Amber Versus the Cult

“I just read a wonderful book called ‘Contest’ by Matthew Reilly. He is my inspiration for rapid fire fight scenes. Here’s a story flexing those literary battle muscles.’

I wrote this story in answer to the following prompts:
FOWC with Fandango  — Bone
Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge — Coat – Wrote – Throat
Your Daily Word — Imply
Ragtag Daily Prompt — Question
Word of the Day — Jiggle

Amber Versus the Cult

It began with a mysterious humerus. The bone had been forensically boiled after disarticulation. The act removed all flesh, bone marrow and DNA from the humerus. The only identifying feature was a demonic all-seeing eye symbol painted onto the fossa — the elbow joint.

While the police department failed to link the bone to a crime, Sergeant Amber Oaks was determined to solve the mystery. She knew the dark symbol had to imply that the new cult was rising in her city. Hours of research led her to six tattoo parlours using the symbol in their artwork. With no evidence that they were involved the case dead-ended.

It happened a week after bone arrived at the police reception desk. The police chopper was involved in the chase to apprehend a car full of drug dealers. Amber was glued to the live feed from the chopper’s camera. She’d always wanted to be an interceptor but hadn’t made the grade yet.

The camera followed the car as it raced through the city at reckless speeds and there it was. Emblazoned on the roof of an old factory, was the very same demonic all-seeing eye symbol.

Amber pulled on her police issue body armour and coat and left the precinct. This had to be the clue that would break the case on the mysterious humerus.

The factory was an old whiskey distillery.

The Gothic feeling redbrick building had been abandoned for two decades. A fire flickering in an upstairs window showed it to be full of life this night.

Amber alighted from a squad car and took a deep breath. ‘This is suicide going in alone — but I have to discover the truth,’ She thought. Taking out a radio she contacted dispatch. ‘This is sergeant Amber Oaks questing back up at the old Silver Barrels Whiskey Distillery.”

“Received — can you detail events – over.” replied the dispatcher.

“It’s believed illegal cult activities are taking place inside.” Amber approached the building. Gang tags in graffiti sustained the brickwork. She knew entering through the metal barred doors would be impossible.

A small window on the side provided entry. Using a pallet, Amber mantled the sill and with a little jiggle forced her body through the window and dropped down inside.

The place still had the lingering smell of the yeast used in whiskey production. Only now it was mixed with the stench of mould and urine.

Rats scattered as Amber clicked on her torch and edged her way between discarded boxes and barrels. Chained to the wall was a skeleton missing an arm. Amber knew she’d found the owner of the disarticulated humerus now. Leaving the room, she moved along a dark corridor.

The walls here were plastered with the darkest kinds of graffiti. Emblazoned in the middle of them was that symbol again.

“Welcome to hell,” Amber breathed with her fingers curled about her baton.

“Good guess!” the voice exuded from the shadows. Despite the deep tones, it was tinged by the creepy, sinister sarcasm of an evil clown.

Amber flinched against the wall, her eyes searching for the man.

“Welcome, to my house of horrors!” The man’s devilish laugh echoed along the corridor.

An icy tremble rattled through Amber’s bones, “I’m a P-police sergeant. Come out where I can see you and get your hands up – do it now!”

“Haha! The police have no jurisdiction here. I am Viscera — you’re in my world, now!”

Amber pressed her emergency alarm button, ‘Dispatch, I’m in grave danger please …”  The radio erupted with violent static. It was useless here.

“Shit!” Amber drew her baton and peered into the room ahead of her.

Nothing moved in the darkness.

Rushing feet charged from the corridor.

Amber saw and swung for a movement darkening her torchlight. She felt her baton strike a thick chest.

The attacker groaned as he slammed into her and grabbed for her throat.

 Amber crunched into the wall, she buried a knee in his stomach and swung her baton again.

The weapon thundered off his skull and this time he collapsed to the floor.

The sergeant wasted no time handcuffing him. She straightened as a fresh laugh echoed through the building like a demonic wind.

“Nicely done, Sergeant. But we just getting started!”

Amber sucked in lungfuls of the stale air. Forcing herself to stay calm as that was the only way to get out of this alive. She played her torch over the man at her feet. Every inch of skin visible around his tattered vest and shorts was tattooed. The baton had broken his orbital bone too.

Moving on, Amber headed past a staircase.

A room on the right came to life with the flickering light of fires.

Heading inside, the sergeant knew she’d found the main warehouse.

 Much of the large space was empty. Still, piles of crates and barrels lay discarded. An abandoned distilling vat stood rusting in the centre of the room. A flickering pyre reached out of the vat. A tall man stood silhouetted the flames.

“Welcome to the end of your life. Let the games begin!” He said with his arms stretched wide.

Amber felt movement and instinctively ducked.

An attacker with green spiky hair had lunged from the right swinging a machete.

The blade lashed over the sergeant’s head and plunged into the throat of a flame-hired woman. With a feeble gurgle, she collapsed face down on the floor.

“Ah hell!” groaned Spiky. “I’ll kill yer for that, darlin’!”

Amber raised her baton and turned to face him. “Her blood is on your hands, not mine.”

Spiky swore as he began slashing at her.

