by John Corwin
"Tollee?" the bird said, this time more as a question than a statement.
"What are you?" she asked.
Lucas flashed toward her, the last few feet melting into nothing. He snatched her arm up. She felt the ender press against her armpit. A tear trickled down her cheek.
"Time to go on, sister," Lucas said. He froze. His eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. Then he collapsed.
The myna bird laughed and took wing, vanishing into the corona of the street lamp. Tollee's knees gave out. Tears cascaded down her face. Her phone rang. It was Martin.
"I was able to stop him, for now. Run."
She pushed herself up and ran.
Chapter 11
Something licked Lucas. It meowed. He rolled over and stared up at the brick walls, at the filthy calico cat that was rubbing its face against his outstretched hand. A street lamp at the end of the brick walls flickered then steadied. His head radiated heat like an oven. His legs ached and he felt incredibly tired. That didn't bother him so much. What did bother him was that he didn't know where in the hell he was. He didn't remember coming to this horrible smelling alley.
The cat purred and meowed again. Lucas pushed himself up and limped to the mouth of the alley. Looked both ways. He was downtown somewhere. Music roared from a bar down the street. Several people stood outside smoking and talking.
Wings flapped overhead followed by an eerie laugh, like a possessed child.
Memories flooded back. The dead woman. The teenage girl. The chase all over the city. He hadn't been in control when he'd killed the woman, or when he'd chased the girl, but something had been different during the chase. Lucas vividly remembered running to the office building and killing the woman, but the chase was cloudy. It was as if some primal instinct, some need to hunt had kicked in and taken over. Another force had tried taking over during that time, but his basic urge had taken precedence.
And what was that desolate place with the dust and rotten stink? He'd seen it, smelled it, felt it, even tasted it. But it wasn't part of this place, not in the usual sense. For now, Lucas wanted to go home, to sleep. He was starving. The music from the bar stopped and an amplified voice echoed down the street. Maybe a drink would help. He rarely drank, but this seemed a good time to start drinking. Heavily.
Lucas swept through the cloud of cigarette smoke outside the bar and into a hot humid room filled with twenty-somethings, alcohol, and the smell of sweat and unrequited lust. A live band was leaving the stage and canned music took over. The desire to drink abandoned Lucas. Food and sleep sounded better. He wished he could remember how he'd run so fast. Even if he knew, he might be unable to considering how tired his legs were.
Sharp pain jabbed into his head. It was time to go home. Lucas searched his pockets. No cell phone. His wallet, thankfully, was there. A rip in his jeans ran down the center of the left thigh. He felt a little embarrassed and glanced around. Most of the other males were wearing jeans. Some of them looked filthy and torn, like they'd been working construction all day. He looked at the grunge on his t-shirt and his jeans. Apparently, his clothes fit right in.
Lucas approached the bartender and asked him for a phone to call a cab.
"There's a pay phone outside, buddy. Use it."
"I just need a cab."
The bartender poured a drink for another patron and waved Lucas off. "Pay phone."
The pain in Lucas's head turned to tingling. A white line seemed to form in the air as it had before. His vision was sucked inside.
Decay withered, cracked, and crumbled the room before his eyes. The dancing, laughing people morphed into waxen, mottled golems. Their eyes shriveled into the sockets, leaving blackened, moist pits. Their lips and tongues shrank back from their teeth and vanished. Their teeth cracked, grayed, and powdered to dust. Even their ears seemed to shrivel away to nothing until their sensory apparatus consisted of little more than blackened warts or dark holes.
This was just like the night club. Apparently, though he wasn't entirely inside this alternate dimension since the voices and noise still sounded normal. Instead, he was seeing the normal world filtered through a twisted looking glass. What had triggered it?
A glow reflected off the door. It came from a person, a real human. He looked normal except for the dim white nimbus around him. Lucas's vision receded outside the thin vertical line in the air. The white line zipped shut like a healing wound and vanished. Everyone looked normal again, like the dark-haired man who'd just entered.
