Banished To Earth Book Two (4)

Chapter Three

 

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     That same morning, Silhouette watched Stayner slash his way through mountainous swells as if they were smoke. Eventually, he shrank from sight. Hatred swelled her bosom, even more than the unpleasant smell of low tide stung her nose.

 

   The mid-morning sun shone down on her like a spotlight. A bead of sweat rolled down her left cheek. She shrugged off the excessive heat as though it was a loose shawl. 

 

    She’d never be uncomfortable again, not on the outside anyway.

 

     The surf hissed like a snake, then growled like a lion. Was it singing her a warning song? More likely, her innate Hunter awareness was reminding her of her duty and the ever-present dangers of this ‘New Earth’.

 

   Pry’s soft, sweet face flashed in her mind. “No.” She muttered under her breath.

 

“I need something to kill.” She said, swinging around in the loose sand, as if fending off an attack.

 

   A muffled rattle bent her lips into a grin. Something was obliging her. An image of a small child huddled behind the pile of wreckage that was once her home came into painfully sharp focus before her mind's eyes. She listened for a whimper. She heard a long sliding shoo sound, instead. 

 

   Crouching, she lightly stepped across the sand toward a crumpled pile of splintered wood, vinyl siding and furniture piled fifty feet off toward her right. It sat atop a small dune, a pitiful snapshot of last night’s carnage.  

 

 Eyelids clenched. She stopped. The pile shifted ever so slightly. Something was there.

 

   An easterly breeze teased at her long black hair but could not lift her damp sand-encrusted mane. It did, however, send her scent deep inside the nostrils of her unseen visitor.

 

  ‘…crap…’ she thought, knowing it had just exposed her.

 

    No sneak attack but….

 

   The pile exploded, raining shattered timbers, toys, dishes, furniture and baby pictures down on her. A hailstorm of family history turned into deadly projectiles.

 

   Ducking and flinging herself forward in the same fluid, perfectly timed, motion, she neatly

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dodged the first attack. Another quickly followed.

 

    Fangs the length of pitchfork tines swiped a half inch from her back, as she tucked and rolled away from its’ massive car-sized head. Dull green scales, razor-edged and thick as thumbs, shingled its head and forty-foot-long upper body, making a frontal head-on attack futile.  

 

   Enraged, it slithered high above her head, challenging the clouds. Its’ venom sacks were tight with poison. Their blood-red surfaces bulged beneath a long, purple, forked tongue. A cavernous mouth gagged open so wide one could almost drive a car through it.  

 

    Leather wings suddenly fluttered out on either side of its’ head. Although big enough to lift a large aircraft, they looked more suited to a pterodactyl than any airplane.

 

  “What the…” She exclaimed when they flapped down, blew sand into her face and pushed the giant nightmare of a snake high above her head. Not waiting to see it shrink into a dot against the blue, she raced down the beach, eyeing a pier in the distance. Sprinting at superhuman speed, she slid beneath it in seconds.

 

   “Nosedive,” She sputtered sand from her mouth along with the words. Darting straight up she twisted and bit into the pier's creosote-treated timbers with fingers now more akin to metal grappling hooks than flesh and bone.

  

   A massive grey shadow exploded on the sand ten feet from the pier. The entire pier shook and screamed when the alien monstrosity rammed it.

 

   Planks screeched and splintered as the beast tore and lashed at the old, weathered structure with its’ fangs and bullwhip body.

 

    Knowing her makeshift fort would soon be toothpicks, she dropped to the ground and portal shifted to the top of a nearby dune.

 

  The thought of simply shifting herself to safety never entered her mind. Pry’s face was there. Besides, this was fun.

 

    Robbed of its meal, the beast swooped up and lashed the creaking platform with the full length of its serpentine body and sent its splintered remains flying into the sea.

 

    An oily eye rolled in its scale-encrusted socket and rested for one moment on her slender black form. Enraged, it lunged through the air, mouth agape, venom spraying, fangs glistening in the sunlight.

