by K. F. Baugh
Sage’s gaze fell on the several used vials discarded at the base of the cupboard. She watched Storm slip what she assumed was a new pen back into his chest pocket. Her hopes dwindled; the yee naaldlooshii was restrained once again under the controlled facade of Terrance Storm.
“I need one more blood sample. If my findings are similar to what I expect,” Storm said, “I might just have time to synthesize a better version of the serum that I can use on myself and the others.”
Was he delusional? Sage wondered. What about the trail of dead scientists and security guards that littered the hallways above them? Was he really going to pretend everything was business as normal?
With surprising strength, Storm pulled her towards a door several yards away. He opened a metal door and pushed Sage into the room before locking it with a scan card which he quickly pocketed. Fluorescent lights slowly flicked on, and she scanned her surroundings. Carts full of stacked trays were neatly lined up against the opposite wall. Each one was filled with hundreds of squat ampoules. Overhead cabinets and countertops lined the rest of the walls, along with microscopes, refrigerators, and other stainless steel machinery.
“Why do you need my blood?” Sage repeated, her voice loud in the confines of the room. “Why not just use your own.”
“Sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the chair before them. Sage hesitated. Storm grabbed her hair and jerked her into the seat. “Like your hospital bed, this frame has restraints. Shall I use them or will you cooperate?”
Sage looked at the rough bloody skin at her wrists and shuddered. No more restraints or she was no better off than back in the hospital bed. And then Tim’s sacrifice would be for nothing. “I’ll cooperate.”
Storm tied a band around Sage’s elbow and plunged a syringe into one of her veins.
“I’m sure it has not escaped your notice, my dear, that the serum has certain undesirable side effects,” he said, falling back into the condescending doctor tone. “Much to my surprise, I have fallen victim to all of them, just like the other humans. Hysteria, psychosis, they are especially detrimental to my abilities,” Storm grimaced. “My mind plays the most convincing tricks on me, and it is hard to maintain the correct facade, even with the Clozapine.”
Sage studied the wrinkled, yellowing skin that hung in sickly folds from his face. As a powerful witch, the yee naaldlooshii’s loss of control due to the serum’s side effects must have come as a terrible shock to him. His desperation suddenly made more sense.
“You, however, have not,” he added.
“I haven’t what?” Sage asked.
“Experienced the side effects.” Storm removed the now full syringe.
“Are you kidding?” Sage couldn’t help but laugh as she untied the band around her arm. “My head felt like it was going to explode. I ached all over. This the sickest I’ve been in a long time.”
“The point is, my dear, you are fully recovered now.” Leaning forward, Storm eyed her greedily. “You are quite exceptional, you know.”
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a … normal person.” The excuse sounded weak and feeble, even to Sage’s ears.
“Now that’s not true, is it? Does someone normal, as you call yourself, communicate with animals? Have extra-sensory perceptions about other living creature’s locations in relation to herself? Can normal humans survive the many abuses and injuries you have, even the penetration of an ‘adagąsh and walk away all but unscathed?”
The creature’s insight into the most private, unspoken details of her life revolted Sage. She felt violated by his attention. “I guess I’m pretty tough,” she finally said, straining to sound casual.
“Tough?” Storm laughed as he walked to a workstation. He removed the needle from the syringe and put the ampoule of blood into a slot in one of the machines. After pressing several buttons, a loud whirring sound filled the room. Storm lifted a petri dish from an under counter refrigerator and set it next to a large microscope. “Either you are too stupid to realize the gift you’ve been given or woefully ignorant of the breadth of your powers. Of course that fool Hatałii wouldn’t have known how to—” The apparatus beeped and Storm turned away, making adjustments on the machine’s screen.
As a Hatałii, or Singer, Grandfather Benally had been anything but a fool. His wisdom about the unseen, both good and evil, had constantly brought healing and peace to everything in his path. Sage had seen it both in herself and others. If only he were here now, he would know exactly what to do.
But he wasn’t. For some reason, the fate of the Skinwalker had come to rest on Sage’s shoulders alone, and she could not fail. Taking a deep breath, Sage forced her mind to quiet.
Sounds faded and only thready images remained. Sage watched Storm limp from one machine to another. For all his invincibility when he was a Skinwalker, the man seemed disjointed and stiff in his human form. She wondered why he hadn’t yet switched from Storm to another, stronger body. When Skinwalkers inhabited another animal’s or person’s skin, their evil quickly destroyed that creature’s remaining life force. She remembered Grandfather Benally’s words from long ago when he had hesitantly answered Sage’s questions about the yee naaldlooshii.
“Death follows witches wherever they go, especially the shapeshifters, the yee naaldlooshii. Because they have chosen to follow the dark way, they doom themselves to a life of loneliness. Their years become a chase for more life, more power, but they do not realize they have already written the story of their own destruction. Death cannot be forever tricked and deceived. In the end, it always finds its prey.”
“Where’d you get that limp?” The question shot from her mouth before she could consider its wisdom.
Storm looked up from the machine. His face contorted for a brief second, and Sage saw the enraged Skinwalker begin to emerge from Storm’s features, like a hideous claymation movie.
