| By: Nils Durban |
The goods elevator descended slowly and steadily, the dull yellow lights embedded within the shaft
walls passing by and disappearing upwards as it carried its lone passenger down to the very
bottom level. The man in the long greatcoat stared patiently ahead through wraparound shades,
seemingly lost in thought. Not until the lift came to a jarring halt at the base of its shaft did he stir.
The concertina door's electronic operator was faulty and so he was required to manually slide it
aside, opening the way to a long dim concrete corridor, along which the few barely operational
lights flickered in a relentless and somewhat foreboding manner, their accompaniment the steady
dripping of water from the ceiling into the puddles which covered most of the floor.
He strode with purpose now, his boots splashing through the water, soon soaking the hem of his
coat. He passed metal doors which were staggered along both sides of the corridor. Beyond each
of them, he knew, were vast storerooms, each of them the size of a small warehouse and each of
them completely bare apart from their endless rows of racking which had never seen use.
After some three minutes his brisk pace brought him to the end of the corridor where an oval
shaped steel door, reminiscent of a submarine hatchway, confronted him. He reached within his
coat and brought forth a small plastic disc which depended from a silver chain about his neck,
momentarily offered it up to a small black pad which was set into the concrete wall beside the
door. A solid clunk signalled the operation of the locking mechanism and there was a sudden hiss
of escaping air as the pressure seals parted company. The door swung silently inwards and the
man stepped through immediately, no thought in his mind of securing the hatch behind him.
He continued forwards for several dozen paces along a corridor that remained identical in all
aspects apart from the fact that the lights that lined the walls glowed brightly and the floor and
ceiling here were devoid of moisture. He came up to a makeshift desk upon which a monitor was
positioned and from beyond which a burly bald headed man dressed in khaki fatigues was rising
quickly to his feet.
"Rector. I c..called in as soon as I noticed any change, I assure you," he stammered out, nervously.
The man who was known as The Rector ignored his underling and instead bent to study the
monitor's screen closely. He cursed under his breath.
"Open it, now," he ordered.
The nervous guard hesitated momentarily. "But..."
The Rector spoke in a harsh whisper which wavered on the edge of control, "I said, now."
The man searched his pockets briskly, eventually drawing out a single key attached to a red fob.
He shuffled around the desk, carefully maintaining what he felt to be a safe distance between
himself and his superior, and made his way around a corner at the end of the passage. He turned
about to ensure that The Rector was following, almost tripping over himself when he realised that
the tall shape of his master was looming immediately over his shoulder. He continued forwards
hurriedly and came up alongside the toughened glass window which looked in on the cell within
which their captive was secured upon a stainless steel operating table.
The Rector, at this point, lost any remaining patience that he had, tore the key from the sweaty
palm of the hapless guard and, literally pushing him aside, strode past the window to the cell door
beyond it. He inserted the key and hurriedly turned it, then reached first up and then down to draw
back the heavy dog bolts which further secured the door at its head and its base. He pulled the
door open and made his way through into the cell beyond.
The immense proportions of the creature never ceased to amaze The Rector. The table itself was
barely discernible beneath its vast grey bulk. It lay upon its back, its leathery wings hanging
flaccidly on either side. Its horrifically clawed feet extended beyond the end of the table, its tail
drooping between them, just touching the sheet vinyl covered floor. Its massive head was turned to
one side, its bead-like eyes staring vacantly into nothingness, its long pink tongue lolling out over
those terrible fangs and just hanging there, seemingly bone dry, not a hint of saliva. The creature
was tied down to the steel table by a series of tightly ratcheted leather straps. A drip apparatus
stood alongside, continually dispensing a cocktail of saline and sedatives into the beasts heavily
muscled forearm. Across its chest a series of wires were taped, feeding back to the station in the
corridor where the creature's vital signs had been monitored for the last three months. Around its
head was a metal halo which was bolted at intervals through the leathery skin into its skull and, from
this steel band, further straps held the top of the head firmly secure - the section which
Mendelsson, the doctor, had removed upon a number of occasions in order to gain access to the
creature's cerebrum, under The Rector's watchful eye, of course.
He stepped forwards until he was close to the head of the fantastical animal, stared into its glassy
eyes which were so devoid of life. He reached out his hand and gently caressed the firm, cold skin
of its cheek. As he did so, his eyes wandered across the beast's mighty chest and settled upon its
abdomen and the bandages that were tightly wrapped there. Even now, as fresh as he knew these
latest dressings to be, they were losing their surgical whiteness as they became steadily saturated
with the creature's vital fluid. Strangely pink in colouration, he knew that it would not be long before
the blood would begin its steady drip onto the floor once again. He doubted that it would cease as
a result of the unfortunate creature's untimely death. They had never been able to staunch the flow.
Nor had the coagulants that had been pumped into its veins performed their expected function. He
had put so much effort into extending its life, had spurred Mendelsson into increasingly drastic
actions, to the point where there was nothing left to try. Nothing but to hope that the creature's
weird metabolism would come to some sudden realisation that it had to mend itself. As unlikely as
this had seemed to be, The Rector had still prayed for it. Had dreamed that one day he would be
summoned to witness the creature wide awake and thrashing about, desperate to free itself from
its restraints. Instead, he had been summoned to bear witness to what was now no more than a
corpse.
