Brothers in Stone (Stone Soldiers #2)

by Martin, C. E.

  Jimmy stopped chewing. Feel what he could feel? Or what Josie was feeling? He didn’t like the sound of that. How much touching had this Victor guy been doing on Josie?

  Another guest walked up to the table, setting her tray down and pulling out the chair beside Jimmy. Agent Keegan, wearing a tight Army t-shirt and too-short athletic shorts.

  “Thanks for waiting for me,” Keegan said. She had salad on her plate, and a bottle of water.

  Josie noticed Jimmy was staring at Keegan’s ample chest. Keegan’s t-shirt and shorts looked several sizes too small, despite the fact the petite blonde was probably one of the smallest women in the building.

  “Nice shirt,” Josie said. Now she realized Keegan wasn’t wearing a bra either.

  “Not a lot of choice in clothes around here,” Keegan said. “I can’t wait until Colonel Grumpybutt lets me off lock down so I can go into town.”

  Jimmy laughed at the remark.

  Keegan looked over at Jimmy, sizing him up, then all the food on his tray. A half finished burger, an order of fries and even a slice of pie. Plus it looked like he’d already eaten one burger and some fried chicken. “See, Victor. This guy knows how to eat.”

  Victor was avoiding eye contact with Keegan. He was clearly cowed by the little blonde. He opened up his crackers and crushed them before putting them into his soup.

  “Your last meal, and you’re eating soup?” Josie asked, incredulous.

  “He’s lactose intolerant,” Keegan said around a mouthful of salad. She was chewing with her mouth open and wolfing down her salad in a very unladylike manner.

  Victor shrugged. “I couldn’t really think of anything else to get.”

  “The cheeseburgers are good,” Jimmy said, taking a bite. He was still staring at Keegan. And her chest.

  “Jimmy, he said he’s lactose intolerant,” Josie said, rolling her eyes. “That means he can’t have dairy products—like cheese.”

  “And ice cream,” Keegan said. Salad dressing was dribbling down her chin. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, then licked the dressing off, her mouth still full of salad.

  “You can’t eat ice cream?” Josie was horrified. She loved ice cream. “Have you ever had any?”

  Victor ate a spoonful of soup, swallowing it before talking. “Not that I can ever remember.”

  “You’ve never had any on my watch.”

  Josie picked her spoon up and licked both sides clean, then she scooped up some ice cream and fudge. “Try this,” she said, moving the spoon over to Victor’s mouth.

  The shy postcog leaned back, away from the spoon. “I don’t think I should.”

  Keegan took a drink of her water. “Girl’s right, Victor. Live a little. It’s one bite. You’ll survive.”

  Jimmy watched in horror as Josie fed the spoonful of ice cream to Victor. Josie never, ever ate after anyone, or let anyone else eat after her.

  Victor smiled at the taste of the ice cream. Or was he smiling at Josie?

  Josie scooped out another spoonful. “C’mon, just a couple more. Who knows if you’ll ever get to do this again.”

  Victor looked to Keegan, as if for permission.

  “It’s your body. If you want to spend the last few hours of your human life on the crapper, suit yourself.”

  Victor looked back to Josie, who nodded for him to eat. He opened his mouth and she again put in a spoonful of ice cream.

  Jimmy was red-faced now. He put down his burger and stood up. “I’m full.”

  Keegan looked at him carefully, noting his anger.

  Jimmy stormed away from the table.

  “What’s wrong Jimmy?” Josie asked, scooping up some more ice cream for Victor.

  Keegan wiped her mouth on a napkin and stood up as well. “I’m going to hit the bar, kids. See you tonight.”

  Keegan walked off, after Jimmy.

  “More?” Victor asked Josie. She was sitting there with a perplexed look on her face, her spoon held up, with more ice cream in it.

  ***

  Sunset was only a few minutes away, and Jimmy was ready for it. He felt a little woozy, and maybe a touch sick to his stomach. He wished he’d never found the building’s employee lounge and open bar. It was great that the military treated their employees so well, but Jimmy wished he hadn’t drank so much.

