by Liam Jackson
Setting the empty bottle on the table, Theo dabbed, the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin.
"Yes, he did. Now he sulks in that Mediterranean ruin he calls home, licking his wounds. He was nearly Unmade, the fool."
For a long moment, neither said anything. Theo watched his master's face and waited. He was sure that if this bit of news didn't get him killed, nothing would. The Runner abhorred any surprise not of his making. On more than one occasion, news of this kind had invoked his legendary temper, resulting in the destruction of entire planets.
The Runner called for another beer, then turned to Theo. "You're telling me that an Offspring nearly killed one of my Dominations? Is this your idea of a thinned and weakened bloodline? Theo, if this is some joke, you'd best get to the punch line. And if you're not joking..."
"I'm afraid it's no joke. I've not received Axthiel's account, but I do know that he hunted down one of the Offspring, and attempted to take him. I've only heard part of the story, but apparently the bastard reached. Two of the Host came to his aid. Axthiel managed to kill one of them, a Herald named Sharaiel. The other, a Power, nearly slew Axthiel. We're not certain, but it looks as if the Offspring is also dead."
Theo waited for an outburst that never came. The Runner leaned back in his chair and clasped both hands behind his head. The edge in his voice was gone. Theo thought he seemed genuinely pleased.
"Then why the gloomy face, sweet Theo? This is wonderful news. Axthiel transgressed, however, it seems he was properly chastised and I imagine he's far wiser for the experience. Another of the Host is Unmade and a worthless bastard-child is dead. Unless you're omitting an important piece of the story, I would think that this is all very good news."
Theo shook his head and said, "You're wrong. This is anything but good news. Did you not hear what I just said? The Offspring reached, and the Host answered!"
This time, the Runner heard... and understood.
CHAPTER 34
Knoxville, Tennessee
Christ! Why did I have to lose my mind in the middle of winter? Why not April? I love April! January, bad, April, good!" Mike sighed and turned up the heat inside the Jeep.
It was late afternoon, and according to the radio, the temperature was still hovering around the fifteen degree mark, negating any chance of a midday thaw.
Michael had yet to make it out of Knoxville and already his neck was stiff from nervous tension. Despite the best efforts of the snowplows and roadway sanding crews, the interstate was still extremely treacherous. The Jeep Cherokee handled well enough in snow, but Michael decided it was no better than your average runaway log truck on the ice.
He was almost through the downtown district when he noticed a large billboard advertising an exxon supercenter, next exit. Travel map! He'd forgotten to pack one for the trip, and the hotel clerk warned him that Abbotsville lay well off the beaten path. Besides, it was past time for coffee and another try at reaching Pam.
Minutes later, Michael walked into the crowded store and made straight for the bank of pay phones that lined the back wall. Using his calling card, he had an operator dial the number. Seconds later, he was frustrated by another busy signal.
"Shit."
Knowing his nerves couldn't take another night without speaking to Pam, he dialed his watch commander at the police department. A few seconds later, he was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Captain McClusky's Office, Sergeant Everett speaking. How may I help you?"
"Dennis, this is Michael Collier."
"Oh, Michael! Uh, ho—how are ya? Enjoying your vacation?"
Michael frowned. The man sounded nervous, or guarded, or perhaps both. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm having a hell of time. Look, I need a favor."
Silence.
"Dennis, are you there?"
"Yeah, Michael, I'm here. What's the favor?"
"I'm in Knoxville, Tennessee, visiting family."
Dennis chuckled, sounding relieved. "You need me to send you some snowshoes? That blizzard is all over the news back here."
"Heh, I could use 'em, that's for sure. The reason I'm calling is that Pam didn't make the trip with me. I've been trying to call her since yesterday, but there's no answer. You think maybe you could get one of the guys to swing by the house and check on her? You know, just make sure everything is cool?"
"Yeah, sure," replied Dennis. "Not a problem, but are you sure she isn't visiting her folks or something?"
