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Another Successful Op.
by Adam I. Bolenbaugh.
Oct 25, 1985: Rural LA, 7:49 PM.
I looked over at Vick. He was busy dunking a donut in my coffee, his gun lying on his lap like a coiled snake. I cough. This car is getting cramped. Why the hell have we been staking this place out anyhow? Suburban housewife and local Tupperware pyramid dabbling in the occult; my ass. If the tip hadn't come down from U-Cell I'd be on a date right now. I inspect the house for the hundredth time tonight; red brick walls, metal gutters, flower pots in the windowsills. I turn the car key, and the ford purrs to life. I'm about to step on the gas when Vick looks over at me and stops chewing. "Shit" he says, opening his door and cocking the lever action on his gun. Annoyed, I look over at the house.
"Shit" I echo. The lights in the house begin to fade in and out, like they ain't getting enough power or something. Then the whole neighborhood goes black. "This doesn't look good" Vick says from the sidewalk. I kill the engine, but leave the keys in the ignition. I get out of my car and stare at the red light now flaring through the basement window.
Guess I was wrong about this one I think as I pull my gun from an inner coat pocket. I check the chamber to make sure it's loaded: Six bullets and I'm ready to meet the suspects. Vick stares over at me again. He's a small man. Brown eyes, and black curly hair. He looks menacing as he squints into the beam of my flashlight. "I should have brought one" he hisses through his teeth. "Why? You afraid of the dark?" I say, trying to laugh but only managing a nervous snicker. He flips me the bird, but gives a little grin. "Guess you lead the way, oh fearless master". I push my way past him, and walk up to the front door. The red light from the basement goes out. I stop myself from knocking, and instead kick the door open, the sound of breaking wood echoing down the street.
Vick is right behind me as I move into the dark room. I raise my gun, and sweep the left side of the room, as my temporary partner scans the right. "Wish I'd brought a light" he says again, pulling a lighter from his pocket. "I have a feeling what we're looking for is in the basement" I say, moving towards what should be the kitchen.
God. Lit by candles, the kitchen looks like the set for Martha Stewarts show. Except for the body parts on the bloodied cutting board. "Vick!" I give a little yell. "This is bad". Vick enters the room, I don't make eye contact. He asks if I'd identified the corpse yet. Swearing under my breath, I force myself to look at the torrid scene of gore in front of me. "Looks like it's a male Caucasian, impossible to tell the age" I feel my gorge rise. "Appears to be butchered." Vick moves over to the stove and lifts the lid off a large pan. "At least they cook they're food first" he says with a sober face. I don't look in the pan. I know what I'd see.
Vick points over at a door behind me. I hadn't noticed it, all my attention focused on the bloody spectacle before me. "Basement door, Vince" he says. That's my code name. Vince. We both belong to V-cell. "Lets get this over with".
I'm now moving down an old wooden set of stairs. Vick is behind me, his breathing seems loud in the eerie silence. I reach the bottom landing and all hell breaks loose. I don't notice the candles glowing, or the thick incense burning. I barely see the five women at the other end of the room. All I see is the abomination which turns its head to stare at me. Only it's not its head… Its the severed head of the butchered victim up stairs… and it's perched atop a wreathing mass of pulsing intestines. The stench is more than over-powering. The head begins to speak, its mouth chokes up blood and bile "Join us, friends". Vick opens fire, the sound of his 35.Desert Eagle roaring over my head. The first three shots hit the Thing directly in the face, splattering gray matter everywhere. But it's still moving…toward us. The smell gets worse as it nears. I feel my mind slipping away. Vick shouts something unintelligible and keeps firing. I'm roughly jolted back to reality as a huge fleshy mass of what must have formally been someone's large intestine lashes out, striking me across the chest and slamming me backwards. I trip and fall, pinned between the steps and this…thing. My heart skips a beat as I hear Vick pop an empty clip, and I remember my gun. I level it at the twisting heaving mound of guts and open fire. The thing lashes out again, knocking the flashlight from my hand. It sails through the air wildly, casting its beam around like a casino light. Then it slams into a wall with a snap, and its light is extinguished. Fuck.
Something wraps around my throat. I hear the footsteps running up the stairs. I try to jerk away from the death grip, but fail to even stand. Then it presses a great ropy mass into my face. I begin to smother. My lungs are on fire. I open my mouth to scream, and part of it shoots down my throat, into my stomach…farther…farther…I hear a click. The lights are back on. My insides are burning. I still can't breath. Something falls into my lap from above. It's an incendiary grenade. The pin has already been pulled. I look up the stairs. Vick is standing there. He meets my eyes and levels his gun at me. The shot is the last thing I ever hear.
Another success for the cowboyz.