The Awakening s-1

by L. L. Foster

  For once, her slight build was a blessing.

  Dredging up an image of Dr. Marton, she surmised that he must have hired someone to vandalize them. The big doctor never would have squeezed his bulk through such a small opening.

  While Gaby dragged over a broken chair and hoisted herself up to reach the lock, Mort asked, "What are you doing?"

  "Taking a back way out. Regardless of what I always say, Luther isn't an idiot—and neither am I. I won't underestimate him."

  Trying to see her face, Mort circled to the side of her. "What does Luther have to do with this?"

  Gaby opened the newly installed lock and shoved the window wide. "If I try to leave through the front door, he'll follow me."

  "Why?"

  "Because he doesn't trust me, that's why." The dominant perimeters stretched, inflating her abilities, making her teem with energy.

  Setting her every nerve on fire.

  Soon she'd be sick with the potency of it—but she welcomed the physical intrusion, knowing that she'd made the right choice and that God would be with her on all she did this night. He'd guide her, and as she'd told Mort, he'd keep her safe. In turn, she'd keep Luther safe, and hopefully Bliss and Morty. Because of her, they'd be able to continue in their secure little world.

  It was the others, the evil involved, who had reason to fear. Not Gaby.

  "Once I'm out, lock this and leave it locked. I mean it, Mort."

  "I don't want to be alone here, Gaby." Hands shaking and voice weak, he admitted, "I'm scared."

  Busy judging the size of that window, Gaby said, "Be a man, damn it."

  "Why don't you be a friend?"

  Stunned at the outburst, Gaby turned and caught Mort in her sharp-eyed glare.

  He put a hand to his head. "Jesus, Gaby. While you're off hunting down one monster, another could be hunting for you. Here!" He held out his hands in entreaty. "What if one of those things shows up and I'm the only one around? I can't fight like you. I'm not as brave as you. I don't—"

  Pushed by urgency, Gaby leaped off the chair and grabbed Mort's shoulders. While evil threatened, she knew better than to concern herself with one individual.

  But this was Mort.

  And he was… a friend.

  She had to find the most expedient way to placate him. "I promise you'll be fine. I know these things, Mort, remember? But if it makes you feel better, there's a gun in my room, You can hold on to it until I get back."

  A rush of color leached from his pallid face. "A… a gun?"

  "I keep it tucked away in a special box in my bedsprings. Go on up and get it. It's already loaded, and the safety is off, so be careful."

  He shrank back. "But… I've never touched a gun."

  Damn him for holding her up. "You aim and shoot. That's all there is to it. A couple of bullets will stop anything, even monsters. Just try not to hurt yourself, okay?"

  "Maybe you should take it with you?"

  "No." Again, Gaby bounded up onto the chair. "It makes too much noise, especially in the woods."

  "Woods?"

  Her vision fluctuated, going inward. Only with an effort did she clear it. "I'm out of time, Mort. If you want to help, go out front and see if Luther is still hanging around. If he is, make sure he doesn't trail me."

  Sounding more sick by the moment, Mort asked, "How am I supposed to do that?"

  "Talk to him. Keep him busy. Pretend I went upstairs to bed."

  "You want me to lie to him?"

  He made it sound like corrupting the innocent would be the worst of her crimes. "Fine. Don't help. But at least back off and let me do what we both know I can do!" To keep from having it snag on the narrow sill, Gaby removed the knife and leather sheath and held both in one hand. "I'll be back before you know it."

  "Right." Misery etched every line in Mort's face. "Bloody and dazed and sick."

  "Maybe. Now shut the window behind me." Weapon in hand, scraping her arms, nape, and spine in the process, Gaby wiggled out. Luckily, Mort kept the back lane mostly cleared, so there weren't any broken bottles to cut her on her clumsy climb from the window.

  The window dropped shut behind her, and she heard the latch snap into place.

  Churning motivation kindled through her veins, pushing her, urging her to haste. With only moonlight to guide her, Gaby went to the alley that connected the lane to the street, and peeked out. Streetlamps left a yellow glow on the hot pavement and concrete.

