“So you witness it for yourself now. Good. Unfortunately, however,” Egesa said, “it means nothing. Or everything. We just don’t know yet.”
“What—what can I do?” Donovan asked.
“Simple,” Egesa said. “You can help us help her. Just tell us everything you know. Everything you witnessed in the last couple of days, yes? It’s critical you do this. It may be the only way we can save her.”
“Save her from what?” Donovan asked, turning his gaze at last from Cathren back to Egesa.
“Herself.”
Chapter 30
Back in his cell, Donovan slumped against the wall. He now grasped the situation better than Egesa thought. These people were not looking for a way to save Cathren; they wanted to examine her, to rip her apart, to destroy her. Despite whatever crap Egesa was trying to sell him, these weren’t the good guys. Donovan had to get out. More importantly, he had to get Cathren out. Something told him if he didn’t, they would both be dead before long.
Fortunately, Donovan’s cell was more like a guest room than a prison. He was, apparently, free to go as he pleased. So he did. He crept down the hall to the room that housed Cathren.
He studied her through the small, Plexiglas window in the door. Was she dead or alive? Was he just dreaming all this? Cathren’s eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. Every couple of seconds she’d scream or groan or shudder. Donovan cautiously opened the door and went in.
“Cathren,” Donovan whispered as he approached her. “It’s me.”
Cathren stopped her monster noises abruptly, like a snoring sleeper who’d been interrupted. Donovan touched her hand. He didn’t know what to expect. More screaming? More struggling?
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Donovan wanted to believe he saw love in those eyes. He brushed his hand gently on her cheek, and she smiled weakly.
“Gotta get you out of here,” he said softly. “Do you think you can walk?”
She didn’t try to talk. Maybe in her condition she couldn’t. But she nodded slowly.
Donovan had tears in his eyes, he wasn’t sure why. Joy, that had to be it. Only it didn’t feel like joy. She was here, his, looking at him. It was Cathren, but it wasn’t Cathren.
“Okay, good. Now, let me see,” he said, examining the tube in her arm, puzzling over the setup. A small needle in her arm, held with tape. That was all. He undid the tape carefully.
“Okay. I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff,” he said. “So, this could hurt a bit.” He pulled the needle out of her arm; it bled a tiny bit where the needle had been.
Blood! She’s bleeding blood. That has to be a good sign, I think. I mean, can cadavers bleed? Maybe they can, I don’t know...
Donovan looked around, but didn’t spot any bandages. “I’ll get you all fixed up as soon as we get the hell out of here,” he said.
He helped her to her feet and she slowly raised herself to her full height. Donovan could tell she was in a lot of pain. He glanced at her bandages and wondered if they had been changed since she’d “died.”
Then, suddenly, there was no time for him to take care of her or worry about her anymore. Something more worrisome had arrived: Burkhart Egesa and his minions. Three bodyguards, built like small mountains.
“This is unfortunate,” Egesa grimaced. “Very unfortunate. You need to realize that we are her last, best hope. Oh, well.” He snapped his fingers dramatically over his head. “Take them now,” he said. “Kill him if you must. The girl, we still need.”
The thugs rushed toward them, one at Donovan and one at Cathren. The third stood guard at the door. One lout punched Donovan in the stomach. This, conveniently, bent him over directly into a right cross. Donovan fell down, twisted like a pretzel and bleeding. He struggled to stand up, but was met by a kick to the face. Lights spun and sparkled around his head. He knew that much more of this would put him under. A whole lot more would put him six feet under.
He needed to try, to fight back, to save Cathren. That’s when he noticed it was raining.
This must be what happens when you start to go into a coma. You see red rain.
Donovan was nearly out cold. But he kept his cool and was conscious enough to know it does not rain indoors. Even in his altered state, he noticed that the rain falling on the linoleum floor all around him was red. Not Prince’s Purple Rain, but the Devil’s Red.
Blood, of course. Blood spray. Blood sport. Then gunshots thundered. It was all he could take. Cathren needed him. Now.
