Splintered

by Jamie Schultz

“No. I know Van Horn, though. He left with the rest of your fuckin’ people,” he said, directing the words at Sheila.

  “Hey, no need to be a dick about this,” DeWayne said.

  “He’s alive?”

  “How should I know?” Nail asked. “He was when he left, but you fuckin’ people mighta ate him or something by now!” Or Karyn. They mighta eaten Karyn. “Fuck!”

  “Calm down now, okay?” DeWayne said, actually taking a step closer to the line of fire connecting Sheila and Nail, if not actually getting in it. “Hey, how about you two put down your, uh”—he glanced at Sheila’s brick, and quickly away—“weapons, and we just talk through the rest of this? This is all pretty heated, huh? Lots of grievances on both sides. I never seen a situation like that get better with a gun, you feel me? Or a, or a—um. You know.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Nail said. “I got friends in trouble. We gotta get moving.”

  Sheila glanced toward the front of the building, shading her eyes, and for one moment her attention was completely off Nail. Maybe he could make the shot, maybe . . .

  The click of a cocked weapon stilled his hand.

  Sheila’s attention snapped back. DeWayne was training a pistol on her.

  “Hey!” Nail shouted. “That’s my three-eighty!”

  “Drop the brick, sweetheart,” DeWayne said. To Nail, he said, “Sorry. Sounded like you were in trouble.” He looked back at Sheila. “I’m serious, though—we can work this out. You want to find this Van Horn guy, and I guess my brother’s girlfriend is with him, so how about you just put that thing down, and we’ll talk this through? Otherwise . . .” He shrugged. “You’re outgunned.”

  A snarl contorted Sheila’s features, and for a split second Nail was sure she was going to explode in rage, hurl the brick and God knew what else—and then the brick dropped to the ground.

  “Mona,” Sheila said.

  “What?”

  “They’re going to her. Van Horn hates her, and Belial says she must be destroyed. Van Horn says Belial will help us, after.” Anger—hatred—flashed in her eyes.

  “They goin’ there right now?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Shit,” Nail said. “DeWayne, help me up. And you—you’re coming with us.”

  Chapter 23

  “This isn’t her,” Mona said. One finger poked out from her crossed arms and pointed at Genevieve. Mona spoke calmly, but when she stopped, her mouth was small and tight, her eyes bright with fury. Just behind her stood two men Anna hadn’t seen before, both with pistols already in hand.

  “I can explain,” Anna started, though she had no idea how.

  “Don’t.” Mona strode into the room, the two men after. Guy, previously hidden from view, came in last, looking as if he’d just received a shock he’d never recover from.

  Four of them, at least two with guns. Anna thought about going for her own weapon, but there was no way she’d take enough of them down. She might not take any of them down—she was a decent shot on a target range, but this wasn’t a target range, and she’d have to pull some unlikely quick-draw bullshit besides to even get caught up to these guys.

  “I’ll have your prophet whether you want to cooperate or not.”

  “Whether she wants to cooperate or not.”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like Adelaide.”

  “Here’s what happens now,” Mona said. “You and Andy are going to go to get the prophet. If you’re not back within two hours, I’m going to hurt this woman here. If you’re not back in three, I’m going to kill her.”

  “And throw her on the pile?”

  “And throw her on the pile,” Mona said, accompanying the words with a trace of a smile. I’m glad we have an understanding, it said.

  “Why?”

  “Go. You’ve wasted any goodwill you had here. You don’t get to ask any more questions.”

  “Fuck you. I ain’t doing this without answers,” Anna said.

  Mona gave a slight nod, and the bigger of the two guys—Andy?—stepped forward and grabbed Genevieve.

  “Wait!” Anna shouted.

  Too late. The guy spun Gen around and cranked her arm up behind her back, pulling a cry from Genevieve that was half pain, half indignation. She bent at the waist with her left arm twisted behind and the other stretched straight, fingers trembling.

  “Please,” Genevieve said. “Don’t hurt me. We can work something out.”

  “We are working something out,” Mona said.