The limp. Sage felt a jolt of excitement. She’d finally found the chink in his armor.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Whoa, I didn’t realize you were so touchy about the limp,” Sage said. “We don’t have to talk about it if it gets you all worked up.”
The Skinwalker snarled, but not fully transformed, it shuddered and returned to its human form.
“I’m not worked up,” Storm snapped after several deep and shaky breaths. He turned back to his work at the counter. “It’s nothing. An old injury that never quite healed. It came from an unfortunate incident with a … creature a long time ago.”
“Another yee naaldlooshii?”
“No.” Storm jotted something down on a sheet of paper. “Just some woman, bent on protecting a worthless child.”
A searing flash of revelation assaulted Sage with a power so great it left her trembling. A woman protecting a child? It was her! She was the one had stabbed the Skinwalker in the foot when she saved Naomi Notah’s grandmother. And he still suffered from her attack.
Sage tried to speak, but no sound came from her lips. She tried again, forcing the words out with feigned calm. “How could a woman hurt you? I thought you were pretty much invincible?”
“It was more like a spirit being. It had great power, but I was still able to kill it.
“How can you kill a spirit?” Sage asked even as her mind raced. Spirit being? What did that mean?
Storm opened his mouth to respond, but then the machine beeped once more and he turned. After withdrawing the container, Storm uncapped it and used a pipette to suck up a small amount of the liquid. He then carefully added several drops of the new concoction containing Sage’s blood to the petri dish and set it on the microscope tray. “Now we see if you live or if you die.”
“What?” Sage choked. “But I thought—“
“You may be clever, but if your blood hasn’t solved the protein abnormalities in the serum, you are worthless to me.” Storm looked up from the microscope and smiled. “Either way, I shall enjoy the outcome.” He leaned back over the eyepiece.
S
age glanced over to the laboratory door and then to Storm’s lab coat pocket. If she caught him by surprise, maybe she could grab the keycard and make it to the door. But then Storm would transform back into the Skinwalker. He’d be on her in a second and this time, he might not be able to control his rage.
Her mind raced to find other possibilities of escape, but there were none. Resignation crept from her mind through every part of her being. Sage hugged her arms around her body. If her chances of getting out of here alive were nonexistent, she’d settle for at least taking the Skinwalker down with her. Figuring out a way to destroy the stacks of serum bottles would probably be a good idea too.
“Please, Wind,” she whispered, knowing that she was running out of time. “Tim and Gus are gone, and I can’t do this alone. Tell me what to do.”
“What’s that?” Storm barked, and Sage looked up. He gazed at her with a wolfish smile. “We’re alone down here, my dear. You can mutter and pray all you like, but it won’t make any difference.” He returned to his microscope.
A gentle breath of air whisked Sage’s hair from her sweaty face. Arrogance, pride, A voice whispered in her ear. He cannot resist them in himself or others.
It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Sage stood and walked toward Storm. “I get the feeling that no matter what you find there, you’re going to kill me anyway. Can I get a last request?”
“I’m not freeing you,” Storm sat up and leaned back in his chair.
“Of course not.”
“Then what do you want? I probably won’t give it to you, but you’ve surprised me so far.” Storm glanced at his watch. “You have exactly three minutes before my results are ready.”
“This project you have going on here. From what you’ve said, it’s a serum that eliminates all genetic problems?”
Storm gave her the smallest of nods and Sage continued. “I have to say, I’m completely blown away. Even a little bit in awe. Who thinks that big? And now with my blood, it looks like you’ve pulled it off.”
Sage waited. A faint breath of air whispered about her shoulders. She listened then continued, “You’ll have desperate parents and health organizations begging for your vaccine, happy to pay you, no matter what the cost. But I bet you won’t make it available for everyone, even if the rest of these greedy, shortsighted scientists would. Why give away a brand new commodity for wealth alone? Money’s the carrot for these greedy Oriel scientists, but it’s not your endgame, is it?”
“Go on.” Storm narrowed his eyes. “Enlighten me.”
Still not enough. Sage waited. Images filled her mind. Soldiers. War. Destruction.
“You’d sell it to another country, for their military.”
Storm sat up in his office chair. “How could you…?” He shook his head and a grudging smile curled his drooping lips.
Sage forced herself to return the smile, hoping that by doing so, she’d be able to discover the full extent of this maniac’s plans. “Soldiers with near super-human abilities and healing powers?” She spoke as more pictures flooded into her mind. “The governments of the world would beat a path to your door, and you’d become a major power player in global politics. Which nation gets the bionic population? All you’d have to do is name your price, but you’d still be playing them all, like puppets on a string.”
Storm licked his lips. “And then war, chaos … it would all be mine to control.”
“You’re brilliant.” Sage shook her head. “All my life, I’ve thought of my abilities as a curse, something I needed to disguise. But you? Instead of hiding them away like I was taught, you’re using your powers to control your life.” Sage pushed out a brittle laugh. “Soon your name will fill people’s hearts with fear. The world will hide from you and feel cursed, not the other way around. If only I had grown up with someone like you teaching me.”
