CHAPTER TWENTY

BLOOD BATH

“Deputy Justin, report in immediately. Over.” Sheriff Landis said into the microphone. “Damnit, boy, status? Report status. Over.”Then he released the switch on the microphone and looked over at Highway Patrol Officer Dan Marshack. “There's definitely something wrong. That deputy might not be the brightest crayon in the pack, but I've never known him to ignore a request for a call back.”

“All it could mean is that he's too busy to do so.” Marshack suggested.

“You don't know this deputy like I do. If things came even close to getting out of hand that boy would be on the horn calling for backup. No, there's something wrong.”Landis said as he turned back to the dispatch radio and switched on the microphone. “Deputy Cort, this is Sheriff Landis come in. Over.”

“Cort here, Sheriff. Over.” came the reply.

“Cort, I need you to meet me in front of the Army/Navy Store as soon as possible. I believe we have a deputy in trouble. Over.”

“Deputy Justin? Over.”

“Correct.” Landis said. “I've called him repeatedly and he hasn't replied. Over.”

“Understood.” Cort said. “What about my present posting? Over.”

“Leave it to one of the highway patrol officers. Tell him to coordinate with Officer Marshack here at the sheriff's office until you get back. Over.”

“Understood, Sheriff. I'm on my way. Over.”

“Good, I'll meet you there. Over and out.” Then the sheriff switched off the microphone and slowly slipped past the remains of Deputy Campbell. “Oh, and while I'm gone, Marshack, would you please do something about this.” he said, indicating the corpse sitting in the chair.

“I'll have the coroner from Essex make a trip over here as soon as he's free.” Marshack promised.

“Good, it just makes it difficult to use the radio this way.”

“Also, sir, I sorry to question you on this, but don't you think Deputy Cort could handle this situation on his own?” Marshack asked.

“That may be the way you handle things in your office. Here in this office I consider my deputies like family and when one of them is in a bind I deal with it personally.”

“Suit yourself, Sheriff.” Marshack said, as Landis headed out the front entrance.

“Given the increased activity around here, I would suggest we stick to the alleyways and head out of town.” Lewis said, as they headed down Main Street toward the next alley, which was on the other side of the coffee shop. “Then we can pay our young documentarians a little surprise.”

They were just passing the coffee shop when there was a loud bang on the window. Then the door to the coffee shop opened and six children of various ages followed by several adults came stumbling out. The children surrounded Phil and started jumping up and down and shouting, “Jason...Jason...Jason...!”

Then some of the adults started shooting pictures of him. Another sloppy looking, balding, fat guy in a red polo shirt was standing back from the crowd shooting him with a video camera.

Then he heard one of the adults say, “God, what a jip. What do these hicks think, that some dork in a hockey mask could actually be scary.”

Oh, so I'm not scary enough? Phil thought, enraged. Well, let me remedy that.

With that Phil lifted his machete and swung it in a wide arc, cutting off the heads of five of the people in the crowd in the process. Suddenly, the shouts of the children turned to screams as the peoples' heads fell from their bodies and their blood sprayed the crowd around them.

Then the kids started to scatter. One little girl had been holding her parents hands when Phil decapitated them. She began to scream hysterically as her parents bodies, their hands locked on hers, began to fall over, taking her with them.

While this was happening, Phil was busy hacking his way through the crowd. Arms, legs, and half bodies fell in his wake.

A biker toting a tire iron charged Phil and hit him in the back with it. Phil turned, grabbing him by his leather jacket and threw him through the window of Smokey's Pub across the street.

Other people tried to jump him as well, but they were either cut down by Phil's machete or knocked into the crowd as Phil back handed them.

Bring on the blood bath. Phil thought, as the crowd continued to assault him.

Sheriff Landis stumbled back from the entrance to the Army/Navy Store. Though he heaved painfully, he had nothing in his stomach to throw up.

“There's another body in there. It's Will Peters.” Cort said, as he came out of the store. “You want me to call in for support?”

“What you think.” Landis said, looking up at Cort from his bent over position. “We got ourselves another first rate psycho running around town butchering people. Get Marshack on the horn and have him call in the state police.”

At that moment they heard screaming and saw people running down the street toward them.

Pulling himself together, Landis straightened up. Something was happening and he had no time to be weak.

