Offspring

by Liam Jackson

  A pretty brunette walked toward a car, keeping a nervous eye on the marked cruiser. Trying to appear casual, she paused to speak to some friends, waved goodbye, and got into a compact two-door. Petey rolled down the window and sniffed the air. He grinned, drool running down his chin and adding another stain to his filthy shirt. With his supernatural senses, he could already taste her.

  "You're busted, baby doll!"

  Before the girl could drive away, he moved the cruiser up to block her exit. Petey flipped on the flashing blue lights, then stepped out of the cruiser and swaggered up to the compact's driver's window. The girl was waiting, a worried look on her face.

  "Good evening, miss. Can I see your driver's license?" Young. So young.

  The girl was clearly frightened. "Ye—yes, sir." She dug through her purse, pretending to look for a license that Petey knew didn't exist.

  After a moment, the girl sighed. "I must have left it at home. Did I do something wrong?"

  Petey leaned on the door of the car and smiled. "Oh, I think you know what you did. miss. Let's see... for starters, you're too young to have a driver's license. Fifteen, maybe. Closer to thirteen. Then there's the little matter of the vodka and juice."

  "But... but... I didn't—"

  Petey put a finger to his cracked lips. "Shhhhh! Calm down, baby doll. I'm not going to take you to jail... this time. I'm just going to give you a ride."

  Oh, how I'm gonna ride you!

  "Your parents can pick up the car tomorrow."

  The girl started to cry, but Petey held up a warning finger. "Now, don't do that! If you give me any static, any at all, your parents can pick you up at the county jail. Do we understand each other?"

  The girl nodded and said, "I'll be good."

  Oh, I just bet you will be, baby doll.

  "Hey, Mr. Sheriff, sir!"

  Petey turned around, slowly. And the cavalry arrives, but not in the nick of time!

  A husky young man, wearing a large smirk, lumbered across the lot. He stopped within an arm's length of Petey. "Where you takin' Candice?"

  Petey stepped back, trying to appear intimidated. Hometown football hero. Dumb as a goddamn rock, no brains and all cock. Liquored up to boot. "Well, uh... the young lady, uh ... Candice, has been drinking. I was... just taking her home."

  Oh, shit, this is too much fun!

  The Hero puffed out his chest and shook his head. "I don't think so, Mr. Sheriff. You see, that car has a 'Hurley County, Illinois' emblem on the doors and you're in Tennessee. A little out of your jurisdiction, dontcha think? Besides, I kinda like Candice and I don't like you. Why don't you just ease outta here?"

  Petey retreated until his back was against the car, drawing the Hero in. Hero took the bait, moving forward until the toes of his sneakers were flush against Petey's boots. Petey cowered away, raising his hands in front of his face.

  "Lo—look, I don't want any trouble! I'll just, just... slam your fucking face through the windshield!"

  Before the words could fully register in Hero's malt liquor-desensitized brain, Petey reached out and grasped him by the back of the neck. Circling to his left with a fluid, blurred motion Petey drove Hero forward, face first into the safety glass with a force that lifted the young man from his feet.

  Petey stepped back and admired his handiwork, then motioned for Candice to follow him. She couldn't. The girl was frozen behind the steering wheel of her car, staring into the lifeless eyes of her parking lot hero. His fractured face was splattered over the cracked windshield like some two-hundred-pound bug.

  Patience waning, Petey reached in through the window and dragged the girl out by the hair. "Road trip!" he cried, smiling. A stunned crowd of teens watched as the cackling deputy drove away with young Candice in the front seat beside him.

  A half hour later, a Hurley County sheriff's cruiser was seen parked on the shoulder off a lonely Tennessee back road. The windows were fogged over, but the car was still running and witnesses thought little of it. In the early hours of that same morning, the badly abused body of one Candice Ketterman was found lying in the roadway by a newspaper deliveryman. Local law enforcement officials spent half the morning collecting her remains. Her left leg was never found.