In reverse, amber parried and blocked full she was worth. Blow after blow hacked her baton to splinters. Then she felt it smashed from her grasp.

“Oh, dear! Now, the sergeant’s unarmed.” Jeered Viscera. “Soon she’ll lose her arms too!”

Spiky laughed as he continued his assault.

Amber jumped away until her legs slammed into a stack of crates. She locked eyes with Spiky, his pupils were dilated. No doubt he was fuelled with a cocktail of narcotics making him even more dangerous.

“Nah, yer mine, Darlin’,” he said bringing the machete axing through the air. He planned to cleave her skull in half.

The sergeant threw herself backwards. Her right foot cracked Spiky in the jaw as the machete swung harmlessly between her legs.

Amber landed on her back upon the crates.

Spiky was screaming vengeance as he spat out teeth.

Amber rolled away from a murderous strike which left the machete stuck in the crate.

Spiky tried to wrench it free as a look of terror crossed his face.

Amber leapt to her feet and kicked him away from the blade. Before she had a chance to execute another move a gunshot split the air.

Spiky’s head acquired a ragged hole as he collapsed to the floor.

“Useless fool! Feral, she’s yours!” yelled Viscera holding a blood-red painted Desert Eagle handgun.

Amber had managed to take control of the machete. She watched in horror as a man vaulted ten feet down from a balconied room.

He landed with a solid thud and straightened in front of Viscera. He was easily six and a half feet tall and as muscled as a heavyweight wrestler. Wearing only bloodstained boxers shorts and a spiked steel dog collar, he revealed the scars and wounds of many battles. “Can I tear you an arm or a leg off, Vis?” He asked with a voice befitting a rabid pit bull.

“Please,” Viscera replied in delight.

Feral seized a whiskey barrel, turned and hurled it in one scary feat of strength.

Amber dived away as it exploded into the floor right where she’d been standing. Splinters tore at her face as she regained her feet. “Nice throw. Care to chuck something else?” she remarked despite her fears.

“She’s feisty, Vis. I like her!” Feral burst into a run. Charging his smaller opponent with amazing speed to such a large man.

Amber dodged his meaty fists and rolled away behind the crates.

Feral drove a punch through a wooden box and hurled it into the wall, “Argh! I’ll throw you like a fleshy lawn dart.”

“Stop playing with her and kill her!” Viscera demanded.

Feral nodded and leapt onto the crates.

Amber swung her machete and cried out as her wrist was caught in the man’s vice grip.

With one arm he hauled her onto the crate. Seizing her belt, he lifted her above his head. “Hmm, pity I have to kill you. You feel n-ahh!”

Amber had seized her PAVA spray. She unleashed half a bottle of the incapacitant into Feral’s eyes.

Although he writhed in pain, he still had the wherewithal to hurl her.

The sergeant experienced a wave of warmth as she sailed over a lit firing barrel and crashed to the floor. Feeling like she had a broken shoulder, she rose in front of the woman bearing throwing knives.

The woman’s face was tattoed into the form of a hideous skull. “Hey, there sweet cheeks. Having a bad day, are —”

 Amber snapped forward punching her for all she was worth. Cartlidge broke and snapped as her knuckles rearranged the woman’s face.

She collapsed to the floor at the sergeant’s feet.

“Now, I guess we’re both having a bad day!” Amber spun around in time to hear Feral roar like an angry gorilla.

The mighty man beat his chest and charged at her. His eyes were bloodshot and streaming from the PAVA spray.

Seizing the throwing knives, Amber leapt into the air feet first. Her boots slammed into the firing barrel. Toppling it, she sent flaming shards of wood cascading over Feral, igniting his shorts.

He screamed and ran for the room in search of water.

Amber turned her attention to the distilling vat and gasped.

Viscera was no longer there. His arm curled around her neck and squeezed with the tensile strength of the hideous Anaconda. “You vanquished my warriors. Now, what’s left of you belongs to me!” he yelled in her ear before licking her face.

“Argh! You sick creep!” Amber back peddled and drove him into a wall.

Viscera just laughed as he increased the pressure on her neck. His laugh caught in his throat replaced by an anguished scream.

On the verge of asphyxiation, Amber had driven the throwing knives into his thighs. Wrenching free, she dropped to her knees unable to catch her breath.

Viscera staggered about behind her. He drew the gun and aimed. “You fought gallantly, but you just wrote the end of your life!” His finger tensed on the trigger as his body stiffened and he fell onto his side with stun gun barbs sticking out of his arse.

Amber saw five officers rushing toward her. She smirked toward Viscera. “You’re right, the game is over. I win!”

The End


Thanks for reading my friends.

There’s more in the Poetry CornerPoetry Nook, and the Short Story Collection

Have a great day!

20 thoughts on “Amber Versus the Cult

Add yours

  1. I liked Contest and have read all Matthew Reilly books. If you haven’t yet read any of the Scarecrow series (starts with ice Station) I recommend them. Fast paced and you are up there with them. He doesn’t seem to have written anything lately though.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I love to try and put my readers into the situation, to get you to feel like you’re in that dangerous situation and the dnger is slowly creeping up before the fight. I’m glad it works for you.

        Liked by 1 person

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