Lost Cargo

by Hollister Ann Grant

  “I found that out, too. When I tried to shoot it, it wouldn’t go off, so I turned back.”

  “Where’s the gun?” he asked her.

  “It was in my bag. It’s gone. So you won’t go with me to look for Burke again.”

  “I told you, Lexie, the alien that pilots the black triangle can’t let Burke go right now because he’s injured—”

  She held her hands up. “Stop. Just stop it. I don’t believe you. I don’t believe anything you’re saying. I’ll tell you what he’s doing. He’s keeping Burke a prisoner. And there is no tracker—you would have told me about it.”

  “Come on, I’m not making anything up. It’s the truth. I feel for you, and I feel for your brother, but I can’t go back in the woods again.”

  “You’re a coward, Travis,” she said.

  Stunned, Travis headed for the door. He stared ahead while the cab rumbled over to the good old Giant Food on Connecticut Avenue, where he paid the driver to wait. He bought a jumbo bag of ripple potato chips and sour cream dip and went home.

  “A coward,” he said, repeating Lexie’s words for the hundredth time. He’d spent the night risking his life for her, but she hadn’t noticed that. Halfway through the potato chips, he reread Tom Feldman’s letter and tossed it in the trashcan. There was no point in keeping the letter. He could never give it to her.

  Cold gray daylight rolled around. Lisa and Ian’s moving day. When he met up with his sister, she threw him a wicked curveball. “Turns out we’re knee deep in help,” Lisa said with an expressionless face. “So we’re not going to need you after all.”

  Didn’t want him around. Didn’t buy his speech about the place and thought he’d lost it. He looked back at Buchanan House. They were moving in and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

  Miserable, he headed home and stopped one last time on 34th Street. It was still broad daylight. Cars streamed by in both directions. He searched for blood on the pavement, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Are you here?” he called over the traffic. “Say something. Give me a sign.”

  If anybody was watching, they probably thought he was crazy, talking to himself, calling over the grass and peering under the trees. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to pretend he was looking for his dog.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked with a horrible feeling.

  No answer. The horrible feeling grew into full-fledged dread. Maybe the alien was dead. He was about to turn away when he saw a silver glint. There, half-buried under autumn leaves along the curb, lay the tracker.

  Shaking his head, he picked it up and tried to turn it on, but it wouldn’t respond. Maybe a car ran over it, but the tracker didn’t have any marks. It had been lying in the rain all night. Maybe the water had gotten to it somehow, even though it was as hard as a stone.

  “Are you here?” he tried again. “Just say something. Make a sound.”

  Silence. He stared at the cars rushing to the far corners of the city and finally put the tracker in his coat.

  “It’s up to me now,” he told himself. “It’s all in my hands.”

  Chapter 14

  Nocturne

  In the cold early morning hours, the Elemental leaned against the stone rail on the bridge across from the Cleveland Park public library. Memories, flesh, flesh, memories, flesh. Just as before, it drew on the knowledge of the woman it ate near the creek to make sense of the street, and the memories of the mugger, and the cop, and roosting pigeons, the red worms it dug out of the mud, hibernating toads, stray cats, and the fat infant it had found crying beside an open window six floors above the street.

  People rushed in and out of the Metro with coffee, briefcases, and phones, their eyes to the ground. The day drew on. Traffic streamed up Connecticut Avenue, tapered off in midday, and swelled again after three o’clock when the first wave of government workers began to go home. Disquieted by the sunlight, the creature moved under the sycamores leaning over the bridge, where its skin pigment adjusted to the shade. It stood on the bridge so long its huge form faded against the stones.

  Eventually, it noticed the man with the Harley Davidson shirt.

  “One dollah, one dollah, make it two,” Harley chanted after a businessman stuffed a dollar bill in his McDonald’s cup. His patron ignored him and hurried on. Harley coughed, hid the money in his shirt, a black cotton t-shirt with a grinning skull and Harley Davidson logo, and closed his army jacket with hands that were a geographic map of light and dark skin and angry burn scars. He kept begging and made sure the burns were visible. People gave more when they saw them.