Lucas walked up to him and grabbed his shirt sleeve. "What are you? Why do you look normal?"
The man turned, his jaw tight. "What the hell are you talking about? Let me go."
A large man wearing a black t-shirt approached. "What's wrong?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Lucas said. "Why does everyone look like a freak except him? What makes him so special?"
"Who you calling a freak?" the bouncer asked.
"Everyone except him."
The dark-haired man jerked his sleeve free and backed away. "Dude, you high or something?"
"Get the fuck outta here," the bouncer said, grabbing at Lucas's shirt.
Somehow, Lucas felt it coming. The bouncer was slow. Lucas dodged, grabbed the man's meaty wrist. He twisted it behind the bouncer's back. Shoved the man back where he'd come from. The bouncer bounced off the brick wall. His head thudded on the floor. Another big guy came from behind. Lucas already knew he was there. He turned and delivered a punch to the man's gut. The big guy's body plowed through a row of drunken patrons and came to a rest against a table. Beer bottles and cocktail glasses rained down from atop the table, shattering on the concrete floor.
"Jesus Christ, you're a lunatic," the dark-haired man yelled. He turned tail and fled.
This set the rest of the herd in motion. People thundered out of the bar yelling and screaming like a nuke was about to go off. Soon the bar was empty of everyone but Lucas, two unconscious bouncers, and the bartender.
The bartender gave Lucas a fearful look. "You still need the phone?" He lifted the receiver off the hook.
Lucas slammed a fist atop the bar. The granite top shattered. Glasses bounced and fell. Blood roared through his body and into his muscles. Every pulse felt like wasted energy, a racecar revving its motor at the starting line. It took all his will not to pick up the bartender and toss him across the room.
"A little politeness goes a long way," he said through clenched teeth. He left the bar and got his bearings. Then he ran for home, his legs a blur beneath him. Cool night air whistled in his ears. His veins pumped with excitement. This was thrilling like nothing else he'd ever done. It was different now. He was in control. Whatever insane instincts he had would be worth keeping if only for this speed. He could be a superhero. Nobody could run this fast.
Except the girl.
That thought dulled his enthusiasm. Someone else like him existed. He had to find and ask her what she knew about their condition. Was she insane like him? Did she kill people too?
Lucas sped through downtown. An uneasy feeling built in him, swelling the closer he got to the center of town. He needed to turn east, away from downtown if he wanted to go home, but something pulled at him. The uneasy feeling abruptly turned to stomach-churning nausea. Lucas fought back his gorge as it rose in his throat. He slowed for a moment and collected himself. The feeling lodged in his midsection, tugging him south.
That direction might lead him to answers. It might lead him to death. Wherever it led, he needed to go there. Lucas took a deep breath and faced the black sickness.
Chapter 12
Alexia hadn't moved for what seemed an eternity. Occasional ragged breathing from the creature that had been Maria Wood punctuated the stillness. Every so often it would talk in single-word sentences. Sometimes she laughed hysterically. Then she'd howl or groan. By now, Alexia realized the creature wasn't making statements, it was asking questions. Feel? See? Hear? It seemed to wonder why. Alexia wondered the sam
e thing. Maria Wood was dead. She should be long past sensing anything at all.
But the gibbering murderous woman prowling feet away in the pitch black put that notion to rest.
A chunk of something spattered on Alexia's cheek and dribbled over her lips. She could feel the hairs still attached to it. She desperately fought back a retch. Whatever Wood had done to the security guard must be similar to what had happened to Wilbur, the first van driver. This incident made sense of his murder without actually making any sense at all. Since when did dead people rise up and go on maniacal killing sprees? Aside from a horde of bad zombie movies and books it had never happened. But unless she was dreaming, it was happening now.
