by Jonas Saul
The warmth spread fast, racing through his blood. Panic swelled as his heart beat faster in his chest.
“Goodbye, Jake. Shouldn’t be more than a half minute left of consciousness, then death. My men will be here in ten minutes to decapitate you and your body will burn by sundown. No one will ever find you. Ashes to ashes, Jake, dust to dust ...”
Jake closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Consciousness seemed to hang on as if the Euthasol couldn’t turn off his brain. The pounding in his ears reverberated through his head. He listened to it, felt comforted by it.
The pounding slowed, became irregular for a moment, then stopped.
Jake lay there, unable to move, unable to breathe.
He waited for something else to happen.
Nothing did.
Except a door closed somewhere to his right.
Adam had left.
Jake was alone. He was dead. But somehow still awake.
A murmur of movement fluttered in his chest.
The thump in his ear started up again.
I’m alive!
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jake’s heart pumped stronger than ever before, a resurgence of strength racing through his veins, firing him up. He opened his eyes. Adam hadn’t killed the lights this time. His men were coming at any moment and they wanted Jake’s head.
He focused on his right hand, pulling it upward, against the restraint. The steel dug into his flesh, the pain no more than an inconvenience. He pulled harder until the steel moaned in protest. Using the strap on his forehead as leverage, he lifted his entire body against its confines in an effort to bend inward, focusing all his strength on the right wrist.
Maybe he’d break his wrist, slip out of the steel cuff, then heal it again. But how long did broken bones take to heal with the immunity gene in his body? How fast could he regenerate the cells and get his wrist to fuse? Two minutes? Two hours? Two days?
Whatever it was, now was not a good time to test broken bones. Adam’s men were coming and he needed to be able to fight.
The steel creaked as it twisted. Jake grunted with the strain and redoubled his efforts.
Then something unexpected happened. His head shot forward as the strap on his forehead snapped off.
He sat up and examined the steel cuffs on his wrists. He was almost through the one on the right. A little more negotiation and he could break it.
A door closed in another room. They were coming and he was still virtually locked to the table.
He pulled upward, leaning into it, took one deep breath, held it, then yanked and pulled again.
The steel snapped and his wrist was free. Blood dripped from two lines where the edge of the cuff had bitten into his skin, but the wrist was not broken.
He started in on the other wrist as another door closed and he heard footsteps coming closer.
He tried harder and was bending back the steel when the door to the room opened.
Jake dropped back to the table and closed his eyes. The sweat beading on his forehead could be explained away. His body had protested the Euthasol and fought but had succumbed to the death the drug guaranteed. That’s what they would assume. He hoped.
He sensed the men coming closer. The sound of a blade sliding along another blade gave him chills. Everything he’d just learned about himself and his new reality gave him chills. That he was virtually immortal and becoming part snake. That he basically couldn’t die. That he would be in his mid-thirties for the rest of his life. What would that look like? Would he see the end of the world? Would he survive a nuclear holocaust? So much to think about, to digest, to comprehend. But right now he blocked all that and focused on the two men who meant to kill him.
One man stood to his left. The other man hovered by his head. He had to be the one with the blade. The decapitation was about to take place.
Jake waited, heart pounding, every cell in his body screaming self-preservation signals to his muscles. The urge to open his eyes and sit up was overwhelming, but he had to wait until the time was right.
The blade slipped in beside his head. The cool touch of its deadly edge rubbed the flesh on his neck near the collarbone.
It was time.
As the blade closed in on his skin and began to slice, Jake jolted up, deflecting the blade away. With his free hand, he grabbed the man’s hair in a vise grip and yanked downward. The blade entered the center of the man’s throat and disappeared in his flesh at least five inches before the man’s partner took one full gasping breath beside the table to Jake’s left.
As the man fell to the floor, jerking and spasming in death’s throes, Jake spun to the other man who hadn’t moved, the sudden action paralyzing him beside the table. Jake reached for him, but the guy jumped back. He almost missed but managed to snag an inch of the man’s jacket.
The man reached for something inside his jacket as Jake drew him close to bite him—the knock out solution. A gun came out of his jacket. The man aimed his weapon and before Jake could get him close enough, he fired it rapidly.
Bullet after bullet entered Jake’s abdomen. He felt each one as if a small girl delivered tiny punches to his solar plexus.
The shock of being shot almost paralyzed him with fear, but it was the anger of losing Kirk to these predators that fueled him. His body might have changed but his mind was slow in that realization.
Jake lunged forward and closed his mouth on the man’s collarbone. He bit down so hard, he heard the man’s bone crunch under his teeth. It felt like biting into a chicken leg. The skin split in a half oval, bones crushed, and the man yelled out in agony and dropped to the floor beside the steel table.
Jake examined his stomach. Blood seeped from multiple holes. He rested his head back and focused on his breathing while gingerly touching the exit wounds in his back. The man on the floor wailed in pain for another dozen seconds, then quieted and finally stopped moving altogether.
