Chapter 4: The Power to Rule

Winter was upon the country, flooding the landscape with a deathly chill. Yet it wasn’t the cold that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. It was fear. Following the gray breeze, rumors were flowing from the north, rumors of death and destruction. Entire towns were either being razed with no survivors, or left hollow, with food still sitting on the tables, as if everyone had been raptured away. There were stories of a monster in the woods in the north, about how a town called Senner met its wrath, but there was no evidence to back that up, as it looked like the whole area had been struck by a meteor. Even the forests had gone silent, the people of the wilderness vanishing out of thin air.

To the citizens of New England, nightfall invoked a unique fear, both new in experience, yet primordial and instinctive. When the sun disappeared below the horizon, it was like God had closed his eyes, and left humanity to fend for itself against whatever evil dwelled in the dark.

A line of military trucks and vans rolled down the empty highway, their destination being the town of Dexter, the most recent scene of this mysterious nightmare. The media paid little attention to the northern states, seeing them as a lost frontier that the government barely had a hold over. Anything north of Boston was considered the badlands. However, the stories of towns being “attacked” were turning heads, especially since the phenomenon seemed to be heading south.

Now, the government was getting involved, searching for answers in the deathly silence. The convoy consisted of the FBI, searching for human causes, the CDC, looking for viral causes, and the National Paranormal Examination Branch, on the lookout for causes relating to the war. Keeping them all safe was a contingent of the National Guard, with turret-mounted machine guns ready to shoot anything, be it alive or undead. Similar convoys were heading out to the other affected towns, one on its way to Senner.

Driving behind a National Guard personnel carrier were the two leading agents of the NPEB. The older of the two, Agent Bosman, was driving while incessantly scratching the dandruff out of his beard. His partner, fifteen years younger, was named Locke, and he was examining reports from other scenes.

“You’ll get sick if you keep reading those stories,” said Bosman.

“I have a strong stomach. A few ghost stories won’t scare me.”

“I meant because you’re reading on the road. I don’t want to hear you moaning the rest of the day because you got carsick.”

“It’s one of those rumors from Senner. Supposedly, not only did a young man transform into some kind of horrific monster, but he turned two other citizens into zombies.”

“Nonsense. If the pandemic had returned, we’d be seeing a lot more undead.”

“Not necessarily. We’re deep in the state. Entire armies could be hiding in those trees.”

“But they don’t know how to hide. Even if by some twist of fate, zombies did return, then why would they be any different from before? Even if they were able to clear out these towns, there would always be a dozen or so stragglers and a huge mess left behind. They’re just mindless drones.”

“If it happened once, it can happen again, but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen the same way. Maybe the virus mutated, made them smarter or something. Apparently, a hunting party was even sent into the woods, and they encountered something ... demonic. Jesus.”

Before Bosman could retort, a voice crackled on their radio. “This is Sergeant Barns. We’ve reached Dexter. You ... might want to look up.”

The convoy slowed, with the drivers and passengers of every vehicle looking towards the sky. There was a highway sign above the road, labeling the offramp leading to Dexter. Hanging from the sign were three bodies, all with their intestines dangling freely, two men and a woman.

“Zombies sure as fuck don’t do that.”

They went down the offramp, now seeing cars for the first time as they entered the perimeter of the city. All the cars had been driven off the road with their tires slashed and their exteriors looking like they had been hacked at with chainsaws. Their inhabitants were visible only as silhouettes, as all the windows had been splattered with blood. In the town, it was just as everyone expected. Bodies littered the streets, either cast aside like garbage or put on some kind of horrific display with varying forms of desecration and mutilation.

In the center of town, field agents unloaded their equipment to begin surveying the damage. They all split up, each group guarded by the National Guard. As per CDC warning, everyone wore masks, goggles, and rubber gloves, so as to avoid possible contamination. Beyond their work, the town was as silent as a graveyard. The only difference, was that here, the bodies had yet to be buried. They all bore the same injuries, vicious claw and teeth marks, like they had been mauled by wild animals, nothing smaller than a bear at the least. Despite the vast splotches of blood painting the city, each body was bone dry.

