Anodyne Eyes

by Milt Mays

  A man appeared on the left side of the street about thirty meters behind them. Shit! It would be easy to take him out, but there might be more.

  Jabril ran to his right, bounding over pampas grass, jumping a chain-link fence and then jumping back onto the sidewalk. He turned left, hugging the tree-covered side of that road, away from the open lot. If he could get to the road she’d turned onto, perhaps he could spot her.

  She wasn’t there. He crossed the road and looked again. She had vanished. He sniffed the air. Nothing.

  A car drove up the street. Jabril moved behind a tree. The dark compact car turned into a driveway, so quickly it could have been on rails. It had a funny fin over the trunk and the tires were not black—lighter, almost green looking. Odd.

  A slight, balding man stepped out of the back seat, tentative in his motions, raking his fingers across nonexistent hair, peering around him, up and down, as if inspecting every detail.

  Two others got out of the front seats, and Jabril smiled. Rachel was alive. Sam was with her. They must have tipped off the police. They knew he was here. Who was the balding man?

  They all three walked to the front door. Sam rang the bell. The door opened. A police officer, a well-built man with short blond hair, wearing the navy blue of the Milwaukee Police Department, opened the door, looked at each ID held up by Rachel and Sam, then let all three inside and shut the door.

  Had to be Helene’s house. The reason she’d disappeared. How wonderful. He could kill Sam, have Helene and take Rachel. All the treasures in one box.

  But if they knew he was here, he would have to hurry.

  Across the street from the house, movement caught Jabril’s eye. The black man walked on the sidewalk, across the street, only a glimpse of him each time he went between parallel-parked cars. Jabril flattened himself against the tree trunk.

  The feds would surely know if he killed all the police here, but he could not walk away from his treasures.

  Jabril sprinted across the street. He was almost on the black man, could feel his teeth growing, his claws extending, when the door to Helene’s house opened and Sam stepped out.

  The black man turned his head to the opening door, eyes widened at Jabril coming. He raised his handgun and fired.

  The first bullet missed, but the second and third caught Jabril on the left shoulder and the right abdomen. There might have been a fourth and more, but for the man’s hand. Jabril severed it with one swipe. It tumbled to the ground, any sound obscured by the man’s scream. The scream was cut short when Jabril’s swipe severed his head.

  Sam crouched and pulled his gun. Jabril jumped on top of the parked car. He wobbled and fell on his butt. His blood made the car slippery. His left shoulder felt like a large rock was inside, keeping him from moving it. And the pain. He had not felt pain before in this state. Perhaps he could die.

  Sam started firing. Jabril slid off the car and ran, a limping, juking lope. Jabril was a block away when he nearly collapsed. He turned back to fight Sam who would surely be on him in a moment.

  Chapter 31

  Sam ran a few paces after Jabril, then stopped and ran back to the house. He burst into the room. “We gotta go. Now.”

  “But we need to find out—” Rachel started.

  “I saw him. He’s here. Helene’s description doesn’t matter.” Sam turned to the uniformed officer. “You have to get SWAT. Lots of firepower. You won’t stop him with your gun.”

  The officer smiled at Sam. “This gun can take out an elephant.”

  Sam looked again. The holster was much larger than most. “Krill?”

  “.45 hollow points, submachine gun.”

  “Heard of it.”

  “It’s awesome.”

  “Your partner across the street use that?”

  “Raymond likes the Glock 21 Gen5. Still .45 hollow points, but easier to conceal.”

  “They let you use hollow points?”

  “Yeah. Stops perps cold if you hit them.”

  “Raymond hit Jabril before Jabril cut his head off. But Jabril’s not stopped. He’ll be back.”

  The uniformed guy frowned.

  “The thing is,” Sam continued, “Jabril heals his own wounds, he can see in the dark, and he’s quicker than a tiger.”

  “Right.” The cop squinted and popped one eyebrow up in disbelief.

  “Trust me on this. This guy is a genetic mutant that got away from the army. He was the model for their new indestructible soldier. Sounds weird, I know, but it’s true.”

  The cop shrugged and got out his radio.

  “Love to stay and help, but we gotta go.”

