Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

"Just stay put and wait for Nick."

  "I'm capable of doing more than locating lost-pet notices, you know."

  "Nick already has enough on his hands. He doesn't need any trouble."

  "Trouble?" Gillian sniffed. When had she ever been trouble?

  "Sorry. Poor choice of words."

  "I took a self-defense class last summer at the YMCA. And I have Mace."

  "Uh-huh." Charlie's distracted reply led Gillian to believe he was paying more attention to his computer than her.

  Determined to prove herself a worthy team member, she blatantly defied orders and approached the delivery entrance. Passing potted palm trees, she picked her way down the ramp. In the blink of an eye she traded the dusk of early evening for semidarkness. The temperature dropped with each step she took, which, while kind of creepy, was a welcome relief from the eighty-five-degree heat.

  "Wait by the main entrance outside the shops," Charlie told her. "If anyone comes snooping around, call Nick. The tenants might not buy into his act and contact the police."

  "He's not presently taking my calls," she said, distracted.

  "Text message him."

  Gillian tried to picture a police officer patiently waiting for her to finish text messaging Nick before interrogating her. When she told the police officer why she and Nick were conducting an unauthorized, not to mention illegal, search of the premises, he'd arrest her on the spot for trespassing.

  No, better to enter the bowels of the building and find Nick. Then, if one of the shop employees did call the police, he could do the explaining.

  At the bottom of the ramp, she paused to get her bearings. To her left were about thirty or forty parking spaces, most of them occupied with cars or motorcycles. To her immediate right was an elevator and beside it a steel door with STAIRWAY marked in stenciled lettering. Mounted above the door was a glowing red exit sign.

  Good advice that Gillian chose not to heed.

  Straight ahead stretched a long, narrow corridor with security lights positioned every fifteen feet, their yellow bulbs giving off a dim, fuzzy glow. More steel doors lined both sides of the corridor, each marked accordingly. Phone room, electrical room, maintenance room, and so on. A large storage bin of some sort jutted out from the entrance to the corridor, partially blocking the entrance.

  "Gillian, are you still there?"

  At a loud burst of static, she pulled the phone away from her ear. "Yeah, Charlie, I'm here."

  Glancing about, she gnawed the inside of her lip. In spite of the eerie gloom, the garage appeared harmless enough. So why the strange tingling sensation pricking the back of her neck?

  Drawn to the security lights in the corridor and the safety they represented, she inched forward. In her ear, Charlie's crackling voice issued orders. She understood only every third word-something to do with rats. Or had he said pets?

  "Charlie. You're breaking up." Interference from the ten zillion pounds of concrete above her head, but she didn't tell him that. "I'll call back in a few minutes."

  She snapped her phone shut, then stopped to survey her surroundings. If she were Nick, where might she go to investigate a pest problem?

  To the farthest, darkest corner of the garage, she supposed.

  A terrible smell assaulted her nostrils, becoming stronger the closer she got to the corridor. What Gillian had mistaken as a storage container was, in reality, an industrial-sized trash Dumpster and the source of the terrible smell. In front of the Dumpster on the bare floor lay two or three torn plastic garbage bags, their contents strewn haphazardly.

  "When's collection day?" She made a face and kicked an empty milk jug out of her path. It inadvertently slammed into the Dumpster, and the ensuing racket echoed off the concrete walls. She started and let out a gasp.

  "For crying out loud." Feeling utterly ridiculous, she crossed her arms over her waist and waited for her frayed nerves to calm. "If there are any rats in the vicinity, I think I just scared them off."

  She turned and when her arm inadvertently brushed the Dumpster, she sprang away and examined her exposed skin for any clinging debris. There was none, thank goodness. She wiped her arm on her pants just to be on the safe side and promptly walked into an invisible wall of stink.

  "What the . . ." She drew back, her hand covering her nose and mouth, and retched.

  The really disgusting odor turning her stomach inside out, she realized, wasn't coming from the Dumpster but the trash chute in the wall next to the Dumpster.

