Post by Press1269 on Jan 29, 2016 20:22:10 GMT
*****THREE DAYS BEFORE BEYOND EVOLUTION*****
The two men had made Nuevo Laredo, Mexico in about eighteen hours, stopping twice for gas and food, and to swap seats behind the steering wheel. Press had made sure to swipe their passports before leaving Las Vegas for Chinle, and they found little trouble at the border when it was their time to cross. Just a few inquisitive gawkers at the size of the man behind the wheel.
Nuevo Laredo was a pretty big place, separated from Laredo, Texas only by the Rio Grande. It was the largest inland port in Mexico, and was home to a little over 373.000 people. They had done the math a long time ago when they first started their mission. Usually, for every thousand people you could bank on at least one Demon in their midst, give or take. 373 was a lot, and with a limited time frame, they wouldn’t be able to even scratch the surface. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t try.
Press pulled the 66’ Pontiac Tempest into the parking lot of the Hotel Posada Mina, the most modest accommodations that they could find in the area. At a whopping forty-five dollars a night, the most you could hope for was a place to relax if you couldn’t fully rest. They had picked up two twenty-four packs of 20oz bottled water, and a can of RAID at one of their gas stops. This wasn’t their first rodeo.
Didn’t change the fact that they were on a pretty tight budget. Frank’s thousand had burned down to half, and they hadn’t signed anything that would guarantee that they would even be able to pay that much back. Youth had disappointed Press twice already by not allowing him to pull into any of the pricier restaurants, meaning that sandwiches and the dollar menu would be their diet for the next few weeks.
Youth hopped out of the car and went into the sparse lobby. It was typical of any of your roadside hotels, complete with a rack of all the local attractions. A free newspaper dispenser sat beside the rack, and Youth grabbed one of them and stuffed it into his back pocket before approaching the front desk. He arranged for four nights, and begrudgingly shelled out the two-hundred bucks. The attendant passed him a key attached to a plastic room number key chain, and he thanked her before heading back out to the car.
“Looks like we’re on the ground floor, 157. At least we don’t have to lug any of this shit up stairs.” Youth remarked, flipping the key over in his hand. Press grunted as he pulled the car around to park in front of the door that matched the number on the key.
When the car was parked, youth grabbed the can of RAID and went to unlock the door, while Press rounded to the rear of the vehicle and popped the trunk. He reached inside and hoisted a large wooden chest with an ancient looking medieval pad lock up close to his chest, and then carefully made his way towards the open doorway.
Youth was already hard at work, working the corners of the room, and eventually ducking into the bathroom. An audible groan escaped from the alcove, and the nozzle from the RAID can spewed in constants stream. Press set the chest down on the table, and made for the door to escape the toxic fumes. Youth joined him a few seconds later, a trail of chemicals wafting after him as he exited. He looked over at his partner who shook his head in disdain.
“How the fuck did we come to this?”
“Lots of practice and careful planning.” Youth responded, a chuckle escaping as he wiped his brow.
Press just shook his head again, not able to find the words. It was easy to think back to when they were somebodies. SIN Tag Team Champions, money abundant, decent food in their stomachs, and at least a four star hotel. Even after the ride was over, things weren’t that bad. Their little apartment above Frank’s garage might have been a shit hole, but at least it was their shit, and he was missing it right now.
Youth took the paper from his back pocket, and held it out in front of him as he leaned against the wall. It was one of the periodicals produced each week paid by advertising, so for every clip of news there were twenty business card sized advertisements littering the pages. Sometimes these were the best place to find their monsters, because often times they had a more local feel to them than the traditional evening news.
They sat out on the curb for about an hour until deeming the room aired out enough to enter. Press grabbed their water and cooler full of sandwich fixings, and brought them in to stock the mini-fridge underneath the bathroom sink. When everything was finally put away, he stepped over to the wooden chest, producing an archaic looking key that fit the medieval pad lock. It twisted off without noise, having been oiled many times to keep it’s working parts intact.
When he lifted the lid, inside was an assortment of goodies that would hinder the denizens of darkness. Vials off all manner of ingredients sat in pouches that were fastened to the lid of the trunk, stoppers keeping their contents from spilling out. Garlic, salt, red clay, gold powder, silver powder, and gun powder. In the bottom, right corner was an old milk jug labeled holy water about halfway full, and a larger container of salt that hadn’t yet been blessed. A pack of chalk sat upon notebooks that had been bound together with an old leather belt that had seen better days, and a couple of iron railroad spikes could be seen poking up beside them. Two bejeweled golden crosses, both blessed by a priest they had met in Spokane, Washington. A pair of wooden stakes dipped in silver, and a pair of the silver knucks with crosses etched into the knuckles. There were some manacles made from the same substance, and piano chord wound into a retractable reel.
