Previously on RUNNER RAMIREZ & THE RACETRACK FROM HELL…
Runner arrives at the horse track to find its buildings to be laid out in a very strange manner. He further finds a series of odd symbols on the track’s office door just before he gets waylaid by a group of goons and thrown in a ditch. Not one to give up, Runner spots the goons’ apparent boss pull away in a pickup truck and hops into its bed.
And now…
Runner Ramirez & the Racetrack from Hell
By Tyler Tarlton
CHAPTER 3
Having spent a lot of time outdoors during the Great War I had developed an aversion to trees and forests in general. Those places had a knack for hiding snipers and soldiers that were trying to kill you. Everyone talks about how bad the trenches were in France but at least there you knew exactly where your enemy was located and that some hellish landscape existed between you and them. But walking through a forest...the enemy could be around any corner, ready to put a bullet in your head or a knife in your gut. Also, every forest I walked through over there ended up looking like no man's land anyway. Needless to say, though I am saying it, I wasn't too excited that we appeared to be headed into a forested swamp. Plus I hate bugs and could already see them everywhere.
After another couple miles we at last turned onto a bumpy gravel road and pulled to a stop beneath a particularly large tree. The driver's door opened and closed after which I heard footsteps trailing off int the direction of the truck's front.
I waited a full minute until the sound faded and then eased my head above the side of the truck bed. I looked all around, the man was nowhere in sight. I slid over the side and onto the ground, stifling another yelp in the process. Laying in an uncomfortable truck for near an hour didn't help my soreness or wounds in any way. I stretched a bit then searched the ground for any tracks left by the man. I found them and proceeded forward, careful to place my own foot in each so as to lessen the sound produced.
The trail skirted a large body of swamp water and led into an ever thickening strand of trees. A know started to form in my stomach as I went on high alert. I tried to relax my body to be ready for anything. A tingle began to move down my spine as well, my 'friend' grew anxious too.
I reached a stretch of bushes when a pair of voices reached me from somewhere beyond. I could also just see the flicker of torchlight ahead. I slowed and dropped to the ground. My decades-old Basic training came back to me as I crawled along the dirt and under the bushes. Not a great memory.
On the other side of the bush was a small clearing around which stood a series of lit torches. They flickered with an odd greenish flame and I had a feeling, even without the shocks down my back, that I should not cross the line marked by the torches. I did not want to test that feeling, appeared the suited man did not either as he stood just outside the line, so I hunkered down and looked toward the center of the clearing.
There in the middle stood a small shack itself surrounded by another circle of torches. Outside this line stood an older man clothed in what looked like animal skins. A strange wrap adorned his head and he carried a large staff. He looked like a mountain man crossed with a Viking or something. I could never have guessed what the man actually was had the Morse code not started playing across my back. In English this time. It spelled S U M M O N E R.
A curse almost escaped my lips but I clamped them down just in time. Summoners existed to do one thing...call demons into our world. I know what you're thinking, who would ever do such a thing? It sounds awful but desperate and/or greedy men will do just about anything to get what they want. Even if that means making a deal with the devil. And not a fair deal as you can imagine. A person wanting interaction with a demon had to pay both the Summoner AND the demon. The former rarely wanted money, the latter...never. It also cost people other than the requester as well; demons needed a body to inhabit and, with the exception of my 'friend', such possession was not a pleasant experience. It was violent and uncomfortable with side effects that lasted long after the demon left. Overall, seeing a Summoner was not a good thing.
I inched a bit closer and the conversation became clearer.
"...don't know who it was but he snooped all over the track," the suit was saying. "I'm thinking it's Frankie’s crew trying to see what we got going."
A pause followed as the Summoner stroked his bear and began to pace. He looked to be deep in thought. After a few seconds he stopped and stepped closer to the torch lights.
"What does your boss want with me?" he asked.
"Wants him followed," the man answered. "See who he's working for and then take care of it."
Another pause. The Summoner played his staff through the greenish light as he thought. More Latin flew down my spine as I watched. I really needed to learn that blasted language.
"Your men could've left him alone and followed themselves," the Summoner stated. " I need not be involved."
"He don't want no connection to himself," the man said. "Says your, um, creatures can track people even after they've gone. And take care of bigger crowds as well. He'll pay extra..."
Several thoughts ran through my mind as the Summoner resumed playing with the fire. Whoever the boss was must've been big time in order to finance a track that big. He was also interested in more than racing or money laundering if he was using a Summoner AND wanted to pay extra. I couldn't fathom the reason but it would not be good.
"Fine," the Summoner finally answered. "But I'll need a new vessel. The previous ones are...played out."
"There's still plenty at the Commodore, the suit said.
"Excellent," the Summoner said as he waved one hand. All the flames blew out in the process. "Let us go now before closing time."
The Summoner walked for the clearing's edge with the suit falling in behind. They passed my position and disappeared into the trees. I waited for their footsteps to fade before hopping to my feet. I still hurt but at least the initial pain had subsided a little.
I raced away from the clearing, weaving through the trees and brush. I felt a surge of adrenaline rush to my legs, giving me a supernatural boost of speed. My reflexes sharpened as well, enabling me to juke around the trees with ease. My 'friend' was finally helping out. He knew it was a long way back to town and if we missed that truck, we might not make it back in time. Or at all.
I made it about 50 yards when I heard the truck fire up. I had to figure out a way to get to the truck and into the bed before they left and without being seen. I was able to increase me speed to a near blur as I raced through the last set of trees. I could see the truck driving through the small opening that led back to the road. If I cut across the clearing and timed my leap exactly right...I could land in the back at the same time the truck turned onto the road. The sound of the bump over the transition from grass to gravel would conceal the sound of my landing.
I ran into the clearing and angled toward the patch of trees by the road. I could just see the truck about to turn. I gritted my teeth and willed my legs to move even faster. A warmth filled my muscles as my 'friend' helped them to comply.
Now I know what you might be thinking here...and yes, I've considered that the warmth could be from the fires of Hell. But at that moment, and in every other spot where his help was required, I just didn't care. I'll leave any possible judgment or damnation of my soul to the Church.
Anyway, I made it to the edge of the tree line by the road and leaped. I hadn't realized the distance at the time but it was a good 30 feet. My lateral angle was such that I flew through the truck's blind spots and achieved just enough height for the roof to further obscure my presence. And sure enough I landed in the truck bed just as it bounced onto the road. I felt relieved and got ready. You see, when my 'friend' was actively helping me I felt almost no pain. But moving at such high speeds stretched the muscles beyond normal capacity which should've hurt. But when he withdrew his help...that's when the pain hit. As if it was stored up just for the moment when he pulled away. As expected, it hit about 15 seconds later. All I can say it that it hurt. Like really bad.
As before I couldn't tell exactly where we were going but the trees disappeared overhead after maybe 10 minutes and the road beneath grew smoother. The air warmed and the distinct smell associated with the city came back into focus. The Summoner had mentioned needing a new vessel, someone like me, and that could be found at someplace called the Commodore. A name like that could only be one place...next stop, a speakeasy.
Things are getting interesting for our pal Runner. What will he find at the Commodore? We’ll find out next week in Chapter 4!