Perhaps, however, it was not yet entirely useless. He looked up to where the guard was
purposefully hanging back in the shadows beyond the doorway, nervously stroking the butt of his
holstered 9mm, as if the monstrous brute that lay before them was going to rise from the dead at
any moment and commence some murderous spree.
"Get Mendelsson down here, now," he ordered.
The man did not wait to be told a second time. He instantly scurried away, glad of any task that
would remove him from the incomprehensible scene within the cell.
The Rector waited. And as he did so, his right hand thoughtlessly toyed with the ivory hilt of the
short dagger that was strapped at his waist and he recalled when he had first set eyes upon this
beast, and how it had come to belong to him.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Impatience had never been one of his weaknesses and so, as Serge fidgeted behind the wheel
and Ramone and Dodger prowled restlessly around and around the black Mercedes, The Rector
stretched out upon the spacious back seat and rested his eyes, a two-way radio held loosely in his
hand.
Yes, the Mule's men were late. He seriously doubted their tardiness, however. Nor did he sense
impending trouble. Rather, he suspected that beyond it lay a purposeful intent - its design, to
create exactly the kind of nervous display that his people were so capably demonstrating at this
very moment. He would castigate them for their amateurish behaviour later. To do so now would
merely serve to exacerbate the situation.
"Sir," Serge spoke quietly, yet could not mask his relief, "they're here."
He leaned forwards, instantly alert, to see the headlights of the Transit van play along the
underside of the bridge ahead of them and then swing around to face them full on, momentarily
blinding them before the driver switched to sidelights, displaying his comprehension of the
etiquette that was required to ensure the smooth running of exchanges such as this.
Ramone and Dodger adopted their assigned quarter-point positions at the front of the Merc, a
professional demeanour once more quite apparent in their body language. Serge flashed the
headlights once and, after a couple of seconds, an answering flash came from the van that had
come to a halt the allocated fifty yards away. Then there was the reassuring click as Serge took
the safety off the sawn off shotgun that he kept nestled between his seat and the driver's door. He
was the finest driver that The Rector had ever come across and extremely cool under pressure,
hence his services had been retained for many years and he was well rewarded for them. The car
in which they now sat was left hand drive, a peculiarity in order to satisfy the whim of its driver,
insistent as he was that it was the only way he could drive competently and effectively use a
firearm simultaneously. In addition, at The Rector's own behest, it was heavily armoured, although
this was completely unnoticeable to the untrained eye.
The side door of the Transit had obviously been slid open now, as the next thing he saw was two
figures jumping down from it to the tarmac, one of them short and bald, the other tall and wiry. Both
of them were dressed in black from head to toe. Ramone began walking towards a point midway
between the two vehicles and the short bald guy set out to meet him.
The events of the subsequent two minutes would later be played over and over in his head in an
attempt to extract every meaningful event, every nuance of each action and inaction, searching for
a key that would enable him to comprehend what had actually occurred.
He was always vigilant in these situations, hunched forward over Serge's shoulder, a study of
concentration. What initially alerted him to something unexpected was the short man coming to an
abrupt halt, his attention apparently focused upon a point in the night sky somewhere above the car
that he himself sat in. This instantly caused Ramone to drop, his gun directed ahead of him even
before his left knee hit the ground. Dodger had reacted in a similarly instinctive manner, his own
weapon covering the tall guy and the van.
What then caused The Rector's attention to be momentarily distracted from the scene unfolding
before him, he would never know. There was no need for him to look either left or right. His back
was well covered by Steiner and his other men who would be fanned out and covering the entire
area, and also by the other two cars stationed some hundred yards back, outside of the mutually
agreed exclusion zone. Nevertheless, he deigned to shift his focus from the potential fire fight that
could end all of their lives for the merest instant, peered through the bulletproof window at his side,
a window that was totally opaque to anyone attempting to look inwards, and saw....a figure. A man,
apparently, but not one of his own, although, like everyone else at the scene, he was clad in black.
Unusually he was wearing some kind of mask which obscured most of his facial features. He was
positioned against the side of a low brick wall at the entrance to one of the many quays along this
particular stretch of the embankment. As he spotted him, the man was rising from a crouching to a
standing position, yet The Rector considered himself an expert when it came to reading people,
and he sensed a definite hesitancy in the movement.
"Shit!" Serge exclaimed.
His attention was drawn immediately ahead once again, just in time to see something descending
from the sky and landing before the short bald man who was still, apparently, glued to the spot. It
was a large something. At first, he assumed that some object had been jettisoned from the top of
the bridge, even though it was some way beyond where the van was parked. But then the
realisation dawned upon him that what had landed there had done so without any sense of impact.
Its descent implied a considerable velocity, and yet it had arrived upon the tarmac in an instant that
seemed to defy gravity. It was simply there. And it had arrived from a direction that would have
brought it over the roof of the Merc and definitely not from the direction of the bridge. The next
realisation that came to him was that it was an alive something. It was perhaps two to three times
the bulk of a regular man, with particularly muscular arms and legs, as well as wings and a tail which
were of possibly greater concern. It was some kind of creature, obviously, something escaped
from a zoo or a wildlife sanctuary, surely. And yet, in the instant within which he had sized it up, he
could think of no creature on Earth that even vaguely matched the parameters of the beast that had
descended amongst them.
