"Name and business!" she shouted.
"Rick," he said, the exhaustion clinging to his body, "and if I don't lie down or get something to eat within the next three seconds, I'm probably going to keel over."
A pause resulted, the girl not speaking. He thought he heard some whispering, followed by movement near what must've been a window.
The light remained, brightly blinding him and unwavering for several seconds.
Nothing happened.
"Well?" he asked.
"Your request is being considered."
Wavering on his feet, he replied. "Do you happen to have a can of soup? Cold beans, maybe?"
"No."
"Can I at least put my arms down?" He waved his hands. "Maybe sit?"
"Whatever. Don't try anything."
He bent his knees, the slight motion loosening his weak muscles, and Rick fell. The hard-packed dirt, long devoid of grass, provided no comfort, and a dull thump of pain hit his rear.
Instead of crossing his legs and sitting or waiting patiently, the sensation of not supporting his weight or walking felt too glorious. He sprawled out on his back, stretching his tired limbs. They fell limp, pure fatigue coursing through him. Inches from falling unconscious through sheer exhaustion, he remained awake only by focusing on the blinding light.
Rick hovered there, collapsed on the ground and half-asleep for a time he couldn't determine. The authoritative voice of the armed teenage girl spoke no further, and whoever she sent to validate Rick's presence was taking their sweet time in the task. What she thought of his grounded state he didn't know or care. Indeed, he couldn't be sure if he remained conscious the entire time.
Eventually, he heard spoken what seemed at the time like the four most wonderful words he could imagine. "You can come in."
It took several attempts for him to rise, each time the exhaustion dragging him back down. The hard ground felt as comfortable to him as any fluffy mattress, but the thought of not sleeping out in the open like a vagrant gave him strength enough to rise. The bright light clicked off, leaving the flaring memory of it burning his eyes.
Scowling down at him, atop the awning sat a teenage girl cradling a dirty bolt-action rifle. Rick gave her a tired grin, and her irritated expression deepened.
Rather than waiting until he finally passed out for real, Rick took unsteady steps and walked into the school building. Halls, lockers, and dirty tile floors stretched out, and he plodded along.
He passed by classrooms, some of which were empty but some featuring children curled up inside sleeping bags. Rick didn't know exactly what time it was, but he guessed by normal standards of day and night that it was late.
The number of children Desmond and Olivia had to take care of tripled after the uprising. Citizen children, though brash and arrogant in similar fashion to their parents, grew frightened and hungry like any other person. Neither Desmond or his wife would ever turn a child away, regardless of lineage, so the ranks in their orphanage swelled.
Rick hadn't seen much of the location prior to being tossed aside by Sergei and Isaac, but he marveled at the fact that Desmond and Olivia were able to feed and manage what appeared to be hundreds of children and adults.
A thought struck, and Rick wondered if the girl who had halted and threatened him at the entrance was, or had been, a Citizen. I suppose you can't really tell the difference much any more.
He stepped into an office area, beyond which he knew Desmond and Olivia kept their living space. The reception desk, which featured scattered papers, lay empty, reflecting the late status of the evening.
Rick sat in a chair whose cushion had seen many better days, and again the slightest act of rest dragged at him, begged him to close his eyes and remain asleep for a month. I sure hope someone came and told them I was here... he thought. I suppose I could just wait until morning.
The room seemed dark, and a hazy realization told him his eyes were closed, though he couldn't remember actually closing them. It seemed too difficult to pry them open again, and tiny whispering voices assured him all would be well if he just got a little-
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Rick."
His eyes dragged open, the lids heavy and reluctant to move. Desmond, wearing slippers and a frayed bathrobe, blinked behind his large glasses. A hazy expression was on his face, and Rick assumed Desmond had been awoken.
Lucky bastard, a nasty thought muttered.
"Eh," Rick said out loud, "I'm sorry I woke you. Been a troubling few days..."
