Is it any wonder the reacted as they did?
“Jeezusfuckinchrist!” shouted the first guard, dropping his flashlight and leveling his weapon at Robert’s chest. “Hands over your head, now!”
Robert moved away from Tracy O’Rourke and lifted his arms.
“Middle of the room and on your knees. Do it!”
Though both guards had their weapons drawn, only the first was looking at Robert; his partner was staring at the bodies lining the wall to the right.
Why haven’t they seen Sephera? thought Robert as one knee touched cement. Then he remembered the folded partition that she had leaned against the left wall. She was probably hiding behind it, waiting for an opportunity.
“I said on your knees! Both of them!”
As Robert’s second knee touched the cement and he folded his hands behind his head, the flashlight dropped by the first guard stopped rolling; it now lay less than two feet from Robert.
The first guard stepped forward, narrowing his eyes as he examined Robert’s face. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Then, to his partner: “You know who this guy is?”
Not looking away from the bodies, the second guard gave a short, sharp, “No.”
“It’s that guy from the news...Londrigan. Holy shit.” He moved forward another half-step. “I never would’ve pegged you for a freak. Take a look at him, man!””
The second guard looked away from the bodies, over Robert’s head, and saw the incubator and its occupant.
“Oh, God!” he cried out.
His partner looked away for only a second, but Robert did not hesitate. Throwing himself forward and down, he scooped up the flashlight, spun sharply, and hurled it at the first guard’s head. He missed the head but managed to make a solid connection to the gun-hand. The guard cried out and dropped his gun. The gun discharged into a nearby body. The second guard whirled around at the sound of the shot, and that’s when Sephera made her move; grabbing the partition on either side, she leapt up holding it over her head, charged forward, and threw it. It sailed across the room in a straight, deadly line, hitting the second guard in the middle of his chest. He too dropped his gun as the momentum of the hit walloped him against the doorway. Robert was on his feet then, bent over, head down, running forward. He slammed the top of his skull into the first guard’s stomach and kept going until they were out the door and tumbling onto the cement steps. Behind them, Sephera grabbed up the second guard’s pistol, jumped onto the partition that was pinning his legs, and struck the side of his head with the butt of the gun, once, twice. The guard lost consciousness as she was pulling back for a third blow, which she decided against delivering. On the steps, the first guard was trying to get his hand down to his side to grab his stun-gun. Robert tried for the hand, couldn’t get a grip on it, and so took a fistful of the guard’s hair and pulled his head up. The guard twisted underneath him, jerked to the side, and both of them rolled. Robert again pulled on the guard’s hair, yanked his head up, and tried to slam it against one of the steps. The guard freed his stun-gun and snapped his hand up. The weapon made a hideous buzz-snap-buzz sound that warned Robert what was coming; releasing the guard’s head, he twisted around and grabbed the hand holding the stun-gun. He pulled it up, then slammed it down hard against the edge of the step. Bones cracked and the guard screamed, dropping the weapon. Throwing all his weight into it, Robert rolled on top of the guard, grabbed both sides of his head, and cracked the back of the man’s skull against the step…once, twice, three times. The guard’s eyes suddenly turned to glass and he went limp. Robert fell backward onto his ass and realized with a profound, sick-making certainty that he had just killed another human being.
“Fuck!”
Sephera was in the doorway instantly. “What is it?”
“I j-just...I think I killed him. OhGod, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t. I w-w-was just trying to knock him out, that’s all.”
Sephera stepped over Robert and touched two fingers to the side of the guard’s neck. “He’s dead.”
“Goddammit all to hell!”
Sephera whirled on him. “Calm down. We don’t have time. It was an accident, it couldn’t be helped. We’ll cry about this later.” Pulling him to his feet and pushing him back into the room, she looked down at the second guard. “He’s going to have one hell of a headache and probably need stitches.”
“...recognized me,” whispered Robert.
“What?”
“The guard I killed. He recognized me. He said my name.”
“So what? You’re done with this world anyway. It doesn’t matter if he recognized you and it matters even less that the other guy’s going to tell anyone who’ll listen. Get over there and finish the rest of the bodies.”
Robert did not so much walk as stumble quickly down the line, brushing his fingers across the faces like a child with a stick in hand rattling its way along a picket fence in summer. They crumbled into dust, were breathed in and absorbed, becoming energy.
“What about those?” asked Robert, pointing to the piles of mistakes.
“We have to leave them. I’d hoped there’d be time to dispose of them properly but that’s not going to be possible.”
Robert elbowed past her and began touching the bodies. Dead, cold, clammy flesh that did not crumble under his touch.
“Dammit, Robert, I told you, they were early attempts, mistakes, they’re not the same as the others. Leave them.”
Already Sephera was disconnecting the EEG and EKG electrodes from Denise’s body. “There’s a blanket in the corner, get it.”
Retrieving the blanket, Robert ran back just as she was removing the I.V. needles from Denise’s arm and covering the wounds with Band-Aids she yanked from her pockets. “The respirator’s attached to the stand, unlock it. It has to come with us. Hurry.”