He would later congratulate himself for his speed of thought at this point in the bizarre
proceedings. He decided in an instant that he desired two outcomes from this evening's events. All
thoughts of the targeting equipment stashed within the Transit were pushed to the very back of his
mind. He wanted that creature and, inexplicably, he wanted the man who had been concealed in the
shadows. For some reason, it had occurred to him that there was some connection between the
two of them, as odd as that might appear to be.
He lifted the radio up to his mouth, "Steiner! One man, now! To apprehend a single unknown, nine
o'clock from me. Go!" He waited whilst his order was instantly obeyed before speaking once more,
"Everyone else, converge now! Take out the others and secure that creature. Wound it if you have
to, but I want it alive."
He was sure that Steiner and his men would have already been closing in, due to the unforeseen
arrival of this animal and the certain disarray that it would inevitably bring to the delicate transaction
that they had been about to undertake.
Why he wanted either of the two things that he had ordered, he knew he would not be able to
explain. It was a good job then, that he was answerable to no-one. He knew only that there could
well be some kind of opportunity here. That he just might have something within his grasp that
would remain so for mere seconds only. That if he did not act swiftly and decisively, the moment
would be lost.
On their way back to the bunker, The Rector rode in the appropriated transit van alongside the
dying creature, blatantly ignoring the risk to his continued existence which the animal had so ably
displayed to them all. He felt a desperate need to remain in close proximity to the otherworldly
beast, regardless of the danger of doing so. Even with its apparently fatal wounds, everyone who
had survived the encounter was well aware that they were dealing with something new and
unpredictable here, something that could, perhaps, miraculously spring up from its 'at death's door'
condition and massacre the lot of them. The Rector, however, had been unable to resist, thrilled as
he had become by the merest sight of its muscular frame and its demonic features, the touch of its
unyielding leathery skin. He was in awe of it.
Earlier, from his seat in the rear of the Mercedes, he had, at first, been quite unable to credit what
he was actually seeing unfold before him. As the creature had landed upon the pavement, its
attention had apparently been focused upon the short bald operative who had been about to
commence negotiations on the Mule's behalf. Serge and he could see nothing but the rear of the
beast, as well as Ramone and Dodger, who were covering it uncertainly. But then a red glow had
quite suddenly formed in the vicinity of the creature, seemingly directly in front of it, and the next
thing he had witnessed, no less shocking than the event which had immediately preceded it, was
the bald guy falling to the ground. For he did not slump, or collapse, but rather toppled over.
Toppled over onto the tarmac and then smashed into what must have been a thousand pieces, a
small dust cloud rising up, the remnant of what, mere seconds earlier had been a walking, talking,
breathing man.
Gunfire had immediately flared up from the vicinity of the Transit - the tall, wiry bloke, opening up
on the animal that had apparently just ended the existence of his fellow gang member. Ramone
was sent sprawling backwards, obviously hit. Dodger was already firing his own weapon by this
time, whilst walking steadily forwards, although whether he was shooting at the beast or at the
Mule's man, The Rector could not tell. He had then become conscious of the sudden flashes from
either side of the vehicle he was in, Steiner and his other men bringing up the rear. The tall guy was
sent sprawling across the bonnet of the van, held there momentarily by the multiple impacts that
riddled his body, before falling to the ground before the dimmed headlamps. The van itself had
begun reversing at this point, its driver obviously having come to the very real conclusion that this
was not a situation he would do well to remain a part of. Numerous shots to the vehicle's
windscreen, however, had resulted in a swerve, culminating in a minor impact with a bridge
abutment.
It was at this point that the creature had turned about. To The Rector, the simple action had
suggested a particularly malevolent intent. It had appeared to focus upon Dodger, who was by this
time some thirty feet away from the monster, and then it had artlessly launched itself at the man, its
wings folded flat across its back and its clawed hands outstretched. The impact was sudden and
brutal. Dodger was savaged by the creature in an instant, his body then being flung into the air.
With his other men closing in, however, the animal had crouched low and raised its evil looking
visage skywards.
"Now, Serge!" The Rector had urged his driver, "take it now, quickly!"
Serge had gunned the five litre engine and the car had leapt forwards, the creature growing
increasingly larger before them in the headlights which Serge had now flipped onto main beam. As
he powered the vehicle forwards, the driver raised the sawn-off up to his window and trained it
upon the animal.
"Wound it," The Rector had shouted, his calm, collected manner now lost in the madness of the
moment, "but don't kill it!"
As Serge had squeezed the trigger, however, the car had hit something on the Tarmac, probably
Dodger, which had caused it to jar violently as first the front, and then the rear tyre bounced over it.
The weapon was discharged concurrent with this, and the creature, caught in a freeze-frame
instant of imminent flight, was sent spiralling about. The Rector had turned around in his seat to
watch it collapse to the ground through the rear window, before ordering the driver to turn the car
around.
It had lain there, its gigantic shape sprawled across the tarmac, its bright pink-red blood spurting
from its abdomen and frothing from its horrific jaws. Steiner was there, holding his gun pointed
directly at the animal’s face, seemingly eager to put it out of its misery. The Rector had reached
out to stay his hand.
"I told you, I wanted it alive," he said quietly. "Now, someone fetch that van over here."
