Hunter's Legacy

“I wouldn’t even ask.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’ll say no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, and that’s how I know that she’ll say no.”

“What are we talking about?” I asked, dropping my duffel bag down by the front door

“The fact that Alexander, here, wants to drive your car,” Natasha answered, quickly.

“Absolutely not,” I said, simply.

“Why?” Alexander whined, sounding like a toddler who was on the verge of an epic meltdown; I almost expected him to stomp his foot.

“Because it’s my car,” I said, easily.

“But you let Natasha drive it,” he nearly wailed.

“That was one time, and that was because I got shot in the leg,” I said, my tone letting him know that he should’ve remembered that, “I couldn’t move, so someone had to drive. Dumbass.”

“I told you,” Natasha gloated.

“But what if we have to stop?” Alexander asked, a hopeful note in his voice.

“We won’t,” I said, and I looked around the floor, by his feet. There were no duffel bags or any sort of luggage, “Did you even pack?”

“Not yet,” Alexander said, his face tinting red from obvious embarrassment. I pressed the tips of my thumb and forefinger to my eyes; Alexander was going to be the death of me--which would be the death of him, as well.

“Why not?” I asked the dreaded question. I didn’t want to hear bullshit excuses, I just wanted to know the answer to my question.

“I didn’t want to hold you guys back?” Alexander said his statement sounded more like a question than a statement.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “You are my responsibility, and we need to stay together, unfortunately.”

“Won’t I be safe here?” Alexander asked, gesturing around the bunker.

I sighed, exasperatedly; first he was whining about not getting to drive my car, and now he wanted to be left behind. Was I dealing with an emotional teenager or an adult?

“You will be safe here, but did you not hear me when I said that you are my responsibility?” I nearly growled.

“I’m not a baby,” he pouted, pushing out his lower lip, and crossing his arms over his chest, quite petulantly.

“Really? Because you’re acting like one, right now,” I said, in a voice so low that it could almost be mistaken as a whisper, “Go get your stuff so we can get going, before I go and pack it for you.” I almost expected him to keep up with the childish attitude, but he walked back in the direction of the rooms.

“Nice one, mom,” Natasha chuckled and I turned my narrowed eyed gaze to her.

“Don’t even start with me,” I warned.

“Alright, alright,” she replied, putting her hands up in surrender. It was silent for a few minutes, until the sound of footsteps reached us; we looked up in time to see Alexander trudging back to us, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Can we go now? Or are you going to throw another bitch fit?” I said, sarcastically. I knew I was baiting him, taunting him, but I really didn’t care at the moment. Natasha and I could’ve been on the road a long time ago, if we didn’t have to drag Alexander’s sorry ass behind us.

“Let’s just go. It’s already eleven, we’ve wasted enough time,” Natasha intervened, before Alexander could even think of opening up his mouth. Alexander grumbled all the way to the car, and, when we got in, I started the engine and cranked up the rock and roll radio station, until I was positive that I tuned him out.

A couple of hours later, we were passing the border into Kansas, when I turned the music down.

“Are we going to stop and eat?” Alexander asked, from the back seat. Turning the music down had been a mistake, and I glared at his form in the rearview mirror.

“We probably should stop soon, Camille,” Natasha said. I knew she was right, I didn’t want to admit it, but I did know it. I hadn’t eaten that morning; I had woken up with a thunder cloud above my head, and it’s been following me all day. Unfortunately, my stomach tended to agree, and voiced it’s opinion, by letting out a near-deafening growl.

“Fine, fine,” I conceded.

“There’s a diner up ahead,” Natasha told me, as she looked at the map. I started to slow down as we reached town. The paint on the sign seemed old and the name of the town was covered by the hanging branches of an overgrown tree. I slowed to a crawl at the blinking yellow stop light of a deserted four-way intersection; I kept the slow speed as Natasha pointed out the windshield, at the small diner.

I pulled into the parking lot, which only had a few cars in it; I looked at the digital clock on my phone. Five-forty-five. Either this town was full of work-a-holics, or they had no idea when the work day ended.

Making sure that I had my knife in my boot and my gun in my belt, I got out of the car, with Alexander and Natasha following me.

