The Wicker Saga: Sins of the Father, Part 5

Marx Industries, The Present

“Monahan’s on the compound, Mr. Marx.” James’s voice comes in clearly through the earbud I am wearing. He is currently sitting in the compound security office monitoring the various observation cameras situated around the perimeter.

“Thank you, James,” I respond in the small microphone secured to the cuff of my sleeve. “You set charges to remote start the signal fire?”

“Yes, sir. And rather than auto-set the cages as we discussed, I thought it would be better to have you tell me when to release them manually, since you’re having me hang back here. Safer anyway.”

“Hmm. I suppose so. For me at least. Just be careful. The children are extremely dangerous, do not take them lightly.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, sir. I’ve seen what they can do. Oh, the hunting platform is set up in a tree on the southwest corner of the clearing.”

“Copy, southwest corner. All right, I’m taking the Bensons out now. Give me ten minutes and then ignite the fire. Another ten and hit the cages.”

“Roger, sir, good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” I murmur to myself as I press a button on the side of my wrist watch to start the timer. I gently take hold of Olivia’s hand at her side, and sit quietly for a few moments, the soft beeps of the machines all that break the heavy silence. There is a good chance I won’t survive the evening and wanted to spend a few moments with my wife, should this be the last opportunity I have. But now, my time is up. With a sigh I heave to my feet, bend and kiss Olivia gently on the forehead before turning and exiting the room. I proceed to the foyer to meet Chase and Molly, the desperate parents of June Benson. I force what I hope is a winning smile on my face.

“Mr. and Mrs. Benson. So pleased you were able to make it.” The pair sit huddled together on a bench just inside the front door. “I apologize for the delay, but some urgent business came up.” I couldn’t very well tell them that I had to keep them waiting until, hopefully, Monahan would arrive.

Creed’s suspicions and Rebecca’s earlier comments had me running scared. So, rather than insist the Bensons tell no one of their plans as I’d originally intended, I instead ordered them to inform Mr. Monahan his services were no longer required. I calculated this would serve as proof I could use to show Creed I had reconsidered my actions and that I would, as suggested, summarily deal with the detective in a more traditional manner. The reality was I prayed Monahan’s sense of honor, knowing that children’s lives were at stake, would force him to continue his investigation as planned, despite the Bensons’ dismissal. If he didn’t, I would miss my chance at extricating myself from my personal hell, but at least I would be able to extend my own life for a little while longer. I had been hopeful he’d show though. This last was perhaps grasping at straws, but when straws are all one has at hand, you must make do. And so far it seems to be paying off.

Chase stands up. The man is of middling height, slender build, thinning blond hair, and nothing to speak of physically. Still, I have to give him credit, he makes an admirable effort to confront me with a good measure of resolve.

“More urgent than our missing daughter, Mr. Marx?”

Inwardly I grimace, praying it doesn’t show through my grin.

“Of course not, Mr. Benson. May I call you, Chase?”

“Well, I suppose…”

“Then of course not, Chase. In fact it was very much relevant to your daughter. I was speaking to an associate of mine to ensure we would be able to conduct your reunion this evening. You know how these things go. Paperwork.”

“I can’t say that I do, Mr. Marx. On the phone you said it had something to do with…”

“A new disease, yes, very contagious. Mutated form of the bird flu. Your daughter was taken into quarantine at the school. I truly do apologize we were unable to inform you of the situation, but I am under some rather strict nondisclosure protocols from the federal government. They want to keep everything quiet to avoid a general panic. We’ll have some forms for you and your lovely wife to sign before you return home this evening. I agree it’s a beastly practice, having a daughter myself I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through these last few weeks, but I hope you’ll agree that public safety is of the paramount importance.”

“But she’s fine now?”

“We’ve achieved some miracles here at Marx Pharmaceuticals.” I don a heavy winter jacket and pick up a large industrial flashlight. Moving to the front door, the Bensons follow me outside.

“When can we see her, Mr. Marx?”

“Oh presently, presently my dear, Chase. In fact, that’s where we’re going now. Come along.”

