I poured all my fear, all my adrenaline, all my instinct and training into the burst of wind I hit him with. It came at him like a transit bus on the freeway, and I watched his face take it like a bulldog in a windstorm. His scarred jowls blew back, the hanging flesh over his eyes blew out, exposing the whites as well as tiny little pupils. I’d caught him with one foot off the ground as he was running at me, and I was coming up like a batter hitting the ball with a rising swing.
Home run.
Anselmo left the ground once more with a look of utter shock, but instead of just going five or ten feet, I watched him fly all thirty feet between us and the glass window. He shattered it as his body passed through, and the last sight I caught of him at that moment was a look of utter shock comparable to that of Wile E. Coyote as gravity took over and carried him seven floors to the ground below.
“Cunningham?” I called out, turning to look to the cubicle where he had fallen. “Augustus?” I glanced at where he’d fallen, and found my partner holding his back in pain. I hoofed it for him first.
“I’m all right,” he said, holding himself still. He started to move, then cringed. “Might have broken my back, though. Can’t feel my feet.”
“Dammit,” I said and stood. “I’ve got to—”
“Cunningham, yeah,” Augustus said. “And Anselmo’s gonna be pissed once he scrapes himself up off the concrete below.”
“Maybe he landed with a tree up his ass,” I said, “keep him busy for a while.”
“Hope he enjoys it,” Augustus said with a grimace. “Ow.”
“You’re gonna be okay,” I said, patting him on the shoulder as I rose. “This will heal, trust me.”
“Good to know,” Augustus said, “because I’m still holding out hopes for a pro football career ahead of me at some point, y’know. Probably beat the piss out of everybody in rushing yards.” His voice cracked with nerves. I’d be scared too if I’d felt paralysis setting in.
I carefully walked through the wreckage of cubicles, easing toward the one where Cunningham had landed. “Cunningham?” I called, announcing myself because I knew he could hear my footsteps anyway. “I’m not here to hurt you, but you’ve got to realize that something’s wrong by now. You’re hurting people, man. You’ve slipped the moorings of your mind. Something’s wrong. Let’s get you some help—”
I jumped out in front of the entry to the cubicle that I’d hurled Cunningham into, hoping to find a man in pain. Or, even better, passed out.
Instead, I was greeted with an empty cubicle, with nothing but the sign of his impact where his weight had cracked the top of the cubicle wall to mark his passage. I looked left, I looked right, and then I jumped up on the desk so I could see farther. No sound reached my ears save for that of Augustus’s pained grunts.
Cunningham was gone.
29.
Benjamin
Benjamin descended the stairs in his sopping clothes, one shoe lost somewhere in the fracas above. He still wasn’t sure quite what he’d seen. Jessica, somehow lit aflame. Reed Treston had said … said so many things, really. Yellow light shone brightly from the bulbs on the staircase, and Benjamin simply ran. There was no other course for it, after all. Things were happening all around him, mad and terrible things, things that he wanted nothing to do with. The only logical solution was to run, to get away, to remove himself as far as possible from the situation and even the city.
Up north. Yes. That was the place to go.
There was a cabin he’d rented before, two hours north near the Pequot Lakes chain. It had been his very first vacation that he’d paid for after getting his job. A full week spent in a cabin, by himself, reading and looking at the lake he’d been encamped on by sunrise, day, and sunset in turn. It had been marvelous, serene, blue skies reflected on shimmering, glassy waters.
None of this present madness of airport lines exploding, or people suddenly bursting into flames. No, this was the pressure of the city, surely. This sort of thing didn’t happen up north, where the crazed pace of city life gave way to the ease of country living on the lakeshore. Benjamin’s heart thundered in his ears, his head throbbed in pain behind his eyes. No, he couldn’t stay here. There was a monster on the loose, he’d seen it twice now, though he’d wanted to believe it neither time. He had to escape, had to—
Benjamin hit the emergency exit door and knocked it off its hinges in his panic to escape. He stared at it blankly, not sure how that had happened. Probably damaged when everyone else had fled, and his passage had been the last straw, as it were. He stared at the blue door for a moment then shook it out of his mind and charted his path against the background of the green planters and trees that dotted the parking lot. He had to get out of here.