  CHAPTER 27

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  Sam took the stairs three at a time. Reaching the first floor, he raced through the abandoned plant, leaping over the scattered remnants of broken machinery. His destination was the dock, an open expanse once used to load and unload delivery trucks.

  The path taken by the fleeing pair would bring them right past the dock. If they failed to see him in the blowing snow, they would run into a dead end with no way out except to backtrack right into the waiting arms of their pursuer. Provided, of course, that they weren't caught before reaching the dock.

  Sam's breath came in jagged gulps, more the result of anxiety than physical exertion. His nerves were frayed and all he could think of was his encounter on the bridge with Trench Coat. He shuddered at the memory and tried to bury it by focusing on the people below. By Sam's calculation, the pair would reach him within a couple of minutes.

  Sam moved behind a rusted fifty-five gallon barrel and tried to snuggle down into his light jacket. Wind blasted through the exposed opening of the loading dock, whipping about the sides of the drum and pelting Sam with snow. Thinking to form a windbreak, he tried to push the barrel closer to the wall, but it was too heavy and refused to budge.

  Brushing away a thin film of ice on the side of the drum, he found a stenciled label on the top reading, Lubricating Oil. This gave him an idea, but it would have to wait until later.

  The wind was rising, and missiles of sleet obliterated the night sky. Sam snuggled deeper into his coat.

  "Jee-zus, this is crazy!"

  Again, there was that distant ringing of chimes, but Joriel remained silent.

  Sam chuckled nervously, thinking it would take awhile to break the habit of referring to her as the Voice.

  The rattling of a chain-link fence gave Sam a start and he quickly pushed Joriel to the back of his mind. From his vantage point, he could see a long stretch of the junk-strewn landscape, but there was no one in sight. Just as Sam was reconsidering his choice of hiding spots, the pair appeared at the far end of the alley.

  They were moving slowly, cautiously watching the way ahead, ignorant of the pursuit from behind. Sam decided that perhaps he couldn't blame them for moving cautiously, considering his own pursuers had nearly cut him off on several occasions. Then again, he didn't have some guy on foot running right up his ass, either, and they did.

  He waited for what seemed an eternity for the pair to reach the dock. The wind suddenly turned up another notch and Sam tucked his chin deeper into the upturned collar of his jacket.

  "Friggin' blizzard in Tennessee. Who knew?" he muttered.

  Snow blew horizontally, severely reducing the visibility. Were it not for the obvious differences in size, Sam would have been unable to distinguish man from woman. As the pair drew even with the dock's concrete steps, Sam took a deep breath, and stepped from behind the drum.

  "In here!" he called out, taking care to keep his volume just above that of the howling wind.

  Quicker than Sam believed possible, the man spun and pointed at him. It only took a second for Sam to realize that there was a large, ugly-looking gun aimed at his chest.

  "Oh, shit!" he yelled diving back behind the drum. When no shot rang out, Sam peeked out cautiously, and yelled, "Hey! Don't shoot! I'm on your side!"

  The man lowered the gun only slightly and moved closer to the dock. His snow-covered head was cocked to the side as if trying to better hear what Sam was saying. The woman crowded the man's back, one hand laid tentatively on his shoulder. Sam tried again.

  "Look, there's somebody following you. I saw him from up there," he said, pointing to the floors above his head. "He's only a couple of blocks behind you and he's coming fast."

  The man lowered the gun and turne
d to the woman. He said something, but Sam couldn't make out the words. Whatever was being said, the woman was shaking her head, objecting vigorously.

  "Crap!" muttered Sam. She's going to get all of us caught!

  As the two argued, Sam had the strange notion that he knew the man from somewhere. It was nothing that he could put his finger on, just an odd feeling that their paths had crossed somewhere.

  Patience, whispered Joriel.

  Sam sighed. "I sure hope you're right."

  To Sam's surprise and immense relief, the argument came to an abrupt end and the pair trudged through the drift at the bottom of the metal stairway that led to the dock. Wordlessly, Sam motioned for them to stay close and follow. In silence, the trio picked their way carefully across the length of the building, moving north to south, and up the two flights of flimsy metal stairs that led to Sam's cardboard hut.

