Separation

by J. S. Frankel

  After his parents had died, he’d felt totally alone, isolated and ignored. Everything had changed once he’d met Anastasia. Meeting her, having her accept him for what he was, it gave him confidence to face life and try to surmount any difficulties associated with it. She knew of his inadequacy, and told him in no uncertain terms he had to fight against it.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” she’d said once. “We all are, but knowing you feel it and working through it can make you confident.”

  Keeping her words in mind, he’d done his best and had taken the steps necessary. He’d trained, he’d studied, and he’d done his best to help her. More important, she’d stayed with him, and their relationship had given him an inner strength to surmount the challenges thrown his way.

  His transformation had given him even more confidence, although it had been sorely tested at times. He’d traded off his humanity in a sense, but he’d gained so much more, mainly the companionship and love of someone like himself. And he’d come to terms with being what he was...

  Coming back to the present, he wondered if there was any news. Although Josephine had lost her sight, she still had a television. Clicking it on, he kept the volume low and occasionally glanced out the window to check and see if anyone was coming. The newscast showed a reporter, a young man, tall and slender, with a head of professionally styled dark hair, standing outside police headquarters, speaking to the Chief of Police. “Can you give us a statement?”

  Tolliver directed his gaze at the camera. “If you’re out there, Goldman, I want you to hear this. In the time you’ve been gone, more of those... things came. They savaged everyone they came into contact with. We have over eighty people dead, and twice that number wounded. The FBI has also suffered untold losses. I have no choice but to ask my men to bring you in dead or alive. I’d rather be it alive, but if it’s the other way, I’ll consider it acceptable.”

  Harsh words and the reporter audibly gulped. “Chief, considering Harry Goldman and his wife weren’t responsible for the attacks, what justification do you have for arresting him?”

  An angry glare greeted the question. “My justification is saving the lives of the citizenry of this city. If we arrest Goldman, then this Allenby character will break off his attacks.”

  “Oh, is that so,” Harry muttered. Tolliver was a fool. Allenby had been a step ahead of the authorities all this time and he’d never stop. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  “What about jurisdiction in this matter?” the reporter asked. “Isn’t the FBI in charge?”

  “I have been in contact with the director of the Washington branch,” replied Tolliver. “They have removed the agent minder for Goldman and ceded control to us. That means we can and will use every possible means to bring in Harry Goldman dead or alive.”

  Damn it, they got rid of Overton? The question was why, but maybe it had to do with damage control or assuming responsibility. Perhaps the FBI didn’t want a black eye, or perhaps they just didn’t care. Whatever, he was on his own. And the way Tolliver had pronounced the last three words—dead or alive—filled Harry with dread. The police were good marksmen, and they shot to kill. Not only that, he had to think about a mutation controlling other hideous creatures of the night.

  As well, the thought of where Anastasia could be kept turning itself over in his mind, and he recalled the details of the videos he’d seen, the ones with Allenby delivering his message of hate. There had been an echo—and where would you find one?

  The obvious answer was a cave... caves had caverns. However, trying to find which cave within the continental USA—assuming the message had even originated in the USA—would be a futile task. If Allenby had already gone to Europe, then it would be almost impossible to find him...

  “Harry, we’re back.”

  The sound of the door opening and Josephine’s voice jarred him back to reality. Jumping to his feet, he ran into the living room where the old lady and a man in his late fifties stood in the doorway, with Josephine hanging onto his forearm.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, and dark skinned, the man held a briefcase in his free hand and his eyes immediately grew round. In a move straight out of a cartoon, his jaw practically touched the floor. “Ma, you told me he was a person. You didn’t tell me he was one of them.”

  He just had to go there...

  “Yeah, I’m one of them,” Harry answered, feeling a sense of the old familiar kill-the-different from this man. “And a bunch of you were after me not too long ago. And more of you tried to smoke me out of a sewer.”

  Ronald started to protest, but stopped when his mother slapped his arm—hard. “He is one of us, son,” she said in a firm voice that sounded both motherly and chiding. “He’s one of us and he needs our help. He and his wife need our help, and it’s our duty to do so. Now you get that computer of yours up and running.”

  Ronald threw a glance of uncertainty at his mother, but the old lady stood with her hands on her hips the expression on her face radiated control and command. He might have been a large man, but against his mother he was mush.

  “Fine, I’ll do this, but just this once.” With a few quick movements, he hooked up the computer, turned it on and was typing something quickly before he turned the laptop around. “I’ve already entered the password, so feel free to type away.”

  “Thanks.”

  Harry acknowledged the help with a nod and got to work. Contacting Jason, he wondered if the police were watching him. With Overton out of the picture, he had to rely on the help of his two friends, Jason and Maze, but all the same, they were probably being watched. He could not rely on the New York Police Force, not anymore. Jason, I’m on a different computer. I’m hiding out with friends, and I need your help on tracking Allenby.

  The answer came back a few seconds later. We’re still searching. Where are you?

  Are you being watched?

