Through a simple investigation of asking people in the areas, it was believed the doctor and the boy were headed through Tennessee. They liked to stop at small town gas stations to either refuel or commandeer a new vehicle altogether. Helicopters patrolled the area for a majority of an entire day, but nothing ever came up. They knew how to hide, and more importantly, they still knew how keep themselves off the tracking devices.
A woman from the research team had drafted a report stating that the only way the Exalls could now avoid detection was if they had some new technology to wipe out the algorithms functioning within the tracking devices. The devices still detected the thermal energy Exalls put out, no matter how high or low their body temperatures were.
A team also followed the tracks of the two men in Michigan, putting together the story of what had happened. They figured out the timing of events, but remained puzzled as to why the men were in that specific room with the window blasted open, and why one would have stood by while the other was killed. Their deaths were seconds apart, and nothing in the story added up.
Colonel Griffins stayed late and arrived early every day. Each day started with his panicked thoughts and paranoia for the end of the world. Kyle was scheduled to arrive back in D.C. next week, and every instinct in his body told him that was when the next attack would come.
He wondered if the Exalls would actually be able to find a way into the Pentagon again, much like they had with Jonathon Browne a few years ago, infiltrating his body and controlling him to come in and shoot everyone else after hacking their system.
That was the most horrific event to ever take place within The Crew’s hidden offices, but Colonel Griffins suspected it could just as easily happen again. He’d regroup with the security team to go over a revamped process regarding how Crew members entered and exited the building. A war was looming, and if no one else wanted to accept it, he’d be the only one ready when the time came to fight back.
20
Chapter 20
The doctor insisted they wear suits for their venture into downtown Richmond. Their last several weeks had been spent hiding in rural towns, finding abandoned barns and open fields to pass the time. The search had begun for them, the doctor said, but he never mentioned how he knew. The people who called themselves The Crew were on the hunt for Exalls, primarily the two who caused the horrific scene at the Country Jam in Kansas City.
“We’re getting too close, and I don’t want to blow our entire project right before the big day,” he had told Brian earlier today. “We’ll be taking a less aggressive approach to our recruitment, but will still have a blast doing it.” He snickered, and Brian nodded nervously.
Brian was sick of Dr. Klemens, but felt magnetized to him. He had learned more about the monster living within himself, but had no clue where to begin in exorcising him from his mind. It was like having a seat in the back of a movie theater, but instead of enjoying a motion picture, he was forced to watch his life through the screen of his eyes. He felt the other presence in his mind, shoving Brian aside like someone squeezing onto the sliver of seat open next to you on the bus. His mind was suffocated and exhausted.
But every so often, he felt the pressure leave, as if it had floated off to pollute some other kid’s brain. And it always came back. However, when it left, it didn’t take its mystical powers with it. Brian felt those powers swarming through his body, like he could look at a building and set it on fire with his mind. He had once sat behind the wheel of a Lamborghini, and even though the car wasn’t turned on, he could still feel its powerful presence. This sensation was exactly like that as he understood the powers he wielded, but was too shy to actually use.
He had done some experimenting over the years, moving objects with his mind, changing a traffic light from red to green, but didn’t try anything of significance until he had willed a message from his mind to Mikey’s cell phone. He still didn’t understand how it worked, but when Mikey replied he heard the response in his head. In Mikey’s voice. It had given him hope that he’d be able to escape the madness, but Mikey never answered his last couple of messages, so he assumed they were never received.
He had learned to keep his mind quiet around the doctor. Dr. Klemens had a full understanding of his powers and never shied away from using them in public. On this very trip, he started a fight between two cows who were minding their business. Started it and watched like a curious child until one had trampled the other in a bloody brawl. And he howled the laughter only a maniac could muster.
Brian tried to keep these memories from surfacing in his mind, but the doctor was such a lunatic that he felt obliged to have that constant, nagging reminder of what he was capable of doing. Brian would have to try another message to Mikey later, but for now they sat in a dimly lit five-star restaurant in Virginia.
“What are you planning?” Brian asked, looking around the restaurant packed with men in fancy suits and women in sparkling dresses.
“Planning? Look, kid, I don’t plan. I just do. I already started the party when we arrived. Now we sit back and enjoy the show.”
The doctor grinned, his flesh still its human color, but Brian could see the grayness lurking behind those dark eyes and artificial smile.
“What did you do?” Brian demanded in a low voice.
“Let’s just say I faked a phone call to the chef. And when he stepped out back, I was there to greet him. He’s one of us now.” The doctor took a sip from his glass of the $1,000 wine he had ordered.
Brian looked around the restaurant, paranoid that someone was on to them. But why would a group of alien hunters even think of searching in a high-scale restaurant? Especially after their trek across the country had been nothing but small town diners and gas stations. They had stolen their suits from a mall in the middle of the night, the doctor getting in and out undetected.
“It shouldn’t be much longer until the fireworks start,” the doctor said with his coy smile. “Did you know if Exall blood is ingested through the stomach it will make the person incredibly sick before they transform into one of us?”
He stared wildly at Brian, who had no response.
