After falling asleep together, Joshua had slept fitfully until the cry of a coyote woke him. He had been unable to drift off again, for in his mind he saw Barlow pacing the worn carpet in tattered slippers, clinging tenuously to his fading spirit, his body clenched around the raging disease that all but consumed him; waiting, waiting for the phone call. After an hour of sleeplessness Joshua realized he would be unable to rest until he spoke to Barlow. Officially severed the tie.
But the phone rang and rang. Joshua reluctantly started to replace the handset, suspecting (hoping) that Barlow had finally succumbed to the disease, and lay dead on the kitchen floor, the quest dead along with him, when a weak and fragmented voice came on the line. “Joshua...?”
Joshua snapped the phone back to his ear. What he had to say was for Barlow’s ears only. But before he said his piece, Joshua felt impelled first to make a token attempt at reconciliation. Despite the deception and ultimate betrayal, Joshua pitied him. “It’s me.” Joshua whispered.
“Where the hell have you been?” Though his voice crumbled, Barlow kept his coughing under precarious control. “I’ve been trying to re…reach you for two da- da- days.”
Joshua’s own throat constricted. No words came forth. When he felt the old man’s predominance asserting itself on his will, he squeezed the handset and closed his eyes. On the screen of his mind he saw Nathaniel clutching Genna, preparing to tear out her throat. The horror. Then he thought of last night, of holding her, making love to her, falling asleep beside her.
“… are you there?” Barlow asked. “Joshua? Jo…” his voice fragmented and he wheezed for a minute.
Although three thousand miles of road stretched between him and the old man, he might have been sitting right beside him, occupying the same space, breathing the same air. All the years of indoctrination worked against him. To escape from his psychological shackles, burst free of the dark pool on which Barlow weaned him, Joshua knew he must sever links with brutal honesty.
“Listen to me,” Joshua said. “I’m going to talk and you will listen. Interrupt me just once, and I’ll hang up.”
Barlow listened.
Joshua talked uninterrupted for twenty minutes. He told Barlow everything, from his encounter with Durant’s guards outside the hospital to the existence of Nathaniel and the renegades. Here Barlow uttered a deep sigh, a soft, withered sound that sank to the bottom of his soul. But deep inside, Joshua suspected Barlow already knew of Nathaniel’s betrayal.
“Joshua,” he said. “You have to stop him.”
Joshua gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“You know I’m right – your silence says it all. This girl – he’ll kill her, Joshua. Is that what you want?”
“We’re getting out,”
“You can’t flee this, Joshua – wherever you go it will follow. Whenever you lay eyes on that girl, you’ll remember the thousands – maybe millions – you sacrificed just to fool around with her.”
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“You alone can stop them.” Barlow said. “Therefore you alone are responsible. It’s in your hands, Joshua. The fate of millions. But I sympathize with you; I understand this brief period of doubt; Los Angeles has changed your mindset; given you a broader perspective – and that’s good. It will increase your chances of pretending you are one of them-”
“I’m not an animal.” Joshua shouted; anger flew crazily out of him. “I’m through with your dirty work. It’s over. No more killing. You made your own rules and fooled us into living by them – you’re a false prophet.”
“You are Wolfkind,” Barlow said calmly. “The girl’s human. You’re a separate species.”
“Stop it!”
“It’s a violation.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You debased this girl.”
Joshua’s hand crawled up his chest, his fingers searching for the wolf’s head amulet. It was, of course, no longer there. He touched only his bare skin. At the back of his mind a sinister voice, one cultivated during the years he spent near Barlow, became quiet.
“You bastard,” he said in a low voice. “You lousy, selfish bastard.”
“I’m only doing what’s right; what is God’s will.”
Joshua swallowed the lump in his throat. Events from his childhood played at breakneck speed before his eyes: growing up under Barlow’s watchful eye, spoon-fed stories of how they were remnants of a vanquished, forbidden race; spared only to track down and destroy the remaining few.