As they travelled back within the Transit, at the centre of an escort made up of their own vehicles,
The Rector had one of his underlings reluctantly perform a makeshift triage upon the creature, a
dust sheet that had covered the now forgotten targeting equipment being used in an attempt to
staunch the flow of blood, until they could get the beast under Mendelsson's ministrations. Another
of his men constantly kept the animal in his slightly shaky sights, whilst The Rector simply sat
alongside his monstrous captive in a seeming haze of wonderment. The sight of it alone was
impressive enough, but he had had a glimpse of what it was capable of, and already impossible
thoughts were beginning to take shape at the outermost edge of his consciousness. There were
possibilities here that he could not yet grasp. And then something else occurred to him and he
raised the radio to his lips.
"Steiner, that man I wanted tracked. What is the outcome?"
There was silence for a few seconds only, before Steiner reported back, "he's been traced back to
Finsbury. Gone to ground in a block of flats, but he doesn't know he was followed. I suspect it's
where he lives," he paused momentarily, "do you want our man to extract him?"
The Rector pondered his options and quickly came to the conclusion that time was now on his
side. The necessity for rash and potentially hazardous decision making was now past and he had
come through it unscathed. An element of discretion was now required.
"No," he answered, "but I want him watched. First of all, determine the exact address and get an
identification. I want a name."
"Will do, boss," Steiner signed off.
The creature spasmed slightly, as it had done on a number of occasions, and The Rector was
relieved as he looked up to see the gates of the Rectory looming in the darkness ahead of them.
The gates swung open automatically to admit the cavalcade, which made its way up the drive, past
the old Rectory and through the graveyard, destined for the concealed entrance to the bunker
which had for so long provided them with a safe haven and an unrivalled base for The Rector's
covert operations, which had started out as simple gun running and had developed over the years
into the underground acquisition and trading of illegally imported emerging military technologies. It
was a business he had built single-handed, and one of which he was extremely proud.
Later that night he was shocked from slumber by the insistent ringing of the telephone. He roused
himself from behind his desk and lifted the receiver. It was Steiner.
"We have a name, Sir. For that guy we tracked this evening."
"And?" he mumbled.
"James, Sleet James."
"Bloody strange name. I don't suppose we have any records of him?"
"No, Sir," Steiner replied, "nothing comes up."
"A mystery man, eh? Tell you what, Steiner. Put our Mr. Perry on the case. It's about time he
proved his worth to us, don't you think?"
++++++++++++++++++++++
Although he was quite sure within his own mind that the creature was dead, he still felt compelled to
have Mendelsson professionally confirm it. The doctor's affirmation was hence unsurprising, but
still hit The Rector with its finality, which left him mentally floundering, knowing that he now quickly
needed to develop a plan which would allow him to continue along the course he had plotted for
himself.
Within the confines of his lavishly furnished private quarters he anxiously paced back and forth
across an antique Persian rug, waiting for the doctor's arrival. When the gentle rap on the oak
panelled door finally came, he forced himself to take a number of deep breaths and compose
himself, before summoning Mendelsson from the corridor beyond.
When he entered, The Rector was relieved to see that he carried his medical case with him.
"Well?" he asked, slightly more hurriedly than he intended.
"I have extracted three more doses from its cerebellum," Mendelsson reported, "but that will
certainly be the last of it. Its system would have ceased producing it some time ago, I suspect."
He had been resigned to this, and was just gratified that a number of doses remained in storage
and that a few more had now been obtained.
"I will take one now," he ordered, rolling up his right shirt sleeve.
"But it hasn't yet been twenty-four hours," the doctor objected, "we've already seen some
concerning side effects as a result of frequent usage. Why not wait until tomorrow? I can give you
a medical in the morning and..."
"Now, Mendelsson!" The Rector demanded sharply.
The doctor frowned, before making his way to the small table in the centre of the room where he
deposited his bag and began removing the necessary equipment from it.
"And remember," he warned, "this is to remain between the two of us, for the time being."
"Of course, of course," Mendelsson nodded his assent as he made his way to where The Rector
had seated himself in a leather armchair, carrying a length of rubber tubing in one hand and a large
syringe in the other.
The Rector closed his eyes and tried to force his body to relax as the doctor administered the
alien extract into his system. The pain of the needle was, as ever, swiftly followed by the powerful
rush of exultation that coursed through his veins and caused his heartbeat to thrum violently in his
forehead. This quickly subsided however, leaving him feeling empowered and capable of any feat.
He brushed away the fussing doctor, and arose from his seated position, his each and every
muscle feeling vibrantly dynamic.
He made his way over to the large, gilt edged mirror which hung on one wall and, amidst the dim
lights of his sanctuary, he gazed upon himself.
It was a visage that was, of course, extremely familiar to him, but he was well aware that some part
of his being had been acutely changed, and maybe forever so. He listened as Mendelsson
hurriedly collected his things together and let himself out. Only then did he search deep within
himself in a way that it had taken him many weeks to master. There was a trigger there, buried way
down, which these injections of the creature's cerebral fluids allowed him to activate. As he located
it, he stared himself in the face and watched with fascination and a growing exuberance as his
eyes slowly lost their blue in white colouration and became a pair of steaming red coals.
walls passing by and disappearing upwards as it carried its lone passenger down to the very
bottom level. The man in the long greatcoat stared patiently ahead through wraparound shades,
seemingly lost in thought. Not until the lift came to a jarring halt at the base of its shaft did he stir.
