by John Corwin
"Victor here. We've got another."
"Stones again?"
"Stones."
"Who?"
"Maria Wood. A lawyer." Victor gave her the address. "I want you here now."
Alexia splashed water on her face and banded her hair into a ponytail. She reached the scene within an hour of Victor's call. He checked his watch when he saw her.
"What took you so long?"
"Construction crews."
"You should have taken a detour. You do know how to use a GPS, agent?"
She bit back a scathing retort. "I'm sorry."
"Well stop standing around and get to work, Sciouris."
They walked to the scene. A group of cops Alexia didn't recognize was scouring the area. Alexia pulled out her cell and dialed the number Jackson had given her. He answered on the fourth ring, sounding hoarse and tired.
"We got another one, right?" he asked after she identified herself.
"It's out of your jurisdiction, but I thought you should know."
"Is Bill Wilkerson in charge out there?"
"I'll find out and call you back."
Alexia walked to a group of deputies. A couple of them looked around with nervous expressions. One couldn't take his eyes off the body. "Who's in charge?" Alexia asked.
They pointed to an older man with a belly shaped from years of beer drinking, heavy eating, and little activity. The sort of person she stereotypically expected to be in charge of other cops. She walked over and introduced herself, offered her hand. He didn't take it right away but looked her over, eyes narrowed. Bringing up the FBI usually had that effect on local police. Unfortunately, she had to mention the mother agency since telling them she was with IARE raised more questioning eyebrows than anything else. At least most local cops didn't know what being in IARE meant although most law enforcement organizations had the crap jobs for those who pissed off the brass.
Wilkerson finally took her hand and gave it a token shake. "This a federal matter then?"
"Not yet."
"I see." He reached into his police cruiser and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard. He pulled one for himself, offered another to Alexia.
"No thanks."
After taking a long drag and an equally long stare at the body, he cut his eyes to her. "I heard about the murder in Atlanta. We looking at the same perp?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Who's the OIC down there?"
"Detective Jefferson Jackson."
"Yep." He said it like he already knew it to be the case.
So far, the only thing the deputies seemed to have done to the scene was tape it up. A Hispanic woman was sitting on the tail-end of an ambulance pressing an oxygen mask firmly against her face. Victor said something to her. She took off the mask and rambled in Spanish for a few seconds before pressing the mask to her face again.
"She an eye witness?"
Wilkerson shrugged. "Found the body. Didn't see it happen."
"That's it?"
"That's all we can understand until the translator gets here."
The radio in the police cruiser burped out a garbled message which Wilkerson ignored. A moment later, he grabbed the receiver out and held it to his mouth. "When Detective Jackson gets here, let him through."
"He's coming?"
"If he knows about it, he's coming. Persistent son of a bitch." He chuckled.
Alexia remembered that she'd forgotten to call Jackson back and tell him that Wilkerson was the one in charge. She stepped a few feet away and called him.
"I was pretty sure it'd be him," Jackson said. "I'm ten minutes away."
Alexia hung up and returned to Wilkerson, relayed Jackson's whereabouts.
"Soon as he gets here, I'm transferring authority," Wilkerson said.
"Just like that? I was under the impression that local departments fight tooth and nail for their territory."
"We have a regional agreement that allows for this sort of thing. Besides, if he screws up, he takes the heat."
"Right," Alexia said and resisted the urge to voice a cynical observation.
Victor walked over. "We need CSI to finish this site ASAP. I'll want a police escort on the body."
Wilkerson raised an eyebrow. "What the hell for?"
Victor told him about the coroner's van massacre in Atlanta. Wilkerson's face paled beneath his ruddy complexion.
"Didn't hear about that."
"We kept it quiet for the time being, so I'd appreciate it not getting around."
"Crazy damned serial killers," Wilkerson said, flicking his cigarette butt into the bushes.
Jackson arrived several minutes later and spoke briefly with Wilkerson. Half an hour later, the Atlanta CSI crew pulled in. Wilkerson's deputies stayed on site to secure the scene even though the office park remained devoid of civilians at such a late hour. The crime scene crew processed the body. They estimated the death had taken place around eight p.m., nearly four hours ago.