The bell on the door signaled our arrival and the smell of fried food floated out to me. The place was small with peeling yellow paint on the walls and scuffed red-checkered linoleum that was laid on the floor.

I followed my two companions to a table, where they both sat on one side and I sat on the opposite side. The waitress, who was dressed in a bright yellow dress with a white apron tied around her waist, with her gray-streaked brown hair styled in a bee-hive hair do, brought us some three-page laminated menus.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked, her pen and pad of paper poised and at the ready.

“Coffee,” I answered, in a monotone.

“Tea,” Natasha replied.

“Just water for me, thanks,” Alexander said, quietly. The waitress nodded, and mumbled something about coming back with our drinks in just a minute.

“So, what are we having?” Natasha asked, opening her menu and scanning it.

“How are we paying for this?” Alexander whispered.

“Check your wallet,” I said, nodding at him. Watching me with a questioning look he slid his wallet out of his pocket and opened it. A look of confusion overtook his features, as he slid three plastic cards out of the slot in his wallet and he read the names on them, before looking up at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Alexander Scott, Alexander Collen, Alexander Frehley...who are these people?” he whispered, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Bite your tongue,” I said, snatching the cards from his hands and taking a look at them, myself.

“They are members of eighties rock bands,” Natasha whispered.

“So, these are fake?” Alexander asked, his voice raising an octave.

“Shh!” I gave him a warning look and took a quick look around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping.

“That’s illegal! We could get in big trouble for this!” Alexander hisses.

“Not if they don’t find out,” Natasha said, easily, giving Alexander a pointed look.

“Do you think being a Hunter is a paid job?” I asked, with a raised eyebrow, “‘Hey man, I took care of that vampire nest for you, that’ll be twenty-nine-ninety-five’.” I shake my head, as the waitress returns with a tray of drinks balanced on her palm.

“Tea,” she said, setting down a cup in front of Natasha. Natasha nodded in thanks and started dunking the teabag by its string.

“Coffee,” she said, putting a cup, identical to the one that she set in front of Natasha. nodded my own thanks and took a sip; the hot and bitter liquid crawled down my throat, and settled in my stomach.

“Water,” she poured more water over the residual ice in Alexander’s glass, “Do you know what you would like to eat?”

“I’ll have a steak, rare.” Natasha said, smirking slightly. The waitress scribbled in her notepad, clearly distracted, and then moved her eyes to Alexander.

“I’ll have a Smart Heart salad,” he said, and I raised my eyebrows.

“Great choice,” the waitress said, the boredom evident in her tone, as her eyes never left her pad. She turned to me, “And for you?”

“A bacon cheese burger, and some chili fries,” I said, handing the menu up to her. She nodded while she scribbled it down and then muttered something about being back soon.

As Alexander and Natasha fell into an uninteresting conversation, I turned and looked over the counter; there was a clock resting above the cook’s window that was shaped like a chicken. The time was only six-fifteen in the evening, but it felt a lot later than that. I turned the opposite way and looked out the window, noticing that the sky had darkened so much, it resembled night.

The crashing thunder seemed to shake the small diner, and rain pelted the windows.

“It’s really coming down, out there,” the waitress said. I turned my head back, just in time, as she set down my food in front of me; the combined aroma of the cooked bacon and hamburger meat tantalize my senses. The spiced smell of chili mingled in with it, and I found myself nearly salivating at the thought of eating.

“Yeah, it is,” I answered, feeling slightly distracted, “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Enjoy your meal,” the waitress said, walking away.

“Are you going to eat all that?” Alexander asked, looking at my plate, with wide eyes.

“Why not?” I shrugged, stabbing at a chilli cheese-covered French fry with my fork, and taking the bite.

“Too much of that could clog your arteries and you could have a heart attack,” Alexander whispered, as though he was speaking some forbidden truth.

“Thanks, After School Special,” I muttered, ignoring the fact that my stomach soured once the little bit of cheese fry hit it, “This is real food where that is..I don’t know what that monstrosity is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being healthy,” he said, adamantly.