Angered, determined, Donovan wrenched himself upright. He head-butted his tormentor in the chin, sending the brute stumbling backward. Donovan spun around, looking for the other goon, hoping to use the element of surprise to kick him in the balls.
Someone, however, had beat him to it. Thug #2 lay on the floor in pieces. Literally disassembled. Donovan turned to locate Cathren, to save her from the horror show. But it wasn’t her who needed saving.
As weak as the drugs had made her, and despite being freshly deceased, Cathren had made a stand. Barely able to stay upright, she had somehow ripped her captors apart. Like in olden times, when a victim’s limbs would be tied, one limb to each of four horses, and a slap would send those horses galloping off in four different directions. Cathren needed no horse power, however. She was doing it all by herself.
Donovan stood stunned, frozen, and splattered with specks of blood. Meanwhile, Cathren caught and killed the last bodyguard. She didn’t bother to pull the gun out of his hand. She simply yanked his entire arm off, gun and all. This left only Egesa as her last target, the last man standing. He stood by the door, an expression of horror on his face. Or perhaps it was his normal arrogant expression. It was almost impossible to tell.
Cathren appeared more dead than alive. Her skin molted off her like the skin of a snake. She stepped in Egesa’s direction and reached out, moaning with the pain of the damned. The look in her eyes told Donovan that she was determined to finish off each and every one of her enemies. Egesa was built like an upended brick and seemed as strong as the ox he also resembled. Even so, against this machine Cathren had become, no one stood a chance. Which is why he was armed. He was far enough away to have the advantage. Cathren simply could not move that fast.
“Too bad,” Egesa said. “I would have liked to study you more closely. Every secret. Every fold. Every sweet crevice. I’d have liked to use you to prove my theories. I smelled a Nobel Prize, quite frankly. But, alas...”
With that, he raised the .45, pointing it at Cathren. He smiled-slash-grimaced and said, “Good bye, my sweet. We could have been great together.”
He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Either he had, in his superior knowledge, forgotten to load the gun, or the safety was still on. Regardless, Cathren was almost upon him, so he turned and fled, his broken laugh echoing down the hall.
Cathren stopped. Her arms drooped and she sagged in place, her head bowed. Donovan realized at that moment that she had no control over this thing happening to her. He strode over and held her in his arms once more. At last.
Cathren cried, softly, as she slowly turned human once again.
Chapter 31
Donovan and Cathren escaped the gloomy ATELIC building and tried to put what happened in there behind them. They exited the parking lot and staggered along the road parallel to the building. Here, out on the street, it was hard to know exactly where they were. What Donovan knew for sure was they were not in what he’d call a respectable neighborhood.
Donovan held Cathren as they walked, supporting her, her strength now gone. They limped up to the busier road ahead, numb from their earlier experiences. When they reached the intersection, Donovan glanced at the street sign: El Camino Real. But what town, what city? Donovan hoped a cab would come by. None did. As they walked, the sun setting, they approached a covered bus stop and paused to rest.
They sat down on the bench and waited. There was nothing else to do. No one to call. Even if there had been, Donovan’s c
ell phone was missing, but at least he still had his wallet. Cathren, of course, had nothing. Donovan felt his body droop from fatigue. Cathren slumped next to him and fell quietly asleep.
The twilight enveloped them as the streets emptied. A couple of gang-types appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. More showed up. A small gathering, assembling near them, giving them the eye. Or, to be honest, giving Cathren the eye. It only occurred to Donovan at that moment that she still wore her hospital gown, her legs, back, and one shoulder fully exposed. The two of them looked as if they’d been in a war. Which, in a way, they had. Donovan wondered whether a bus would even stop for them: the crazy looking couple being harassed by gang members.
The sun had now set fully. Night arrived, dark and cold. The circle of gang members constricted around them. Cathren, sleeping, seemed almost in a trance. Her eyes were open, but she breathed slow and steady, like the washing of waves upon a beach under the moon.