  Seconds ticked by... and then the answer came. The police asked us some questions when Maze and I left the building, but Overton told them to knock it off. I’m home now. My folks are having a hissy fit about all this. My computer is clean, so don’t worry. A pause in the typing, and then... What’s happening with you?

  They want me Harry wrote. He thought about what other information he could impart without his friend getting into trouble. You saw Allenby’s video. If I give myself up, he’ll stop the attacks.

  So... you don’t believe him?

  Would you?

  Rhetorical question or not, it hit home. Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t Jason wrote back. I’m still checking on where Anastasia might be. I have an idea... Maze thinks the same way.

  You’re talking about Lake Shasta, right?

  That’s the place.

  Lake Shasta lay in California, and how was he going to get out there? He’d need a plane ride, and from his studies he remembered Shasta being an immense area, well over four million acres. It wasn’t a true lake, but a very large reservoir.

  A dam... and it had its own power source. With all the electricity being used, it wouldn’t be too hard for Allenby to power his machines. Checking on the facts, Harry spent the next couple of minutes searching for the necessary information. It was doubtful Allenby had set up shop within the dam itself, but maybe he’d managed to siphon off the excess without being detected...

  Writing out a quick message to Jason, he asked for precise directions. I need to know exactly where the spikes are coming from. They’re not coming from the dam, are they?

  No, Jason wrote back. They’re coming from a point roughly three miles away... and they’re coming from under the ground.

  A second later, a map flashed on the screen. Scrutinizing it, he saw that it lay in a park. Underground... Harry remembered seeing labs underground in Hungary, Serbia, and Russia, the last time he and Anastasia had tracked down a madman. Allenby had to be there...

  “Excuse me?”

  Looking up, Ronald had a look of what’s-going-on working overtime, and he whisper
ed to his mother “Is this going to come back to us?”

  Harry overheard. “No, not if I leave right now.”

  The response made Ronald’s face turn red. Harry ignored him for the moment and sat pecking away at the keyboard. He told Jason he’d be leaving soon and would try to call him as soon as possible. Thanks for the directions. I’ll find it.

  Wondering if Jason’s computer had already been tapped, he shut off the computer and unplugged it. “Thanks. I have to be leaving now.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Josephine. She sounded most worried, and her voice had a catch to it.

  Trying to keep her calm as well as not alarm her son, Harry got up and knelt in front of her, his mind whirling, mixing and matching all possibilities. A number of scenarios for getting out of the city ran through his head. Each one of them carried a certain amount of risk. “I don’t know. But I can’t put you two in danger. I don’t know what the real killer will do. I’m not even sure I know what the police will do. I think I should just go.”

  The touch of her hands to each side of his face, gentle and light, calmed him down. She’d really learned to judge distance, just from the sound of someone’s voice. “You said you have to find your wife. And since you’re dead set on leaving my nice house, where can you go?”

  In essence, go west. “California, I need to get to the west coast. She’s out there, Josephine. I have to find her.”

  “You will,” she answered, and then her voice, soft and sweet, got a hint of iron in it. “Ronald, you go upstairs and get this young man a hoodie and some shoes from your father’s closet. They may not fit, but no one will be looking.”

  Ronald began to protest, but cut his speech short and walked up the stairs. Harry’s sharp ears heard a few muffled curses along with the sound of drawers being opened and emptied, but said nothing to Josephine save, “You don’t have to do this.” A feeling of guilt hit him hard as if he was putting someone out yet again.

  “Nonsense,” she declared in a merry voice. “I don’t get much excitement. And you need help. That’s why I’m here, to help.”

  She leaned over to embrace him, and Harry hugged her back, knowing now there were still some decent people in the world.

  “I got these,” Ronald announced from the bottom of the stairs. He held a black hoodie, long pants, and black shoes in his hands. “These’ll do?”

  “They’ll do fine. I just have to do one more thing, and you’re clear.”

  “And that is...”

  It turned out to be two things. Harry first placed a call to Overton’s private cellphone. “I need to go to Lake Shasta Park. I need an airplane now.”

  Overton told him to go to JFK and a private plane would meet him there. “This is all off the books, Harry. You saw the broadcast with the Chief of Police, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “The director in Washington ordered me to turn you over, said something about national security and the reputation of the FBI. I refused, saying I didn’t know where you were. Farrell pulled the strings with someone he knows. Guy’s a private pilot. He’ll take us out.”

  At first, Harry didn’t know what to say. Terminal illness and all, his mentor still had some clout, and there was no way he could ever repay him.

  As for Overton, he’d put his career on the line, but before he could get a word out, the agent interrupted his thoughts with, “Runway twelve, it’s a small gray Cessna called the Lucky Lady. Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

  Second, he needed a lift out to the airport, and Ronald provided it. On the way, neither of them spoke, and Harry slunk down in his seat so as not to be seen. The cops seemed to be everywhere and he dared not show his face.

  Fortunately, Ronald drove fast and with precision and avoided most of the checkpoints. The ones that he stopped at, the cops gave the vehicle a quick onceover and sent them on their way.

  After the last checkpoint, Ronald wiped the sweat from his face. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not cut out for this super spy business.” It seemed like an apt description.

