by D. C. Gomez
Bartholomew and I stepped slowly away from her.
“Did she leave any other clues?” I wanted to get out soon, so I was going to focus everyone on the facts.
“Something about ‘keep an eye out for Fla…’” The note was ripped and we couldn’t find the rest of it. She left it on the empty pallets, so who knows what happened in five months.” Bartholomew looked over at me expectantly.
“That is not helpful at all.” I said.
“Maybe it’s Flakka, the new drug that’s out,” Bob suggested.
“There’s a drug called Flakka?” I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised. It wasn’t like I kept up with the drug scene. “What are the symptoms?”
“According to reports, it creates hallucinations and victims appear to be possessed and almost zombie-like,” Bob filled in for the rest of us. This information would have been useful when I was attacked at the golf club.
“That’s the problem; the note ripped off there,” Bartholomew replied sadly.
“Of course it did because having all the details in a full confession was asking for a miracle.” I shook my head as I spoke. Bartholomew and Bob were trying to hide their smiles.
“What exactly was in the pallets?” Death’s questions were a lot more valuable than mine.
“They were some kind of mind-controlling substance that affected the brain and other systems,” Bartholomew replied
Eugene answered from the back. “That batch is harmless. Unfortunately, we were never able to get it to do anything besides give people headaches. It was stored for destruction at a later date.”
“Besides, she’s an accountant. How much harm can she possibly cause?” Famous last words by Pestilence. She was completely dismissing the situation. I wouldn’t discount an accountant. I had seen a few movies when I was in the military with accountants who were insanely dangerous.
“That might not be completely true. According to her personnel file, she had a master’s degree in chemistry from Harvard. She has a pretty impressive background.” Bartholomew was helping to make Pestilence even more annoyed.
“Yeah, whatever.” I could tell Pestilence was losing patience with us. “We need this fixed and our supplies returned. Rookie, you will go with them and assist in this search. How is that for inter-agency cooperation?” Pestilence winked at Death. She was a little too cocky for my taste.
“I’m impressed, Pestilence. I like your initiative.” Death was praising her sister while Constantine coughed up an imaginary hairball in the back. “Anything else we need to know about our little accountant?”
“She worked for us for almost thirteen years. She was passed over for the Intern position twice,” Eugene answered us from behind. He truly looked troubled by the identity of the accountant.
“Fifth, since you have taken personal responsibility for this, I want to know the possibility that our virus can be mutated. Rookie, you are on the ground gathering intel. And you…?” She stopped her order distribution long enough to stare at me.
“We’re good. Constantine issues our assignments.” That was the perfect thing to say; she looked physically ill. Guess the horrible feelings were mutual between Pestilence and Constantine.
“Fine. I’m sure it has a plan for you.” Pestilence refused to say Constantine’s name. That was classic. “Let’s just get this done. I’m sure my stuff is sitting in the poor girl’s house, harmless.
“Let’s hope you’re right, Pestilence.” Death replied dryly to her sister. “Isis, make sure to bring Eugene back with you and make sure he has at least an overnight bag. This could take a while.”
Death was not sharing Pestilence’s optimism by the looks of things.
“Yes, Death.” That was all I said and Pestilence gave me the worst look ever. Death terminated the conversation and Pestilence turned her full hate on me.
“As soon as Eugene and Bart collect their stuff, we’ll be out of your hair,” I told Pestilence, giving her my best smile. She was not interested in it at all.
“Rookie, hurry up and get packed. I would hate to keep my sister waiting.” With that, she made her exit from the room.
“Make yourselves comfortable; I’ll go help Rookie,” Ninth told us very softly. For a guy who looked like he was over ninety, he moved fairly quickly when he wanted to. Bob, Bartholomew, and I made ourselves comfortable by the table in the leather chairs.
CHAPTER 12
Our drive back from Hope was uneventful. We didn’t encounter any angry accountants waiting for us. That was probably a blessing for her since Bob had moved the flamethrower to the front. Honestly, the boys did not know the meaning of overkill. Eugene sat in the back with Bartholomew. They spent the whole drive discussing the security breaches Bartholomew had found at the lab. Bartholomew had worked with First and Second to implement some immediate changes to secure their location. They gave him access to their system. Bartholomew was going to patch in from Reapers and do his magic.
It was almost seven by the time we made it to Texarkana and we were all starving. I was sure Constantine was probably hungry as well. That cat refused to eat those weird cat nibbles or cat food in cans. I didn’t blame him. That stuff smelled disgusting. Fortunately for all of us, he was in the same food cycle as the rest of us, making it easy on everyone. The one thing he did very catlike was his water bowl. He drank plenty of water all day and had a cold bowl of water by the kitchen sink.
A new gas station had opened a year ago on the Nash exit to I-30. It was a gas station with sit-down restaurants attached to it, whose menus ranged from fried chicken and BBQ to donuts and burgers. I had no idea how they managed to have all four restaurants next to one another, but the layout flowed very well. We did a quick stop so that everyone could grab some food. Bob ordered Constantine brisket and chicken. No sides required for that one. He was a real carnivore.
