Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2)

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “Why are we sneaking in the back?” Mara asked.

  “We’re not sneaking. But it’s easier going in this way,” Bohannon said.

  As they crossed the parking lot and approached, Bohannon waved a badge at the guard who opened the door with a key card. It appeared to be an emergency exit, not a standard entrance—even for employees of the hospital. The trio headed directly into a narrow institutional hallway with two doors on the left, each with a bright blue sign, one displaying a stick figure of a man, the other a woman. On the right were a couple metal swinging doors under a small sign that read Supplies. Ahead, brighter light spilled out of a larger corridor that ran perpendicular to this hall and bustled with much more activity.

  “Come on. I want you guys to stay close to me. Do not touch anyone. Do not talk to anyone. Is that clear? That includes the hospital staff. If anyone talks to us, let me do the talking. Is that clear?”

  Ping nodded. “We understand, Detective.”

  Mara swallowed and tried to get her stomach to stop clenching.

  When they got to the end of the hall, they took a right into the larger corridor, which was lined with heavy wooden doors, each bearing a small numbered plaque. They had entered the hospital between patient rooms without passing any check-in desks. Dozens of whispers echoed in the corridor, prompting Mara to look over her shoulder. At the opposite end of the corridor stood a knot of perhaps thirty people in front of a nurses’ station. The tone of the voices seemed urgent, more like discontented murmuring than hushed consultations with concerned loved ones, maybe a mob in the making.

  They passed two doors on the right and stopped in front of the third. The door was emblazoned with a sign that read Quarantine—Authorized Personnel Only. Glancing down the hall, Mara noticed several doors had the same sign.

  Bohannon pushed against the door, and Ping grabbed his arm. “Detective, should we be going in there? Is it safe?”

  “As long as you don’t touch anyone or anything, you should be fine. Just do what I said. Observe. Don’t talk or touch anything.” He shifted his weight against the door and it slid out of his path.

  Mara glanced doubtfully at Ping but followed Bohannon.

  Inside, they found a small generic hospital room with a single bed, occupied by a man in his thirties. He was attached to several monitors but not to anything that helped him breathe or provided any kind of medicine, which struck Mara as surprising given the state of the man.

  “Oh, my God,” Mara said. “What is wrong with him?”

  Blackened cracks ran down the man’s skull, across his face and down his neck. His slate-colored skin appeared puckered and curled away from the fissures. Mara glanced down at his hands, laying on his chest over the sheet that covered him, and saw the same jagged tears running from the backs of his hands and up his arms. Small pieces of skin had sloughed off onto the bedding.

  The cracks subtly widened and narrowed as the man breathed, answering Mara’s next question before she could give it voice. He was alive.

  “Is he asleep?” Ping asked.

  “The doctors think he is in some type of coma, but they aren’t sure. They say his brain patterns are unusual, not like anything they’ve ever seen before.”

  “Who is he?” Mara asked.

  “This is Jeff Maddox, the security guard at the bank. The one you saw on the video.”

  “Is this somehow related to the events we saw on the video?” Ping asked.

  “Nobody really knows. The video was shown to the doctors, but they don’t know what to make of it. They say that this guy’s vital signs—heartbeat, blood pressure—are all normal for the time being. But they don’t think it is going to stay that way. He’s in this coma. His brain patterns are all scrambled, and he appears to be slowly decomposing.”

  “Decomposing? You mean he is rotting away, even though he’s still alive?” Mara said.

  Bohannon nodded. “That’s how they describe it. They say he is not decomposing as quickly as a cadaver would, but there are some differences.”

  “Differences, what do you mean?” Ping asked.

  “Well . . .” Bohannon grimaced. “There’s no bloating or smell. Yet. They say that may come later.”

  Ping walked up to the man’s bedside. “How long has this been going on? When did this man first report symptoms?”

  Bohannon tensed. “Please be very careful not to touch him.”