  Making note of ordinary things outside God's command wasn't easy, but she managed to scan the area for Luther. She saw no one, but she wasn't one to trust mere eyesight anyway. Just because she didn't see Luther didn't mean he wasn't there.

  Before the twisting ache took complete control, Gaby needed to make some headway. She needed to put a lot of distance between her and anyone who might detain her.

  Ducking back out of sight, she reattached her sheath and with the familiar nudge of her blade at her back, crept two blocks down along the back lane. Moving in near silence, she went right past a druggie who didn't notice her and sidled by two thugs in deep conversation.

  Once she'd left the apartment building behind, she cut toward the street. Staying in the shadows, she broke into a fluid run. It was dangerous, being here in the open where someone could try to interfere. But with each second that ticked by, the exigencies of the moment sharpened.

  Events took place—with the doctor, with Luther… perhaps with her. Under His influence, Gaby could only decipher her purpose, not the why of it.

  The pain became a ravenous craving, gnawing on her soul, obliterating all things peripheral. Surroundings faded away to nothingness. They held no import, not when God had need of her service.

  And yet… a tiny worm of awareness remained, squiggling through the agony.

  Please, she pleaded in small blips of sentient awareness, keep Luther safe.

  Watch over Morty.

  Guard Bliss.

  Not physically with her but still right there, in her thoughts and spirit where she couldn't forget about them, these people afflicted her mind. She could literally see Mort, so beaten down and sad that she'd left him behind.

  And Luther, ripe with suspicion and an overpowering protectiveness.

  And poor Bliss, scared and young and alone—trusting her…

  Go away. Gaby silently screamed to those emotional phantoms. She had a job to do, a job they couldn't understand, things they couldn't fathom.

  The warring of her duty against her emotion made her ill. Too many people concerned her. Too many people had gotten past her shields, dividing her attention, causing her to right the pull, weakening it and her.

  To block them from her mind, Gaby concentrated on the agony, visualizing it as a live thing, red-hot and fierce within her.

  She wouldn't stumble; no never that. She'd just suffer—and keep going.

  Without thoughts of her friends to lead her into deadly errors.

  Losing all concept of real time, she reached the face of the looming hospital structure. The moon cowered behind thick gray clouds. Distant streetlamps couldn't illuminate through the humid air. An aura of monstrous proportions bloated from the area, pickled with black holes indicating imbalance, muddy with evil, gray with depression.

  For those who saw auras, the warning couldn't be clearer.

  For those who fought evil, it didn't matter.

  Single-minded in her purpose, without looking around to check for witnesses, Gaby forged beyond the fog of contamination and plunged into the black woods. A gust of wind surged behind her, bowing trees, parting shrubs, creating a bold ingress to her goal.

  She blended with the shadows, moved with the night sounds. Undetectable. Agitated but inconversable. As much a spirit as those restless apparitions swirling round her in a maddened frenzy.

  Oblivious to the thorny twigs that snagged her skin and the jagged stones that dug into her exposed toes, Gaby prowled deeper.

  At the corners of her consciousness, images of both Luther an
d Morty tried to intrude.

  No. She snuffed them with ruthless determination and pushed ahead. Farther and farther into the woods.

  She would do what she must, and thoughts of them would not hinder her. Yet the more she tried to barricade them from her mind, the greater her agony became. A few shaky steps later, the effort of blocking them took out her knees, and she stumbled.

  Confused, Gaby crawled upright and took two more steps.

  Her lungs squeezed, making her gasp for each breath. She strangled, unable to go on.

  What the fuck was this?

  The agony tore into her, more ruthless than anything she'd ever experienced. She doubled over, stunned, disordered—and then she heard it.

  Laughter. Moaning. From the doctor and the victims.

  And worse: lumbering footsteps from her left. Eyes closing, Gaby curled in on herself. She didn't have to see the intruder to know who it was. Opening herself, she felt him, saw him, knew him.

  Morty.

  Oh God, no.

  Now it made sense. She couldn't block him, because he wasn't just a troubling thought. The idiot had followed her after all.