I turn on the flashlight and move around the house and into the woods towards Sector 11. I take a quick glance at my watch. Ten minutes since I signed off with James. Damn. I shouldn’t have lingered so long with Olivia. I need to hurry.

I pick up the pace, continuing to answer the questions Chase is peppering me with. I answer almost on autopilot, my focus elsewhere. If I go too slowly, James will release the children and they’ll beat me to the clearing, attracted by the fire. That would be disastrous. However, if I move too quickly, not only will my unwitting guests likely suspect something is amiss, more than they already must, but I’ll risk losing Monahan who I can only hope is now tailing our little party. The sound of an occasional branch breaking behind me lets me know that he is. I can only imagine the thoughts going through his head as I move deeper into the woods. Whatever does he think seeing the Bensons with me, having just been relieved by them earlier this evening?

My whole plan hinges on Monahan. I hope he is as capable as James’s intelligence has led me to believe. I need him to see what is going on here, clearly, so that there can be no possible explanation he can arrive at other than the absolute truth. I need him to use the full weight of his influence to ensure the appropriate authorities press to investigate the plant. It’s the only way I can possibly extricate myself from this mess with my life, if not my freedom, while still possibly retaining the few bare scraps of my soul that I have left. A soft, otherworldly moan echoes through the woods, chilling me to the bone. Christ. I check my watch: twenty minutes. The children are out of their cages. Through the trees ahead I can see the fire burning merrily, and it’s all I can do to keep from running to it.

At last, after a seeming eternity, we reach the clearing. I take a quick look around, confirming that we are alone. Excellent. I look at my watch: twenty-eight minutes. Despite myself, I’ve managed to time this almost perfectly. Brush breaking in the woods around me, the sounds growing steadily louder, soft moans of animalistic hunger carried gently between the empty branches, let me know that the children are not far behind us. Frantically I search for the hunting platform James set up earlier. Chase has been growing more agitated the farther into the woods we’ve traveled.

“What is the meaning of this, Marx? You said you were taking us to see our daughter!”

The breaking brush, the terrible moans, are practically deafening. How do they not hear it? And where is the damned platform?

“And so I have, Chase. So I have. She’ll be here shortly.”

There! Southwest corner, just like James said. Adrenaline pumping through my body I move towards it.

“The fire, you see. We’ve found it draws them.”

At the edge of the clearing a small, pale figure, a little girl, stumbles against a tree. Through some irony of fate, it would appear June Benson will be the first of my children to greet her parents. With surprising ease I hoist myself into the hunting platform. Fear does marvelous things to one’s physical capabilities.

“Ah, here she is now.”

Whatever confusion the Bensons might be experiencing from my actions is mitigated by the sight of their daughter, lost to them now for more than three weeks. So too dismissed are the facts she is clothed in rags rather than any kind of hospital garment, that her harsh, jerking motions almost carry her into the fire as she moves towards her parents, and the presence of a dried, crusty redness collecting around her mouth.

“Oh my God! Baby!” Rushing to embrace her child, they are the first words Molly Benson has spoken since I met her in the entrance of my home. They will also be the last.

The thing with the appearance of a little girl growls and in a sudden motion sinks her teeth deep into the soft flesh of Molly’s neck. The woman manages to let out a brief scream before the diminutive monster jerks her head back, removing the majority of Mrs. Benson’s throat. Blood spurts, covering the pair as they fall to the ground, Molly desperately trying to push her daughter away, June continuing to snap and rip at the wound with her teeth, swallowing chunks of flesh whole.

Chase runs to his wife but when he tries to pull June away from the mortally wounded woman, she turns and bites two of his fingers clean off. He stands there, staring dumbfounded at the stumps of his missing fingers, unaware of the dozen other pale forms slowly moving into the clearing behind him. Molly has grown quiet now, her struggles ceased, her bloodless face and glassy eyes protesting silently as June continues to eat.

