Brian supposed his course of action upon finding the men would depend on which of them, if any, were with the floater. If they really were going to look for the Nosferatu, it stood to reason that if anyone stayed with the vehicle, it would be Shades. Brian scowled. Of the three, he considered Shades the least approachable—or at least the one he'd feel least comfortable approaching. The others he knew more about. With Shades he'd be going in with a lot more questions than answers, and he couldn't predict how the man would react to whatever approach he used. Brian doubted he would be terribly open to sharing any information, assuming he was even still in the vehicle. Maybe Brian would get lucky, and it'd be the leader who was behind, and alone.
Something was behind him.
Brian sensed it more than heard it: a small twinge of awareness in the back of his mind. He turned, cautiously, and saw absolutely nothing.
Brian stood for a moment in silence, watching and listening for anything. There was no sign of movement, no trace of a follower. Only a deadly quiet.
He didn't hear anything, he told himself. He didn't see anything. He just. . . sensed it. Brian laughed inwardly at his imagination. Sensed it? What the hell does that mean?
"It means you're some kind of paranoid. . ." Brian heard his own voice trail off into the night air before he could come up with an appropriate noun. He shook his head and continued on.
Brian tried to pick up where he'd left off. If simple is what he was looking for, he'd be hoping for Flynn to be there. Unfortunately, Flynn probably wouldn't be able to tell him too much about what was going on. The other two surely wouldn't tell a hired gun any more than was necessary. On the other hand, Flynn's being a mercenary did open up the possibility of buying some information out of him. But why would the leader hire someone and then leave him behind in the floater? Brian decided to forget it.
He glanced behind himself once more. Nothing still followed him, and Brian decided the dark feeling he sensed was just his nervousness about what he would do when he caught up to the men. It only made sense. He might hear someone, possibly see something to indicate a pursuer, but he put no faith in the "feeling of being watched." It was all just his own unease. Content in that fact, he walked on.
Brian still felt something back there.
He continued on and instead focused on brainstorming ideas on how to approach whichever man was still in the floater. He had only walked a few yards when suddenly it was there. In a wide alley, almost crouching in the shadows of two taller buildings, was the hunched lump that could easily be the floater he was looking for.
He had been walking towards it since he had left the viaduct, but concentrating as he was on searching the alleys and buildings across the street to his right, he hadn't seen it until now. Brian needed to zoom in a bit to be certain he wasn't merely seeing a large dumpster, but after a moment of study, he was certain he had found it.
The alley fed out onto the street that framed the east side of the stadium area. Even with his vision zoomed, it was dark enough to where he could only barely make out the glint of the front windshield. Though unable to tell if anyone was inside from this distance, moving closer risked their recognizing him, and Brian preferred to surprise them if at all possible. He turned and crossed the street to his right with the intent to circle around and approach the floater from the rear of the alley where the vehicle had no windows.
As he walked past the better-lit buildings on this side of the street, Brian noticed suddenly that the dark feeling was gone. So it had been all in his mind. Now that he'd actually found the floater and crossed over to the busier street to circle around, he was easily more confident. Despite the confirmation that it was merely a conjuring of his own psyche, he was still relieved by its absence. He disliked skulking about in dark alleys enough as it was, and being haunted with such a feeling wouldn't have helped.
Brian walked on, a spring in his step. After passing by various closed storefronts, a bar or two and a few dilapidated office buildings, he neared street that framed the east side of the stadium into which the alley of his destination fed. Taking a deep breath, he turned off down a different alley to his right. He would head out just a little and then double back through the alleyways to a point directly behind the vehicle. What happened at that point would depend upon whom he found.
This first alley he entered was dirty, but the lighting from a neon hotel sign above provided a strong red glow that illuminated things more than they would be otherwise. The alley itself was deserted, which didn't surprise him. There were few enough people on the main street. The stadium stood near the edge of the city, and little else of note was out here. Still, Brian had been prepared to see at least someone, even if it were only a harmless wino rather than a wandering member of the Nosferatu. He hadn't checked inside the two dumpsters to his right, of course. He didn't plan to, either.
A brisk walk took him towards the end of the alley where he belatedly glanced at the hotel fire escape above him. Thankfully no one was looking back. If anyone had been up there, Brian realized, they could have easily surprised him. Careful.
Brian continued through the alleyway, keeping as far as possible from any places that might hide anything at all. He was beginning to feel as he had before. The dread itself was still absent, but his alertness was starting to border on fear. It was the fear that surprised him. In previous situations he had been aware of the possibility of danger, but he had never gone anywhere that made him feel in over his head. This time should have been no different.
He rounded a corner and checked the fire escape above again. Empty. It suddenly occurred to him—and why he'd let it slip by him before he didn't know—that he hadn't even considered the possibility that two of the men might remain. Or perhaps they all were there, waiting on some mysterious rendezvous. One he could talk with, but all of them? How could he have overlooked that?
