The odor that was in the air had grown stronger. Moselle could almost taste it. I need to warn them. I need to—But Moselle’s thoughts were interrupted by another collection of scents: fresh dirt, mold, fungus…filth. Then the floor bounced under her feet.
“The wraiths are here.” She looked at Jackson. “We need to go. Can’t wait for Cade.”
She gazed around the room in a panic. The toxic stench was stronger yet.
I need a portable respirator. There’s no way Jackson will survive if I unhook him.
“Bless me, great Ma’at. I need the time to find a device that will allow the love of my life to breathe, to live through this. Grant me the chance to at least try and escape my fate, you owe me as much. You never gave my family the chance to live when we fled Thebes. I beg you, give me my chance now.”
Moselle began searching. Her first thought was the emergency room, but she was uncomfortable leaving Jackson for a trip all the way downstairs.
“Help!” she screamed outside the room. “I need help!”
She was pretty sure everyone within earshot was dead; she could feel their life-forces as they dissipated all around her. She dashed to the elevators, and when it finally opened, she found it filled with dead nurses.
Then power flickered.
“No.”
Moselle knew what would happen if the power went out: Jackson’s respirator would cease to work. She ran back to the room to retrieve her phone; there was one other person she could call.
“Yes, madam?” her driver answered.
“I need you to come inside. Find a portable respirator…ventilator—whatever they’re called.”
“Ma’am, you know I cannot leave the car. Your father tasked—”
“I don’t care. You must do this for me.”
“I will not survive.”
“I know.”
“It is my job to serve you. Is this your will, Lady Moselle?”
“It is my will. Go to the emergency room, find what I need and bring it to me as quickly as you can.”
“There will not be much time.”
“As quickly as you can.”
“Your will be done.”
Moselle knew she had asked him to forfeit his life; she had never done that before. She’d witnessed her father demonstrated his power over his guards once many years before and its outcome would be the same as now.
Forgive me.
While she stood at Jackson’s side, she watched the lights flicker on and off. The surges grew worse. It was only a matter of time before the power failed and when it did, Jackson would die. Moselle spotted something move in the corner of the room, a shadow; she nearly snickered at the sight.
For all the days I’ve been here, no snakes have managed to find me, she thought. Funny one would reach me now.
As she stared into the shadows, she heard distant footsteps.
“Lady Moselle?”
Her driver’s voice, although deep and smothered in an African accent, was weak. He’s running out of time.
“Here! I’m here.”
When her driver entered the room, she did not know what to look at first: the coarse, pale tone of his skin, or the small portable breathing apparatus he held.
“You found one.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Moselle snatched it from her driver, so ashamed at what she’d ordered him to do that she could not look him in the eye.
“Go,” she said, crushed by her actions. “Get out of here! Get back to the car! Now!”
“Yes, ma’am. Will you be coming soon?”
“I’ll be right there.”
Moselle watched her guard leave. She half expected to witness his end right then, but when he escaped her view, she let herself believe he might be fine after all.
“Jackson, hold your breath a moment,” Moselle said as she switched masks from the stationary respirator to the portable one. “You will live through this day, my love, I promise you.”
Once she was satisfied that he was breathing safely, she dashed back out of the room and straight to a wheelchair she’d spotted earlier. Just as she gripped the metal push bars, the power dipped and, with a pop, went entirely out. She stood in the darkness a moment before a back-up generator kicked in and the emergency lights turned on slowly.
They’ve found me, she thought. There’s no time left.
Moselle pushed the wheelchair over the body of a dead doctor. Her thoughts were on only one thing: survival.
“Jackson, we’re leaving. Now.”
She surprised herself when she was able to lift him easily from the bed to the chair; it had been so long since she feed. She knew she shouldn’t be this strong and accredited it to adrenaline, if such a thing still coursed through her undead body. Once he was secured in the chair, Moselle tapped him on the shoulder and encouraged him to hang on.
The hallway was cluttered with bodies. The emergency power was still on, and she was willing to risk that meant the elevators still worked. Moselle wheeled Jackson toward an operating room in the rear of the level. She moved as fast as her body would allow her, but the day had taken its toll and she felt waves of weakness in her limbs.
She stabbed at the down button on the nearest elevator until her fingernail cracked.
“Hurry,” she said as she watched the numbers above the button rise. She knew there could be any manner of things inside: dead bodies, wheelchairs, a janitor’s cart, even the wraiths themselves. When the elevator chimed again and the door opened, she gasped and then sighed. It was empty; no one was inside—nothing.
“It looks like our luck has changed.”
She pushed Jackson in and pressed the button for the ground floor. The lights inside the elevator flickered and turned amber before they dimmed and then flickered back on again. Trapped inside a box, caged for the wraiths. Perhaps I spoke to soon… Moselle slammed her fist down on the buttons.
“Please, my gods, do not serve me up to my enemies like this. Give me a fighting chance.”
DING.
When the elevator door opened, Moselle nearly shrieked. On the lobby floor, just outside the door, was a large pile of pale rock and sand: her driver had not made it back to the car.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed as she pushed the wheels through the sand. “May you find rest in the Afterlife.”