 

    Silhouette hunched, drew her blade and somersaulted at its tender underside. The blades’ silver edge bit deep and ran far, ploughing through its exposed flesh until it had completely disemboweled the beast.   

   

     Monster and Hunter slammed into the sand at the same time. Completely drenched in a protective coat of blood, Silhouette had a mere millisecond to roll out of its way.

 

    Lifeless as it was, its flesh still flexed and contracted, expelling intestines, organs and all its

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slimy stomach contents onto the unsuspecting sand.

 

   She almost felt sorry for it, the sand that is. It was not only disgusting but rank to the extreme. Eager to escape the eye-watering stench, she almost missed something as she started to turn away to bathe herself in the ocean.

 

    There, sprawled lifeless as the snake, lay a Hunter. At first, she thought it might be Chase, which sparked a pang of hurt and pity. Pry’s face flashed again.  

 

     Without thinking, she scoured the area until she found a heavy metal curtain rod in one of the abandoned beach houses. She used it to push away the filth and scrape away the bile and half-digested flesh clinging to the short-lived superhuman. Male, but too tall, he wasn’t Chase. But he was a somber and much-needed reminder she was not indestructible, much less immortal.

 

    White bone peeked out amidst the mess of putrid, skinless flesh. His gear was undamaged by the snake’s stomach acids; however, it was unable to shield his body from the serpents’ corrosive digestive juices.

 

     It took quite a bit of careful maneuvering and fancy stick work, but she finally managed to free the corpse of its hooded cloak. Using the metal rod to keep her hands away from the beasts’ highly corrosive stomach acid, she hoisted the cloak up and carried it to the sea. Not returning until it was completely free of acid. Fortunately for her this poor Hunter's sidearm was attached to the inside of his cloak. It was soon perfectly clean and safe to touch.  

 

    Annoying relief stung her heart. ‘…so, what, that it’s not Chase…why should I care…’ she thought. Again, Pry’s sweet, caring eyes haunted her. A smile crept across her face. She was happy for her, just not ready to admit it.

 

  “This is just not right.” She yelled at the dead snake. She took its silence as tacit agreement. “Thank you. Still no sense letting good stuff go to waste.” She said, determined to retain her cold mercenary attitude.  

 

     ‘…I know someone who could put this to good use…” The words crept into her mind. She immediately dismissed them, even as she carefully bundled her newfound treasure.

 

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     As invigorating and cleansing as the ocean was, she found herself longing for a hot, soapy shower. And her hair was a knotted, stringy mess. She’d spend the morning exploring the area.

 

   Surely there was at least one intact house with a generator and maybe even a freshwater tank. This was prime hurricane territory after all.

 

     Chase’s house was supposed to be near here. Invading his home, using his stuff might be kinda fun. And she might, by sheer accident, stumble across some clue, an old picture or something that might point her in his direction.

 

  Stayner said something about a big white house, an old friend. He said something else, too.

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    He was going to make Chase’s body his meat puppet and use his wife like a toy.

 

   The word burned in her heart. A toy, helpless in the hands of a human monster, not a child, but a man. No excuse. What kind of man does that, even wants to do that? Worse question. What kind of father does that to his own little girl?

 

    She knew all too well. Another thought exploded in her mind like an Atom bomb. What kind of woman would stand by and let a man do that to another woman? The answer inflamed her heart. What kind of mother?

 

    She also knew this. All too well…Her Mother…

 

  Two days ago, she went back home. The little red brick house that looked so nice from the outside. It still stood, unpunished. But of course, it was only half occupied. Her mother was already dead. She read her obituary a year earlier. Didn’t shed a tear.

 

     Lansing Marsh didn’t even know who she was when she tapped lightly on his flimsy aluminum screen door. But then she was no longer Sylvia Marsh. She was Hunter. She was Silhouette.

 

     Sprawled out in his recliner, dressed in nothing but boxers and a dingy white tank top, a perfectly disgusting picture from her past, still sucking air.