Alexia might have believed Wood wasn't really dead in the first place and that she simply woken up. It had happened before. But Wood was a petite woman, not muscular at all. She might have been capable of picking up a fifty-pound weight and granny-tossing it a foot. Even in the dark, Alexia knew that Wood had picked up a guard weighing at least five times that and flung him like a rag doll on a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
By now, Alexia's eyes had adjusted to the dark. Emergency lights cast a very dim glow in the hallway. If she wanted to escape, that was the direction to go. First, she needed her gun to stand a prayer of killing or re-killing the creature. The problem was she needed to get the gun and rush down the dimly-lit hall to stand a chance of shooting the thing. Wood might be as fast as she was strong.
On the other hand, Alexia could simply curl up and hope the creature went away. Perhaps by some miracle help would arrive in the form of the U.S. military. Maybe a tank.
"Smell. Smell?" Bare feet slapped against the concrete floor. Ragged breathing drew closer. Wood snuffled like a pig rooting the dirt.
The stainless steel table to Alexia's left dinged like something had walked into it.
"Bad feel. Hard bad." The legs of the table creaked and groaned. Metal screeched. Air whooshed and the table slammed into the back of the room. Wood padded closer.
Alexia decided that curling up and waiting was a bad idea. She held her breath. Patted the floor with her hands. Wood sniffed. She sounded only a few feet away. Alexia's bladder felt like it might let go any minute. She slid her hands along the floor. One made contact with metal. It wasn't her gun; it was a bolt in the floor that had held down the table. Then her other hand pushed something. The gun at last.
"Hear it!" Wood said in a screech.
Alexia grabbed the gun and rolled right. Wood landed what seemed inches away with a thud. Alexia's legs were jelly. She might have screamed. She might have soiled her pants. She was too scared to figure it out. Time blurred. She crashed through the door and into the lit hallway. Wood's inhuman scream shattered the air behind her. The door to the reception area was propped open. Alexia sped through it. She stopped and looked for escape. All the cars were parked in the back. She'd have to run for it.
Pain tore into her scalp. Wood's fingers gripped her hair. She pulled Alexia, bending her over backward until their eyes hovered inches apart. Wood's hot rank breath hit Alexia in the face. Wood's eyes rolled in her head. Her tongue flicked over dry and cracked lips.
"You see? See me? Feel me?"
Alexia squeaked something incomprehensible.
"Long time no feel. No see." Wood's words rasped through her throat.
Alexia tried to say something but Wood spun and dragged her toward the front doors. She smashed through them. Leapt outside. Alexia's bones rattled as she thudded against the pavement. Her scalp went numb with pain.
Wood dropped her. Her toes scrunched and scraped against the asphalt. She groaned in pleasure and her eyelids drooped. Alexia realized her gun was still clenched in her hand. She rolled over to her knees. Stood up. Backed away.
Wood's eyes snapped open. "Feel you. Feel and see. Open you. Open and see you."
She lunged. Alexia screamed and fell back. She fired the gun. Wood's body blurred toward her. Something pounded past Alexia. Slammed into Wood. The woman grunted, fell, and skidded backward. The man who'd hit her stumbled, regained his footing. Wood leapt to her feet. Dark blood oozed from scrapes and asphalt rash. She looked at the man with wide eyes. Charged him. The man coiled. Alexia could see his leg muscles bulge against his jeans. He crouched like a defensive linebacker. The creature slammed into him and bounced back like it had hit a wall. The man's feet slid back a few inches but he held his ground.
Wood swung at him, fingers arched like talons. A swipe caught the man on the side of the head and he tumbled sideways. She leapt on him, screaming and slapping like a woman in a cat fight. The man grunted. His legs came up under her chest and bent. They sprang out. Wood flew backward, sailing through the air like a rag doll. She smashed into the chain link fence surrounding the parking lot, bounced off, and face-planted into the ground.
The man jumped to his feet and charged her. Wood screamed, turned and fled, vanishing into the dark. Alexia's savior bent over, hands on knees, and sucked for breath.
"Who are you?" Alexia asked. She steadied her gun on him. "Let me see some identification."
He shook his head, averted his face, and kept silent.
"I will shoot you."
"That would be really mean," he said in a gruff voice. Without looking back, he vaulted away with incredible speed until the night claimed him.
