by Gavin Green
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Johnny?" the deeper voice asked from further away.
"Have a little faith," Johnny called out. "I used to be a fireman a long time ago; we were trained in this sort of shit." There was a pause, and then he said, "I'm almost ready in here. Once it starts sparkin', there ain't no stoppin' it. And we better be back outside when it goes boom."
"How big of a 'boom' do you mean?" the other one asked. I was wondering the same thing.
"I mean, boom, man," Johnny said with a chuckle. "The pressure of the blast might make manhole covers a couple blocks away shoot in the air. Yeah, like I said - boom."
My nervousness just jumped from mild to holy shit. I had to move and take them down. Stepping out from behind the pipes I saw the flashlight of the one I assumed was Johnny, thirty feet away. I noticed the other beam somewhere further back in the tunnel that separated the electrical room from my recessed area. The guy back there would spot me when I made my move, but that couldn't be helped.
As fast as I could, I charged at Johnny. He never saw me coming. My left shoulder buckled his ribs. The momentum carried us into a big breaker panel. I jumped back and reached for a weapon. To his credit, the guy named Johnny wasn't quite out of it yet. He groaned and wobbled, but started getting to his feet. His flashlight was on the ground, still on, so I could only see his general shape. It was enough.
Johnny never really got the chance to get back up. I snapped my expandable steel baton to full length and beat the shit out of him with it. There wasn't much technique to my attack, but it worked - he was down and out. I heard running footsteps; the other guy was retreating. Kneeling, I grabbed the flashlight and shined it on Johnny, mostly to make sure I didn't fuck him up too bad.
The face I saw was familiar. A little bloody and marked up from the baton, but I knew him. The last time I saw that guy, we were on Civil Ground; he wore a stocking cap and had dog shit smeared down the front of him. He was one of McKenna's minions, which meant the guy who just ran off was most likely Blake. I had one of those 'oh shit' moments.
The old stockyard district was a good place to hide if you needed to lie low, so a fair guess was that McKenna wasn't far away. I had to catch Blake before he could report to his boss. With another burst of speed, I ran down the tunnel after him. He had a big lead, but I was hoping my enhanced speed could catch up to him pretty quick.
I reached the wall-mounted ladder rungs and sped up them, nearly leaping out of the uncovered grate. The sky was dark by then, but I could still see. Twenty feet down the alley, a metal service door was swinging shut. I was gaining on him.
Surging forward once more, I caught the door before it closed. Holding it open with my foot, I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Viggo. He didn't answer, so I left a whispered message that there was an unexpected situation and that he might want to come. I exchanged the phone for my little Ruger and peeked inside.
It was a near-empty storage room, lit by a few flickering ceiling lights. Blake was thirty feet away on the far side of the room, leaning against a stack of palettes and trying to catch his breath. There was a set of swinging doors next to him, but he'd stopped running for some reason. I'd only met Blake a couple times, but I didn't take him for a coward or a weakling. I didn't trust the situation.
A hand came around the door I was holding open, grabbed me by my clothes, and yanked me into the room. "Don't be shy, Mr. Beck," Declan McKenna said, still gripping my shirt and jacket. "I've been waiting for you to show up."
Two 'oh shit' moments in less than five minutes - it was a new record for me.
UNINFORMED
Declan McKenna, hemo Outsider on the run, glared at me with red-flecked lunatic eyes. He shook me with one hand like I was a child. He shut the back door with his free hand and growled, "I've been debating how you should die once I had my hands on you."
I wasn't going to offer any suggestions. Instead of trying to say anything as he kept me off-balance, I pointed my Ruger at his midsection and started pulling the trigger.
A couple things happened at once. McKenna let go of me and stumbled backwards. Blake got there just as my gun emptied, and landed a side kick to my chest that knocked me back hard against the door. He had some skill. I managed to block his follow-up swing, and counterpunched with a jab to his nose. He took a step back, his eyes immediately watering. Taking one step to the side - away from the doubled over McKenna - I launched a kick to the side of Blake's knee. I heard the pop as it dislocated.