  At least the alcohol made him numb to the cold. It was very cold in the Fountain chamber, especially since he was wearing just some weird lycra swimming shorts and no shirt.

  The worst part of being cold was his head—it was freshly shaved, not ten minutes before, by the Colonel himself. “Because hair doesn’t petrify well” he’d said. Jimmy wished he had a hat.

  Victor was beside him, shivering, dressed the same. The black Captain, Smith, was fine, apparently unaffected by the cold. They were all laying down on the cold, stainless steel tables on the platform that ran over the fountain. Colonel Kenslir, Josie and Keegan watched them from the edge of the pool.

  “What are those for?” Keegan asked, pointing to some eye drops a pretty doctor with long blonde hair was putting in Victor’s eyes. Her name tag identified her as Dr. Parker.

  Jimmy opened his eyes as his Doctor, the older Dr. Crone, moved the drops over his face. The liquid stung a little as it went in.

  “Dilates their pupils,” Kenslir explained. “When they’re petrified their autonomic responses won’t be the same. This way they’ll be able to see in the dark.”

  “What about in the light?”

  “They’ll have to wear sunglasses, or see a lot of white.”

  A third doctor gave Captain Smith his eye drops.

  “Will it hurt—having their eyes dilated?” Josie asked.

  “They won’t feel pain,” Kenslir said. “That’s a little bonus of the process. No pain, ever.”

  “Not even when we die,” Smith said from his table.

  Jimmy was not reassured. And he wanted to know why Victor got the pretty Doctor.

  Each Doctor next gave the three men on the tables a shot in their upper arm. It burned going in.

  “What was that?” Keegan asked. She was asking a lot of questions. And Kenslir could smell the alcohol on her breath. She’d been drinking. A lot.

  “A little of this, a little of that. Think of it like caffeine—it’ll make them alert and focused.”

  Dr. Crone now had a scalpel in her hand, and a syringe. She delicately squeezed the syringe, pumping out a red liquid onto the scalpel. Then she lowered the scalpel to Jimmy’s chest, over his left breast, and made a painful cut, about three inches long.

  “Agh!” Jimmy yelled. It burned.

  “What the hell is that?” Keegan demanded.

  “Werewolf blood,” Kenslir said.

  “You infected them with werewolf blood?” Josie asked. She didn’t even know werewolves existed.

  “It’s not a disease. It’s a curse. If you have your blood spilled by a werewolf, and survive, then you become cursed.”

  Keegan looked at Kenslir as if he were crazy. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Where’d you get the blood?” Josie asked.

  “Me.”

  “You’re a werewolf?” Keegan asked. Maybe she was a little too drunk, but that really interested her.

  “I got bit, a long time ago.”

  “Why do we need it?” Jimmy asked. The cut was burning and leaking out a fair amount of his own blood. Dr. Crone was carefully looking at the watch on her wrist.

  “Keeps us from being turned all the way to stone,” Smith said on the table beside him.

  Jimmy looked over at Victor. He was pissed to see Victor had just the tiniest prick on his chest, maybe a quarter inch long. And Dr. Parker was holding his hand and rubbing his forehead.

  “How the hell did you figure that out?” Keegan demanded. She wanted some more drinks. Maybe with the Colonel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Captain Mark Kenslir had been surprised to wake up in the evening of March 20, 1962.
After all, he’d just died that morning. When he was burned to death.

  When he awoke, he was in near darkness. Not complete darkness—there was a faint green glow. It was coming from him. His body was glowing faintly.

  Kenslir looked around and realized he was still trapped under a massive concrete beam and debris. The air smelled like there had been a massive fire. Kenslir remembered that—he remembered burning alive after the explosion in the corridor leading to the Fountain Chamber.

  Strangely he felt pretty good for having been burned over most of his body. In fact, he felt strong. Very strong.

  Kenslir pushed at the massive concrete beam across his chest. He was able to move it aside with relative ease.

  Kenslir sat up slowly in the hallway. Then he suddenly leapt to his feet. Maria! he thought.

  The glow coming from his body wasn’t quite bright enough to see where he was going. He took a few steps, and realized he was barefooted. He reached down to his legs. They were bare. Very quickly he realized his clothes were gone, burnt off by the fire.