Looking around he saw the excitement was coming from a large crowd of people about two blocks down Main Street, near the coffee shop.

Then he caught sight of a woman, splattered in blood, running toward him screaming. He managed to grab the woman as she passed him. The hysterical woman started struggling, but the sheriff held tight. “Hold on!” he said. “Calm down. You're safe!”

This seemed to get through to her. She stopped screaming and struggling. But then the tears started.

“What happened to you?” Landis asked. “You need to tell me what happened.”

“It was Jason!” The woman said to him hysterically. “We thought he was just a guy in a costume, but it was him. He started killing everyone in sight!” Then she caught sight of the blood splattered on her hands This started her screaming again. She pulled free of him and took off down the street again.

“Cort, head back to the patrol cars and get on the horn with Marshack. Then get the rifles, we might need them.”

“And what'll you be doing, Sheriff?” Cort said, looking at the crowd that was gathered down the street from them.

“I'm going to be doing what I'm paid to do, keep the peace.” Then Landis put his hand on the butt of his gun and started jogging toward the chaos of people before him.

A wide gap had formed between Phil and the crowd surrounding him. In this gap were piles of body parts and dead, dying, and horribly injured people. The air was filled with the sound of the crowd yelling as well as the screams and groans of the injured and dying.

Given the distance, most of the crowd had resorted to throwing cans, bottles, and other assorted garbage. While other, more cocky, members of the crowd actually charged Phil. These fools were either immediately cut down by Phil's machete or thrown into the crowd.

So it was for a foolish biker, which Phil figured was the buddy of the one he thrown through the window of Smokey's Pub. This biker charged Phil and clobbered him in the hockey mask with his fist, which was wrapped in a chain. Phil grabbed the guy by his chain covered hand and crushed it. Then, while the guy was screaming in agony, he rammed his machete into his gut. Then he lifted the impaled biker on the machete with both hands and flung him into the crowd in front of him. The affect was like a bowling ball hitting pins. The body hit the crowd and sent them crashing into each other.

Phil had long since figured out that he'd made a mistake in starting the situation. He honestly thought once the crowd had seen him chop those people's heads off they'd have taken off running, but he could never have imagined that this crowd of tourists and town folk would actually turn on him.

“We've got to get you out of here.” said Lewis, who was standing a few feet away, his image fluctuating as garbage flew through it.

And can we state the obvious. Phil thought. Before all this happened he been heading for the alley next to the coffee shop, but the crowd had successfully blocked him off from his escape.

And, now he was feeling something he thought he'd never feel again, fear. The constant assault was taking it's toll on him. He could feel his strength starting to wane. He knew that if he didn't find a way out of this situation soon the crowd might actually overcome him.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. What now? He thought. He turned and saw that another fool from the crowd had come up behind him, but this one he knew very well. It was the bartender from Smokey's Pub, Shane “Little Shane” Wilco Jr. This whisker faced, heavy built, guy, in a gray flannel shirt, with greased back black hair, was hefting the pub's hand carved club, nicknamed “The Corrector.”

The Corrector usually hung over the bar at Smokey's and was only brought down when a situation got out of hand and needed 'correcting.' Phil guessed that his throwing the biker through Smokey's window had spurred Little Shane's actions. Well, to Phil, even in his fatigued state, The Corrector was nothing more than a minor annoyance.

“Come on, Bitch!” Little Shane shouted at him as he swung the cub back, ready to take another swing at Phil.

But this time when Little Shane swung Phil was ready for him. He caught the end of the cub with his hand and snapped the end off of it. Then, before the surprised bartender could react, Phil rammed the end of the cub into his chest.

“Oh fuck!” Little Shane exclaimed, before he started coughing up blood. Then he fell to his knees and Phil took off his head with the machete.

That was when he heard the gun shot.

It was obvious that it got the crowd's attention as well, because they stopped pelting him with garbage and fell silent. The only sound left was the chorus of the injured.

Phil looked around and saw Sheriff Landis and Deputy Cort standing in front of the crowd in front of him, each holding a rifle. “Ok, boy, I suggest you put that meat chopper down and put your hands behind your head.” Landis said, cocking his rifle. “This will be your only warning.”