  She crept forward, stuff too icky to think about crunching beneath her shoes. She grabbed the handle on the trash chute door and pulled it open. Bags of trash tumbled forward, and the smell nearly knocked

  her to the ground.

  "Oh, shit!"

  She pushed on the trash chute door but to no avail. The bags blocked the opening. Her eyes began to water, and she blinked back tears while struggling to breathe through her mouth.

  "Close, damn you." Putting her full weight into it, she pushed harder ... and jammed the door's mechanism so that it would neither close nor open. "Great. Just great."

  Her thirst for adventure fully slaked, Gillian decided to return to her "post" and leave the creaturehunting to Nick and Charlie. She was clearly in over her head, helping not in the least, and probably smelled as bad as the trash chute.

  She swung around just as a ding sounded and the elevator doors swished open. Nick? Her heart unconsciously leapt at the prospect.

  A smartly dressed woman emerged and headed toward the parked cars, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor. Without thinking, Gillian crouched behind the Dumpster and peered around the corner. She had no wish to be spotted this late in the game.

  After a cursory glance over her shoulder, the woman continued to ;her car, the horn beeping and headlights flashing when she activated her remote key device. Climbing in behind the wheel, she wasted no time leaving. Tires squealed as she crested the ramp at a speed exceeding safe limits. Gillian didn't blame her. She couldn't wait to get out of the garage either.

  Bracing a hand on her knee, she started to riseand caught sight of a small, brown, fuzzy rodent under the Dumpster. Before she could move, it scampered between her legs.

  She let out a short scream and shot to her feet, dancing as if she were walking barefoot on hot coals.

  The rat disappeared. Where to, Gillian didn't know or care. She worried there'd be more where that one came from and released a pent-up breath when none appeared.

  Shaking from head to toe, she leaned against the wall, giving her wobbly legs a moment to recover.

  God, she was such an idiot. What possessed her to think she could go it alone? Never again would she complain to Charlie about the grunt work he and Nick threw at her. Lost-pet notices beat smelly garbage and rats any day of the week.

  Feeling a bit steadier, Gillian set out.

  She took no more than a single step when the lid to the Dumpster popped open. Something-a hand?shot out and grabbed the back of her shirt.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gillian screamed again, louder and longer this time, and twisted wildly in an effort to break free. The hand let go, only to seize her by the hair and jerk her off her feet.

  Still screaming, she regained her balance and slapped at the hand. The fingers tightened their hold.

  "Let go of me!" Grabbing her attacker's wrist, she dug her nails into the flesh.

  Cold, hard, bumpy flesh.

  Gillian's next scream died in her throat. Who, or what, had hold of her?

  Adrenaline flooded her system by the bucketful. Driving her thumb into the pressure point on the underside of her assailant's wrist, she squeezed with all her might. To her relief, the fingers loosened a fraction. With her other hand, she fumbled for the can of Mace in her pocket.

  Pain radiated along her neck, back, and arms. She fought it, instinct overriding fear.

  The fingers abruptly released her hair. Gillian lifted her head and blinked, dizzy from the ordeal. A split second later the
Dumpster lid flew all the way open, banging into the wall. She yelped, her paralyzed vocal cords once again functioning.

  Before she could make a run for it, something definitely not human hurled itself at her, hissing angrily. Spittle, wet and slimy, struck her in the face as long, sticklike fingers closed about her neck.

  She thrashed from side to side, gagging on the foul smell. Her last thought before she hit the ground was that she'd die not from asphyxiation but from the stench.

  Her shoulders absorbed the brunt of her fall, saving her from certain head injury. Something heavy landed on her chest. A body? Through a veil of tears she saw a face straight out of a sci-fi movie, with eyes black and round and impossibly huge. The mouth hung open, revealing twin rows of razor-sharp teeth. Above the mouth were two small holes where a nose should have been.

  Gillian pummeled her attacker, her fists connecting with a hard, flat surface smooth as sheet metal and just as impenetrable.

