No Broken Beast

by Snow, Nicole

  It’d be almost comical against the Halloween backdrop of orange string lights, paper cutout ghosts, hanging plastic skeletons, pumpkins everywhere.

  If only I didn’t know just how real the danger is.

  Worse, the only key to stopping it dangles from my arms, battered and beaten and unconscious.

  Or pretending to be, if Ross knows what’s good for him.

  I can’t promise I won’t cut his throat to keep him from triggering me again, trying to turn me into a weapon against everyone I love.

  Gray stands tall, looking through the chaos, then nods firmly. “We’ll start at the radio station.”

  “Yeah.” I shift Ross’ weight, hoisting him up over my shoulder so I don’t literally drag him to death by asphalt. “Let’s haul some ass.”

  Still feels like it’s not quick enough.

  Not even with the Missoula police and fire department on the way to reinforce the town.

  I called it in while I was dragging Ross’ half-dead carcass up the road. Nearly a dozen more calls in to multiple numbers in Heart’s Edge wouldn’t work, but I could reach Missoula, let them know about the fire on the highway and a potential terrorism situation in town. They were already dispatching people by the time I hung up.

  Shame Missoula’s almost a couple hours away.

  It won’t be enough.

  They’ll get here just in time to clean up the corpses.

  Gray and I set out at a sharp jog, Ross’ head bouncing against my shoulder, and soon we collide with the wall of confusion flowing the other way, forging through the people toward the radio station with Blake’s voice still echoing around us.

  I’ve got to get to the museum.

  Got to get to Rissa.

  Just can’t let the entire countryside burn down, either. Not again.

  Trying to do the right thing costs me precious time, though. I hate like hell that’s playing right into Nash’s hands.

  Finally, we’re bursting into the station. Everyone freezes—Fuchsia, Warren, Blake, Zach.

  “Cut the mic!” I yell.

  I don’t want to cause a panic. People will stop running out of the town if they realize a fire’s heading toward us.

  Blake slams the button, lifting his head, looking at us, staring at Ross. “What’s with the—”

  “No time,” I snarl. “We crashed. Sparks caught on a gas leak. There’s a fire burning about a mile and a half south, currently dry brush and trees, but it’s gonna spread. We’ve got Missoula fire and police on the way, but they’re a good hour out, maybe more.”

  Ready tension goes through Blake instantly. He nods, sharp and businesslike, heading for the door. “I’ll get the crew moving. Split half here, half for the road. Why didn’t you call?”

  “Lines are dead.”

  “Jammers,” Fuchsia cuts in. “I’ve been trying to get some kind of signal out, but there’s nothing but static. Nothing’s going any farther than the town limits now.”

  “Yeah.” My gaze shifts to Warren. “You’re sure she said ‘cellar door?’”

  Warren nods. He’s got my son’s hand held tight in his, and later I’m going to thank him for that and be goddamn glad I’ve got friends like him. “Yes. Leo, I can—”

  “No. Stay with Zach,” I growl.

  Precious seconds are slipping by. “Gray and I got this. You stay, War.”

  But I can’t stand the fear in my boy’s eyes.

  The way he looks at me, so wide-eyed, like I’m the only one who can make things better.

  It’s like he knows I am.

  And without a second’s hesitation, I shove Ross’ limp body at Gray, leaving him stumbling to catch him, while I drop to my knees in front of my son, pulling him into a tight bear hug.

  He clutches at me, little fingers grasping, and I hug him so close I’m afraid I’ll break him, then pull back and cup his face in my hands.

  “Hey,” I say. “Listen to me, Zach. You call me Mr. Monster sometimes, right?”

  Zach smiles faintly, trembling. He’s like his mom, barely ever cries when things get bad.

  He cries when it’s over and it’s safe. But his eyes are wet now, his voice thick.

  “I know your name’s really Leo,” he says.

  “But I’ll be Mr. Nine for you, and Mr. Monster.” And Dad, I want to say, but that impulse I had before goes quiet on my tongue.

  The other things I need to say are so much more important.

