David Golemon - Ripper

“Come, we have to finish taking the house. What we’re looking for is in the basement. Get me ten men, tell your men to secure this courtyard, and then get a troop of men out to round up those civilians — we may need to find out what they know.”

“Yes, sir,” Patton said as he frowned and then pulled his old six-shot revolver from its holster. He went back through the same broken window he had exited from. Sunlight was now streaming into the main house and Patton could see much better. He saw the two men they had dispatched earlier. One was lying next to the dead sergeant, and to his shock and amazement, that one was even now still moving. Hands, jaws, and eyeless sockets where bullets and pellets had taken out the eyeballs were moving, twitching, and shaking. The two beasts’ movements were uncoordinated and slow. The damage to their brains was so severe that their higher functions weren’t cooperating. Patton for the first time in his adult life wanted to vomit from something he had witnessed.

“I am not going to deal with this!” Patton shouted over the gunfire. “Sergeant Major, tell Alexander to get in here with the explosives!”

The sergeant major turned and once more ran from the hacienda. Patton gestured for four troopers to start searching for the way into the basement, but before they could move a large door opened at the far end of the main room. Patton turned to see nothing but darkness at first, and then he saw the dim outline of a giant of a man. It stood there framed just beyond the door. Patton was shocked as he could swear he could see the glowing eyes looking right at him. Then just as suddenly the dark shape was gone. Before Patton could move he heard something that would cause him years of nightmares afterward — the laugh trailed out behind whatever had been standing in that doorway.

“This way,” Patton shouted to his four men.

The lieutenant hit the open doorway and slid to a stop. He looked down into a black abyss that seemed to go on forever. He waited and gathered his courage and then started down. It was only thirty feet down to a dimly lit basement that smelled of dampness and mildew, and then he felt the coldness of the area beneath the first floor. He held both of his heavy weapons out before him as the other men pounded down the stairs. Patton looked around, hoping his eyes would adjust to the dimness of the basement faster than normal. Despite his bravado in all things, the blonde-haired lieutenant held his ground at the base of the steps.

“Come now, you have invaded my home. You have killed my test subjects just to get to me, and now you hesitate when the time draws near to meet your adversary?”

The voice was booming and had a growl hidden just beneath the words. Patton felt the chills slide up his backside as the meaning of the invite hit home. He knew then that they weren’t dealing with a man at all, but some abnormality created artificially in this lonesome place south of the border.

“That’s Ambrose himself,” said Colonel Thomas as he reloaded his shotgun yet again. “Whatever happens Lieutenant, go through the remains of this place and get samples of whatever you find. Our government needs to find a way to fight this. An antidote, maybe, because if this thing gets onto the open market, there will be hell to pay. If I’m not there, get the samples to the president — only the president,” he said, waiting for the young lieutenant to nod his head. “Now, may I suggest Lieutenant Patton that we kill the son of a bitch?”

George Patton quickly gestured for two of his men to go left; the other two he placed behind him and Thomas, and the attack element advanced through the dimness toward the spot they thought the voice had come from.

“I have been waiting for a test such as this.”

Another laugh after the words.

“Jesus Christ, Lieutenant, what is this place,” the private immediately behind Patton and the colonel hissed.

“Take hold of yourself private and get ready to—”

Several loud reports and shotgun blasts sounded in the dark basement as something in front of the advancing men moved. Then before Patton could see what was happening, more boots pounded down the stairs. He turned and saw the sergeant major and immediately behind him was Lieutenant Alexander with a set of saddlebags over one shoulder and two Colt .45s at the ready.

“I have the dynamite, Lieutenant.”

Patton was tempted to just place the charges in the basement, ignite the fuse, and get out of the hell he now found himself in, but he remembered the orders that Pershing had given him. He was forced to confirm the death of this Ambrose. He shook his head and then cursed his luck. He noticed that the gunfire from above had dwindled to almost nothing as the troopers started taking full control of the hacienda. Remembering his dead men up on the main floor, Patton swallowed the fear he was feeling and then waved his men forward.

“I’m waiting for you — come, get what you came for!”

“We’re coming Ambrose, we’re coming. This isn’t London and you sure as hell aren’t in Whitechapel. We know all about your deals, we’re here to stop you!” Thomas shouted around Patton.

The lieutenant knew the name Whitechapel, but that statement by the colonel offered nothing of an explanation to him whatsoever.

“Ah, Whitechapel, the good days, the fun days, the turning of the tide as they say … now come and get me and see what awaits you!”

This time the words were barely understandable as they came from the darkness ahead. As Patton stepped forward he looked down and saw light streaming up through the cracks in the floorboards. There was another level below this one and he knew then that he and his men were being led in that direction. He swallowed, and for the first time in his entire arrogance-filled life, George S. Patton was terrified. He shook himself to bring his terror under control and then advanced farther into the basement.

“It’s alright to be frightened Patton. There are things in the world that are truly terrifying, and this is but one of those nightmares … I know, I’ve seen it, and—”

They heard the creaking of a door ahead of them, quieting Thomas. Then a far-thicker wave of mustiness hit their noses.

“There, a trapdoor!” Lieutenant Alexander said as he squeezed by Patton and Thomas and then ran forward.

“Goddamn it, no!”

Alexander was already three steps down through the door in the flooring before Patton could stop the young West Point graduate. He hurriedly followed. He and the others descended the stairs as fast as the darkness around them would allow when suddenly the entire wooden staircase was wrenched out from under them. They were thrown to the left, the right, and then they all felt the bottom of their stomachs fall free of their bodies as they became airborne.

Patton hit the dirt-lined floor and two of his men fell across him. They were all lucky it hadn’t been but ten feet from top to bottom. As he tried to kick free he saw that the staircase had fallen directly on two of his men, crushing them to death. The lieutenant cursed and then gained his feet. He had lost the automatic somewhere in the fall, so he pulled out his second six-shot Peacemaker. He cocked both pistols, and that was when he heard the laugh coming from his front. He and the remaining men aimed their weapons into the blackness ahead. But before he could move, he heard the voice from behind. It was Colonel Thomas. He was trapped underneath the staircase and it was obvious that his legs were crushed, and the large wooden splinter coming through his lower abdomen made the leg problem that much less of a burden. The colonel was a dead man, he just didn’t know it yet.

“Kill the bastard for me, and get the samples to Washington, code 5656,” Thomas said as his eyes slowly closed. Patton would never get any answers from the brave lieutenant colonel as to who he really was and who he really worked for.