by Apex Authors
"And you can only walk in Mordor so long before that dust gets in your boots. Is that it?"
"I don't know where you're at anymore. No one does."
"Oh, your pal Durbin been—"
"Fuck Durbin, this isn't about Durbin. This isn't about the goddamn job. Yours, or mine. It's gone beyond that now and you know it too."
"I do."
"Then why this? Why so personal this time? And don't tell me it isn't."
"I don't know why."
"Bullshit."
Becker took a long drink of water. Set the glass down again. “There's this kid."
"Try again. There's always some ‘kid'.” Kristin shook her head. “Every village in the world, there's some kid. That never made a difference before. There's something else."
"Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?"
"You brought me down to quote Blake?"
"Fair's fair, you started the quote bullshit. How ‘bout some Genesis?"
"Gabriel or Collins?"
"Funny girl,” he said. “Bible stuff. The mark of Cain."
He felt her hands relax. Release. “What about it?"
"Do you know why God marked him?"
Her face tightened, deciding whether or not to follow him down whatever path he'd chosen. “Because he was a killer,” she said.
"Yes. But why?"
"Jesus, Becker, it's a made-up story. What's the—” she sighed with exasperation. “So others would forever know his sin."
"Nope,” Becker smiled, and her face showed him it wasn't a pleasant look. “Read it again,” he said. “God marked Cain so that the others would never punish him. Not kill him. It was a warning to the others to let Cain live. He wanted Cain to live."
"Right. And?"
"All of us,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the water glass again. “We're all Cain. Always have been."
"We're all Abel too, Shawn."
"Listen to me,” he leaned forward, his words a hiss. “An American genetics company is cloning humans from the DNA of various serial killers."
Kristin eyed him steadily. “I'd guessed as much."
"When I was rescued in Iran, it was one of those science projects that saved me. One of their ‘distilled’ killers. Durbin's been using these things for years. And this company's committed everything from murder to torturing children. All in the name of science. In the name of national defense. In the name of cash."
"And?"
"And?” He sat back, smiling at her candor. Amazed he could smile at anything.
She leaned forward. Puzzled and challenging. “And when has that ever bothered you before? You, of all people, understand that this,” she indicated the diner and everyone, everything, in it, “has a price. It's always been a double-edged sword, Shawn. When did you latch onto the clichéd and puerile liberal absolutes that the military is always dangerous, government is always corrupt, capitalism is always merciless."
"Not always. But some times. This time."
"Just walk away."
"I can't."
"Shawn."
He looked up and she smiled at him, her blue eyes filled with such sadness. “This time,” he said, “this kid, this boy. Jeffrey.” His voice cracked a pitch at the end and he looked away in shame. He felt his hands squeezed again.
"God, I love you,” she said.
"They made this kid,” he continued. “They did, we did, I did. In a way, he's an actual byproduct of everything I've devoted my life to protecting."
"Shawn, you can't think—"
"But I do. And if I'm willing to die for those ideals on some Pakistani hilltop, I'm sure as hell going to take full responsibility for them here, too.” He glared at her, not seeing her eyes anymore but those of another, blinking. Scared. “I made this kid, Kristin. Like God made Cain. And I—"
"I would have gone with you,” she said suddenly, pulling him back from the dark place that was becoming too familiar. “I'd have left him."
"I know."
"I would still."
His hands now moved over hers. “I know,” he said. “It's why you're the only one I could call."
"What do you want me to do?” she asked.
* * * *
Ted saw it coming. All that death.
Or, rather, he felt it.
He'd experienced the exact same sensation from the house in Orchard City. Like there was something crawling inside. Something alive with many legs, something with teeny claws. Growing more and longer legs each day, each hour.
The ‘Dark Man.'
Getting closer. The same who'd carved up Johnny and a bunch of other kids without missing a step. It was the feeling he brought that struck Ted the most. Part dread and part relief. Part home.
He's here now.