Alexia stayed well out of the way for the most part since the CSI people snarled at anyone who got near the body, but joined Jackson as two men from the Atlanta coroner's office loaded the body on a gurney.
"Whose men are going to stay with the van?" Alexia asked.
"I got some uniforms from Atlanta to come up."
"I want to be in the escort."
Jackson shrugged.
The gurney passed by them and a wall of dizziness crashed into Alexia. She stumbled backward and fell butt-first on the grass.
"Christ, Sciouris, you okay?" Jackson asked, bending over to help her up.
She felt so weak, so disoriented, that it took her a moment to look up at him and answer. "Must be a lack of sleep hitting me."
"Maybe you ought to head back to your hotel."
She already felt better. In fact, a hundred percent better. "No, that's okay. Whatever zapped me is gone now."
Victor walked over, laptop in hand. "Same M.O., same everything," he said. "We have a very dangerous force at work here."
"You mean lunatic," Jackson said.
"I hardly expect you to grasp the larger picture, Detective." Victor positioned himself between Alexia and Jackson. "Alexia, I took a cab here, so I'll ride with you."
She sucked in a deep breath. "I'm following the van to the Atlanta morgue. I might be a while."
"I know." He glanced at the van as two men loaded the gurney. "Let's go to your car."
Jackson snorted. "Stay behind me, if you don't mind."
"We're trained special agents, Detective," Victor said, placing emphasis on the last word.
Jackson opened his mouth then clamped it shut. Alexia felt relieved. No telling what Victor could do to make life miserable for the man, and she kind of liked him. When she and Victor climbed into the rental car, he held up his hand.
"Let him go ahead of us."
Alexia's jaw tensed. "Playing games?"
"No, just reminding him of the pecking order."
"I don't see why you have to make such a big deal out of little things."
Victor's eyebrows angled down. "Miss Sciouris, the little things amount to a large whole after a while. Assert your dominance often and early."
"Politics 101?"
"Survival 101. If you'd spent any time in Washington, you might have a better understanding."
"Not being an ass goes a long way in my book," Alexia said, regretting it the moment the words left her lips.
"Tsk, tsk, Miss Sciouris. There's a difference between being difficult and asserting authority. Learn from me and you'll see the subtle difference."
Subtle as a sledgehammer, Alexia thought.
The coroner's van got caught in the same construction zone that had delayed Alexia earlier. Even with Jackson flashing his lights, it took them twenty minutes to get through the one-lane bottleneck. The number of cars on the road at the late hour wasn't bad, but it didn't take many to choke it up. Every time Alexia had been to Atlanta, construction clogged up the roadways somewhere. She'd
heard someone bragging about the quality of the roads in the metro area thanks to the regular maintenance. Alexia wondered what good it did to have nice roads if they were snarled by construction crews half the time.
At a quarter to two, they reached the morgue. The van backed up to the loading dock in the rear and two men got out. They unlocked and entered the steel door to the left of the elevated platform. Alexia parked next to Jackson after he took a spot next to the back door. Victor wasted no time. He got out and went to the same steel door the men had entered, tugged on it.
"Those idiots," Victor said. "Door locked behind them." He pounded on it with his palm.
"I'm going in the front way," Jackson said. "Security will let us in."
Alexia followed him, leaving Victor pounding on the back door. When they reached the front, Jackson tapped on the glass door. A stocky security guard showed up and opened it after Jackson flashed his badge.
"What the hell, a local bigwig die or something?" the guard asked. "Don't usually see cops at the morgue this hour."
"Ongoing investigation," Jackson said as he led Alexia past the front desk and down a hall with green walls.
Alexia breathed through her mouth before the odor of formaldehyde overwhelmed her senses. Underneath that an even more unpleasant odor lurked. Decades of death and decay saturated the building with a musty scent that morgues shared despite efforts to keep it at bay.
