by Brett Savory
Then the shooting began.
* * *
Five minutes earlier, Marcton, Cleve, Bill, and Melvin had been walking quietly toward the nurse’s apartment. Single file.
Like Sand People, to hide our strength and numbers, Marcton thought, and chuckled.
Cleve was about to ask what was funny when Marcton slowed down, stopped, pointed. “Check it out,” he said.
The other three fanned out to the sides, looked where Marcton was pointing.
Melvin said, “What the hell?”
Marcton said, “Dunno, but if Palermo’s there, shit has already gone south, and we’re late to the party.”
From their vantage point, the building seemed to be buckling near the nurse’s floor. Cracks streaked down the outer concrete. Something was going on inside the apartment, but they were too far away to see what.
Then sirens flared up behind them, getting louder.
“Ah, shit,” Bill said. “Do we need to bail, Marcton?”
“Goddamnit,” Marcton said. As good as a yes, so Marcton, Melvin, and Cleve turned around, started heading back to the car.
Bill was just about to do the same when the glass of the nurse’s living room window shattered and the top half of a body flew out, drifted over the balcony, fell into the parking lot.
“Fuck me!” Bill said. The others turned around. “A fucking body – well, half a body – just flew out the window!”
“Shit,” said Marcton. “Let’s get off the street in case someone comes looking out the nurse’s window. No idea who’s up there or what’s happening, so best to stay hidden.”
When the others had already moved off the street, Marcton had to pull Cleve away by the collar, still staring up, slack-jawed and curious. “Damn, I missed it,” Cleve said, a bizarre sense of wonderment filling his voice.
Getting off the street obscured their view a bit, but they could still mostly see the corner of the target building. They watched quietly in the darkness for another few minutes, aware of the sirens creeping closer. Bill and Melvin were tasked with keeping their eyes peeled in case the cops, ambulance, or fire trucks used the street they were on to get to the apartment building.
Just then, more glass shattered and another body flew out over a balcony, fell to the pavement – this time a full body, crashing through the window of the apartment directly above the nurse’s. And this time Cleve saw it too.
“Wow,” he said. “Just fucking wow. You know?” He glanced around at the others, a big dumb grin on his face as though he were a small child watching his first fireworks show.
Marcton didn’t respond. His mind raced as he tried to put the pieces together. He stood thinking for a moment, then said, “We need to get out in front of this. Like, now.”
“What do you want us to do?” Melvin asked.
“Lemme think, hang on. Just lemme…” He rocked side to side, weighing options, possibilities, a deep frown creasing his features. Finally: “Alright, look: whoever’s doing that shit is gonna need to vamoose real fucking soon with the heat that’s coming down on that place, right?”
Everyone nodded.
“So. We position two at the front, two round back, and when the fucker or fuckers come out, we bag their asses. Got it?”
More nods, but Cleve looked skeptical.
Marcton sighed. “Speak up, Cleve, or forever hold your goddamn peace. We don’t have all day to debate.”
“Nah, it’s just… Well, that seems pretty simple. And also something they’d be expecting. I mean, wouldn’t it be better to have the element of surprise? Just rush in there and fuck their shit up before they even know what hit ’em?”
As much as Marcton hated to admit it, Cleve might have a point. “Alright, fine, two up the back stairs, two up the front.”
“We’re assuming the building has two sets of stairs,” Melvin said.
Bill nodded. “Yeah, we can’t just assume that. And what about the elevator?”
“Also,” Cleve said, “fire escape.”
“Jesus, when did you guys develop independent thought?” Marcton said. “Fine. Christ. Me and Cleve inside, rushing up the stairs – if there’s only one set, we’ll both use that one. Bill and Melvin, hang down at the bottom of the fire escape. Fuck the elevator – no one in a killing-spree rush is taking the time to wait for elevators.”
Everyone looked satisfied with this plan.
“Great, now can we go?” Marcton said, turned, and started walking toward the building again.
“Actually,” Cleve said, “is it really a good idea to split up? I mean, shouldn’t we–”
There was an enormous crash then, like a bus slamming into a concrete wall. All four of them whipped their heads around in the direction of the sound.
For a moment they saw nothing, but then a dark shape nearly as big as a dump truck passed in front of the moon. The man-shaped thing seemed to hang there for longer than seemed possible, then it fell quickly to the pavement of the front parking lot. They heard an incredible crash, but could not see what happened because a line of trees and a row of bungalows obscured their view.
The event hung between the four men for a long moment, then Cleve broke the silence, saying, “So we’re gonna run now, right? Like, toward home?”
* * *
But as much as they’d wanted to run – as much as Cleve had really pushed for that to happen – they hadn’t. Marcton calmed his men down as best he could by telling them he’d seen the creature, or whatever it was, holding onto something. Maybe someone. He said it had certainly looked like a person to him for that brief moment it was lit by the moon.
“I saw it when the thing turned to position itself for its descent. I saw something, anyway. And what if it was Palermo? What if neither of those two dead bodies that got tossed were him, and then we just fucking leave because we’re scared?”