  “Listen, some bad people turned me into a monster a long time ago, little guy...but being one made me strong. Strong enough to save your mom and make everything okay. Do you believe that? Can you believe in me?”

  Zach hesitates, then nods slowly, taking a calming breath.

  “I believe in you, Mr. Nine,” he whispers.

  “Good.” I smile like the sun. “Hold tight. I’ll be back with your ma real soon.”

  I stand and pin Warren with a look.

  “Take him,” I say. “All of you get out of here. Get to the inn. It’s far enough to be safe if I can’t stop this, and it really goes sideways, but keep away from any windows.”

  A dark, somber silence fills the room.

  Everyone knows what we’re not saying.

  If I can’t fix this, there might be nothing left of Heart’s Edge to save by morning.

  It’s Fuchsia who breaks the silence.

  She slams her hands on the table and stands, eyes snapping, as she flings her headset off. “Well, we’re not going to fucking stand here, are we?”

  I stare at her as she stalks toward me. “Where are you going?”

  “To call in the cavalry,” she hisses, then shoves past me and out the door, making Ross flop against me as Gray passes him back.

  Gray stares after her. “What’s gotten into her?”

  “No clue, but for once I trust she’s on our side. Now let’s move.”

  My last sight of my son is his wide eyes as Warren picks him up, bundling him close.

  Takes everything in me to force myself to turn my back on him.

  Fuck. It feels like my entire life I’ve been walking away from the people I love to save them.

  Only this time, it’s different.

  This time, I’m walking away from them to do something real, something final, instead of just running away.

  I’ll always come back for you, woman, I’d told her, no matter how much hell it takes.

  Eight years later, I’m about to make that true.

  * * *

  Gray and I cut out into the parking lot of the radio station. Something about the emergency lights mixed with the Halloween decorations makes the town look like it’s already burning.

  I feel like I’m standing at the entrance to hell in Dante’s Inferno.

  Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

  It’s hard to make anything out in the chaos. But at least I won’t stand out with my hood back, my face exposed, my hands a bare, scarred, tattooed mess.

  No one even looks twice when we’re fighting the current of skeletons and Frankensteins and vampires and zombies. The only thing that makes us stand out is that we’re moving counter to the crowd.

  Humans are herd animals. They swarm.

  Whether they realize it or not, they run on patterns, and some sort of hive mind makes it all too easy to pick out those who don’t fit.

  While we press on to the museum, breathing gasps of adrenaline-scented air thick with the musk of October, I see him. Someone who doesn’t fit.

  Someone tall, gargantuan like me.

  Someone far too calm in the middle of this shit.

  Nash.

  He’s strolling merrily down the sidewalk in the panic, a pleasant smirk on his lips, his eyes bright and thoughtful.

  He’s watching people run past like he’s seeing trained zoo animals.

  Like he’s enjoying their horror, and it doesn’t bother him at all that we’ve intercepted his plans. Just as long as this fucking vampire gets to see people scared, running wild.


  He’s sick.

  He’s the kind of monster Ross tried to make me.

  I stare him down till he lifts his head and catches sight of me. Then our eyes lock, his smile widens, and all I see is a human shark.

  Vicious teeth and dead, empty, killing eyes.

  Right before he turns away and vanishes, disappearing between two buildings.

  Like hell!

  Snarling, I push forward, using my bulk to clear a path as I break into a jog, Ross’ limp body bouncing against me. “Come on!”

  Gray hangs close on my heels as we sprint across the street, fighting through the crowd. There’s nowhere else Nash could’ve gone except between the laundromat and Felicity’s bakery, but by the time we break free from the throng—it’s like moving through mud—he’s nowhere in sight.

  I stand at the mouth of a hell-lit alley, panting, my lungs on fire.

  Fuck.

  No. He wasn’t moving fast. He’s taunting me. He couldn’t have gotten far.

  Without stopping to wait for Gray, I charge forward, sprinting down the alley to the next narrow cross street. I don’t even feel Ross’ weight on me now. He’s been the albatross around my neck my entire life, but now he’s a weapon and I carry him with ease.

