Summertime Killer — Part Four

serial fiction online

Serial Fiction

 

A heavy downpour of rain washed across the windscreen of the car. It was a black night, the moon covered by storm clouds. The alleyway Harvey had parked his car in was dark, safe from the illumination from street lights or apartment windows. Even if someone glanced down the alley and looked at the muscle car, nobody would see the figure inside. Inside his new Chevy Nova, Harvey kept his instruments of destruction. He always took care of his things, regularly disassembling, cleaning and then re-assembling his guns and knives. It was a new habit. As Harvey sat in the car, he stared lovingly at his katana. It was recovered from police evidence room and it was as beautifully crafted as ever. It had not shed blood, but he wanted to soon take care of that.

Ever since he was put into indentured servitude of the wheelchair-bound man only known to him as “Clarke,” Harvey could not suppress his urges to kill. Although he was allowed to kill and maim in his assignments, his free time was monitored heavily and killing of random civilians was prohibited. He knew that they were watching him now, probably through the scopes of sniper rifles. He peered up for a second, and saw a shadow up on the roof of the nearest building. Harvey could not suppress his urges for much longer. He knew he needed the thrill of the kill. Harvey fired up the engines, hearing the roar of the gasoline-fueled beast. The wheels squealed in delight on the wet asphalt and he sent the car speeding onto the road. Tall buildings of the city rose around him as he traveled down the long streets, dodging traffic and scaring pedestrians. Soon, Harvey found himself looking into his wing mirror and seeing the familiar glint of red and blue. Without a care, he pushed his foot down on the accelerator and turned the wheel, sending the car left and narrowly missing a passing tram filled with onlookers.

The police continued the pursuit, but were slowed by the killer’s maneuvers and the constant stream of traffic. This gave Clarke’s surveillance team opportunity to take part in the chase. Their mercenary Jeeps and trucks followed Harvey’s trail of chaos, tracking the path of stunned onlookers and crashed vehicles. However, this tactic lost its effectiveness when the Summertime Killer left the crowded inner city and sped down to the city docks. Helicopters then swooped in low, scanning the area with bright searchlights shining through the rain. The spinning blades and military shouts of men made their position obvious in the mute docks. They had not been used for some years after the economic crash, so there were hundreds of warehouses and acres of space scheduled for new housing. But for now, they were a perfect hiding place. In the maze of streets and derelict warehouses, it was difficult to be found. Harvey stayed here for 10 minutes, moving between spots.

Soon, he grew tired of the hiding; Harvey decided he wanted to be the hunter now. He was itching for some blood, and he knew where to get it. Getting out of his car, Harvey slid his gleaming katana out of its sheath, and walked into the darkness of the warehouse. He could hear men moving toward the building, and Harvey shifted behind the wall of the opening. Silently, he watched two armed men walk into the warehouse, brandishing submachine guns with flashlights shining into the darkness. Harvey moved forward, holding his sword by his side. He slowed his breathing, and came up behind the closest one. Using all his strength, he plunged the sword into the man’s back. Blood sprayed from the wound as the mercenary struggled to breath with his lungs punctured. The partner had no time to react, as Harvey slid the blade out and swiftly cut across his arm, disarming him. The gun fell to the ground. Harvey watched the man’s anguished screams as he clutched his crimson arm. Finally, Harvey put his victim out of his misery, decapitating him. The katana was sharp and it served him well. Harvey smiled as the blood dripped off the Japanese steel.

He knew his actions would anger Clarke, but this didn’t worry Harvey. He knew his spirit and body were stronger than whatever he could conjure up, and Harvey still had something to bargain with. The briefcase stolen off his last target was in his possession. He had no knowledge of what was inside, but he knew they were valuable enough to derail a train for. Escaping the grasp of his master was the first thing on Harvey’s agenda. First though, he had to get out of this city — to go somewhere isolated and safe. Stepping into the pools of blood that had collected at his feet, Harvey sheathed his sword and stepped back into his automobile. Smirking, he knew his thirst for blood had been quenched — for now.

 

previous: Summertime Killer — Part Three

more by AMADEUS LINSKILL

photograph by Daria Nepriakhina 

 

Image Curve’s Manifesto

Hire An Editor
Get A Quote For Your Manuscript

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

You may also like...