Robert fumbled with the locks but finally got them open. The respirator was no larger than a suitcase—it even had a carry handle on top—but weighed at least ninety pounds. He lifted it from the stand and set it on the floor. Sephera called for him, and he joined her by the incubator.
“Slip one arm underneath her like I’m doing, okay. Now, lift her a little, just like that, good. We have to unhook the harness straps from up here; back ones first, then the front. On three: One, Two, Three.” They removed the back straps from their hooks, then did the same to the front straps. Being careful not to accidentally tear either respirator tube away from her body, they lowered Denise onto the blanket. Robert wrapped her in it. Sephera looked around, spotted the black medical bag under the EEG machine, and grabbed it.
“Okay, I’m going to unplug the respirator. It has an emergency battery that’s good for fifteen minutes. We need to get her and it into the back of the Jeep. There’s a small portable generator already in there, fully charged. It should provide power for at least twelve hours—not that we’ll need that long. Wait here.” She made a fast sweep of the basement, grabbing both pistols as well as the guards’ stun-guns and stuffing the lot into the medical bag. Then she was at Robert’s side. “I’ll carry the respirator, you take Denise. Move.”
Robert climbed the nineteen eternal steps with his back facing the door above; his muscles cramped slightly from having to walk in a stoop, but the tubes were only three feet long. Sephera trailed behind him, the muscles in her arms bulging as she kept the respirator at chest-level. Once they were in the basement proper, she told Robert to hang for a sec.
Setting down the respirator, she sprinted through the doorway into the first section of the basement and returned a few moments later with a large hand-cart. She placed the respirator on the bottom and lay a pillow on top of it. Robert gently sat Denise on the pillow, then—following Sephera’s lead—used the harness straps to secure her in place.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Sephera into Denise’s rodent-like ear. “A being as wondrous as you should not have to endure such indignities.” She gestured for Robert to grab the handles of the cart.
They moved through t
he basement. Sephera grabbed the bottom of the hand-cart and help Robert to move Denise up the second set of steps with as few bumps and jostles as possible.
Through the downstairs rooms to the side door and out into the chill air. His breath misting as he and Sephera maneuvered the cart down the last few steps, Robert looked around for the tell-tale whirl of approaching visibar lights. The police would be on Silent Approach; no sirens, then kill all lights once they were two blocks away. Sephera threw open the hatch and helped Robert slide the hand-cart into the back before climbing in herself. Denise and the respirator lay facing the ceiling like some absurdist totem pole.
Sephera reached into the medical bag and shoved one of the pistols at Robert. “Remember, you mustn’t hesitate.”
He stared at the gun as if she’d just shit in his hand. “I don’t know if I can—”
“Whatever is necessary, Robert. I don’t like it any more than you do, but there’s no choice. It’s ‘Them or Us’ time.” She grabbed the inside latch, pulling the door down. “Go.”
He ran to the front of the Jeep and jumped inside. Flipping down the sun visor, he caught the keys as they dropped, then started the engine. He hit the lights and saw the empty Morgan Security Systems car that blocked the top of the driveway. “Shit!”
Sephera crawled forward and looked over his shoulder. “So much for a quiet exit.” She patted his shoulder. “This thing’s built like a tank and has pickup like you wouldn’t believe. Put it in gear and floor it.”
The tires squealed as the Jeep shot up the steep drive and crashed into the security car, smashing it out of the way in a shower of broken glass and crumpled metal.
Robert looked into the rear view mirror. Lights were coming on from both the other houses, as well as several along the street they were on. He checked the mirror and saw that Sephera had the generator going and the respirator hooked up and running. Denise breathed easily.
“Where the fuck am I going?” he shouted.
“Straight, then left at the intersection. We’re heading for the side route that they use for the construction equipment. It’s going to be rough as hell because the road’s not paved but I don’t think the police will think to take it.”
Robert nearly missed the turn and for a moment thought about hitting the brakes, then decided Fuck it and jerked the steering wheel to the side, spinning the Jeep’s back end around and burning a set of skid-marks that followed them for the next twenty yards as he straightened the vehicle, hit the gas, and tore off down the street. He checked the digital clock in the dashboard: 4:45 a.m. Lights came on in houses as they screamed by.
“Right at the corner, then a left past the ‘Construction Vehicles Only’ sign.”
She was right, the road was covered in pot-holes and large bumps and was alternately slick with ice and thick with mud, but Robert slowed and managed to plow through. By the time the road emptied out onto a paved street, it was just before five a.m.
“The sun will be up in a little while,” he said over his shoulder.
“We’ll be okay now...at least for another twelve hours.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Believe it or not, she slept through the whole thing.”
“Good.”
“Take the on-ramp up ahead.”
“Where are we going now?” When there was no answer, Robert looked in the mirror.
Sephera was kneeling next to Denise, holding her hand and staring straight ahead as if in a trance.
“Sephera?”
“Rael...”
“What about him?”
“...he knows....”
“What? What does he know?”
