CHAPTER TWO

THAT NIGHT, DOWNTOWN TERLINGUA

E'HEYTA

Tonight was looking up for her, E'Heyta thought.

When she reached the ooman settlement, which was unsurprisingly small considering it was a desert town, she found an old, dilapidated building with a sign over the door that said "RADIO SHACK". Below it was a smaller sign in the door that said, "Out of business." E'Heyta had elected to ignore the sign and had entered the store quietly, quietly feeling glad that she'd elected to learn so many ooman languages.

Since she was a pup, E'Heyta had always loved to learn as much as she could. Most pups were fidgety in their classes, but she sat perfectly still, hungrily sucking up every bit of knowledge she could garner from her instructors, her parents, her friends, and the world around her.

One would be tempted to think that living in a vast desert would mean that there wasn't much for an academically-inclined individual to enjoy, but they'd be wrong. E'Heyta's home actually had a great many exotic plants and animals that she enjoyed hunting and studying. This was supposed to be her first hunt since her kainde amedha chiva, however, and up until she'd crashed here, it had been going extremely well–she'd landed on the planet the oomans knew as Neptune and had successfully slain an u'sek'ti (Ice Dragon in English).

Then her ship had inexplicably malfunctioned, and she'd crashed here.

As she prepared to make her way back to her ship, she suddenly heard a strange noise–a piercing scream. Immediately she tensed and activated her cloaking device to disappear. Then she crept into an alley and stayed very still.

After a minute, she saw a little ooman pup–from the scent and appearance, probably a male–running for his life. Behind him was an oomani-di (human woman or female human) who looked extremely disheveled and unkempt, with bloodshot eyes and froth at the corners of her strange mouth. She was holding a small object that glinted in the pale light. It wasn't a knife–but it did have jagged, sharp points.

The pup ran into the alley E'Heyta was hiding in and ducked behind what looked and smelled like a trash receptacle. He covered his mouth, making strange noises as tears coursed down his tiny face. He was breathing heavily, trying not to make any loud noises.

The oomani-di was stalking down the street, muttering to herself. As E'Heyta studied her face, she realized that her complexion was different from the pup's–his skin was light brown, while hers was pale.

"Where are you?" she said. Her voice was slurred, and E'Heyta had to suppress a gag at the reek of body odor and alcohol that rolled off her. Suddenly, the oomani-di shrieked, "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE DEMON?!"

The pup had to suppress a whimper of terror as he pulled out a string of beads with a cross at one end and began to whisper a prayer in Spanish. "Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia, el Señor está contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén."

The oomani-di had seemingly moved on, but the pup very wisely remained hidden. However, E'Heyta suddenly noticed that a small creature covered in fur save for its naked tail, was sniffing her sandaled foot. She wasn't stupid enough to move, but something about her scent clearly made the animal nervous–and it ran off with a loud squeal.

The pup gasped, the terror returning to his gaze, as the woman suddenly reappeared at the entrance to the alley. The object, a broken glass bottle, was still clutched in her hand, and there was a sick smile on her face.

She stalked over to the trash receptacle, then lunged and grabbed the pup. "Got you!" she crowed in triumph.

"No! NO! Por favor, senora–"

"Thought you could get away from me, devil-spawn?" the oomani-di yelled. "God will always guide me towards filth like you!"

"I was hungry!" the pup wailed. "I just needed some money to buy food, and the pantry was closed!"

"Doesn't your master feed you well?" the oomani-di shrieked again. The bottle was ready to be used, and she leered evilly. "Why don't I send you back to him?"

The boy saw it coming and screamed, "NO! PLEASE!"

The points were almost at his belly when suddenly, a loud roar pierced the air.

E'Heyta had had enough–on her home planet, for an adult to do this kind of thing to a pup would be grounds for instant death. Forget survival of the fittest–she could not and would not stand by and let this filth stab a pup if she could help it.

E'Heyta rose to her feet, her cloak shimmering in the moonlight. The oomani-di stared in shock, as did the pup, but she didn't drop her weapon.

E'Heyta deactivated her cloak and extended her dah'kte with a metallic ringing sound. A low growl pulsed in her throat, and she said, "Drop…him. Now."

The oomani-di pointed the bottle at her, stammering, "Another demon…get thee back to Hell!"