A tickling sensation in Jake’s stomach made him look at the wound again. The bleeding had stopped. His shirt had holes in it—four in total—but the holes were merely rimmed in blood. Breathing became less a chore and more natural. His head cleared quickly and within another minute of rest, his stomach felt whole again.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
As shock settled in and he felt the blood leave his face, he knew it wouldn’t kill him. A state of shock could kill a man, but not Jake Wood, the man with the Immortal Gene who could regenerate any part of his body when it needed mending.
It took him ten minutes to free the rest of his limbs from the steel table. He dropped beside the man on the floor and bit him again, then began to rifle through his pockets. He came up with the man’s wallet. The ID said his name was Bruce Barns.
In the billfold, Jake found several hundred dollars. He shoved the bills in his pocket and checked Bruce for extra bullets but found none. He relieved the man of his weapon and saw that it was empty.
He got to his feet, took a deep breath, feeling more alive than ever before, and turned his gaze to the man with the blade jammed up under his chin.
Blood covered the protruding blade. It had run down the length, over the hilt, and onto the man’s hand. His eyes had bulged in the final moment before his heart stopped.
Jake didn’t care to close the man’s eyes. He just wouldn’t look at him as he went through the man’s pockets. More money, but no bullets. But this man also had a gun, and it was fully loaded with a bullet in the chamber.
Jake stuck both guns in his waistband and ran for the door. He had to locate Edwin Gavin.
The door was locked.
He stuck his ear to the cold steel and listened. Then he placed his hands on the floor and listened again. Nothing. No movement and no pheromones. He was alone.
Since there were no windows in this room, the door was his only option. It was possible one of the men on the floor had a key, but Jake didn’t bother to check. Smashing bodily against the door f
elt too good to stop. It helped with the anger, the internal rage building at what Fortech Industries had done to him.
When his mind turned to Adam, he ran at the door one last time, violently smashing the dented steel and breaking through to the other side.
In the corridor, he got to his feet and ran for the stairwell, his rage so thick he could taste blood. He made it to the lobby and ran outside into the sunlight.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
As soon as Jake bounded out of the building, he stopped to take in his surroundings. He was still in downtown Toronto. Cars raced by as Jake hailed a taxi and gave Edwin’s office address on Front Street to the driver.
Thirty minutes later, Jake paid the driver, hopped out and looked for Kirk’s car. It was right where he’d parked it earlier.
Before Kirk had been killed.
Jake stared up at Edwin’s building, holding back tears.
Adam had made a mistake. He hadn’t guaranteed Jake’s death himself. And now Jake was coming for him. He would find Edwin, then Adam.
He started for the building thinking about his so-called terminal diagnosis. Dr. Sutton had told him the human body couldn’t manage the changes Jake was going through, that the changes were killing him. Sutton had said it wouldn’t be long before Jake died. Months, maybe six at the most.
Knowing what he knew now—if Adam was correct—then Jake wouldn’t be dying anytime soon. Actually, Jake wouldn’t be dying at all.
As he strode toward Edwin’s building, Jake decided to visit Dr. Sutton in ten or twenty years to show him Jake hadn’t aged a day since Sutton gave the dire news of Jake’s upcoming death. The shock would be unbearable.
Jake entered the building and got on the elevator without being noticed. Just as before, the lobby was empty and all was quiet.
On the third floor, he stepped out of the elevator cautiously, pulled the loaded gun and started toward Edwin’s office door. Déjà vu set in and for a moment he thought Kirk was right beside him, edging down the hallway.
Jake fought back the bitter taste of regret in his mouth, swallowing his grief and channeling it into rage.
At Edwin’s office door, he listened. As before, he knelt and closed his eyes. When he was certain that the office on the other side of the door was empty, Jake got to his feet, slipped the weapon back in his pants, and tried the knob.
It was locked. He hadn’t expected otherwise. There was one thing he learned years ago in police training and that was never break down an unlocked door.
He opened his palm and placed it on the door beside the lock. Lowering his center of gravity, he brought his hand back to his waist, then thrust his open palm forward with as much power as he could muster. The lock shattered in the doorframe, its bolt shoving the frame’s rim out of alignment. All it took was that one hit and the door popped open.
Jake slipped inside and left the door slightly ajar. He flicked on the lights and cleared the office in under twenty seconds, confirming he was completely alone. Phantom smells of Kirk and Edwin, Adam and his men, floated through the air. He detected the anger, the fear, their perspiration.
At Edwin’s desk, he ripped open the drawers and flipped through papers he found inside. The Rolodex on Edwin’s desk didn’t have his home address.
Jake didn’t want to have to resort to calling in a favor from a known colleague at the police station. That would leave a record. He had to get Edwin’s address on his own. There was no other way to handle this.
In the corner of Edwin’s second drawer in his desk, Jake located a business card for a safe room company. It advertised how the rooms were soundproof and could be designed to reflect the panic room in the Jodie Foster movie.
Jake held the card a moment, then sniffed it.
Safe Roomz Inc.