The departments moved interchangeably through the different areas, making sure they all saw everything. Eventually, Locke crossed paths with the head investigator of the FBI, Special Agent Dunham. She was a cute brunette, but she was missing her gloves, and with a coffee-cup in her hand, her calloused knuckles were on display, a testament to her love-hate relationship with the punching bag at her local gym.

“Any theories?” she asked as he approached.

“If this was the work of zombies, then it would have to be a mutated strain of the disease, causing physical and mental enhancements.”

She was leaning against a power line pole, but Locke took her arm and gently pulled her away. Her first instinct told her to wrench her arm free and open up some distance, but the way he was looking up, she just took the hint and stepped away. She followed his gaze, spotting a body impaled on the pole. Jesus, how did she miss that?

“Please tell me you have a counter theory,” he said.

She shook her head. “It wasn’t marauders. Look at the roads, no tire marks. If it was a roving gang, they would had burst into town with their tires screeching and squealing. There are plenty of bullet casings, likely from the armed civilians, but no sign that anyone was shooting at them, not a single bullet wound. There is also almost no destruction, nothing missing. But what really concerns me is that whatever did it left no bodies behind. If this was done by the undead or some other non-human creatures, then someone should have managed to kill at least one.”

“Meaning they either took the bodies when they left, or the people were simply unable to kill any.”

“Hey! Over here!” Locke looked over to Bosman, waving from an alley. He and Dunham rushed over. It was another body. “Look at this.”

He was pointing down at a patch of snow, in which a footprint had been left behind, but not the footprint of a human. It had four toes, each with long talons, along with a fifth toe behind the ball of the foot. The print was massive, as if belonging to a raptor from Jurassic Park.

Dunham crouched down to get a closer look. “This print ... It’s like something from a predatory bird, or some kind of quadrupedal animal.”

Bosman motioned to the body. “But look at the bite wound here on the neck of the vic. Humanoid bite pattern, but with much sharper teeth, and...” he held up a measuring tape to study the width, “a mandible almost one and a half times bigger than a regular human.”

Locke stepped back, looking at the scene to try and imagine the creature in its entirety. He moved his hands in the air to segment the feet, the imaginary legs, the torso, and the head. “A person with a mouth that big would have to be ... a good seven, eight feet tall?”

“If we’re talking gigantism, then yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Add in the altered structure of the legs and we’re talking ten to twelve feet.”

Both Bosman and Dunham looked up, trying to visualize a creature that size.

“God, help us,” Dunham murmured.

Augusta, the capital of Maine, sat on the bank of the Kennebec River. While not as large as the city of Portland, and too far inland to handle maritime commerce, it was positioned perfectly to control the belt of civilization that stretched along the coast from Bangor to the New Hampshire border. To enforce its authority, the city had been heavily renovated during the reconstruction movement, with massive buildings and a concrete jungle replacing what had originally been a rural town before the war. Normally bustling, it was quiet on this night, the overcast blocking out the moon and stars and robbing what little courage anyone had to be out after sundown. Even artificial light seemed weakened, hindered by a fog that rolled in off the river and entombed everything.

But not all was silent. There were hurried steps, a scrawny boy, fifteen, running down the sidewalk, fleeing from a pursuer that wasn’t there. The only thing chasing him was his own anxiety. He kept by the light as much as he could, only sighing in relief when he finally reached the Moose Head Tavern. He circled around and entered through the backdoor. His apron was waiting for him on a hook by the light switch. As he walked past the kitchen, the bartender, a large man with a head like a fuzzy potato, stepped out with two baskets of fries.

“Eric? You’re certainly here early. Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”

The boy was flushed and gasping for air, but he tried to play it off. “Yeah, well, the bus was delayed, so I decided to walk.”

“I’ve seen you walk here in the rain without being this early. Look at yourself, you look like you’re about to keel over. What’s going on with you?”

