by Platt, Sean
He stepped softly in front of the van, shotgun drawn, and peered through to the rear.
He could see a figure in the back seat, cloaked in shadows.
He tapped the gun on the van’s hood and said, “Come out with your hands up!”
Silence.
His heart beat faster as he circled to try and get a better look.
“This is Homeland Security. Step out of the van with your hands up!”
A woman’s voice: “Agent Keenan?”
“Marina?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah, I’m still cuffed to the back seat! Can you let me out?”
Ed couldn’t believe she was still alive.
He tried the driver’s side door and found it locked, then used his shotgun’s butt to break the driver’s side window, then reached in and unlocked the door.
He slid into the van, flicked on the rear light, and was further surprised to find Marina alone.
“Where’s the preacher?”
“He took off when the shit hit the fan. I’m so sorry. I asked him not to leave you and Luther, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s obsessed with getting the other four vials.”
“Other four?”
“He said he had a vision, and that some woman had the other four and was using them to build an army led by some kid. He’s down the street now, intending to kill the kid so he can prevent whatever it is he dreamed about.”
“A kid? Did he tell you a name?”
“Luca,” she said. “Do you know him?”
Ed sighed. This was getting deeper than he wanted. “I need you to show me which house.”
“I don’t know.” Marina shook her head. “He didn’t tell me.”
Ed checked the ignition, hoping that Acevedo had left the keys in it so he could turn on the van and check the GPS. No such luck.
Ed grabbed the phone from his pocket and dialed the local Homeland Security headquarters, hoping that someone would be able to pull the GPS’s most recent coordinates.
As Ed waited for his routing to the special agent in charge, he reached into his pocket, grabbed the handcuff keys, and released Marina.
“I’m going to set you free. I want you to wait behind this house here until I return. If I don’t come back, get the hell out of here and don’t look back.”
Ed grabbed an AR-15 from a hidden compartment in the van floor, along with a couple of incendiary grenades. He loaded up on ammo, shoved his shotgun into the storage space, and hopped out of the van.
Agent Harrison finally answered.
“I need your help,” Ed said. “I need you to get a lockdown team here ASAP. And paramedics.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 14 — BORICIO WOLFE
Boricio leaped at the alien, betting It wouldn’t fire the shotgun.
His risky gamble paid off. Boricio dropped, feet sliding forward, hands grabbing the gun as his feet met Rose’s and knocked her forward.
She toppled on top of him, and the shotgun.
Their faces were inches apart. Something stopped Boricio cold. He wasn’t sure if it was the look in her eyes, her familiar scent, or her lips (which he felt suddenly desperate to kiss), but something stripped his urge to kill quicker than a bucket of water dousing a fire.
“Boricio,” she said, “please. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe it didn’t.
Boricio suddenly wondered if he could kill her. Even though he’d nearly choked her to death just moments ago, he couldn’t help but feel sickened by such a sour thought. Perhaps he could figure something else out. He wasn’t sure what, but something to buy time until he could get the alien out of her body and into someone else’s.
Then it hit him, a new thought that should’ve been old by now. Boricio looked into her eyes. “Leave her alone. Jump into my body.”
It stared at him.
Rose’s voice cracked, “No, Boricio … don’t.”
“Leave her alone, and my body’s yours. We can talk about this whole evolution thing then. It’s either that or I kill you both right here and now.”
“Are you sure?” It asked.
Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, as if the human still inside her was devastated that Boricio would sacrifice his body for hers. In that moment, he realized that the alien was telling the truth. And if Rose was still in there, that meant he would still be in his own body, too. No alien stood a Pluto-as-a-planet’s chance of evicting Boricio from his own body for good. He would find a way to kick that fucker out. But for now, this was his only chance to save Rose.
“Yes!” Boricio opened his mouth wide, “take me.”
Dark swirling tendrils began to peek out of Rose’s parted mouth.
One, two, then many, like tiny snakes slithering out past her tongue, checking to see if the coast was clear.
Every fiber of his being screamed inside.
Are you fucking crazy?!
What the fuck are you doing, Boricio?!
He ignored them all, keeping his eyes locked onto Rose’s. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” she cried as the alien snaked toward his open mouth.
A gunshot erupted downstairs.
Tendrils zipped back into Rose’s mouth as if evading a sprung trap, and she leaped up, looking at the door.
“Downstairs!” She opened the door and rushed out of the room as Boricio lay stunned.
He stared at the open door, watching as Rose vanished from sight.
Seconds later, another gunshot.
Rose screamed.
Boricio’s heart pounded in his throat as hell and chaos held hands. He bolted up and into the hall, stopping when he saw an old man ascending the stairs, aiming a shotgun at Rose and opening fire.
Buckshot hit her in the chest and sent Rose flying backward.
She fell back before Boricio could leap and break her fall. Her head slammed against the floor.
Boricio dropped to the ground, ignoring the old man at the end of the hall even as he approached Boricio with his shotgun aimed.
Boricio stared into Rose’s wide-open eyes staring up. Her eyes found his, though they seemed to be having trouble locking on.