  The end of the day came. Foot traffic died back to a trickle. Harley bought two bottles of MD 20/20 at D.C.’s Best Wine & Spirits, slugged some down, coughing, and took the rest of his earnings to McDonald’s, where he ate in front of an icy plate-glass window. Feverish, he hung out for a while, nodding at his table.

  McDonald’s closed. He went back into the cold, guzzled more wine, and followed a familiar footpath awash in streetlight down a dirt embankment into the weeds under the bridge. The wind bit into his skin. His lungs burned. Maybe he had TB. Whatever it was, it was doing its damnedest to eat his body from the inside out. Behind his back windows glowed in the walls of an apartment building enclosing rooms full of warmth and life.

  Harley stumbled along, talking to himself, reliving old fights and psychic wounds, looking for his piss-stained quilt and the big piece of cardboard that kept him off the damp ground. His dirty quilt lay where he’d left it. The wind had blown the cardboard to the other side of the bridge, sent it sailing through arches that framed an abandoned road that once led somewhere and had deteriorated into a nightmarish, cracked asphalt path for homeless men and wild animals.

  Black trees leaned over him. He was picking his way through the shadows to retrieve the cardboard when something shone in the weeds. Moonlight, maybe, or streetlight, or an empty can.

  The shiny thing gleamed again.

  Money, he decided. He leaned over to pick it up and felt his fingers sink into flesh. A trick of the light. Mouth open, full of wine, he staggered back, repulsed. The shiny thing was a silvery-white spot on a big body. An animal, a dog or a deer that must have crawled under the bridge to die. He bent over for a closer look, just to be sure he didn’t miss some change, but it was so dark he couldn’t see anything. Trouble. Better to get away. When he got up, one of his bottles tumbled out of his pocket and hit the weedy asphalt with a heavy thump.

  “Goddamn,” he muttered, feeling around in the dark.

  The last thing that he saw was the terrible face that lunged out of the black weeds.

  Ravenous, the Elemental ripped at the man’s thin neck and bony shoulder until it bit through his sweaty skin and tasted blood. The man was old and ill, though. His tissues were pickled with alcohol and rotten with disease, and after the Elemental mauled the body it spat out the stringy muscle and shards of bone. It moved on and left the corpse’s vacant eyes staring at the stars.

  The creature roamed for miles under the trees until it came out downtown at Farragut Square and Lafayette Park. It searched for more homeless men that tasted better than the last one, but the benches and steam grates along the blocks of government buildings turned out to be empty.

  Then the creature passed through the shadows of Washington’s marble monuments, ignoring them, looking for prey. At the end of the night it found pigeons on the roof of the ABC News building.

  The light changed. The moon faded to a ghostly orb. Dawn spread across the horizon as more cars appeared on the streets. The Elemental slipped into Rock Creek Park, mimicking stones and ground shadows as it covered the miles to its hiding place. It passed through the trees until it came at last to a rocky gorge behind a nine-story building, scaled the branches of a twisted oak, and disappeared inside a vacant condo.

  Chapter 15

  Lisa Mitchell

  “I’ll take these,” Lisa Mitchell said, placing the exquisite shoes on the counter. They had a perfect
curved cut, plus she could get away with wearing them to work. She struggled with her shopping bags and came up with a credit card.

  “But I don’t want the box,” she added. “Just one more box to throw away.”

  “Oh, I understand exactly,” the clerk said.

  “We just moved, and all I’ve done is fight with my husband and throw away boxes. If I threw away half our stuff, we’d never even notice it was gone.”

  So the shoes were too expensive, but she deserved a lift from unpacking and shopping. Whatever else she did today, she had to hang up their clothes. The cats were sleeping on her suits and her good blouses, which were in a heap on top of God only knows what in the guest room. She left the mall two hours later and drove home, wincing at the headache on one side of her face.

  It almost felt like a toothache by the time she keyed in the security code for the Buchanan House garage. She pulled in their reserved space three levels below the street and sat for a moment, thinking about dentists and listening to the metal tick as the engine cooled down.

