by Milt Mays
There were cages full of mice. Some were the same as the ones he had stolen, glaring eyes and gnashing fangs at his approach. They were in unusual cages with translucent walls, large enough for a man, but no apparent way to open. Other mice appeared normal, and they were in simple cages like the ones Jabril had stolen from Wisconsin.
Next to the mice were neatly stacked Plexiglas boxes, about half the size of a kitchen garbage can. These held what looked like grain. There were cows lowing in a fenced pen only steps away. It had been awhile, but after milking so many cows as a youth, milking one more cow would be no problem.
The Plexiglas boxes had a tight top, but the latches on the side were simple. Thank Allah. No. Allah had nothing to do with it.
He opened a clear box and grabbed a handful and stuffed it in his mouth. Chewy and bland. Not like eating cooked oatmeal with honey and butter, but it was sustenance—fuel—and suddenly he was voraciously hungry.
Moving fast, he emptied one Plexiglas container onto the floor and hurried to a cow, noticing another, room-sized Plexiglas cubicle with a modular desk containing drawers, a filing cabinet, and something that made him stop: a flat-screen monitor and keyboard. Now he had a way into the secrets of the GMOs. All he needed was an expert: Rachel or Alex.
Fuel first. He must be able to change at will or all was lost. No way to get through the wall to the van, no other weapons to combat any guards. Hurry!
One cow’s udder was as oddly oversized as the ears of corn he’d seen earlier, as big as a basketball and easily milked. He squatted and each squeeze pulled out a full cup of milk. In ten seconds he had two cups sloshing in the Plexiglas container. He tilted it to his lips and the taste was exquisite. It was warm and as sweet and creamy as anything he could remember. He drank the rest and felt his power returning, each step faster, each breath as sweet and delicious as the fresh milk. He squeezed two more quick cups and fastened the top.
There was something else. Thoughts of blood-dripping human flesh bloomed as delicious as the milk. Saliva filled his mouth and his fangs started to touch his lower lips. He was changing and the boy waited.
He jumped over the cow fence with his milk, put the Plexiglas container half-full of milk by the grain and stepped to his captors. He pulled up the boy’s pant legs, then the shirt sleeves. His tongue caressed each fang. The legs and arms were too thin and wiry, almost meatless. Too stringy and tough. He twisted his head and tried to see out of the building. Those two meaty, heavyweight oafs he’d killed earlier waited over the hill: fresh kills. A feast.
He squinted and tweaked his head to the side, listening to a distant sound. Not a sound really, but a sizzle, a knot tightening in the back of his head. Alex was near.
The behemoths were too far. Alex might be there.
He turned back and studied the daughter, the boy, the mice, the grains, the computer station, the cages, and came back to the mice and the two types of cages. The van was only seconds away and he was strong enough now to get there and back in seconds. And if there was a soldier? Meat. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose: in, out, in, out. The plan was clear.
From the other, very distant, end of the building, far down the aisle where he’d found the cow, there was a sound like a vacuum seal being broken. Low murmurs of men carried to him. They were coming.
The cage of fanged mice was nearest. He ripped open the door and reached in and grabbed two handfuls of mice, cramming them into his hungry mouth. They fought him, biting his hands, but were no match. And their blood and flesh tasted wonderful. Meat.
One escaped from his grasp right at his mouth and ran up his nose, biting at his eye. The only thing that saved Jabril from blindness was squeezing his eyes so tightly the mouse hung his fangs into eyebrows and cheek. Jabril grabbed the mouse-wolf and squeezed its neck and twisted, trying to pull it off his face. The mouth hung on. Jabril pulled. The fangs tented his skin on his eyebrow and cheek like volcanoes, until at last they released and he popped the warm intruder into his mouth, grinding the skull and ribs like an apple, a juicy and delicious one.
Eating those mice had taken mere seconds, but the voices from the end of the building were decibels louder. He could see their carbines, their camouflaged uniforms, the pulse in their necks. There were five: three men and two women. More meat.
His captors still lay on their sides, breathing easy. A new plan formed. He started down the path toward the soldiers.