Just as Blake was dropping with a groan of pain, something hit me in the side of my head. For a second, I thought it was a brick. Confused, I stared at the white linoleum floor, wondering why I was laying on it. I turned my heavy head and saw McKenna coming at me. Most of his dress shirt was bloody, his young face was contorted with rage, and his normally slicked blonde hair was a mess.
Still trying to regain my senses, I looked over at Blake. He was still down, holding his knee. I had just started to wonder how he'd gotten ten feet further away when McKenna jerked me to my feet by my neck. He was in my face, snarling. He started to say something, but I stomped on his foot first. When he flinched, I threw a hook to his bloody gut. It didn't have the effect I was hoping for. Hell, it didn't have any fucking effect at all.
McKenna, keeping a hand clamped on my neck, grabbed my jacket with the other hand and heaved me across the room. I sort of remember being airborne for a second, but the impact of smashing into the stack of wooden pallets was unforgettable. I'd crunched a lot of the thin slats with my back, and found myself in an awkward reclined position in a bed of broken wood that my body just made. Aside from feeling like a bag of hammered shit, there was sudden hot pain in my left shoulder and right butt cheek.
There was no time to inspect my wounds, or even try to get up; McKenna was coming at me again. Reaching for me, he started to say, "You'll be happy to know I've made -" I cut him off with a boot to his face. It only pissed him off even more. He grabbed the collars of my shirt and jacket and yanked me out of the ruined pallets. Using the momentum, McKenna spun and slammed me into a wall.
My breath left my lungs with a grunt, and my skull smacked the cinderblock wall hard enough to make me see stars. McKenna held me there with one hand; my feet were a few inches off the ground. "You've caused me quite a bit of grief," he said with clenched teeth. "Your actions placed me into a costly deal with no return, and then you forced me to kill one of my own minions."
"Wait, I didn't -"
"As if that wasn't enough," McKenna said loudly, pulling me away from the wall and slamming me back into it, "you dumped the body of one of my business partners in my warehouse! It was the opening Le Meur needed. It no longer matters if she put you up to it, or if it was a damned Deviant plot. I've lost everything I have here, but I wasn't going to leave without getting some vengeance first."
McKenna was seriously uninformed. I guess being on the run kept him out of the loop. "Whoa, hold on," I said, trying to focus. "That video . . . it was a set-up - both of us. I didn't do it."
"Oh, yes, I saw in the newspaper how the police no longer considered you a suspect. How nice for you, Mr. Beck, that some numen cared enough to pull you out of the fire. There's no escape this time. You ruined me," he said, seething, "and now it is your turn to suffer."
He let go. I dropped unsteadily to my feet. The storage room seemed darker; I thought I was slowly blacking out. Still stunned, I never noticed that McKenna's fingers had grown claws . . . Not until he used them on me. With an angry sneer, he swiped at me once and then walked away.
My stomach felt hot. I numbly looked down and pulled up my ripped shirt. Blood was gushing out of three long horizontal gashes in my flesh. More alarming was my guts bulging out of them.
I'd seen similar wounds in combat, and knew that was it. Game over.
DECISION
I was trying in vain to keep my innards from spilling out, so I didn't pay attention to anything else. That is, until someone screamed. I looked up
from my wounds and saw the blurry form of Viggo literally ripping Declan McKenna apart. Blood flew in arcing sprays. Blake was still down, but not holding his knee anymore. His head was a lumpy pancake with crimson syrup poured all over it.
My pressing hands felt the pulse of my open wounds. They were deep; nerves were cut, so all I really felt was a tingle as a chill began to settle in me. I slid and slumped against the broken stack of pallets, sort of propped up on my hip. Okay, not my best day. The screaming had stopped. Good, it was annoying. The chunk of wood in my butt cheek hurt worse than my splayed-open belly. That was weird.
I wished Al was there, doing his best to make me laugh. I didn't want my mom to cry anymore. A vision of Val Foster came to mind - a gorgeous woman, an opportunity lost. Keeg and Deb, Miss Loretta, Diego, Gwen and Traeg . . . there'd be no more smiles, no fond farewells. Who would take care of Thunder? I'd failed Viggo, my commander, the father I wished I'd had. Damn, I needed a drink.
