Jack County Demons (7 page)

The industrial building once hosted a massive machine shop. It
was now two decades vacant and condemned. The building was situated near nothing, in the middle of nowhere along a lone dirt road. Overgrown weeds and mangled trees were outside, some pushing up into the metal sides of the building. The windows were mostly shattered, many long ago boarded up. Inside, the open space was dark, dusty. Large heaps of metal and machinery left behind are covered by drapes. Off in the back are stairs leading to another level, and a hallway leading to more corridors, which were once offices.

A
woman screams. But despite her efforts, her screams weren't heard. She was wasting her energy, but she couldn't help herself. She continued, bawling and crying out, hoping someone, anyone, would hear.

"Pleeeasse!"
She begged. "Let me go!"

Two bikers dragged her by her feet. Each held one leg, pulling her on her back over the dirt. She protested in violent fashion, kicking and screaming the entire way. It d
idn't seem to matter much. Her fight had no effect on the two bikers. They neared the building, stopping a moment to unlock the large front doors. The woman looked up, her face coated in dirt, her hair wet with blood from being dragged over rocks. She looked up and inside a broken window. She saw a light coming from a room in the far back corner of the building. It was dim and cast shadows.

She kicked and screamed to no avail as the bikers reached down, grabbing her legs ag
ain, and pulled her into the building. The large metal doors swung heavily, slamming shut behind her. She was now in complete darkness.

But the two bikers seemed to see just fine. They raced on, pulling her
over the dusty concrete floor. Around huge machinery, they raced on. Turning left, they entered a narrow corridor, slamming her head against the wall.

She nearly went out. She struggled against their strength, but made no
impact. They were invincible. She was weak. She beat her arms, scratched her nails against the wall as she was pulled down the dark hallway. They turned another corner and entered a room. It was dimly lit, and the woman blinked, attempting to remove the dust from her eyes. One was bloodshot, the other blackened from their attack.

Then, they stopped. They dropped her legs, which landed with a thud on
the hard surface. She moaned, spitting out two teeth and coughing on her blood. Terror filled her. A sense of dread overcame the woman; she knew this was it - this moment of terror was the last feeling she would ever feel. Looking around, hoping for escape, the woman plotted and planned, but nothing of value came to her. The two bikers stood close. They beamed with excitement, happy to please their master.

Then she saw him.
Santana—the demon king. He sat high up on his throne, surrounded by candles. The flames danced, as if to pull away from him, aware of his presence and afraid.

"Wh . . . who are you?" she asked, trembling,
looking up from the floor.

He didn't answer. Instead, he slowly stood up from his throne. He moved effortlessly down the steps, almost gliding down t
hem until he was standing on the floor. He loomed over the girl, and for the first time she saw him for what he really was.

She screamed.

Santana looked human, but that was as close as he was to being one. He was slender, yet looked fit. Tall, well over six feet. His long black hair was silky, smooth, and flowed over his shoulders. Santana was dressed all in black, long flowing coat tails, black pants and boots.

He took a step closer, looking down, peering at the
girl, looking into her soul.

"What
do you want?" she asked.

Santana ignored her the way a hunter ignores one's prey. Turning t
o the two bikers he spoke. His voice was hypnotic, gentle, yet commanding. "Take off your helmets and reveal yourselves."

They did as they were told. Manitas and Sax pulled off their hel
mets and cast them aside. They looked to Santana with pride. They had accomplished their mission; they had pleased their master.

"Are you pleased,
Master?" Sax asked.

"Indeed. Now, stand her up," Santana
commanded.

Manitas leaned down, grabbing the girl by the arm and violently pull
ed her to her feet. The girl's legs were shaky. She trembled, and nearly fell down. Manitas held her upright, forcing her to view Santana. The girl cried uncontrollably, mumbled words that didn't make sense, pleading for her life.

Santana took another step closer. He was now within inches of the girl. He leaned in, sniffi
ng her neck. The smell of his breath disgusted her. It smelled like rotten meat, like dead road kill. But that wasn't the worst of it. It was his face. It was dreadful and made the girl sick. She nearly passed out from the horror of it. She swore to herself she was face to face with the devil. His face was leathery. It was stretched back, his skin taut, deformed. His forehead jetted outward, massively, too big for his head. Santana's eyes were pitched back at an angle, and were solid black. There were no pupils, and she realized he didn't blink. His mouth was stretched wide, twice as wide as it should be. It was filled with rows of teeth, some rotten and falling out as he spoke.

