Rise of the Dunamy

R
ISE OF THE
D
UNAMY

Copyright © 2014 James R. Landrum
www.dunamybooks.com

Published by:
Blooming Twig Books
New York / Tulsa
www.bloomingtwig.com

All rights reserved. This book may not be photocopied for personal or professional use. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher.

Hardcover: ISBN 978-1-61343-043-9
Paperback: ISBN 978-1-61343-044-6
eBook: ISBN 978-1-61343-045-3

First Edition

Printed in the United States of America.

R
ISE OF THE
D
UNAMY

1

A
ny other night, the lights of the Atlanta skyline produced a perfect backdrop to the runners, walkers and passers-by of the downtown oasis known as Piedmont Park. The treetops were bursting with fresh green foliage that rustled heavily in the cool night breeze, creating a soft hum as the millions of leaves brushed against one another. However, on this evening, the thick needles of the tall Georgia pines that hovered above the blossoming leaf-bearers formed a bristled sponge that absorbed any cries for help from escaping out into the city buildings that lie a few short miles away.

Three shadowy attackers ambushed a little man in a poorly tailored business suit as he hurried down the dark cobblestone walkways of the park towards his home. The man had used this shortcut through the park every day on his way to and from work, but he had never before come through at such a late hour. A last minute conference call from the West Coast office had kept him from leaving until now.

Two large men had emerged and now blocked his path as another stepped in behind him, cutting off all possible exit points. His eyes darted around frantically searching for an escape route between or around the brutes. The dense overhanging canopy of the trees and tightly-knit trunks he had grown so fond of now created a cell around him with the two thugs blocking the exit. Escape seemed impossible.

Each of the assailants was cloaked in a black hooded sweatshirt and dark pants, cloaking their features in darkness. The leader of the attackers stood directly in front of the frightened man, demanding his wallet, and clumsily waving a large black handgun inches from his face. Holding the gun sideways at times and at eye level, he beckoned urgently with his free hand for the businessman to hand over anything of value. The gunman’s weapon shook visibly as he made his demands.

The unfortunate businessman raised his briefcase up to block his chest as he looked around desperately at each of the men, grasping the case tightly, too frightened to make a move. The two other attackers remained several feet away, their faces invisible to him at such a distance in the dark. The man before him was well hidden also, but his lower lip and goatee were illuminated by a thin ray of moonlight. A long puffy scar scorched a path through the neatly manicured hair that covered the man’s chin.

“Don’t look at me, bitch!” The man demanded.

Is this for real? The businessman wondered silently as he hoped for some sign that this might be a terrible practical joke.

Okay. Never resist, just give them what they want. That’s what people are always saying. He slowly reached back to locate his wallet in his rear pocket. Retrieving it quickly, he held his thin black leather billfold out with a shaking hand for the leader to take.

“I...I don’t have cash.” He said in a trembling voice, afraid of the impact his words might have on his situation.

After snatching the aged leather container from his hand, the scar-faced man fingered through it and quickly confirmed there was no cash. Angrily, he ripped the numerous plastic cards from inside their slips and thrust them into his pocket before flicking the wallet back at the businessman, striking him squarely in the cheek. Raising his briefcase higher as if it might shield him from another attack, the frightened man squatted down slowly.

Scar-Face kicked the man’s briefcase hard with his steel-toed boots, sending it flying. It skidded down the cobblestone path a few feet from them before slamming into a large rock a few feet into the dirt that surrounded the walkway. The latches snapped loose sending documents flying from the case and blowing about in the gentle night wind. With a quick glance it was obvious there was nothing of value in the briefcase either. The leader grabbed the man by the lapels of his oversized suit, pulled him to his feet and pressed the cold steel barrel of his gun hard against the man’s cheekbone. The businessman caught the unmistakable scent of metal and gun-oil briefly before it was overpowered by the foul mixture of sweat, cheap cologne, and stale breath as his attacker came closer, gnashing his teeth at him in frustration at the lack of valuables the businessman possessed.

Suddenly a loud rustling in the darkest area of
the woods caught everyone’s attention. Scar-Face maintained his tight grip on the man’s lapel as he swung his weapon around in the direction of the sound. Something had shaken some of the foliage in the woods several feet from where they were all standing. A small sapling swayed about as they all stood and stared. The thick covering of the trees shielded the moonlight from revealing the source.