The pup seemed to see an opportunity–he pulled the oomani-di's wrist to his face and bit her so hard that she screamed in rage and agony and a huge stream of blood ran down her hand. She let go of him, and he tried to run, but she whirled around with a cry of, "And so Satan reveals himself!" Then she swung the bottle, and it shattered over the pup's eye.

The pup howled in pain, clasping his face as blood trickled out from under his hand, but ran for his life. The oomani-di tried to go after him, but E'Heyta grabbed her and lifted her into the air by her throat.

"What…are…you?" she gagged.

E'Heyta didn't answer–she only replied, "Dishonorable filth!" and ran her through with her dah'kte. The oomani-di gagged on the blood that quickly filled her lungs, and E'Heyta jerked her arm upwards, nearly slicing the victim in half. The corpse fell to the ground with a loud splat, and E'Heyta shook the gore off her blades. She didn't even bother to collect the skull–this ooman was not worthy of the honor.

E'Heyta was about to reactivate her cloak and get out of there before the authorities showed up, when all of a sudden, she heard a loud rumble that was accompanied by a sudden flash of light. She hissed as the light blinded her, then looked.

Another male ooman, this one older, was watching her at the end of the alley. He was astride some kind of machine that was the source of the light–a machine that was completely black and rumbled like a beast. The ooman himself had massive green eye coverings, wore a head covering of some sort and a mask on his face–but he also wore gear that told her he was a soldier. As E'Heyta watched him, he climbed off his vehicle and stepped closer.

E'Heyta growled menacingly, raising her dah'kte, but the ooman raised his hands and said, "Easy there. I'm not here to hurt you." Then he looked at the body on the ground and snorted. "Heh. Old Mary Markov. Always said she'd end up doing something she'd regret."

He looked at E'Heyta and said, "In case you're wondering, you did the right thing–she has a history of abusing minority children. Little Raul back there was her newest victim." He walked back to his vehicle and said, "But if you go killing anybody who doesn't deserve it, you'll have me to answer to." He touched his head covering in salute and said, "Ma'am."

The vehicle roared, and he sped away.

E'Heyta tilted her head as she replayed the encounter in her head. If she'd had any qualms about killing the oomani-di, the male ooman's words had chased them away. She only wished that her first ooman kill had been worthy. That being said, if this oomani-di had attacked multiple pups, then the huntress had done this community a service by killing her.

But the older male…he had looked upon her and didn't bat an eye. He even commended her for what she had done. In all the previous ooman encounters she'd read about, none of them had ever said such a thing to one of her people. He was a mystery…and she hated mysteries.

She checked the time on her wrist-comp and saw that sunrise wasn't far away. It was time to go back to her ship. Fortunately, while she was exploring, she had managed to kill a strange creature covered in coarse bristles that had squealed and scored a small gash in her side. It would feed her for some time. She would go back, get some sleep, and begin repairs when she woke. But first, she stripped the oomani-di completely, then skinned her and hung her from a nearby light post.

"Unworthy prey," she said softly. Then she climbed up a nearby building and left.

MICHAEL

The black and green Night Rod growled as he rolled it into the shop. Matt scanned the street carefully before closing the gate and shutting the garage door, then said, "Good night?"

Michael removed his black helmet, skull mask, and tactical shades and began taking off his gear. "Surprisingly quiet. Not much happened out there. Did manage to nail a mugger who was rolling an old lady. He dropped the stolen goods as soon as he saw me, though."

Matt chuckled. "Shocker."

After Michael had retired from the military and come back to Terlingua, he quickly realized that Texas was in a bit of a pickle. With the government mostly focused on external terrorist threats, Mexican cartels had slowly begun tightening their grip on the Southwest. When they'd executed Matt's brother, Michael had decided that the police needed some help, so he became a vigilante–Chernobyl.

The code name came from back when he was a Demon Dog. They'd originally called him "Cowboy" back then because when his old CO, Sergeant Marcus Griggs, let him off his leash, Michael tended to come up with creative and usually reckless ways of accomplishing objectives that usually resulted in the maximum possible amount of property damage. Add to that his trademark cowboy hat and his habit of twirling his pistols on his fingers when he was bored or nervous, and the name immediately stuck.