"Ahhh," he let out, sniffing her again. He took in a deep breath, inhaling slowly as his mouth traced her neck, her cheek, her h
air. Then, his long wet tongue flickered out, slowly licking her face.

The girl pulled back, but Manitas held her firm.

Santana spit. It flew a few yards, hitting the dusty cement floor. Instantly, it began to sizzle. Smoke filtered upward as the cement melted a bit.

Manitas laughed a wicked laugh.

Santana turned abruptly, facing him. "You find this funny?"

"No, I—"

"Is this a joke to you?" Santana asked. Before Manitas could answer, though, Santana slapped the biker hard across the face. Manitas took the strike, his head whipping back. Blood formed at the lip, and Manitas eagerly licked it away. "Master, we found her for you. She was pure when we did."

Santana ignored him, turning his attention to the
girl. "Your name, little one?"

"Why do you want to know my name?" she asked,
trembling.

"Your name?" he asked again, staring at her blankly.

"Claudia."

"Claudia," he repeated. Then, in a flash, he ripped the remaining bit of dre
ss that was upon her body off, casting it aside. "Now you are but just flesh." She attempted to cover herself. Claudia felt nothing but shame at the moment and couldn't understand why.  "You haven't been pure in a long time, have you little one?" Santana asked.

Claudia stared awkwardly. "What do you mean?"

Santana leaned in again, smelling her skin. He reached out a long hand. It was white, with long black nails. They gently grazed her breasts, touching her nipples. His fingers were cold, and she shied away from his touch. "You smell like Eve before she bit the apple," Santana remarked.

"Whatever you want, I'll get it for you," she pleaded. She knew
this was it. This was her only chance. Perhaps she could beg, or threaten, or bribe. She didn't know if she'd ever make it out of this place alive, but she sure as hell was going to try. "Listen, my family has money. Lots of it. My aunt lives in Phoenix. Married a rich guy. A banker or something. One phone call and I can get you whatever you want."

Santana grinned. "You think I require money?"
As she opened her mouth to answer, Santana put his hand over it. Covering her mouth, he tilted his head back. "Manitas, Sax—your work is done."

"Did we please you,
Master?" Sax asked.

"Indeed. But you two are amateurs, and you're hindering my victory.
My rise. My time to rule. Now leave us be, and send in Chapo on your way out," Santana ordered.

The two bikers were thrilled they had pleased him. They bowed, ho
lding themselves still for a moment, hoping Santana would allow them to participate in the woman. They hoped to find pleasure in her flesh, but after a moment realized that wasn't going to happen. It didn't matter anyway. They had pleased him, and that's all that mattered. The two turned, rushing out the door, closing it behind them.

Then Santana turned back to the girl, softly placing his hands aroun
d her neck. "Now, we can't let such temptation go to waste. Such a pretty girl. Such pretty flesh."

Then, his sharp nails began digging into her
throat.

Blood trickled down her neck, and
she fainted.

LT dressed hastily. He walked into the bathroom and flicked on the
light. He turned on the water, and waited for it to warm. Then, he splashed handfuls of it on his face. Once finished, he cupped his hands, filled them with water and drank until he was satisfied. LT walked across the room toward the door. He looked out the peephole, expecting no one but looking regardless. He undid the latch and gently turned the knob.

It was warm outside. LT looked from his motel room, seeing nothin
g in view, and stepped out. He looked left and right. The outer walkway was empty. He could hear nothing, even the couple a few rooms down who were screwing all night had gone to bed. LT walked down past the rooms, turned left and then down the stairway to the bottom level. He neared the parking lot, looking up at the flashing neon light of the motel.

Vacancy, it read.

He continued toward the lot, passing two parked cars. He then saw Red in the parking lot, tinkering with his motorcycle under one of a few working lights.

LT neared, asking, "Anything broken?"

"Naw," Red replied. "Just giving her a little more juice."

"Can't sleep either
?"

