“Really?” Cain said, still impressively unintimidated. “And what are ‘they?’”
“They’re called the Sidhe. Or the Fae. Scottish faeries. Call them whatever you want. They sided with me because we share something in common. We’re Scottish, and we’re really, really, REALLY disgusted by what you’ve done to our country.”
Cain flashed a fake smile, then it disappeared as if it were a mask falling off of his face.
“OK, Moira. Joke’s over. Turn off the light show and the echo ‘mike’ and finish the interview. The longer you stall, the longer we hold you. Or we could just declare Trish the winner and put you back in the system.”
“Put me back?” I gasped in horror.
“Turn them off,” Cain ordered.
“I can’t turn them off,” I said. “I don’t control them. I can barely communicate with them. We ...”
I felt strange. I couldn’t hold them back any longer.
“Enough,” Cain snapped. “Security! Take her down! And find out where she got that tech!”
Men moved at Cain’s command. His smile returned, only this time all traces of mirth were gone, and all that remained was wicked delight.
“Congratulations, Moira, you just volunteered for another show! We’ll rip the information out of you! Remember, it’s not torture. We only use ‘enhanced interrogation techniques.’”
Then he added, “Thank you, Moira. You’re good on television. The ratings will be great.”
My eyes scanned the scene like a camera with facial recognition software, registering the expressions on the faces of the people in the room. Most were concerned and confused, not at Cain’s cruelty but at the tiny flying lights. The guards closed in quickly. Vasha was actually smiling. She was happy, imagining that in moments I would be beaten and dragged away. Or so she thought.
A large man in a security uniform lunged at me.
About half of the lights buzzing around me flew at his face. His takedown attempt fumbled. He screamed and clawed at this face. He crashed to the ground, then sprang up, flailing his arms. Then he fled as if attacked by a swarm of hornets.
Another guard pulled out a familiar yellow pistol. Doubting the Fae could save me from the Taser (or if they even understood the danger), I instinctively gasped, pointed at the man, and shouted, “NO!”
The Sidhe understood. Maybe they only understood human communication on a primal level. Maybe it was a mind-reading thing, or maybe they felt my emotions. In any case, they got the message.
The guard lowered his head like a rhino and charged. He only covered a few meters when he tripped. His shoes were suddenly too big. His pants were too long. He fell to the floor and scrambled to his feet like someone trying to escape a fallen tent. He left out of the “door” of the neck hole. Naked, he drew himself up to a height of about half a meter. A tiny voice whined, in a scream that grew smaller as he did, until both the man and the sound disappeared.
Everyone, myself included, stared at the empty clothing, horrified.
“She ... She shrank him,” Vasha breathed. Then she looked up at me, the color bleeding from her face. Her smile fled, wisely deserting her face while the rest of her remained. I met her gaze eye-to-eye, as I did with the rest of the crew closest to me.
Cain looked uncharacteristically terrified. He was not use to being out-of-control.
“Security!” He shouted. “We have a Code Black! Repeat! We have a Code Black!
An alarm pulsed. A voice came over the speakers and echoed throughout the chamber. It was a sexy voice belonging to a woman, but it was too devoid of emotion to be anything but a computer response. The voice acknowledged the order and said, “Code Black. Monster Suppression in progress.”
The bitch repeated herself. A herd of combat boots stampeded down the distant hallway. The faeries left me and flew out the door to the hall in a glowing cloud. Then they disappeared out of sight.
The entire control room froze as we all watched and listened. We were not disappointed. We heard outbursts of men yelling and shouting orders. The room flinched at the gunshots. Then there was machine gun fire. More yelling. Then screaming.
Suddenly, something slammed into me as if I had been hit by a bus. I landed hard, but fortunately, the attacker didn’t fall on top of me. I scrambled back to my feet and doubled over in pain. I felt like I’d been shot. A dislocated floating rib sent pain shooting through me as it popped off and back into my sternum when I breathed deeply.
Hunched over, I backed away and straightened up. The guard, encumbered by the armor, rose to his feet. His visor flipped up. A familiar, bearded face and a toothy smile leered at me.
Still smiling smugly, he prepared to attack again. I was in excruciating pain.
Cheers erupted around the room. The crew admired his courage. They wanted this weirdness to stop. They wanted to feel safe.
“Are you getting this?” the director screamed to his camera crew, clearly more worried about getting footage than he was for anyone’s safety.
I had never seen him so excited. The people at home must be going crazy. They wanted action. They wanted to see suffering. They would not be disappointed.
The guard lowered his level. I’d seen too many fights, professional and otherwise, with my brothers not to know what was happening. He was ready to do another takedown.
Our eyes connected.
“How many times to I have to beat you down, little girl? How many more chances are you going to give me?” He grinned and showed me his terrible teeth.
I pointed my finger at them as if I were holding a gun and said, “Zero.”
I lowered my thumb as if it were the hammer of a gun.
A tiny red light shot from my finger straight into his mouth. His jaws stayed open in surprise, as if he’d swallowed a bug. His shocked expression made me smile.
Then his head exploded.
People screamed. The headless, armored body felt to the floor with a heavy thud.
The iridescent cloud of faeries returned and surrounded me, joining the one that just been a living bullet.
The crew had seen enough. They were starting to flee. I shouted, “EVERYBODY FREEZE! DO IT, AND KILL THAT ALARM!”
The alarm stopped, and the female voice faded away, just as it was saying, “Monster Suppression in progress.”
