Danny Rice, Doumont Sheriff's deputy and veteran of the Iraq war, listened as his newest recruits told him what theyâd found out about the strange man and woman who had been poking around town yesterday. The girl had canvassed most of the southside with some bullshit about being a reporter or something like that and the man had stuck to the northern part of Doumont and asked similar questions, though he did it without the pretense of being some sort of journalist. Danny didnât know what the two were actually up to and he didnât care; this wasnât the time for people to be poking around town for any reason. Too much was already set in motion for it to all fall apart now.
âListen here you two,â he said to Walter Masterson and Kyle Bannard, two former thugs that they had brought in to bulk out the force a few weeks back, âcome morning I need them folks out of town and quick. Donât go overboard, but get the message that they need to scoot across loud and clear.â Walter and Kyle werenât the brightest tools in the shed, but if they wanted to keep the Baron happy, they needed manpower and results. These two delivered on both.
âAnd what if they donât hear what we telling them?â Walter said, hocking spit at Dannyâs feet as he did so.
âTell them right and that wonât be a problem,â Danny said. He looked at his watch and saw it was getting late. He needed to make it out to the Church soon. The Baron didnât like to be kept waiting.
âHeard boss,â Kyle said, pulling Walter towards the beat up squad car theyâd been using. Kyle was the smarter of the pair, though that wasnât anything to brag about with Walter involved, and Danny hoped heâd keep things from getting out of hand.
As if they werenât already.
Getting into his own car, Danny looked around to make sure no one had been watching them before pulling onto the highway and heading back into the heart of town. There were more enemies than ever hiding out in the swamps these days and he aimed to make it long enough to get his reward at the end of this.
Heâd sacrificed too much to be deprived of what heâd earned. They all had. There was no going back. Not now, not ever.
----------------------------------------
Jonathan waited a few minutes after the two cops' cars had gone before dropping down from the trees that hung over the menâs chosen meeting place. The policemen, or former policemen as Jonathan now thought of them, had chosen this as their meet-up spot for the last few weeks. It was a good choice; it sat just outside of town proper on the short stretch of highway between his shop and the Fried Chicken joint just up the road. While it was somewhat visible during the day, once night had fallen the area was covered in the kind of pitch black city folk didnât even know was possible til they made it out here to the sticks.
Under the cover of night, these men had begun meeting every few days, always around the same time. At first Jonathan had watched them from the tall grass across the highway. Heâd heard of the suspicious increase in officers and the troubling rumors of heavy handed actions on top of that already, so heâd kept his distance. Once their pattern had shown itself however, he had grown tired of simply watching from afar. For a few nights in a row he had shown up early only to clamber into the trees above their meeting place and wait for them to arrive. It had taken three days for it to happen, but eventually it had.
From his place above the men, Jonathan had not liked what heâd heard.
Sure heâd seen the signs that something was wrong in Doumont before then, they were plain as day to those who knew where and how to look, but what he had overheard these men in uniform say had been his first real evidence that something foul was afoot in the bayou. The Sheriff himself, an old bastard named Colton Davis, had been present, along with his deputy Danny Rice and the two thugs heâd seen here tonight. Theyâd talked of a war that seemed to already be happening and someone named the Baron. Theyâd also mentioned a place called the Church and the need for things to be kept under wraps. It was the first time bodies had been mentioned, by the Sheriff no less, and it had been the single moment that had set Jonathan on the course he was now locked into whether he liked it or not.
He had considered alerting the authorities, but had known that this wasnât likely to pan out well for him. He was more than aware of how men with his skin color were treated by the law this far south and had no urge to put himself in those crosshairs, thank you very much. No, Jonathan had realized early on that this was his load to bear, his crisis to avert. He could expect no help from this point on, of that he was sure.
He should have known it was coming really. Voodoo was part of everything down here, but so many people had turned it into a tourist attraction or spectacle that most had forgotten that simple fact. Not Jonathan though. His mamma and his gran had both devoted themselves to serving the white loa, the good and pure spirits of their religion, the ones who helped the people who called on them and provided guidance and protection in times of need. While so many associated voodoo with the darkest of arts, he was living proof of the opposite. He had spent his entire life learning how to protect and heal, not seek and destroy. He hadnât learned all of this in vain either. He had known from day one that all of his training was in preparation for a test against the forces of darkness. Now that they were finally here, he felt confident that he was ready for them.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Standing in the pitch black where his enemies had just gathered, he wondered what tonight had been about. Heâd met a stranger, a boy, though he probably wouldnât have liked the description, just the other day as well. Heâd had a good energy, this boy, but he didnât sound like either of the two the men had been looking for. Probably a good thing. Heâd seen these menâs handiwork already and it was not a pretty sight.