“I’m not saying there is,” I said, taking a bite of the burger, “I’m just saying that I’m fine with eating all of this artery-clogging goodness.”

We lapsed into silence, and I was only able to stomach a few more bites of my burger, before I was asking the waitress for a to-go box.

“Are you kids from here? I haven’t seen you around, before,” The waitress commented as she handed me two white styrafoam to-go boxes.

“We’re just passing through,” I replied, scraping the remnants of my food into the boxes before stacking the plates on one another.

“You kids might want to get a room, it looks like it’s going to be one hell of a storm,” she said. She walked away from the table, her ominous remark hanging in the air like a bad omen above us.

“I’ll go pay, so we can get out of here,” Natasha said, standing up and walking over to the corner of the counter, where the cash register sat.

“Is she serious?” Alexander asked, in a worried tone, as he looked back towards the kitchen.

"We do have to pay. We never dine and ditch, it's illegal," I said, and Alexander scowled at me.

"You know what I meant," he said.

“I don’t know, but we’re getting out of here, sooner rather than later,” I responded, picking up the boxes, and starting towards the door. Alexander followed me, pushing the door open, ahead of me and holding it while I ran through the rain, to the car.

The rain came down in sheets, soaking us through, instantly.

My frozen fingers fumbled with the keys as I tried to find the right one to unlock my door. Thunder crashed and lightning crackled as I finally got the door unlocked; I wrenched it open, and hit the ‘unlock’ button for the back door. Alexander dove in the back seat and slammed the door shut, behind him, just as I did. I jammed my finger against the lock button, and let out a breath when I heard the locks click into place.

“What was that about?” Alexander asked.

“I had a funny feeling about the waitress, about the whole place, really,” I admitted. Alexander opened his mouth to say something, but instead his hands flew to cradle his head, he screwed his eyes shut and let out an agonizing groan.

I almost reached back to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but I pulled my arm back when movement caught the corner of my eye. At some point, the lights inside the diner had gone out, and the blinds were closed. The pit of unease in my stomach continued to grow, and I knew something bad had happened; we’d been out there for almost ten minutes, and Natasha had yet to come out. I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and stepped out into the storm.

“Stay here,” I told Alexander, who was curled into the fetal position in my back seat and holding his head. His only response was a low, agonized groan. I hit the lock button, again, before I fully stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind me.

The rain poured down on me, as I unlocked and opened the trunk. After removing the false bottom, I started loading my pockets with weapons; I put a knife in my ankle sheath, put another one in the sheath that encircled my upper thigh. I loaded my Desert Eagle with salt rounds and shoved it in a holster on my left hip. I shoved the remaining bullets in my pocket, before I closed the trunk, and hurried back towards the diner.

The door was locked and my hand slipped along the pull bar as I tried to open it. I ducked down, swiftly, when the blinds parted a fraction and a pair of eyes glanced out; they looked to the left, looked to the right, and then disappeared. I cursed myself for being so careless, and I looked around, hoping to find another way in, but there was no door, not even a carelessly left open window.

Well, shit.

Staying in my crouched position, I did my best to move along the right side of the building without being detected. I slid my feet forward, along the wet concrete; it took me a few minutes, but I made my way around the side, where there was a door that was cracked open. I stood to my full height, and cocked my gun, holding it with my finger alongside the trigger, as I moved forward and used my free hand to open the door a bit wider, before slipping inside.

The floor I stepped onto was the same scuffed checkered linoleum that was out front. I slid my sneakers across the floor, as quietly as I could, holding my gun at a forty-five degree angle, pointed towards the floor.

The smell of rotten eggs and frying grease meld together and invade my nose; I did all I could not to cough or choke on the horrible smell, as it works its way into my senses. It was then that I caught a whiff of a third smell. I moved forward and realized that the smell--odor, really-- was coming from the left.

I turned and walked towards the source of the odor; I stopped short, when I saw the dead body of, whom I presumed to be the fry cook, lying in front of the stove. The putrid and pungent smell that radiated from the body let me know that it’d been lying there for a while. I put my face in the crook of my arm, as I moved away, before my eyes started watering.