It listed a telephone and fax number, plus an email.
Could Edwin have used this service? Had he installed a safe room? If so, it had to be in his house.
That’s where Megan would be.
As soon as Jake thought it, he was sure he was right.
He lifted the phone on Edwin’s desk and dialed the number on the card, then waited while it rang, watching the office door.
After two rings, it picked up.
“Good evening, Safe Roomz. How can I help you?”
Jake held the card up to his face. “I’m looking to speak with Steve,” Jake said, deepening his voice.
“With the number on my screen, I can tell I’m talking to the one and only, Edwin Gavin,” the man said. “It’s Steve. How are you liking your new safe room?”
Jake swallowed, then cleared his throat. He had to handle this delicately.
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” He coughed. “Sorry, excuse my voice. Picked up a cold somewhere.”
“Hey, no problem. Fill me in, Edwin. What’s up?”
“The door isn’t closing properly. I thought it was a lock issue, but it’s an alignment issue of some kind.”
“Oh well, that can happen. Because you went with the bookcase option as a door, the weight of the books might be pulling on it in a way that just needs an adjustment. It’s rare, but it can happen. I’ll swing by on my way home and take a look at it if you want. It’s still under warranty.”
That’s right, blame it on the customer’s choice of door.
“No need to come tonight. Tomorrow would be fine. Afternoon.”
“Perfect, see you then.”
“Wait. Steve,” Jake said, hoping he caught him.
“Yeah?”
“Can you confirm the address you have on file?”
“I was just there a few days ago.”
“Yeah, I know. I just had a delivery go to the wrong house so I want to double check.”
“Sounds good,” Steve said, trying to sound cheery even though he probably felt this was a waste of time. With a defective door this soon, Steve could assume his customer had lost trust in Steve’s word. He read Edwin’s home address out loud. Jake memorized it on the spot.
Without another word, Jake hung up.
Then he ran for the door and Kirk’s car, hoping Kirk had left the spare key in the wheel well like he always did.
In less than an hour, Edwin would be surprised to see him. In less than an hour, if all went well, Edwin Gavin would be arrested.
Or dead.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jake pulled onto Edwin’s street and cut the headlights. He parked a block away from Edwin’s house in the older part of Toronto, south of the 401 Highway.
The entire drive over, he’d thought of Kirk, the years they’d spent together, the arrests, the danger, the good times, and how it was all gone because of Adam and Edwin. Jake felt Kirk’s loss more than he expected. Probably because it was so unexpected. They had just spent the night at Jake’s place going over case files and now Kirk was dead.
Jake lowered his head, tightened his hands into fists until his bones cracked, and cried. Now he’d lost everything. Completely. Absolutely.
Cindy, his dog Athina, his house, his job, his career, his life, and now Kirk.
He raised his head and stared at the roof of the car.
“What else?” he shouted at God. “Huh? What else are you going to take?”
He thought of verses and stories from the Bible. The snake in the Garden of Eden with Adam and Eve. Temptation and loss. Knowledge. The story of Job. Could he have done something to deserve this? Was it all his fault? Had everything been taken from him to serve a purpose, deliver a message?
If so, he hoped he had learned it because he just couldn’t take another loss. And hadn’t he flipped to the dark side now? Killing that man with his own blade.
He wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, flicked the interior light switch off so it wouldn’t illuminate when he opened the car door, then got out silently. He slipped away from the car and moved behind a row of bushes to observe the street.
If being part snake with inhuman strength and virtually immortal meant he was evil, then he w
ould take it any day. In fact, he felt more God-like than anything. This power allowed him to stop people like Adam and Edwin. Imagine such a man as a cop, on the streets, never needing to fear death. Never fearing the bad guys, guns, bikers, terrorists. The damage he could do to the Mafia, street thugs, punks, and murderers. If that was evil, then he would take it any day. He’d rather be evil and eliminate crime on the streets than good and allow the assholes to thrive.
As he strode up the darkened street, keeping to the shadows between streetlights as often as he could, he knew in his heart who he was. He knew that he wasn’t evil and that God, whatever higher power reigned above human existence, hadn’t forsaken him. He couldn’t have because Jake’s heart was clean. Deep down inside, Jake was a good person. His first thought, his first goal, now having an even better understanding of what he was capable of, was to solve crime.
Also, he wanted to locate Fortech Industries and stop their work. Fortech Industries would regret the day Jake Wood was born. As would a multitude of assholes in the days and years to follow.
In Kirk’s honor, Jake wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t love again. He wouldn’t have a dog again. He wouldn’t have a life. He would only exist after this. Exist to make things better from the shadows. Better for little girls who went to sleep at night with teddy bears. Better for little boys reading scary books under their blankets with tiny penlights. Better for their parents and better for the next generation. He was no Superman, no Spiderman, but Jake felt in his bones that he was a good cop and he had been given this gift for a reason. And that reason started tonight with his arrest of Edwin Gavin for the murder of Detective Kirk Aiken and the kidnapping of Megan Radcliffe.