Chapter 54
The hairs on Rachel’s neck stood as she leaned over Dan all the way into the back seat of the RX-7. If Jabril got her again—She reached further patting under the passenger seat with her right hand. Her shirt and jacket pulled up. A cold breeze flittered up her back, changing warm sweat into ice. The memory of Jabril and the van—she froze for an instant, wanting to pull her jacket down. But she had to get the gun.
Finally! She felt the M4—solid, heavy, wonderful. She grabbed it and quickly scooted back and stood behind the open door, pointing the Glock at the van.
Still no movement. Maybe they were gone. The motor from the RX-7 hummed, quiet but too noisy to allow hearing anything from the van. But she could not risk turning the engine off.
The M4 felt a bit light. She glanced down. No magazine in it. Damn. She glanced at the back seat and saw the magazine on the far floorboard. Dan lay as catatonic as ever on the back seat, appearing more dead than alive. His chest moved. Alive but useless.
The van remained quiet. Cool wind chilled her sides and back. Sparse flakes of snow began to fall. A faint smell of blood and sweat came from the RX-7, like being in a butcher shop where the butcher hadn’t taken a shower in a few days. Sam would soon be dead.
Where were Alexis and Jabril? Had that Humvee and soldiers in the distance taken them captive? Doubtful. Jabril would have made mincemeat of them.
In one smooth and quick move, she laid the Glock on the top of the car, kneeled inside the back seat, leaned over Dan, snatched up the magazine, pushed back outside, stood and rammed the magazine into the M4 and pointed it at the van.
Nothing.
Enough waiting. She left the Glock atop the car, hunched down and walked to the van, M4 braced in both hands, ready to hit the ground with any movement. She wanted to stick the M4 inside the open side door and let out a burst, but what if Alexis or Jeff were there? Leading with the barrel of the carbine, she punched her head inside to get a quick look, then scanned it fully.
No one.
She eyed the wall of the building. It shimmered. The snowflakes did not dribble down the side, but seemed to melt into it. Was this an illusion?
She walked to the building and studied the side. Using the butt of the M4 like a hammer, she smashed it into the wall. The butt disappeared. She pulled back and felt an initial resistance, then the rifle came out in a snap, an instantaneously visible hole popping shut. Weird.
She got closer and pushed against the wall with her hand. It bent and she felt a tingle in her palm, but it did not go through, not like the gun. But the gun she had moved fast.
She punched the wall and her hand disappeared to the wrist as the butt of the M4 had. It felt like a very strong hand encircled her wrist with a forefinger and thumb and would not let go. She pulled and her hand moved but the wall did not let go. She yanked back hard. The lips of the wall held initially, like a huge mouth not wanting to give up a morsel, then her hand slurped out, the lips smacking shut, fusing together and forming the wall as solid as before. She fell backward with the sudden release, caught herself, then stepped back another pace and aimed the gun at the wall. Any second, she expected the wall to open a large mouth and reach out for her.
But the wall did not move, only shimmered as before, and the ever increasing snowflakes melted into it like a lake.
She thought for a moment. Jabril had gone through the wall and taken Alexis and Jeff with him. That’s the only thing that made sense. All she had to do was get a good run at this wall and she would go right through as well. Hopefully. I
f she was strong and fast enough. But she could not begin to approach the strength and speed of Jabril. Maybe she’d get halfway through and get stuck, half out, half in, unable to do anything. Jabril would probably be inside and see her, and she might not even have the use of her gun, and he would rip her to shreds. No thanks.
She stepped back and pointed the M4 at the wall, suddenly tense and ready. Jabril may have seen her punching and playing around with the wall. He could be coming for her now.
Behind her, the RX-7 purred at idle. That was the ticket. Drive it through and be protected from Jabril, and when he wasn’t suspecting, spray him with the M4.
She slowly stepped back from the wall, keeping the carbine aimed at it.
The roar of an engine behind her made her jump.
Then she relaxed. That would be Alex. Thank God. The two of them could probably take out Jabril much easier.
