“Oh really? He has already beaten you once, what makes you think it’ll be any different next time?” Serena said.
“I won’t underestimate him again.”
“That’s very noble, but Morgan is my choice.”
Turning from Kyle, Serena said, “You didn’t hurt the Professor too badly, I hope?”
“No, but he burnt Gary to a crisp,” Kyle replied.
“Really?” she said, drawing the word out, looking at the text with visible avarice.
After quickly gathering their equipment, the trio left the apartment and headed to Alex’s car. Out on the street they rode in silence. Alex kept his speed down as he passed the police cruisers heading for his building.
He pulled out his map and looked at the red marks, then placed it on the seat between him and Marla. After a few moments, she said, “Why?”
“What?”
“Why would the government want to create these things?”
Alex hesitated, then said, “The original purpose, I thought, was for the healing capabilities of the formula. The specimen could be subjected to any number of deadly agents. We once used nerve gas on a subject; he shook it off like it was a soft breeze. Another we severed an entire limb, the right arm, it grew back in a week.”
“That sounds great, now tell me the real reason.”
Alex sighed heavily, “Okay, picture an indestructible soldier or agent, who doesn’t require any equipment or food. You can drop him anywhere in the world and be sure he’ll accomplish his mission. You can’t expect to be financed by the government without some military gain involved. At the time I thought it was worth it.”
“And now? If you could do it over again?”
“I probably would still make the same decision.”
“Even knowing what the outcome would be?”
“Yes, because if I hadn’t survived, then the pack would have no one hunting them.”
“I see.” Marla turned back and faced the front.
Alex wondered what was going through that calculating mind of hers. Does she know my secret? he thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Greaves entered the front door of the apartment he thought a gang war had been waged. He glanced at the twisted hinges of the door that looked as if a battering ram had hit them.
A short, balding man, wearing a blue jacket with -coroner- stenciled on the back, came over to Greaves as he finished inspecting the hinges. “Captain Greaves?” he said.
“Yeah, oh, hey Curt, what’s up?”
A solemn look was on the coroner’s face. “It’s worse than we thought.”
Greaves looked around the ransacked room, and said, “How can it be worse?”
Curt motioned him to follow and Greaves complied. When they reached a body covered by a sheet, Curt kneeled down and uncovered the face. A look of surprise came over Greaves. “That’s James Harden! He’s one of my detectives!”
“Yes, I know, his badge fell out when we were examining the body.”
“Cause of death?” Greaves said, looking up from the body.
“It’s very odd, he was shot to death.”
“What’s so odd about that?”
“The amount of entry wounds,” Curt said, picking up a clipboard.
After waiting a moment, Greaves said, “Well?”
“Oh, I’ve only done a preliminary, but it looks like eighteen small caliber shots, probably 9 mm. Then five to six blasts from a shotgun, close range, hard to tell."
Greaves had a perplexed look on his face, Eighteen times, Jesus.
“Oh, and I’m not a hundred percent sure, but the pellets from the shotgun look like silver. I’ll have to run some tests though,” Curt said.
Greaves walked over and placed his hand against the wall, man what a night. First Chad, now James. Chad’s body had been found only an hour earlier, torn to shreds.
From behind, someone called his name, “Captain Greaves?” It was a patrolman.
“Captain?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Sir, we found out who the occupant of the unit is. It’s leased to an Alex Thorpe.”
Greaves felt as if the walls were closing in on him, he went to the broken windows and deeply inhaled the fresh air. The patrolman followed him over, and said, “Sir, Thorpe’s not among the deceased. What do you want us to do? Sir?”
Greaves was silent a moment, then turned slowly, and said, “Put an all points out on Thorpe and someone get me Shaefer! Where the hell is Shaefer!?”
Alex tucked the Mercedes behind some dumpsters a few hundred feet from the high security fence. The companions got out and moved toward the gate of the abandoned mining field. The sign on the gate read ‘Johnson Excavating’ with a sign plastered over that read ‘closed'.
Alex was dressed from head to toe in black; on his shoulder he carried a duffel bag. Around his waist was a pistol belt, two guns were holstered and a knife was sheathed on it. Quong was dressed the same as Alex, but carried a sword on his belt instead. Marla had on one of Alex’s black outfits; it nearly swallowed her up in its folds.
When they reached the fence, Alex checked the lock. With his back to Marla he snapped it off with a hard twist. He looked back, “Rusty.”
“Alex, what the hell are we doing here?” Marla spoke up.
“It’s time we became the hunters. This is one of the most likely sites for a den.”
“You mean they might be in there?”
“I hope so, this is one of the last places on my list,” he replied, pushing the gate open. He motioned for Marla to remain silent, then moved through the gate.
Heavy equipment sat randomly around the immense yard; front-end loaders, cranes, huge dump trucks, all left to rot in the run down operation.
Alex’s hearing detected a scratching sound nearby; he guided them toward the sound. When they reached one of the dump trucks, Alex gave the signal to stop. He laid the duffel bag down and drew his guns. Marla still held the shotgun from the apartment. She raised the weapon out in front of her. Meanwhile, Quong had vanished into the shadows.