The intensity of Storm’s gaze grew as Sage spoke, and she couldn’t tell if it impressed him that she had guessed parts of his plan or enraged him. He seemed ready to speak, but then glanced down at his watch and hastily turned back to the microscope. Sage held her breath and clenched her fingers around the back of the chair she stood behind. If these were her last seconds, she’d at least give the Skinwalker a headache to remember her by.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Interesting,” Storm said from his place at the microscope.
“What?” Sage asked taking a small step backwards.
“I’m not sure,” he answered and looked up at her. “Your DNA. When I studied it yesterday, while you were still fighting off the serum’s abnormalities, I thought your proteins might be able to correct the errors. But not this. It’s quite extraordinary, actually.”
Sage took a deep breath.
“I’d have to compare it to some of my other samples, but …” He looked Sage up and down with keen interest. “There are aberrations in here I’ve haven’t seen since …” He stopped and shook his head. “This changes everything.”
“What?” Sage asked, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “What did you find?
Gently, Storm set the petri dish on the counter then shivered as his body began to transform once more. Frozen with confusion, Sage watched in uncomprehending horror as the Skinwalker hefted the large microscope in his hand and then slammed it across her head.
Consciousness slowly crept along the edge of Sage’s mind, and she blinked. Dimly lit dark rock walls, covered with strange markings and ancient maps surrounded her. Several metal tables held more instruments, none as expensive looking as the warehouse room, but still exuding a sterile medical aura. And cages, everywhere cages.
Sage groaned. She was getting pretty sick of waking up in strange rooms, filled with creepy-ass equipment and evil creatures.
She grasped the wired wall to her right and pulled herself upright. The effort left her breathless with ringing ears and nausea.
“Sage? Is that you?” a broken voice rasped from behind her.
Painfully, Sage shifted herself to the side. A bedraggled person, covered in filth and blood, leaned against the side of the neighboring cage. His matted beard and hair made it nearly impossible to see his face, but Sage still struggled to place his familiar features. Recognition came after several moments, hard and fast.
“Sheriff Davis? You’re alive?”
“Shhh!” Davis’s eyes flicked behind Sage, and she glanced over her shoulder, cursing at the pain it caused. Behind her, at the edge of the room, Storm lurked, moving objects from one side of the room to the other.
Sage turned back to the Sheriff. “What’s happening? How are you alive? They found your body at the church.”
“Not my body,” he rasped. “Set up to frame Tim and you.”
“But the screaming Tim heard on the phone?”
The Sheriff stiffly pulled the ragged threads of his shirt to the side and revealed the bloody, scabbed mess of countless gashes all over his chest. “The screams were real. The death was not.”
“Is there any way out of here?” Sage asked, even though she knew there wasn’t much chance of escape now.
“Out of the cages? Sure. I nearly got mine jimmied with a piece of wire I worked off that back bit of my cage where it’s rusted.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“There ain’t no way out of this room, unless you have that monster’s keys.” Davis gestured with his chin. “Even if I ask real nice, I’m pretty sure he won’t give them to me.”
Sage tried to smile at the Sheriff’s attempt at humor, but could not find the hope within herself to do so. She glanced wildly around the room. Surely there was another way out. Another option for escape.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and hysteria threatened to overwhelm her as the ugly truth consumed her. There was no escape. The Skinwalker had obviously chosen this room carefully. The black walls were of the same rock as the one she and Tim had climbed to escape the warehouse. One lone door broke their impenetrable, smooth surfaces. And as Sheriff Davis had said,
only the Skinwalker had the key.
“I’ll try to figure out something,” Sage whispered.
“Be careful,” Davis whispered back. “He’s killed everyone he’s brought in here. Except me and those poor kids in the corner.”
In a small cage along the back wall, two young children huddled, trembling against one another. As if sensing Sage’s gaze, one of the tear-streaked faces lifted up from the protective circle of the other child’s arms. Sage let out an anguished cry. His face was so similar to Daniel’s, her little brother, that for a moment she hoped that he, like the sheriff, might still live. The second child looked up, and his features were so similar to the other boy’s that they had to be twins. Tears of rage flooded Sage’s eyes and obscured her vision.
Suddenly, Davis scooted back to the edge of his cage. Sage dashed the tears from her face and watched as the Skinwalker approached them. She forced herself to stay completely still, frozen in her crouched position. The creature paused in front of her cage for a brief second then ripped the door from its hinges and tossed it aside. Sage heard one of the children whimper in the brief silence before the Skinwalker pulled her from the cage and flung her over its shoulder.
“It is time,” the creature’s hideous voice ripped through the small enclosure of the lab.
“Time for what?” Sage kicked against the horrific mass that held her in its vice-like grip. “Time to torture and kill more innocent victims? Time to destroy more lives?”
“Yes, all you say and more.” The Skinwalker flung her onto the table, which Sage now realized was covered with straps. With ruthless efficiency, he bound her arms, legs, and neck tightly to the table. When Sage tried to move, the strap at her neck dug into her throat, and she could no longer breathe. Panic raced through her, but she forced herself to lie still and breathe as deeply as she could.
The Skinwalker took a step back, crouched on the floor and shifted back into the shape of Terrance Storm. “And now, my dear, I’m afraid we will part ways for the final time.”