Mer Rouge (Part 69)

“C’mon. Give me a stick of dynamite,” DuPont urged Oren.

Without taking his eyes off the flesh colored blob, Oren reached for the sash across his chest and ripped off a single piece of dynamite. De Soto and his men watched on. DuPont cut the fuse. As soon as it was lit, Dirk and Fornier opened fire on the men and escaped back through the side entrance of the house. DuPont and Hutch were struck from the back and the dynamite fell on the ground.

“Hutch!” screamed Oren.

“I ain’t gonna make it,” his brother said.

The priest shouted at them. “We have five seconds to get the fuck outta here!”

Oren threw his brother’s arm around his shoulder and they scrambled behind the blob towards the outside entrance. The garage exploded. Everyone made it out just in time. As light debris rained down on the yard, Oren and Hutch limped towards the grass. Hutch was ready to throw in the towel. “You’ve been a good brother to me,” he told Oren. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Shut your fuckin mouth!” his brother shouted.

Noticing what happened, the priest ran over to their side. Oren lifted his brother’s shirt and saw that the bullet went clean through his abdomen. Blood was pooling around them. “It don’t look good,” the priest said.

“We gotta stop the bleeding,” pleaded Oren.

“No time for that. Dont know how to do that no how.”

“We can’t leave him here!”

“Oh I gotta solution son. But you ain’t gonna like what I have to say.”

“I know what you’re gonna say. How long do you think we have?”

“Bout 20 minutes I reckon.”

Storm clouds were forming above. A slight mist drifted down and lightly covered the smouldering garage. DuPont was checking his wounds. The priest looked him over and saw the exit wound went out his upper chest. “Want me to take a look at it?” he asked the sheriff.

“No!” barked DuPont.

“But sheriff, you’re—“

“I’m fine goddamn it!”

The priest arched his eyebrow but he backed down. He turned his gaze over to the pile of rubble. “Think we got him?” he asked.

“Don’t know how we couldn’t have.”

“Well get yourself fixed up sheriff. Hutch is mortally wounded. We gotta move fast.”

“What does it matter? He’s dead already.”

The priest spat. “Come now sheriff. We at least got to save the kid.”

“Kid? He’s 38 years old. Unless you’re thinking—“

“Yes I’m thinking that.”

“Now you know for a goddamn fact that you would be cursing him to a fate worse than death! You’ve said so yourself!”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How is eternity complicated?!!”

A roar came from the direction of the rubble. There was some movement underneath the fire and ash then a heavier dash of rain swept down. Everyone clutched to their weapons. “There’s no way,” the sheriff said from underneath his breath. Then the rubble split open and rising like a phoenix was Flaminio, fully nude like he was born anew.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 68)

The last Roman was stone faced. De Soto and his deputies glared unflinchingly at him as they stared down his .50 cal. No attention was paid to DuPont and his men. As tension mounted, the conquistador smirked. “Well. We’re waiting,” he taunted.

Flaminio was milliseconds from the trigger. From behind him the Butler, with his arm still detached, swung a rifle at his head. The Roman was momentarily discombobulated and he fell forward. The butler overtook him but was at limited capability. The two tussled. Maintaining a firm grasp on the incendiary loaded .50 cal, none of the others intervened. With the shotgun torn from his right hand, Flaminio threw the butler over his shoulder and he landed near De Soto. The Roman immediately aimed and pulled the trigger on the .50 cal and the butler exploded into flames.

“My god!” exclaimed De Soto.

Flaminio instantly recovered and returned to his original position by the nitro cylinders. With both hands on the machine gun, he aimed it at De Soto for the last time. “See you in hell,” he said.

Noticing an opportunity, DuPont reached for the .44 and emptied the cylinder into each of the six canisters. A burst of cold smoke hurried into the bullet riddled garage. Everyone turned and shielded their eyes. De Soto fell to the ground and when he regained his sight, through the fog he saw that the last Roman stood as a frozen statue. When they saw what he saw, there was a moment of silence. But with little hesitation, the priest picked up the discarded shotgun and aimed it at Flaminio.

“Vale in aeturnum, mea dulcis,” he said.