As he began the moderate hike back to his shop, he went over everything he knew in his head. The police had been corrupted by someone they referred to from time to time as the Baron. Whoever or whatever this creature was, he was driving these men to war with at least two other factions located on the outskirts of town. Heâd followed these men as theyâd gone about their business for weeks now and each new piece of information he discovered made him feel more and more on edge.
The first group these men were targeting seemed to be located about ten miles north of town. Some big out of state company had planned on building a shipping facility out there, but a few bad storms had changed their minds and they had left the shell of a warehouse and some other buildings to rot away in the swamp unattended. Abandoned for almost a decade and a half, the place was now abuzz with people.
Jonathan did not know all of them, but they seemed to be composed of mostly folks that lived out in the swamp and the homeless. Few women could be found in this camp, though he did spot three or four over the couple of visits he made to the place. Each time heâd been there had been the same; the people outside the warehouse were milling about, seemingly doing chores and other mundane tasks, while the rest, an unknown number as of now, were inside the warehouse. The only reason Jonathan knew this were the unending shrieks and screams that came from the place at night whenever he forced himself to go out there. Heâd felt the evil in that place immediately upon his first visit and he was hesitant to return, though he knew he must. Someone needed to keep an eye on things after all.
The second party was located to the southwest of Doumont, near one of the little fisherâs villages that dotted the coast and its many inlets. Ten to twelve trailers sat next to a short dock and small fleet of fishing, shrimping and crabbing boats. The place had been barely inhabited as far as Jonathan knew, but now it was bustling with all sorts of people. Children, women and the mentally impaired seemed to make up the body of this camp, though they came from the same places as the people heâd found at the warehouse to the north.
This was also where heâd found the most bodies to date. Someone or something seemed to be leaving them as a warning, though he couldnât imagine why. This group was easily the least threatening of the three heâd identified thus far. The only person from this camp he thought he knew was a young boy who used to live with his uncle Franklin out in the bayou. He couldnât remember the boyâs name to save his life, but heâd seen him slinking around town recently. The boy had the mark of the devil in his eyes now and Jonathan was sure that he was as much a part of this as the policemen. He would try to help the child if he could, but that was not his primary concern at the moment.
What was the use in saving one soul only to lose hundreds?
Heâd yet to visit the place the policemen had referred to as the Church, but he was pretty sure he knew where it was. A few years back one of those big, non-denominational mega churches had tried to set up a satellite parish in one of the abandoned baptist facilities out to the east of town. The building had been old, but well preserved and early on it had drawn in a lot of people even with the preacher being brought to them via internet connection and projector screen instead of there in the flesh. The place had thrived for two years until an electrical fire had left it a shell of its former self. The site had been abandoned shortly after that and the mega churchâs name had become dirt in the area ever since.
Jonathan was planning a visit soon, but was hesitant for a number of reasons, a single major one in particular. Heâd noticed the people of Doumont and the surrounding area coming under a strange influence over a month ago, but only recently had he discovered that this force was not a single one, but three separate influences. The group in the fishing village were all weak, mentally or physically, and seemed banded together for protection more than anything else, though the boy was up to something, Jonathan was sure of it. The ones in the north were a much more diverse group, but on the whole poor, uneducated folks without much to lose. That left this third group, the most formidable in Jonathanâs opinion.
These men seemed to be cut from a different cloth than the people in the other two camps; policemen, the local minister and some of his cronies, known klan members, street thugs and drug pushers like Walter and Kyle. These men were power seekers, driven by money, sex and greed. They had so far been the ones to dole out the most violence, though the group in the north had struck back a few days prior. The man in the policemanâs uniform heâd found in the swamp a few days back had likely been their handiwork. Not a pleasant way to go either. The man had been brutally beaten by a number of people who had not stopped even after he had died. The previous bodies had all come from the other camps and had been equally disfigured, though often with knives or guns as opposed to fists and boots. Jonathan felt that trespassing in this third groupâs turf was a good way to get himself killed and he was not one to risk his life carelessly.
As he reached the front door to his humble abode, he felt relief wash over him. This place at least was safe. Every protection that was in his power to provide had been placed on his home over the last few weeks. No matter what was going on out there, he could always seek refuge here.
Pushing evil thoughts from his mind, he went upstairs and climbed into his bed. Heâd need a new one soon, but that was a problem that would have to wait. For now his focus was on fixing what this evil had broken. Doumont hadnât been especially good to him and his, but it was home and home was always worth fighting for. His gran had taught him that.
For now though, heâd get some sleep and get back at it early tomorrow morning. Maybe a daytime visit out to the old church would be a safer option. Taking comfort in the safety of his bed, lumpy as it may be, Jonathan let his mind empty as he drifted off into peaceful sleep.