“Well, shit, Marcton,” Melvin countered, “if that thing was holding Palermo, what chance do you think he’s got? I don’t want to desert him, either, but we have to use our heads here.”
Bill and Cleve stayed quiet while this conversation went on. They were both just jittery, looking over their shoulders every few seconds, on the verge of bolting at any moment. Somewhere nearby, someone locked their car, the horn beeping twice. Cleve nearly nearly shit himself.
But the discussion was brief, and Marcton was no longer in the mood for democracy. “I’m moving to intercept. You can leave if you want, but think on this: if you desert me out here – and maybe Palermo, too – expect to find a knife in your fucking guts the moment I get back to the warehouse.”
That had effectively shut everyone up.
They began walking in the general direction of the apartment building. Not thirty seconds later, the ground shook, sounding like footsteps – but like no footsteps any of them had ever heard before.
“Holy mother of fuck,” Marcton had said when the creature stomped into their line of sight.
And now here they stood, facing the creature down.
When they opened fire, the beast just stood there for a moment, head nearly level with the streetlight above them. When it realized it was under fire, it moved its arm inward to protect whatever was still tucked against its body.
Marcton quickly realized the thing was made mostly of metal, so their bullets were ricocheting madly in every direction, and that one of them could hit Palermo – or whomever was hidden inside the monster’s hand. “Hold your fire!” he yelled. But at first he couldn’t be heard over the cacophony. He yelled louder, his voice cracking on the first word: “Fuck’s sake, STOP!”
The guns went dead.
The beast lifted its head, focused its gaze on them. There was no mistaking the machinery of the thing, but something in its eyes felt organic where they settled on Marcton’s face. Examining him. Assessing the threat level, of course, but more than that. In fact, despite the metal exterior, there was something organic about the entire creature. Something in the way it breathed, the way it shifted
its weight from side to side. Marcton would never know it, but at that very moment Henry was trying to access his memories of Marcton. They’d done several Runs together in the early years. Never became close, but Marcton would know Henry to see him – the original Henry.
Unable to retrieve any true memories, instead, weird fantastical elements of several events in Henry’s past coalesced to form a picture in his mind; these elements would become the basis of Henry’s thoughts about Marcton from this point forward. Enough of the elementary wiring in Henry’s brain had changed, been reshaped, that he would never regain his real memories of the man.
But perhaps that was just as well, because Marcton would never even know that this was Henry Kyllo.
Now, standing in the street with the gaze of a monster fixed solely on him, Marcton was astonished to find his voice. Motioning toward the person the creature carried, he said, “Who is that?”
Marcton had no idea whether the thing spoke or understood English, but it was the only language he had with which to attempt communication. The creature seemed to understand. It looked down at its cargo, then slowly uncurled its fingers to reveal a woman. Unconscious. Not Palermo at all.
Marcton’s heart sank. So one of the bodies flying out the windows was likely Palermo’s. But he couldn’t know for sure. Not without checking out the bodies himself. Or sending one of his guys to do so.
Unless he asked. Long shot, but why not?
“And Palermo?”
No recognition. The beast just growled low in its throat, covered the woman with its hand again, put her back at its side. She groaned a little, then. It wouldn’t be long before she came around.
The monster took one tentative step forward, kept its eyes on Marcton’s gun. Moved its head in the direction of the entrance to the old subway tunnels. Back to Marcton. Back to the entrance.
Something clicked in its throat. Gears whirred, ground. Something resembling human speech tried to belch its way out of the thing’s neck.
Henry, of course, could’ve spoken if he’d wanted to, but felt he shouldn’t. Felt he should let them think he was nothing remotely like them. Internally, too, he was battling with that other voice that would have just had him crush these people to death. It had gotten the better of him before, with Palermo, but now he knew about it, felt its presence curled up, ready to pounce at the back of his thoughts. Better to know where the wasp in the room was than be oblivious to its presence.
Cleve, Bill, and Melvin stiffened. Cleve took a step back, raised his gun again, said, “What are we doing here, Marcton? Your call. Letting it go? It doesn’t look like it wants to hurt us, just wants to get past.”
“Yeah, you’re right, it’s just that…” Marcton said, fascinated. The creature was hard to look away from. It looked like no machine he’d seen before. There were familiar elements, of course, and something about the way it moved was… sinewy. As though beneath all the steel were flesh and blood muscles.
It had stopped trying to push out whatever sounds it apparently thought would help get its point across, and had fallen silent.
“Come on, Marcton,” Cleve said, keeping his voice low, placing a hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, so as not to startle him out of his state. “Let’s go.”
Marcton turned to look at him.
“I think you feel it, too, man,” Cleve continued. “It’s like I’m standing on a sheet of very, very thin fucking ice here. I’m afraid to move, but every instinct I have is telling me that now is the goddamn time to do so.”
Marcton nodded, turned to the creature, stepped backward. Put his gun away, told the other guys to do the same. They did, and everyone took several steps back, up onto the curb.
The beast looked toward the subway tunnels again.
“It’s OK,” Marcton said. “You can go.”