People were huddled in clusters around the building, milling, questioning, talking among themselves. Benjamin ignored them all, dodged around their little conversational circles and close-knit groups. His car was over there, and all he needed to do was get to it—
As he passed a bush, strong hands grabbed him and dragged him inside. Branches and twigs tore at his sleeves, but the arms that held him were strong. He started to protest, to let out a little squeal, but a lumpy hand made its way into his mouth, wet and tasting slightly burnt with the scent of a hard-blown wind over it. Benjamin tried to make a noise, but the arms anchored him in place, putting him in a hold as secure as any wrestler could have managed. Hot breath fell on his ear, whispering.
“I won’t hurt you,” the voice said, raspy but spoken with an unmistakable European accent. Benjamin was eminently familiar with those by now. “Don’t scream.” The man ripped his fist free of Benjamin’s mouth.
Benjamin let out a whimper, his hands still tightly bound. “Wh-what do you want?”
“To help you,” the voice said, soothing.
“You can’t help me,” Benjamin said, “I have to get out of here. There’s a monster—”
“Yes, of course there is,” the voice said, reassuring, straight into his ear with a warmth that Benjamin found oddly … comfortable. “There is a monster.”
“I need to get away from it,” Benjamin said, never more sure of anything in his life. “I have to—”
“No, no, no,” the voice said, tsk-ing him. “A man does not run from his problems.”
“But—”
“No buts,” the voice said. “Benjamin?”
“Y-yes?” Benjamin asked, surprised to hear his own name.
“My name is Anselmo Serafini,” the man said, breathing so lightly on his neck that it almost tickled. “And I can teach you all about dealing with monsters. About being a man. Do you want to learn?”
His words sounded so warm and inviting, even though being stuck in a hedge row, encircled by strong arms was such a … well, it was odd.
“I …” Benjamin licked his lips as Anselmo’s grip on him loosened. Benjamin almost wished it hadn’t; he felt strangely uncomfortable being loose, like the next good jarring he received would send him crashing to the floor like a saucer off a table, shattered. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to be afraid.”
“I will teach you,” Anselmo said softly into his ear. “Do you wish to learn?”
“Yes,” Benjamin said, feeling a sudden relief from the fear that had clutched him tight in its hand. Anselmo was here, and whoever he was, Benjamin believed that touch, believed that voice, believed … him. “Yes. Teach me, please. Don’t let me be afraid … anymore.”
30.
Sienna
I stormed my way through the growing snowfall, kicking it out of the way in fits of pique as I wrapped my arms tightly around me. This was a hell of a vacation so far, experiencing the symptoms of a haunting while someone played mind games with me. The chill seeped in through my fall jacket, which was wholly inadequate to the task of protecting me from freezing winds and medium snowfall, which this was turning into. I had resolved to beat the Minneapolis weather man with a blunt instrument of some kind when I got back to town, because he had not even m
entioned this as a possibility when I had tuned in to learn how to pack for my trip. AccuWeather, my flight-capable ass.
Gusts of wind slapped me in the cheeks in less than a playful manner, causing me to flush with irritation. My eyes were burning as I lowered my head against the wind, passing Apollonia’s cabin and noting the “Closed” sign out front. I thought about knocking and asking for a ride, but I didn’t see a car anywhere nearby, just a bike chained up out front, as though someone was going to come along and steal it.
I quick-stepped my way out to the road and looked left, then right. I was at least still faster than a normal person, so I could jog my way into town fairly quickly if I were of a mind to. The wind reared up again, blowing and swirling around me and forcing me to lean into it, so I quickly decided that sacrificing sure footing in order to run was a bad idea, especially now that I was as subject to gravity as everyone else. How annoying. I’m not sure how you people do it, honestly.
