not the way he had come. His duty weapon felt cool and heavy in his hand. He didn’t even remember drawing it from his holster. Now it pointed the way as surely as any compass could find North. He liked his weapon. It was a .40 caliber Glock with iron night sights. You could put it through just about any conditions that you were likely to meet in the field, and some that would never occur on this side of the equator, and it would perform flawlessly almost every time. Its’ presence comforted him slightly, almost as if it were an old friend that showed up every time the situation got tense. It was certainly tense enough right now. As he made entry, he forced his breathing to relax, but could do nothing about the heart hammering in his chest and pumping buckets of adrenaline through his body. Nor would he even if he had such an ability. He loved the feeling that it gave him, the augmented reflexes and the overall heightened sense of awareness. It was more addictive and usually cheaper than any drug available. It was the same feeling he had been chasing ever since he was a young military man and had gotten past the moments of terror from his first enemy contact. It was not, however, something he enjoyed on a routine basis. That would get you killed. Nate entered the pitch black structure and immediately compressed himself against the wall, giving his eyes time to adjust. The full moon outside had ruined his night vision. In his left hand he held his department issued flashlight at the ready, but was reluctant to use it. It would allow him to see only in those places that its’ slender beam illuminated as it passed over. But if someone were hiding out, waiting for him, he would be announcing his location as surely as if he were blowing a whistle and setting off firecrackers. On the other hand, it was large enough to make an effective club in close quarter situations, or to temporarily blind and disorient a suspect as Nate could testify through experience. He kept it at the ready, but didn’t turn it on. Once his eyes had acclimated, he was able to make out the rough outline of his surroundings. He was in a large room where the majority of the textile products had been packaged and loaded onto various trucks that awaited them just outside the door. A large conveyor belt snaked its way through the room and disappeared through a doorway and into the other half of the factory. To his right, a set of metal stairs led up to the second floor. Stale air filled his lungs, leaving a musty taste in his mouth as if a thick layer of dust had decided to apply itself to his tongue. The section where Nate now stood had been the shipping department. It was responsible for sending the product out, bringing new supplies in, and doing it all at a pace that was quick enough to satisfy even the most demanding of supervisors. The other side had been the actual meat and potatoes of the business, where fabrics of various textures, colors and durability were produced. In its hay day, this place had employed over 600 happy workers. Now all was silent. It was more than silent. It was dead. And nothing comes back from being dead. Pushing such morbid thoughts out of his head, Nate began to advance through the factory, while keeping the business end of his weapon directly in his line of sight. If he saw something that proved to be an obstacle in him going home safely at the end of his shift, he didn’t want to have to waste a half second bringing his impressive sidearm to bear. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger and that obstacle would be effectively removed. The adrenaline rush had canceled out the buzzing if his earlier intuition, but his rigid arm hairs were a constant reminder of its presence. He had only taken three steps from the open doorway, when a loud yell from the other side of the factory caused him to stop in his tracks. This wasn’t a yell of suffering and misery, as had been the first. It was one of elation and excitement. It was shortly mimicked by several similar howls, then the silence resumed as if it had never been broken. Great, Nate thought. Multiple subjects. Probably on something. Probably having a good time and won’t be too happy on the police showing up and ruining it. Another darker thought plagued the back of his mind. The first scream had been one of torment. There was no mistaken that sound once you’ve heard it. Nate had been unfortunate enough to have been subjected to it on three other occasions, twice while on duty and once off. These others, they were the sounds of a good time. He had heard those sounds a couple of times too, particularly at the Christmas party his shift threw every year. So what could be going on that would spell anguish to one and a celebration to others? It didn’t matter. This was one party he was duty bound to crash. Through the doorway where the conveyor belt disappeared, a light suddenly flared to life. Nate gripped his weapon tighter and hurried towards it will all due and proper stealth. He strategically navigated the opening and found himself in a wide area, much like the one he had just left. One empty room looks like all the others, he supposed. The now lifeless production line wound into the murkiness of the factory and vanished from sight. There was only one thing about the appearance of this room that separated it from the other, that was the makeshift Church. Nate didn’t know why a Church came to mind. It had no steeple, no pews, or singing choir. It was just several clear tarps that had been suspended from the high ceiling to form an enclosure, similar to an octagon. But as soon as he saw it, he immediately knew that it was a Church. Chalk up another one to that sixth sense. Now if only it could give him the winning lottery numbers. Faint light radiated through the dirty plastic, causing shadows to flee to the deep corners of the room. Inside, Nate could barely make out a number of human shaped silhouettes. They were completely motionless and appeared to be frozen in place, with their arms reaching towards the heavens and their hands balled tightly into fists. Even as he stood there, transfixed by the unusual display, a pitiful groan could be heard from the center of the enclosure. It was quickly followed by the words of a desperate individual. “Please, let me go.” The young male voice