He pulled the trigger and the former Roman soldier, along with the incendiary loaded 50. Cal, exploded into a million pieces and collapsed to the ground like a house of cards. Satisfied, he blew the smoke away from the barrel and pointed it back at De Soto. “Now. Back to business,” he said.

“Wait a minute!” yelled Dirk. His eyes were fixed on the shattered remains of Flaminio.

When everyone turned, they saw that the pieces were quickly melting. Between the small fire of the exploded butler and high noon, the garage was sweltering. Small chucks of blood and flesh colored ooze were all drifting towards each other to form a singular mass. Witnessing this, Oren raised his eyebrow.

“You didn’t use fire,” he said to the Priest. “Are you sure you killed him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, slightly stupefied.

But the mass grew and all were speechless. It continued to grow until it slowly morphed into something resembling a kneeling nude man. “Hmm,” the priest wondered aloud. “This answers a lot of questions.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 67)

“Knock knock mother fucks,” the Brother said.

The intruder had his eyes fixed on the conquistador and his lieutenants. Fornier reached for a sidearm and was met with a shotgun blast from the brother. The deputy narrowly missed the shrapnel and he rolled to his right. The intruder stepped forward a few more feet. “Everyone up,” he said.

They all stood. DuPont and the gang on one side. De Soto and the deputies on the other. With the garage lit up, DuPont noticed about a half a dozen nitrogen gas cylinders to the right of where the brother entered. It was a miracle that none of them were hit in the barrage. The sheriff kept his hands raised. The Brother focused all of his attention on the conquistador. “So,” he said to the armored man, “as I live and breathe, Hernando De Soto. The Butcher of Mabila.”

“Junius,” De Soto said. “Praefectus Castrorum.”

“I’m afraid he’s dead. Killed by your deputy here.”

“I’d give my condolences under different circumstances.”

“Spare me your pity.”

De Soto nodded. “Aye. So Flaminio. Primus pilus. Last of his legion.”

Flaminio said nothing. He was stone faced and motionless with both weapons in hand. De Soto continued. “And what does the last Roman legionnaire have in store for us?” he asked.

“I’m aiming to kill ya.”

De Soto spat. “Then let’s get it over with.”

The legionnaire held his finger on the trigger. The .50 cal loaded with incendiary tracers. The Priest noticed something he didn’t think possible. A faint trace of perspiration forming on his brow. The Priest returned his gaze to De Soto and the old conquistador laughed.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked. “If you kill us all, the charade is over. Your life’s mission. The chase. 500 years we’ve been doing this. What will you do with yourself now that it’s over?”

Flaminio was silent.

“So that’s it then?” De Soto asked. “What does a soldier do when the fighting is done? I too have asked myself this for half a millennium.”

The Roman squeezed the trigger ever so tighter. DuPont slowly shifted his right hand over the holstered .44. Then the old conquistador got in one last parting shot.

“Since I’ll be dead soon, I don’t envy you Flaminio. It’s lonely to be the last of your kind.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 66)

Dirk appeared over the shoulder of the conquistador and Fornier flanked him on his right. Both stepped forward and cocked their shotguns. The priest saw this and chuckled. “You’re a goddamn cosplaying fool,” he told Castor.

“Silence!” the old conquistador yelled. “It appears that we have reached the end. Hundreds of years. Hundreds of bodies. Time is a ceaseless hostility. But we can draw blood for so long. Give up the fight, old friend.”

The priest stepped forth and spat. “Fuck you old buddy. What do you think about that?”

Castor nodded. “You know how much it pains me to kill one of my own.”

“Yeah well, it pains me to wipe my ass with the bathroom rug. But you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“A court jester till the very end.”

The priest waved him off. DuPont spoke up. “I suppose you want us to surrender our weapons?”

“If you wish,” the judge said. “But your weapons have no power here.”

DuPont smiled. Hutch shouted out from the back. “Since we’re gonna die anyway, I just want to tell Fornier to eat my ass!”

Fornier lowered his shotgun and waved his finger in his direction. “Hey fuck you pal! It was the Moorhouse Parish Jail! I ain’t runnin no Hilton!”