When we pulled into Reapers, Constantine was waiting for us on the first floor. I wasn’t expecting anything less. His beloved The Camaro was hurt. He looked larger than ever and he was glaring. We slowly dismounted the vehicle, afraid of his reaction. Constantine walked around the car, inspecting the damage. Eugene was looking at him, concerned. Bartholomew gave him a hand signal not to say anything. After his lap around The Camaro, he stopped in front of the passenger front door. He stood on his hind legs to get a better look at the bullet holes. We all waited in silence.
“Boss, we got dinner.” Bob was a brave man.
“I want her head on a platter.” He hissed the words out.
“OK Salome. Do you want her spiked as well?” The words left my mouth before I could think. I was hoping Constantine did not get the comparison to John the Baptist.
“Burn the body. Don’t leave any evidence of her. Trust me; she will not be hanging out in heaven with John when all this is done.” He was serious. That accountant was in trouble if Constantine found her.
“Holy hell! He does speak,” Eugene said from behind Bob. I had forgotten he was there; he was so quiet.
“You saw him talk on the conference call, remember?” Did I imagine that he was in the room?
“I thought that was a magic trick Death was doing to confuse us. You know, the horsemen are quirky that way.” Eugene was turning pale as Constantine slowly made his way over to him.
“You must be the rookie.” He looked Eugene up and down and took a few steps back. “Are you going to be OK? You’re looking ill.” Constantine was right, Eugene looked like he was going to puke. “Bob, grab the rookie and take him upstairs before he faints on us. Give him some water. He’s going into shock.”
Bob grabbed Eugene by the arm and led him up the stairs. Eugene kept looking around in a daze. I felt terrible for him. I had a feeling this was his first experience with the supernatural world. At least his third eye wasn’t opened. If that ever happened, Eugene would probably have a heart attack.
“Is he going to be OK?” Bartholomew asked as he watched Eugene make his way up the stairs, shaking.
“Yeah, he�
��ll be fine. Isis, get him a shake. It’ll calm him down. I’ll give him a few minutes to process everything before going up. Bartholomew, help Isis take the food up.” Constantine was shaking his head as he spoke. “That’s the problem with the other horsemen. They don’t prepare their Interns to face the real world. They keep them sheltered in their little human bubble.”
That was a different way to see things.
“Should we take his clothes upstairs?” I hadn’t considered where Eugene would be sleeping once we got home.
“Not necessary. He’ll be staying with Bob in the spare bedroom,” Constantine replied.
I was confused. Since when did Bob have a spare bedroom?
“Bob did some work in his place while you were in Canada in February. We opened the place up and added another room.” Bartholomew was getting good at reading my facial expressions. I was so grateful that he filled in the blanks for me.
“Well, in that case, we’ll see you upstairs.”
Constantine went back to contemplating The Camaro. I followed Bartholomew upstairs. I wasn’t sure how to help Eugene. When I was having my panic attack, I went to Constantine for help. When Constantine was the one that scared you to death, I wasn’t sure what could be done to help you. Bartholomew was hungry, so he climbed the stairs two at a time.
When I opened the door, Bartholomew was busy taking out the food containers from his bags. Bob had Eugene sitting at the kitchen table drinking what I hoped was water. I handed my bags to Bartholomew and walked over to the kitchen. Eric’s shakes were a staple at our place. Nobody knew what they were made of and we didn’t ask. The results were the same. Within less than twenty-four hours, soreness disappeared, aches vanished, and you almost felt normal.
“Here, drink this.” I handed Eugene the bottle. He took it with trembling fingers.
“How do you handle this?” There was a faint shiver in his voice.
“I had to stop trying to make sense of everything with my mind and just go with the flow. It sounds a bit odd.” Eugene was looking at me like he had never seen me before. “My mind couldn’t process everything I was seeing and experiencing, so I learned to let go. Our minds have limitations set by our upbringing to protect us. It gets easier to handle. Your mind expands and you go on.” After eight months at this job, I was sure my mind wanted to go on strike and stop expanding.
Eugene took a sip from his shake. “What is this?”
Bob and I looked at each other before answering.
“A tonic to help you heal. You don’t want to know what’s in it,” Bob answered him. He walked over to help Bartholomew.
“I have no idea what’s actually in it,” I said. “A wizard makes it and makes healing faster. Drink it and relax. Constantine will be back soon.” By the look on his face, I did not make him feel better at all, but he continued sipping his shake. Outside of his element, Eugene seemed so young and sweet.
I left Eugene to his drink and helped Bartholomew and Bob get all the food ready for dinner. If possible, we tried to eat on real plates and not take-out containers. Constantine felt uncivilized when we used paper plates.
“OK, people, fill me in. What have you learned?” Constantine had walked in through his kitty-door. Usually, he would step in and start talking when he arrived at the table. I think he was trying to prepare Eugene for his arrival.
“The accountant’s name is Emma and, based on her personnel file, she has family in Texarkana. Her mailing address is her parents, here in town,” Bartholomew told Constantine.
Constantine joined us at the table as Bob passed everyone their own plate of food. Eugene was looking better by the minute.