Desmond nodded, eyes sleepy and long gray hair, normally tied back, spilling about his shoulders. "I'm afraid you don't know the half of it."
Rick sighed. "Yeah. I kind of figured something was up when I ran into the sentry and floodlight out there."
"I've always had someone keeping watch," Desmond gave a chuckle, "but what we've been finding in the last couple of days made us pretty nervous. We have to be extra careful, so now we've got lights and people at every entrance."
"I really hate to ask, especially right now..." Rick winced. "What was it you found?"
Desmond rubbed his forehead, lines creasing across his face. "Bodies. Poorly treated."
A chill coursed through Rick. This is not good, he thought, and it can't be a coincidence.
The shock and recognition must have shone on Rick's face. Desmond cocked his head. "You saw them?"
Clenching his teeth, Rick nodded. "Not the same ones, I'm sure, but I saw another body earlier tonight. Whoever did it really went to town."
"Yes, same with the ones we found, as well. Do you have any idea of who would do such a thing?"
Weariness suffused Rick, but the news of more than one similar victim churned a tiny measure of energy into him. He stood up, nearly falling over. Gathering his balance, he took a deep breath. "I guess I should go figure it out."
"No, Rick." He heard a feminine voice. Beyond Desmond, leaning up against the inside of their room stood Olivia. She appeared much like her husband: tall, clad in a bathrobe, and featuring long hair colored more of a silvery-white to Desmond's gray. Unlike her husband, no thick glasses adorned her face. She held a few lines of age but featured a quiet grace and beauty. Her entire body and movements were soft and comforting, even to someone like Rick.
"I really ought to try and find out more about this. I don't know if it's even OHU or Citizen related, so whoever's behind it-"
"No," she repeated in her soft tone. "If you go out there in the state you're in, you'll turn up a victim as likely as finding the culprit. You need to rest, Rick."
Objections burned on the tip of his tongue, but harsh voices, tired voices, shouted at and begged him to shut up and take her advice. There's so much to do... so much to take care of.
Exchanging glances, both Desmond and Olivia seemed to read his mind. "You can't handle everything yourself, Rick," Desmond said. "Especially if you're about to collapse from exhaustion." He put a hand around Rick's slumping shoulders, pulling him along.
"Yeah..." Rick nodded.
Olivia watched, light concern on her face, while Desmond led Rick into one of the other rooms in the office area. A cot and blanket lay on the ground for guest accommodations.
"We'll speak in the morning," Desmond said, motioning toward the bed.
Rick had enough time to tug off his shoes, mumble a thanks, and stretch out on the cot before dropping off to sleep. His rumbling stomach forgot about the prospect of food, and he didn't stay awake long enough to hear the door close.
******
Malcolm, eyes glowing in the darkness of Old Haven, traveled with purpose. Having easily rescued the one called Rick, other matters tugged at his concentration.
His memories, having prior been a jumbled mass of images depicting two lives, one of an alien creature and another, more prominent recollection of a Citizen researcher, had solidified in recent months. Yet too much of it was fragmented, broken, and Malcolm decided after long contemplation that he would be neither entity. Marcus Lexington Col
eman, kindly middle-aged man who preached tolerance toward the Old Havenites, was truly dead.
The images still plagued him, easier to manage than before, but much of his time was spent in contemplative solitude. He regretted being away from certain points of attachment, like Kaylee, but the discovery of self-identity had proven challenging.
Like his human counterpart, Malcolm dealt with strain and difficulty by burying himself in particular tasks. During the months after the uprising, he had been providing mild to moderate assistance to Kaylee and her associates, visiting Michaels on occasion. He didn't like Rick overmuch and didn't understand the odd humor the strange man displayed, but Malcolm vowed to help anyone who truly needed it.
Greater good... the words whispered in his thoughts as he traveled through the empty streets. It seemed a calling, a vestige of his former life: something Marcus Lexington Coleman would do. Even in wishing to distance himself, to become an individual free of the influence of past life, certain dispositions and habits held intact.
