Catalyst: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 1)

by Blou Bryant

  Wyatt took one last look at Jessica and Ford. Both were staring at him, their guns still aimed at each-other’s faces. “What do you have there, Wyatt?” asked Ford.

  Wyatt didn’t respond and bolted. He hit full speed at four strides, just in time to hear the bang of one of them shooting at him. The bullet missed, but broken glass showered him like a hundred small needles and he felt a sharp jab in his back. He lengthened his pace, aware that he was moving too fast to stop when he hit the stairs.

  A second and third gunshot rang out, and he jumped for the end of the hallway. With his free hand, he reached out to grab the railing, caught it and was yanked hard to his left, hitting his hip hard as his momentum pulled him into the wall.

  Hannah was at the bottom of the stairs, waving him forward like a base coach telling someone to head for home. One foot caught on a stair and then the other came down sideways. He tumbled down the last few steps, and crashed at her feet.

  His body felt like he’d been run over by a truck, there was pain from his glass-ridden face to his twisted foot. Hannah pulled him to his feet and, despite the agony, he ran with her through the entrance. As they fled, she pulled out a set of keys. Jessica’s car beeped twice and its lights flashed. “Get in!”

  Wyatt could see police lights outside the compound. He said, “Cops are here, we’re safe” as he climbed into the passenger seat.

  Hannah joined him, started the car and put it in reverse. “Buckle,” she said, putting her seat-belt on. When he hesitated, she yelled, “Now!” Wyatt complied, and she floored it, her eyes on the rear-view camera display. “That ain’t Detroit PD,” she said, her eyes wild. “Hold on,” she said, and crashed the car through the gate, metal flying in all directions.

  He was slammed forward and then back into the seat. The piece of glass in his back was pushed in deeper and he cried out. She stopped the car just next to the police cars and Wyatt ended up directly across from Golde. The two men locked eyes for a moment, their contact broken when Hannah twisted the wheel and reversed down the street at full speed.

  Golde screamed at his men, who ran to their cars and started a pursuit, only two blocks back. Hannah could see them as well and turned the wheel hard and braked simultaneously, spinning the car around. When faced forward, she put the car in drive and slammed on the gas. The car protested, “Please observe posted speed limits.” She didn’t.

  “Can you run?” Hannah asked, and took a hard right, attempting to lose the cops, flying through stop signs and one red light. It was still early in the morning and traffic was light, at least in this vacant part of town. He looked back, the police, no, they’re not real police, he thought, the brown shirts, weren’t immediately behind them.

  “I can, if we need to,” Wyatt replied,

  “We do. The car’s trackable. We need to dump it.”

  He clicked on his ear bud and Joe was on the line. Without preamble, he said, “We’re in Jessica’s car, are you tracking us?”

  Joe spoke over the car system to both of them, “I am, you are on Clonsilla, your next intersection is Rutgers.” Wyatt was no longer surprised at Joe’s ability or skills. Now he was dependent on them. Hannah looked at him and he mouthed, ‘later’.

  “Good. Find somewhere to go that’s safe and someone who can help us get out of town.”

  “Take the second right, Stewart Street.”

  Hannah looked at Wyatt and he nodded. “Trust him,” he said, and then added, “For this, trust him.”

  She raised an eyebrow but complied and took the right and then the next left. They drove five more blocks, took another turn and eight blocks later Joe told them to turn into a dark and crowded parking lot.

  Hannah pulled in without slowing down, the tires squealed as she braked hard, the nose of the car inches from a wall. Wyatt pointed at a door on the other side of the lot, well-lit and guarded by two large men. A small red sign over the entrance named it the Red Dog. “In there,” Wyatt said.

  “Why in there?” asked Hannah as they ran.

  “People,” Wyatt said, pulling ahead of her along the edge of the building, its red bricks flaking and broken. He panted at the exertion and the pain. His left leg protested at every step and he winced as he plucked glass out of his hand while stumbling towards the bar. “Safer, we want witnesses if they catch us.”

