18: Reaping the Chupacabras

Brig­it and Sea­mus left the pier in San Fran­cis­co in si­lence. She had noth­ing re­al­ly to say to her co-​work­er. The idea that he was steal­ing me­men­tos from his as­sign­ments irked her. She won­dered if John would have any­thing to say about it once he found out. As they had passed through the por­tal, how­ev­er, Brig­it’s thoughts re­turned to the task at hand. She had scanned the file briefly – enough to know that they were def­inite­ly en­ter­ing a sit­ua­tion that would need their full at­ten­tions.

The Chu­pacabra Gang had been no­to­ri­ous in their day. Their evil­ness ri­valed the oth­er well known mo­tor­cy­cle gangs of the time. They had of­ten made head­lines for hav­ing robbed un­wit­ting va­ca­tion­ers on the side of a high­way. They were known for rap­ing the wives, beat­ing the hus­bands for sport and tor­tur­ing the chil­dren for laughs. They were out­laws of the high­est sort. Their ‘Want­ed’ posters still hang on ev­ery Post Of­fice wall through out the south­west.

Brig­it had on­ly been eight years old at the time. She had been un­able to fath­om then what she could wrap her mind around now. Her moth­er had sim­ply told her that the Chu­pacabras were pure evil in black leather and chains rid­ing a two-​wheeled death char­iot. As Brig­it had scanned their file, she re­al­ized with­out doubt that her moth­er had been right for once.

The Chu­pacabra hide­out had been in an old air­field hangar in the mid­dle of the New Mex­ico desert. The por­tal had de­liv­ered Brig­it and Sea­mus to the main door, which hang open from the years of dis­use. Whomev­er had en­tered and de­stroyed the chiefs of the gang had ne­glect­ed to lock up on their way out.

“Keep qui­et,” Brig­it warned in a whis­per. Sea­mus nod­ded in agree­ment. They re­turned their at­ten­tion to in­side the hangar. It was filled with box­es and crates, cre­at­ing a maze of pas­sages that could prove dan­ger­ous to any­one mov­ing be­tween them. The win­dows high up the walls had been spray paint­ed black, al­low­ing no light to fil­ter through.

To­geth­er, they en­tered the hangar and be­gan to slow­ly walk down the cor­ri­dor of crates. In­vol­un­tar­ily, Brig­it’s grip tight­ened on the han­dle of her um­brel­la. She wished she had some­thing a lit­tle more sub­stan­tial to fight with, some­thing a lit­tle more dan­ger­ous. John’s in­struc­tions had been to reap them all by ‘any means nec­es­sary’. As she lis­tened to that in­struc­tion in her mind again, she re­al­ized this would not be an easy as­sign­ment by any stretch of the imag­ina­tion.

“Why did ye be­come a Reaper?”

The ques­tion, though in a whis­per, broke the si­lence like a roar­ing wind. Brig­it had in­struct­ed him to keep qui­et for a rea­son. Some­how, she had known, Sea­mus Flan­nery would not be able to fol­low such a sim­ple in­struc­tion.

“I have a promise to keep,” she replied in a whis­per as well. She was hop­ing the an­swer was short enough to suf­fice, that it would give him the hint to main­tain the si­lence they need­ed to aide them in their hunt for the Chu­pacabra Gang.

“To yer Mag­gie, I pre­sume?” Sea­mus sound­ed amused. “That’s sweet, lass. How long have ye been dead?” he con­tin­ued.

“Long enough,”

“No, se­ri­ous­ly, how long?” he asked again. He was be­gin­ning to raise the vol­ume to his voice.

“Since Hal­loween. Now, will you please low­er your voice?” she snapped. She glared at him over her shoul­der. It was a look she would nev­er have guessed she was ca­pa­ble of. It was a look she knew she had re­ceived from her moth­er plen­ty of times through­out her child­hood. Brig­it knew it was the look be­cause it had af­fect­ed Sea­mus the same way it had al­ways af­fect­ed her. There was a sud­den shock reg­is­ter­ing on the Irish­man’s face fol­lowed by a hard swal­low and, then, si­lence that told her she had achieved her goal.