  “Believe me, Detective, I have no intention of touching him, but why are you so concerned about it? Do you have reason to believe his condition is contagious?”

  On the bed, the man’s arm fell from his chest to his side. Mara’s eyes widened for a second, and, as she was about to relax, she saw a finger twitch.

  “He moved. He just moved his finger!” She pointed and looked to Bohannon. “Has he done that before?”

  “I don’t kn—”

  The man’s eyes snapped open. The irises remained black, bleeding into his pupils, making his eyes look like bottomless pits scooped out of dead white stones. He tilted his head and slid his eyes to the side as if trying to steal a glance at the room without being noticed. Turning upward, the corner of his mouth crinkled the parched skin of his cheek.

  Mara sensed guile.

  He did not acknowledge them but spoke in a deep, sonorous baritone, perhaps to himself. “I survive,” he lisped lightly. “I am Legion.”

  “Lord, have mercy,” Bohannon said.

  A woman’s piercing scream, a primal sound of agony, reverberated from the corridor, sending shivers down Mara’s spine and causing her to turn toward the door. When she turned back around, the security guard’s eyes were closed, apparently back in his coma. Mara wrapped her arms around herself trying to push away the chill that tried to overcome her.

  “What was that he said?” she asked.

  “I believe it may have been a reference to a quote in the Bible,” Ping said. “I’ve heard that before. ‘I am Legion.’”

  “Actually the quote is ‘My name is Legion, for we are many,’” Bohannon said. “I’m the son of a Baptist preacher. Believe me, I know. It’s the story in the book of Mark about Jesus casting out multiple demons from one man into a herd of pigs.”

  “Is this man religious?” Ping asked.

  “I’ve no idea. If he’s delirious, he could be randomly remembering some old memorized Bible verses. Maybe he believes he’s possessed by a demon or something.”

  “If that’s the case, it would be odd for him to misquote it like that if it was purely a random memory,” Ping said.

  “It’s just a thought. I’ve no idea. I can check into his background a little to see if he had any particular religious affiliations or beliefs, but I don’t think that will help address the issue at hand.”

  “And what, specifically, is the issue at hand?” Mara asked.

  Bohannon looked directly at her. “This man is not the only person who has been afflicted with this condition. It appears to be spreading and very quickly.” He pointed to the door. “All of those doors you saw in the hallway with signs on them? Behind each one is another patient, each one in some stage of whatever is afflicting this man.”

  “So it is contagious?” Ping asked.

  “It appears to be passed by physical contact, and the security guard seems to be Patient Zero. He’s the most advanced case, and it appears to be spreading exponentially starting with him.”

  “How many people have been affected?” Mara asked.

  “We don’t know. Every hospital in the area is reporting cases. They are beginning to implement federal pandemic protocols, and the news is going to break any minute now.”

  Another scream erupted in the corridor. This time it was closer, right across the hall, and accompanied by scuffles and calls for help. Bohannon opened the door leading into the corridor to find a couple orderlies restraining a woman who was crying and waving her arm in the air. In her hand she grasped a small smartphone.

  “Help her, help my baby!” she screamed. “Lo
ok at this! Get the doctor to look at this!”

  She flung the phone at the wall next to the doorway where Bohannon stood. He bent down and picked it up, intent on returning it to the woman, but the orderlies had succeeded in pushing her into a nearby room. Glancing down at the tiny screen in his hand, the detective saw an image of a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, clearly suffering from the same affliction as the bank security guard. A transparent video Play icon was transposed over the image.

  “See?” Bohannon turned the screen toward Mara and Ping. “This is affecting dozens, maybe hundreds of people.” He raised his finger to point to the image and inadvertently tapped the screen.

  The image moved, and, on screen, the little girl’s eyes slid sideways in the sly way the security guard’s had, and she said in a deep, unnatural baritone, “I survive. I am Legion.”