  Helene stood from the couch and opened a gun case on the coffee table: another Krill machine pistol, and a ten-gauge shotgun.

  Sam looked at her. “Jabril is after you. He likes to have women, abuse them, and kill them. Keep slugs in the ten-gauge. Be ready with the Krill, too. But,” he stopped and made sure she was looking into his face, “if he doesn’t die, save one for yourself.”

  The uniformed guy was yelling into the radio. “I need SWAT now, damn it! This perp is loaded for bear.”

  Rachel and Dan were already walking out the door, Rachel with her HK .45 ACP out front, ready. They piled into the Ford.

  “Open the trunk,” Sam yelled.

  Inside was a ten-gauge shotgun, a .44 Magnum, and boxes of ammunition for both. He grabbed them and two boxes of shells, slammed the trunk shut and jumped into the back seat. “Go!”

  The tires squeaked a few times on backing up, and the car lurched forward like it was on a catapult. Rachel drove while Sam watched the rear, loading the Magnum.

  “I could use a gun,” Dan said.

  Sam gave him the shotgun. “Load it fast.”

  “I can do that.” Dan had trained a lot, more than a lot before his last assignment in Caracas, though that seemed a lifetime ago. The shotgun was a good choice, too. Could be Sam remembered how bad a shot Dan was with a pistol.

  The first five minutes were like one of those old carnival bumper cars. It was hard to load even the five shells in the shotgun. Then Rachel slowed and the ride smoothed.

  “The med school and the mouse labs are about two miles.” Rachel said. “You want to stop there now, or wait until morning?”

  “We can’t rely on the police to stop Jabril. We may have to break in, but we have to do it now.”

  “Okay, I’ll—”

  The car screeched to a halt. Dan was thrown, headfirst, into the space between the bucket seats. The seats pulled the shotgun from his hands and it dropped onto the floorboards in the back. Sam banged his back against the dash.

  Rachel slapped the steering wheel. “Damn! We’re not going anywhere.”

  Dan pushed himself up on the middle console, and peered out the windshield. Several vehicles were backed up in front of them, one fire truck at the head of the line, a police car next, top lights flashing red and white. The fire truck had men manning a hose, spraying over burning trees and cars. Smoke and the smell of burnt wood, oil and plastic filled the air. Barely visible through the haze and fire, another fire truck was down the road, on the other side of the blaze, a fountain of water erupting from one of their hoses onto a burning car.

  Rachel put the car in reverse. She looked in the rearview and put the car back in park.

  A brown panel van and four other vehicles were already stopped behind them.

  Sam opened his door and zipped up his black leather jacket. “Rachel, let’s go. Dan, you’ll have to turn around when you can. We’ll meet you outside the mouse lab, north side.”

  “Maybe I should stay here. That werewolf guy already cut off one head.” Dan sidled into the back seat, grabbed the shotgun from the floor, and opened the left back door.

  Rachel was already out, pulling on a beige hip-length jacket as she held her door open for him. “Jabril is hurt. Besides, he doesn’t know where we are. You’ll be safe. If anyone should worry, it’s me and Sam. If Jabril hasn’t been to the lab, h
e’ll be going there now.”

  The firelight flashed in her eyes. Her hair and skin seemed to glow. She was stunning. Dan could feel his face get warm, and not from the fire. He shook his head. Why couldn’t he ignore her? Marci and Adam were waiting. Shouldn’t that be enough?

  He dropped his head and looked at the ground. “Okay. I’ll be there. If I’m not, I guess I’ll be here.”

  Sam slapped the top of the car. Dan looked up. “You’ll be there, Dan. You’re smart. You’ll figure a way.” He started to walk away, then ran around the tail of the car to Dan.

  “I’ll need that shotgun. The Mag will have to do for you.”

  Dan nodded, knowing Sam was right. The bigger power would be best for Jabril. But now Dan felt naked. Had they forgotten Jabril had found Rocca, had found Sam and Rachel in Chicago, and had found them again in Milwaukee? Dan wondered if there was a bug on Sam or Rachel. Surely not. Maybe it was in this car.

  Rachel zipped up her jacket, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

  “You think there’s a bug in this car?”