Joshua swallowed thickly. “You go to hell,” he hung up.
He slumped in the chair and brought his hands to his face. Outside in the forest, a woodpecker drummed against a tree; farther down the mountain on one of the lakes, a water bird let out a forlorn cry. He looked out of the window toward the sound; at the misty treetops, the dew on the grass, and the prints of wild animals on the lawns.
He sensed someone else in the room.
Genna stood silhouetted in the doorway, a blanket draped across her shoulders. She came over and sat beside him, relinquishing her blanket to include him.
“That was Barlow...”
“I know,” she said.
Small splinters of plastic from the phone lay sprinkled on his lap, and he brushed them off, almost self-consciously. “Barlow’s right,” he said.
Genna stiffened.
He gave her a warm smile, held her hand, touched her face. “Not about you and me – about the renegades.”
“You’ll be killed,” Genna said, alarmed. “We’re leaving Los Angeles – right?”
“I could stop them.”
She held his face in her hands. “You have a responsibility toward me now. That means you have to change the way you care about yourself.”
He searched her eyes for signs of doubt. But he saw only love, and the fear that accompanies the emotion. “I need you to promise me,” she said.
Joshua thought of the machinations of hunting and tracking renegades, the possibility – the probability - of never again seeing her again.
“Promise me. “
He looked briefly at the phone. “Where will we go?”
“As far away as we can get.”
An hour later they faced each other in the middle of the room, clothed and ready to travel. They had agreed they should depart by road rather than air, for Florida – a state far away from both Los Angeles and New Hampshire. They would stay in nondescript motels on the outskirts, from where Genna would maybe try obtaining fake ID.
But they found their immediate plan beset by two problems. Genna refused to leave without her dog, and neither of them had any cash on them.
“I need my bank cards.” Genna said, mentally slapping her forehead.
“Won’t the transactions be traced?” Joshua asked.
“I can make a single cash withdrawal.”
All of her cards were back at the apartment. It was a fair bet that her father’s goons were watching her building, too.
“Shit,” Genna slapped the arm of the couch.
Joshua slid the car keys off the table. “I’ll go,” he said. “I can handle your father’s men. I’ll get your cards and bring the dog.”
Genna started to protest but her lamentations were weak. They had no other option. She sighed and scratched the back of her head irritably. “You’re right,” she said.
He kissed her forehead. She kissed him back, clinging to him.
Then he was gone, ducking out of the door, starting up the car. Gravel spun against the BMW’s under carriage. From the window Genna watched the taillights until they became lost in the trees. In dawn’s early light, mist hung like a shroud over the forest, obscuring the view of the city. After a minute the sound of the engine faded.
“Please be careful,” she said, touching the glass.
Joshua drove quietly through the light traffic, seeing only the occasional taxi cab or bread truck on the roads. He left the BMW three blocks from Genna’s apartment building in Silve
r Lake. Across the road a digital clock above an office block read 6:09am.
Two minutes later he stood at the mouth of the down-ramp that sloped into the subterranean parking lot. The temperature below street level dipped several degrees, the air was damp. He crossed to the fire-escape, the gray walls and pillars echoing his stealthy footfalls.
Inside the stairwell was deathly quiet; it smelled vaguely of urine. Along the painted rails, the walls, and on each of the concrete steps were the overlapping biological signatures of a hundred people, leaving behind a pot-pourri of fleeting images and emotions. Amazingly, he divined Genna’s presence. Though many more people had since passed over her trail, they had not completely drowned it.
Satisfied the corridors were deserted, he reached Genna’s door, pressed his ear to the blue panels. The hum of a refrigerator…the ticking of one or more clocks…the gentle buzzing of a dimmer switch. He looked down; light spilled from under the door. He heard no people in there – only the dog.
He had no key so he threw his shoulder against the lock. The door gave with a loud crack, and something clattered faintly to the floor inside the apartment. Joshua hurried inside and pushed the door to behind him. He heard Benji scratching at the kitchen door.