  CHAPTER 34

  After Bohannon dropped them off on Woodstock Boulevard, Mara headed to the shop door and turned back when Ping followed her instead of going to the bakery.

  “Don’t you have to relieve Sam? He’s got his lessons, doesn’t he?” she said while unlocking the door.

  “He’s got a few more minutes before he has to leave.” Ping followed her into the dark shop, closing the door behind him.

  Mara flipped on the lights, hung up her coat and flipped the Open sign to face outward on the door’s window. “Let me get my act together here, and then you can download your thoughts on our excursion to the hospital.” She walked into the back office and returned after a moment with a tray of cash which she shoved into the antique register after pressing a button, causing a No Sale flag to appear in the little window mounted to the top. She slammed the cash draw closed and looked up. “Okay, spill.”

  “It appears this Dr. Prado released some type of pathogen when he died at the bank,” Ping said.

  “It appears so,” Mara said.

  “Do we need to have another of those conversations where I have to convince you that you should get involved because of your unique role in these events?”

  “I wasn’t being obstinate. I was agreeing with you, waiting for you to suggest a course of action.”

  “I’m not sure what, if anything, we can do.”

  “Do you think there is a possibility that the authorities have the means to contain this pathogen, as you call it?”

  “I don’t know. It appears to be more elaborate than a simple virus. You heard that voice come out of the security guard and the little girl on the phone. That was the same voice, and it makes me think there is some kind of presence at work here. Those facts—taken in conjunction with the strange black mist and the ghost images on the bank video—lead me to think something more is happening.”

  “A presence? It occurred to me as we were driving back that the voice was a deep one, definitely a man’s voice. I was relieved that it wasn’t a little kid yelling, ‘I’m coming, Mar-ree, I’m coming!’” she said.

  Ping perked up a little. “Do you think the two are related? That had not even occurred to me.”

  Mara shrugged. “How would I know? When I hear two strange voices coming from odd places in a relatively short period of time, I guess I can’t help but think they are related.”

  “Perhaps. I need to get back to the bakery and send Sam on his way. I’ll give it some thought. Could you forward that link Bohannon sent you of the bank video? I’d like to watch it again to see if it gives me any insight into what is going on. Let’s hope the authorities can contain this thing, whatever it is. If not . . .”

  “I know. I know. We’ll have to do something about it.”

  * * *

  Not able to concentrate long enough to actually work on any repair jobs, Mara spent the bulk of the afternoon dusting and cleaning the shop. It was beginning to look like it had snowed inside. Everything had a thick gray film covering it. When she got to the shelf below the counter, she lifted the plastic basket containing Buddy’s newly built cell phone. Odd, it has been four days since he dropped it off, and he hasn’t even bothered to call to check on it. Mara couldn’t remember a time when he was willing to go that long without talking to his dead father via the enchanted phone. He simply wouldn’t. She grabbed the phone and placed it on the counter. As she reached for the black rotary phone next to the register, it rang.

  “Hello, Mason Fix-it shop. This is Mara. How can I help you?”

  “Mara, it’s Mom. Are you okay?” She sounded worried.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Why are you calling me on the landline? You always call me on my cell phone.”

  “There’s a recording that says all the circuits are busy. I can’t get ahold of your brother on his phone, and I’m worried to death. Have you seen the news?”

  “I don’t watch television while I’m working, Mom. What’s up?”

  “They are reporting that there is some kind of epidemic sweeping across Portland. Have you heard about that?”

  “Detective Bohannon stopped by this morning and mentioned it, but I didn’t get the impression it had reached epidemic proportions already. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating a little?”

  “The local televisions stations have preempted their regular programming to have their anchors sit around talking nonstop about it, not that they have any real information to convey. I want you to run over to Mr. Ping’s and see if he has a landline number for Mrs. Zimmerman. I want to talk to Sam and make sure he’s okay. Then I want you to go pick him up and come home, right now.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”

  “Go get your brother and come straight home. Do you understand?”