“I just ... didn’t want to be on the streets any longer than I had to.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and walked back out with Eric following him. “Those are just stories. Don’t let some rumors by a bunch of hillbillies scare you shitless.”

“Haven’t you been watching the news? It’s been happening in more and more towns.”

“It’s probably just a prank or something, someone trying to stir things up. Here, take these to the girls.”

Eric took the two baskets and maneuvered out from behind the counter. The bar was lively as always, but filled only with men, save for two exceptions. In the back of the bar were two college girls that Eric knew well, Cho and Hijiri Misato, nineteen-year-old twins from Japan. Despite their relationship, their personalities were polar opposites. Hijiri, the younger sister, sat with her back to the wall. She kept her scarf on, even inside, and wore a long skirt over her black leggings. Her eyes were always downcast, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze. Despite her shyness, she was a world-class beauty, and her glasses gave her a sexy librarian look.

Cho, on the other hand, was using a second chair as a foot rest, as if to announce her presence to everyone in the bar. She wore sexy yoga pants and a tube top that showed off her midriff. Her coat was the same way, making sure her belly button ring was always visible. Similarly visible were her nipple piercings, poking through her top. Despite being D-cup, she rarely wore a bra. She truly rocked the slutty hotness department, though her personality left a lot to be desired. She was noisy, impatient, shameless, and all-around bossy. When looking at her flat-chested sister, one might thing breast size equaled confidence.

“Christ, it’s about fucking time. Now go get us some shots,” Cho barked.

Hijiri slightly raised her head, but didn’t say anything. Eric knew that slight movement was her way of trying to tell her sister to be polite and that she didn’t want any heavy alcohol, but was too nervous to actually say it. Cho was a bitch, but she looked after Hijiri, and after all these years, Hijiri knew there was no point in trying to change her behavior.

“Hi, Eric,” she said softly, but with a small smile.

“Hey,” he replied in kind, finally having something to feel good about.

No warning, Cho just slapped him in the balls with the back of her hand, strong enough to nearly send him to the floor. “Know your place, virgin,” she said, not even looking at him.

“I’ll ... I’ll get you your drink,” he said as he tried to maintain his balance. He hobbled towards the counter, but her heard Hijiri’s voice.

“Our ride is here.”

He and Cho both looked out the front window, where a fancy town car sat, waiting.

“So? We’ll leave when we’re done. That driver is paid to wait.”

“Dad will be mad if we’re late.”

“Ugh, fine.”

The two of them gathered their things and left. No money was left on the table, and the bartender didn’t write down any numbers for a tab. Two underage girls eating and drinking at a bar for free, one of them always nervous and the other used to getting her own way. A town car waiting for them outside. An underage boy working behind the scenes, with all the patrons being men who were armed. All these traits had a common factor, the twins’ father: Lee Misato, “the Capone of the North”.

As his nickname suggested, he ran the state mafia, and by extension, the state itself, with his influence stretching to every town near the coast, from Bangor to Portland, as well as multiple city states in the rural areas, and he was currently engaged in a war with the Boston mafia to expand his territory into other states. Rumor had it that he used to be a Yakuza, but fled to the states almost fifteen years ago with his daughters after a failed coup. His second coup was successful. This bar was one of the many businesses he owned, with the majority of its patrons being his underlings. So, of course, his daughters got free service. With most of the police on his payroll, Cho and Hijiri could do just about anything without consequences.

Their personalities had been shaped by this lifestyle. Hijiri felt an unspoken shame towards her father’s crimes, but it was in conflict with her gratitude for the happy and stable life, and her love for the only living member of her family, besides her sister. With illegal activities happening all around her, she had long since learned to keep her head down. She didn’t see or hear anything. As far as anyone was concerned, she didn’t exist, and if she didn’t exist, she could never get in trouble.

Cho, on the other hand, loved being the daughter of a mob boss. Since he came to power, she lived her life surrounded by money and yes-men. She got whatever she wanted, and Daddy would hear about anyone who got in the way of that. It was why she flaunted her looks, because no one dared touch her. Every man was afraid of her, so she’d tease them to add salt to the wound. To her, sex was just a means of dominating and humiliating any guy she deemed worthy enough for her to use. In a few years, she might even let Eric be her new whipping boy.