The thing took another step forward, then another, then another. With each step, he kept his eyes glued to the four men. When he was fifty feet beyond them, he turned his head toward his destination and walked faster, the pistons in his legs – and the smaller ones in his arms, Marcton just noticed as his angle changed – puffing vapor out into the crisp winter air.
They watched him go, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to process what they’d seen.
As the creature turned the nearest corner, they saw that its destination was the entrance to the old subway tunnels. It ducked its head to get inside, then disappeared from view.
The first snowflake of yet another storm fell, touched Marcton’s cheek near his jaw, melted, dripped down his neck. He looked up, saw the moon through a break in the clouds.
No one knew it then, but this storm was the main event.
This storm would never stop.
S E V E N T E E N
Milo’s trip to the subway entrance was less eventful than Henry’s, but no less distressing.
He was still trying to get the hang of gravity after floating around for as long as he had been, found it severely limiting to have to move muscles and such. The sensation almost made him wish he were invisible again.
Somehow, Adelina had done this for him. Through whatever power she had, she had essentially brought Milo back to life. And now here he was using that life to try to save someone else’s.
Faye’s head bobbed against his chest while he ran – well, walked quickly. What he was doing as he took the back stairs down to the ground floor – successfully avoiding questions, or even being stopped by police or firemen – couldn’t rightly be called running. His desperation to get Faye away, get her someplace safe, was overwhelming. It sped up certain experiences while slowing others down. But while his newly regained physical limitations were subjected to this effect, his brain had only one speed: overclocked.
Once outside the building, as he struggled to get over curbs and snowbanks, his mind reeled with everything that had just taken place. Images and voices swirled in a maelstrom of confusion. Several times he needed to physically shake his head to make them stop because his vision was blurring.
If he had taken a different route to the old subway tunnels, he would have seen Henry and the four men who’d intercepted him, which would have changed the entire outcome of that situation. He might have seen Palermo, too. But he hadn’t; the route he’d taken was the most direct one, on main streets. Two or three people passed him, but they were all rubberneckers, and each of them had asked if there was anything they could do to help. He had just shaken his head and carried on.
Milo, too, felt the new snowflakes falling down around him, just before he entered the old subway tunnels – not long at all after Henry had gone down. He relished their coldness on his burning skin.
When Milo was safely inside the darkness of the entrance, away from streetlights, sirens, and the eyes and offers of well-meaning strangers, he gently set Faye down on the concrete at his feet. Just to get a momentary breather.
And in that darkness, below him, down the stairs, he heard the hiss of escaping air. Saw two burning coals in the dark, and knew that his friend, Henry, was close.
* * *
Marcton was unable to move for a few minutes after the monster disappeared into the abandoned subway tunnels. He consciously sent instructions to his legs to work, but they would not listen. He wondered dreamily, his mind in a fog, if he was broken. Maybe nothing would work again, and he would just stand here in the street, as snow piled up all around him. He had an intense vision of suffocating under a mountain of white, and that’s what finally got him moving.
Breath caught in his chest, and he hitched in oxygen. He blinked rapidly, looked around. Cleve, Bill, and Melvin had similar expressions, but they seemed steadier than him.
Cleve reached a hand out, said, “You alright, Marcton?”
Marcton’s second and third breaths came easier. “Yeah, um… Yes. We should call the warehouse.”
“Definitely,” said Melvin. Waited a beat. “Any idea what that was, Marcton?”
“Nope.”
“Thought not.
Well, whatever it was, I’m glad it didn’t stomp us. ’Cause that would have hurt.”
“Only for a second,” Bill said. Tried to smile. Failed, managing only a weird half-grimace. His hands shook. “I need to sit down.” He moved to the curb, sat down unsteadily.
Melvin looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then finally spat it out. “Should we call Kendul? Now that Palermo’s, well… gone.”
“We don’t know that for sure yet,” Bill said.
“We need to confirm, at least,” Marcton said. “And we can’t wait for the news tomorrow.” He thought about that for a second. “Not that they’d be able to identify the body.”
“Can someone else go?” Bill said. “Not sure my legs would get me all the way there. They’re still shaky as shit.”
“I’ll go,” Cleve said, and headed in the direction of the nurse’s building. “Might clear my head a bit.”
“Don’t be seen,” Marcton said as Cleve walked past him. “Only get as close as you need to, then come back.”
“Yep, got it.” He walked away, turned a corner, and was gone.
“So. Kendul, yeah?” Melvin said.
Marcton sighed, walked over to where Bill sat on the curb, joined him. “I guess we should. They were old friends. He should hear the news from us.”
“If Palermo’s dead.”
“Yeah, if.”
But they both knew he was. Marcton, especially, felt it in his gut.
The three men passed the remaining time before Cleve’s return in silence, just watching the snowflakes come down. Feeling the wind pick up. Turning their collars up against it – except for Marcton, who, as usual, still only wore a T-shirt and jeans.
Soon, Cleve came back around the corner. It was hard to tell from his face what the news was.
Marcton and Bill stood up. Melvin came closer. Cleve had to nearly shout now to be heard over the wind: “Two bodies. Well, one and a half. Neither are him.”