The feeling that everyone in the house was soon going to die had hung on him for a couple days, and he'd slowly gotten used to it. He'd started to enjoy it. And it had only gotten better as the night landed on them all. Ted had to smile at that. Even monsters were a little more afraid in the dark.
They'd been staying in the house, another one of the many rentals they'd broken into over the past weeks, for almost four days. Too long, he thought. Probably best to go. To dump the kid and get moving again. But Jeff wasn't done with the kid yet. Not by a long shot, from the sounds of things. Hell, Ted shook his head. Those two had been going at it all day. And Al was out of it. That fucking guy was done, fried. Didn't make no sense anymore. Perhaps he'd been feeling the dark man's approach for days, too. Perhaps he also knew what was coming.
He's upstairs with Al even now. I can about picture him cutting, cutting. Hacking around the spine now and pulling out all that muscle. Almost as if it were me doing the tasty knife work...
Ted began to cling to the new feeling. It almost replaced the other that racked his whole body. The ever-growing sensation that he was stuffed, full. Like he needed to drop the world's greatest deuce but couldn't. Hell, even his fucking fingers were swollen like little fat-kid sausages. And all the itchy black shit on his skin...
The black.
Ted was in the basement again, watching the two Jeffs when the door above pushed open and Al came down the steps.
Only it wasn't really Al.
This kid was all limp and floppy like a skinny cock. Folded up on himself, sort of collapsed in the middle in a couple of odd places. And he didn't walk down the stairs as much as he seemed to simply float over them. All the while leaving a dark trail of vivid red blood on the Berber carpet beneath his feet.
Even Jeff had turned and stopped to watch. He was wearing some kind of blue wizard's hat with giant mouse ears on the sides. Other than that hat, he and the kid were both naked again.
Al moved down the last few steps and into the light, and then all Ted's recent foretellings came to pass.
The dark man stood right behind the kid.
Holding him up with one arm. The other arm carried a long blade. The man slid down the last few steps easily, like another shadow moving into the one-bulbed room. Ted could barely make out the skeletal body, the misshapen head.
As the two moved closer, Ted could see now where one of the man's dark arms was jammed up into Al's back. Behind the shoulder blades and up into the back of the kid's head. Like some kinda puppet. Ted expected the fucking kid to start speaking, the man's fingers moving the dripping jaws from the inside.
At the bottom step, Al's body, or the half-gutted shell of Al's body, pitched forward as if he were trying to fly. Blood dotted the wall as the kid arched and crashed on its face onto the floor with a wet and heavy sound. The upper back lay open, emptied, the peg from the top of his spinal column and some tendons lodged in the bloody cavity. The same that the dark man had worked his new meat puppet. Bulbous, pearl-colored lumps glistened in the top of the shoulders and the lower back.
Al's puppet master stepped over the corpse and moved toward Ted.
Ted was ready and lifted up his shirt. “Look, man,” he almost
laughed. “Look at this shit. Yeah? You see that?” Closer still, Ted decided it was not something human. Not enough human. And he supposed that made more sense. “Look, mother fucker! I'm just like you. You should see the shit I've fucking done these past few—"
The blade slashed out. Ted fell back, fire burning in his chest and neck. He collapsed to the floor and the thing leaned closer. Its bulging rat eyes stared down into Ted's, the mouth opening to release what Ted could only think of as a hiss. The breath was hot, with the stink of fresh decay.
The dark thing chuckled softly and stepped away. Moved across the room toward the Jeffs.
Ted fumbled on the floor, brought his hands to the drenched gouge in his shoulder. So sticky and warm. Already running over his fingers.
Jeff had grabbed his knife from the table. The one he'd used with the kid. Ted watched dreamily as Jeff moved toward the dark thing.
Then the stupid wizard's hat and mouse ears were falling to the floor. And Jeff's head was still inside. The naked body remained standing for one beautiful moment, gushing from its neck like a blood-filled fountain. Then it, too, fell to the floor beside the head.
After another moment, the thing moved for the boy in the chair.