  Anna raised her hands in front of her. “Don’t do this,” she said. “I’ll get Karyn, okay?”

  “Now you’ve got an hour.”

  Anna nodded, trying to avoid looking directly at Mona, as though making eye contact would only enrage her further. In her peripheral vision, Genevieve twisted around. Something dropped, a little thing, like a little brown, striped button. It bounced a couple of times, then rolled across the floor, finally toppling a few inches from Mona’s foot.

  Guy picked it up.

  “I’m going,” Anna said.

  Mona stepped aside.

  “Ow!” Guy shouted. He stuck his finger in his mouth. The button fell from his hands.

  It had legs, Anna saw. A cluster of spiky black legs, sprouting from the underside. It hit the floor, and an instant later it leaped. A little black star appeared on Mona’s hand.

  “Shit!” she said.

  Then she swayed, staggering back into the doorframe.

  Andy—or whoever—was frozen in shock and confusion, and there wouldn’t be another chance. Anna pulled the gun from the back of her jeans. Andy figured things out a moment too late and started to turn.

  She pulled the trigger. The round caught him high in the neck, and he dropped to his knees, hand over the spurting wound.

  “Run!” Anna yelled.

  Guy fell to the floor with a thud as Anna and Genevieve charged the door. The third guy made as if to intercept, and Anna waved the gun at him, shooting wildly. He threw himself to the side.

  Anna glanced back in time to see Mona collapse.

  “Go!” Genevieve shouted. The last guy got off a few shots, punching holes in the plaster past Anna and blowing a piece of trim off the door casing, and then they were in the next room.

  Anna cut left, trying to remember the path to the front door. Going back through the bodies was unthinkable, as was trying to escape out a window with somebody following her. She ran through the room with the billiards table with Genevieve so close she was worried Gen was going to step on her heels. Then through the next doorway.

  More gunshots, bullets blasting through the wall, and she flinched. Her flashlight bobbled and skewed in front of her, light fracturing off an elaborate light fixture, off a shelf full of crystal. Then they rushed out into the main hall, and it was all Anna could do to stop running into the balcony. She shoved off it and dashed down the stairs. She stumbled at the bottom, but Genevieve grabbed her, the momentum pulling her up and forward before she could fall.

  Another missed shot, and the shouts of at least two men.

  Then they were out, bursting out the front door into—?

  “Ohhhh, fuck!” Anna cried. There were half a dozen people out here, including one very familiar face—a man in a worn pin-striped suit. He’d recovered his hat, and he was grinning like a fiend.

  Anna cut left just as Genevieve, to her left, cut right, and they fell all over each other, going down in a mess of bruised knees and swinging elbows. Something bony—chin? elbow? head?—rammed into Anna’s jaw, sending her reeling.

  A number of people rushed out the front door in pursuit—Anna couldn’t see how many, could barely keep from falling off the world, she was so dazed. All she knew was that there was a scream, and somebody caught fire, and then Van Horn’s entourage rushed them. The screaming got a whole lot worse. Anna tried to get to her feet, but somebody pushed her back down. She tried to haul her gun around to shoot the bastard, but the weapon was easily slapped from
her hand.

  “Shhh,” Van Horn said. “Just wait.”

  She tried to roll away, but Van Horn planted a foot on her chest.

  The screaming stopped, but the tearing sounds went on for a while.

  At last, Van Horn took his foot off her. “Okay. Can you stand?”

  She lifted her head from the roach-strewn grass. Genevieve was lying on her back a few yards away, still breathing hard from the run. She seemed okay. Anna looked the other way, then wished she hadn’t.

  “Yeah, I think so.” She got up. That dazed feeling had dissipated some, but her head wasn’t totally clear yet.

  “How many more?” he asked.

  “I—how many more what?”

  “Men. In the house.”

  “Mona’s dead,” Genevieve said.

  “She fell down,” Anna said. “I don’t know if she’s dead. Where’s Karyn? Nail?”

  Genevieve shook her head, rolling it on the disgusting, locust-covered lawn. “Mona’s dead. The other guy, too.”

