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Chapter Two *** Inner sanctums of the ghetto, wounds on the Earth, in the shadows of plush High-rise Apartment skeleton complexes towering above them. She lurches violently into their shelter as if that alone would remove her from the life she seeks to escape. Her mind didn't work, neither did her legs or anything she tried to use to crawl and stumble along the filthy and dank alley wall to get to safety. Angry red needle marks adorned her arms, her legs and her back from years of heroin abuse - and for a moment she wondered if anyone would believe her of the immortal monsters that chased her. Not a drug induced hallucination, but real. Too real. Children had gone missing for years - that the way of the streets. But lately, hundreds were missing, their assassins cold blooded monsters perusing their slain like a feast. They all wore black and were deathly white in comparison. These monsters took on forms she could not imagine and began to feed.... the image, ghastly and rotten only endeavored her to renew the efforts to be out from among the shadows. Tears fell, unbidden.... her life would not be spared in vain, she had to warn the others all the world if need be. *** Same part of town, but different way of escape. She drives a 68 Harley Davidson, just like she is. Sleek, black and panther like. The beast snaked around downtown New Orleans, its headlights sliced through the pre-dawn obscurity of a tenement neighborhood. With one punch, the large engine muscled up chasing demons she could not yet see. The slayer wasn't used to this kind of transportation, but the usual cargo hold of an airplane, or train, or ship or even hailing a cab while trying to hunt demons spawn did not factor in the equation. Mboto had given her lessons on the old Ducatti in Jamaica. She found herself contemplating the last few weeks. The vamps had detained her, ensnared by wave after wave of demons each taking turns to bate and die to keep her in Charleston and away from the nucleus of operations. By the time she had figured it out, she had left that morning, leaving the homeless with a few explosive devices, tactics and wooden stakes to greet the unfortunate ambushing demons. She wasn't naive to think that all the vamps would not endure the mortal battalion of streetkids, or that they'd not be enraged pursuit of the Slayer, when they learnt of her deception, but she hoped that at least for 12 hours she could do what she had to do without detection. She had the Knights sword given to her by Mbotos contact, Tante Mattie. A Bayou water religious Christian/voodoo priestess in New Orleans that helped raised one of New Orleans infamous Prince Remy LeBeau of the Thieves Guilde. She is a powerful healer and seems something of a revered spiritual guide to all who know and respect her. Even in Jamacia, Kendra heard of her vampire fighting ways. Kendra was impressed that a civilian could be so strong and still not be the Slayer. She immediately liked Tante Mattie. She was the kind of woman whose bookshelves held massive volumes of Voodun, sitting next to well-worn Cajun Cooking manels with dog-ears and scribbled notes next to Lord Tennison, Shakespeare, Wilder and Alice Walker. She was also part of the massive council that consisted of Watchers, and Kendra was well aware that she stood before Watcher Royalty.. her loyalty to this woman was immediate and paternal. Unexpectedly, her thoughts were interrupted. All of a sudden, a figure lurches out from a side alley on the narrow street, making Kendra swerve to avoid her. This action takes her down the mouth of the side alley the girl has just sprung from. Kendras adrenaline ran high, kicked into overdrive. Now she feels the presence of another immortal. A Limousine with its windows blackened out careens around the corner, bearing down on the girl. Kendra looks from one to the other and knows her side. She turns to the girl and rasps out a "Run! I will deal with this." The teenager hesitates only momentarily, then stumbles and lurches out into the light. Traffic swerves and screeches to a halt as she vaults further into the early dawn alleyways and finds no one to help her. Suddenly strong uniformed arms surround her. In her haze, she realizes that her captor is a uniformed paramedic. She tries desperately to recount her tale of ultimate horror, the escape that cost her sister her life, and the woman that now stood facing that evil all on her own. But if they heard her, they made no move to heed her warning or even indicate that they had heard her at all. After all, who would listen to a junkie and her ramblings of a dark Jamaican Goddess who faces the ultimate battle on a black metal steed in a filthy alleyway this side of forever? *** Kendra pulls a broadsword from the hidden baldric strapped to her back, and rests the blade on the handle bar of the bike, the hilt resting on her thigh. She guns the motor seemingly waiting for the challenge. The motor on the car cuts off, the door opens. The Jamaican warrior waits, then switches it off, kicking the stand down and dismounted. She takes a few steps away from the machine, as his boot descends to the dirty alley. Suddenly, the car ignites and pitches forward. The boot falls, empty of the owner. Kendra is trapped, not able to get back to her bike in time. The car plummets down the alley, collecting a few trashcans as it roars onward. She suddenly throws the sword away, casting it aside and reaches for her ankle holster. She has a gun, and it isn't a Tazer. She doesn't move but to plant her feet and aim. Machine against flesh and blood. It's not hard to figure out who will win. BANG! A shot fired at the approaching car, which does not falter in it's harrowing path. BANG! Another shot bouncing off the windscreen. Followed by another which manages to crack the glass but not deter the driver. More gunshots and this time it makes the hulking machine veer. Nail biting milliseconds before the driver manages to bring the thundering machine back on course. Click. Click. She's out of ammo. She reaches into her boot, calmly discards the empty magazine, reloads and now, unbelievably starts to advance on the mammoth screaming Limousine, firing as she walks. Kendra continues to fire, until there is nothing left. A crack of sound ricochets. The fatal shot, produces a splintering of the glass, it spider-webs out but does not break. She has to work fast. The sword lies a few meters to her left. In an instant she is flipping back she collects it in her left hand to face the approaching hellion when... BOOM! The long black Limousine collects its murderous vixen and she is thrown up and over it- flipping backwards to the back of the car, laying in a crumpled heap a several meters away. The Limousine itself is crashed into a far wall, still as the night is black. She is too stunned to do much but try and not black out. Several nights of battle has taken their toll. Kendra would never admit it, but she was a wreck since Charleston. She's on her feet, shakily witnessing the horrid scene unfold, struggling for counterbalance to pursue. One of the side windows is cracked by the sudden impact. Then from that window, all too human fingers stab the glass wound to touch the morning light. Human Cargo. With sword in hand she vaults into action, praying she has the strength - and knowing for this battle at least, she does not. << Back Next >> |