She could smell fresh air. She had started to think she would never enjoy the scent again. It blew in with a gust through an open sliding door, and she could see it now: a way out.
“We’re gonna make it, Jackson.”
The doorway to the main entrance of the hospital was filled with bodies. She did not know how she was going to get around them all, but she was sure going to try. She gripped the handles of the wheelchair so hard she thought she’d hurt her hands, braced herself, and slammed into the first body: a receptionist. She pushed the chair over the back of dead woman, all the while Jackson flopping from side to side until he nearly bounced out. Moselle was surprised she was able to roll over a body so well and just kept going—she rolled over another and another, but before she could get to the door, the wheelchair shifted, turned over, and threw Jackson to the floor.
“No!” she screeched.
She lifted him into her arms the same way she had the night he had been wounded. She did not know how long she could carry him. She did not know when the wraiths would materialize and kill them both and still, Moselle swore she would hold Jackson safe in her arms until she reached the car or died trying.
Where’s the limo? She gazed out into the parking lot; she had no idea where her driver had parked. Her escape had come to an abrupt end, and not by the forces she’d imagined. It was halted by her own poor memory.
“Damn it!”
Moselle closed her eyes and when she reopened them, she saw a red-and-black snake slither up the handicap ramp where she stood. Behind it was another, and another. As she stood there, she counted dozens of snakes—maybe a hundred or more—all in a long line that
led back to her car.
Thank Bes! Some days, I love my curse.
Basement
Jackson was overcome with a profound sense of déjà vu. Or perhaps he had just grown used to hearing his girlfriend tell tales that were almost—should have been—too crazy to believe. For a moment, he considered that he might have been more surprised if she told him a commonplace story.
He yawned. Although her story filled him with anxiety, her voice had lulled him to a deeply relaxed state. His head was crammed with thoughts—dozens, all mixed together, turned inside out, and upside down—he couldn’t concentrate. He felt like he should be someplace else; or maybe dead.
I’m dead tired, he thought. This crypt isn’t helping…
Jackson turned his head and looked at the blackboard. Something about its emptiness made him think. No one knows where I am.
“I guess I lost my job.”
“Your job, Jackson?” Moselle was shocked.
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been gone for like two weeks, right?” he said with a shrug. “I’m guessing they figured I skipped town or something.”
“They knew you were in the hospital, my love. Your coworkers sent flowers.”
“They did? Which ones?”
“Jackson!” Moselle yelled. “I’ve just told you about unstoppable beings that’ll do anything and everything to destroy any human or otherworldly that threatens the existence of the greater whole and you’re worried about your job?”
“I liked my job.” Jackson smiled. “And a man’s gotta eat, you know.”
“Jackson—” Moselle’s frustration was clear in her voice, but it didn’t stop him from interrupting her.
“Did my mom send flowers? Honestly, she probably has no clue I was in the hospital. Wait, did the hospital call her, or worse, my brother? Oh, Mr. Big-Shot East Coast CPA, he probably expects that I’ll call and beg him to cover my hospital bills. Not this time… Wait, the hospital can’t bill you if there was some freak of nature-accident-thing that nearly killed you there. I mean, as far as anyone knows, I died there like everyone else…even the billing department, right?”
Moselle stared back in disbelief. “Jackson…”
“I’m sorry. Yes, this all freaks me out,” he said as he waved his arms around. “But at the same time, I feel oddly safe. I’m alive. I’ve somehow cheated death once—”
“Twice.”
“Yes, twice,” he agreed. “So something deep inside of me says not to worry. Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s how it should be.”
“Shall I move the TV closer? Turn it back on? Would you like a better look at the sinkhole the wraiths have created just to kill us. Us, my love…”
“Sinkholes happen all the time. I remember one happening in Guatemala a few years back. Was that these wraith things?”
“I don’t know.”
“See? You’re probably worrying for nothing. California is gonna break off and float away into the ocean some day. They’ve been saying that for generations. This could just be another natural disaster. Natural, Moselle. Natural.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I can’t,” Jackson said with a goofy smile. “A month ago, I was sure everyone I knew was human.”
“Well…”
“Look, if my reality can be rocked by the supernatural, why can’t yours be rocked by the ordinary?”
“Jackson, you weren’t awake, in the hospital.” Moselle squirmed in her seat as she said, “I have lived a long time and I have never seen people die in such numbers. Not without a reason.”
“You said there was a gas leak.”
“What gas can kill so quickly?”
“Lots.” He shook his head. “You’ve lived all around the world. Have you never witnessed an act of terrorism, or at least read about one?”
“I know of terrorism.” Moselle frowned. “I do.”
“Then it could’ve been, what do they call them on the news? A weapon of mass destruction.” Jackson remembered something as he talked. “Or maybe radon…oh, or carbon monoxide? One of those is the silent killer.”
“Jackson, my dear sweet love—”
“Listen, if you’re sure it was the wraiths, come to kill us, then I believe you. But if they are so efficient, so feared, so ruthless, then how did we escape them so easily?”