  She frowned. “No. He won’t find you. He’s after us, not you.”

  Sam and Rachel ran through a yard and into the space between two houses. The shadows swallowed them. Dan wanted to drive to the airport and leave.

  He touched the cheek she had kissed, got inside the car and closed the door. He sat and watched the fire. If only he had a cell phone. He wanted to talk to Marci and hear Adam; even if his three-year-old words were unintelligible, they were his. The fire reminded him of the pyre Sam had set in Louisiana. Trees and cars had not burned there, but bodies—people Sam and Dan had killed, including Jeff.

  He put the Mag down on the passenger seat and reached around for his laptop.

  He sat it in his lap, opened it, hit the power button and rested his fingers in the most comfortable place he could think of, on the keys. He should be starting the car; he should be driving away; he should be thinking about what was next. But all he could do was look at the screen and wait for the blinking cursor.

  Chapter 32

  “My dad?” Jeff said. His mouth got dry. He might drink that whole beer right now and call the serving girl back. The breeze was cool, yet Jeff felt hot sitting in the sun with all these people from Realfood.

  Alex chewed his food and looked at Jeff. His eyes clipped Jeff in the heart—so much like Alexis. Yet they were older and seemed to have a sadness mixed with realization, as if he had seen terrible things, yet knew what was coming might be worse.

  “You know my dad?” Jeff took a long swig of beer, almost emptying the glass. He let the last bit wallow in his mouth. This was the first alcohol he’d had in a long time and he was feeling slightly buzzed. Or maybe it was what Alex said.

  “No.”

  He was like Alexis, all right: answers that led to more questions.

  Alex put a hand on top of Jeff’s. It was warm and the confusion that was beginning to spin up in Jeff, left. He breathed easy.

  “I can feel you the same way I feel your dad is with Rachel. He’s a little strange and his name is Dan Trotter, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex smiled. “Good. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “You said we’re leaving. Where to?”

  The nice girl with the beer filled Jeff’s mug again. The alcohol buzz felt really good. She had a nice smile. She was nice. All these people were nice. He chugged half the beer down.

  “Milwaukee.” Then Alex looked at Alexis. “Your mom’s there. A little family outing. She can meet Jeff. Jeff can see his dad. We are gonna pah-tee.” He emphasized the “tee” like this was going to be cool, but he looked at her like there was a hitch.

  Alexis and Alex locked eyes and didn’t move. Another mind-meld, Jeff thought. Spock had nothing on these two. Would a mind-meld work if you were drunk?

  “He’s there, isn’t he?” Alexis said he like the person she was talking about was someone they both knew, and hated.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” Jeff said. “Remember me? You wanna fill me in about this other guy—the bad guy?” His words were a little slurred but he had to get them to pay attention to him. This was going to take some effort if Jeff wanted to communicate while these two were together. He wondered if they could block the other one from reading all their thoughts. There were definitely things he didn’t want Alex finding out yet, and if Alexis was an open book to him . . .

  “Sorry. We’ll be more polite. When we haven’t seen each other in a long time we revert to home habits.”

  He looked at Jeff. “Not sure you’re quite ready to hear this.”

  Jeff held his hands out, palms up. They were pretty steady. He could pass a drunk-driving test like he did before that damn war. Before he got in that stupid fight with his dad. “Did you not see my uniform?”

  “Yeah. But the uniform doesn’t change you inside. Let’s put it this way: There is a very bad guy who could possibly kill Rachel and your dad.”

  Alex looked at Alexis. “Luckily, Sam’s there. That should slow down Jabril.”

  She smiled. “And Rocca? He got him last time, right?”

  Alex looked off in the distance. “Not sure about Rocca. He was there, but . . .”

  Jeff put up a hand. “So Sam is good, Jabril bad.” Even his hazy mind could grasp this.

  “Worse than bad.” Alexis’s jaw flexed. “Jabril is much worse.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Okay. Let’s take a few extra bullets. They work well, bad guy, really bad guy, or really, really bad guy. In the heart, in the brain—dead is dead.”