Phil was amused by the sheriff's bravado. Even after seeing all the carnage he done, the sheriff actually thought he was a match for him with his little pop gun.

“Don't even think about it.” Lewis warned him. “Let's just try to make it out of here.”

But Phil had other ideas. He'd show the sheriff who had the power around here.

Taking his machete in both hands. He charged the sheriff.

“No!” Lewis screamed at him.

There was a loud report as the sheriff's rifle went off. The shot hit him in the gut, the impact knocking him off his feet and sending him falling backwards on his back.

The pain was excruciating. He felt like the bullet ripped up his insides. He touched the open hole and felt the thick warm blood flowing from it. He lifted his hand and was surprised to see his blood was black.

“Get up you fool.” Lewis said glaring down at him. “I warned you. I told you this could happen, but you didn't listen. If it wasn't the fact that I need you to get my life back I'd leave you to the sheriff and the crowd. Now, do what I said and get up or I'll give you pain that'll make what you're feeling now feel pleasant.”

Phil knew this wasn't an idle threat. He knew Lewis could put him through an unbearable agony without even having to try. So, groaning in pain he slowly pulled himself up.

“What the hell!” he heard the sheriff exclaim. He also heard intakes of breath from the crowd around him.

He managed to get to his feet, though his legs felt a bit rubbery. He saw the sheriff was reloading his rifle. He also saw that Deputy Cort had his rifle trained on him, just waiting for him to make a move or for the sheriff to give him the word.

“Don't be a fool.” Landis said. “Drop the knife and we'll get you some medical help.”

“What are you waiting for?” Lewis said. “ Drop the machete and make a run for the crowd. The sheriff wouldn't dare try to shoot you if there was the danger of hitting the crowd..

But Phil had other ideas. He dropped the machete, but as he did this he grabbed the bowie knife from his belt, fell to his right, and threw the knife.

He heard another loud report as Cort fired. The shot blew a chunk out of his shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground. He landed in a pile of body parts that had been behind him.

He heard two more shots. One hit one of the half bodies sitting next to him, blowing the corpse's head off. The other shot must've went wide, because he heard a scream from the crowd and the sound of a body falling.

Stumbling to his feet, and trying to ignore the pain, he charged the crowd. Then using every bit of strength in his weakened body had in reserve he plowed his way through the crowd and stumbled into the safety of the alleyway.

“What the hell was that, Cort?” Landis said, looking over at his deputy Then he gasped in surprised. “Oh my god!”

Cort turned to him with a surprised look on his face. Then he looked down at the bowie knife, which was half imbedded in his sternum. Cort fell to his knees. Bloody drool dribbled from his lips as he looked up at Landis with pleading eyes. Then he fell backwards onto the blood splattered street.

Landis dropped down to his knees beside Cort. “You hold on, son, I'll get some help.”

Cort tried to say something, but he started to cough up blood.

Landis grabbed the walkie talkie from his belt. “Landis to base....Landis to base...Marshack get on the horn, this is an emergency. We got lots of casualties and an officer down...Over.”

After a few moments there was a reply. “Marshack here. Did you say officer down? Over.”

Affirmative. Get on the horn and get some emergency crews here pronto. We're just a short distance from the coffee shop on Main Street, right across from Smokey's Pub. You got that? Over.”

“I'm on it. Over and out.” Marshack said.

Landis looked down at Cort. He really doubted he would last long enough for the emergency crew to arrive, but he had to try. He owed Cort that much.

Landis readed down and grabbed Cort's hand. “Now, you hold on, Cort. I want you to be around so I can tell you how I hunted that bastard down and caught him for you. I want you to see him get what's coming to him.

Cort squeezed Landis' hand tightly. But then his grip abruptly loosened, and Landis saw the light go out of Cort's eyes.

Landis' eyes moistened and he shook his head. “Oh, god, son.”

Then after a few moments of fighting himself he regained his composure. He knew he had no time to mourn Cort right now. He had a killer to catch. “I promise you, Cort, I'll catch that bastard and I'll make sure he pays.”

But for now all he could do is sit and wait for the emergency crews to arrive. He'd do what he could to help the injured, which wasn't much at all. But then, after he had work to do. The first thing he would need is some answers, and he knew right where to find them.

RETURN