  In the furthest recesses of her mind she realized she'd just found one of the female creatures ... and it very much wanted to choke the life out of her.

  Gillian was no match for the creature, which, while the size of a ten-year-old child, possessed twice her strength. Her lungs on the verge of exploding, she clawed at its hands, hoping to puncture its thick hide.

  When that failed, she attempted to dislodge the creature by bucking like a madwoman.

  The open mouth with its pointed teeth hovered inches from her face, the foul breath affecting Gillian less and less as survival took precedence. Lifting a leg off the ground, she tried to shove her knee into the creature's backside and knock it off balance. She encountered only empty air. In retaliation, the creature squeezed doubly hard.

  Time was running out. Her vision dimming and strength ebbing, Gillian made one last effort to reach her can of Mace. The creature's legs, locked firmly around her waist, blocked her probing fingers.

  "I don't want to die.."

  Had she spoken the words out loud? Gillian wasn't sure. Very little made sense as her oxygen-starved brain shut down cell by cell.

  An image of her mother floated before her eyes, taking the place of the creature's hideous face. How tragic, thought Gillian with an odd lack of emotion, that she should die in a manner so similar to her mother.

  She'd been just seven the last time she saw her mother and, sadly, her memories had faded over the years. But this smiling visage was crystal clear, perfect in every detail, and ... speaking to her.

  "Hold on, baby, just a tiny bit longer. He's coming."

  Gillian wanted to ask who was coming but nothing except a weak wheeze passed her lips.

  A shadow crossed in front of her mother's face, becoming darker until blackness consumed Gillian's entire field of vision. And with the blackness came freedom from pain. Her lungs no longer burned and the excruciating weight around her middle lightened.

  Her tranquility was cut short by a yell that came from everywhere at once. In the next instant-or perhaps longer, Gillian's concept of time was distortedthe female creature was gone.

  She gulped. Air invaded her lungs, searing them like liquid fire. Coughing uncontrollably, she rolled onto her side and hugged her middle. Her throat ached, inside and out. Her ribs, too. Rivulets of liquid spilled down the sides of her cheeks and neck. Tears, or perhaps blood?

  Her coughing fit eventually subsided, and she became cognizant of her surroundings.

  She wasn't alone.

  The female creature was still there-Gillian could hear it hissing, smell its stench. Someone else was also there. The sounds were too confusing for her to decipher, but she thought there might be a struggle taking place.

  Her breathing, though ragged, had begun to slow to a rate resembling normal. She tried to sit up and was hit with a wave of intense nausea. Putting a hand out to brace herself, she encountered the Dumpster and scooted over to lean on it.

  An athletic shoe landed next to her leg. A man's athletic shoe, thank goodness. Gillian's fuzzy gaze traveled upward. Leg. Butt. Back. Head.

  She knew him.

  "Nick?" she croaked.

  He swung around, and she saw he had the female creature by the neck, holding it at arm's length. Hissing and screeching, it flailed its long, spiderish limbs. Nick jerked backward, narrowly missing being slashed and kicked.

  With his right hand, he reached for the waistband of his jeans and withdrew an object. Gillian squinted, bringing the object into focus ... and froze.

  He had a knife. A really big one. With a shiny gold handle.

  With the cry of a warrior, he raised the knife and plunged it into the female creature's chest.

  A hoarse, agonizing scream filled the garage. Gillian's, not the creature's.

  It convulsed for a few seconds, then went limp, hanging from Nick's grasp like a raggedy stuffed toy. He let go, and the creature landed in a heap on top of the discarded garbage.

  Gillian stared in mute shock, her heart knocking against her bruised lungs. Nick bent down and removed the knife. There was, she noticed, not a drop of blood on it. He replaced the knife in the waistband of his jeans, then knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms.

  "Gillian, honey, are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

  He stroked her hair, and she clung to him, wanting him to hold her always and never let go.

  When her stomach stopped heaving and her head quit spinning, she mustered the courage to peek at the creature over his shoulder. Blood oozed from the wound on its chest, dripping onto the garage floor and forming a large puddle.