“I haven’t seen it for myself yet, but I do look forward to the show.”
“What did you do?” Brian asked again, no longer wanting to eat from the basket of bread they shared on the table.
The doctor giggled. “Let’s just say the chef will be sharing his new gift with everyone in this restaurant. It goes really well with steak, brings out the flavors and juices.” He threw his head back and hooted.
They had been at the restaurant for half an hour already, and the doctor had said he forgot something in the car when they arrived. Brian pieced it all together and now glanced around the dining area in a brief moment of panic.
The doctor raised his wine glass in the air before tipping it back to chug the remains. He let out a loud belch that turned heads from those sitting nearby.
“Listen closely—it’s starting,” he said with a stupid grin. “A lady three tables over is complaining that her stomach hurts.”
One of the abilities gained as an Exall was hyper-focused hearing. Brian let his mind wander through the clutter of conversation and zone in on the third table away from them, as if he were sitting at the table with the middle-age couple.
“What’s wrong, Lisa?” a man’s voice asked. “You look like a ghost.”
The woman let out a couple of hiccups. “I don’t know. I feel hot and my stomach is tight. I think I’m gonna—”
Brian looked over to see the woman grasping her throat. From a distance she looked fine, minus the constant shuddering of her shoulders as she fought off vomit.
“Run to the bathroom,” the man pleaded, but it was too late.
Lisa hurled all over the table with loud gagging sounds, yellowish liquid splashing onto her plate of steak and asparagus. Those sitting near her table gasped and recoiled away from their own tables. Chunks of vomit sprayed the man sitting across from her, his h
ands held out as he looked down his body to the fresh mess.
“Oh my God!” a younger man cried out, jumping up from his table at the opposite end of the restaurant, hands clenched over his gut. He flailed around like a fish out of water, before bursting vomit in a way that reminded Brian of the girl from The Exorcist.
More people shouted and stood from their seats, an awkward moment of silence as they looked from the woman to the man in complete disgust.
The doctor only stared across the table to Brian, his grin wide, and his teeth showing shades of decay. “And here we go,” he said under his breath.
As if orchestrated, a handful of more people moaned as they either stood from the table and dashed toward the bathroom, or simply decided to upchuck all over their table.
A man burst into the dining room, waving his arms in the air. “People, please stop!” he pleaded. “If you feel sick, please step outside and away from our other guests enjoying dinner.” The man, presumably the manager, kept his manners despite the sheer panic in his voice. Five people in total had vomited in the restaurant, and the rancid stench grew and spread like a slow-moving fog.
“Get the fuck out of the way!” another man bellowed, lowering his head and barreling through a group huddled behind their table. The people were too slow to react and watched in awe as the man charged at them, his face pale, lips pursed so tight they turned the color of snow.
The man watched his dinner fly from his lips and cover the entire group of people before he collapsed to the ground and writhed on the floor, clenching his abdomen.
“What the hell is going on?” a woman shrieked.
The manager, who had kept his distance from the various messes, stood frozen as he looked around the entirety of the restaurant as more and more guests followed suit. It was like watching a long line of dominoes fall, and by this point, those who hadn’t vomited yet waited in grave anticipation for their turn.
“Everyone stay calm!” the manager shouted. “Let’s file out of the restaurant until we figure out what’s going on.”
Chaos had officially erupted, the screaming and panic from the patrons overshadowing anything that came out of the manager’s mouth.
“They’re all mine!” the doctor cried out, clapping his hands like an excited child. “All of them!”
Brian had stood from his seat and didn’t realize it. His hands gripped the back of his chair as he peered around, hoping some tumbling sick person wouldn’t come knock him over. People were starting to run, whether it was to the bathroom or out the front door. Some who had vomited had fallen to the ground like the man they all watched, leaving them in the line of the stampede.
Over the next five minutes, it appeared as if everyone in the restaurant had either vomited or exited the building with queasy faces and arms wrapped around their stomachs. Everyone except for the doctor and the young boy with him.
No one paid any attention to the pair, however, too consumed with fighting to keep their dinner down.
The doctor stood up, tossed his napkin onto the table and hopped on his chair. “Everybody, STOP!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Those who remained in the restaurant, maybe twenty judging by a quick glance, stood as if called to attention by a drill sergeant. They gazed at the doctor as if possessed, taking slow, lifeless steps toward him.
“Come and gather around, my children,” the doctor said, his grin widening, and no longer fake. It was obvious to Brian that he had become overtaken by sheer joy. He got kicks out of attacking innocent humans, but having power over all of these people elevated his excitement to a new level.
Some who had left the building returned, slipping and sliding on the pools of puke in the waiting area. The rotten stench clung to the air, but had no effect on Brian. His body was no longer wired to have a reaction to bad smells.
“Come, come!” the doctor said, elevating his arms like a preacher.
The manager started moving backwards, unable to break his stare from the man on the chair. He appeared to be the only one in the room unaffected, and Brian wondered if there were any cooks or staff hiding in the kitchen.
Within a minute the restaurant had filled back up with more than 50 people, all gathering around the table where Brian and the doctor stood.