A loud clat­ter fol­lowed by a loud curse and then laugh­ter brought the Reapers to a halt. They ex­changed glances again and came to the same con­clu­sion that their task was di­rect­ly in front of them. Brig­it won­dered if the el­ement of sur­prise was go­ing to be in their fa­vor; but, it was too late to change their game plan now.

“Who are these guys again?” Sea­mus asked, his voice was no­tably low­er in its whis­per this time.

“The Chu­pacabra Gang,” Brig­it an­swered.

“What the hell kind of name is that?”

“I’ll ex­plain lat­er,” Brig­it promised.

“How many of them are there?”

“Six, I think,”

“No mat­ter,” Sea­mus shrugged as he hoist­ed the she­laigh­ley to rest on his shoul­der. “I’ll take the big­ger ones.”

Brig­it ig­nored the cocky re­mark as they con­tin­ued the re­main­ing length of the cor­ri­dor. From the sounds of the ruckus be­fore them, all six of the gang mem­bers were in the same space. That was good for the Reapers. It would save them the time of hunt­ing fur­ther. As they stepped in­to the clear­ing, Brig­it and Sea­mus took a sec­ond to ob­serve. The Chu­pacabras were amus­ing them­selves. Emp­ty beer bot­tles were strewn on the floor around them as they sat at a small ta­ble play­ing cards. By the pile of cash and jew­el­ry in the mid­dle of the ta­ble, Brig­it guessed they had been in­ter­rupt­ed dur­ing a se­ri­ous game of pok­er. It was sud­den­ly no won­der that they had been tak­en by the sur­prise that led to their mor­tal demise.

“Hel­lo, boys,”

The sound of Sea­mus’ an­nounce­ment be­fore strid­ing in­to the space was like a slice of light­ning through a black­ened sky. In sur­prise, Brig­it cast an an­noyed glare that fell un­no­ticed on the Irish­man’s back as he walked away. Be­fore she could re­turn her at­ten­tion to the star­tled gang mem­bers, the fight had al­ready be­gun. Sea­mus broke in­to a full tilt charge at them with his she­laigh­ley held high over his head, a war cry es­cap­ing from him as he ran.

He was try­ing to prove some­thing, she thought as she watched him start swing­ing the Black­thorn stick wild­ly at the gang mem­bers that had now jumped to their feet with knives and bro­ken beer bot­tles held by the neck in their hands. He was try­ing to prove that he need­ed no help, she mused as she watched the melee. One of the Chu­pacabra had Sea­mus in a head­lock as an­oth­er was punch­ing him re­peat­ed­ly across the jaw. Sea­mus, though, was laugh­ing and de­liv­er­ing a sharp el­bow to the ribs of the one hold­ing him cap­tive. The re­main­ing three Chu­pacabra were vy­ing for their turn to punch the in­trud­er. Brig­it re­mained where she stood. She was wait­ing for the mo­ment that Sea­mus would in­di­cate a need for her as­sis­tance.

As Brig­it con­tin­ued watch­ing, she sud­den­ly re­al­ized that all six were not in the room. One was miss­ing. Where was the sixth gang mem­ber?

Just as the ques­tion came to mind, she heard the screech­ing cry of a wom­an from be­hind her. Brig­it turned in time to see the at­tack­ing wom­an run­ning at her, a steel pipe raised high above her head. The fe­male Reaper on­ly had a sec­ond to raise her um­brel­la to fend off the blow. The Chu­pacabra wom­an stum­bled as Brig­it’s de­fense pro­pelled her out in­to the open. Brig­it calm­ly fol­lowed the wom­an, com­ing with­in arm’s length of her so that the door to her fate would ap­pear. The wom­an swung the pipe again, but Brig­it ducked it ef­fort­less­ly as she reached to open the door. Twice more, the pipe was swung at her head. Brig­it de­flect­ed the blows with the black um­brel­la, all the while keep­ing her eyes locked on the deep black orbs that be­trayed the oth­er wom­an’s ev­ery thought. As they be­gan to cir­cle each oth­er, Brig­it main­tained an even breath as she read the wom­an’s fran­tic search for the Reaper’s weak spot. Rais­ing the pipe above her head, the Chu­pacabra wom­an de­cid­ed a full frontal at­tack was her best op­tion. She did not re­al­ize her back was to the door that Brig­it had so ca­su­al­ly opened.