I moved over to the swinging doors that led to the dining area and I peered through the porthole-like windows. From my position, I saw that Natasha was tied to a chair, with two burly-built truckers, standing guard. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t moving, I knew for a fact that she could break through the chains that bound her.

They must be silver chains.

Before I could blink, one of the truckers opened the door and grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip, making me drop my gun, and he hauled me out to the dining area, where he threw me to the floor, at the orthopedic-supported feet of the waitress who had taken our orders.

“Well, well, well,” she sneered, putting her fists against her round hips as she peered down at me with a glaring red gaze, “I thought I smelled a Hunter.”

“You can scent me? I would think that you couldn't smell anything above your own rotting egg BO?” I said, sarcastically. That earned me a kick to the backs of my legs, sending me to my knees.

“Enough!” the waitress said, in a sharp voice, holding her hand out in the direction that the kick had come from. She kneeled down, so that she was eye to eye with me, her putrid breath fogging my face, “We just want the boy.”

“How about a tic-tac instead?” I quipped, which earned me another kick, which resulted in me lying fully on the floor. I heard screeching as another chair was dragged across the linoleum floor. I felt myself being picked up and dropped unceremoniously into the chair, and then my arms were yanked behind me, as they were bound.

“Where is he now?” the waitress asked, she was trying to maintain a light and sunny disposition, but I knew that she was losing it because I wasn’t cooperating.

“Not here,” I answered, vaguely. She grit her teeth and slapped my face. My left cheek stung and my eyes began to water.

“Where is he?” she asked again, this time a little louder. I was definitely testing her patience.

“Who’s asking?” I sneered. That comment got me a fist to my right cheek; I spit blood onto the linoleum floor, feeling the tangy metallic taste of it coat my tongue.

“We want him, you have him, dear, what more is there?” her sunny disposition was back, but the way she spit the term of endearment, told me how little patience she has left.

“The fact that he’s a person, not an object,” I tried, but she just cackled.

“Oh, believe me little Hunter girl, he is a source of great power, and we all just want to see him at his full potential,” she said, as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world. She couldn’t be talking about Alexander, about the moaning, groaning kid that was currently in the back seat of my car. I couldn’t see him being an all-powerful being, “So where is he?”

I stayed silent, which made her sigh and click her tongue, shaking her head and circling me, like a pack of vultures circles a carcass. She snapped her fingers and then I feel a force against the chair that I sat in, as it tumbled over to the side, and then the two guys who were supposed to be guarding Natasha crowded around me, punching and kicking me every spot that they could find.

“Had enough, yet?” she asked, tauntingly, when the two big dudes ceased their assault. I groaned and wheezed as the old waitress crouched down by me.

“Go...to hell,” I wheezed, before I coughed up a mouthful of blood. She clicked her tongue again, and the big trucker guy kicked me in the side again. I let out a choked, wheezing, chuckle as I rolled over onto my back.

“Mazereck sends his regards,” the waitress said, ominously, before the boot of the trucker above me came down, I heard a definitive crunch before I was plunged into complete darkness.

Alexander

Alexander Sutton groaned again, as he sat straight up in the back seat of Camille’s classic car. He squinted towards the window, noticing how much darker it was than when he first got into the car. It was later in the night and the lights that were just outside of the diner were on, but the rest of the parking lot was cast in darkness.

The storm was still raging outside, the rain was down on the car’s roof, and the wind howled. It was then that Alexander noted that he was the only one in the car; where were Camille and Natasha? The last thing he remembered was coming out to the car, with Camille, to wait for the other woman to get done paying. That’s when the headache hit. The ringing and buzzing, like static from a TV or a radio. It was wave after wave of buzzing, and blinding pain. Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Alexander gazed out the windshield and, even in the dark, he could see a few vehicles still in the lot; a couple of big rigs and a station wagon. Looking over towards the diner, he noticed that the blinds were closed, but he saw the lights shining behind them. Alexander let out another agonized groan as another wave of pain pressed against the inside of his skull.

Pressing his finger tips to his skull, Alexander attempted to alleviate the pain in his head; while it helped with the throbbing, but did nothing to relieve the buzzing and ringing.