Eric himself was the son of one of Lee’s former underlings, killed during a botched drug deal. His mom was out of the picture, so Lee took care of Eric, keeping him out of the foster system and giving him a job at the bar with added monetary aid so that he could live on his own while going to school. He even pulled some strings to get him a scholarship for after he graduated. Like the twins, no one would bat an eye to an underage kid in this bar.

Eric’s shift dragged on, time and focus sweeping all thoughts and fears out of his head. As he worked, Misato’s men would ask him how he was doing, ask about school, if he was dating anyone. They were all friends of his father and kept an eye on him. They were good guys. The Moose Head was more like a close-knit club than a bar.

But someone didn’t know the rules.

It was towards the end of Eric’s shift when a stranger entered. Black overcoat, black hair, and a glint in his eye that anyone in the bar could recognize. He took a seat at the counter, seemingly oblivious to the eyes on him. There were only two reasons why a stranger would enter this bar. Either he didn’t know the kind of place it was, or he knew exactly the kind of place it was. All the men exchanged glances, trying to figure out if anyone knew him. If he was a stranger to all but one of them, that would make some sense. Was he invited?

“Whiskey, neat,” he said.

The bartender poured him his drink. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I just rolled into town.”

“From the south?”

“From the north.”

Brows furrowed, red flags being raised.

“How far north?”

The stranger smiled and took a drink. “Pretty far, up in the badlands. Though, I was just visiting for business.”

“Same for here? Business?”

“You could say that. I’m looking for someone. Lee Misato?”

The bartender turned to Eric. “Eric, it’s late enough. Time for you to head home.”

Eric obeyed and moved out of the bar to the back of the building. But before he could reach the door behind the kitchen, curiosity seized him. Did this stranger have something to do with what was happening upstate? Did he have any information? If he wanted to see Mr. Misato, then it had to be important. He crept back towards the bar, standing behind the door that was behind the counter. There was a small window, granting him a view of everyone inside. All the men were facing the stranger, waiting for any sign that the situation was heading south.

“And what could you possibly want from someone like Lee Misato?”

“I’m going to ask him to work for me.”

A laugh moved through the room, ending with the bartender. “I highly doubt you have anything worth his attention. Mr. Misato is a very busy man and doesn’t have time for small-timers like you.”

“It’s not a matter of consent. He’ll either obey or ... well, I’ll simply make him obey.”

At that, all the men stood up, their hands on their holstered guns.

“Son, I’m going to give you this one warning. Leave town and don’t come back. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Wrong. ‘Nothing’ is all that will be left when I’m done. I suggest one of you gives me the information I want, before I have to take it by force.”

One of the men stepped forward, drawing his gun and pointing it at Dominion’s head. “Get the fuck out before I put the fear of God in you.”

As if taking the hint, Dominion got up and walked towards the door. But rather than reach for the handle, he turned with a grin on his face. “How about I show you what real fear is?”

It was then unleashed, his bloodlust, in all its unholy fury. It hit all the men like a tsunami of acid, the pain and terror literally washing over them. To meet Dominion’s eyes was like looking deep into Hell itself, to be assailed by the insidious will of the Inferno. It was an attack only on their minds, yet the fear it invoked ripped through their bodies. This terror, it burned them. It turned their blood toxic, filled their mouths with the taste of ash, and cut their lifespans in half. While not receiving the full brunt of it, even Eric was exposed, and it robbed him of the ability to stand.

After only a couple moments, Dominion sealed away his killing intent. All the men in the bar looked like they had aged twenty years. Some immediately fell over, suffering heart attacks like the hunting party from Senner, but the rest did something he did not expect. Each man drew his pistol, and instead of opening fire on Dominion, he put the muzzle to his temple and pulled the trigger. It was simultaneous, all the men killing themselves. The sound of gunfire shook Eric from his paralysis. He threw up on the floor and then staggered to his feet. He burst outside and ran away as fast he could, sobbing and vomiting with each step. As the boy ran off, Dominion looked at the bloodshed and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Since they had killed themselves, he couldn’t harvest their souls for information, and there was no one left alive for him to interrogate. The heart attack victims were dead the moment they hit the floor.