  “That’s six, then.” Van Horn’s voice oozed smug satisfaction. “Bastards. How many left?”

  “Where are Karyn and Nail? Are they okay?”

  “Sit up,” Van Horn said.

  Anna did. Karyn, she saw, was right next to Van Horn, some guy holding her by her upper arm. She looked okay. Out of it, but okay. Anna’s first response was relief, but it was quickly flushed away as she appreciated the situation.

  “Where’s Nail?”

  “Back at your lovely base of operations, I suppose. How many men are left inside?”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s alive, or was when we left. How many men?”

  “I don’t know.” She caught another glimpse of the aftermath of the feeding frenzy, and her stomach roiled. She wanted to turn away but feared presenting her back to the blood-streaked psychos now lounging on the lawn. One of them tossed a fragment of bone in her direction. It fell short and skittered along the sidewalk.

  “Rain, Antawn, Jude—come with me. The rest of you, throw these bodies inside. We need to get out of here as soon as I take care of something. Ladies,” he said, gesturing at Anna and Genevieve. “Take me to Mona.”

  “Nail might need help.”

  “Too bad for him. Now, Mona.”

  Anna could resist, she supposed. Make it as hard as possible. Make a run for it. And then what? Even if both she and Gen got away, somehow outrunning the mob and their twisted magic, Karyn would be stuck here. And if they didn’t both get away, the outcome would be even worse. Mona had been willing to make an example of Genevieve. These people would probably just eat her and make Anna watch.

  “Can I have my gun?”

  Van Horn gave her a deadpan look. “Oh, you won’t need that. You’ll be quite safe with us.”

  Anna led them back into the house. The stink seemed less severe now—she was actually getting used to it, as unlikely as that seemed. You really could get used to anything, she supposed. Van Horn propelled Karyn along behind Anna. At first, Anna thought that was just to remind her that he was in control, but she wondered about that. Van Horn was solicitous with Karyn. Careful. Gentle, even. Maybe he was afraid to leave her alone with his guys, in case they got hungry.

  The trip seemed shorter, now that she knew where she was going, but at every new room, she was acutely aware that she entered first, that anybody who remained would have to shoot the others through her, and they’d be only too happy to do so. She briefly entertained a grimly satisfying fantasy—she would duck a bullet, a miracle of reflexes, and it would blow the top of Van Horn’s head off.

  No such luck. They reached the back rooms without seeing a sign of another living body. Mona lay just inside the doorway she’d collapsed near, unmoving. Van Horn regarded her still form for a moment, then rolled her over and started checking her pockets.

  “Seriously?” Anna said.

  “Be quiet.” He stood, empty-handed, a frown creasing his face. Then he started rifling through the shelves.

  “I’ve been through the shelves,” Anna said.

  He whirled on her, teeth bared. “And what did you find?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No?”

  “Really. Just a bunch of shit. You wanna go through my pockets?”

  Van Horn made a disgusted noise in his throat and kept searching. Anna shone the light around. What had killed Mona? Genevieve had done . . . something. It was creepy. She thought of Gen’s insistence that she come with on this trip, and pulled her thoughts back. There would be time to consider that later. Right now it was too upsetting, and she needed to concentrate.

  Mona looked peaceful, so there was that.

  Movement caught Anna’s eye. There. A wet black splinter stuck out from under the dead woman’s thumbnail. As Anna watched, it pushed itself out and fell to the floor. It was covered in blood, though only a drop or two had fallen on the floor nearby.

  What the hell?

  Van Horn gave up on the shelves. He turned a slow circle, scanning the room. Finally, he plucked a short gray hair from his head. He held it between his left thumb and forefinger and said a few words over it.

  “More light,” he said.

  Anna held the flashlight on his hand, desperately wanting to shine it back over at the toothpick on the floor, yet terrified to draw attention to it. The hair was a tiny silver filament in the beam. As she watched, it bent over.

  “Come on,” Van Horn said. Somebody shoved her. Van Horn followed the direction the hair was leaning, through a doorway into the next room. Raul pushed Karyn after.