Ted propped himself up to watch as best he could and wondered some if the damned kid had seen it all coming too.
* * * *
Jeffrey Jacobson felt the thing standing behind him now.
He could feel its hot breath against his scrunched shoulder blades. The heat of its body. Several sharp nails moving slowly under his chin.
And, he could almost hear its thoughts.
He'd imagined it upstairs for some time now. He'd pictured it chopping into the boy called Al, ripping away all that muscle and weird fatty stuff. Almost as if he were doing it himself. A dark place he'd gone over the last two days while that boy...
While Jeff...
He was still tied to the chair, but knew there was nowhere to go even if he weren't. It all seemed sort of silly now. All of it.
He'd been wrong.
Warm water splashed all over his back and soaked the back of his head.
The table turned red suddenly. Like a magic trick. Like a sorcerer's spell. The red on the table was blood, he realized, and his instant silhouette—his own head and shoulders—now appeared on the table between the spatter. All sound vanished. Something like thunder pierced his ears.
This is death, he thought.
He felt great weight fall against his body and then slide away again.
He heard more thunder.
Gun shots.
Something touched his face, lifted his head. The light above burned his eyes, and he crept back into the darkness again. The burn from the ropes slackened suddenly.
Then nothing.
He felt himself being lifted from the chair.
Like flying.
He forced one eye open.
"Becker,” he said.
"I got you, pal."
* * * *
Becker lowered his head. He'd only expected Durbin and Erdman, maybe another doctor. Instead, he counted nine in the room.
Durbin, of course; Doctors Erdman and Mohlenbrock and three other DSTI guys he didn't know. One of them was an older woman. Then there was Kapellas and Neff, two guys from Delta he'd met once before.
And then one of freaks.
Dark man. Shadow. Son of Cain.
Man? Thing? Nightmare?
Did it even matter?
How many more of them were there? Becker wondered. How difficult to make thousands?
"Welcome home, soldier,” the Major General greeted, holding Erdman with a sideways glance. “See you got my message. Mission accomplished, I assume."
The whole room had grown comically still when he entered. Becker had also noticed the look Durbin had given the two Rangers. The one to lower their rifles.
"Yes,” Becker replied, eyeing the others again and the emptied tanks. “We really gonna do this here?"
Durbin smiled. “No secrets here, Captain. We're all on the same team, remember. Only want to fix things up again. Are we good?"
"Your man led me to the house as you promised. They're all dead. You're good."
"All of them?” Durbin got up from his chair.
"Yup. All of them. Ted #12, Jeff #44, Al #20.” He watched Neff fan out slowly to his right. “And another Dahmer clone. Jacobson's Jeff."
Durbin nodded and Becker could tell the General didn't believe the last. “Our other man do the job?"
"Most. I killed Ted.” Becker looked directly at Erdman, “Of course, looked like he was gonna die from some kind of cancer soon anyway."
"That so?” Durbin pressed.
"Gone bad, that one. Rotting like old fruit. Blackened skin. Fat fresh goiters running up his chest and neck. Your man cut him open enough to show the rot inside. I thought it best to end things."
"That's fine, Becker. Our soldier hasn't returned yet. Do you—"
"Soldier? Mr. Cain? I killed him too, sir. But let me tell you more about Bundy's clone first, because you probably need to know. He burst open like I don't know what. A piece of fruit again, I guess. One shot to the chest, and the fucker basically exploded with the stuff all over the floor. I probably could have just kicked him."
"It is not yet an exact science,” Durbin smiled. “Certain test groups have..."
"Right, right. Dolly had a short run too, I recall. I see you guys have managed to clean your rooms up. Put away almost all your toys,” Becker eyed the dark-skinned freak when he spoke the last. The thing, dressed in black fatigues and mask, hunched low at Becker's attention and he could feel its hate, tangible and hot, from across the room.