From smell alone, he could determine the exact location of some of the more prominent dumping grounds for war casualties, and he certainly didn't enjoy moving near them. His attention lay fixed on other matters, but by habit he traveled in ways to avoid the sites of the dead.
The decaying bodies provided a distraction to the primary odor clinging to his sensory-enhanced mind. He held a memory of the stench of death, filth, and something so profound and primal in its wrong.
A memory from long ago, returning in the present: precisely what he detected at the site of the dead woman he and Rick had come across. He'd smelled it even through his cloth wrappings, which in most cases served to blunt the overwhelming odors pressing in all around.
Having all but forgotten about Rick, Malcolm moved off to confirm what he already knew. He traveled to the northwest sector. It was the place in which Miguel, the Silver Fox, held the largest and most cruel faction in Old Haven before the uprising, when the Citizenship sent a body of forces to quell the vermin below. They had met with spectacular failure, making the uprising a possibility.
Malcolm remembered the fighting, not understanding or caring about the grand strategies of people above or below. During the days before uprising, he had met Kaylee. He had watched her, fascinated for reasons unknown, and had even tried to assist when she'd been captured by Miguel's forces.
He hadn't known it to be a product of specific intent on her part, and thus he followed, hoping to help. His search had taken him near a place which smelled of death and a wrong unbelievably foul.
This same sensation permeated the area of dead woman he and Rick had come across, and thus Malcolm returned to where Kaylee had been taken many months earlier.
His left arm, dead to mid bicep, hung at his side. He remembered his potential weakness in being unable to use it. See first, act later, he thought to himself, eyeing the damaged limb. A light tingle had settled into it, and a few times he could feel the fingers twitching. Considerable damage had been done to his arm from an experiment he attempted. Unsuccessful.
Malcolm drew near to the destination he sought. Regardless of his condition, he intended to fight if necessary.
*******
Kaylee blinked, clearing her head from the fog of sleep while led by two armed men out of her dwelling space. Years of survival in difficult situations had given her a pretty fast wake-up response, and nerves sped along the process.
Neither soldier said a word as they moved, one in front and one behind. Nervous tension pitted in Kaylee's stomach, and she became quite anxious about why they dragged her out of bed. Shit... maybe Tanya finally told them about me and Rick. Oh shit...
She considered running but worried more about being wrong and thus having them wonder why she'd try to flee. In spite of frequent and insistent questions, neither of her escorts told her why she was needed.
Kaylee's dwelling existed not far from the Institute in either case, so the heavy apprehension and mild terror did not have long to simmer in her thoughts. They brought her straight into the lobby area, empty except for guards at the late hour.
Through the hallway to the Inquisition section, Sergei sat at the desk as if he hadn't moved since earlier in the evening. Instead of the pleasant and relaxed demeanor, Sergei wore a frown, and his stern expression followed her entrance.
She swallowed hard while he waved the soldiers off, again wondering if the wisest course of action would have been to start running.
"No doubt you are curious toward why you have been called here." Sergei stood, arms clasped behind his back, and Kaylee gave a slight shiver, tensing. "I apologize for the lateness of the evening, but an issue has arisen."
Relaxing a fraction, Kaylee tried to compose her outward appearance to a semblance of calm. He apologized; maybe that means I'm not in trouble. She didn't dare speak, worried doing so would betray how nervous she was.
"Something very disturbing has been brought to our attention, revealing an unsettling pattern." A spike of fear stabbed into Kaylee's heart. "It is something of which you may have knowledge."
Clenching a fist, Kaylee braved her shaky tone. "What is it?" The question sounded innocuous, but she mentally prepared her flight route for the moment he said something about Elijah and Rick.
The tension evaporated in her body, replaced by confusion when instead Sergei replied with, "The creature, the one you call Malcolm. Have you seen him recently?"
"Uh..." Kaylee's mouth fell open; she was uncertain of how to respond.
"Have you seen him recently?" Sergei repeated the question.