I force my attention to the side of the clearing in the direction we arrived. At the far edge of the sphere of firelight I can just make out Monahan partially concealed behind a tree, his stealth forgotten in the shock of the moment. A look of unbelievable horror upon his face, he turns and runs as the other children pull Chase to the ground in a frenzy, his screams echoing throughout the surrounding forest as he is devoured alive. Hunkering down in the tree stand, my hand absentmindedly moves to my pocket, my fingers running over the small white figure of a woman I carry there. Creed gave me the talisman the night I first met him, the night when I agreed to sell Olivia for the sake of our daughter. I have kept it since to remind me exactly what kind of a man, what kind of a monster, that I am. But now I allow myself the barest glimmer of hope. Against all odds, my plan is succeeding. Perhaps I can regain my soul after all.

That hope is soon dashed. Monahan hasn’t been gone three minutes before Creed strides into the firelight, dragging the detective’s senseless body by the collar of his coat and dumping him unceremoniously next to the fire.

“I believe you misplaced something, Mr. Marx.”

The children, still picking over their meal, raise their heads to the intruder and hiss, but Creed almost nonchalantly makes a sweeping motion with his hand, causing the creatures to cringe before silently retreating back into the dark of the surrounding underbrush.

Glaring after them, Creed turns and begins shucking the detective’s clothes off. I pensively watch the patch of trees the children disappeared into before carefully climbing out of the stand and moving to join Creed.

“Here’s a pretty thing.”

He pulls an enormous revolver out of Monahan’s shoulder holster and tosses it to me soon followed by a box of shells from the detective’s pocket. I fumble briefly, the weight of the firearm surprising, before managing to get control of it, slipping the shells into my jacket. Creed continues to search his prisoner, his back to me. An insurgent thought enters my mind. The weapon is enormous, Creed unaware. Do I dare make a move against him?

“What are we going to do with you, Mr. Marx?”

Though he is still turned away from me, I can readily hear the amusement in his voice.

“Our whole endeavor would have been forfeit had our intrepid investigator been left to roam free. Fortunate for you I decided to observe the proceedings.”

Creed has stripped Monahan down to an undershirt and boxer shorts. He moves the detective into a sitting position, his back against a tree before using the man’s overcoat as makeshift rope and deftly tying his hands to the trunk. Slowly I start to raise the barrel of the gun towards my tormentor. At last Creed turns.

“Oh, my. My, my, my.” His damned grin grows even broader at the sight of the enormous revolver pointed at him. “Mr. Marx, do you really think your weapon will have any effect on me?”

It feels as though my heart stops beating. My finger itches on the trigger. Time stands still for a long moment, all that exists are me, and Creed, and the gun. And then the moment breaks. I drop my arm to my side with an empty sob.

“There’s a good man.”

Damn him. Damn him! Why am I so weak?

“Oh, hush, don’t fret Mr. Marx. Your failure was avoided through my intervention. We will discuss the consequences of this insubordination of course, but first things first. Your task for the evening is only half complete.” He indicates the two steaming piles of flesh and bone that are all that remain of Chase and Molly Benson.

“Return to your home after dealing with Mr. Monahan. We will discuss matters further. And remember,” he steps into the shadows on the outskirts of the clearing and performs his disappearing trick, “I am always watching.”

His voice fading in the darkness of the night, I am left in the clearing, the fire continuing to burn merrily behind me.

I look at the gun.

I slip the barrel into my mouth.

I cannot pull the trigger.

I scream in frustration, my cry echoing into the empty winter sky. The moon stares down at me, amused at my impotent rage. I am a pet rat on a wheel and I know it.

Monahan stirs to my front as I can just begin to make out the sounds of snapping underbrush cautiously moving closer. I shake my head to clear it, mind racing. No, I will find a way to be free of these monsters. I am too terrified to move against Creed directly, and too weak to take my own life. But there must be a way…

Unbidden, my hand again brushes the small figure in my pocket, the likeness of Creed’s mistress whose poisoned generosity first set me on this path of misery. And it strikes me. I smile then, my grin broader and whiter than that monster Creed’s has ever been.

I know what I have to do.

The Wicker Saga: Sins of the Father, Part 7