The concertina door's electronic operator was faulty and so he was required to manually slide it
aside, opening the way to a long dim concrete corridor, along which the few barely operational
lights flickered in a relentless and somewhat foreboding manner, their accompaniment the steady
dripping of water from the ceiling into the puddles which covered most of the floor.
He strode with purpose now, his boots splashing through the water, soon soaking the hem of his
coat. He passed metal doors which were staggered along both sides of the corridor. Beyond each
of them, he knew, were vast storerooms, each of them the size of a small warehouse and each of
them completely bare apart from their endless rows of racking which had never seen use.
After some three minutes his brisk pace brought him to the end of the corridor where an oval
shaped steel door, reminiscent of a submarine hatchway, confronted him. He reached within his
coat and brought forth a small plastic disc which depended from a silver chain about his neck,
momentarily offered it up to a small black pad which was set into the concrete wall beside the
door. A solid clunk signalled the operation of the locking mechanism and there was a sudden hiss
of escaping air as the pressure seals parted company. The door swung silently inwards and the
man stepped through immediately, no thought in his mind of securing the hatch behind him.
He continued forwards for several dozen paces along a corridor that remained identical in all
aspects apart from the fact that the lights that lined the walls glowed brightly and the floor and
ceiling here were devoid of moisture. He came up to a makeshift desk upon which a monitor was
positioned and from beyond which a burly bald headed man dressed in khaki fatigues was rising
quickly to his feet.
"Rector. I c..called in as soon as I noticed any change, I assure you," he stammered out, nervously.
The man who was known as The Rector ignored his underling and instead bent to study the
monitor's screen closely. He cursed under his breath.
"Open it, now," he ordered.
The nervous guard hesitated momentarily. "But..."
The Rector spoke in a harsh whisper which wavered on the edge of control, "I said, now."
The man searched his pockets briskly, eventually drawing out a single key attached to a red fob.
He shuffled around the desk, carefully maintaining what he felt to be a safe distance between
himself and his superior, and made his way around a corner at the end of the passage. He turned
about to ensure that The Rector was following, almost tripping over himself when he realised that
the tall shape of his master was looming immediately over his shoulder. He continued forwards
hurriedly and came up alongside the toughened glass window which looked in on the cell within
which their captive was secured upon a stainless steel operating table.
The Rector, at this point, lost any remaining patience that he had, tore the key from the sweaty
palm of the hapless guard and, literally pushing him aside, strode past the window to the cell door
beyond it. He inserted the key and hurriedly turned it, then reached first up and then down to draw
back the heavy dog bolts which further secured the door at its head and its base. He pulled the
door open and made his way through into the cell beyond.
The immense proportions of the creature never ceased to amaze The Rector. The table itself was
barely discernible beneath its vast grey bulk. It lay upon its back, its leathery wings hanging
flaccidly on either side. Its horrifically clawed feet extended beyond the end of the table, its tail
drooping between them, just touching the sheet vinyl covered floor. Its massive head was turned to
one side, its bead-like eyes staring vacantly into nothingness, its long pink tongue lolling out over
those terrible fangs and just hanging there, seemingly bone dry, not a hint of saliva. The creature
was tied down to the steel table by a series of tightly ratcheted leather straps. A drip apparatus
stood alongside, continually dispensing a cocktail of saline and sedatives into the beasts heavily
muscled forearm. Across its chest a series of wires were taped, feeding back to the station in the
corridor where the creature's vital signs had been monitored for the last three months. Around its
head was a metal halo which was bolted at intervals through the leathery skin into its skull and, from
this steel band, further straps held the top of the head firmly secure - the section which
Mendelsson, the doctor, had removed upon a number of occasions in order to gain access to the
creature's cerebrum, under The Rector's watchful eye, of course.
He stepped forwards until he was close to the head of the fantastical animal, stared into its glassy
eyes which were so devoid of life. He reached out his hand and gently caressed the firm, cold skin
of its cheek. As he did so, his eyes wandered across the beast's mighty chest and settled upon its
abdomen and the bandages that were tightly wrapped there. Even now, as fresh as he knew these
latest dressings to be, they were losing their surgical whiteness as they became steadily saturated
with the creature's vital fluid. Strangely pink in colouration, he knew that it would not be long before
the blood would begin its steady drip onto the floor once again. He doubted that it would cease as
a result of the unfortunate creature's untimely death. They had never been able to staunch the flow.
Nor had the coagulants that had been pumped into its veins performed their expected function. He
had put so much effort into extending its life, had spurred Mendelsson into increasingly drastic
actions, to the point where there was nothing left to try. Nothing but to hope that the creature's
weird metabolism would come to some sudden realisation that it had to mend itself. As unlikely as
this had seemed to be, The Rector had still prayed for it. Had dreamed that one day he would be
summoned to witness the creature wide awake and thrashing about, desperate to free itself from
its restraints. Instead, he had been summoned to bear witness to what was now no more than a
corpse.
Perhaps, however, it was not yet entirely useless. He looked up to where the guard was
purposefully hanging back in the shadows beyond the doorway, nervously stroking the butt of his
holstered 9mm, as if the monstrous brute that lay before them was going to rise from the dead at
any moment and commence some murderous spree.
"Get Mendelsson down here, now," he ordered.