“Ugh, what a waste of perfectly good souls,” he cursed.

He had unleashed his bloodlust just to make them obedient. But rather than breaking their will to resist, he broke their will to live. It seemed he hit them with too much. He’d have to go easy next time. But it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little proud of himself. He scared a room full of armed men so bad that they all considered suicide. That was an achievement worthy of another drink.

Eric drove straight through the steel gate, smashing up the front of his car in the process and sending the two guards leaping into the hedges to avoid him. Even if he wasn’t semi-lucid from terror, the damage to the car wasn’t really on his mind. He had stolen it, carjacked a guy waiting at a stop light. Fear had made him do it, made him drag the guy out of the bar and beat him unconscious. He hit him so hard that his pinky finger was broken, but he was too delirious to feel pain. It was the first violent act of his life, but fear can make someone do crazy things.

Having arrived at the Misato mansion, he drove up to the front door while alarms blared. Armed guards seemed to come out of nowhere as he jumped out of the car. He didn’t even put it in park or turn it off, he just hit the brakes and scrambled out when he reached the door and let it roll off. The men, all with weapons raised, stared in confusion as they realized it was Eric. The boy threw himself at the double doors, beating his fist against the wood and sobbing.

“Mr. Misato! Mr. Misato, let me in!” he screamed.

The door was opened, a suited bodybuilder standing there. He was John, the head of security. “Eric, what the fuck are you doing?!”

But he just pushed his way through, entering the vast entryway. Facing the front door was a wide staircase, down which Lee arrived. He was spry for his age, and in good shape. Even without his power, it was easy for someone like him to get some arm candy.

“Eric, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“They’re dead! They’re all dead!” Eric threw himself at Lee but collapsed midstride, falling to his knees while gripping the man’s pants. “Everyone at the Moose Head is dead!”

Lee crouched down and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Jesus, your finger!” But the boy was sobbing and hysterical.

“We have to get out of here! Get the girls and run!”

He grabbed Lee by the collar, but before he could continue talking, he spit up a mouthful of blood. An artery in his esophagus had ruptured from the stress. Most people would get shot for making a mess of Lee’s shirt. Even subordinates would get a finger chopped off. But the look of terror on the boy’s face told Lee that a stained $400 shirt was the least of his problems.

He was still coughing up blood, but Eric managed to speak the words. “Don’t let him find you. Don’t let him kill you.” Then he passed out.

Lee looked at his men, all dumbfounded. “Take care of the mess outside and get the doctor. John, help me get him upstairs!”

He didn’t know when he woke up, it was still dark out, but Eric was screaming before he even opened his eyes. He felt hands on him, trying to hold him still. A light came on, it was Lee, but Eric kept thrashing. From the moment he closed his eyes, horrific phantasms assailed him, nightmares beyond description. They were the aftershocks of the biblical earthquake his mind had suffered back at the bar.

“Someone, help me!” Lee shouted. John came in and helped keep Eric pinned until he calmed down.

Once he became lucid, Eric looked around, realizing he was in one of the spare bedrooms. His hand was bandaged, likely done by the mob doctor. Lee always kept one nearby. His mind was working, but his heart was still racing, like he had just received a shot of adrenaline.

“Eric, listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened.” Despite Lee’s words, the boy continued to hyperventilate. “I sent one of my men to the Moose Head. He told me everyone there killed themselves.” Eric finally began to calm down, but that was because he could see the fear and stress on Lee’s face. The way he spoke, it was like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. This was a hardened mob boss, used to sitting on a throne, but what his subordinate described at the bar made him feel like he had been tossed into the ocean during a hurricane. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

“A man ... a man came in, looking for you. He was the Devil, he had to be. He said he wanted you to work for him. Everyone looked ready to jump him, but then ... he did something. I saw his eyes, just barely through the glass, but...” Eric began to cry. “Christ, it was like he raped my soul! I don’t know what it was, but I felt true evil, it was as real as the air. He’s not fucking human! He’s a monster! I didn’t know it was possible to be so afraid of something. It’s like something from the war, but a billion times worse.