The gun tumbled from Alexia's hands and she dropped to her knees.
"Jesus Christ! What the hell just happened?" Victor said coming from behind a concrete planter.
Alexia almost threw up. Then she remembered Jackson. She ran inside, down the dim corridor, and into the pitch black examination room. Her foot found the guard's flashlight first. She picked it up and tried the power button. It didn't work. She felt the lens and discovered the cap holding it on had jarred loose enough for the light bulb to lose contact. After twisting it, the light came on.
Victor yelped like a frightened child. Alexia stared at the grisly sight. The security guard's torso lay across the toppled table Alexia had been hiding near before Wood had torn it from its anchors and flung it aside. His entrails spread along the table. Gobs of blood and flesh were spattered on the ceiling and walls. Puddles had formed underneath. Brains spilled from his ruptured skull and oozed on the floor.
This was worse than the van. The driver had hardly been identifiable. In this case, the guard's face was a mask of agony barely attached to a body that might have been hit by a train and dragged for miles. She directed the light away and ran for the back door.
Ragged metal hinges hung where the door once had. Streaks of blood ran up and down the concrete floor, starting at the open doors of the coroner's van. One man from the coroner's office lay facedown where the door had been. Alexia followed the blood and found the van driver's body crushed against the electrical breaker box. Seared flesh and boiled blood perfumed the air. Victor cursed and gagged. The sounds of vomit splashing on the floor followed seconds later.
"Jackson," she yelled. She repeated herself. The only answer was Victor's heaving.
Alexia played the flashlight up and down the short rectangular bay. She ran to the van and looked inside. A dark hump lay in the back. A lump in her throat quickly turned to tears. She gingerly touched him. Jackson groaned. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
An ambulance arrived from Grady Memorial within minutes. Alexia opened the back door and made the med techs enter there to avoid the grotesque sight in the examination room. Officers with the Atlanta P.D. showed up in droves when the word got out that a lunatic had injured Jackson. An electrician showed up and restored power after the CSI crew peeled the body off the breaker box.
A dour-faced detective approached Alexia after the ambulance left with Jackson. "Broken arms, broken collarbone, cracked ribs, and more bruises than I could count. What in the fuck happened to him?"
"Will he make it?"
"He's stable. You gonna answer my question?"
Victor interposed himself between them. "He was attacked by a very viol
ent psychopath."
"In the fucking morgue? Nothing short of a car wreck or stampeding bull could've done that damage." The detective pointed in the general direction of the examination room. "Don't even make me bring up that poor guard's condition. I want details."
"Are you familiar with IARE?"
"Oh shit. We got religious extremists doing this? You tell me where they are and I'll put every man we got on it."
"We can't," Victor said.
"Look, I'm acting chief detective 'til Jackson is healed. I won't deal with your FBI territorial bullshit. I have men screaming for blood. You got me?"
"I'm sure you have concerns, officer."
"That's Detective Evans to you buddy."
"Whatever." Victor dismissed him with a wave. "Detective Evans, this crime isn't like that. I wish I could give you more information, but suffice it to say that this goes well beyond a bunch of rednecks handling snakes."
"You say a single psychopath did this? We involved in some federal super-soldier cover-up?"
"I cannot confirm anything," Victor said.
Evans shook his head. "Not good enough, pal. You better hope Jackson makes it or I'll spread this crime scene over local television and tell them the FBI is covering up crucial evidence."
Victor's eyes narrowed to slits. "Do you value your career, Detective?"
Evans stepped into Victor's personal space. "Your threats might work on a rookie, you fucking feeb, but not with me." Evans jabbed a finger into Victor's chest. "You ruin me, I'll fucking hunt you down and kill you. Got it?"
Victor's face paled. "Certainly you don't know who you're dealing with."
The corner of Evans's mouth curled into a grin. "Nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose, eh? I better get details soon." He turned and left.
"That went well," Alexia said.
"Your comments are not appreciated, Sciouris." Victor leaned against the wall and stared at the ground.