After several circuits of the apartment, he still could not find the credit cards. They were not on the table beside the telephone, as Genna had suggested. Nor were they in any of the drawers, nor were they resting on any of the work surfaces in the kitchen. He spent a couple of minutes methodically going through drawers and cupboards, but had no luck.
Desperation gnawed at the corners of his mind. No credit cards meant they had no money. If Genna requested replacements the transaction would burn time they didn’t have.
And of course there was Benji. Joshua sighed; his progress was poor to terrible. So far he couldn’t find the credit cards and the damn pooch had begun howling to be let out of the kitchen. After a further bout of fruitless searching, he gave up.
He opened the kitchen door and the Doberman leaped out, going straight for the exit. He had left the door slightly ajar and Benji used his paw to pry it open all the way. Joshua followed him out into the corridor. They made it back through the deserted streets to the waiting car unaccosted. Joshua pulled open the driver’s door and Benji leaped in, parking himself on the passenger seat, eyes studiously forward, front paws splayed against the dash, as though in anticipation of a white knuckle ride.
“Going to make it, big fella,” Joshua said.
Genna stood on the porch hugging her arms against the morning chill and staring through the mist, watching for signs of Joshua’s return. Two long hours had passed since he left. Twice she thought she had heard a car’s engine, but when she eagerly pressed her face to the glass, she saw only the early morning fog above the trees. Surely he should have been back by now.
Dread had made her edgy, and now she was hearing things. Furtive footsteps on the deck outside; doors being tampered with; windows being forced; voices whispering at the very limit of her hearing. But her investigations revealed nothing but an over-wrought imagination.
Feeling the chill of the mountain air in her bones, she returned to the comparative warmth of the cabin. Permitting herself to fret helped nobody – least of all herself. If anyone could look after himself it was Joshua.
As she passed through the hallway that served the bedrooms she noticed several damp footprints on the floor leading to one of the doors. She froze; a shiver crawled up her back, and she recalled hearing noises earlier. The footprints were large - definitely not hers; probably not Joshua’s. They led into led into the room, but not back out. They were very fresh.
The door creaked open, startling her.
Divo Serefini stood a couple of feet inside the room, leaning against the wall like a fed-up teenager, a 32 pistol in his hand. His scarred and bandaged face bearing the smug expression she knew all too well. Before Genna could react, he snagged her by the wrist and dragged her into the room. He back-heeled the door closed behind him. She managed to squirm free but he stood blocking the exit. From his breast pocket he plucked a cellular phone and punched a number; his black eyes regarded her stonily. “I’ve got her,” he said. “She’s alone all right.”
For a moment Genna did nothing - her mind raced. When did they arrive? How did they break in without her hearing? “Okay,” she said. “You had better move the hell out of my way.”
Serefini stood his ground. His eyes wandered to the unkempt bed behind. He sighed like a scorned husband who had caught his wife with another man. “You actually balled some guy up here?”
Genna no longer felt molested by his eyes, nor particularly offended by his insults. Serefini was walking scum, no more, no less. Almost unbidden, her hand came up to slap his face. But he raised a forearm block, jammed the pistol into his waistband, planted one hand against her chest shoved her onto the bed. “Instead of slumming with some punk you might have considered me...”
Still shocked that Serefini had actually touched her, Genna tried to climb off the bed but the man quickly pounced on her. She beat at him with her fists but he used his weight to pin her down. He pressed his nose to the sheets and inhaled. “So, this where you tipped out.” He moved his face to within an inch of hers; his breath whistled through his teeth. “Lucky guy,” he whispered, imitating a sexual thrust.
Genna winced. The thirty-two in his waistband dug into her pubic bone. “You’re…hurting me.”
“Oh, say it again, please.” Serefini thrust again. “I’ve wanted to hurt you since I first saw you.”