  There’s nothing, not even evacuating people, when I hit the cross street.

  I scan left, right, and see only emptiness.

  A silence that’s almost eerie for the chaos engulfing this town.

  At my back, Gray pants, “Leo—”

  “Quiet.” I snap one hand up.

  I can feel Nash here. His eyes on me. Almost jealous.

  It’s like he remembers when he used to drink my pain like booze, and he’s a drunk who wants just one more taste.

  There.

  A flicker of motion on the roof of the building in front of me.

  Just a glimpse of steel eyes, black clothing, a smirk.

  He’s turning away. I catch one very deliberate scuff of a boot before he takes off running.

  Baiting me again, the asshole.

  Only, I won’t let myself be hooked.

  Not like this.

  He doesn’t realize he’s not the tricky hunter.

  He’s the prey.

  And I’ve got the scent, my blood running hot and high and ripping through my veins, making me a machine charging through the streets, unstoppable, following every flirting hint of color and sound Nash uses to tease me onward. I don’t even know if Gray is still with me anymore.

  I don’t care.

  Don’t have time for games.

  For now, I’m every bit the beast Galentron made me, using every strength they forced on me to run this fucker to the ground.

  For Rissa, my future wife.

  For Zach, my son.

  For my home. This town means more to me than it’s ever known, and I’ve been its silent, punished guardian in the shadows for too long.

  * * *

  We’re almost to the edge of town when Nash breaks cover.

  Right in the parking lot of Sweeter Things.

  It’s almost poetic fucking justice when he goes vaulting through the broken-out front window. He hurls himself toward the freshly cleaned storefront where I’m waiting.

  Then I smash through the door, crashing right into him.

  Guess he’d expected me to follow him through the window. I’m done being subtle.

  We hit the floor together—me, Nash, Ross, all crashing down in a tangle of limbs.

  The sicko just laughs. His high, wild, crazy laughter echoes through the dark shop.

  My blood boils.

  So I grab him by the shirt, straddling him, lifting him up, then slamming him down against the tile.

  His head bounces off the floor with a loud crack.

  And the jackass just laughs some more.

  “What’s so damn funny?” I growl. “You fuck. I know about Black Phoenix. Where is it? Where’d you plant the bombs? What’s the code to disarm them?”

  Nash only grins up at me, his eyes narrowed, his silver gaze glinting like a snake.

  Pain is his pleasure.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know, Lion-boy.” He lets out a harsh, grating cackle, reaching up toward me. “Ah shit, you aren’t such a pretty lion anymore, are you? But your mane’s still nice.”

  He actually reaches for my hair—and I flinch back. My instinct recoils from his touch.

  That’s when he slams his head up and smashes his forehead right between my eyes, ramming into me with such violence I see hot red stars exploding in my skull.

  “Leo!” Gray yells.

  I don’t know when he got here, when he caught up, but even if I’m blind, I can feel him there, and when I reel back and then snap forward again, there’s a crunch of bone on bone. I open my eyes just in time to watch Gray plow his fist straight down into Nash’s face.

  Good man.

  Another friend, another brother I’ll have to thank after this is over. Now, I want a piece of this turd.

  Leaning forward, I grasp Nash’s shoulders, digging my fingers in like daggers, fighting through the pain and blinking away the star-shot blindness to shove him down. Gray falls, kneels at his head, dragging a handful of his hair back to slam his bloodied skull down against the tile.

  Nash blinks up at me, fuzzy through the haze in his expression.

  He’s not smiling anymore.

  “I’m gonna ask you one more time, fuckwit,” I say. “Where are the explosives, and what’s the code?”

  “And what if I don’t tell you?” he mocks. “Kill me, and leave this entire town and your precious beloved Clarissa to burn? You’re in a pickle, L-9.”

  “You know damn well what I can do to you,” I grind out. “And you know who I brought with me.”