The man did not wait to be told a second time. He instantly scurried away, glad of any task that
would remove him from the incomprehensible scene within the cell.
The Rector waited. And as he did so, his right hand thoughtlessly toyed with the ivory hilt of the
short dagger that was strapped at his waist and he recalled when he had first set eyes upon this
beast, and how it had come to belong to him.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Impatience had never been one of his weaknesses and so, as Serge fidgeted behind the wheel
and Ramone and Dodger prowled restlessly around and around the black Mercedes, The Rector
stretched out upon the spacious back seat and rested his eyes, a two-way radio held loosely in his
hand.
Yes, the Mule's men were late. He seriously doubted their tardiness, however. Nor did he sense
impending trouble. Rather, he suspected that beyond it lay a purposeful intent - its design, to
create exactly the kind of nervous display that his people were so capably demonstrating at this
very moment. He would castigate them for their amateurish behaviour later. To do so now would
merely serve to exacerbate the situation.
"Sir," Serge spoke quietly, yet could not mask his relief, "they're here."
He leaned forwards, instantly alert, to see the headlights of the Transit van play along the
underside of the bridge ahead of them and then swing around to face them full on, momentarily
blinding them before the driver switched to sidelights, displaying his comprehension of the
etiquette that was required to ensure the smooth running of exchanges such as this.
Ramone and Dodger adopted their assigned quarter-point positions at the front of the Merc, a
professional demeanour once more quite apparent in their body language. Serge flashed the
headlights once and, after a couple of seconds, an answering flash came from the van that had
come to a halt the allocated fifty yards away. Then there was the reassuring click as Serge took
the safety off the sawn off shotgun that he kept nestled between his seat and the driver's door. He
was the finest driver that The Rector had ever come across and extremely cool under pressure,
hence his services had been retained for many years and he was well rewarded for them. The car
in which they now sat was left hand drive, a peculiarity in order to satisfy the whim of its driver,
insistent as he was that it was the only way he could drive competently and effectively use a
firearm simultaneously. In addition, at The Rector's own behest, it was heavily armoured, although
this was completely unnoticeable to the untrained eye.
The side door of the Transit had obviously been slid open now, as the next thing he saw was two
figures jumping down from it to the tarmac, one of them short and bald, the other tall and wiry. Both
of them were dressed in black from head to toe. Ramone began walking towards a point midway
between the two vehicles and the short bald guy set out to meet him.
The events of the subsequent two minutes would later be played over and over in his head in an
attempt to extract every meaningful event, every nuance of each action and inaction, searching for
a key that would enable him to comprehend what had actually occurred.
He was always vigilant in these situations, hunched forward over Serge's shoulder, a study of
concentration. What initially alerted him to something unexpected was the short man coming to an
abrupt halt, his attention apparently focused upon a point in the night sky somewhere above the car
that he himself sat in. This instantly caused Ramone to drop, his gun directed ahead of him even
before his left knee hit the ground. Dodger had reacted in a similarly instinctive manner, his own
weapon covering the tall guy and the van.
What then caused The Rector's attention to be momentarily distracted from the scene unfolding
before him, he would never know. There was no need for him to look either left or right. His back
was well covered by Steiner and his other men who would be fanned out and covering the entire
area, and also by the other two cars stationed some hundred yards back, outside of the mutually
agreed exclusion zone. Nevertheless, he deigned to shift his focus from the potential fire fight that
could end all of their lives for the merest instant, peered through the bulletproof window at his side,
a window that was totally opaque to anyone attempting to look inwards, and saw....a figure. A man,
apparently, but not one of his own, although, like everyone else at the scene, he was clad in black.
Unusually he was wearing some kind of mask which obscured most of his facial features. He was
positioned against the side of a low brick wall at the entrance to one of the many quays along this
particular stretch of the embankment. As he spotted him, the man was rising from a crouching to a
standing position, yet The Rector considered himself an expert when it came to reading people,
and he sensed a definite hesitancy in the movement.
"Shit!" Serge exclaimed.
His attention was drawn immediately ahead once again, just in time to see something descending
from the sky and landing before the short bald man who was still, apparently, glued to the spot. It
was a large something. At first, he assumed that some object had been jettisoned from the top of
the bridge, even though it was some way beyond where the van was parked. But then the
realisation dawned upon him that what had landed there had done so without any sense of impact.
Its descent implied a considerable velocity, and yet it had arrived upon the tarmac in an instant that
seemed to defy gravity. It was simply there. And it had arrived from a direction that would have
brought it over the roof of the Merc and definitely not from the direction of the bridge. The next
realisation that came to him was that it was an alive something. It was perhaps two to three times
the bulk of a regular man, with particularly muscular arms and legs, as well as wings and a tail which
were of possibly greater concern. It was some kind of creature, obviously, something escaped
from a zoo or a wildlife sanctuary, surely. And yet, in the instant within which he had sized it up, he
could think of no creature on Earth that even vaguely matched the parameters of the beast that had
descended amongst them.
He would later congratulate himself for his speed of thought at this point in the bizarre
proceedings. He decided in an instant that he desired two outcomes from this evening's events. All
thoughts of the targeting equipment stashed within the Transit were pushed to the very back of his
mind. He wanted that creature and, inexplicably, he wanted the man who had been concealed in the
shadows. For some reason, it had occurred to him that there was some connection between the
two of them, as odd as that might appear to be.