As suddenly as it started, the buzzing and the ringing stopped. Alexander moved his hands, and then he turned to the door, lifting the lock and unlocking his door, before he climbed back out, stepping into the storm.

Despite being soaked in seconds, Alexander made a beeline straight for the front door. He had a feeling it was locked, but, as soon as he put his hand out, there was a clicking sound, and the door swung open of its own accord.

His movements were almost mechanical, as he stepped just inside the doorway; the door was thrown open behind him, and the storm raged on, making him appear more ominous than he really was.

He took a minute to take in the scene in front of him; Natasha was bound to a diner chair, passed out with a stone between her teeth and bound in chains. Camille was bound to another chair that laid on it's side, blood running from her nose, bruises forming on her cheeks and around her eye, her lip was split, and her nose looked deformed.

He moved his gaze to two big, burly, truckers, each had blood spattered on the ends of their boots, and Alexander also noticed the spots of red on their knuckles. He didn’t know how he could do it, but Alexander was able to sense that the truckers weren’t human; he didn’t know how he knew, he just had a feeling.

“Well, well, well, we’ve been waitin’ for you,” one of the truckers growled, in a thick Southern accent.

“There he is!” a light voice, full of adoration, cut through the diner, and Alexander spun around to see the waitress who waited on them earlier, making her way towards him, “Won’t our master be happy to finally get his hands on you.” She ran her hand down his arm, causing him to pull away abruptly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but your master will have to be sorely disappointed with your lack of progress,” Alexander snapped, surprised at the venom in his own voice. Seeing Natasha and Camille like that had made him angry, and he had no intention of going anywhere with this so-called waitress.

With a snap of her fingers, the waitress gave a wordless command and the truckers started forward. Alexander put his hands out, in a sorry attempt to stop them; when his hands came in contact with them, there was a red-orange glow that emitted from them, it faded before they fell into heaps on the floor.

He turned to the waitress, who had a look of true horror on her face; she turned and got no more than a step away, before Alexander’s finger’s came in contact with the skin on her arm. Like the other two, a fire-like glow emitted from her and then it was gone and she fell into a heap on the floor.

Exhaustion suddenly overtook Alexander, causing him to fall to his knees next to Camille, before darkness clouded his vision.

Mere moments that felt like hours, and Alexander awoke. His mind was fuzzy as he looked around the diner the last thing he remembered was sitting in the car, when his headache hit him. How did he get in here?

His heart jolted when he saw the bodies on the ground, and his stomach turned when he realized that they were dead bodies. Looking to his left, he saw Camille lying there, bruised and bloodied, and tied to a metal dining chair. She wasn’t moving, and Alexander held his breath as he placed two fingers to the side of her neck, only letting his breath out when he felt the steady thrumming of her pulse.

He heard groaning and looked up to see that Natasha was waking up. She looked dazed, and scared, for a minute, until she realized that she, Alexander, and an unconscious Camille were the only ones in the diner.

Alexander reached up and removed the stone from between her teeth, and then he started fumbling with the chains.

“Is she ok?” Natasha croaked, nodding towards Camille, who had yet to open her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Alexander said, “Can you walk?”

“I can walk, but it will take a while until I fully heal,” Natasha responded, “We need to get going.”

“Shouldn’t we get a room?” Alexander asked, and he regretted it the second the words left his mouth.

“We need to put this state as far behind us as we can,” Natasha said, speaking quickly, “And you need to drive.”

“But Camille will kill me,” Alexander said.

“Camille is unconscious right now, and I’m pretty sure she’d agree with me,” Natasha argued. Alexander opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it; after what happened tonight, whatever that was, he agreed that they had to get out of there sooner rather than later.

Without another word, he carefully untied Camille, picked her up and carried her out to the car. The storm had calmed down to a mere mist, as Alexander put Camille on the back bench seat. After closing the door, he opened the driver’s door, thankful to find the keys in the ignition.

With one look at the back seat, and then a look to the passenger seat, where Natasha leaned her head against the window, Alexander put the car in gear, and pulled back onto the freeway, hoping to put hundreds of miles of distance between them and Kansas, in no time at all.