“She was passed over for the intern position twice,” Eugene added from his chair, looking down. “She was always really nice to me, asking questions and checking on me. I didn’t realize she was that angry at us. She never said anything.”
“It sounds like she was pumping you for information. Did she know about your virus?” Bob asked Eugene after he settled himself in his chair. The food smelled amazing.
“I guess. She was always really curious what I was working on. I really shouldn’t have talked to her about it, but she worked there. I had no clue how she felt.” Eugene looked so sad and hurt about the whole thing.
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. Pestilence has horrible hiring practices. That alone is chemistry for disaster.” Constantine was right. How could a woman be sexist toward other women? “Did she say what she wanted?”
“To prove she is the better Intern,” Bartholomew said, chewing his food.
“That’s not good,” Constantine replied. He had stopped eating and was staring at Eugene.
“Constantine, do you know what that means?” I wasn’t in the mood to play twenty questions today.
“What do Pestilence’s Interns do?” Constantine asked. We all stared at him.
“We make plagues, bacteria, and viruses. Anything to eliminate people.” Eugene’s answer was a little too soft for my taste. But at least he was talking to the talking cat. That was a huge start.
“How would you prove you’re the best Intern?” This time Constantine did not wait for a reply. “By creating the biggest plague that would take out the most number of humans in the shortest amount of time.”
“That’s impossible. To do that with those crates, she would have to re-engineer the virus and mutate it. She’s only an accountant.”
Eugene sounded like Pestilence. Why was it so hard to believe that an accountant could do those things? And why did they all disregard her master’s in chemistry from Harvard?
“She did it and now we’re finding zombies all over Texarkana. If she has two crates of that stuff, who knows how many people she could infect and how she is doing that?” Constantine went back to eating, as if the zombie apocalypse was not upon us.
“Guys, not to sound like a broken record, but the College Bowl is this weekend. There will be an additional ten thousand people in Texarkana that could be infected or become carriers.” Bartholomew just had to add numbers to an already grim situation. Just what we all needed.
“We don’t have a lot of time. We need to figure out what she did.” Constantine sounded very calm.
“If I had a sample, I could run some tests,” Eugene said.
“You’re in luck. We have a fresh body in the lab downstairs ready for you,” Constantine answered with a smile.
“We have a lab?” What lab was he talking about?
“Yes, we have one. Death converted our firing range into a lab. It was easier than going to the morgue.” In less than ten hours I had lost my range. Constantine gave me a sad look.
“I could start now.” Eugene looked ready to do something. I wondered if he felt guilty for losing the crates.
“That would be great. Bob, would you show him the way?” Constantine said.
“Sure thing, boss.” Bob smiled at Eugene. “Bring your dinner with you. I’ll show you your room while we’re down there.” They both left in a hurry.
“I’m going to run some checks and see if I can find anything else on our accountant,” Bartholomew said, getting up from the table. He headed to his computer station to start his search.
“What do you want me to do?” Everyone seemed to have a job and purpose except me.
“Get some rest, Isis. You’re going to have a packed week coming up.” Constantine looked at me very sternly.
“It’s either feast or famine for me.” I felt out of place now.
“Oh, that’s another horseman’s job.” Constantine smiled. He had a point. “You have a package on the kitchen counter. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks, Constantine.”
He winked at me. I got up and took the rest of my beans and potato salad with me.
I had figured it was another gift from another Intern. I grabbed the package and headed toward my room. I walked over to my stereo system and blasted the music. I was grateful for the soundproof walls. I sat on my b
ed and read the address on the box. It was a gift from my godmother. I ripped the box open and found a smaller box. Inside the little box she had placed a silver half-moon pendant with a necklace. She included a note in her fancy handwriting,
“I love you and miss you, baby girl. This is for your protection.” I read the note aloud. I needed to see her soon. I missed her. I had never been superstitious, but after working with Death, I stopped taking chances. I put the necklace on and went to the mirror to look at it. It was lovely. That small token made my day better. I grabbed my guitar and decided to play along with the music. It was a good day to play.
CHAPTER 13
I wasn’t sure when it happened, but in the last six months, I had developed an obsession with running. In the military, running wasn’t my favorite form of exercise. Now that nobody was forcing me to run, and I could take as many detours as I wanted, running was fun. It was the one thing I could do without needing hours of training and getting beaten-up. I enjoyed target practice at the range, but I had to concentrate there. Running outside by myself was relaxing and all thoughts disappeared. The only thing to focus on was the road.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when I was wide-awake by five-thirty in the morning and full of energy. I crashed so early that my body was able to get its required eight hours of sleep and then some. I had no idea what time everyone else went down. The bad thing about a soundproof room is that you can’t hear anything else outside your door. By the time I stepped out of my room to go running, the loft was dark. That was a blessing as it meant they were in bed. Normally Bartholomew would be playing Warframe when I headed out for my runs. It was a blessing he was a genius because with his schedule he would never have made it in a regular school.
I usually ran three to five miles depending on the weather and my schedule. This morning I had plenty of time and nothing to do. I decided to make it a long run and do ten miles. Lately, I was doing long runs every three weeks. I was due for one since I missed the one I scheduled the previous week.