He lifted the radio up to his mouth, "Steiner! One man, now! To apprehend a single unknown, nine
o'clock from me. Go!" He waited whilst his order was instantly obeyed before speaking once more,
"Everyone else, converge now! Take out the others and secure that creature. Wound it if you have
to, but I want it alive."
He was sure that Steiner and his men would have already been closing in, due to the unforeseen
arrival of this animal and the certain disarray that it would inevitably bring to the delicate transaction
that they had been about to undertake.
Why he wanted either of the two things that he had ordered, he knew he would not be able to
explain. It was a good job then, that he was answerable to no-one. He knew only that there could
well be some kind of opportunity here. That he just might have something within his grasp that
would remain so for mere seconds only. That if he did not act swiftly and decisively, the moment
would be lost.
On their way back to the bunker, The Rector rode in the appropriated transit van alongside the
dying creature, blatantly ignoring the risk to his continued existence which the animal had so ably
displayed to them all. He felt a desperate need to remain in close proximity to the otherworldly
beast, regardless of the danger of doing so. Even with its apparently fatal wounds, everyone who
had survived the encounter was well aware that they were dealing with something new and
unpredictable here, something that could, perhaps, miraculously spring up from its 'at death's door'
condition and massacre the lot of them. The Rector, however, had been unable to resist, thrilled as
he had become by the merest sight of its muscular frame and its demonic features, the touch of its
unyielding leathery skin. He was in awe of it.
Earlier, from his seat in the rear of the Mercedes, he had, at first, been quite unable to credit what
he was actually seeing unfold before him. As the creature had landed upon the pavement, its
attention had apparently been focused upon the short bald operative who had been about to
commence negotiations on the Mule's behalf. Serge and he could see nothing but the rear of the
beast, as well as Ramone and Dodger, who were covering it uncertainly. But then a red glow had
quite suddenly formed in the vicinity of the creature, seemingly directly in front of it, and the next
thing he had witnessed, no less shocking than the event which had immediately preceded it, was
the bald guy falling to the ground. For he did not slump, or collapse, but rather toppled over.
Toppled over onto the tarmac and then smashed into what must have been a thousand pieces, a
small dust cloud rising up, the remnant of what, mere seconds earlier had been a walking, talking,
breathing man.
Gunfire had immediately flared up from the vicinity of the Transit - the tall, wiry bloke, opening up
on the animal that had apparently just ended the existence of his fellow gang member. Ramone
was sent sprawling backwards, obviously hit. Dodger was already firing his own weapon by this
time, whilst walking steadily forwards, although whether he was shooting at the beast or at the
Mule's man, The Rector could not tell. He had then become conscious of the sudden flashes from
either side of the vehicle he was in, Steiner and his other men bringing up the rear. The tall guy was
sent sprawling across the bonnet of the van, held there momentarily by the multiple impacts that
riddled his body, before falling to the ground before the dimmed headlamps. The van itself had
begun reversing at this point, its driver obviously having come to the very real conclusion that this
was not a situation he would do well to remain a part of. Numerous shots to the vehicle's
windscreen, however, had resulted in a swerve, culminating in a minor impact with a bridge
abutment.
It was at this point that the creature had turned about. To The Rector, the simple action had
suggested a particularly malevolent intent. It had appeared to focus upon Dodger, who was by this
time some thirty feet away from the monster, and then it had artlessly launched itself at the man, its
wings folded flat across its back and its clawed hands outstretched. The impact was sudden and
brutal. Dodger was savaged by the creature in an instant, his body then being flung into the air.
With his other men closing in, however, the animal had crouched low and raised its evil looking
visage skywards.
"Now, Serge!" The Rector had urged his driver, "take it now, quickly!"
Serge had gunned the five litre engine and the car had leapt forwards, the creature growing
increasingly larger before them in the headlights which Serge had now flipped onto main beam. As
he powered the vehicle forwards, the driver raised the sawn-off up to his window and trained it
upon the animal.
"Wound it," The Rector had shouted, his calm, collected manner now lost in the madness of the
moment, "but don't kill it!"
As Serge had squeezed the trigger, however, the car had hit something on the Tarmac, probably
Dodger, which had caused it to jar violently as first the front, and then the rear tyre bounced over it.
The weapon was discharged concurrent with this, and the creature, caught in a freeze-frame
instant of imminent flight, was sent spiralling about. The Rector had turned around in his seat to
watch it collapse to the ground through the rear window, before ordering the driver to turn the car
around.
It had lain there, its gigantic shape sprawled across the tarmac, its bright pink-red blood spurting
from its abdomen and frothing from its horrific jaws. Steiner was there, holding his gun pointed
directly at the animal’s face, seemingly eager to put it out of its misery. The Rector had reached
out to stay his hand.
"I told you, I wanted it alive," he said quietly. "Now, someone fetch that van over here."
As they travelled back within the Transit, at the centre of an escort made up of their own vehicles,
The Rector had one of his underlings reluctantly perform a makeshift triage upon the creature, a
dust sheet that had covered the now forgotten targeting equipment being used in an attempt to
staunch the flow of blood, until they could get the beast under Mendelsson's ministrations. Another
of his men constantly kept the animal in his slightly shaky sights, whilst The Rector simply sat
alongside his monstrous captive in a seeming haze of wonderment. The sight of it alone was
impressive enough, but he had had a glimpse of what it was capable of, and already impossible
thoughts were beginning to take shape at the outermost edge of his consciousness. There were
possibilities here that he could not yet grasp. And then something else occurred to him and he
raised the radio to his lips.