Alex listened closely and verified that the scratching was coming from just around the front of the vehicle. He listened a moment, getting a fix on the exact location of the sound, then lunged from behind the truck, his guns raised. A dark figure leapt out of the shadows and slammed into his knees, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over in time to see a dog scamper off into the night. Marla watched also, then said, “Great, you just scared the shit out of Lassie.”
Alex got up and brushed himself off, clearly embarrassed. Marla could barely control her laughter. Quong reappeared, and said, “Did you get them, Doctor?”
Tears formed in Marla’s eyes from his question, she looked to Alex and saw that he too was bent over laughing. Quong looked at both of them as if they were crazy.
Rick paced frantically about the room. He had been locked away for what seemed like days, cut off from the outside world by Serena’s command. She had even placed a guard outside the chamber to be certain Rick stayed put. Rick wasn’t lacking for conversation though, his other agitating him the entire time.
We must escape, it said.
We can’t. Serena’s forbidden us to leave, Rick replied.
To hell with that bitch. I’m hungry. We must escape and feed.
They’ve brought us food. Plenty of food, Rick countered.
Scraps! Are we the pack’s scavengers? Why don’t we move to Africa and run with the common Hyenas? the other said.
Rick did not reply. Then the other said, That’s it.
What? Rick asked. Move to Africa?
No. We must begin our own pack. Be our own Alpha. We do not belong in the company of wolves.
But they’re our friends.
Are they? They lock us away, tell us to curve our natural instincts, stop us from killing. And they are our friends. You weakling.
Don’t call me that, Rick said.
What? Weakling.
Shut up!
Weakling. Weakling. Weakling.
Stop it! Stop it! Rick backed into a corner, clutching his head. Trying to silence the inner voice that berated him. “Oh please. Stop it,” he said aloud.
The conversation had gone as planned. Rick’s other driving him to the edge by constant badgering. The more Rick lost control, the stronger a foothold it gained. With each passing minute the other attained new dominance. Rick sat in the corner mumbling to himself. He had lost.
The other quickly seized control, throwing Rick’s human consciousness into the depths of his mind. When it became comfortable with Rick’s body’s motor functions, it stood and strode to the metal door. When ‘Rick’ opened the door, he was immediately met with a hand to the chest. It was Greg Fuller, Greg had been assigned the task of guarding Rick until Silverman was found and the pack left town. “Sorry, Rick,” Greg said, “but Serena told me not to let you go anywhere.”
Rick tried to shove past, but Greg moved to block his path, keeping his hand on Rick’s chest. “Don’t make me hurt you, little man,” Greg said.
Rick looked up into Greg’s eyes, the man standing at least three inches taller than him. From Greg’s expression, Rick could tell he meant what he said. Rick smiled, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Greg’s expression softened and Rick knew he had him. “Oh, all right. I’ll…” Before Greg could finish his sentence, Rick grabbed his hand and wrenched it down, snapping the wrist. Greg started to howl in pain, but Rick lunged forward, digging his rapidly grown fangs into the bigger man’s throat. Rick shook his head wildly, like a rat-killing dog, ripping Greg’s trachea out. Blood gushed from the terrible wound, painting the walls a deep crimson.
Rick reveled in the rain of plasma, chewing on the removed organ. He watched Greg sink to the floor, wet gurgling sounds coming from the new hole in his throat. Greg tried to transform, but in his weakened condition, failed. Rick knew Greg would have to spend several days in a coma before his body would regenerate the damaged tissue. He would be long gone by then.
Rick stepped over the prone man and walked casually down the corridor. When he reached the doorway where the pack’s supplies were kept, he stopped and went inside. The room was quite large, everything the pack had acquired since their escape was stored therein. To the left was clothing, suitcases and weapons, on the right were huge boxes filled to the top with cash.
Rick grabbed one of the suitcases and hastily emptied one of the boxes into it. He shed his blood soaked clothes, wadded them in a ball and placed them in the box. Finding his particular stack of garments, he redressed, then went to the door. Peering around the corner and seeing nothing, he reentered the hallway and headed for the exit. Twice, he had to duck into doorways on the way out to avoid being discovered, finally reaching the outside.
After hiking the two miles to the highway, he hailed a passing cab and told the driver to take him to the nearest bus station. Rick initially had plans of killing the cabbie when they reached the terminal, however the man was Korean and had apparently eaten Kim-chi recently. The strong garlic smell nearly suffocated Rick, his acute senses assaulted to the point of overloading. He spent the entire journey with his head sticking out of the window.
When they arrived at the terminal, Rick went around to the driver’s side to pay the fare, standing as far away as possible, telling the driver to keep the change from the hundred-dollar bill he handed him.
Rick entered the station and checked the departure board, searching for the next bus out. Two were leaving at the same time, 10:30. Rick checked his watch, 10:02. He glanced back to the board, one bus was going to Jacksonville, Florida, and the other was heading to Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love sounded like a good place to make a fresh start. He went to the counter and purchased a one-way ticket. The clerk told him the bus was boarding already at gate three; he hurried toward the door.
As Rick placed his foot on the bottom step, he noticed a hooker standing on the sidewalk in front of the terminal parking lot. He checked his watch again, 10:12. He smiled. He still had time for a snack.