  Instead of clothing, he now wore a thick sludge of melted plastic and ash. It clung to him like grease. Beneath the soot-like material, his skin felt unharmed. No sign of any burns or cuts.

  Kenslir took several steps and finally entered the freight elevator where he had last seen his wife. He felt around in the darkness. There was no body. He felt relieved.

  Kenslir stood again and worked his way down the corridor. The corridor that had exploded when he set off a thermite grenade. A grenade intended to kill the basilisk that had escaped the Fountain Chamber.

  Kenslir was worried now. He began to move faster, almost breaking into a run. His eyes were adjusting to the light now. Or rather, the lack of it. He could make out dim shapes. Like that of the still-open door to the Fountain Chamber.

  Kenslir paused at the door, listening.

  Inside the chamber there was a strange sound. A wet, smacking sound. Followed by cracking.

  Kenslir eased around the door.

  By the edge of the Fountain pool, he saw the basilisk. The fifteen-foot long creature, larger than an alligator, was eating—human flesh. Kenslir could see the splayed limbs of its victim, the great spot of blood on the floor. The red-scaled creature, with its bright, red feather mane, had already eaten at least one other person—chewing up their organs and stomach like a tiger. The body was so mutilated, Kenslir wasn’t sure who it was.

  The creature finished and turned to its right.

  There, Kenslir could make out two gray forms, toppled over. Both appeared to be women. One wore a labcoat, the other had on a turtle neck and slacks. Maria—Kenslir’s wife.

  Both women were turned to stone.

  The basilisk looked at the first woman for several seconds. She abruptly turned back to flesh, gasping for air as though she’d been holding her breath. She started to scream. The basilisk pounced on her, its jaws snapping shut on her face. With a twist of its head, it broke the woman’s neck.

  Then it began to eat her, starting with her stomach.

  Kenslir looked around in the darkness. The basilisk hadn’t seen him yet, but there didn’t appear to be any weapons handy. The lab was a wreck—wiring, pipes, even metal walkways twisted and torn, dangling at odd angles. A massive explosion and fire had swept through here as well.

  “Argh!” Kenslir yelled. His body was suddenly wracked with pain and he doubled over. His back arched and his fingers and toes curled up painfully. The green glow coming from his body intensified.

  The basilisk whirled around at the noise and saw Kenslir. It opened its mouth and hissed, and its eyes glowed an unearthly yellow.

  Kenslir felt his canine teeth lengthening. He felt hair sprouting all over his body as his muscles swelled and bulged beneath his skin. At first he couldn’t understand what was happening. Then it hit him.

  It was the curse of the werewolf.

  Kenslir remembered instantly his fight with a werewolf so many years before. Remembered killing the creature after it wounded him. He also remembered this was the day of a full moon.

  Kenslir was confused as pain wracked his body and he began to transform. His own ability to withstand any fey or psionic energy should be keeping this from happening. He had been able to resist the curse for years with no ill effects. Why was it happening now?

  Kenslir heard the skittering of the basilisk’s claws on the tile of the Fountain Chamber floor. It was charging him.

  Despite the intense pain of the slow transformation, Kenslir climbed to his feet. He could feel the claws that had grown from his fingertips, the matted fur now covering his body.

  The basilisk was almost on him.

  Kenslir dodged to the right as the beast closed. He dove down on its back and dug his clawed hands in. His claws punctured the creature’s thick scales and it bellowed in pain.

  The basilisk spun in place, snapping at Kenslir. It chomped down on his left leg, its dozens of tiny, sharp teeth slicing into the meat of his thigh.

  Kenslir clawed at the basilisk’s back. Scales flew off in several directions and the lizard’s blood sprayed out from deep wounds. Kenslir realized he was growling. Like a dog—or rather, a wolf.

  The basilisk twisted its body in a crocodilian-like deathroll. Kenslir was thrown off.

  The Captain rolled to his feet, crouched low, ready to spring.

  The basilisk was turned sideways to him now. Its head swung around and its eyes flashed bright yellow.

  The glow around Kenslir intensified. He felt his muscles, his whole body stiffen, but he did not turn to stone.