“More like the Hanoi Hilton! Amirite?” offered Moses.

No one laughed.

“Enough with this nonsense!” the judge ordered. “I must inform you all that you will be summarily executed in a baptism of fire…”

Interrupting him were faint echoes of gunshots from a distance. There was some shouting and men crying out in agony and then total silence. Castor looked to his men. Fornier and Dirk looked at each other. Moments later, the silence was shattered by a .50 cal ripping through the walls. Each hole pierced through the dark. Everyone fell to the floor. The storm of bullets and splintered wood prevented anyone from moving. Then the hellish roar of gunfire stopped. DuPont looked up to see the entire garage ripped apart. Before anyone could move, a foot kicked in the battered door and a pair of leather boots stepped in. All eyes saw the last standing brother of the Nine. He was holding the .50 cal in one hand and a shogun in the other.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 65)

Everyone jumped to their feet. All except for Moses. He was still recovering from a bullet to the shoulder and an axe wound to the chest. “C’mon Mo!” the Priest shouted.

“Can you guys give me a goddamn minute?! Jesus fucking Christ!”

Hutch knelt down and carried him up. He threw his arm over his shoulder and the pair followed the others down the corridor. The mansion was far more complicated than DuPont anticipated. He halted and grabbed Hutch’s shirt. “Where’s the staircase?” he asked him.

“Past the kitchen,” Hutch said. “There’s a huge parlor on the other side. At the other end is the staircase with the doorway to the spring right behind it.”

The sheriff waved his hand. “Let’s go!”

They entered the rear of the kitchen. DuPont walked in first with his reloaded .44 leading the way. It was abandoned. On the other side was another corridor leading to the right. If they were to be ambushed, it would be there. The sheriff whispered to Oren. “Give me a stick of dynamite,” he said.

Oren reluctantly agreed and handed him a stick. DuPont put a cigarette to his lips and took out a zippo. He lit the cigarette and used it to light the explosive. He waited for the long wick to burn down to just centimeters before tossing it down the hallway. When he did, the gang collapsed to the ground. A second later, a mighty wave of ether swept over them followed by calamitous sounds and clouds of debris. Silence followed. As the dust cleared, DuPont leapt up.

“On your feet!” he ordered.

And like a unified regiment, all the men jumped to their feet and rushed the entry to the hallway. They unloaded one shotgun shell after another but as the smoke settled, they again found no resistance. “We need to get the fuck out of here now,” Oren said.

“Yeah,” agreed the sheriff. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

They turned around and bolted toward the garage entryway. As the last man crossed through the threshold, a hidden metal slide from the doorframe slammed the entrance shut. They were trapped in near total darkness.

“Shit,” Moses said aloud.

And no one spoke. There was a clanking against the concrete. Everyone turned towards it. The clanking continued as if it were taunting them. Moments later, a single light pierced the dark and before them stood an old conquistador with a sword in hand.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Mer Rouge (Part 64)

The tracer rounds momentarily stopped. The priest launched up from behind the burning squad car and unloaded several shotgun shells in their direction. DuPont stood up and fired the .44 up at the overhead window. As shards of glass rained down from the roof, Moses lurched toward the boxes of dynamite.

“Ahhhahahhhahaaa!!!!!” he screamed.

Oren and Hutch sprinted behind him and they kicked over the wooden boxes and grabbed as many sashes as they could. In a span of seconds, they collected eight sashes and then made a beeline towards the left end of the house. Moses was about to make a sharp right into the building when an axe launched itself into his chest. “For fuck’s sake!” he yelled.

Oren and Hutch stopped dead in their tracks. Holding the axe stem was none other than the butler. A quiver of arrows wrapped around his chest. Oren lifted his shotgun to parry the blow of the axe as he swung it toward him. The blade lodged itself into the metal. And as the butler raised the axe again, Oren swung his fist onto his attacker’s face and his head bent backwards. In this brief moment of victory, Oren attempted to overtake the butler but the butler grabbed ahold of Oren’s lapels and crashed the crown of his head onto his opponent’s nose.