As the wom­an charged, Brig­it low­ered her um­brel­la and wait­ed. The look of sur­prise on the Chu­pacabra wom­an’s face ful­ly ex­plained the un­ex­pect­ed force of Brig­it’s front kick to her ab­domen. The force of the kick pro­pelled the wom­an through the air and through the door. Still main­tain­ing her calm, Brig­it stepped for­ward and swung the door shut be­fore re­turn­ing her at­ten­tion to Sea­mus.

The sight she found, how­ev­er, made her cringe. Sea­mus was beat­en bad­ly. He had man­aged to pass three of the gang mem­bers through their doors; but two re­mained un­scathed. From where Brig­it stood, they ap­peared to be the fiercest of the bunch and they were go­ing to town on Sea­mus with the in­ten­tion to kill. While she was aware that they could do no such thing, she could see that Sea­mus was los­ing the bat­tle. He had been suf­fi­cient­ly mauled by the group to be re­duced to a hud­dle of swing­ing yet tar­get-​less fists. His she­laigh­ley had been lost some­where dur­ing the fight.

She had stayed out of the fight too long and now Sea­mus was hurt be­cause of it. She had the brief thought that there was go­ing to be hell to pay for her de­ci­sion to let Sea­mus prove him­self wrong. Their doors were opened. Brig­it not­ed how in­tent they were on Sea­mus and saw the op­por­tu­ni­ty she need­ed to end the as­sign­ment once and for all. This had gone on long enough.

Qui­et­ly, she ap­proached the near­est gang mem­ber. For all their curs­ing and yelling, he didn’t hear her ap­proach. Swift­ly, she flipped her um­brel­la and hooked the crook of the han­dle about his throat. She on­ly had a sec­ond to reg­is­ter the look of sur­prise on his face as she hurled him through the open door to her right.

As she slammed the door, she felt the force of the blow against her jaw. The re­main­ing gang mem­ber had tossed Sea­mus aside and was now fo­cus­ing his wrath on her. Brig­it shook off the blow and locked eyes with the re­main­ing soul as he took an­oth­er swing at her. Like the fe­male Chu­pacabra, his eyes be­trayed his thoughts of at­tack. Her mind re­mained fo­cused on read­ing his thoughts as the sounds of Sea­mus’ moan­ing reached her ears.

“Do you know what I’m goin’ to do to you, bitch?”

The voice that snarled at her was as close to a de­mon’s as Brig­it could imag­ine. The re­main­ing gang mem­ber had stopped swing­ing at her and they now cir­cled each oth­er like hun­gry dogs. Brig­it kept her eyes locked on him, aware that he could spring at any mo­ment. She doubt­ed that she would be so lucky with him as she was with the Chu­pacabra wom­an.

“What are you wait­ing for?” Brig­it asked calm­ly.

The lack of fear in her voice seemed to en­rage him. With a deaf­en­ing roar, he charged at her just as Sea­mus spoke her name. As it reg­is­tered in her mind that Sea­mus was call­ing for her, she was caught off guard and felt her­self in the death grip of the gang mem­ber. The air was be­ing squeezed out of her as he lift­ed her off her feet and crushed her against his chest. A fire of ma­ni­acal de­light danced in his eyes as Brig­it strug­gled against him.

“I’m gonna have some fun with you in a few min­utes,” he snarled.