Moselle appeared puzzled by his question. He knew he was starting to get through to her.
“Seriously, I’m starving.” He smirked. “And I’d love a good steak. Like the one you fed me that night, after the time we spent in the hot tub…”
Moselle crossed her arms over her chest and answered, “You are not strong enough to spend time with me in the hot tub.”
With his eyebrows raised, he replied, “Maybe after that steak I will be.”
“You make light of a dreadfully grave thing, Jackson Abernathy.”
He took her hand in his and shook his head. “No, I’m just doing for you what you do for me.”
“Trying to stir my loins?”
“No.” He chuckled. “I just want to relax you.”
“Well, perhaps it has worked in a small measure.” Moselle smiled back at him. “Do you truly think this is all in my head, that I have overreacted?”
“Look, if you think we’re in trouble, and you want to live down here in the subbasement, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“I am pleased to hear you say that. And yes, I do feel more relaxed now.”
“Good,” Jackson said with a deep nod. “So, what should we do now?”
“I am not certain.”
“No sun… No pools… No soft bed…”
Moselle took her hand back and slapped his hand playfully. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
Friday. Friday. Friday.
“You look ridiculous,” Sabrina repeated as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. For the first time in her life, she felt cramped in a limousine, like it was closing in on her on all sides. “How are they supposed to take me seriously when you look like…like…like a damned Power Ranger?”
“Power Ranger? Please, I told you, I look like a character from—”
“From Metal Gear. I know.” Sabrina rolled the window down some as she shifted in her seat again. “All this… I just need some fresh air.”
“Which is why you called me, remember? I’m the freshest air around,” Weston said as he ‘threw up’ some random gang signs.
Sabrina looked at Weston. With the black leather and the helmet, he looks more like he’s part of a post-apocalyptic motorcycle gang than a bodyguard.
“The freshest, cheap-ass leather-smelling air around.” Sabrina nodded in his direction.
“Oh, you want me to leave now?”
Sabrina rolled the window back up when the scent of pungent smoke began to fill the back seat. She peered through the crack to the sky-high buildings above. This part of Los Angeles, the business district, always made her feel so small.
“No, Weston. I need you.”
Sabrina looked at the shiny faceplate on Weston’s helmet; she imagined, had he not been wearing it and had he been fully formed up, she would have seen a big smile on his face. Instead, Sabrina only saw her own reflection—no smile, just a look of concern.
If you want this, Sabs, if you really want this, you’re going to need to dig deep.
Sabrina unwrapped a lollipop from a bag that sat half-empty on the seat next to her. The flavor was orange—her favorite. When she pushed it through her pursed lips, she watched Weston stir.
“That’s why you didn’t put on lipstick before we left.”
“Excuse me?” Sabrina cocked her head.
“I watched you put all your makeup on, took you almost forty minutes.”
“You were watching that? I thought you were getting dressed in your—costume.”
“No, I was watching you.”
“Watching me put my makeup on?”
“I’ve always found it fascinating—the way you can paint your skin. It’s like w
atching an artist put brush to canvas.”
“That’s so weird.” Sabrina shook her head.
“Listen.” Weston cleared his voice. “Long ago, there was this master painter. He could paint anything he wanted, but his focus was on nature. This man, he loved nature.”
“Okay.”
“Instead of withholding his amazing abilities. Instead of charging the masses to enjoy his gifts, he displayed them to all for free.”
“Nice guy.”
“My people, we came to revere him. His positive attitude, his kindness, and his view of the world were all models to follow.”
She removed the lollipop from her mouth and asked, “And he was human?”
“Oh yes.”
“Really? Few humans take time to honor nature anymore. They work continuously to reshape it,” Sabrina huffed. “I mean, in reality, destroy it.”
“Not this man.”
“What was his name?” Sabrina asked and then licked the lollipop.
“The great one—his name was Robert Norman Ross.”
“Remind me to look him up on the Internet when we get home.”
“I will,” Weston said with a snap of his hand and a pointed finger.
“Thanks, Weston.” Sabrina smiled.
“For what?”
She looked out the window and sighed. “We’re here and I feel a little better.”
“Good.” Weston nodded. “Now then, can I bring my machete in?”
“No.”
When the limousine came to a stop, Sabrina’s heart dropped to her stomach. She couldn’t remember a time she had felt this nervous. She so wished Mira were there, her presence has always helped in the past.
“Look, keep a close eye on my back. If you catch even the tiniest spark of light coming off my wings, you let me know right away. Okay, Weston?”
“I got your back,” he joked.
“I’m serious. Last time I stepped out of a limo, my wings popped and some paparazzi dude snapped a pic.”
“I saw that.”
Sabrina arched her brow. “Did you?”
“I did. You spun it well.”
“Thanks.” Sabrina watched Weston’s gloved hand wave over the black blade of his machete. Maybe I’m being too hard on him. “Okay, you can carry the machete. But if they ask you about it…”
Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances Page 6