Oren stepped back in a daze and collapsed into the grass.

Seconds later, DuPont and the priest rounded the corner to find Hutch swiftly and gracefully dodging the edged weapon. It was almost as if he had done something like that before. With two shots left in the cylinder, DuPont fired at the butler’s shoulder and blew it clean off its socket. The axe fell to the ground but without flinching or recoiling, the butler reached down to take it in his left hand while his right arm was dangling by his side. His lethality didn’t diminish an iota. He resumed his charge at Hutch.

DuPont fired again. The bullet lodged itself into the head of the axe and blew it clean off its handle. The butler dropped the piece of wood and reached into his dinner jacket. With his left hand, he launched shuriken after shuriken at Hutch and DuPont. But the priest drove the butler backwards with his few remaining shotgun shells before the men manning the .50 cals repositioned themselves. When DuPont noticed them, he rallied Hutch and the priest into the house and helped Moses and Oren to their feet.

Without a second to spare, the .50 cals opened fire. DuPont and his men laid flat on the floor while shattered glass crashed down onto them. The firepower was relentless.

Then it stopped.

They laid silent for fifteen seconds. DuPont, with glass cracking below his feet, lifted his head. The gunmen, along with the butler, were gone. “Let’s go,” the sheriff ordered.

“This has got to be a trap,” Oren said.

“No time to worry about that.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 62)

The ancient mansion was eerily silent. Only thunderheads in the faraway distance could be heard. The honcho rolled up first. Chaz slowly pulled up to the gaudy entrance and parked. The squad car was far behind. Oren parked it by the honcho and stepped out. DuPont climbed off of the bed, flame thrower still strapped on, and approached the building. Oren scratched his head. “It appears to be deserted,” he told the sheriff.

“No,” DuPont said. “There’s no way they’d desert this place.”

Chaz climbed out of the driver’s seat and nodded to Oren. He put his hands on his hips and looked the old home up and down. “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Waites,” he said. “You reckon we ought to turn this over to state police?”

DuPont spat. “And tell them what, Chaz? That we slaughtered an entire sheriff’s department because they’re hiding the fountain of youth? Use your head, son.”

“I dunno,” Chaz said. “It might be useful for scientific research.”

“Fuck that noise!” the Priest butted in. He climbed out of the squad car’s backseat and waved his finger. “Let’s get in there and blow it all to hell!” he shouted.

“It’s a trap,” said the Sheriff.

Oren nodded. “You’re right. It was too easy.”

“So what now?” asked Chaz.

DuPont thought. “I’m gonna smoke em out.”

Everyone backed away from the structure and the sheriff readied the flamethrower. “Everyone ready?” he asked. They looked at one another and nodded. “Alright,” he said, “here goes nothin.”

Before he could squeeze the trigger, a flaming arrow rained down and lodged itself into Chaz’s neck. “Jesus Christ!” DuPont yelled. The others took cover behind their vehicles and Chaz’s head erupted into a gigantic fireball and his body collapsed into the grass. The sheriff ducked behind the rear of the honcho. The priest and Oren behind the squad car. “What the FUCK was that?” DuPont yelled.

Tracer rounds began pelting into the squad car. One smashed into the engine and ignited a fire. “Hutch! Mo! Get the hell outta there!” Oren screamed. Realizing the calamity, they climbed out of the passenger’s side and laid flat in the grass.

“Tracer ammunition!?” yelled DuPont. “Where the hell is it coming from?”

The priest peeked his head from behind the car. A round whistled past his head and he jumped back. “From the treeline behind the house!” he called out.

“But what about that fuckin arrow?!”

“It seems like we fell into a coordinated ambush, sheriff!” the priest called back.

Another arrow rained down and struck into a gas cylinder on DuPont’s back. He quickly stripped it off and bolted towards the squad car. The cylinder exploded, briefly launching the sheriff into the air and the honcho erupted into a raging flame. DuPont recovered and finished crawling toward the others. “Sorry about your truck. Again,” he said to Oren.