An inhuman scream pierced the air. Alexia and Jackson pressed against opposite walls, guns drawn automatically. Another scream followed, but this was from a different source. A man.
Jackson plowed through the swing-door and into the examination cell. Empty stainless steel tables lined the center of the concrete room. A metal door at the back presumably led to the loading dock area. Jackson moved for the door. Something pounded into it, leaving a large dent. He stopped, his mouth dropping open. Another man's scream chilled Alexia's heart. Jackson raced for the back door. Alexia followed. Something on the other side exploded and crackled. The florescent lights in the room flickered like strobes. Alexia's hip caught the corner of a table. Her gun fell from her grasp and skidded across the floor. Jackson vanished through the door.
Alexia dodged between tables to grab her gun, disoriented by the flickering lights. Another loud pop echoed. Pitch black swallowed the room. Jackson shouted a command from somewhere on the other side of the door. Shots exploded. Then silence. Alexia patted the concrete floor with her hands, feeling for the gun. A high-pitched wail rent the air. Her blood iced over. Her extra sense pulsed like electrodes down her neck.
The back door slammed open. Metal shrieked. Something whipped through the air and clanged against a wall.
Footsteps pounded from the door Alexia had entered through. Light danced across the room as the security guard from the front entered at a full run, flashlight in hand. Alexia looked in the direction of the light and bit back a shriek. Maria Wood's pale, blood-spattered face squinted in the light. The woman held up a red-streaked hand to shield the light.
"See? Feel?" Wood sniffed the air. "Smell," she said with certainty, her voice croaking and hoarse.
"Holy hell in a hand basket," the security guard said. He fired his weapon but dropped his flashlight. The flashlight slammed into the floor and went out. Muzzle flashes lit the room. Bullets pinged off the concrete. One sang past Alexia. She ducked and tried to roll in the direction of one of the tables but banged her head on the leg.
Wood screamed.
"Oh Christ, please no," The guard said.
"Feel. Feel. Feel," the woman said, dragging the vowels in a ragged voice.
A short cry from the guard was interrupted by a loud thud and vibration on the table next to Alexia. She stifled her own cry and curled into a ball.
"Hear it," the woman said again. Something hit the table hard enough to make the metal screech.
Warm liquid splashed on Alexia. She didn't need to see it to know what it was. The rusty odor of blood overwhelmed the formaldehyde. The woman spoke in low monotone, too low for Alexia to make out. The air overhead whooshed and a grisly crunch sounded from the back of the room.
Whatever Maria Wood had become was alone with Alexia.
Chapter 10
Tollee didn't know how long she'd been running. How many times she'd the Blight-hopped to pull away from the murderous lunatic breathing down her neck. She glanced back. Lucas hadn't slowed. Not a bit. His legs pumped so fast they were a blur. His eyes were empty. Dead. How could he outrun her? Executors were not faster than seekers, damn it. In this case, it didn't matter what she thought. Lucas was having no problem keeping up with her and gaining. If it weren't for her ability to Blight hop distances, he'd have already caught her.
A fire hydrant stood about a hundred yards ahead. She fixed on it. Opened a scar into the Blight and ended up next to the hydrant. She slid back into Normal. Looked left. Spotted a statue in the center of a park and hopped another good distance through the Blight to it. Back to Normal again. Up ahead, ground lights illuminated a three-story building. She spotted the gray cube of an air conditioning unit atop it. Blight hopped. She ended up five feet in the air over the gray air conditioner but managed to land lightly on her feet.
This time, she stayed in the Blight and crept to the edge of the roof. She had to have lost him this time. Her mind was spinning. Oxygen debt was building up to critical levels and lactic acid burned in her quadriceps. She'd never felt this way, not since Martin had activated her latent seeker abilities. Back then after a brief adjustment period, her leg muscles had hardened and increased in density. Endurance had ceased to be an issue. But this crazed Scion was pushing her harder and faster than she'd ever attempted.