"Could you sleep with Whisky snoring like he does?" Red aske
d, putting down the wrench and standing up. He looked LT in the eyes. "Besides, this town has me spooked."

"Me too."

"Well, you ought to try and sleep. Got a busy day tomorrow and—"

LT paused, reaching out and grabbing Red's arm.
"Look," he said, pointing.

The sound of engines in the distance could be heard. Barely. The two me
n waited patiently, and after a few minutes, the sounds grew louder and louder. Finally, on the edge of town, they could make out a half dozen lights from the motorcycles. The members of the Hispanic biker gang roared up the street. They neared, closer and closer, finally coming to a stop across the street, in front of the bar. LT and Red watched intently as the men jumped off their bikes and surrounded a parked car. They strained their eyes to see better, and watched in awe as the bikers grabbed a young man from inside the parked car out of his seat. They violently tossed him to the ground, then picked him up once more; carrying him inside and slamming the bar door behind them. The entire event played out in less than one minute.

"
Oh my God," Red exclaimed. "See that?"

"Sure did. Wake up
, Whisky."

"No need," Red replied, pointing. Sure enough, the commotion was enough to wake Whisky, who was
fumbling to put on his boots. Grabbing his shirt and tucking his pistol into his waist belt, Whisky barged down the stairwell and out into the parking lot. "What the hell is going on?" the man asked.

"It's time to earn our pay," LT answered. The
SEALS jogged across the lot, crossing the street and nearing the bar. They stood at the doorway, taking a moment to see if they could hear anything inside. LT then nodded, and Whisky opened the door to the bar gently. The three men slowly slipped inside.

The bikers
were crowded around a table. One of their own, Danny, the kid whom they just pulled from the car, was lying across the table on his back. He breathed with much effort. Whoever messed him up had done so in a bad way. Danny's face was swollen. He breathed in heavy gasps, two of his ribs being broken. His nose was smashed, his lip cut. Danny was in bad shape.

LT peered around the corner, watching. At first, he assumed the biker
s had done this. But it didn't take long to gather that they were helping the kid, not hurting him.

One of the bikers grabbed a towel, pushing it to Danny's face. Another began to
cut off Danny's shirt, revealing more wounds, including a wide-open gash across his chest.

Danny was shivering even though it wasn't cold. He'd lost much blood,
and if they couldn't slow it, would lose even more. Blood poured from the gash in his chest, and even more from underneath him. One of the bikers turned him half over, revealing a wide, deep hole in his side. The contents of his guts were leaking out, and a pool of blood had formed on the table, dripping on the floor below. "What the hell is this?" Pacho asked. "And where's Rafa?"

"
Man, I don’t know," Carlos said.

"Well get him, man. Danny ain't looking
good," Pacho said.

Moments later and the kid's older brother barged in from the side
room. He rushed up, eyes wide, saying, "Oh Danny, oh Danny no! What happened, little brother? What happened?"

But Danny couldn't answer. Instead, he began to cough, spitting out two teeth and a pint of blood in
the process.

"Rafa, listen to me," Pacho said. "He's in bad
shape man."

"No
joke!" Rafa replied, holding Danny in his arms. "We need get him to a hospital right now. Help me."

"No," Pacho said, shaking his head. "There's no time, homie. Your br
other is . . . Danny is dying."

Rafa shook his head in disbelief. He leaned in close, holding Danny tight, tears falling down his face. He couldn't bel
ieve this was happening. Then, he watched as Danny fought to speak. Rafa took a towel, wiping his brother's face. He cleared the kid's mouth out, and leaned in close. "Say it brother. Just say it."

Danny whispered, "They took her."

"Who, Danny? Who'd they take?"

"Pacho's kid."

"Say what?" Rafa asked, appalled. "Who did?"

But Danny could speak no more. He gagged more, and despite their eff
orts, began choking on his own blood. Then, his breathing became more and more labored.

"Homie, I can't stop the bleeding," Pancho said to
Rafa. "I'm sorry."

The entire crew gathered near as Rafa held his brother. It didn't take
long. Danny's chest heaved up and down for a few minutes, a deep rattle forming inside his chest. As the minutes passed, his breathing slowed until finally Danny gulped one last time, staring at his brother, then drifted off into the next life.

"Oh, Danny," Rafa said, sobbing loudly.