I know why they did it, why they killed themselves. I felt it, just like they did. No matter what, don’t let him kill you. I thought I was afraid to die, but there are things so much worse than death! If he’s the one that kills you ... you WILL go to Hell. If he kills you, you’ll suffer more than you ever thought possible. I was in the back, by the kitchen. I thought that if I slit my wrists, or if I lit myself on fire, then I’d be safe from him.

Please, Mr. Misato, we have to get out of here. Leave the state, leave the country. Go to the other side of the fucking world! We can’t be here!”

“Eric, listen to me. I’m going to take care of everything. You did good in telling me all this. Now get some rest.” Lee then stepped out of the room with John. “Double the guard, and make sure the police don’t go sniffing around the bar. I’m not sure even I can cover this up. And tell the doc to give Eric something to knock him out.”

“Do you believe him?”

“That boy has seen people killed before. For something to scare him that bad and cause all those deaths, I’m ready to believe in just about anything.”

A guard approached them, dressed in a black suit and with a shaved head like John. “Sir, your daughters are asking questions.”

“Tell them to go back to sleep. And tell them that they are not allowed to leave the house until further notice. Lock them in their rooms if you have to. Whatever is going on, we have to end it before it gets any worse.”

The sun took its time in rising that morning. A palpable chill was on the air, and it seemed to lick the hearts of all those within the Misato syndicate, all those who knew that there was a new danger in their territory. The dawn’s gray fingers slipped through the window blinds in Lee’s home office, reflecting off a glass paperweight and shining directly into his eyes. He slowly stirred, though it was the soreness in his neck that forced him to acknowledge the new day. It wasn’t the first time he had fallen asleep on his desk, and no matter what chair he sat in, he always regretted it upon waking up.

He had been ready to turn in when Eric appeared, but when he heard of what happened at the bar, his evening plans were ruined. He had spent the night micromanaging his empire from behind his desk, too afraid to leave his house. The most pressing matter was the Moose Head, all of the deaths that had occurred there. Multiple calls had been made to the police the previous night, sounds of gunfire. The callers were ignorant of who that bar belonged to and didn’t know how to keep their heads down. Luckily, the police dispatch center was in his pocket. Any call to the cops would go through someone on his payroll, so if something bad happened or if a someone decided to be a witness rather than a bystander, Lee could silence it. As such, all calls about gunshots never made it through, so the police were completely unaware of what happened.

But there was the issue of the mess. He had to have a black-market cleaning crew come to remove the bodies and all traces of the suicides, every blood splatter and bullet hole. Then, next of kin had to be notified, but very quietly, and not all of them immediately. The Misato syndicate was an organization like any other, it relied on a solid morale. Dumping the bodies of enemies into the river and acting like they never existed was one thing, but productivity drops when coworkers have to bury each other in unmarked graves, with families left without answers. Of all the people who worked for him, half had no family to speak of, a quarter did have family who were unaware of their job, and the rest had at most a spouse who knew vaguely what they did for a living. A vengeful widow who believed Lee responsible would become a serious liability, and killing them off could hurt morale.

The families of dead henchmen were most often bribed and looked after like Eric, and on a scale like this, the loss in manpower combined with hush money payments was an incredibly expensive issue.

Next came the problem of his other companies and hideouts. Whoever was looking for him, they were likely operating under minimal information. They came into the Moose Head simply because a bar was where they were most likely to get information. But that didn’t mean his other operations were safe. He controlled countless businesses in the state. Each one was a valuable asset in terms of money, and a potential liability in terms of information. So, of course, the twilight hours had been spent evacuating some areas and reinforcing others, making sure that anyone searching for him would end up in an abandoned building or facing a small army of his subordinates.