Viggo had crouched down in front of me, his black eyes staring into mine. I chuckled and said, "I told Barnabus you needed moisturizer. I thought that was funny." He didn't smile. "Sorry . . . I'm sorry I kept being a pain in your ass, sir."
He glanced down to my stomach and then back up to me. "It is I who should apologize, Leo."
I leaned my head back against the rough wall. "No, it's okay . . . it's okay. You can rest now." My breath came short and choppy; I wondered if one of the claws nicked a lung. "I had a steak dinner, best I ever had. Clara went shopping for me." Viggo's eyes widened with surprise. "Yeah, I think she knew . . ."
He nodded and said, "Leo, had I known how things would turn out, I would have -"
"But you didn't, you couldn't have. No regrets, sir." My hands were trembling. I didn't trust them. "Could you get my flask for me?"
Viggo patted my jacket and found it. He unscrewed the lid and brought the flask to my mouth. I felt bad he was doing that for me, but just one gulp helped. "I give you one last choice," he said as he wiped my lip for me. "I can bring you into the night, or," he held up my little Ruger, "you can end your pain."
I smiled and shook my head. "Gun's empty . . . only one I brought."
He hung his head. "There is no other humane way, Leo. I will not strike you; I cannot. To be selfish, I will not let my hands cause your demise. My oath will not allow it. I cannot let that be my last memory of you." Viggo looked me in the eye once more. "Come with me, Leo - let me take you into the night," he said almost pleadingly. "Even though it will damn you, it will save you as well."
"It's your choice now, sir," I said with a labored breath. "Make me a fucking hemo, or stay here with me until I'm gone."
Viggo made a quick decision. "Not here," he murmured as he scooped me up with ease. We spun into the void; I didn't mind it at all that time - the last time. He brought me to a place of stone walls, cool air, and the scents of dust and potpourri. Viggo set me in a soft chair; leather, I thought.
My brain was weaving in and out of consciousness. I barely noticed when Viggo gently pulled my right arm away from my wounds. Feeling the weak pulse in my wrist, he stated more to himself than to me, "There is not much life left in you to take." Eyes closed, I laid my head back into the cushion. There was a momentary sharp pain in my wrist that turned into pure intensity. It faded, and I blacked out.
I woke again when I felt the trickle of a warm, strong liquid in my mouth and running down my throat. Thinking Viggo was giving me more Jack from my flask, I instinctively swallowed. It wasn't Jack Daniels - it was better, so much fucking better. I let my mouth hang open for more, and it was given. My eyes sprung open. Viggo stood over me, pulling his wrist away from my face. "Welcome back, Leo. Welcome to your new life," he said with a touch of sadness.
Confused, I looked down at the rips in my gut. They were still pushed open by my innards, but the blood had stopped. For each wound, I pressed my guts in, pinched flesh together, and visualized it knitting back together. The first wound healed quickly; the next two even more so. Other than a sense of clarity, I didn't feel any different. Turning my head to Viggo, I said, "Was that it? That wasn't so bad."
He shook his head slowly. "Technically, you have been brought into the night. You are a member of the Deviant faction and, more importantly, my scion. Whether you can remain so . . . will soon be seen."
"Whoa, uh, what the hell does that mean?"
Viggo crossed his arms and stated ominously, "By this time tomorrow night, you will be in the grip of the infliction. Your world will be nothing but pain."
THIRST
Huh, infliction and pain . . . Not two of my favorite words. I was a little rattled by them.
"You are far from fully fed," Viggo told me. "We should fix that. Can you stand?"
"Yeah, I think so." When I eased myself out of the leather chair, I realized a few things. First, I still had big slivers of wood stuck in me. Second, I didn't feel any of the aching effects of being tossed around. Third, and most evident, was that the blood-bond to Viggo was gone. I still respected him more than I can say, but I had a clear perspective on all of the things he'd said and done. I immediately began to question some of those things that were simply accepted before.