Her mouth opened to say something, then stayed wide as if frozen. Her eyes stared straight up, past him.
Her chest was rising and falling quickly, rapid breaths as she gasped for air.
Boricio wondered if the blast had punctured her lungs.
He glanced down, and couldn’t bear to look at the pellet wounds pocking the left side of her chest, bleeding out into her shirt’s fabric.
“You’re going to be OK, baby, you’re going to be OK.”
Rose stared straight up, not at Boricio, but past him as her chest stopped moving.
No!
No!
Boricio stared helplessly at Rose, wishing he could pull the pellets from her chest, and breathe life back into her body, but he didn’t know what to do.
He cradled her head in his hands, his fingers streaking blood across her porcelain skin.
“No, no, don’t go.”
He heard the old man’s breathing as he stepped closer, leveling his gun at Boricio.
He looked up, both wanting to kill the fucker and wanting to die.
A series of rapid-fire shots — not the shotgun — rang through the house.
Boricio watched as the old man fell forward, the back of his head a busted melon.
Footsteps bounded up the stairs.
Boricio looked up to see Ed Keenan, standing with an AR-15.
“You’ve gotta help Rose,” Boricio begged, looking down at her empty husk.
He spun around, looking for Luca, desperate to turn truth into lie. “Luca! You’ve gotta heal her!”
Keenan turned and looked down the stairs, then back at Boricio.
“What?” Boricio asked.
He stood, went to the stairs and saw Luca lying at the bottom, face down, blood pooling out under his body.
“Noooo!!” Boricio screamed.
&
nbsp; * * * *
CHAPTER 15 — EDWARD KEENAN
As Boricio bounded down the steps toward Luca, Ed leaned over and checked Rose’s pulse. Her mouth was dangling open, something inside it.
Ed gasped as he realized what it was — the infected, trying to slither out from its host.
He grabbed one of his belt’s incendiary grenades, pulled the pin, dropped it on the ground, then rolled her over on top of it.
Ed turned back toward the stairs and raced down them, three at a time until he was at the bottom with Boricio and Luca.
“Get down!” he said ducking down, covering the back of his head with his palms.
The grenade exploded with a loud shriek upstairs. Ed turned to see Rose’s charred body in pieces, splattered on the walls. The alien should have been incinerated in the explosion. He saw no sign of It attempting to leave what was left of Rose’s body.
Ears ringing, Keenan heard something behind him. He turned to see Boricio screaming. Seconds later, he swung at Ed and hit him hard in the jaw.
Ed fell back, using his momentum to roll out of Boricio’s way as the man swung again, this time missing.
Ed raised the AR-15 at Boricio and barked, “Back down!”
“You killed her!” Boricio screamed, his words sounding underwater despite his scream thanks to Ed’s still-ringing ears.
“She was already dead. I killed the alien!”
“She was in there!” Boricio cried out, face twisted in anguish.
Ed kept the rifle on him until the man seemed like he wouldn’t chance another swing. Boricio’s face fell from rage to utter devastation. He fell against the wall and slid down beside Luca’s corpse.
Ed stared straight ahead at the living room.
Upstairs, fire began to spread along the walls.
“Where are the vials?” Ed asked.
Boricio shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Ed thought about trying to convince Boricio to help him, but the man was too far gone, staring at the wall.
Suddenly, a gasping below drew their attention.
Luca!
Boricio was alert again, bounding downstairs. He dropped to the boy’s side and turned him over.
Luca coughed up blood, though his eyes were still closed. Ed noticed the shotgun wound had hit Luca’s shoulder, potentially high enough to miss his vital organs, though the boy had lost a bucket of blood.
Ed got on his phone and called Agent Harrison. “I need those paramedics STAT!”
Ed grabbed a towel from the upstairs bathroom and showed Boricio how to keep it pressed on Luca’s wound.
“You got it?” he asked Boricio. “I need to get upstairs and find the vials.”
“Yeah,” Boricio grunted, putting pressure on Luca’s wound and saying, “You’re gonna be OK, little man. You’re gonna be OK.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 16 — MARY OLSON
Mary was sprawled on the couch, pretending to numb herself with TV when Desmond came home just after dawn.
He crossed the room to Mary, leaned in, and planted a kiss on her cheek. She could barely stifle her revulsion.
Desmond pulled away, looked at Mary as though she had one missing tooth, then looked around the living room. “Where’d everyone go?”
“I told them to go home and get some rest. I don’t think they slept too well last night.”
“Damn,” Desmond said. “I specifically asked Brent to stay with you.”
“It’s OK, honey, I’m fine.”
“Fine? No, you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve stayed instead of working last night,” Mary said, putting him on the defensive to get his mind off of Brent, and into the argument he might expect her to have.
“I’m sorry.” Desmond sat on the couch beside her, put his hands on her shoulders, and began to massage them. “Wow, you’re tense.”
Mary wondered how much Desmond could pick up by proximity. Could he read her thoughts? If not, he could probably read her anxiety. Mary couldn’t pretend she wasn’t terrified. She simply — or not so simply — had to redirect her fear toward something that Desmond would logically buy. Or play the grief angle hard … but not too hard.