"I tried calling her sisters and couldn't get through to them either. So, if maybe—"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Don't worry about it. I'll have one of the second watch cruisers run by and check things out. But, don't sweat it, Michael. I'm sure everything's fine. You got a number where I can reach you?"
Michael thought for a second, then said, "I'll be leaving Knoxville in a few minutes, on the way to visit more relatives. I've got my cell phone, but for some reason, I keep getting an 'out of service area' message. Once I get outside the city, the odds of getting a connection are even worse. So, maybe I better call you back, in say, a couple of hours?"
"Yeah, sure. If nothing blows up around here, I should have something for you by then."
"That's great, Dennis. I owe you one. Say, while I've got you on the line, have you seen Casey today?"
There was an extended pause, then without warning, the alarms exploded in Michael's head.
"Dennis?"
"Yeah, Michael." The voice sounded tired, now. Resigned. "I was afraid that's why you called. You haven't heard, have you?"
Michael swallowed hard, then said, "Dennis, I don't have a clue what you're talking about, but if it involves Casey, I think you'd better tell me."
"Yeah, I guess you might as well hear it from me. Casey is missing."
"What do you mean 'he's missing'?" Michael demanded.
"Just that. He disappeared this morning from his home. His wife said she heard a noise downstairs and woke him up. Casey went downstairs to check it out, but never came back. She called the P.D. and we dispatched several cars, but... he wasn't in the house, Michael. There were signs of a struggle, but Amanda swears she never heard anything. He was just... gone."
Michael felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.
"Michael? You still there?"
"Yeah... yeah, I'm here. You mentioned signs of a struggle, Dennis. What kind of signs?"
"All I know is that there was some blood in the living-room carpet and on the phone in the den. The lab typed a sample.... It matched Casey's."
Michael could barely hear over the frenzied internal alarms. "Dennis, have someone check on Pam, now! I can't explain it, but she may be in danger!"
"What are you talking about? What kind of danger, Mi—"
"Look, goddamn it! Get a car over to my house now! I'll explain it all, later. Just do it!"
"Calm down, Mike! I'll head over there myself, right now! Call me back in an hour."
Michael took a deep breath and willed his knees to stop shaking. "Thanks, Dennis. Just... thanks."
"No problem, Michael. Listen... are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Dennis, you've got no idea how much trouble I'm in. Just take care of my wife... please, just take care of Pam."
Michael hung up and sagged against the counter. The voice echoed in his head, again and again. We want you, Mikey. Why won't you let us in? Pam let us in.
Across the room, a skinny redheaded kid watched him with more than a passing interest.
Empty chip bags, sandwich wrappers, and soda bottles littered the small snack table. Mark loosed an impressive burrrpppp and flashed a "damn, that felt good" grin. Sam grinned, but the expression was contrived. The stench of the Enemy was still fresh in his nostrils, and his memory.
Janet scanned an abandoned local newspaper, looking for any mention of the motel fire. Much as she expected, there was nothing on the front page. She opened the paper to page two. The story at the top of the page sent a chill through her body.
missing children toll cl
imbs: governor declares state of emergency
Mark saw her staring blankly at the paper and leaned over for a glance at the paper. A quick look was all he needed. Seeing Mark's reaction, Janet quickly folded the paper and laid it aside. She placed her hand on his, and for a moment, neither spoke.
Sam knew Janet and Mark were still struggling with the hellish events at the motel and that recovery would be a long time in coming, if ever. Despite having his own issues to deal with, he felt responsible, and oddly protective of them both. It was a hell of a time for the Voice to disappear.
Since birth, he had felt the comforting presence of the Voice. After nearly nineteen years, he finally had a name for his lifelong companion, Joriel. And now, Joriel was gone, snatched from him at a time when he most needed her advice and calming influence.
Sam tamped a pack of Marlboros against the heel of his hand, then stripped away the cellophane. Careful to appear casual, he watched customers move in and out of the store. The truck stop was doing a booming business as people were on the move again, digging out from under three continuous days of blizzard. No less than a dozen people stood in line at the register to pay for fuel.