She ran to the RX-7, stood with the driver’s door between her and the building in case Jabril came out, and over the top of her car got a good look at the familiar white pickup with camper, cruising over the bumpy road. Alex bounced up and down holding onto the steering wheel.
She looked back at the van and the outbuilding. Still peaceful. The engine growl of Alex’s pickup got closer. She kept her eyes on the building as the truck stopped behind the RX-7. She glanced quickly at the truck and saw Alex get out.
“Couldn’t wait?” he said.
“Hell no. Jabril has Alexis.” She tried to sound tough, but inside she felt like everything was collapsing. How could she tell him Jabril had raped her? The thought of it started her nose to running and her chest pounding. She looked at him and he smiled at her and she felt all her worries lift. Thank God he’d come. She smiled back at him, so glad he had agreed to never read her mind unless she said it was okay.
He wore a ratty blue jean jacket over his favorite old tee shirt that said “Climb higher.” The wind tousled his shoulder-length blond hair, and as usual his green eyes sparkled like emeralds.
After a quick glance at the building to ensure nothing had changed, she clicked the safety on the M4, leaned it against the RX-7 and ran to him. It hurt her left shoulder to hug him but that was okay. They’d only been apart two weeks, but the last few days seemed an eternity. “He has her. That bastard has our baby.” She glanced back at the building. “In there.”
His strong arms, his low voice comforting her, the smell of his hair in her face, all of it released a taut band in her chest. She began to cry.
“We’ll get her back, Rache. Don’t worry. You think he’s got her in that building?”
She let go of him and wiped her cheeks with her right hand. At that moment she made up her mind—she could never tell him what Jabril had done to her.
She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose and looked toward the outbuilding. “Haven’t seen him, but that’s all I can think. The wall is some kind of biological. It gives way to fast trauma, but not with slow pushing. He must have Jeff and Alexis in there.”
Alex frowned. “You okay?”
“Of course not. That monster has our daughter.”
He smiled. “So let’s go get him.”
“You can’t walk through—well maybe you can, but not me. I was thinking the RX-7?”
“Sounds good.”
They walked to the RX-7. He twisted and squatted to grab the M4. “Any other guns?”
She felt another wave of tears coming, so gritted her teeth and pointed to the Glock on top of the car.
“It’s gonna be okay. Really.” He put an arm around her. She looked inside the car and puffed a breath out her nose, frustrated at seeing Sam. But the thought of Alexis having the same thing done or worse brought back her speech.
“Sam’s in shock, probably die soon. Let’s go.” She got the Glock from atop the car and started to walk around and pull Sam out.
Alex stopped walking around the front of the car, pursed his lips, glanced at Sam, at her, then shook his head and hurried to Sam. Many years ago, Sam had used Alex as bait for Jabril. But Sam had probably saved Rachel’s life in the last few days. She knew it. Alex knew it.
“The camper has medical supplies,” he said. “Let’s hook him up to an IV.” His words were right, but the tone forced, a duty.
“No! There’s no time. Jabril has Alexis.”
He hesitated, then opened the door, put the carbine on the floorboard and started to pick up Sam. “It’ll only take a minute. Without him, you would have never got this far.”
So what if Sam had helped her in the past? Then again, maybe Alex was right. But her child, her only child was in there with that monster.
A moan came from the back seat. Dan thrashed around and sat up, his eyes confused.
Alex frowned at him, then at Rachel.
“Dan Trotter,” she said, the words spat out like bitter water. “Jeff’s dad. He was . . . out of it. We can’t take him in there with Jabril. He’ll be useless.”
“We’ll put him in the camper, too. He can look after Sam.”
“I am not useless,” Dan said, anger in his voice. “Just because I’m not Sam. Besides, I found the key to the GMO foods, didn’t I? There is something you should know about them.”
Chapter 55
Damn it, damn it, damn it! Rachel thought. Her baby could at any moment be raped or cut or God knows what by Jabril. And here they were fooling around with Sam, who was gonna die anyhow, and that useless bag of shit, Dan. It was all her fault. She had to fix this.