She shook her head, eyes still on the TV. “I can’t believe she’s gone. No matter how hard I try not to blame myself, I keep thinking we should’ve left the island when Paola said The Darkness was coming. But noooo, I didn’t listen. Paola knew we were in danger, and I ignored her.”
“No,” Desmond soothed, “you can’t blame yourself. Paola chose to stay here, to help us find the vials. You actually told her we should leave, and she insisted that we stay.”
Mary pulled away from Desmond, not hiding her anger. “Are you saying it’s her fault because she chose to stay here? She’s a child, Dez! She looks to me to make the ultimate decision, and I failed. I should’ve put my foot down and insist that we go.”
Mary buried her face in her palms, mining genuine tears for Paola’s predicament.
Desmond ran a hand through her hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No,” Mary said, glaring at Desmond. “Stop it. Stop trying to tell me I’m not to blame. I’m responsible for my child. No one else.”
She put her face back in her hands, fingers squeezing her scalp tight, milking her frustration for Desmond.
She wanted to make him uncomfortable enough to leave the room. Mary wasn’t sure she could stay in the living room with him for hours if he chose to sit by her side trying to console her. She could put on a front and lie through her teeth, pretending that she wasn’t disgusted by the alien posing as her lover, but it would only be so long before cracks would start showing. Before Mary would surrender to her rising tide of rage.
She continued to sit with her head in her hands, feeling Desmond beside her on the couch, staring.
Mary wondered if he was probing her mind.
She tried to focus all of her thoughts and rage at herself. Anger was a strong emotion, and she hoped it masked the fear beneath it, the fear of the alien posing as Desmond.
He leaned back on the couch, releasing a sigh.
Shit, he’s never going to leave.
“So,” she asked, head still in her hands, “what’s next? Did you find all of the infected?”
“I think so, but we’re working on some leads going back to the mainland. There’s some missing staff at the facility. I have Homeland Security going to their houses, looking to bring them in for questioning.”
“What about the vials? How’s that going? Now that you don’t have Paola.”
Mary said it with a hint of accusation, a dash of intended guilt to make Desmond more uncomfortable. Her attempts were based on a human’s expected response, not an alien’s. She had no idea if any of this was working to make it want to leave. A man would be exhausted, but the aliens might not need sleep. Though, Mary had seen Desmond sleep plenty.
Unless he’s faking it.
She hoped not. In order for her plan to work, as convoluted as it was, she needed Desmond to sleep and give her a chance at grabbing the upper hand.
She’d gone through her scheme a hundred times in her head but actively tried not to consider things now, lest he pick up on her thoughts.
Part of Mary wished she had simply executed the monster when It entered the house. She still would’ve had the element of surprise. But there was also a strong chance that his guard would be up, too. He had no idea what she knew, and coming home, he might be suspicious of her and prepared for her actions.
Best to lure him into a false sense of security.
Mary waited for him to respond to her comment about his using Paola. Either intentionally, or because he wasn’t that adept at reading between the lines, he didn’t.
She decided to drive the point home directly. “You know who else I blame for all this?”
“Who?”
“You.” Mary looked up and met Desmond’s eyes. “You made Paola want to h
elp you. You fed into her desire to be helpful, and her need to feel special. You knew she looked up to you like a father ever since Ryan died. You made her want to stay here, not me.”
Mary glared at Desmond, using her hate as a hammer. It was all she could do to keep from pounding the nail into her plan, knowing that would only build a disaster. He was full of adrenaline, ready to fight because she’d pushed him hard.
Perhaps too hard, Mary thought as he silently stared.
Her heart began to race as fear fueled it.
Don’t let him sense the fear. Just the anger. Just the anger.
She glared harder.
Desmond continued to stare at Mary, void of expression. Now that she thought about it, he’d given her that same blank look several times in the past few weeks. She felt stupid for not seeing his deception sooner.
As Desmond kept staring, Mary tried to push back the fears racing through her mind: The Darkness creeping from his mouth and enveloping her; him drawing his gun and blowing her head from her shoulders; or perhaps he’d tear off his face to reveal some sort of hideous black, gelatinous creature beneath.
Stop thinking about it! He’s going to see my fear!
Mary was certain she was busted. Desmond’s eyes seemed to read her every thought.
She had to do something, and fast.
Mary closed her eyes, then launched herself at Desmond, swinging her fists, hitting him, but not too hard, in the chest and face, crying dramatically like someone’s baby mama on reality TV.
“I hate you!” she cried, “it’s all your fault!”
Mary kept her eyes closed because she was terrified that if she met his again, he’d see right through her, or she’d lose enough nerve to falter her facade. She cried louder, maybe loud enough for their closest neighbors to hear.
His hands grabbed hers, firm, but not too hard. He pushed them back toward her chest, “Mary!” he yelled, trying to end her emotional outburst before it threatened to draw unwanted attention.
“Mary!” he yelled again, shaking her.
She finally stopped crying out, though tears streamed down her face. Mary met his eyes, waiting to see what he’d say.
Either he was buying her act, or this was the end.