  Bleeding and exhausted, he reached the door just as the police pulled onto the street. The two bouncers inspected the youths in front of them, both underage, looked to each other and then to the patrol cars, lights blazing and sirens roaring.

  The bigger one smiled, his neck muscles flexing, making the tattoos under his chin stand out in the faint red light. He opened the door and said, “What are you waiting for? Come on in.”

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt let Hannah go in ahead of him and with one glance back at the patrol cars, he passed through the steel door. One bouncer followed and pulled the door shut behind them. “Follow me,” he said and pushed his large frame past them. He had a belly that stretched out his shirt to the point of breaking, but his arms had no fat on them, beam-like, and covered in red and black tattoos.

  The bar itself was a dark, dirty and simple place. Despite the late – early – hour, it was quite full, packed with leather and jeans. It wasn’t what he expected a night club would be, it looked like something out of an old movie. The tables held beers and shot glasses filled with pale yellow liquid.

  As they walked through, he was surprised at how few people looked at them. He was covered in blood, limped and was dressed differently than everyone in the place, but not one person caught his eyes. A couple of guys looked at Hannah in her red tights and blouse, but they didn’t look above the neck and turned away before the bouncer would notice.

  Wyatt glanced at the bar. He wanted a drink, crime was thirsty work, but he didn’t stop. The bouncer moved with surprising speed, given his size and he didn’t want to get left behind. A couple of girls moved lackadaisically on a dance floor that did double duty for dart tournaments, it appeared.

  A hard rock song Wyatt remembered vaguely, something about an eighteen-year-old who fought like a switchblade, played on the speakers. That wasn’t him, but he could run, he could jump and he could throw a shot put further than anyone his age in the State. It didn’t matter though, nobody made songs about boys who run.

  The bouncer led them to a set of stairs. They walked towards a black door at the end of a hall, peeling paint and faded posters advertising wet t-shirt night covering the walls. Wyatt didn’t feel safe yet but had relaxed enough to take stock of his current state.

  His left ankle was twisted, that was for sure. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it could hardly hold his weight. He’d be black and blue in a day, but it didn’t feel like he’d pulled anything in his hip, arm or shoulder, although they all hurt like heck. There was glass in his back, he could feel it pull and push as he walked, but that wasn’t what worried him most.

  The bouncer knocked three times on the door and looked up at a camera. They waited for a response. Wyatt looked at his right hand. It wasn’t the blood, although there was blood, and it wasn’t the glass that was in the wounds that covered his palm. What worried him most was what he couldn’t see. The glass sticking out was the remnants of the vial he’d taken, smashed into his palm as he’d fallen at the bottom of the stairs at the Mennar Center.

  The door opened, and the bouncer escorted them into a small, messy office. There were two men inside. The first, a short, bald and round man wearing a leather jacket, was sitting behind a desk. His face was tattooed and pierced multiple times. The other man, tall and skinny and wearing a tracksuit, sat in a chair off to the side. The bouncer said, “Just the two, no information yet,” turned and left.

  Leather-jacket waved to two seats in front of his desk. “Sit, sit,” he said. He didn’t appear healthy, his face lined and saggy as if a hard life had already extracted its pound of flesh.

  Wyatt looked at both men, confused at the turn
of events, but then, the entire night was a whirlwind, and he still had no clue how his comfortable, simple life had taken such a turn. Hannah sat down and he figured, why not, and he joined her.

  “You can call me Vasca. Who are you?” said the shorter man, staring at him with piercing intensity.

  “Do you have water?” asked Wyatt.

  Vasca waved a hand at the other man. “Sure, who are you?”

  Hannah replied first, “My name is Susan. My friend here is Martin.” Wyatt glared at her for the name choice. Thanks for nothing.

  The other man had stood up and taken two bottles of water from a small fridge. He passed one to each of the two kids and sat back down and absentmindedly flicked at a small e-tablet. He looked at Vasca and shook his head.

  “How about we start over?” Vasca asked, “My friend here uses a biometric scanner to tell if you’re lying. This time, tell me the truth. What’s your name?”

  Hannah looked at Wyatt. He shrugged and said, “It can’t get worse, might as well. I’m Wyatt. She’s Hannah.”