“A new day is upon you all,” the doctor said once he had everyone’s attention. “Consider your old self dead and your new body resurrected with abilities beyond your imagination. You will do as we need to grow our army. You no longer need food, water, not even air. I demand you go somewhere reclusive and learn your new abilities. Once you understand your new potential, we’ll be moving to Washington, D.C. where the fun will really begin.”
The doctor threw his head back and howled like a werewolf, a shrill sound that would have made the hairs stand on Brian’s arms if he was able to have such a reaction. Then, the group of newly initiated Exalls started snickering. They looked around at each other and laughed like the doctor had told a wise joke.
Brian caught sight of the manager inching his way toward the back of the crowd, trying to slip out undetected, no longer concerned with his vomit-infested restaurant. The doctor saw him, too.
“You, sir!” the doctor barked. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The manager, whose fine suit had been tarnished with splatters of puke, froze in place like a burglar getting a flashlight shined upon him. His wavy hair bounced like a slinky over his forehead that glimmered with sweat.
“Please,” the manager gasped, holding his hands out in front of him to make a stop sign. “Just let me go.”
“Let you go?” the doctor shot back, the new Exalls following the exchange back and forth like a tennis match. “You’re going to join us.”
The manager turned and sprinted like a baseball player trying to steal a base. He shoved one of the dazed Exalls out of the way before reaching the waiting area where he slipped on the vomit-covered tile floor, diving and sliding forward like a child on a Slip ’N Slide on a hot summer day. The man growled as he struggled to come to his feet, his hands clawing for a grip on the slick floor, feet kicking chunks in every direction like a tire stuck in mud.
“Get him,” the doctor said calmly, winking at the crowd. “Bring him home to us.”
A man in the back turned and dove on top of the manager, clobbering him on the head with a balled fist as he opened his mouth full of his new, black fangs. Brian hadn’t noticed until now, but almost everyone’s skin tone had deepened to a shade of gray, his included. It was as if the Exalls had a unified driving force that kept them bunched together as one unit.
Once they saw the man attacking the manager, everyone else started shouting and running toward the two wrestling on the ground, the floodgates of chaos officially open for business.
A dozen others piled on top of the manager like a bunch of football players diving on top of a fumbled ball, the manager shrieking for his life from the bottom. “Stop it! STOP!”
His screaming was cut off by the vicious growling of the Exalls.
“Well, he’s ours now,” the doctor said to Brian, the two of them now alone while everyone else clamored for a position in the scrum. “Between the diner, the concert, and here, we should be rolling into D.C. with at least 1,500 others—likely more. They won’t be ready for that many of us. We can take over the country with that much power.”
Brian watched as the scene died down, the new Exalls breaking apart and leaving the restaurant in droves until the place was completely empty. The manager lay on the ground, gashes across his face, blood oozing from his head, throat, and legs. Brian thought he was dead, but like any good Exall he rose to his feet, shot a grin across the room at the doctor, and ran out of the building as he had attempted to do as a human just minutes ago.
“Good things are coming for us, Brian,” Dr. Klemens said, slinging an arm around Brian’s shoulder as if they were friends. “Good things, indeed.”
21
Chapter 21
Kyle
had a rough rest of his stay in Colorado after hearing about Brian’s text messages to Mikey. Sleep became impossible, his mind flooded with hundreds of morbid and terrifying thoughts.
“Do I tell The Crew about these messages?” Kyle asked himself in the spare room at his father’s house. He wanted to talk to Travis about what he learned, but was still unsure how everything worked regarding the confidentiality enforced by The Crew. Travis was somewhat a Crew member thanks to his mother and initial testing, but that didn’t mean he knew all of the happenings of the organization.
I have to tell them. This is absolutely Crew business, and I’m one of them now. They might not even know about this ability they have to send texts through their minds.
He assumed they did know, but there was always a chance the Exalls evolved some new ability overnight. And if they had, what did that mean for the future of the Crew? Griffins had assured him that the next major battle against their foes waited over two decades away, but Kyle suspected something bigger was at play. Everyone he had met within the Crew spoke like they had a dark secret hidden beneath the surface. Perhaps it was his imagination running wild after going through such a drastic change in his young life, but his instincts told him otherwise.
He couldn’t help but feel his grandmother’s presence in The Crew’s underground headquarters, but as he sat in the room that once served as her home office, he sensed her even more. He still didn’t understand how his dad thought it was a good idea to live in the house after what they had all witnessed, but thanks to some renovations, the interior appeared brand new, completely wiping out any hint of the life Susan had built.
Kyle wondered if the basement had undergone changes. Travis wasn’t due home for another couple hours, so he made his way to the top of the staircase. Standing there in the kitchen, the back door behind him, Kyle felt the hairs on his arms and back stand at attention. Like everything else, the kitchen had been remodeled. The island counter where the two Exalls had stood behind was replaced by a new island fixated with a deep sink and stovetop. The once tile-flooring had been ripped out and laid over with a glossy hardwood. The old picture of The Last Supper that once hung over the stairwell had been removed, replaced by nothing but a fresh coat of paint.
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