Sephera shuddered, blinked, then slowly sat down. “He knows that you’ve found her. He’s on his way to meet us.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure. I caught only pieces of his intent.”
“What are we supposed to do, keep driving until Suzy picks up his scent?”
Sephera laughed softly. “No. We need to head toward Indiana. So go West, young man.”
“Sephera?”
“Yes?”
Robert glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “Are we going to make it?”
She looked down at Denise, then lay a hand against her slumbering face. “We have to, Robert; it’s as simple as that. We have to.”
Chapter 11
They had to pull over three times during the trip because of Denise’s contractions; not only was she experiencing the pains, but so were Sephera and—to a less severe degree—Robert. During the third stop, after the pain had subsided and they were able to breathe easily again, Sephera put her hand on Robert’s shoulder and said, “She won’t survive the next series. We have to find a place to stay.”
Swallowing the panic that threatened to gag him, Robert continued to drive.
On the outskirts of Montrose, Indiana, he spotted a “Vacancy” sign. He parked the Jeep as far from the motel office as he thought safe and went to get a room. He looked over the layout as he approached the office: three, possibly four one-floor buildings, each with about a dozen rooms that he could see. The parking lot had maybe a dozen cars, all parked a good distance from one another. So they spaced out the guests when it was possible; that was good.
The clerk was a young man of perhaps twenty-one who looked to have just gotten out of bed and didn’t give a damn if his manner and appearance betrayed he was definitely not a morning person. He was on the phone when Robert came in. After nearly two minutes of waiting for the clerk to finish his conversation, Robert checked his watch—it was nearly a quarter past ten—then hit the bell on the check-in desk. The clerk glared at him, told whoever he was talking with to call back in five minutes, then racked the receiver and proceeded to perform his duties with all the enthusiasm of a hemorrhoid sufferer looking for a seat in a proctologist’s waiting room.
“Single or double?” he asked, yawning.
“Double.”
“Sign the register.”
Robert could feel his center starting to twist again; another series of contractions was on the way. Without thinking he signed his own first name, began to panic, then did a quick shuffle through his mind for the rest of a name.
The clerk turned the register around and handed Robert the key. “You’re down in the second building, Mr. Nitzinger. Room 207.”
Robert looked up at the Motel Policy sign and saw #7: No Pets Allowed.
He had two choices; he could either not tell the clerk about the pets and chance having another guest hear Suzy or the cats and report them, or....
“My sister and I have pets with us.”
“No pets, sorry.”
“We’ve been on the road a very long time and she’s not feeling well. We need to rest.”
“I can’t help you, dude.”
Robert sized up the clerk: his shirt was well-worn but clean, just like his pants and tie, but it was the man’s shoes that sealed the deal—they were severely scuffed, with badly-worn-down heels, although the clerk had used a lot of elbow grease and shoe polish to try to cover up their sad condition.
Robert reached into his pocket and removed a roll of bills, tearing a crisp Ulysses S. Grant from the bottom and slapping it down on the counter. “Would this make it worth your while?”
The clerk did an admirable job of concealing his surprise. “Look, dude, I don’t make the rules here, and I can’t afford to lose this job. We don’t take pets.”
The clerk was studying Robert’s face with more than passing interest. In the few seconds before he made his next move, Robert scanned the table and desk behind the clerk and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the small stack of magazines on the desk; even though most of its cover was concealed by copies of the recent Time and Newsweek fanned on top of it, he could clearly see that the most recent issue of the Columbus Monthly.
He tore another fifty from the roll and put it on top of the one already on the counter. “How about now?”
“
I already answered your question. Now give me back the key, please.”
Knowing that he was taking an awful chance but realizing there was no time and therefore no choice, Robert quickly peeled off two one-hundred-dollar bills and added them to the ante.
This time the clerk wasn’t so quick to rebuff the offer.
“My sister is not well,” said Robert, amazed at the ease with which the lies poured from his mouth. “She has breast cancer and for some reason has not been responding well to her treatments. We’re on our way to Indianapolis to some specialists there. My sister’s only comfort these last several weeks has been her pets. We’ll be staying in Indie for at least a week, and she refused to be without them. I love my sister very much, but this trip is really taking it out of her and she has to rest now. Just a few hours. We’ll be out of here by this evening.”
The clerk stared at the money on the counter, then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Robert’s gaze. “She must be in really bad shape.”
“She is.” Jesus Christ, kid, come on!
“I understand how you feel, dude. My mom died of breast cancer. Left me and my dad with a lot of medical bills.”
I don’t fucking believe this.
Robert peeled off another hundred. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
The clerk nodded, then took the money from the counter and slipped it into his pocket. “The room is forty-seven fifty.”
Robert handed the clerk another hundred. “Keep the change.”
“I’m here until seven p.m. That’s when the manager comes on duty. The Pacers are playing the Buckeyes tomorrow night at home, so this place is gonna start filling up this evening. I’d really appreciate it if you—”
“—we’ll be gone well before then.”
The phone rang. As the clerk turned to answer it, Robert said, “Can I look at your magazines there? I’m not particularly tired and—”
In Silent Graves Page 34