  Vasca looked to the other man, who nodded. “Good, that’s better. So, you need protection, I take it,” he said, pointing at a bank of monitors which showed the interior and exterior of the bar, on the bottom left screen four of Golde’s men argued animatedly with the bouncers at the door.

  Wyatt looked to Hannah, but she seemed happy to let him talk. That was a first. “Um, yes?”

  “And medical care? You’re both banged up. You more than her.”

  “That would be great, yes?”

  “Anything else?”

  “We’ll want to get out of town, back to Chicago.”

  “OK, I can arrange all that,” said Vasca, leaning back in his seat.

  This all seemed too easy, and Wyatt wondered to himself what Joe might have done to get them this level of help. He’s a hacker, perhaps he stole the money. It could be blackmail, but Vasca wouldn’t be so damn comfortable in his seat if it was. “Thank you, Sir.”

  The bald man raised an eyebrow, or what would have been an eyebrow if he had them, “Call me Vasca. I’m no ‘Sir’, I live real.”

  “Sure, Vasca, thank you.”

  “To do this, I need details. Tell me everything, if you lie, you’re out on your ass.”

  “You want to tell?” Wyatt asked Hannah.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” she replied.

  “Um, long story short, we were kidnapped by a crazy woman who wanted to break into Mennar. We escaped.”

  Vasca looked to the other man, who nodded. “Good start. Now tell the story from the beginning, and include names.”

  With a deep breath, Wyatt counted out the evenings activities in his mind. One, go to a party, two get kidnapped, three, restaurant and a shootout and then run, four, break into the center, get into another shootout and run again. Once the story was clear enough in his own mind, Wyatt restarted out loud, beginning with the simple text message. He found it cathartic, spelling it out made the night more real.

  Vasca intruded at times and asked precise, detailed questions that revealed a quick mind. This wasn’t some simple hoodlum. The unintroduced man said nothing and seemed content to play with his tablet, watching for lies. After about fifteen minutes, Wyatt reached the shooting of Wilbur.

  Vasca put his hand up and pressed a finger into his ear and listened for five or ten seconds. “Yes?” He listened a moment longer and then said, “Send Juno out.”

  Another press on his ear hung up the call. “It seems your pursuers are not willing to leave and have threatened to call in Detroit PD. From what you’ve told me so far, I suspect that’s not likely but it’s a chance I won’t take.” He watched the wall of monitors as the bartender talked to a man sitting with two women at a small table. The guy was heavy-set, dressed in a poor fitting purple suit, his face red. He got up immediately.

  Vasca said, “He’ll get rid of them, he’s police. Costs extra, though. Continue with your story, kiddies.”

  Costs extra? Wyatt filed that away and went back to telling the story, still watching the monitors as he spoke. His narrative was interrupted by his deep sigh of relief when Golde’s men turned and left.

  Juno turned and gave a thumbs up to the outside camera. Vasca contacted his bartender, “Give him five.” There was a pause, and he said, “Hundred, you idiot, it took him thirty seconds. Tell the girls I’ve covered his tab for the night.”

  At a wave from Vasca, Wyatt continued, recounting what had happened at Mennar but avoided mentioning the virus. Hannah shot him a look, and he shook his head. Vasca put a hand up and stared at each of them. He said, “Hey kids, I’m sitting in front of you, right? And you’re aware I’m not blind, right?”

  “Um, right?” said Wyatt.

  “Contrary to what every teenager in the world thinks, adults are not total idiots. What just passed between you two?”

  Wyatt watched Vasca. He’d catch a lie, or at least his friend would. He didn’t want to talk about the virus, “Well, yes, we skipped a bunch of things, but we’re telling you what you need to know.” Ugh, that was a lie too. Anyone in contact with him needed to be warned that he might be carrying the end of the world in his bloodstream. And anyone who found out would turn him in, he’d be a lab rat. Wyatt looked to Hannah for help.

  Vasca raised a brow at her, “Well, cutie? Do you talk, are you just his candy?”