The name "Chernobyl" came from the mission that his adoptive uncle D-Day said really made him a true Demon Dog. During the war against the Al-Qatala terrorist group, the Demon Dogs were called in to deal with an AQ cell in Meska, Urzikstan that was carrying a dirty bomb. However, they made contact with a Spetsnaz unit that had a bunker in the area. Disarming the bomb before it could explode proved to be impossible, but Michael was able to attach it to the bottom of the Russians' helicopter as it was flying away, keeping his squad safe while eliminating the threat simultaneously.

While viewing the explosion, Griggs said, "You just stopped the next Chernobyl, kid." From there, the name stuck.

Being a Demon Dog wasn't a coincidence. In Michael's family, there were two constants in every generation: the military and law enforcement. Michael's father, Alan "Deacon" Santana, was a Demon Dog with the nickname "Deacon" due to his being the prayer leader before every mission. He served with distinction alongside his team extracting Omar "The Wolf" Sulaman, an Al-Qatala leader, at Rammaza Hospital and retired shortly thereafter. He hadn't pressured Michael to follow in his footsteps, but Michael wanted to go into the military and try to face threats to his country head-on.

Michael becoming a vigilante wasn't really expected, but it was needed–with all his military training and expertise, it didn't take long for him to build up a reputation that led to many cartel members surrendering to him or running scared. Of course, those members didn't last very long after surrendering–but that wasn't Michael's problem.

For him, the American justice system was skewed and rigged to help the well-off. So he decided to mete out justice his way–that way being that the punishment matches the crime. So if somebody was wanted for torturing a person to death, Michael would read up on them to see if they deserved to face him, and if they did, he'd find them and torture them. Killing an innocent child as revenge for losing one's own children deserved the death of the perpetrator in his eyes because it dragged uninvolved parties into someone else's feud.

Matt and Chato were the only ones who knew about Michael's moonlight escapades, but the police and populace refused to dime Michael out–whoever he was, the Concrete Cowboy protected them, and they showed their gratitude by staying out of his way.

"See anything else out there?" Matt asked.

"Yeah. Remember Mary Markov?"

"That orphanage lady who always gets herself hammered and goes around yammering about demons?" The mechanic spat. "What about her?"

"She's dead now."

Matt looked at Michael in surprise as the younger man washed blood off his hands. "You?"

"Nah, this was somebody new. I just…found her lying in that alley on Rodeo. Nearly sliced in half."

Matt whistled. "Dang. Think you need to go after whoever did it?"

Michael shrugged. "Nah, nobody's gonna miss her. Especially not the kids."

"Okay. Just be careful out there." Matt put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Don't wanna see you on the nightly news, hermano."

Michael looked over his shoulder, a little surprised that this statement had come from the usually gruff Matt. But he smiled and said, "Don't worry, jefe. I'll be fine." Then he dried his hands and said, "You don't need to worry about the bike, by the way–nobody shot at it this time."

Matt huffed. "Just because that thing's made out of titanium doesn't mean it's indestructible–you need to take better care of it."

Michael snorted as he straddled his bike again. Shadowfax, as he'd lovingly nicknamed it, was a modified Harley-Davidson Night Rod Special motorcycle from Germany that had been bought by a mobster in Dallas. While he'd had it, he had it overhauled and rebuilt out of titanium with carbon fiber armor plating and a shotgun holster near the front. When Michael had paid the mobster a visit, he stole the motorcycle and had kept it hidden in the basement of his and Chato's house ever since.

"Well, I'm headed home," said Michael with a yawn. "See you next week, boss."

"You too, man."

As Michael roared out of the garage, he thought back to the creature he'd seen in the alley. From its appearance and the way it carried itself, Michael couldn't help but think of it as female. But whatever she was, she definitely wasn't human. Michael had never met a woman who was as tall as she was.

Most people probably would have discounted anything like a monster, alien or supernatural being, but Michael had met zombies before–and killed them. His tolerance for weirdness became pretty high after that, especially after he'd discovered that the zombies in question were created by ancient otherworldly creatures called the Apothicons. So a seven-foot alien? Not the strangest thing he'd ever seen or heard of.

But none of that changed the fact that whoever this alien was, she was definitely a well-trained killer. Probably an assassin, judging from her weaponry, especially that massive bow she had slung on her back. And Michael wasn't dumb enough to miss the obvious connection between her and the disturbance a few days ago.

Whatever the case, now Michael's interest in going to the crash site had compounded. Maybe there would be some answers to just what this thing was.