The color had bled out of Maximilian Cain’s face too. When I looked at him, he said, “Moira, I ...”
“Shut up!” I shouted. My authority was undeniable. Maybe I was enchanted by faerie glamour or something, but everything seemed different. My voice seemed naturally amplified. I felt taller – a lot taller. In fact, I seemed to be looking down on everyone as I spoke, even Cain. He shrank in fear.
Then I looked around the whole room and said,
“Listen to me! All of you! I made a deal with the Sidhe. Do what I say or they’ll kill you all!”
Nobody moved.
Then looked Ziegler. I said, in a mockery of his own obsession with getting footage, “Are you getting this?”
He stared at me blankly. His mouth hung open, and he nodded.
“Good,” I said, and I spoke again, softer this time, looking mainly at Cain.
“Monster Gauntlet. Real Monsters. Real Mayhem. Real Justice.”
I paused and continued, “Real Justice? Well, congratulations! It is now. It’s about REAL monsters, REAL mayhem, and REAL justice.”
“What do you want?” Vasha managed to say.
I spoke to the whole room.
“I could barely talk the faeries out of killing you all,” I said. “They want justice too. Now do exactly what I tell you to.”
The helicopter wheels had barely settled into Scottish glen when the metal and glass door slid open. Shadowy men in modern armor shoved four figures out of the vehicle. All four tumbled out and sprawled on the earth. The guards then threw a large duffle bag to the ground as if it were another reject being ejected. Then the door of the aircraft slammed shut, and the helicopter started to lift off.
Kent got to his feet and rushed to the duffle bag. He practically ripped it open. He fished his hand around inside until a small smile flashed across his face. He pulled out a pistol.
The helicopter became airborne and turned back the direction it had come from.
“No!” Vasha shrieked, looking up as the only means of transportation out became smaller and smaller and the reality of the situation sunk in.
“You bastards!” shouted Kent. “You’re really doing this? You’re just going to leave us? You bastards!”
He fired several shots at the shrinking helicopter. At least two hit. If he expected the helicopter to explode, return or land, he was sadly mistaken. It didn’t.
“Stop it!” Ziegler screamed. “Are you crazy? Stop wasting ammo! We’re going to need that!”
“Shut up!” Kent said, instinctively pointing the pistol at his former boss. Then, after a few seconds, he lowered the weapon (a little) and said, “I don’t take orders from you anymore. Besides, this is all your fault!”
“All my fault? How is this my fault?”
“You should have killed her off earlier! But you dragged it out!”
“Fuck you,” said Ziegler “She ...”
“That’s enough! Both of you!” Maximilian Cain said.
Everyone was on their feet now, looking at him. He did his best to project confidence and control, hoping to impose some residual authority. He said, “We need to stay calm and form a plan.”
“What? We’re going to listen to you?” said Kent, pointing the gun at Cain. “You’re just as much to blame! This whole fucking thing is your idea!”
Vasha was in tears. Cain put his hands up in deference. Like a professional peacemaker, he calmly said, “This is the reality we have to deal with. Let’s just look in the bag.”
The bag contained one shotgun with four shells, a wooden stake, a small knife, two water bottles, a box of granola bars, a flashlight, and a lighter.
Cain acquired the shot gun. Ziegler scoured the bag as if looking for a better weapon, eventually turning it inside out and shaking it upside down.
“No. No! No!!! There’s nothing to ward off the ghost! We are so screwed!”
The helicopter was now a tiny dot in the distance by the horizon.
“You murderer!” Vasha screamed the sky.
Cain agreed with her. The last traces of his cool collapsed like damaged armor falling off of a wounded knight, leaving him feeling small, weak, fleshy and vulnerable.
He looked at gray, cloudy Scottish sky.
“So this is it?” he shouted. “You’re going to murder us?”
The clouds moved through the sky like giant, silent, and indifferent gods. The wind blew through the grasses and the weeds. Somewhere nearby, water flowed in a rain-swollen creek.
Moira’s voice, awesome, loud, and chilling, answered from the heavens.
“Not murder. Killing. There’s a world of difference.”
Cain started, “Moira, we can ...”
“The time for negotiating is over.”
Cain cringed.
“It’s not fair,” Vasha cried.
The others shuddered, already scanning the surrounding woods and clutching their weapons.
Moira’s godlike voice seemed to come from every direction at once. It said, “You are not alone. You have tools. You have weapons. You must rely on your strength, ingenuity, cunning, and luck. Survival is possible, but it won’t be easy.”
The crew looked at the clouds, then all around, their eyes darting to the dark spaces between the trees.
The voice spoke again with a chilling finality.
“Are you ready, Runners? It’s time to get moving! The monsters are coming.”
Paul’s original dream of working in movie special effects didn’t materialize, but instead mutated into a career in advertising. His career path has taken strange detours, but his monstrous imagination could not be contained and is unleashed in his books and cover designs.
Paul is a California native from the Bay Area who currently lives in the town of Campbell, near where he grew up. He enjoys spending time with his family and is the proud father of (at the time of this publication) an energetic infant son, Alexander, who makes every day an adventure.
In addition to walking, playing, and running around after Alexander, Paul exercises by practicing Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which he has done for over 12 years.
His dream is to connect with readers and ultimately develop a large fan base. Through his Web site www.PaulEmil.com, you can reach him via email, Twitter, and Facebook.
Paul Emil says, “I am thrilled every time I get any interaction with my readers. I sincerely want to hear what you have to say about my writing. Thank you, and I look forward to creating more fiction to entertain you.”