  Sam had discovered the abandoned factory, while zigzagging his way through the city. The subfreezing temperature and relentless pursuit had drained him of energy, and finding the old factory had been nothing short of a miracle. At first, he was merely grateful for a chance to get in out of the weather. Then, while exploring the second and third floors, he had found a large supply of empty cardboard boxes filled with dirty packing foam. Having lived his entire life in the American southwest, Sam knew next to nothing about surviving in cold weather, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Freezing your ass off makes for excellent motivation, he thought.

  After gathering several boxes from the second and third floors, Sam devoted most of the afternoon to constructing a shelter that he hoped would get him through the frigid night. He chose a spot in the south end of the top floor, a corner blocked in on one side by pallets stacked high with heavy wooden crates. Once finished, he had been amazed at how quickly the shelter warmed up, utilizing nothing except his own body heat. He later collapsed several of the larger boxes and used them as insulation against the cold concrete floor.

  Reaching the third floor, Sam slowed down and carefully led the pair through the maze of debris to the shelter entrance. It wasn't until they reached the opening of the shelter that he realized just how large it truly was. It was as if, subconsciously, he had been preparing for company all along.

  He removed the makeshift door and led them inside. The interior was too dark for him to see the pair very well, but the staccato fire of chattering teeth told the story. He located the tattered army blanket and held it out, at arm's length.

  "Here," he whispered. "Take my blanket." A pair of hands reached out tentatively, groping about until they eventually found the proffered gift.

  "Th ... thanks," the woman stuttered.

  "No problem," replied Sam. "Now you two stay here and warm up. I'm going to check on the guy that's following you. If something happens and you need to get out of here in a hurry, just crawl through the opening and look to your left. There's a set of stairs just outside the shelter that'll take you all the way down to the first floor. When you get there, there's a metal door on your right that will take you out to the street."

  "Wait a minute," replied the man. "I'm coming with you."

  "No!" said Sam, louder than he really intended. But the last thing he needed, or wanted, was the added responsibility of leading the man through the dark interior of the factory.

  "I know my way around in here and you don't. This building is nearly a block long, and there's large motors and machine parts laying all over the place. You could break your leg in the dark and we'd all be screwed."

  "How do we know you're not going to lead someone right to us?" demanded the woman. Although Sam couldn't see her face, the fear in her voice was plainly evident. She was scared shitless of whomever or whatever followed them and Sam figured he could identify with that.

  Before Sam could respond, the man spoke up. "He could have given us up before now, if he wanted to see us caught. Right, kid?"

  "You got it. Now just be cool while I take a look. No pun intended."

  "Yeah, okay," replied the man softly. As Sam ducked to exit through the low opening, the man called out, "Hey! What's your name?"

  "Sam. My name is Sam," he called back over his shoulder.

  "Well, Sam, I'm Mark. You put yourself on the line to help us and I ain't leaving you behind. If you run into any trouble, haul your skinny ass back here and we'll deal with it together. We, uh ... you and me, we haven't met before, have we? You seem... nah, never mind. Do what you have to do. We'll be here when you get back."

  Sam nodded then realized that they couldn't see him in the dark. "I won't be gone long. And do me a favor... please try not to shoot me by accident when I come back."

  "You bet, Sam. If I shoot you, it won't be an accident."

  "Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Sam said with a wry grin.

  "Just be careful, little dude. I'm not sure who's behind us, but chances are it's not somebody you want to meet face to face."

  Sam didn't bother to reply as he crawled out of the shelter and headed for the window at the other end of the floor. Within seconds, he was back at the third-story window.

  Janet's jeans were crusted with ice up to her thighs and she was literally freezing to death. Mark helped spread the wool blanket over her, then pulled a sheet of cardboard over himself. Surprisingly, the hut was cozy enough and he was beginning to regain feeling in his feet.

  "You really think we can trust him?" Janet asked through chattering teeth.

  "Hell, I ain't so sure I can trust you," Mark answered. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "If we can't trust him and this is some sort of trap, well, I'll just have to deal with it. In the meantime, I'm keeping an eye on all three of you."