It was behind him again. The dread had returned, this time unmistakably stronger. The night air seemed to go colder, and even with his enhanced hearing, a deathly silence seemed to descend. He froze and looked back again, and again saw nothing. But this was more than a feeling. He was being followed—watched from a place he couldn't see.
Brian turned forward again and fought the urge to break into a run. It would only make him easier to catch. The macabre feeling wasn't just in his mind. This was real. He couldn't understand how, but he was sure of it, and that certainty itself was frightening.
Heart racing, he moved as silently as he could, keeping to the wall of the alley, trying to use the darkness to his advantage. A pile of discarded crates loomed up in his way. He dashed around them and glanced behind him. Someone was back there in the distant darkness; the glow of its eyes confirmed the figure's presence. Brian continued to flee, feeling his blood pound through his veins.
Why was he running? It made no sense. He had a taser. It was just one man! Brian could confront him. Yet all his instincts told him to flee. It was getting closer, and the feeling of unnatural death grew with it.
Get out of there!
Brian turned another corner and tripped over something. He couldn't tell in the dark what it was and he didn't have time to look as he spilled forward, head glancing off the side of another dumpster. There he remained still in the darkness in an attempt to regain his bearings, feeling almost chilled to the bone. Fear rushed over him. He was cornered. If he ran it would only catch him.
His only hope was to surprise it.
Quickly, he felt his way around to the other side of the dumpster, sure even then that the pursuing specter was already upon him. He turned and crouched against the wall, concealed by the trash bin, and faced the way he had come. Brian gripped his taser in a sweaty hand. He couldn't stop shaking! All thought fled from his mind save for the burning feeling that hunted him through the alley. He sat. He waited. He listened to the tick of his watch and tried to shake off the irrational terror that threatened to consume him.
. . . tick. . .
His knees trembled
as he crouched.
. . . tick. . .
Something drew closer. Again he felt it.
. . . tick. . .
Brian waited in agony.
. . . tick. . .
He double-checked that the taser was charged. A hand touched his shoulder. The fear would not let him move.
. . . tick . . .
VI
Their first gas grenade turned out to be unnecessary. The only things that awaited Diomedes and Romulus upon their entrance were two unconscious rats. Romulus felt sorry for the apparent waste of a grenade, but more than understood the need for caution. Diomedes seemed to agree; he reacted with only silence, and then nudged the creatures into the murky water beside the walkway while Romulus replaced the manhole cover.
"What now?" Romulus whispered.
Diomedes shushed him with only a glare and a finger pressed to his own lips before staring down the tunnel in either direction. Grimy bulbs lit the sections of the walkways stretched between the shadows and illuminated both lengths of pipe along the ceiling and gutters of muck below. Apparently satisfied, he moved off in the direction of the stadium and motioned for Romulus to follow.
The two crept their way through the dreary stone tunnels. The minutes drifted away. Not a sound reached Romulus's ears save for their footfalls and an omnipresent yet untraceable dripping that echoed from somewhere in the distance. Romulus had always considered himself able to move quietly when he tried. To amuse himself when he was younger, he would creep around the grounds of his uncle's farm, but even the faintest sound he made here seemed to have its own thundering echo. He couldn't be sure if the echo was due to the tunnels or merely a trick of his own ears. He could barely hear Diomedes in front of him; the man moved silently, experienced.
Deep down, he realized, he was nervous. Who would they find? How would he react? He forced his self-consciousness away, drawing on Diomedes's silent presence and his own training to keep it in check. His worries faded, soon after replaced by the pride he took in their banishment. He could do this, he told himself. He was doing this! He'd taken the first few steps on a path to the type of man he wanted to become. He was alert, doing his best to be silent, and, for the most part, felt ready for whatever might lay ahead. They might even find exactly what they were looking for down here.
His foot kicked a pebble on accident. Romulus winced and kept moving, focusing on the ground ahead and following his mentor who still had not, Romulus scolded himself, kicked any pebbles.
After traveling to a point Romulus estimated to be somewhere beneath the stadium's inner parking lot, they passed a metal door set into the wall. Diomedes continued past it without more than a glance, so Romulus ignored it as well, despite the feeling that something better might be found behind it. He had just passed by the door himself when Diomedes stopped and, after a moment of regarding the distance of tunnel ahead, turned back towards it.
On first inspection, it appeared to be locked. A large deadbolt sat squarely above the knob, and the door itself looked secure and solid, its metal weight obvious as it sat on thick hinges. After motioning for Romulus to stand to the other side, Diomedes opened it with barely a pull. Instantly his auto-pistol was inside, trained on whatever was in the space beyond. Unable to see where the gun pointed, Romulus waited for his mentor to either open fire or indicate that it was clear.
After a long few moments, he received the latter. Diomedes stepped back and pointed to the edge of the door as Romulus came around from behind it. From there it was clear that the lock had already been broken: Where the thick deadbolt should have been was simply a hole. Someone had apparently removed the lock, broken it, and then replaced it to make it appear to be still in working order. Romulus gave a questioning look to his mentor, who pointed in response to the wear and tear on the outside of the door. Did he mean to say the Nosferatu had broken the lock? It was certainly possible, but it could just as easily have been caused by someone else who had broken the door for whatever reason.