“Hey, chica,” one of the gang members hissed.
Donovan turned and glared at them. He tried his best to give them the stare-down, but they were in it now. They had started the dance, initiated contact through the shout. The invisible wall had collapsed.
“Hey, what you two doing? Sheet, what happened to you, holmes? You been in a fight or somethin’?”
“Why don’t you get lost,” Donovan breathed.
“What’s that, holmes?”
Donovan cleared his throat. “Get lost,” he said, as forcefully as he could.
“That’s not very nice, hombré. We just trying to be friendly. Just want to talk to the chica. Hey, chica, you lookin’ real pretty tonight.” The man made “kissy” noises and the group of them laughed, shoving at each other. “Maybe you want to part with the gringo, eh? Maybe you want to party with me and my boys, sí?”
“Get lost, assholes,” Donovan said, standing up. His body ached; he felt both exhausted and disgusted. “This is not going to end well,” he said, barely audible. “Trust me.”
“Oooh!” someone from the group mocked him.
“I mean it,” Donovan said. “Leave now. While you can still breathe.”
“Okay, tough guy, we get it,” the one wearing a wife-beater said. Prison tats ran up both arms and both sides of his neck. He stood at the front of the group.
Donovan walked up to him. Their noses nearly touched.
“Okay, Pedro. You sure you want a piece of this? Look at me. I’m already covered in blood. How many kills do you think I’ve had already tonight? Huh? One? Ten?”
“Sure, I get it,” the gang leader said. He didn’t blink. He said, “You one funny gringo,” but he didn’t laugh.
There wasn’t a sound. Almost complete silence. Only the hum of cars whizzing by somewhere in the distance. A night bird called, perhaps an owl. Far away, a siren faded into the night.
The leader waved his hand in the air. The group broke into laughter. Loud, squawking. They slapped each other. They leaned on each other, wearing themselves out on the “joke.” The gang leader waved his hand again. Instant, deadly silence.
Donovan didn’t wait for them to start. He sent a kick straight for the leader’s nuts. The man dropped as expected. The rest of them hesitated for a split-second. It was long enough. Donovan grabbed Cathren. They started running, although she sleep-ran at best.
“You bitches gonna die!” someone shouted. They couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind Donovan and Cathren. So close, in fact, that if anyone cared to notice, they appeared to be one big happy family. Out for a run along the sidewalk. Enjoying an evening in the ’hood.
Donovan spied a break in the traffic. He sprinted across El Camino, dragging Cathren along with him. A few cars, traveling faster than Donovan had estimated, honked as they avoided the couple.
Donovan realized they were no longer being pursued. Had the gangbangers gotten tired of the chase? Was it no longer fun? No such luck. Yes, the gang had stopped running. But only so they could get out their guns and aim.
The first bullet passed close to Donovan’s left ear. Which relieved him of the false hope that the gang couldn’t shoot straight. The second ricocheted off the wall beside which they ran. Bullets rained down, hitting fire hydrants, parking meters, parked cars.
Donovan spotted a bodega up ahead. The door was wide open. He dragged Cathren inside.
The store was filled—old women, a couple of teenagers. Some moms with kids shopping for dinner. An older man and a young girl, at most sixteen, stood behind the counter. She wore a white blouse with flowers embroidered around the ends of the sleeves. The man wore thick glasses that looked like he’d borrowed them from someone with a bigger head. Everyone in the store—shoppers and workers alike—stared at the blood-splattered couple.
Donovan stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. Not the cavalry, he thought, looking around. Not hardly.
Chapter 32
Donovan recognized the fear in the faces of the people in the bodega, and he immediately regretted his move. He should have kept running. Found something better. A place to hide. Someone to help.
Not only did reinforcements not exist here, but Donovan had inadvertently endangered the lives of every one of these innocent people in the store. So he stopped, turned, and started heading back out the door.
Just as the gang members walked in, guns pointed.