"Steiner, that man I wanted tracked. What is the outcome?"
There was silence for a few seconds only, before Steiner reported back, "he's been traced back to
Finsbury. Gone to ground in a block of flats, but he doesn't know he was followed. I suspect it's
where he lives," he paused momentarily, "do you want our man to extract him?"
The Rector pondered his options and quickly came to the conclusion that time was now on his
side. The necessity for rash and potentially hazardous decision making was now past and he had
come through it unscathed. An element of discretion was now required.
"No," he answered, "but I want him watched. First of all, determine the exact address and get an
identification. I want a name."
"Will do, boss," Steiner signed off.
The creature spasmed slightly, as it had done on a number of occasions, and The Rector was
relieved as he looked up to see the gates of the Rectory looming in the darkness ahead of them.
The gates swung open automatically to admit the cavalcade, which made its way up the drive, past
the old Rectory and through the graveyard, destined for the concealed entrance to the bunker
which had for so long provided them with a safe haven and an unrivalled base for The Rector's
covert operations, which had started out as simple gun running and had developed over the years
into the underground acquisition and trading of illegally imported emerging military technologies. It
was a business he had built single-handed, and one of which he was extremely proud.
Later that night he was shocked from slumber by the insistent ringing of the telephone. He roused
himself from behind his desk and lifted the receiver. It was Steiner.
"We have a name, Sir. For that guy we tracked this evening."
"And?" he mumbled.
"James, Sleet James."
"Bloody strange name. I don't suppose we have any records of him?"
"No, Sir," Steiner replied, "nothing comes up."
"A mystery man, eh? Tell you what, Steiner. Put our Mr. Perry on the case. It's about time he
proved his worth to us, don't you think?"
++++++++++++++++++++++
Although he was quite sure within his own mind that the creature was dead, he still felt compelled to
have Mendelsson professionally confirm it. The doctor's affirmation was hence unsurprising, but
still hit The Rector with its finality, which left him mentally floundering, knowing that he now quickly
needed to develop a plan which would allow him to continue along the course he had plotted for
himself.
Within the confines of his lavishly furnished private quarters he anxiously paced back and forth
across an antique Persian rug, waiting for the doctor's arrival. When the gentle rap on the oak
panelled door finally came, he forced himself to take a number of deep breaths and compose
himself, before summoning Mendelsson from the corridor beyond.
When he entered, The Rector was relieved to see that he carried his medical case with him.
"Well?" he asked, slightly more hurriedly than he intended.
"I have extracted three more doses from its cerebellum," Mendelsson reported, "but that will
certainly be the last of it. Its system would have ceased producing it some time ago, I suspect."
He had been resigned to this, and was just gratified that a number of doses remained in storage
and that a few more had now been obtained.
"I will take one now," he ordered, rolling up his right shirt sleeve.
"But it hasn't yet been twenty-four hours," the doctor objected, "we've already seen some
concerning side effects as a result of frequent usage. Why not wait until tomorrow? I can give you
a medical in the morning and..."
"Now, Mendelsson!" The Rector demanded sharply.
The doctor frowned, before making his way to the small table in the centre of the room where he
deposited his bag and began removing the necessary equipment from it.
"And remember," he warned, "this is to remain between the two of us, for the time being."
"Of course, of course," Mendelsson nodded his assent as he made his way to where The Rector
had seated himself in a leather armchair, carrying a length of rubber tubing in one hand and a large
syringe in the other.
The Rector closed his eyes and tried to force his body to relax as the doctor administered the
alien extract into his system. The pain of the needle was, as ever, swiftly followed by the powerful
rush of exultation that coursed through his veins and caused his heartbeat to thrum violently in his
forehead. This quickly subsided however, leaving him feeling empowered and capable of any feat.
He brushed away the fussing doctor, and arose from his seated position, his each and every
muscle feeling vibrantly dynamic.
He made his way over to the large, gilt edged mirror which hung on one wall and, amidst the dim
lights of his sanctuary, he gazed upon himself.
It was a visage that was, of course, extremely familiar to him, but he was well aware that some part
of his being had been acutely changed, and maybe forever so. He listened as Mendelsson
hurriedly collected his things together and let himself out. Only then did he search deep within
himself in a way that it had taken him many weeks to master. There was a trigger there, buried way
down, which these injections of the creature's cerebral fluids allowed him to activate. As he located
it, he stared himself in the face and watched with fascination and a growing exuberance as his
eyes slowly lost their blue in white colouration and became a pair of steaming red coals.
| The Rector |
| September 2009 |
| Serial Fiction |
| Copyright 2009 by Nils Durban |
This is the fifth short story which pieces together the tale of Sleet James and his acquaintance with the demonic and
other-worldy Shadows. See below for links to the previous installments (although there is, as yet, no definitive order
for their consumption). The title of the whole work is Shadow on the Sun.
--N. D.
other-worldy Shadows. See below for links to the previous installments (although there is, as yet, no definitive order
for their consumption). The title of the whole work is Shadow on the Sun.
--N. D.
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