"Uh, no, it's been a little while." Her mind spun, trying to think of why he'd be curious. "Why do you-"
"When was the last time you saw him?" Isaac interrupted, and she now noticed him leaning on the pillar behind her. She hadn't seen him upon her entrance.
Glancing back and forth between the two men and entirely at a loss, she asked, "What the heck is going on?"
Isaac stepped forward, hands in the pockets of his dark camouflage outfit. "Please. When was the last time you saw him?"
"I... I don't really know." Kaylee tossed up her hands. "It's been a while: a couple of weeks maybe?"
Sergei and Isaac exchanged concerned glances. "What?" Kaylee asked. "What's wrong?"
Grimacing, Sergei replied, reluctance and discomfort in his voice, "Have you... have you ever seen him eat?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Kaylee asked. Her tension gone, confusion and annoyance formed at their odd questioning.
"C'mon Kaylee, just answer," said Isaac.
She sighed. "Okay, uh... no, I haven't seen him eat, but I thought..." she trailed off, again noting their concerned expressions. "Can you tell me what this is actually about?"
Isaac ran a hand through his hair. "We have found a few bodies this past week, Kaylee. Three of our people, dead and in poor condition."
"What do you mean poor?"
"Numerous puncture wounds. Blood drained from each of the bodies," Sergei replied. "There were marks around some of the wounds. We think they might've been made by teeth."
"And you think Malcolm has something to do with it?" Kaylee twisted her face in confusion and disgust. "What, he drank their blood? What the heck is wrong with you two?"
Isaac frowned. "He's not entirely human, and since you've never seen him eat, how do you know he's not some kind of predator?"
"That's just stupid, the little things in his own blood give him what he needs for sustenance, I think." Kaylee waved her hands. "Whatever. Ask Michaels about it; he's the one who was trying to figure out some of that stuff. It doesn't matter though because Malcolm's not running around killing people. I can guarantee-"
"How can you be so certain?" Sergei asked, raising his eyebrows.
Kaylee scowled. "I know him. He just wouldn't do anything like that."
"Even so," Isaac cut in, "we think it would be best for him to be brought in. You'll need to help us."
"I'm telling you," Kay
lee said, tone rising, "you're way off. Malcolm is not who you're looking for. I can't even tell you how many times he could've killed me or anyone else without trouble. He's been helping us out, and your reward is accusing him of this shit?"
Neither Sergei nor Isaac appeared to be listening to her objections. "Miss Kaylee," Sergei said, "I am afraid we do not have many others to suspect. The Citizens, while cruel and heartless, have never engaged in such action."
"I don't know if he even has teeth!" Kaylee shouted. "You guys gotta take a step back and think about this. Please, Malcolm's a good person; he deserves better than this." She clasped her hands together. "Talk to Michaels. He's seen Malcolm up-close; he might be able to tell you more."
Her statement, suggesting a potential plan of action, seemed to strike home for both men. "Very well." Sergei gave a nod. "We will take your words under consideration. I am not completely convinced we should rule him out, and neither of us are comfortable allowing such a rogue element to pass among us freely, but we do understand your doubts. Thank you for your assistance in this matter." He pressed a button on his desk, and a moment later her two escorts emerged from the hallway.
"Return Miss Kaylee to her dwelling place," he said, "then find former Citizen Michaels and accompany him back here to us."
With a crisp nod, the guards turned to Kaylee, and one gestured for her to move. She sighed and started to walk.
"One sec," Isaac spoke up, arms folded. "For now, you're off scout duty in case we need to figure anything else out about Malcolm. Your big friend is still a concern of ours, predator or not, and it goes without saying that you should tell us right away if you see him. Maybe bring him in if you can."
Kaylee blinked in surprise; being off of patrol felt like a vacation of sorts. It would keep her out of harm's way, but she also wouldn't be able to meet Rick anywhere. Crap; now what am I going to do. I can't exactly say no, can I?
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 6