His breath was hot against her face as she let her­self go limp against him. He gave her a good shake as he be­gan to curse at her. When her thoughts had fi­nal­ly stilled, Brig­it lift­ed her head back and looked him in the eye again. The ma­ni­acal light was still danc­ing there. Tilt­ing her head a lit­tle fur­ther back, Brig­it smiled briefly be­fore snap­ping it for­ward with as much force as she could man­age. There was no sound as their heads col­lid­ed, but the sur­prise of it was enough to cause the Chu­pacabra to drop her and stag­ger back a few steps. Brig­it land­ed eas­ily on her feet, her mind fo­cused, her body re­laxed but ready for the next as­sault.

En­raged even fur­ther, he charged her. Aware that the door to his fate was open be­hind her, Brig­it had on­ly to step aside as he rushed by. His roar turned to screams as he fell in­to the dark abyss that led to his fi­nal judg­ment. Quick­ly, Brig­it closed the door be­hind him.

“Brig­it,”

It was a painful moan that brought Brig­it back to her sens­es. She went to Sea­mus and knelt on the ground be­side him, quick­ly tak­ing in the ex­tent of the dam­age in­flict­ed. The gash­es in his coat and shirt re­vealed the open wounds in­flict­ed by their ad­ver­saries. She knew there would be no blood, but, she al­so knew the sick­ness as­so­ci­at­ed with the in­juries would quick­ly set in.

“I’m here, Sea­mus,” she as­sured him qui­et­ly. “Don’t move yet. Just catch your breath,” she in­struct­ed.

“I have some­thing to tell you,” he mur­mured la­bo­ri­ous­ly.

Brig­it let her eyes roam down his tor­so and saw a long gash be­tween two ribs. They had opened his side all the way to his lung. Small bub­bles of black goo were try­ing to pool in the opened space; but they ap­peared to clot as soon as they reached the air. Brig­it frowned at the sight. They were spir­its now. There should be no liq­uid in­volved any­more.

“Not now, Sea­mus,” she said soft­ly. “I have to fig­ure out how to get you out of here,” she ex­plained as she looked around for any­thing to bind his wound with. The Chu­pacabra gang had been de­stroyed long be­fore their file had been lo­cat­ed. Any­thing of use­ful­ness dur­ing their mor­tal ex­is­tence was now long erod­ed to dust and blown away.

“No, I think you need to know,” Sea­mus pressed, grasp­ing her by the arm. His fin­gers were like claws through the sleeve of her coat. Brig­it glanced down at him. His eyes were be­gin­ning to roll back in­to their sock­ets.

“What do I need to know?”

“I’m go­ing to kill you for this,” he vowed be­fore pass­ing out.

Brig­it stared hard at him for a sec­ond, con­tem­plat­ing the idea of just leav­ing him there. She shook her­self free of his grasp and clenched her jaw in ir­ri­ta­tion. John would have her head if she aban­doned Sea­mus in the ware­house. Sure­ly there was some rule about leav­ing a fall­en Reaper be­hind. Or did that on­ly ap­ply to fall­en sol­diers?

There would be too many ques­tions and not enough good an­swers to jus­ti­fy aban­don­ing her fel­low Reaper – no mat­ter how an­noy­ing he may be. In the end, Brig­it mused as she stared at the un­con­scious Irish­man, it was his own fault for be­ing so ar­ro­gant. She had mere­ly want­ed to see him fail, if she were to be hon­est about it. Now, as a re­sult of both their ac­tions, she faced a new dilem­ma.

Frus­trat­ed with the con­se­quences she could fore­see over all that she had done and all that she could do, Brig­it stood and walked to the near­est door to fig­ure it all out. As she looked over her shoul­der at the un­con­scious Irish­man, she knew she had to take the less­er of the two evils.

With that in mind, she re­turned to his side and grabbed him by the arm. He was dead weight. Yet, if Sea­mus Flan­nery was go­ing to kill her as he had promised be­fore pass­ing out, then, he de­served to be dragged all the way home.

Reapers, Inc. - Brig­it's Cross