 

   At first, he didn’t hear her. She knocked harder this time. The door rattled loudly beneath her knuckles. He jerked from his nap. A nasty smile curled at the sight of a sleek, curvaceous young woman standing at his door. He rolled himself up and waddled to her as quickly as his stubby little legs could carry him.  

 

    “Can I help you?” His words were polite, his eyes were not.

 

   “You sure can. You have something I really want.”

 

   “Oh, really.” She could feel his eyes slithering over her body. Slugs that left a slimy trail of filth everywhere they crawled.  “Aren’t you hot in that get-up? The sun and all.”

 

   “You’re not going to invite me in? It looks so cool inside.”

 

   “Air conditioner busted, but I got plenty of cold beer. Please, come on in.”

 

    She smiled sweetly, sneering when he turned away. She stepped inside. The place hadn’t changed much. Same stained sun-bleached carpet, outdated furniture. A trash can overflowing with empty beer cans still squatted beside his old, butt-worn, taped-patched recliner. The threadbare couch was blanketed with old newspapers and Playboy magazines.  Nothing had changed since she was six years old.

 

  “Take a seat, take a seat.” He chuckled, leering at her the entire time. “What in the world could a sweet young thing like you want from an old guy like me? ‘Course I still got a few beans in my can?” He winked.

 

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   She brushed the dirty magazines and newspapers off the couch, letting them fall to the floor.

He didn’t notice, didn’t care.

 

   “Oh, I was goin’ to get you a beer. Pardon my bad manners.”

 

    Faking a pleasant smile, she thought ‘…you just answered the door in your underwear…manners…give me a break…’. She smiled sweetly and eased down on the couch.

 

  “You know. I’m not really thirsty. And I didn’t come here to drink.” Her smile, suddenly thin and brittle. “Forget about the beer.” Her tone was commanding.

 

    “Well, if you don’t want a beer, then what brings you to my door?” The slight tremor in his voice pleased her. “I don’t think I know you, so what’s your business?” His leering eyes darted up to her face, abandoning her breasts, for a moment.

 

      She stood up. He stepped back. “You don’t know me.” Her voice rose. “So, there’s nothing about me that rings a bell.” Her features knotted. “Well, how about this, No Daddy no. It hurts it hurts. Know me now?”

 

    His mouth sagged open, slobber rolled down his lower lip and painted his quivering chin.

 

 Then how about this, the first time is the worst time! Do you know me now?” She screamed at him so loudly that it actually shattered the windows.

 

      Sweat rolled down his face. His eyes bulged so large that they appeared ready to pop right out of his head. Her eyes were clenched with rage. He stumbled back, “Sylvie, now Daddy, well, I …you know Sylvie, I really didn’t…mean…”

 

    Her hand struck like a snake. Her fingers dug deep into his fat neck. Flabby skin squeezed over her fingers as they tightened around his windpipe.

 

     An effortless flex of muscles would pinch his head off the way a baker pinches off pieces of dough. It would be so easy, even a fantasy come true.

 

     She lifted the sack of scum straight up, delighted in the helplessness and terror exuding from his trembling body. Looked deep into his eyes and saw something she could not bear to look at. Herself! The way she must have looked so many years ago. A mere whim away from decapitating him with the slightest clench, she flicked him against the wall, turned and stormed out of the house…

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   Shaking the relatively clean duster and pistol dry, she bundled them away and rose from the shifting knee-deep surf, scanning the sparkling blue water for any sign of Stayner. Satisfied, he was still out there, terrorizing dolphins and trying to worm his way into Chase's head. No, not just his head, his body. Insane, but maybe not.

 

    The world had lost its’ mind, not just its grip on reality. Every nightmare was just another door waiting to be opened. At least she wasn’t a helpless little girl anymore. And apparently not an avenging angel either…

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    Neatly stowed away inside the duster, the pistol was intact and fully functional. Her makeshift backpack hung low over her butt, not her stomach. She had tied the duster sleeves around her waist like a belt, being careful not to cover her own gun, which was secured to the small of her back by an ingenious patch of adhesive embedded into her suit. It locked it in place until