  Four o’clock. Everybody in the building was still at work. She hated deserted garages, shadowy industrial landscapes with thick pillars that could easily hide someone watching the floor.

  Then there was Travis and his obsession with their building. She’d dismissed the whole thing and even wondered if he should talk to somebody, but now she wasn’t so sure. What if there was something to his fears?

  They’d moved only a few blocks from where the bodies turned up. Animal attacks. She found herself thinking about it every time she ended up in an isolated area. Would anybody help her if something happened down here? How long would it be before they found her?

  She was turning into a basket case like her brother. Get a grip, she told herself. She got out of the car and opened the trunk. The metallic sound filled the quiet. She didn’t have to buy so many things all at once. It would take a couple of trips to get it all upstairs.

  As soon as she shut the trunk, she couldn’t find her keys. Panic seized her. She was certain she’d thrown the keys in her purse, but she didn’t want to stand there and go through everything, so she locked the car and hurried across the oil-stained floor. The cavernous garage amplified her footsteps.

  If an animal is hiding down here, and it wants to get you, it will, a logical little voice in her head said. It doesn’t matter whether you run or walk.

  That isn’t true, another solemn thought argued. Animals can sense fear.

  An animal can’t get in here. The building has a security system.

  Someone closed a car door down the corridor, startling Lisa and ending her internal argument. A man began to walk in her direction. Thirties, good suit, gorgeous BMW. Then he turned back as if he’d forgotten something, peered through the driver’s side window, and pulled the handle, checking the lock.

  A soothing little bell sounded and the elevator opened. Lisa forgot about the man and stepped inside the beautiful elevator, which filled her with pleasure and relief. Mahogany panels, polished brass railings, seashell-pink marble floor, built back in the days when life moved more slowly and people cherished their belongings for a lifetime.

  The bell sounded again. Lisa struggled with her packages across the marble lobby to the concierge, a faded fiftyish woman in pearls behind a massive mahogany counter.

  “Mitchell, number 940,” Lisa said. “Do we have any mail?”

  The concierge shook her perfumed head. “Nothing today.”

  Lisa nodded and moved to go upstairs.

  An enormous woman in a gray wool cape was standing in front of the elevator. The woman was the largest human being Lisa had ever seen, so large that for a few seconds she just stared, unable to stop herself. The woman seemed to have no neck and her head rested on massive shoulders that were completely out of proportion with the rest of her body. She was almost as wide as the two elevator doors. Maybe she was a man, a linebacker. But Lisa had never seen a linebacker that large.

  Or perhaps the woman was ill, suffering from some terrible sickness that had bloated her body beyond recognition. Lisa remembered a nightmarish childhood trip to Key West. Somehow on those hot streets lined with palm trees and houses painted in dreamlike tropical colors, she came down with a high fever and her mother hauled her to a clinic. They were sitting under a ceiling fan in the waiting room when a man with elephantiasis walked in the door. She’d never forgotten the man’s bruised legs swollen to the size of tree trunks.

  But elephantiasis just affected the victim’s legs or arms or some other part of the body, not the whole body all at once. She wasn’t sure about the exact medical details. Or maybe the woman in front of the elevator was just fat. Or a giant. Good God, was she planning to hold the elevator?

  Trying to stall, Lisa turned back to the concierge. “Excuse me, we just moved in.”

  The concierge smiled. “Yes, I know. The Mitchells.”

  “I was wondering if you could recommend a dentist.”

  “As a matter of fact, we have some dentists here in the building.” The concierge pointed to a hall off the lobby. “We have professional offices in that wing. I haven’t used them myself, but some of the residents have.”

  “Thanks,” Lisa said. She let her eyes wander to the elevator. Damn it, the giant was still there.

  She hefted up her shopping bags and found Howell and Associates down the hall. The reception room was a forgettable place with contemporary furniture and nondescript abstract artwork. Large gold letters on the wall spelled out Emerson Howell, DDS, and in smaller letters below, David Lynch, DDS.