"We've closed shop,” said Durbin. “The whole project. Obviously too risky. Just not there yet, it seems. And taking out these guys was the last piece, kiddo. This can all be over.” He added, “Once DNA testing confirms what you've told us."
"House got torched, boss."
"Is that right?"
"Burned to the ground."
"Not a problem,” Durbin smiled, stepping closer. “I'm sure we'll be able to determine what happened there. Whether or not young Jeffrey Jacobsen is among the bodies. And if we don't find him there, then—"
Becker fired.
The first shot hit Kapellas in the vested chest, the next in the Ranger's chin as the man pitched backward off his feet in a splash of bone and blood that showered the monitors behind.
Neff moved like a big guy, too slow.
And Becker killed him too.
Durbin had not yet gotten his gun free.
"Don't,” Becker said.
"You damn fool,” Durbin raged. “You god damned fool."
Becker eyed the dark man, the only other real threat in the room. The others, the scientists, were already crouched behind tables and chairs.
The thing, however, had not yet moved from its spot. And it seemed to be smiling. Childishly curious, Becker decided. Waiting to see how things might go. Becker could literally feel this thought. Its thought. Then the next. Filling with unimaginable blood lust. Waiting to strike. To kill. And no decision quite yet as to whom to kill.
"Toss the gun over,” Becker told Durbin.
"You gonna kill me, kiddo?"
"Probably,” Becker said. He knew the deformed science project wouldn't wait much longer. He'd watched its eyes linger over the one doctor a second longer than all the others.
"You've lost your fucking mind.” Durbin tossed his holstered pistol across the room, and Becker freed the pistol slowly to stuff into his own belt.
"No,” Becker said. He moved deeper into the room and grabbed one of the DSTI guys by the back of his green lab coat. “I'm quite sane, actually. That's the funny part. All the money and all that death to isolate what? This? The urge to kill?” He pulled the man to his feet. “To kill. Is it deliberate or arbitrary? Yes. Anger or apathy? Yes. It's not under some fucking microscope. What's your name, doc?"
"BBBbbb,” the man s
tammered.
Becker pulled him closer and read the name on his ID badge. “Fietsam. How long you worked for DSTI, doc? Hmm? Long enough for that thing to know you, looks to me. See how he watches you, Robert?"
"I ... I don't. Please. I didn't..."
Becker wrenched the man around and brought the 9mm against his head.
He fired.
Dr. Fietsam's ear vanished in an explosion of crimson spray and hair. The mutilated hole scorched black. Blood streamed down his neck as a large flap of skin fluttered against the side of his cheek. The geneticist's screams now filled the room.
Becker shoved him forward toward the dark man.
The thing sprang onto Fietsam and the two collapsed to the floor as one while nails dug into the geneticist's shoulders and neck and the DSTI doctor thrashed and roared in agony. The black stunted head dipped into the spouting wound. Started feeding. Tearing away the left side of Fietsam's face.
"Pppppain,” the doctor roared, his words now garbled and wet in his own blood. “Hellllllp. Dddddead."
Becker stepped over them and fired. Emptied his gun into the back of thing's head. Bullets pierced both the dark head and the scientist beneath as both vanished in grisly growing splotches.
"Is it self destruction?” Becker asked the suddenly noiseless room while Fietsam's body shuddered in death at his feet. “Yes. And see, a lot of time saved. No need to isolate anything at all. No need to breed and destroy children."
He thought of the boy.
Jeffrey.
And Kristin.
He knew she would care for him as she'd promised.
That she would “fix” as much as she could. That she would raise him as her own. He knew she would do that. And he knew she and the boy would be safe now.
Erdman ran for the door. Becker turned, drew Durbin's gun and fired three times. Erdman fell.
Becker looked the other way and shot another doctor. The woman. Fat doctor Mohlenbrock was now crying, clinging to the legs of the closest table.
Becker pointed the gun at Durbin. “And,” he asked, “is it maybe just a little fun?"
The only three men left in the room already knew his own answer again.
"You gonna kill everyone, Shawn?” Durbin asked.