  And now, he very well might die.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Morty's footsteps halted, and he whispered loudly, "Gaby?"

  Collapsed on her side, moist dirt on her cheek and a multilegged bug nearing her ear, Gaby wet her lips. Her eyes burned and her heart ached for the possibilities ahead.

  She had no one but herself to blame. She'd been greedy, wanting what she couldn't have. Father Mullond had told her many times that friendship was beyond her. It put her and others at risk. She had God's duty, and that should have been enough.

  Idiot. Selfish, greedy fool.

  But castigating herself would solve nothing. She had to put the pain aside and find some logic in this absurd situation.

  Summoning great strength, Gaby struggled into a sitting position. The torment was so unbearable that she decided she'd kill Morty herself if he survived this. Through teeth clenched in pain, she said, "Shut the fuck up, Mort."

  He went quiet—and crashed toward her, "Thank God."

  Doing what few could, Gaby compartmentalized the pain and got to her feet. Her fingers dug into Mort's arm, hard enough to leave bruises that would linger for weeks.

  "You will go back," she ordered. "Right now."

  "No. I can't." Both his hands wrapped around her wrist, but he couldn't pull away her steely grip. "Gaby, please. I wouldn't be able to find my way out if I tried."

  They were too close to the target. Morty might not hear it, but the sonance of inflicted misery clamored against her eardrums in a deafening roar.

  The suffering of others made her ill.

  She had a choice to make, and she had to choose the others. Mort would be on his own.

  "Suit yourself," she said, and by sheer strength of will, she got her legs moving. Though she stumbled along like a zombie, Morty failed to keep up with her, and that suited Gaby fine.

  She reached the isolation hospital with Morty trailing several yards behind. Eyes flinching, Gaby withdrew her knife and studied the graffiti-covered walls.

  Bad premonitions vibrated from that structure.

  In such close proximity, her highly attuned ears captured the perspicuous torment. Gaby found a jagged opening in the edifice by way of a boarded-up window. Termites had eaten through the broken wood slats. A rusted nail pulled free.

  Holding her knife hilt in her teeth, sweat trickling down her temples, Gaby hoisted herself up to the ledge and looked inside. Oblivion greeted her. A great crepuscule of misery.

  Then, as she stared with unwavering patience, a flicker of light in the distance caught her attention. Gaby used care as she brought up a foot to the ledge and levered herself into a sitting position on the treacherous sill.

  A flashlight would have been a blessing, but she didn't dare, even if she had one. She would see what she needed to see, as God meant her to see it.

  That's how it had always been.

  Turning so her back faced the room, she slowly, inch by inch, eased down into the chamber. When she dangled by her fingertips and could still feel nothing beneath her, she gave in to trust and dropped.

  Breath held, she fell for a few seconds and then landed a few feet lower with jarring impact. Her elbow collided with a hard edge, but she felt no added pain. Something toppled, metal clashed, and a cacophony of sound echoed garishly throughout the room.

  Gaby froze, but just as quickly turned to access the damage.

  Nothing moved. No one stirred.

  The faint light was gone.

  To use her intuitive sight, she had to have something to see.

  Giving her eyes time to adjust to her tenebrous surroundings, her heart time to stop pounding, she waited.

  As she quieted, another impression of Luther formed in her mind. Big and strong. Honest and good. Rather than discard the image, Gaby studied it, and saw woods surrounding him, a woman at his side.

  Flashlights. Followers. Weapons.

  The images of Luther possibly had significant meaning. If Morty had followed her, Luther might have followed him. He could be very close by.

  Not that it could stop her.

  Gaby opened her mind to her duty and knew what to do, where to go. As the blind might, she felt in front of her with each step and slowly dragged her feet to avoid stepping on anything sharp.

  Shadows, made more vague by her perception of evil, indicated larger obstacles. Metal shelves. Tables. Objects cluttered the rotted floor, making progress sluggish. Somewhere outside, she heard Morty again whispering her name, and Gaby prayed she'd finish before he found her.