  What the hell? Anna mouthed to Genevieve. Gen tightened her lips into a line and just nodded after Van Horn.

  Behind them, somebody dropped on all fours to Mona’s corpse.

  In the next room, Van Horn was already pulling a little glass vial out of a jewelry box. He held it up to Anna’s flashlight. Inside was a blackened incisor, root and all. The hair in Van Horn’s other hand, Anna could see, was pointed right at it, quivering.

  “It’s your fucking tooth?” Genevieve said.

  Van Horn’s eyes darted toward Genevieve. “That’ll be our little secret. If you don’t mind.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on my side. You should probably take a lesson from me. Now, Anna. I need you to call Enoch Sobell.”

  “No.”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Call Sobell, or I’ll sew a weasel up in your belly. Or Karyn’s. Or whatever threat you find motivating.”

  “I can’t just call him. I don’t have his number.”

  “Contact him. You must have a contact.”

  “Yeah, fine.” She bounced a sullen glare off him. Might as well have kissed him on the cheek. “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him Forcas would like a word with him. Or just give me the phone.”

  “I told you, I can’t just call him. All I can do is pass the message along.”

  “Do it.”

  She flipped open her phone, squinting at the light from the screen. The others around her stirred restlessly, grumbling to themselves.

  She dialed Nail. He picked up halfway through the first ring. “Jesus, Anna, I’m glad—”

  “I need you to get a message to Mr. Sobell,” she said, voice carefully neutral.

  “Uh, what? Hey, we got problems here. Van Horn’s loose with his army of freaks, and he’s got Karyn—”

  “Tell him Van Horn would like a word with him. Right now. Have him call my cell.”

  “Forcas,” Van Horn said. “Forcas would like a word with him.”

  “Right. Sorry. I meant Forcas would like a word with him. Have him call my cell, please. I’m sure he has the number.”

  She hung up. Nail would get the message, she was sure. Whether he’d be able to do anything about it before Van Horn’s traveling circus needed a midnight snack was another issue.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now we move.” He clapped
his hands together. “My friends! Let us seek out our companions elsewhere.”

  “Uh, shouldn’t we wait? Sobell might call back.”

  “I hear you can take your phone with you these days. Now move.”

  She walked back into the library. Two of Van Horn’s psychos had been at Mona, but they rose now. The black toothpick would have been just to the right. All she had to do was get to it, maybe fake a fall and palm it. Get it to Karyn later.

  She took a few steps and then lurched forward. Her knees hit the floor; her hand fell forward. The toothpick was right around here somewhere. She reached out for it.

  So did Karyn.

  * * *

  Karyn didn’t know where she was. Somewhere different, she thought, if only because much of what she’d seen lately had taken place under open sky rather than inside, and because she’d been standing in the same place for a while. Usually, they sat her down if they weren’t directly exercising her. She tried to enjoy this now. It was different, after all. She had friends here, in some of the visions. That was nice. Nail. Genevieve. Anna. Good to see them, even if it was impossible to interact with them in any meaningful way.

  She was watching the demolition of a sprawling two-story house, when an image flickered to life in her mind. It was unclear—fuzzy, in a way. It had the same feel as a TV screen covered in snow and flickering lines, though it didn’t look that way at all. It was out of focus. It had pieces missing.

  For all that, the vibe it gave off was familiar, and the object of the image itself very familiar. A toothpick, black. On a wood floor. Next to something that might be a body. She put her hand out, saw movement, an irregular shape that could be her hand.

  She went for it. Anything was better than this. Dropped to her knees, reached her hand out, and—

  “Shit!” Just as before, she’d been reaching for the thing when it stabbed her. Her left thumb this time, and right under the nail.

  Instantly, the image became clear. Awesomely, 1080p H.D. clear, right down to an arc of light reflected in the bead of blood flowing over her lifeline.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. Nothing good, she knew that much. The scene earlier, all the violence—it might not have gone down exactly the way she’d envisioned, but it had happened. Something had. She had a memory of being urged to move, a sense of acceleration. Car, almost certainly.