Rachel shook her head as if mosquitos were biting her ears. Jesus, she was an unfeeling bitch. Of course she had to help Sam. And Dan who had lost it again, thinking his son Jeff was dead; Dan who had the codes, the codes to stop Jabril from getting those poisonous GMO foods into the mouths of the world, all those hungry idiots that ate and ate and ate all the wrong foods. Those stupid ants that she and Sam and Alex had always wanted to save and protect and—
No way.
“All right,” she said. “Come on.”
Alex gingerly lifted Sam from the front seat and started walking toward the camper. She laid the Glock on top of the dashboard, and yanked and wrestled Dan out of the back seat, almost throwing him onto the ground beside the car.
She slammed the back door, jumped in the front, slammed that door, started the engine and mashed the accelerator. She had the Glock and M4. Alex would understand. He could get through the wall without her. But her baby might not survive if she waited one second longer.
The tires spun, spitting dirt. Dan’s arm rose to protect his face. She spun the steering wheel to the left, a wide enough arc to miss Dan and the camper. Don’t look at Alex. If she did, she would surely stop.
She drove away from the building, then spun the wheel to the right, a tight arc this time. The tires spun and gripped and she rocketed at the wall of the building.
The hood hit the wall and the car popped through.
Jabril was dead ahead, facing away from her. Distant camouflaged soldiers walked toward him.
She mashed the accelerator all the way down. Mangle his mutated body all over this—
She saw Jeff and Alexis, also dead ahead. Shit!
She swerved right; the wheels skidded. She’d turned too much. The car slid, driver’s side toward Alexis and Jeff.
Jabril would not kill Alexis. She would. She would smash her car into her daughter and crush her in an instant. Her only child and—
Now she knew the horror and pain Dan Trotter had felt when he thought he’d killed his son.
No!
She spun the steering wheel left, eyeing Alexis and Jeff, their limp bodies, wondering if they were already dead. The wheels screeched; the car straightened; Rachel craned her head out the window and watched the left rear bumper brush Alexis’s hair. Her head didn’t move.
Rachel breathed and turned her attention back to Jabril. He was running toward her. The soldiers were closer. Ahead of her were cages and a Plexiglas-enclosed computer room with a chair.
/> She jammed on the brake.
The car skidded and thumped into cages. Grain and mice sprayed onto the windshield. The car stopped, hood only inches from the enclosed computer room. She leaned far to the right and grabbed the M4 from the floorboard while opening her door with her left hand. She snatched the Glock from the corner of the dashboard with her left hand and shouldered the door open. Knife-like pain screamed from her left shoulder. She gritted her teeth and got out.
Those hours on the target range she had practiced with both hands, first the left with the Glock, then the right. But never had she worked the Glock in the left and an M4 in the right. The carbine was heavy. Her left shoulder was bad. This was not going to work. She stuck the Glock in her front belt line, hard and uncomfortable but handy. Now she could use the power and two-handed accuracy of the M4.
Jabril knelt by Alexis, his right hand bristling with four gleaming claws poised at the base of her skull. “The codes for her life.” Jabril’s deep baritone pulsed and filled the building and Rachel’s head. If she waited a few more minutes, those soldiers coming up the aisle would be there to help her and Jabril would be toast. But he still had her baby.
As if he heard her thoughts, he drew the claws down Alexis’s slender white neck. Four crimson lines started to blur with the drips of blood.
“The codes, Rachel. Now.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Yes you do.”
She hung her head down. First the rape, then stab to her shoulder, and now her daughter at his mercy—he held all the cards. It was too much. She began weeping, pushing out words between sobs. “I wish I did . . . I wish I did.” Her shoulders shook and her head bobbed with each spasm of grief. Tears and mucus dripped and hung from her nose.
Dan’s exclamation before the car had turned over came back: I’ve got it. The codes. I got ’em all. His voice had been the squeak of a small boy who’d discovered all the Christmas presents. If only she’d listened to him before she’d tore out of there in her desperate hurry to save Alexis.