I turned toward town and started to walk fast. The cold air lashed at my face and found the thinness of my jacket, probably laughing its evil, frigid little head off at how ill-prepared for its relentless press I was. “I should move to Texas,” I muttered. “Or Florida.”
A car’s lights appeared in the distance, churning slowly toward me. I moved to the side of the road, hitting a very slight rut and turning my ankle a little in the process. Just enough to sting. I cursed, then adjusted myself as I stood there in the subtle ditch that the snow had covered over. The car rolled past at about five miles an hour, giving me plenty of time to stare at the gawking, red face of a man who clearly didn’t expect to see anyone out in this mess. He kept going, though, not so much as bothering to stop and ask me if I needed a ride. Which was fine, because I didn’t need his stupid help anyway, the jerk.
I leaned back into the wind as it shifted direction to oppose me. It was like this whole island was hating on me, which was a familiar sensation by this point. Why should this place be any different than the rest of the world, after all? But much like them, I was determined to soldier on purely out of ornery spite.
The snow deepened as I went, going from barely an inch of accumulation in drifts to two inches, and it happened fast. I looked up at the darkened skies above me; grey light was barely visible shining down, and I could see a lamp lit somewhere far in the distance. The snows were thickening, increasing in size of flakes and volume.
If I had my fire powers right now, I would have turned this whole island to melted slush, dammit.
Melted flakes dripped down my jacket, seeping into the worn brown leather. I swiped ineffectually at my shoulders with fingers that were beginning to lose feeling. Which was weird, because it had only been snowing for a little while. How could the temperature have dropped steeply enough for me to already start to lose feeling in my fingers? Probably the wind.
Or some dickhead playing a trick on my mind.
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” I said under my breath. Every time I inhaled, my nose was assaulted with frigid chill, far harsher than what Brant and I had experienced on our walk earlier. That had been a little brisk, like one would expect late fall to be. This … this was getting to be January-type crap. Way out of season.
I pulled my left hand up and looked at my palm. The blood was still running there, seemingly unaffected by the cold that was freezing everything else. It wasn’t gushing or anything, just streaming lightly.
Part of me wanted to ask what else could go wrong, but I wasn’t stupid enough to fall prey to that temptation. I knew for a fact that if I did, I’d find out in mere moments, and it would be something that sucked, a lot.
The world closed in around me, the visibility clamping in tight as a particularly harsh gust kicked up snow from the ground. The drifts were getting higher still, and I was beginning to wonder if this was that much-vaunted “lake effect” snow I’d always heard about. If so, I really pitied the people who lived on this natural wonder. My next vacation was going to be in the middle of civilization, dammit, where I could order a pizza at any time. Maybe someplace where they didn’t know me, like Barcelona. No one would think to look for me in Barcelona. I could dress like a tourist and people would ignore my pale, pasty ass. Not that I would show my ass, at least not in a literal sense.
My eyes started to tear up, and it wasn’t from the emotion of planning my next vacation. They were burning like hell from the ever-intensifying winds. Was it possible to have a freezing hurricane on an island in the middle of Lake Superior? Because that was what this felt like. Either that, or my brother had decided to give up his day job and start importing cold from the north pole just to torment me into feeling guilty about the long list of wrongs that he perceived I gave no damns about.
I rubbed my freezing hands against the slick sleeves of my jacket, inadvertently rubbing blood on the left one, like I was preparing myself for sacrifice or something. I sighed when I saw it, sending another cloud of warm breath steaming out into a damnably cold world.
I started to stomp my feet as I walked, drawing my eyelids closer together and peering out through narrowed slits. It was getting harder to see, even absent my current squint, and it was then that I realized—
Oh, shit.