  When they were roughly ten minutes from their destination, he asked, “How did you meet my mother? She never told me anything about you.”

  His voice sounded wounded, as if he expected everyone to confess to him. Sorry, life didn’t work that way. “My girlfriend—she’s my wife now—and I were running away from a mob a few months back,” said Harry as he inched up in his seat to take a look out the window. No one was following them. “Your mother hid us. You don’t forget something like that.”

  “My mother’s always been like that.” A touch of pride surfaced. “She was always helping the neighborhood kids when we were growing up. That’s just how it was, you helped each other.”

  “Things are different now,” Harry pointed out. “I mean, I’m not your average guy. I’ve got fur... lots of it.”

  A chuckle came from the older man. “Yeah, I can see that.” He scanned the road as if expecting to be stopped, but traffic was surprisingly light. “I’m sorry for getting all surprised when we first met, but I’d never, you know—”

  “Met my kind before?”

  “Yeah, that, and also seeing what happened on the news was more than scary.”

  “You saw what happened in Manhattan?”

  “Uh-huh.” Ronald muttered something under his breath. It sounded like he was talking about trust, and finally he grunted as if having come to a momentous decision. “At first, I thought it was you or your lady, but after seeing how my mother likes you, how she talks around you...” he shook his head. “There’s no way you could be that bad.”

  A sense of gratitude swept over Harry, washing away the bitterness of the earlier encounter with lesser minds. “I’d like to think most of us are pretty good.”

  No other words passed between them for the rest of the journey, but at the very least, honesty had been observed. If there was to be peace or at least a détente between human and transgenic side, honesty had to be a huge part of it. “We’re here,” Ronald said as he pulled up to the edge of the entrance. “You want me to park inside?”

  “No, this is fine. Thanks.” Harry put out his hand and the two men shook. “Thank your mother for me. She’s the best.”

  A grin came from the older man. “Yeah, she certainly is.”

  Exiting the car, Harry hopped over the barrier and took a good look around. Policemen, lots of them, were patrolling the area. Great... and he was a most convenient target. Who’d be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer and walking in a highly guarded area?

  Still, he had to take a chance. Luck was on his side, though, and he dropped to all fours in order to appear more like his animal genotype. Scouting around, he made out his target, a gray Cessna with the words Lucky Lady in red paint boldly stenciled on the side, just as Overton had said. He made for it, and shouts of outrage came his way. “It’s him! Open fire!”

  Seconds later, a volley of bullets whizzed over his head, but he’d come too far to back out now. The door was open... safety lay five feet ahead. Harry leaped at the last second and fell into the cabin where Istvan sat calmly in his seat, strapped in, and a plate of cheese and crackers in front of him. “I hope you have no trouble getting here?”

  “It was fun like a barrel of monkeys,” Harry said while taking his own seat and putting on his safety belt.

  “I do not understand.”

  “Never mind, you don’t have to.”

  Settling back to catch his breath, Harry caught the scent again, the scent of the little mole-man. He definitely had a thing for Italian food, and the delicate scent of oregano was impossible to ignore. So was the fart that smelled like garlic. Apparently, Istvan caught wind of him as well, for he started in his seat and craned his neck around.

  “He is here,” he whispered and a joyous expression settled over his face and he pointed to the rear end of the airplane. “Check in that overhead compartment, the third one on the right.”

  Harry walked over and open
ed the compartment, and the burned and scarred visage of Leo greeted him. Harry grabbed him and pulled him down to settle him in a seat gently. “You could have come forward sooner.”

  “I like to surprise people. You are surprised, no?”

  Overton certainly was, but he kept his emotions in check as they winged their way westward. “You hid?”

  “That is what I do best.”

  Leo sat in his seat as a child would, with his legs spread out and belly protruding. He munched his way through three chocolate bars and some other snacks that had been left onboard by previous users. “After explosion in Spanish mountain, I see fire, so I dig my way underground. You no see me, but I see you. I hang onto underside of your car and hide on airplane back to America.”

  It sounded unbelievable, but Harry was used to the unbelievable by now. “So why didn’t you tell Overton or anyone else before?”

  A shrug came from the mole-man. “I no trust like you do. I see other strange people like me. They are bad... I hide from them. After fire go down, I come up from dirt and see monster come from that egg you put me in before.”

  Chamber... he was talking about the Genesis Chamber, and the monster had to have been Allenby. Leo continued to relate his tale, using his hands to underscore the dramatic points. Once back in America, he hid out and trailed Harry every step of the way. “I know your smell. You smell like good person. The others... they do not.”

  He seemed to love every one of his fifteen minutes, but fell silent once Overton went to the cockpit and came back carrying a laptop. “You’re going to want to see this,” he said in a sober tone. “We got another message from Allenby. This is live and it’s for you, Harry. I already set up the audio.”

  Harry accepted the laptop. Opening the lid, the ugly figure of Allenby stood in his cavern, the same spot as before. He’d mutated even more, with the bulges in his face turning to calcifications that practically obscured his eyes and covered most of his face. In a fight, this would present a most formidable defense.