There was more, but all he really needed was the salt, red clay, and his revolver, which now only held regular bullets. He tossed the revolver under his pillow, and then sat about using the salt and red clay to create a thin line across the window sill and up in under the door. The salt would keep anything non-human from being able to enter, and the red clay would act as an alarm system, catching fire if anything tried.
Demons were the masterminds behind almost everything evil in the supernatural world. You couldn’t ever really kill a demon, but you could kill its physical properties, and banish them back to Hell. For the most part these evil forces liked to work in the background, nudging and prodding you along when you’re making your worst decisions.
Secretly, however, they loved being physical. They savored and relished what was given to mankind, envy driving every despicable action they made. They had wanted it for themselves, which is why they had followed Lucifer in his march against the throne. When that failed, they had been cast out right along with him, and none of them thought to kindly on the experience. Evil had roots in the world, and like a weed, its sole purpose was to steal life away from the flower, i.e. humanity.
Though there was evil, there was also good. Angels. They too could become physical if need be, although this was required much less, for they adored their astral bodies. Just as a demon could lend its power to black magic so that the spell would go off, so too could an angel lend his power to prayer in order to see it to fruition. These two entities worked like opposing chess players, constantly moving their pieces to out maneuver the other, and their source of currency was faith.
Faith is often thought of as belief, which is certainly one of the main driving forces behind it, but there’s more. An idea can lend credibility to faith. Emotional attachment to people, places, things. Hell, even our entertainment. Anything that you invested real time in, spirit, could be considered faith. This faith, depending on its intent, could lure these beings to them, feed them the power in which to perform their works.
Why monsters? Because it’s all within the rules. Everything is governed by rules, with the exception of God himself/herself. Demons are a perversion of what once were angels, and thus when they try and wear the mask of humanity their form is altered. They can only take on the form or idea of something evil that others have imagined or conceived, and have to live confined to its strengths and its weaknesses. Horror had become its own genre in entertainment, and despite being hokey, often found their material from myth. A myth was often something, at some point, that someone believed in, and that’s what made it dangerous.
Press finished his work, replacing the vials in their proper place back in the trunk before easing down into one of the beige hotel chairs. It creaked under his weight at the same time that he let out a long sigh. Youth looked up from his paper to regard his partner, and realized that the big man looked tired. Not tired in the way you look right before you’re about to go to bed, but the tired you looked like when you thought you were just about finished with a race only to look up and see another mile of road ahead of you.
“I may have found something.” Youth said, knowing that if he gave his partner a tangible task that he would perk up.
Press came alert immediately, leaning forward in his seat eliciting another groan from the chair. “What is it?”
Youth folded the paper in half, and then passed it over to his partner, who began scanning the page. He read the bold headline, ‘THREE FOUND DEAD IN FIRE’, and he scrunched up his face in confusion. He started to say that wasn’t all that strange, but before he could get the words out, Youth pointed to the last paragraph in the article. Press read the words out loud.
“Fire and Rescue workers were at a loss for the strange arrangement of the victims, and the fact that there was no notable traces of DNA for identification. Chief Fredrico Thomas claimed that he had never seen an inferno burn so hot that it consumed all flesh, even the blood, until now. The fire was believed to be an act of arson, with a mixture of fertilizer and gasoline as the reacting agent. More information to come as events unfold.”
Press sat back in his seat, a tight grip on the paper in front of him. He had heard of such a fire a couple of times in their travels, but he hadn’t expected it here. They had killed the last demons who employed this method of disposing of their victims, and there was a really simple explanation why there had been nothing left, including blood, not that the authorities would believe it if they told them.
Vampires. That’s right, Vampires. Human on the outside, blood sucking demon on the inside. Night stalkers who were confined to the hours between sunset and sunrise. They had perfected their craft over the years, using media and entertainment to make them seem cool, drawing in a crowd of posers and wannabes. All while using that popularity to turn the gothic scene into a feeding ground. Some people were such fanatics about the whole thing that they would give themselves over willingly, not even realizing that this wasn’t some disgusting social club, but the place that they were really going to die. Those that didn’t give up their life to feeding, gave it up in other ways. The vampires bite without the intent to kill was a link to hell, a way for other demons to take over their own flesh suits and join the party. It was one of the more popular choices by demons for that very purpose. They could create an army, a coven, without anyone thinking anything about it but a bunch of drug addled misfit freaks.