I looked down and there was not one trace of the road remaining. The trees that had lined either side were gone, the visibility so poor that I couldn’t see more than twenty feet in any direction. The only good news was that I hadn’t wandered off in the middle of a forest … had I?
I had the presence of mind to keep my body pointed in the same direction, which I both hoped and presumed was right, and took an opportunity to look left and right as best I could, trying to see any sign that I was on the right path.
There was none.
I was lost, completely and utterly.
31.
Reed
The paramedics helped me by delivering Augustus directly to the infirmary on the agency’s campus, and I followed behind their ambulance with its wailing sirens, never once having to press Baby’s accelerator too hard to manage it. I kept my lights flashing the whole time so that anyone I passed knew that I wasn’t just ambulance chasing or coasting behind like some asshole.
I’d stayed long enough at the scene of Cunningham’s outburst and Anselmo’s appearance to rule out the possibility that they were there. So, the good news was that no one else got hurt in that one, other than the co-worker that Cunningham had burned to death in a fit of … well, I don’t know what kind of fit it was. It was spaztacular, though.
The bad news was that J.J. had already mustered up a lone camera image showing Cunningham and Anselmo fleeing the scene together before he lost their trail … again. That was what we in the industry called a bad day. Actually, pretty much anyone with half a brain would call that a bad day.
As we pulled into campus driveway, the ambulance finally killed the sirens and I took the lead. I drove my Challenger right up to the rear entrance to headquarters where I caught a glimpse of a beautiful, dark-haired woman standing there waiting, white coat fluttering in the wind.
Any look of concern she might have had evaporated the moment the ambulance doors opened, but she couldn’t hide it from me. Isabella was an enigma to a lot of people, but I knew her better than anyone. She was a tempest, a beautiful and furious storm that destroyed all but the unprepared.
Me, though? I had experience with high winds.
“Careful,” she said, probably unnecessarily, to the paramedics as they brought Augustus out of the ambulance on a gurney. His neck was immobilized with one of those white cervical collars, and he was strapped down. The legs of the gurney deployed as they brought it down to the sidewalk.
“We’ve got this,” I told them as I stepped up to the side to wheel Augustus into the building. Isabella took up position on the other side, directly opposite me, face inscrutable. The sun was shining overhead, and a gentle breeze rustled over us, disturbing the thin sheet that covered Augustus’s body. I could tell the paramedic had cut his
clothes off already. He didn’t look too upset, though, so I assumed he was already over it.
As we approached the back entrance to headquarters, Isabella smacked the automatic open button for the double doors with a little more violence than she needed to. I could tell by the way she did it that I was probably going to be getting an earful of something in the next few minutes, and it wasn’t going to be anything good, like sweet nothings. She waited until we were all the way into the medical unit before she cut loose. “Did I hear you right before? It was Anselmo?”
“It was Anselmo,” I said as we slid the gurney in place under the big light in the center of the medical unit. I lifted Augustus’s backboard and him in one good heave (“Whoa!” he said) and settled him down on the table. “He’s been dogging my steps the last couple days. J.J. says he’s getting help from the brains behind the January attack.”
“I don’t like this,” Isabella said, shaking her head as she leaned over to examine Augustus. “Your sister should be here to deal with him.”
“Phillips suspended her for a reason—” I started.
“A good one, no doubt,” Isabella said.
“A stupid one,” Augustus said at the same time. Their eyes met and then they both looked away from each other abruptly, both more than a little sullen.
“I doubt he’s going to allow her back for anything short of the apocalypse,” I said, finishing my thought.
“So you are forced to deal with an invincible man all on your own?” she asked. “That is insane.”
“Hey, he wasn’t on his own,” Augustus said in protest.
“But he is now,” Isabella said, standing up straight, her lab coat rustling as she did. “You are out of action for a week to heal. You will probably be mostly healed by end of day tomorrow, but if you agitate your injury it could be longer. Healing spinal injuries as a meta is tricky business; misalignments add considerable time to the process.”
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