  "The three of us?" she asked, confused.

  "Yeah. You, the kid, and the guy that's tracking us. I can't explain it, but I know the kid is telling the truth about that much. I... I could feel it... someone has been behind us ever since we left the motel."

  "Back there..." Janet began. "I've never seen anything like... them. W—what were they?"

  Mark coughed, then said, "I don't know. I really don't. I was hoping you could tell me. What's your name, anyway?"

  "Just call me 'royally screwed.'" Janet giggled nervously. Mark thought he detected a hint of hysteria in her voice.

  "Knock that shit off, will you? We're going to get out this. Now, what's your name?"

  "Janet. Look, we have to get out of here—find a cop! We have to tell them about... about..."

  Mark clenched his jaws tightly and tried to block out the sound of her voice.

  Not the children. Not the babies.

  When Janet's voice trailed off, Mark said, "No cops. First, there's nothing left of those things. They went up like pine straw. The only evidence is you, me, and that freezer, and the cops will never believe our story. Hell, I was there and I still don't believe it!"

  "Do what you want," snapped Janet. "I'm going to the police as soon as I can find my way out of here!"

  Mark's tone dropped dangerously low. "You're not going anywhere until I say so. I've already told you once; I don't trust you anymore than I trust those things at the motel." Mark paused for a second, then amended, "Maybe that's not exactly true, but until I have a chance to sort through this mess, we're going to stay put."

  "Okay, okay! I guess you're right." Janet's words lacked any real conviction, but Mark either missed it or chose to ignore it. They both fell silent, alert for sounds of danger and trying desperately to make some sense of their predicaments.

  Down on the dock. Sam shifted from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating. Long minutes passed without any sign of the Enemy. Despite the makeshift shelter of barrels and pallets, the wind was cutting through Sam and he was losing sensation in his hands and feet. Stubbornly, he refused to abandon his vigil.

  Given the severity of the storm, he figured it was possible that the Enemy had given up the search in favor of shelter; possible, but not very likely. Something told Sam that the man wasn't easily de
terred and that he was still out there, still searching.

  As Sam looked on, a tall, dark silhouette materialized at the far end of the alley. Moving slowly, the man studied the ground, apparently searching for tracks in the snow... and... Sam stared, puzzled by what he saw.

  What the hell is he doing, sniffing the air? Sam's gaze shifted to the shadows behind the man. There, he could see faint shapes milling about like a pack of hunting hounds. Although these were no dogs like Sam had ever seen. One, two... no, three! He could make out at least three more of the Enemy.

  "Damn!"

  The instant that the word escaped Sam's lips, the man looked up. He seemed to scan the length of the building, before looking up at the third-story window, directly at Sam. In disbelief, Sam ducked beneath the edge of the window.

  Friggin' impossible! he thought. There's no way he could have seen or heard me from that distance, not in this freakin' storm!

  Sam chanced a quick peek and his worst fears were confirmed. The man below was headed for the dock!

  "Oh, Christ!" he mumbled as he took off for the cardboard fort.

  As Sam reached the far end of the factory floor, he heard a sound that sent his heart into his throat. The Enemy was coming from the north end of the factory, yet the emergency stairway that was situated only a few feet from his makeshift shelter was vibrating violently. Someone was coming up from the south end of the building, too. Oh, Jesus! We're trapped!

  Sam hurried into the shelter and in a hushed, breathless voice, he explained to both of them what he had seen and heard. They had a few seconds, at most, and the enemy would be on top of them.

  "Goddamn it," Janet said, her voice breaking. "I knew he would lead them to us!"

  "Shut up!" growled Mark. "Okay, Sam. Nobody's blaming you, but we have to figure a way out of this. Is there another route down to the first floor?"

  "Yeah, there's a stairway against the south wall. It leads down to the first floor, but it comes out in plain view of the docks. Man, I'm sorry, but I think we're screwed," Sam replied, feeling guilty for bringing them into such a mess.

  Damn it, this is all Joriel's fault! he thought angrily.