  “I’m not his, and I’m not candy. Right now, I’m someone who wants a doctor. Can you arrange that?” She was pale and covered in sweat and looked worse than Wyatt felt.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “And I asked you one,” she said, stubbornly.

  Vasca looked to the other man, “What is it with hot women?”

  Hannah responded with a cold look, “Are you going to keep saying stupid, sexist crap or just answer my question?”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “We’ll leave.”

  “You assume that it’s as easy as that, you’ll just get up and walk out?”

  She shrugged. “Seems the only choice. When you only have one option, it’s easy, no matter how hard it is.”

  Vasca laughed, “I like you. My wife would have agreed, I’m an old sexist pig and not likely to change anytime soon. I hope you never meet her.” He turned to the other man, “Is Gav on his way?” The man nodded.

  “Gav’s a Doctor. We called him we saw you at the door. He’s on his way, girl. Now, I’ve answered your question, how about you answer mine. Why were you kidnapped? It’s not clear.”

  Hannah answered, “Because my Mom is an executive with Mennar. Because my DNA is close enough to hers that it let Jessica use it to bypass security and get into the center.”

  “And why did she want in?”

  “Jessica told me she had cancer and that she wanted access to a new DNA virus therapy. I’m sure that the first part was a lie. The second is true, from what Mom said, at least.”

  “That tech isn’t new.”

  “This is, it allows for the wholesale rewriting of our genetic code and, like stem cells, it allows growth and regrowth. My Mom is terrified of it, as was the Doctor at the center who invented it.”

  “Why?” Wyatt asked.

  “Explain, girl,” said Vasca.

  “What do you think people would do if they could change anything about themselves? What would they become?”

  Wyatt grunted as an idea popped in his head. “Could someone use it to regrow a missing arm?”

  “Arms, legs, eyes. Maybe even extras.” Hannah nodded as she spoke.

  That explains why Ford joined Jessica, he realized. If his own arm had been missing, what would he have done to get it back? Or more accurately, what wouldn’t he do? “That sounds great,” Wyatt said. “Why are they so scared?”

  “Human imagination.”

  Vasca stared at Hannah with intense interest. “I understand completely. I deal with people who alter themselves all day long. But tattoos and piercings are one thing. Cosmetic. Giving
people the chance to fundamentally change their bodies…” he trailed off, imagining the possibilities.

  The other man finally spoke. His voice was high and reedy. “Where is this virus now?”

  Hannah looked at Wyatt, letting him answer. “I had it,” he said and carefully considered how to phrase the next statement. “I dropped it when I fell down the stairs.” He looked to the tall man to see if he’d been caught in a lie. It was mostly, sorta, true. The man glanced down at his screen and nodded to Vasca.

  “So, it’s still there? They have it?” said Hannah.

  “I dunno.” he lied.

  The tall man shook his head at Vasca and Wyatt quickly changed his story. “Fine, I do sorta know what happened, the damn thing broke. I grabbed a container labeled V32 and smashed it. The virus is loose.”

  Vasca said, “Well, that’s their problem. Yours is that they’re still after you, so you still need my services.” He tapped on his tablet a few times. “It’ll be fifty.”

  “Fifty?” asked Wyatt.

  The man nodded.

  “What do you mean, fifty?” asked Wyatt.

  “Fifty-K.”

  “K?” asked Wyatt, still not understanding. Hannah slapped him in the arm. “Ouch, what?” he asked.

  “He wants money.”

  “We don’t have money,” said Wyatt.

  Vasca’s face turned cold. “Why are you here then?”

  “The bouncer brought us down…”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” said Vasca. “I should murder that idiot.” He pressed his ear bud and said, “Send Carter down. Kids,” he said to the two, “Are you both so stupid that you imagined I’d help you for nothing? I work for a living, I got mouths to feed. If you can’t pay, I won’t play.”

  “Then why did we go through this farce,” asked Hannah. “Like I came down to talk to some low life trash bar owner for the fun of it?”

  Vasca smiled for the first time. It wasn’t a pretty sight, his teeth were yellow, his lips dry and flaking. “You got a big mouth for someone who can’t pay the freight.”