Press looked over at Youth, who regarded him with an expectant expression. He nodded grimly, “Alright. Let’s get to work.” Youth nodded, and then went for the phone book. The first thing he would do is establish the location with the local authorities by posing as the media. Then they would go scope everything out first hand, see if their monsters had left behind any clues. If not, then there were other ways to track them down, but you always started simple, and worked your way out from there.
The next few days were a mixture of footwork and research. The authorities gave them no new information, everything they had already devised from the article. The location was a mess of twisted metal and debris, but they did find something out of place. Something that the authorities probably would have just taken as graffiti. It was a marker, an ancient symbol of dark omen that indicated that this had once been a dumping site for the vampires. If they found more of them around the city, then they would find at least some of their vamps.
They split up in their search to cover more ground, knowing that if there were any markers, then they would be close by. Vampires were pretty thorough with their handiwork, and were smart enough to realize that sometimes the easiest way to stay invisible was hiding in plain sight and keeping their territory small. Youth had uncovered some information at the library about other fires in the surrounding area, but the dates were stretched so far that the authorities hadn’t put two and two together.
The day before Beyond Evolution they came across their first marker. A few hours later, they found the second. All were within three blocks of the arson location. Youth wanted to wait until after the show so that they would be fresh, but Press would have none of it. If they were going to do this, if they were going to get back into wrestling full time, then they would have to get back into the swing of juggling their personal lives and the business. The mission came first, and he refused to let them lose sight of that.
By the time they found the exact location of the coven, an abandoned building that had once been a corner movie theatre, the sun was already setting. They had observed some movement within the darkened windows, the flickers off of incandescent lights. They had no way of knowing how many there were, or if they had a cache of new victims to feed on. Breakfast, as it were. Press hated the idea of endangering any innocent lives, but it would be necessary if they were going to keep their timetable. They had both accepted, a long time ago, that there were casualties in war, but that didn’t mean they had to like it.
“Listen man, it’s dark already, these bastards are going to be at full power. We should get some rest, and come back in the morning when it’s daylight.” Youth pleaded, trying to dissuade his partner from their current course.
Press just shook his head, synching up the belt straps on his utility belt. “We don’t have time for that. If we’re going to make it to Beyond Evolution we get this done now.” He said the last bit matter-of-factly, and Youth realized that there was no more room for debate. He shook his head, but checked his own gear to make sure everything was in place.
They had parked the Pontiac a block down from the theatre, and were now on foot, power walking up the street. Press had on a leather duster that covered a sawed off shot gun that he had positioned in his left hand, while Youth wore his biker jacket, his hand resting on the hilt of a katana that peaked just beneath the hem.
When they reached the theatre door, the only thing to greet them was a chain firmly secured by a padlock, and the soft thrum of music inside. Someone was up and about, listening to the sound of what passed for Mexican Pop. Press cast a glance at Youth to signal he was ready, and then with one even motion, threw his foot forwards into the door. It exploded inwards of its hinges, the chain that held it shut falling loosely around the broken frame.
Press stepped over the chain first, followed by Youth who snapped the sword loose from its sheath and brought it to bare in front of him. The door led directly into a large room that had once served as the concession area, but was now littered with mildew stained theatre seats, the kind that looked to be circa 1970. The music died off in the distance, filling the space in silence, the only sound the hum from the incandescent lights that they had seen filter through the windows. Their shadows danced across the wall as they moved further in, keeping their eyes locked on doors leading into the two theatres beyond. There was no way of knowing which one the vamps were holed up in, if not both.
Press signaled with his shotgun for Youth to check the right passage, while he remained trained on the left. They both made their way up to the doors, looking over at one another from across the concession booth. Youth nodded, and mouthed one, two…..
Before he could make it to three the door he was in front of burst open, a flash of movement springing forward. It took the young man by surprise, and he along with his sword went skittering across the floor. A short squat man loomed over him, his eyes glowing like the reflectors off of a kid’s bicycle, sharp fangs protruding from his open maw. He hissed before pouncing forward to land on Youth, or he would have, if a thunderous roar from the shot gun in Press hands hadn’t torn him in half.