  "It's red," she said in a scratchy voice.

  "What's red?" Nick placed a small kiss on the top of her head.

  "The blood."

  "What color did you think it would be?"

  "I don't know. Green maybe?"

  He chuckled, the sound pleasant and comforting

  and reassuring. Not like the awful sounds the creature had made. "They aren't aliens, I told you that."

  "There wasn't any blood on the knife."

  "You're right."

  "How ... ?"

  "It's a little complicated to explain."

  A picture! She should have thought of it before.

  Here was her chance to obtain the proof she was looking for. Hoping Nick wouldn't stop her, Gillian reached for her cell phone, which had camera and video features. But before she could remove her phone from its case, the creature started to glow with a blinding white light.

  "Look!" She sat up straighter.

  Nick followed her gaze. He appeared not the least surprised when the creature dissolved into a hundred million particles that drifted up to the ceiling and disappeared.

  "What just happened?" Gillian's analytical mind grappled for a reasonable explanation. One that didn't scare the hell out of her. "Where did it go? And all the blood?"

  "It's been disposed of," he said and stood.

  "Disposed of?" Her teeth began to chatter-from fright, or a delayed reaction to her attack. "What does that mean?" She stared up at him and might have been looking at a marble statue for all the emotion he revealed. "Tell me," she pleaded when no answer was forthcoming.

  "Let's get out of here first before someone calls the cops. Do you think you can walk?"

  She nodded and with his assistance, climbed to her feet. Every bone and muscle in her body cried out in agony, and she swayed unsteadily.

  Nick put his arm around her and held her steady. She turned and gave one last look at the pile of garbage. Nothing remained of the female creature. If not for her injuries, she might have dreamed the entire thing.

  A strange feeling came over her, not so much fear as awe.

  "Who are you really?" she asked Nick.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. "Are you sure you want to know? Because once I tell you, there's no going back. Not ever."

  "It's a long story," Nick said. "We'd better get out of here before the police:come."

  Gillian, still obviously dazed, clim
bed into his car. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, and assure her everything was all right. But he couldn't. They didn't have time.

  Besides, he was quite certain once he had Gillian in his arms, he wouldn't let her go until morning-and then only after they'd made love two or three times.

  Not wise.

  Taking more than one unnecessary chance, he cut in and out of traffic, making record time. Gillian revived somewhat and called Charlie to update him on everything that had happened.

  Ten minutes later, they passed through the stone entrance gate leading to SouthMountainPark. The road began to curve and soon they were winding their way up the side of the mountain, Nick's car hugging the steep pavement. He knew of a spot with a postcard-perfect view and a modicum of privacy.

  "Okay, not a cop in sight. I'm all ears," Gillian said once they had parked.

  Nick knew she deserved the truth, not a watereddown version, and he had an obligation to tell her. But that didn't make the telling any easier. Nick led her to a wooden bench facing out over the city.

  He sat close to her and when she didn't scoot away, he captured her hand in both of his. The contact was for his benefit as much as hers.

  Bit by bit she invaded his senses, much like she'd invaded his heart. Slowly, subtly, and completely. "You in any pain?" he asked.

  "Some. My throat hurts when I swallow. And my neck is sore."

  Nick didn't doubt it. She sounded hoarse, almost like she had laryngitis.

  "My arm hurts, too. A lot." She extended her arm, showing Nick a long, nasty gash that still bled profusely. She'd used the hem of her shirt to stanch the bleeding.

  "Maybe I can help with that."

  "How?"

  "Close your eyes," he instructed and hugged her tighter. "Concentrate on your symptoms, on making them go away."

  "You're kidding." She drew back and gave him a curious look.

  "Humor me."

  Sighing, she did as he asked. When her breathing evened out, Nick cupped the side of her face, shut his own eyes, and sent a silent prayer to the Ancients, asking them to ease her suffering and heal her wounds. She deserved their assistance. After all, she'd contributed in eliminating the female creature, almost losing her life in the process.