  “Doesn’t work that way with him.” Alex’s eyes had taken on a peculiar orange hue and one side of his upper lip was raised. A photo Jeff had seen years ago popped in his head. It was done by a renowned wildlife photographer in Yellowstone. They’d found his camera after he’d been killed and partially eaten by wolves. The last photo was of a wolf’s face, full frontal. Alex had that look.

  Even being pleasantly plastered, that look made Jeff want to get out of there. He scooted sideways, away from Alex and started to stand. Wobbly at best.

  He bumped into someone behind him, plopped back down and jerked his head around. Charlie was there, looking at Alex.

  “Hi, Charlie. You should have some beer. It’s really scrumptious.” Jeff flicked his tongue against his teeth. Numb tongue. Oh well.

  Charlie smiled at Jeff. Seemed like a very happy guy. He was as nice as the beer girl.

  Charlie turned back to Alex. “I hate to do this to you, Alex, but we’ve got a problem with the Ambrosia goons. Our scouts say they’re coming. They’ve got a lot of firepower.”

  Jeff looked back at Alex. His calm face, green eyes, and light smile had returned. Jeff blinked his eyes hard. No wolf eyes. Had to be the beer. Had to be.

  Alex and Alexis stood like two marionettes on the same string.

  Jeff scratched his upper lip. Numb lip, too. Maybe no more beer. He tried to stand, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder, a massage that warmed and relaxed all his muscles. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. But who wanted to? This was great.

  “Jeff, you stay here. We’ll be back in a few.”

  “Okay. Have fun.”

  Alexis smiled at him, then came over and kissed his lips. They were numb but that kiss was still good. Really good.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” she said.

  “Okay.” It seemed like all he could do was agree with her or her father. This relationship might work very well.

  His eyelids started to droop. Was it the beer? No. It was her mind-thing. Why don’t you get some sleep? Her words had not been enough. Now she was hypnotizing him or something. It was okay. Someone else in charge was nice after four years of pushing.

  “Bed?”

  She helped him up, led him in a very weaving walk into a cabin, to a very cozy sleeping bag on a very comfortable cot. He got undressed and got in. She kissed him again, fabulously long, and zipped u
p the sleeping bag. He wanted her to get in with him. He wanted to stay awake. He wanted to make love to her. But she walked out; he turned over; and that was the last thing he remembered, until the explosion.

  Chapter 33

  Jeff was dancing with Alexis, an interesting half swing dance and half twist. She had him doing each step with her as if he’d done it a million times before, or had come out at birth doing it, waiting for her to join him. It was as relaxed as walking, as easy as breathing. The bang was so far away he thought it a firecracker outside, down the road, underwater, or maybe someone slamming a door to a car in the parking lot. Then the dance floor began to sway and a sound like a huge train rumbling close stopped the music. Relaxation gave way to panic.

  He opened his eyes and sat up. His mouth was dry, head a little wobbly. People were screaming. A light outside the curtained window glowed and wavered—all too familiar—fires outside. The wobbles left. He pulled on pants, shoes, shirt, and finished buttoning his shirt on the way out the door of his bedroom, walking toward the front door.

  The front door slammed open. Charlie beckoned with his hand impatiently. “Grab your stuff. Let’s go!” He sounded like a teenaged girl screaming.

  Jeff pulled on his green camouflaged hoodie coat, grabbed his pack, gun (Still no damn bullets, but what the hell) plus a canteen full of water he wanted to chug down, and ran out the door after Charlie. From his right, a sound like a baseball bat hitting a carpeted floor: Bright light, a lifting of the ground, and he was shoved hard left, against the outside of the cabin. So that’s what it felt like to be a fly swatted by a newspaper. He tensed and bounced off the wall. Mostly. Some parts, like tongue, got caught between harder parts, like teeth. Tongue wasn’t numb any more. Good and bad. Coppery tasting, wet seepage leaked from the side of his mouth. Good thing: The loud sounds were now muffled, distant.

  Charlie lay on his side, motionless, blood coming from his ears. Jeff bent to help. No breathing. No carotid pulse. Charlie was dead? How could that be? He was just here. It all brought back a time Jeff had blocked out. He stared at Charlie.