“Check it out!” Scar-Face demanded gruffly of one of his hooded cohorts. His subordinate complied reluctantly and approached the area the sound had come from, drawing his own gun from his waistband as he approached the woods. As he reached the edge of the woods, he peered in uneasily to locate the source of the noise, holding his weapon out in front of him as he did so. Seeing nothing, he turned back towards the others, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he began to speak.

Just as the thief turned his back, his cohorts watched in horror as a dark figure emerged from behind one of the tree trunks. Exploding out from the darkness onto the man’s back, like a predator onto its prey, the mysterious figure began beating the unsuspecting thief mercilessly. After a few stunning punches to the face, a solid shot to the back of the head crumpled the legs of the dazed thug. Riding him to the ground, the figure from the shadows was flung forward. The figure moved effortlessly and fluidly, rolling as he landed and instantly pounced back onto the motionless man and continued his assault.

His movements had been so sudden and so swift, both of the other men were taken completely by surprise and had yet to react. Shaking himself from his stupor, Scar-Face violently slung the businessman by his collar towards the third hooded man, who was clumsily unsheathing a large field knife for self-defense. Confused and panicked, the third man saw the approaching businessman as an attacker, and he stabbed him through the chest.

Although things were moving quickly, the small businessman’s thoughts slowed as he looked down at the simple black hilt of the knife that was protruding from his chest. He watched the hooded man’s hand pull the knife from his body, as all the air escaped his lungs.

The dying businessman dipped his fingertips into the deep gash in his sternum; his fingers instantly sensing the heavy flow of blood that poured out of it.

His heartbeat quickly began to increase to accommodate for the amount of blood that was escaping from the laceration. Cold began to creep through his body as blood flowed unabated from the mortal wound.

As his body crumpled to the ground, he lay facing the men as they located and attempted to overcome the shadowy assassin who had emerged from the woods.

The man could see the body of the first attacker lying on the ground, motionless. He was no longer of importance to the mysterious figure as he had now turned his focus to the remaining assailants. The dying businessman tried to make out the face of the figure from the woods, but he was only able to catch a quick glimpse of its eyes. But for one moment a single beam of moonlight snuck through the canopy and shone directly between the other men and onto the figure’s face. The businessman was able to capture a brief glimpse into the intense, vivid greens of his avenger’s eyes. Every second seemed like an eternity to the businessman as his life leaked out onto the walkway beneath him, and in the second he saw those eyes they seared themselves into his vision as if he had stared too long into the burning sun. Those green eyes were everywhere he looked for the next several moments: intense, sad, and filled with rage.

Blood began to pool around the dying man as he gasped for air; each breath sending tufts of dirt from the ground beneath his nostrils. Growing ever weaker from the loss of blood the little man blinked to rest his tired eyes. He waited momentarily in the darkness, listening as the pounding of his heart filled his ears. Fighting the urge to slip into eternal slumber, he felt compelled to look one last time.

Slowly lifting his heavy lids open once more, he set his gaze upon his avenger, now the only remaining fighter on the field. The dead weight of his unsupported body forced the air from his lungs slowly as his brain activity ceased. His empty wallet lay where it had fallen a few feet from his head and the papers from his briefcase continued to blow about the quiet darkness of the park. His glassy stare was now unchanging.

A sigh of defeat escaped the sweaty hulking beast as he met the little man’s frozen gaze with his own. The life had left the businessman’s eyes and his hollow glare now captivated his defender, and as the beast’s chest heaved from the battle, his vivid green eyes pulsed in rhythm with his accelerated heartbeat. He stared back sadly for a moment.

The businessman’s unnecessary death caused a sickening feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that drew his attention back to the torturous pangs of hunger that were now upon him. Turning his attention back to the bodies of his victims, he could no longer ignore the growing discomfort that filled his gut. Picking up Scar-Face’s limp body, he ripped through the thin cotton sweatshirt that covered him, and began to feed.

2

“H
ello, beautiful!” Lucian’s voice jolted Sofia from her daze as she sat in her squad car looking down the cobblestone walkway where a host of officers and crime scene detectives had begun working over the location. He whispered the words into her open window as he passed on his way to begin his examination of the crime scene, but that was all it took to pull her from her trance. The sound of his sultry deep voice with that unexpected bit of urban flare was enough to jerk her out of her most intense moments of concentration. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he made his way around the front of her car. He nodded towards the crime scene and snapped off a subtle wink at her as he smiled.