  The receptionist idly turned the pages of a People magazine. She was a breasty young woman with long brown hair who wore a low-cut flowered dress with a pink sweater that didn’t match. Not very professional, Lisa decided, but she was being picky.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist said.

  “I’d like to make an appointment,” Lisa said. “I keep having these headaches.”

  The receptionist leaned over the appointment book, showing her bra. “Dr. Lynch could see you tomorrow at ten.”

  “That’s fine,” Lisa said. She took Dr. Lynch’s card and headed back to the lobby.

  The giant was gone. Lisa rode to the ninth floor and struggled with her bags into an empty hall that smelled of paint and new carpet, but didn’t see the contractors. It was after three-thirty and they’d probably gone for the day.

  She went around the corner and gasped at the sight of the giant with her back turned at the end of the hall. Next door to us, of all things. I guess I should say hello, she thought, but something stopped her.

  After the giant disappeared inside her condo, Lisa hurried down the hall and searched her purse for her keys. She couldn’t find them. She must have locked them in the car after all. Damn it, what was wrong with her today?

  On impulse, she tried the door and was surprised when it opened. Left the door unlocked all morning. She shook her head at herself and went inside. Just losing it.

  Ian had taken a cab, so she could use his car key to pick up the rest of the things from the garage. She put everything down on the cluttered living room floor. Even though the place was still a jumble of boxes, it felt good to be home.

  “Kitties, where are you?” she called.

  Shadow was hiding somewhere. He’d picked up a cold, and she was going to have to unearth him to give him a pill. Pie peered around the bedroom door. She was a scrawny brown kitten with big ears they’d adopted a few days ago. Ian had named her for old Pietrowski, his favorite professor from graduate school, a woman with big ears like the kitten’s. Right now Pie’s tail was puffed out and the fur along her back bristled. Spooked for some reason.

  Lisa kneeled down. “What’s the matter with you, sweetheart? Come on, now.”

  The kitten began to purr.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to run down to the car for a minute.” She didn’t have an extra house key, so she left the front door unlocked. Nobody was going to break into the
place in the next five minutes anyway.

  Back in the garage, Lisa hurried across the shadowy corridor. Her keys were in the trunk after all. She shook her head and rode back upstairs with a throbbing headache.

  It was a relief to get inside the condo and put everything down for the final time. The living room was shaping up. The couches and the big armchair by the fireplace looked inviting. They could read a book by the fire or sit back and gaze at the forest. She’d placed the chair so it faced the windows overlooking Rock Creek Park. The woods were breathtaking right now, strewn with late autumn golds and reds. She turned back to look at the room. The place would be perfect once she got rid of the boxes.

  She found some aspirin, stuck Dr. Lynch’s card under a refrigerator magnet, and feeling tired, checked her blood sugar and gave herself a shot of insulin. Then she changed into sweats and frowned at herself in the mirror. She was a pretty woman with chin-length brown hair, wide green eyes, and a kiss of freckles across her nose, but right now she felt as though she was a hundred years old. A brush through her hair and some lip gloss disguised her fatigue. There, at least she resembled a human being.

  “Come on, where are you guys?” she said, peering under the bed.

  Pie sat under there, hunched up in a ball, but there was no sign of the other cat.

  “Where’s Shadow?” Lisa asked. “We moved in here yesterday. You rotten things should be used to the place by now.”

  Quiet. The deep hush in the condo seemed to grow with the late afternoon shadows. She glanced in the guest room and the room they planned to turn into an office and made a mental note to call somebody about curtains. Enough planning. Time for a break. Exhausted, she brewed a cup of green tea and sat down with a cookbook. Maybe she could make some bread in a while. The Irish Soda Bread looked easy enough.

  Somebody was in the condo.

  The feeling gripped her. When it grew so overwhelming that she couldn’t concentrate, she put the cookbook down. The cries of a few faraway birds came through the window, but other than that, the place was completely quiet. She was being ridiculous. She’d been like this all afternoon. How could somebody be in the condo? She’d just gone through the whole place.