Back in the car, Alex said, “Damn, I was sure they would be there. We’re running out of places to look.” He picked up the map and handed it to Marla, “What’s the last mark on the map?”
“The abandoned river mill. It’s about ten minutes from here.”
“The mill it is then.”
“We need to stop somewhere first. I’ve got to use the bathroom and get a cup of coffee,” Marla said.
Alex looked a little embarrassed, “Sure, I’m sorry. I guess I could use some coffee too.”
“Great, there’s a diner up here on the left.”
Alex pulled the Mercedes in front of the burnt out neon sign, which read, ‘Dave’s Pit Stop’. The group exited the vehicle and went inside.
The diner was small, only three or four tables littered the dining area. A fat man, probably Dave, wiped the counter with a filthy dishtowel, a half chewed cigar butt protruding from his mouth. In the corner a television set was mounted to the wall, playing an old western, while an ancient waitress watched from a stool nearby. The only patron was a dumpy looking man, sitting at the counter.
Marla asked the fat man where the bathrooms were. He pointed to the rear of the establishment and she headed toward them.
Alex took a seat at the counter next to the dirty man and motioned Quong to do the same. Quong looked at the grimy stool, then plucked napkins from a dispenser and gave it a thorough cleaning. Alex watched in silence, shaking his head.
The fat man came over. “What’ll it be,” he said gruffly.
“Two large coffees, please. Quong?”
“Hot tea.”
The man frowned at Quong, then went off to get the order. He returned a minute later and put Alex’s order in front of him, then slammed a cup of hot water in front of Quong. The man stared at Quong a moment, plunking a tea bag in the cup with his greasy mitt. Still staring at Quong, he said, “Anything else?”
“No thanks, that’s fine,” Alex said, putting a ten on the counter. The fat man grabbed the money and started to turn. “Keep the change,” Alex said.
“Thanks,” the man said, showing a blackened smile, then went back to rubbing the counter, streaking it worse than it already was.
Quong leaned close to Alex, and whispered, “Rude!”
“Monsters, Davie, I seen 'em, they came and took him away,” the vagrant said, to the man wiping the counter.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, Carl. You want some more coffee,” the fat man replied.
“Yeah, got to get sober, they’ll probably be back for me.”
Alex sat and sipped his coffee as he listened to the bum rave on about monsters, occasionally glancing back to where Marla had disappeared. When he looked back to the television, the words, ‘Special Report’, were superimposed on the screen. On the screen Chelsey Warner stood in front of a building, police cars in the background, with their lights flashing. Alex suddenly recognized the building as his own apartment house and his eyes went wide.
Chelsey gave her report: “Three more murders tonight. These committed on the city’s prominent west side. Police have identified one of the victims as Detective James Harden, a member of the Homicide Division." A photo of Harden came on the screen, then Chelsey continued her report. “Two other bodies were also found, but have yet to be identified. The apartment, listed in the name of Dr. Alex Thorpe, a police consultant, was nearly torn apart, by what looks to be a professional hit. Doctor Thorpe was not among the deceased and is wanted for questioning.” Another photo comes on the screen, this time it Alex’s. “Another detective, Marla Shaefer, is also missing." Still another photo, Marla’s. “If you have any information regarding the whereabouts, of either Dr. Thorpe, or Detective Shaefer, please contact the police immediately.” The words, ‘Special Report’, came back on the screen and the movie picked back up in the middle of a scene.
Dave looked over at Alex, then back to the television. The bum began speak
ing again, “Yeah, Davie, they just came and took old Mr. Edwards, two big hairy bastards.”
Alex realized what the man said, and looked at him, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” he asked.
“Monsters, damn bastards, took poor old John away,” the vagrant said.
John Edwards, that was Silverman’s alias at the Chase group. Alex grabbed the man’s arm. “Can you take me to where this John lives?” Alex asked.
The man looked at Alex suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”
“You did say John Edwards, right?” Alex said hopefully.
“Yeah.”
“Well he’s an old friend of mine,” Alex said, squeezing the bum’s arm.
“How do I know?”
“My friend here, Mr. Grant, will attest to it,” Alex said, producing a fifty.
“Well, if Mr. Grant says so I guess you okay,” the man said, grabbing the money.
Marla had returned from the bathroom and watched the exchange between the two men. Alex got the man up off of his stool and led Carl outside, Marla and Quong followed.
Outside, Carl told them his name and then recounted the creatures’ abduction of ‘Mr. Edwards’. He did not understand why they became so happy when he told them that he could take them to the alley where he lived, but they were paying so he was happy to oblige.
“So it’s agreed then, you take us to the alley and we pay you another fifty when we get there?” Alex asked.
“That’s the deal,” Carl said.
“All right, if you’ll just get in the car,” Alex said, indicating his Mercedes.
Everyone moved toward the car, except Carl, “One more thing before we go.”
The group turned as one back to him.
“You people don’t work for the phone company, do you?”
After the Mercedes drove off, Dave picked up the phone and dialed a number. When he received an answer, he said, “Yeah, police, is there a reward out for information on Alex Thorpe?”
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