  “All right, all right. I want to make one pit stop on the way. I need to check on Buddy. I’ve had his phone for more than four days, and I’ve not heard a word from him. His place is on the way, and I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “No more delays. Brother, Buddy, then home. Got it?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Mara dropped the receiver into its cradle. She pulled the till and walked to the back of the shop.

  Bruce stood at the worktable, straining to bend a piece of metal, apparently a part of the disassembled bicycle spread across the floor.

  “Hey, I’m taking off a little early. My mom is freaking out about something she heard on the news.”

  Bruce looked up. “Oh, she’s heard about the shedding.”

  Mara stopped in front of the small office. “The what?”

  “That’s what they’re calling it on the radio. It’s a disease that makes your flesh shed off your body. Reporter on the radio interviewed someone who said it makes people look like zombies. Can you imagine?”

  “Zombies. That’s ridiculous.” She shoved the money tray into the tiny cabinet below the desk and slammed the door shut. “Just what I need.” As she walked out front, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll lock up out here. You should go home soon before it gets dark. You don’t want to get your brains eaten.”

  As she walked outside, she noticed there was virtually no traffic. Odd. She looked at her watch. Three o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday in a neighborhood business district, there should be cars and pedestrians going every which way. Yet there was almost none. She jogged over to Ping’s and opened the glass door. He walked through the swinging doors and stood behind the counter.

  “Oh, it’s you. I haven’t had a customer since this morning. It’s completely dead,” Ping said.

  “My mother called and wants to get Mrs. Zimmerman’s landline phone number if you have it. The cell networks apparently are overwhelmed, and she’s freaked-out that she can’t get ahold of Sam.”

  “I’ve got the number back here in the office. Why the urgency?” Ping said, waving for Mara to follow him.

  “The news is out about Prado’s pathogen, as you like to call it. Mom says they are doing nonstop coverage on the news, and she has ordered me and Sam home, but first I need to give her this number so she can check on Sam.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead
and run over to Mrs. Zimmerman’s? I’ll call your mother with the number. So you can be on your way. Is it really that bad, or do you think it’s getting overblown by the press?”

  “You saw the bank guard in the hospital. If they got a good look at him, not to mention any video, their ratings would go through the roof. Overblown? You bet. But I still have a freaked-out mother to mollify, so I’ll talk to you later.”

  CHAPTER 35

  In the few minutes it took Mara to drive over to Mrs. Zimmerman’s, traffic had suddenly intensified to rush-hour levels. It was as if the entire city had decided to go home early at the same time. Probably some sort of mass hysteria brought on by the news reports of the spreading disease, the so-called shedding.

  Sam stood outside the stately Victorian house waiting by the sidewalk, so Mara didn’t even have to park. She swung the car up to the curb and popped the lock on the passenger door. Her brother tossed a book bag into the back and flopped into the passenger seat.

  “What is Mom so freaked-out about? You would think I was completely incapable of taking care of myself in a pinch. I mean, look where I came from. It wasn’t exactly Disneyland,” he said.

  “If you are going to hang out in this family, get used to being protected and nurtured, even if you don’t need it,” Mara said, pulling away from the curb. “We’re stopping by Buddy’s to make sure he’s okay before we head south. I’ve not heard from him in a few days, and that’s kind of odd considering I have the phone his father gave him.”

  “What’s the big deal anyway? Mrs. Zimmerman wouldn’t let me turn on the television until I finished my lessons. Then Mom called and said you were coming to pick me up.”

  “I’m not sure. It looks like one of the passengers from the flight may have released some sort of sickness that is spreading throughout the city. The news broke a couple hours ago, and now I think people are freaking out.”

  “The guy who turned into a bug during the bank robbery?”

  “We’re thinking it might have been his accomplice, the one who got shot by accident. It looks like the security guard who shot him was the first one to get this illness.”