While Viggo helped me pull out the slivers, I looked around at the room he brought us to. It was a small chamber made of stone and mortar. A few pipes ran through it, up near the high ceiling. There was only one door, metal and rusty. Other than the nice recliner chair, the only other thing in the room was a widescreen TV mounted to a wall. "Where are we?"
"A private retreat," he replied. "The entrance has been cloaked. I have others. This one, however, is near feeding locations, both above and below. For now, we will only take sustenance from down here. You must gather strength and learn your new Gifts before attempting to stalk humans."
"Stalk humans?" I asked. I was a little unnerved by the idea. "I knew it was done on a regular basis, but I never pictured myself doing it." Holy shit, hunting people for blood . . . The concept of being a hemo hadn't sunk in yet. I'll admit it - I was scared.
Viggo led me through the door out into a curving, narrow brick hallway lit with sporadic bulbs. It had a shallow trench cut into the center of the floor; the lumpy contents in it were moist, but there wasn't enough fluid to make it flow. The resulting stench was a mix of mold, vomit, and sour milk. It made me doubt I could be one of the sewer-dwelling Deviants like Roach or Neva.
We turned left at a tunnel junction. It led to a T, where our tunnel met a wide drainage shaft. There was a sort of tiny sandbar where the two met, although that sand was really sludge with a sprinkling of broken glass. How lovely. Frolicking on that little underground beach from hell were about a dozen big rats. "Okay, now what?" I asked.
Viggo turned to me. "Tell me how you feel."
"Well, I gotta take a piss, and I'm hungry. But, uh, like a cheeseburger kind of hungry, not raw rat."
"Is that so? Indulge me, Leo. Run your tongue over your teeth." I did, and was surprised to feel that my canines were very pronounced and sharp. Viggo saw my expression. "When a numen body is depleted of blood, the teeth for feeding will grow automatically. You must slake your thirst."
"Uh, are there any other options?"
"Only one; you can deny your need. Soon enough, it will cause you to lose control, fully in the throes of blood-lust. You will attack anything, not stopping until you are fully sated." The explanation reminded me of the wild hemo in the park that I shot. I still felt bad for that raccoon.
"Listen well, Leo," Viggo continued. "Because of your strong lineage, your blood is concentrated. A large quantity will be needed to replenish you if you become hungry."
"So . . . it's like I have a big-ass gas tank, and it takes more to fill it up when I'm low, right?"
Viggo stared at me for a second; I guess he wasn't thrilled with my analogy. "Essentially yes," he said. "And, like a fuel tank, you can go further with yours than most others. They must 'refill' more often. Moreover, you can use your stronger bloo
d to augment your physical abilities and empower Gifts that require it. As an example, Mr. Fletcher needs to channel a small portion of his blood into the effort of transforming into a wolf."
"Are you saying I can -?"
"No, I do not have that Gift, so my blood would not have passed it along to you. There are many others I do possess, however, and we shall explore what you instinctively may already know, in due course. For now, though," Viggo said as he waved an inviting hand toward the rats, "drink."
I'm not going into the details other than to say I almost couldn't do it, and that biting into a squirming, dirty rodent was going to take some getting used to. Okay, they were rats, but their blood tasted good. Viggo told me while I grabbed another docile rat that I didn't have to worry about diseases or anything. Eleven rats later I was still hungry, so he used his Gift of Fauna to call more.
A short time later I was full, and completely disgusted with myself. I sat in the sludge with blood spilt down the front of me, surrounded by over forty dead rats. Fighting a gag impulse, I stood up and pissed into the streaming water. I stood there for nearly two fucking minutes draining my bladder. As I zipped up, Viggo commented that I wouldn't have to worry about that bodily urge again - ever.
"No offense," I said to him, "but I think I wanna be alone for a little while." We went back to the hidden room, where Viggo told me I'd tire soon and that the chair was comfortable for resting. Before leaving, he said he'd be back the next evening.
I sat back in my ruined clothes and turned on the TV. The channel it was on reminded me the date was July Fourth. Fine, whatever - I'd had a different version of fireworks that evening. I was thrown twenty feet into a stack of wood, had my head bounced on a wall, got my gut ripped open, was turned into a hemo, and bit into one squealing rat after another. Regular fireworks were for pussies.