Diomedes had apparently already decided and moved cautiously inside. Romulus followed, unsure if they were on the right track. Yet when he closed the door behind him it occurred to him that the lock, unlike the old door that was scratched and dirty with age, was new. The original knob assembly had been replaced before and broken again, possibly more than once. Romulus smiled. That must have been what had made Diomedes so confident. Whoever had broken the lock must have done so repeatedly, and that would fit with cultists living somewhere in these tunnels.
They were on the right track.
The thrill of it flared in Romulus's heart and reminded him of the stories Diomedes used to tell back on the farm of an older brother who'd lived in the city. They were noble, glorious stories of deeds like stepping unseen into a dangerous place to rescue an abductee that the police couldn't help. Those stories were more exciting than any movie he had ever seen, and Romulus had once memorized them by heart. Though most of the details had faded now, their excitement and adventure had stayed with him all those years and spurred him to seek it in his own life.
Now he was living them out.
Unfortunately, after what seemed like at least five minutes after they had passed through the door, there was still no sign of the Nosferatu. The tunnel they were in was smaller than the sewer tunnels, with more pipes along the ceiling and various turns and crossing corridors. Romulus wasn't worried about getting lost; at each corner there was a map for any utility crews that may have used the tunnels. Yet it was apparent that their search might be more difficult and painstaking than he had anticipated.
Realizing that Diomedes had probably seen the indications on the door instinctively as he walked by it the first time, Romulus realized he should stop navel-gazing and concentrate on his own observations. Most of the tunnel was bare save for the grime and decades-old paint that coated the walls and ceiling. The only things of note were the lights, the maps, and the ceiling pipes. Romulus instead searched for breaks in the pattern, checking the walls for any telltale clean spots or other markings. Diomedes would surely pick up on anything important, but it was still good practice. Maybe he might even be able to impress his roommate by noticing something without having to have Diomedes point it out.
They went on down the tunnel, with Romulus now less worried about making noise than missing anything important. Though nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, suddenly he knew he had missed something. Diomedes had stopped in front of him, holding back a hand for him to halt. Romulus peered into the tunnel ahead. It continued on into the damp gloom, but twenty feet or so ahead, another passage opened to the left. Had there been a sound beyond the corner Romulus hadn't heard? At once he regretted only having concentrated on visual clues. A sound he might have missed.
Diomedes pointed to the base of the tunnel wall to their left. Romulus examined the area, but it seemed to be unremarkable. Feeling somewhat inept, he tried to silently communicate his confusion to Diomedes by looking back at him and shaking his head. His mentor regarded him blankly for an instant, and Romulus felt his chance to impress him slipping away. Diomedes shook his head a moment later. After touching two fingers to his own eyes, he pointed in a hooked motion around the corner. Romulus nodded suddenly, relieved that he understood. As his roommate pulled a second gas grenade from his belt, Romulus checked the seal of the mask on his face.
He hadn't seen what Diomedes was pointing at because there was no way he could have. He wasn't pointing at the wall but, rather, through it. Something or someone was behind that wall in another room, the door to which was likely around the corner. Diomedes must have spotted the heat source with his implants. What exactly he had seen was an obvious question that Romulus wished he had the luxury of asking. Regardless, it was clear his roommate intended to subdue whoever it was with his second grenade.
Diomedes had checked his own mask and then disappeared silently around the corner. Romulus followed.
"You know," said the voice from behind Brian, "I think you're the firs
t person I've seen in a long while with red hair that's natural."
With the voice came the sudden ability to move again. Brian jerked the speaker's hand from his shoulder and spun around in his crouched position. It put his back to the dumpster that a moment ago seemed the only thing between him and his phantom pursuer. Still-shaking hands held the taser protectively in front of him. Words didn't come.
The man stood before him, but stepped back slightly. "Is it?" the voice added. "Natural, I mean?"
Brian watched his assailant carefully. What was he saying? Something about his hair? Brian's hand stopped shaking finally and he renewed his grip on the taser, ready to zap the man the instant he made a move towards him.
"If you don't mind my asking, of course. It's just that everyone seems to be dyeing or replacing their hair nowadays. I expect you must get some envious looks."
What the hell was this guy talking about? He had chased him through the alley to ask—? No, Brian thought, he came from the wrong direction. He glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing.
When Brian turned back around, he realized that the man who seemed to be fascinated with his hair color was Shades. The elusive floater sat no more than fifteen feet beyond him in the dim alleyway. He must have run farther than he knew in his flight. "Do you always quiz people about their hair color in dark alleys?" Brian blurted.
"As things to do to people in dark alleys go, asking about their hair color isn't too bad, I'd say."
"You may have a point there," Brian stood up. He was feeling more at ease now, though he still had to figure out how to deal with Shades. He glanced over his shoulder again. Still nothing.
A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 7