A clap of thunder sounded in the streets below and echoed between the canyons formed by streets and tall buildings. Tollee looked up. No clouds. No chance of rain. Maybe the noise hadn't been thunder. Probably a car backfiring. A thug shooting a hapless victim. Tollee scanned the streets, looking for Lucas' bright glow. Had it been the darkness that made him seem so bright earlier or was his glow really on par with Martin's?
After several minutes of waiting, it seemed Lucas must have lost her trail. Tollee stretched her legs and massaged them. The pain receded somewhat. She took in a lungful of the dusty, nasty air then coughed and spat. The air in the Blight never felt like it had enough oxygen. Whatever the nasty air consisted of couldn't be healthy. Confident that Lucas wouldn't find her, she shifted back into Normal. The atmosphere was crystal clear and wonderful. Even the haziest, hottest day of summer felt spring fresh compared to the Blight.
Another crack of thunder rumbled through the streets below, this time close enough for the air to vibrate. Tollee peered over the edge of the building but the streets were empty. The hairs on her neck raised and her ears popped. She spun. Lucas stood on the opposite side of the roof, face expressionless, eyes vacant. Martin's meddling must have damaged Lucas's mind. Shredded the higher functions and turned him into a mindless monster. It was happening again, just like before.
Lucas advanced. Tollee spotted the roof of the neighboring building and Blight-hopped to it. She stayed in the Blight and watched Lucas. His head twisted, looked straight at her. His eyes were black holes in his glowing head.
"How are you doing that?" Tollee screamed. His eyes should be glowing with the rest of his body unless they were looking into the Blight. Executors couldn't do that.
Her wonderment shattered into fear as Lucas blurred toward her and leapt the gulf between buildings. He landed hard on both feet. The roofing material spider-webbed into cracks beneath them. One of his pants legs tore over the thigh as his leg muscles bulged from the exertion. Tollee screamed. She backed away and tripped against the low ledge of the roof, tumbled backward into free-fall. Frantic, she reached her hands toward the building. Caught a ledge. She lost her grip again and fell. Her feet hit the next ledge down. Somehow she balanced her tiptoes on the ledge. She was only two stories up. Not enough to break her legs if she jumped
, but it wouldn't feel good.
She dropped herself to the next ledge and then to the ground. She looked up. Lucas stared back at her with his dark eyes. Tollee slipped back to Normal and ran. Direction didn't matter. Just run as fast as possible. Martin's presence grew stronger in her mind. She sent out a mental plea for help, then abandoned that and called him on her cell phone.
"What did you do to him? He's a raving lunatic."
"I don't know what's happened," Martin said.
"Take control of him. Kill him. Do something, please!"
"I can't get a handle on him, child. His mind goes from one state to another so fast I can't latch on."
She closed the phone and turned a corner. A bum yelled at her from a stack of newspapers on the ground. A nearby street light flickered. Rats scattered from a foul-smelling dumpster. She neared the end of the alley and turned. Right into a dead end. A steel door guarded the entrance to the next building. She tugged on it. Rattled it. She smashed her fists against it and dented it. No good. She ran the opposite way.
The street lamp on the sidewalk filled the alley with dim light. A shadow appeared in the gloom. Tollee whimpered. She was tired. So tired. Lucas approached. Where he stepped, the pavement grayed. Cracks vaulted up the alley walls. Dead vines crept into the crumbling bricks. Dust and smog muddied the air. As he moved, the decay from the Blight followed him and the structures behind him healed.
The sound of wings flapping filled the air, like a thousand birds taking flight all at once. Odd laughter echoed down the alley but it wasn't coming from Lucas. A black bird fluttered out of nowhere and landed on Lucas's shoulder.
"Tollee," it said, stretching the vowels into obscene mocking lengths. It laughed, high pitched like a child.
Tollee shuddered and backed into the brick wall. The bird said her name again.
"What do you want from me?" Tollee shrieked. "What's happening?"
Lucas closed to within a few feet. His breathing was easy even after the long tortuous chase. The bird on his shoulder cocked its head. It had an orange beak and streaks of yellow on the sides. It was a myna bird. Tollee had seen them before, a year ago when Martin's first experiment had failed. But they'd never spoken to her.