  A light glimmered for an instant before snuffing out.

  Ah. A tease. A taunt.

  The doctor didn't realize that God guided her through such ridiculous stunts. True surroundings seldom entered into her navigation. She moved by premonition and divine persuasion.

  Grasping the knife tightly in her hand. Gaby went toward the light with anticipation.

  Like a trail of bread crumbs, the nictitating illumination drew her out of the large room and down a broad corridor. Gaby's every step wrought a screech of protest from warped, moldered flooring. Like thready tentacles, cobwebs reached out to her face, sticking to her hair, tangling in her eyelashes.

  A thick haze of dust choked her nostrils.

  There, at the end of the corridor, a narrow line of light near the floor indicated an illuminated room beyond the door.

  Gaby saw only a trap.

  Whoever had led her here did not want her to reach that room.

  Feeling behind and to the right of her, she verified clearance, flattened herself to the wall, and waited for proof of her suspicions.

  Seconds later, a rush of wind passed close to her face as someone tried to attack her with a thick, blunt weapon.

  Perfect.

  So fluid it was imperceptible, Gaby countered the missed attack with a rapid slash of her knife. She kept the thrust agile, clean, meaning to wound, but without throwing herself off balance.

  Her aim was perfect.

  The blade sank home in spongy flesh, caught for a single breath of time against muscle and sinew, and then sliced a slick path before breaking free.

  The deep gouge spilled forth a flood of blood, filling the air with the acrid scent of death. It spurted into the air, over Gaby and the walls and into those annoying cobwebs.

  Shock sucked the air from her victim, then gave strength to a horrified, high-pitched scream that spurred hair-raising wails from others close by.

  The corridor exploded with weak howls and pain-filled shrieks, overlaid with the thumping of heavy furniture and metallic clashes reminiscent of the raucous, fearful frenzy of animals caged in a zoo.

  Doing her best to tune out the disturbing caterwauling, Gaby sidled down the wall several feet and went stock-still.

  She trained her ears on the quieter sounds, the whisper of a small movement and the hu
shed rush of painful breathing.

  The approach of evil.

  Energy moved past her to the door where most of the noise emerged. As it pushed open, light spilled into the corridor.

  Gaby opened her eyes and, with God's guidance, she faced the bogeyman.

  Deep in the woods, mud clinging to his shoes, sweat and humidity gluing his shirt to his spine, Luther flicked the flashlight beam around the area. Swarms of mosquitoes followed the light, hungry for new blood. As far as he could see, tree trunks loomed like endless specters in the dank night. Eerie silence, but for the sounds of crawling creatures, mocked him.

  He had to admit he'd gotten lost. "Damn it, Mort," he whispered low, "where did you go?"

  Beside him, Ann breathed heavily and for the fifth time asked, "Are you absolutely certain we're on the right track, Luther?"

  "Yes." He wasn't, not anymore, but he said, "I saw him come this way. I'm sure of it."

  "There's nothing here," she complained. "Only poison ivy, hungry insects, and—"

  Horrific screams carried through the woods, piercing the silence, rustling the brittle leaves.

  The fine hairs on Luther's nape rose.

  Beside him, Ann whispered, "Dear God in heaven."

  Gaby. Luther shoved Ann behind him. "Backup should be here soon. Call in, then wait."

  "Forget it. You're not leaving me here alone." She tangled a fist in the back of his shirt.

  Luther didn't argue with her. Holding the flashlight out front, he broke into a run. He tripped twice over twining roots, taking Ann down with him. On his way back up, he cut his elbow on something disgustingly wet.

  "Go," Ann said, reassuring him in the least amount of words that she was okay.

  "Keep up." Losing sight of Morty was his first mistake—an error that could prove fatal. He didn't want to put Ann at risk, too.

  As she hustled along behind him, Luther heard her talking into her radio. In the center of the dense woods, the cells couldn't get reception.

  Crashing through the underbrush, shoving aside spindly tree limbs, he moved as fast as he dared. It no longer mattered if Mort knew he'd been followed. It no longer mattered if Gaby might be guilty.