Black ichor fell all around Youth, who kicked with his legs to push him further away from the door. Two halves of the vampire landed on either side of him, and he slipped in the mess that they made. Another form filled the doorway, this one larger, and not without its own firepower. The vamp swung around the corner, leveling two 9mm. Beretta’s at Press, letting the twin guns bark out into the night.
Press drove forward rather than to the ground, and ended up on the other side of the door, and inside the dark theatre. There were a few candebrellas burning, and they cast light on four people, bound and lying on the floor. One was a child, no older than eight, and at the sight of the big man she wince and buried her head into one of the adults. He gritted his teeth as he scanned the room for more vamps, but he didn’t get the chance before the door on the opposite end swung open, and the gunman re-entered the scene. Press dove for an outcropping of seats that hadn’t been ripped up as bullets whirred overhead. He yanked forward on his shotgun, exposing the barrels, dumped the wasted shells, and fed two more into the chamber before flipping it shut.
Back in the concession area, Youth pulled himself to his feet, flicking his hands out in front of him to get the disgusting ooze off of his hands. He reached down and scooped up his sword, and looked down to the two halves of the first vampire. Blood was already pooling at either end of the vampire, forcing its way back into the wounds. Given enough time it would eventually pull itself back together and heal, but Youth had no intention of giving it that chance. He stepped over to the upper torso, and with a swift strike took the head from its shoulders. The body sat there for a minute bleeding out, and then everything burst into dust. Strike one vampire. Steeling himself for whatever lay ahead, he made his way towards the gunshots.
The twin Beretta’s barked a final time, and then Press could hear cursing on the other side of his makeshift barricade. He popped his head up, leveling the shot gun on the vamp who was in the midst of changing magazines. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, however, a hard blow struck him across his upper back, and he was thrown forward, sprawling to the ground. He retained his grip on the shotgun, but when he spun onto his back to face his new attacker, it was no longer there.
Youth stole through the door quickly upon hearing the gunshots cease, fearing for the worst. The first thing he saw was the gunman trying to reload right in front of him. The second was a third vampire sneaking up behind Press who was poised to take a shot with the shot gun. He made to call out to his partner, but the vampire’s strike was too fast. Knowing that Press could handle himself made it easier for him to change directions, and swing the sword for the gunman’s neck instead. The head fell down to the rotting theatre carpet, and the second vampire exploded into dust.
By the time Youth turned back to check on how Press was faring, the third vampire was gone. He rushed over to the big man who was already getting back up to his feet. Press didn’t say anything, he just pointed to the people in the candle light, keeping his eyes moving around the room for the impending danger. Youth took off for the far end to free the victims, while Press made his way towards the darkest parts of the theatre.
Terror filled the people’s eyes as Youth approached with his brandished sword. He held his free hand out in a placating gesture, and began the process of unbinding them. One of the men grunted several times, shaking his head no as Youth continued his work. “Listen, pal. This will all be over soon, and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing before this nightmare began. Just hold still.”
The man, on the other hand, wouldn’t relent, and he continued his terrified grunts as Youth cut the last bindings from the child’s wrists. “What, man?” He growled, finally reaching over and jerking the gag from the protesters mouth.
The man’s tear filled eyes stared past Youth, and he took in gulping gasps of air. When he replied, it only came out in a whisper. “The girl…..”
Realization struck Youth just before the girl did, but it didn’t help him keep from slipping into unconsciousness after the blow. He could feel himself being hoisted into the air, like floating on a cloud, and then being dropped onto something hard and solid. Everything around him smelled like death, and his subconscious screamed for him to open his eyes, but his body just wouldn’t comply with the demands. This was it, he guessed. So much for wrestling. So much for the mission. So much for getting the chance to see Munin’s perfect body in another one of those slinky sundresses.
Press’ eyes darted from shadow to shadow, knowing that if the bastard would just open his eyes, he could keep a line of sight on him from there. He moved quietly even though it was obvious that everyone knew that he was there, just a force of habit from a lifetime of trying to stay alive. He could hear the struggles going on behind him, Youth’s voice telling the people to calm down. No such luck with civilians. They’d pay sixteen bucks for entertainment that would scare the bejesus out of them, but when it came to real monsters they were all cowards.
A male scream sounded out behind him, and he finally turned to see what all the fuss was about. His eyes went wide at the scene before him, as he saw his partner hoisted above the little girls head, a fanged grin beaming in his direction. The fucking vampires had set them up. Planted the girl in the midst of the victims to take them by surprise if they actually made it this far in.