Hutch lifted his head from the grass and gazed upon the burning honcho. “It looks like that piece of shit finally bit the dust!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 61)

Dirk stood shirtless in front of the old baroque mirror. His many tattoos faded. The mirror itself was gifted to him by John Pemberton in 63. It was just before their defeat in Vicksburg. The sheriff closed his eyes and considered the old General. Nothing came to mind. All their adventures and campaigns faded into abstraction and the general’s face was nothing more than a scrawl on white canvas. This was also true of Pizarro. And Cortez. And…

He threw on a fresh sheriff’s button up and slicked back his hair. He turned around and noticed the Eunuch standing in his doorway. His arms were crossed and his face sullen. “They broke through the perimeter,” he said.

“I figured they would.”

“The Judge demands a plan of action.”

“Don’t worry,” Dirk said. “I have the butler on standby.”

“The butler,” the eunuch smirked. “Ah yes, the butler”. With arms still folded, he turned around and his guffaws echoed down the hallway. Dirk finished up and proceeded down the stairs. He found the butler standing motionless underneath the front awning in formal attire. Not a bead of sweat present on his brow. “Are you ready for this?” the sheriff asked him.

The butler looked across the barren field and squinted. He took a deep breath and soliloquied with his thick British draw. “I found the Norsemen on the edge of River Ouse,” he began. “First came the arrows. Then came the charge. As they advanced across the shallow waters, their screams were as the howling winds of hell. It wreaked havoc in our ranks. Men were trampled underfoot and the ground thickened into a sea of mud, shit, and blood. Those who weren’t killed in the retreat were mercifully slaughtered by the spears and swords. But they saved the damned for the axes. They hacked at the men and the bones and limbs of the dead were strewn across the field and protruded from the mud. The land I once recognized became a holocaust wrought by some forsaken god. So you see sherriff, I’ve already witnessed hell. And I’ve carried those harrowing screams with me everyday since.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Mer Rouge (Part 60)

Hutch and Moses jumped out of the bed and scrambled towards the squad car. Oren was slow to follow. He pulled the sheriff aside and lowered his voice. “Do you think you might be overdoing it?”

“What do you mean?” DuPont asked.

“I mean you just lit two deputies on fire. That’s a bit much.”

“No no no,” the sheriff chuckled. “You see, those guys were castoffs from hell. Cursed to roam the earth forever. I was doing them a favor.”

“A favor?”

The priest overheard the conversation and butted in. “The sheriff is right,” he told Oren. “If they drank from the cursed spring then their souls were already damned.”

“How do we know they did?”

“Well,” the sheriff backtracked, “they worked for Judge Castor. It should go without saying.”

“Agreed,” said the priest. “Don’t worry. Our conscious is totally clear.”

“But you drank from the spring, priest,” Oren retorted. “Do we need to do you a favor by lighting you on fire?”

“B-b-b-b-b-but that’s different.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a man of the cloth, ya see.”

Oren rolled his eyes. DuPont shut the conversation down. “There’s no time for a discussion on ethics,” he said. “We gotta destroy that spring no matter the cost. I reckon we’re only a mile or so away.” He looked toward Moses and Hutch who were digging through the inventory of shotguns and revolvers left in the vehicle. “Do you boys think we’ll run into heavy resistance at Castor’s place?” he asked them.

“Hell, we’ve eliminated every deputy in the parish Sheriff!” shouted Moses from the passenger’s seat. “Except for that shitheel Fornier. It’s probably just him and Dirk left.”

“Well, them and a butler and a big hairless dude,” chimed in Hutch. “But they ain’t shit.”

DuPont nodded. “Good. They seem to be outnumbered then.”

The sheriff climbed into the bed of the Honcho. Chaz remained in the driver’s seat while Oren and the priest joined the others in the squad car. “Chaz and I will lead the assault,” announced DuPont. “Once we secure the house, we’ll blow up that spring and send the others back to hell.”

The rest of the gang nodded. The sheriff slapped the top of the cab and the truck moved forward. The police car, driven by Hutch, closely followed. And as the wind swept through the trees, the vehicles passed by the smouldering pile of ash that was once the deputies and the waning flame clutching for survival was huffed out forever.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Stories No One Should Read! (Again)

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