  “Yeah,” he sneers, his gaze rolling to the side toward the limp bundle of Dr. Ross. “An unconscious old man who can’t do a thing and wouldn’t help you if you paid him. Genius.”

  “Wrong.”

  I trust Gray to keep his hold on Nash while I let go with one hand, reach over, and yank at Ross, dragging him across my lap and making him another weight holding Nash down.

  There’s a pressure point on both sides of the neck that inflicts incredible pain.

  Pinch it, and you’ll make a man scream. The jolt to his system even overrides the inhibitors keeping his brain subdued, forcing him awake to react to an imminent threat.

  I spread my thumb and forefinger to the nape of Ross’ neck. Find that pressure point. And squeeze.

  I’ve never heard a grown man howl like him: high, pitiful, terrible.

  I actually fucking wince, but I don’t stop as the doctor bucks and strains in my arms, paralyzed by the pain ripping up his vertebrae.

  This is what he taught me.

  This is why I have no qualms using it on him.

  Snarling, I relax my grip just enough to let him stop screaming. He lies there staring up at me, this pathetic old man who’s been reduced to nothing after he fucked me up for life.

  I’d almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

  “You awake?” I ask coldly. “Can you understand me?”

  Ross’ lips tremble. “Y-yes,” he manages, his voice thick.

  “You understand that if you try anything besides what I tell you, Gray here kills you and none of your tricks will stop him?”

  Ross says nothing, swallowing hard.

  So I squeeze down again. Enough.

  And he lets out that high, sickening scream again.

  Just a quick burst in a few seconds before he cries out, “Yes, yes! Anything!”

  “Weak,” Nash spits, prideful to the end. “Pathetic, old man. I thought you were better than this. I thought you were in control!”

  “Quiet, you whelp,” Ross bites back in a gasping voice as I relax my hold. He slumps. Even trembling with pain, that familiar authority enters his voice. “You blew this entire mission.”

  “And you—”

  “Shut up. You can have your l
overs’ quarrel from inside your cell,” I snarl, cutting them off, pinching down on Ross’ neck just enough to make him tense, bracing for more torture. “Give Nash the command phrase. Tell him to tell me everything.”

  “Don’t do it,” Nash hisses. “Don’t you dare betray us.”

  I almost laugh.

  Us? They think they’re fighting for a cause?

  It makes a sick kind of sense.

  When an evil company becomes your cult, doing its bidding becomes your religion.

  “Do it,” I say.

  My fingers pinch Ross’ neck harder, applying enough force that he can’t even scream—he just arches into an almost perfect curve, his entire body stiff, his heels clacking against the floor.

  I want to be a better man and say I don’t enjoy this.

  But after everything he did to me? Everything he did to every Nighthawk, turning kids into monsters?

  There’s a grim satisfaction I’ll savor later when this is over and my family’s safe.

  I hold till I’m sure I won’t have to get my message across again, then let go.

  Ross slumps, choking, his eyes closing, his lips slack.

  “Say it,” I repeat slowly, growling. “Say the command phrase!”

  Ross takes several shaky breaths, then nods slowly. “The...the small red truck spins its wheels.”

  Bingo.

  I often wonder what makes him choose the phrases he does, individualizing them to each of us so we’re all triggered by different things and can be controlled by these gibberish phrases people would hardly ever say in real conversation.

  But whatever made him choose that phrase for Nash, it works.

  The fuck suddenly goes limp under me.

  His sadistic eyes blank out, vacant, dull, his lips open but not moving.

  It’s like he’s a doll—a semblance of a living thing.

  I shove Ross off me, onto Gray. My friend lets go of Nash’s hair and drags a weak, beaten Ross out of the way.

  Leaning forward, bracing my hands to either side of Nash’s head, I look down at him steadily.

  “Talk,” I say. “What’s the deactivation code? Where’d you put the explosives? In the museum? What’s the exact location?”

  Nash doesn’t answer.

  Cruel seconds blur by like my heavy pulse, imagining Clarissa’s life blood slipping away. I’m terrified she went to the museum looking for Deanna, and Nash chose the same spot for his fuckery.