spoke barely above a whisper, yet it reverberated off the bare concrete walls with startling energy. Nate immediately knew the blood-curdling scream that had led him here had come from this person. He could hear the panic in his voice as surely as he knew that backup wouldn’t be arriving in time to assist him in stopping whatever act of cruelty was underway. His hackles raised even further than he thought possible when another voice answered. This one was the polar opposite of the first. It was wild, exuberant, and filled with a cruel joy that sent a tingle up Nates’ spine. “Let yourself go, Todd. You have the ability. Just say the word.” One of the frozen shadows suddenly came to life and began pacing back in forth in front of the others. Nate knew that this was the leader. The mans’ body language boasted of a casual attitude. Whoever he was, he wasn’t worried about being caught. Worse than that, Nate realized with a start, the bastard was actually enjoying himself. You could tell from the extra spring in his step and the way his arms swung out an extra inch or two as he walked. The first subject, Todd apparently, began to whimper slightly. “I can’t,” he said. “You can! Just take the plunge. The rest of us did. Look how much happier we all are.” He gestured to the other shadowy figures who suddenly put their arms down and began to laugh in unison. No matter what the guy said, Nate heard no happiness that laughter. It reminded him of the snickers and giggles you might hear in a hospital for the criminally insane, tainted with hate and bloodlust. It ended as abruptly as it had started, as if on cue. “Remember, we’re all adrift in the ocean of Hell,” the leader continued and picked up something from the ground. Now Nate could make out the silhouette of a large blade in his right hand as he continued to look down at something. “You can try to swim, or you can go with the current and let it wash you to paradise.” There was that laughter again, rising as one until it flooded the air with its noise. Nate didn’t waste any time in trying to decipher these last spoken words. The guy was obviously a nut job. Let the shrinks figure out the meaning behind the madness, he had work to do. He carefully slid the heavy flashlight back into it’s holster on his belt and took a two handing grip on his weapon. He hoped to God that he wouldn’t have to use it again, but there was always that chance and he would be ready if it came down to it. He began to advance, hoping the maniacal laughter would conceal his approach. Take out the speaker first, he was the one in charge. Punk him down in front of his friends, intimidate him. When he was out of the picture, either in handcuffs or otherwise unable to resist, the others would fold. They always did. Nate found an opening in the plastic and tore his way through it, the time for discretion was past. Almost anyone who suddenly comes face to face with a seasoned police officer with his gun out knows to take him seriously. “Everybody freeze!” he yelled in his most commanding voice. This was to be followed with instructions to lay face down on the floor, but the words stuck in his throat at what he saw. He had just enough time to take in the scene, before the attack came from behind. There were five people in the makeshift structure, none appeared to be over sixteen. All were completely naked, including the two girls on the far side. All had a variety of rusty nails and hooks protruding from several points all over their bodies. The piercing must have been fairly recent, as thin trickles of blood still seeped from the wounds, which had then been finger painted into decorative artwork along the red and swollen flesh. They all looked at him in silence, no surprise showing on their faces. Almost as if they had expected him to come. In the center of the group, a young man lay on the ground, his hands and feet securely bound with barbed wire. On his bare chest were several white flecks and pebbles He wasn’t like the others. He looked up at Nate in terror, but then an overwhelming rush of relief swept over him. His lips parted in a grin, and Nate was horrified to see that he had no teeth, only a bloody mass of gums where they had been recently extracted. Likewise, grotesque amounts of blood poured from his fingers and toes. In a flash of recognition, Nate realized that the white flecks and pebbles where his teeth and nails. That explained the screaming. Lights flashed in the officers head as a hard object made impact with the back of his skull. He went down to his knees, then fell the rest of the way as a second blow scored home. A thick fog suddenly surrounded his once crystal clear senses, and he was dimly aware that he was no longer holding his gun. That was bad. Almost half off all officers shot in the line of duty were done so with their own weapon. He had to get his gun back. He rolled onto his back and could vaguely see another teenager standing over him, holding a bloody length of wood over his head in a mock victory dance. Bastard snuck up on me from behind, Nate realized groggily. Where was his gun? Another figure stepped over him and leaned in close. Nate was only half aware that he was speaking. “One of Walter Valley’s finest,” the leader mocked as he looked down on him. “Tell me, do you perform good works?” Nate tried to nod his head, but merely succeeded in shaking his upper body. Where was that gun? He was horrified to see it suddenly appear as if by magic into the hands of the lunatic that now addressed him. “I’ll bet you want this, don’t you? This is the sword with which you lay down your enemies and smite the smiteful. Well let me ask you something, who smites you?” Once again, he leaned in close to Nate, as if listening for an answer. He stood up suddenly, looking surprised. “No one? Well, we’ll have to do something about that. Let’s see if I can figure out how to work this thing.” He wasn’t going to die, not here, not at the hands of this punk. Where the hell was Zeke? He had to go home, he had to see his wife, he had to get that pension. It would be sad to say that Nates’ pension was the last thought that went through his mind before a thunderous explosion issued forth from his weapon, and an all encompassing blackness took him. Copyright 2008 Daniel |
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