Press snarled as he stalked towards the girl, and she hissed in response, heaving Youth into the air to slam down hard on a stack of the theatre chairs. His body fell limply to the floor, blood pouring down the back of his neck from a wound on his skull. The girl hissed again as the big man continued his approach, and darted forward on the attack. He lifted the shot gun up to his hip, bringing the business end right in line with the oncoming child.
She didn’t slow in her approach, but she did alter coarse, bounding high into the air with a single leap, and putting herself on a diagonal drop to come down right on Press head. He tried to get the shotgun up in time, but when its contents burst out, he knew he had missed, and the girl slammed feet first down into his right shoulder. He spun in the air comically, like a cartoon character, before landing hard on his back.
He could hear the girl rushing forward from somewhere behind him, and he grimaced before reaching down to his utility belt and bringing up what looked like a grenade. “I was wanting to save this you fucking cunt, but I guess I got no choice.” With that, he closed his eyes, pulling the pin on the mechanism. Only what could be described as a starburst went off over his head, and even though his eyes were shut tightly sparkles of dazzling color began to erupt in his brain, as though he had stared into the sun for too long.
Screams erupted from where he had heard the girl approaching, but this was no girl screaming. Guttural, visceral, sounds now spewed out of what might have once been a child, but was now just a demon on its way back to hell. If the screams were the vocals, then the hissing sound of cooking flesh was the baseline, the bursting of puss filled boils the percussions. One final gurgling scream filled the theatre, and then suddenly the light ceased to burn and all went silent.
Press opened one eye, then the other, a pulsing headache starting to burn at the base of his skull. He sat up on his elbows, and looked around, then got to one knee and found the still smoking pile of dust that used to be the vampire child. He reached out and scooped up was left of the casing of his UV grenade, a little gem they had figured out how to make thanks to some other hunters in Oklahoma City. When the thing went off it was like daylight at night, and proved rather fatal when dealing with a vampire nest. Of course, this hadn’t been a nest. It was just three asshole vampires, and he hated wasting such an effective, not to mention expensive, weapon.
He heard a groan off to his right, and he looked over to his partner, who was pulling himself up to his feet while clutching at the back of his head. He looked up through blurry eyes, and asked, “What the fuck happened?”
Press grinned, despite the loss of his toy, and shrugged. “Vampires are dead.”
Youth eyed the big man for a minute, then drifted his gaze over to the smoking pile of dust, and then back to Press. “God damn it.”
Press’ grin faded, and he sighed heavily. “I had no choice.”
“That fucking thing cost two thousand dollars!”
“Well bill the vampire! Seemed like a small price to pay while you were over there taking a fucking nap.”
Youth’s mouth came open to say something, but then he stopped. He stared past Press, and then just shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Press followed the stare to the three adults they had saved, staring wide eyed and terrified at the two partners squabbling over money. Press stepped over to the trio who shied away at his approach.
He grunted, reaching down and pulling one of the men to his feet. He acted as if he might scream, but Press brought an open palm across his face in what could only be called a bitch slap. The man’s head whipped to the side, and he shook his head as if waking up from a deep sleep. Press brought his eyes into frame, forcing the man to look at him. “Hey, it’s over. Go home.”
The man stared at him for a minute, and then nodded slowly. “Si, senor. Si.”
Press let him loose, and after a similar ritual with the other two, all of them were on their way out of the theatre. Sirens could be heard off in the distance, the gunshots probably alerting anyone in the area to call the police. Press and Youth went in the opposite direction of the three victims, making their way casually back to their car. After all, the response time in Mexico was a lot slower than that of the American authorities. This shit would be chalked up to some gang related mess, and the men who had been intended for dinner wouldn’t say anything, because who would believe them. All in all, it was a fine days work. With the exception of the loss of the expensive gadget.
By the time they got back to the hotel it was four in the morning, and after a long hot shower, both men were ready for bed. Later tonight they would make their way for the Greedy Pupil’s Traveling Carnival, and then to Beyond Evolution. Back to the real world. Press almost snorted out loud, but fought it back to keep from waking his already snoring partner in the next bed. When something as wacky as professional wrestling was normal in comparison to the other aspects of your life, then you knew you were in fucking trouble. The thought amused him, as he rolled over and found the comfort of sleep.