Quick footsteps on the hard floor outside and then the bedroom door swung open. George Decarius rushed in. “We just got word -” He broke off at sight of the boss’s daughter crushed under Serefini’s weight. He met Serefini’s gaze, and Serefini raised his eyebrows. George Decarius cleared his throat. “...a red BMW is coming up the dirt-road.” He looked past Serefini at Genna.
“I’ll be right out,” Serefini said.
Decarius didn’t move.
“Something wrong with your legs?”
Decarius shook his head.
“There will be if you’re not gone in three seconds.”
Decarius went.
Genna ceased her struggling. A red BMW?
“Your boyfriend?” Serefini dragged his tongue from the corner of her mouth to her forehead, forcing her to shut her eyes. “Was fucking you his last request?” He rolled off the bed and dragged her to her feet.
By the time Joshua pulled on to the private road leading to the log cabin, the early morning mist had begun to dissipate. Sunshine burned away the haze from the eastern horizon. Nature came alive with bird song and the cries of animals. From the west blew a gentle breeze, a pleasant contrast to last night’s gales.
In a shallow depression half a mile from the cabin the track became boggy, dirt splashed up the sides of the car, the steering wandered in his grip. Here on the dirt road Joshua saw tire marks where a car must have slued off the track. He frowned. He recalled seeing no such tire marks on his journey down. At no point last night did Genna stray off the track.
Another car?
He reduced his speed and scanned the woods ahead of him.
He looked at the dog. The dog looked straight back at him. Abruptly Benji’s studious look snapped into canine alertness. “You smell something?”
At that very moment the car emitted dozens of pinging sounds. As if by magic these pinging sounds plucked holes in the bodywork. The wing mirror disintegrated.
Then he saw them. Several gunmen seconded in the trees ahead of them, leaning into their weapons. Orange light spat from the barrels in a blaze of muzzle fire. A sustained hail of bullets smacked into the car’s body. Suddenly the windshield exploded, and the world became instantly opaque. Stray rounds whizzed through the air and cracked through the branches of the nearby trees.
Joshua stamped on the brakes and jammed the car into reverse. Another smash, behind him this time. In a fountain of glass
the rear window blew out. Benji barked once more and then, as though being shot at was a commonplace occurrence, dropped out of sight into the foot-well below the seat. There he huddled, head down, mouth closed.
Bullets plucked at the seat leather and pinged into the metal body. Then, one after the other, the remaining windows blew. Another short burst disintegrated the shattered windshield.
Through the opening Joshua saw a third man rush forward and join the turkey shoot. Beyond them, through twists and turns of the path, he saw two cars.
One of the front tires blew and Joshua lost control. The wheel jerked in his grip, but the momentum kept the vehicle rolling backwards. Three gunmen jogged after him, reloading as they came. Bullets slammed unrelenting into the car, peppering the bodywork and plucking at the leather. With a surge, the car gripped a dryer section of path and spun violently a hundred and eighty degrees. Facing away from the advancing gunmen, Joshua threw the car into first and planted his foot on the gas. The wheels spun briefly before finally biting. But the flat tire caused the rear end to fishtail.
He threw a quick glance into the rearview mirror, and to his horror, saw one of the gangsters aiming a tubular device in his direction, but the very moment the weapon flared. He held his breath and heard the blast of the rocket’s tail fire, the whoosh of the projectile slicing the air. He braced himself.
In a bone jarring split second the world upended.
When he opened his eyes he saw trees growing out of an earthen sky. The BMW had flipped and landed on its roof, crushing the support pillars so the sunroof met the head rests. Flames engulfed the wreck, embracing the whole car, and before the hulk settled under its own weight, the gas tank blew. The secondary explosion sent a mushroom cloud through the canopy.
A wall of blistering heat enclosed Joshua, burning through his clothes and singeing his hair, sucked the oxygen from his lungs. Pain greater than he had ever experienced screamed down his nerves and seared his brain. Fast as his tremendously accelerated metabolism repaired damaged tissue, the intense heat worked more quickly and took away his skin. He became trapped in a loop of continuous, flaring agony.
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