“You stupid fuck,” the leader screamed at Donovan. “Did you really think you can kick me in the balls and live? Estás muerto!”
“Look, guys, no hard feelings, okay?”
“Yeah, you not have any feelings at all real soon, holmes.”
It was funny in a macabre sort of way how gangs worked. Anyone could be on Bloods’ territory one minute, then, cross a busy street, run a few blocks, and there they were on the Latin Kings’ turf. A carload of Latin Kings could jump out of a couple of cars outside the bodega. Pop the leader of this little gang chasing Donovan and Cathren down, and make his head explode. The leader could fall dead right in front of Donovan, splattering him with yet more blood.
Which is precisely how it went down.
Donovan immediately pulled Cathren behind some shelves as the battle continued. Gang war. And they were in the middle of it. Bullets flew like hail, like hell fire. Flour bags exploded, white dust powdering the air. Beer and soda bottles sprayed their contents across the store. A din of screams, shouts, and shots.
Then, after only a surprisingly few minutes, the shooting and the shouting ceased. Donovan waited, expecting more. He heard a girl crying. Liquids glugging onto the floor. But no other sounds.
He stood up halfway and peered at the scene. Someone behind the register to his right was doing the same. There were two bodies by the front door, but other than those, nothing.
Donovan stood and walked to the entrance. He sneaked a peak out the door. The street was empty. He caught the sound of shots off in the distance, faint, like Rice Krispies popping.
He returned to where he’d had left Cathren.
But she was gone.
Donovan desperately scanned the immediate facility.
“Did you see— ?” he asked no one in particular. He breathed in deeply and swallowed. He tried again. “Did anyone see where my girl went?”
Donovan regarded the teenager behind the counter. She stood slowly, snot and tears running down her face as she stared into space. A woman’s cries carried from somewhere in the back. He turned around and headed in that direction.
A Latina woman, curled up in the corner by the beer fridge, held a tiny baby. She’d wrapped the child in a multicolored blanket. The woman cried while also trying to comfort the infant. The baby’s face grew redder, like a steamed hot dog. It suddenly started wailing.
And there was Cathren. Standing over the two of them.
* * *
Cathren crouched down and extended her arms toward the mother and the child.
The infant continued to cry. Cathren just smiled and kept her hands out. The woman looked uncertain and frightened.
But, eventually, she set the screaming baby in Cathren’s hands. Cathren curled the little one up to her, against her breast. She sat down alongside the fridge next to the woman and rocked the baby in her arms. For some reason, the child responded and began to settle down.
Donovan heard sirens in the distance. He didn’t want to talk to cops. He didn’t want to be found. Or, more importantly, to have Cathren found.
“Cathren,” he said. “We have to go.”
She gazed up at Donovan and shot him a look as if she’d never seen him before. Then she turned her attention to the baby. She hummed it a little song that Donovan thought he recognized. The melody haunted him. He knew it, very well, but he just couldn’t connect the dots. At last, he remembered.
Yeah. It was “No Woman, No Cry.” He smiled a tired smile and slid down next to Cathren.
Fuck it. Let ‘em come and get us.
Chapter 33
Donovan awoke.
Cathren’s humming and his state of near-total exhaustion had made it too easy to drift off. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but the place was now deserted. No shoppers. No shop owners. No Cathren. No cops either, for that matter. Only two blown-apart corpses in sticky blood pools by the entrance.
Donovan got to his feet, walked to the door, and stepped over the dead. He strolled to the curb and surveyed the night.
A strange glow radiated off to the north. Donovan strode out into the street another foot or two to get a better look. The glow did not come from city lights, however. City lights were mostly on the red side of the spectrum. With a little orange. This glow, on the other hand, shone a ghostly green.
Donovan stood with his hands on his hips. What should he do next? A moan rumbled behind him, coming from the bodega. Well, that’s odd, he thought, turning.
He stared straight into the face of the gang leader. The dead gang leader. Standing not even ten feet away, half of his face missing, blown off by the guns of rival gang members.
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