  He sprang forward.

  The basilisk was ready. Where its petrifying glare had failed to freeze Kenslir in his tracks, its tail did not fail it. The creature lashed out with the whip-like appendage, catching Kenslir across the chest. The impact drew blood and hurled Kenslir backwards.

  He felt himself flying through the air, then he splashed down into cool water. He had fallen into the Fountain.

  The water around Kenslir churned and boiled, illuminated by his green glow. He felt himself sinking to the bottom of the deep pool. He also realized the pain in his body, brought on by the incomplete transformation into the werewolf, had stopped.

  Kenslir’s feet touched down on the soft silt at the bottom of the Fountain. He pushed off, noticing that the green glow surrounding his body was even more intense now. Almost as bright as daylight.

  Kenslir swam upwards the thirty feet to the surface. But instead of splashing out of the water, he slowed his ascent at the last minute, treading water just below the surface.

  The chamber was illuminated only by the faint glow of the emergency lights and Kenslir’s own green aura. He realized that despite the bright glow coming from his body, his eyes couldn’t see as well as they had moments before.

  He slowly eased his head above the water and looked around.

  The basilisk had gone back to eating its victim. When it finished it would move on to Maria.

  Kenslir grabbed at the edge of the Fountain pool. As he pulled himself clear, the glow from his body faded out. He noticed his claws were gone, as well as the thick werewolf fur. The Fountain had somehow healed him of the curse. He felt stronger now as well. Invigorated.

  He looked down at his arms and legs. They were bulging with muscles—the muscles of the werewolf. He wasn’t completely cured. The basilisk’s bite on his left thigh was gone though. Even the scar on his right forearm, left there by the werewolf years ago, was gone. The stiffness in his limbs from the basilisk’s glare was gone as well.

  The Fountain had healed a lifetime of injuries and aging and partially reversed the werewolf transformation. Which meant he only had a few hours to live.

  Kenslir decided to try again. He charged forward and leapt at the basilisk. He landed squarely on its back.

  The beast thrashed and tried to snap its head back to bite Kenslir. He grabbed at its snout.

  The basilisk closed its mouth, severing the fingers on Kens
lir’s left hand. He jerked the hand back, but held his grip with his right hand. Ignoring the pain of his missing fingers, he looped his left arm under the basilisk’s chin even as he clamped his legs around its middle.

  The lizard roared as Kenslir squeezed with all his might. Then he pulled back on the creature’s head.

  Muscles strained in the lizard’s neck, but it was no match for the strength of the werewolf now in Kenslir’s arms. Tendons stretched and snapped. Vertebrae cracked. With one last vicious pull, Kenslir broke the creature’s neck.

  The life seemed to go out of the basilisk. It went limp under Kenslir, its spine broken. Its sides heaved as it struggled to breathe.

  Kenslir stepped off, backing away from the creature. He couldn’t believe he had done it.

  He looked down at his left hand. It felt strange.

  Where just moments before he had the bloody stumps of four fingers, there now were fully formed, gray, stone appendages. As he watched, the stone fingers lightened in color, turning flesh tone once more. He had regrown his fingers.

  Kenslir moved to his wife, frozen in stone, laying on the ground. When he stood beside her, he was confused that she didn’t turn back to flesh. The accident that had petrified Maria Guerrero just over a year ago had finally taken its hold. No longer could Kenslir cancel out the petrification with his own fey-cancelling presence.

  He knelt beside his stone wife and gently held her hand. A green glow, barely visible, emanated from where their hands touched. The stone of Maria’s hand softened, turning slowly to flesh once more.

  Kenslir recoiled, releasing his wife’s hand. The glow winked out and her hand petrified again.

  His power wasn’t gone, it had been reduced.

  Where he had formerly been able to merely stand within fifteen, sometimes twenty feet of Maria and keep her flesh and blood, now his power was reduced to touch. And as much as he loved his new wife, Kenslir immediately recognized the problem with that. It simply wouldn’t be possible for them to remain in physical contact at all times. Especially now that he’d been in the Fountain. It would soon take back what it had given him. And more. Not only was he doomed, Maria was as well.