“See ya out there.” He called back to her as he ducked beneath the familiar bright yellow tape. She continued to watch him as he was quickly surrounded by his admirers from the precinct before she finally exited the car and prepared herself for this grisly start to her day.

“Just one God forsaken clue. That’s all I’m asking for on this one,” Sofia said to herself as she climbed under the caution tape that surrounded the perimeter of the scene. The breeze carried the stink of dead bodies. The vivid greens of spring normally caused a surge of energy throughout her body, but the unpleasant smell of blood and decay overpowered the surrounding flowers and trees whose buds and blossoms had begun to burst open. While the chatter of the birds would normally have instantly brightened her day, the laser focus this case demanded didn’t even allow her to listen. The all-too-familiar sense of defeat that had begun to accompany each of these recent crime scenes crept into her gut as she approached the pile of corpses.

No one within the department had come up with a single viable witness to any of the murders in this case, and this would be no exception. In fact, this was the most concealed crime scene they had encountered in this case so far. However there was one difference, most of the attacks had taken place in alleys and abandoned buildings that provided only a moderate amount of cover from nearby areas. This area was different. Sofia glanced towards the opening in the trees that overlooked the lake and out into the distant, bustling downtown area. This location presented a scenic and picturesque setting during the day, but at night it would have been a prime spot for such an attack. Trees shielded the opening from a nearby road and the nearest clearing was four hundred yards ahead. The path itself was wide and paved with cobblestones, surrounded by a tightly woven tapestry of trees and thick underbrush.

Tiny beams of sunlight made their way between the swaying treetops onto the ground surrounding the body bags that now lay around the area.

Sofia had been working homicide for nearly two years. She had risen to the detective level faster than anyone in her precinct, and was well respected by every single cop on the force. She was known to be, and openly referred to as, the best female cop on the force by every one of her peers; each of whom were well aware she was better than any of the men but refused to say it out loud. Now she was dead in the water after weeks working the case everyone had begun affectionately referring to as “The Cul De Sac Case”. The case had been given this name because each crime scene that brought them to the case led them in circles and sent them away the same way they arrived, clueless and empty-handed. Whoever, or whatever, was committing the murders that had plagued the downtown Atlanta area over the past month hadn’t left so much as a strand of hair at the murder sites.

Although she had solved nearly every single case she had been assigned, she had never worked on a case that generated more buzz throughout the department than this one. It seemed like every cop on the force was doing everything they could to keep up with the facts of the case in hopes that they could offer the bit of information that would lead to the capture of the culprits. The amount of recognition and acclaim that was to be gained by anyone associated with this case was sure to elevate any career.

The sudden rash of murders had also drawn a great deal of interest from several local journalists. Typically, they knew better than to try and get a word out of Sofia regarding an active case. However, the lack of information making its way to them about the recent attacks seemed to have driven some of the more well-established reporters to try and press her for anything they could get.

Between the interest around the precinct and the calls from the press, Sofia found it incredibly difficult to keep the details of the case from getting to the public. But she knew that if the specifics of the case happened to get out, the number of phone calls she and Bishop would have to field would be a huge distraction. Whenever case information was leaked to the public everyone from concerned citizens to “helpful tipsters” would begin to bombard the department looking for, or attempting to offer, further information about the case. Every person in the community with a strange neighbor, or that had ever heard a commotion outside their window would call in to report it in an effort to help. That was one interruption Sofia always tried to avoid by simply keeping case information to herself, and Sofia was trying harder than ever to keep distractions to a minimum.

She and Bishop spent numerous frustrating hours combing each of the crime scenes and hadn’t located a single piece of evidence. The only progress they had made in the case was linking the crimes based on the obvious common traits of the mutilated bodies, and that each victim had a criminal history. They had also determined that, due to the number of victims involved in some of the situations, and given their cumulative fighting experience, the culprits had to be attacking in a relatively large group. It had to be a gang, but no local gang would take credit for the attacks. With each passing day, Sofia became more determined to close The Cul De Sac Case as quickly as possible. She saw every life that was lost in her ongoing investigations as a personal failure.