The atmosphere inside the truck stop was a far cry from the motel or the old manufacturing plant, but memories of the past forty-eight hours were still fresh. All three kept a wary eye on the doors, fully aware of how easily and suddenly the Enemy could appear.
Twice, Mark asked Sam to check out suspicious-looking customers, and each time Sam assured them that he sensed nothing out of the ordinary. That all changed when a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the store and made straight for a row of pay phones.
Sam didn't want to alarm the others, but he immediately sensed something peculiar about the stranger. He watched from the corner of his eye as the man gave a number to the operator, then waited impatiently for his call to go through. A moment later, Mark looked across the room, and his eyes instantly locked onto the man. He cleared his throat, and indicated the man with a subtle nod.
"Something weird about that one," he said in a low tone. "You feel it?"
Sam nodded, but kept his eyes on the man. "Yeah, I feel it. Don't worry. He's not an Enemy."
Mark shook his head. "Maybe not, but I'm getting this strong vibe from him. Real strong."
"Easy, Mark. I'm not really sure of what he is, but I'm positive of what he isn't."
Janet leaned close and whispered something into Mark's ear. He nodded and pointed just as the man hung up the phone and leaned heavily against the wall. "The tall guy in the denim shirt," Mark whispered. Janet glanced at in the direction indicated by Mark. "Jesus, he's a big one!" she whispered.
Sam agreed. If he was wrong and the big man was one of the bad guys, he'd be a handful. He was several inches taller than Mark and easily fifty pounds heavier and not an ounce of the weight seemed out of place. It was also obvious that he was having a bad day. He just stood there, his forehead resting on the wall, his shoulders trembling visibly.
As they watched, the man suddenly raised his head and turned around. Steel-gray eyes swept over the room, eventually coming to rest on Sam. In that instant there was a flash of recognition.
Sam locked eyes with the man, and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. The man returned the nod and flashed a tired, shallow smile. It was obvious that the man had troubles, and Sam knew that they shared common ground where that trouble was concerned.
For a moment Sam thought the man would approach the table and... do what? Introduce himself, maybe? Ask to join their little band of misfits, just like that? Sam wasn't sure what he expected, but whatever it was, it wasn't what came next. The man broke off his eye contact with Sam, then walked over to a nearby display and selected a cheap road map. He then took his place in line at the register and paid for the map. He stuffed the change and the map into his jacket pocket, and then started for the door.
Almost as an afterthought, the man stopped, turned, and gave Sam a final nod. When Sam returned the nod, the man turned and walked out of the store.
Sam watched through the window as the man got into a Jeep Cherokee. Seconds later, the Jeep was out of the parking lot and headed for the eastbound on-ramp.
As the Jeep disappeared from sight, Sam realized that he was holding his breath. Feeling more than a little foolish, he glanced at Mark, but Mark didn't notice. He was also staring out of the window, his face a similar bright shade of red. Janet looked at them both in turn, then nudged Mark with her elbow.
"What was that all that about?" she asked. Mark slowly shook his head side to side. "I... don't know, but I have the damnedest feeling that I know that guy." Sam pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He inhaled deeply, then blew out a long spiraling stream of smoke. Turning to look out the window, Sam said, "In a way, you do know him. He's one of us and we're going to see him again." Puzzled, Janet looked at Mark who only shrugged.
For the next hour, Sam and Mark made plans for the trip to Abbotsville. Given the town's remote location, small size, and recent blizzard conditions, Mark suggested they stock up on basic supplies.
Together, they made a list of needed items and thanks to Janet's credit card, were soon outfitted. The truck stop proved to be the next best thing to a department store. Mark wandered the aisles for several minutes before approaching the checkout register with an armload: three cheap flashlights, the store's last four packages of D-cell batteries, candy bars, bags of chips, and a large bottle of Tylenol. When he reached the counter, he asked the clerk for three cartons of cigarettes.
Sam stood behind Mark, holding his own cache; a large Styrofoam chest filled with a case of bottled water and a twelve pack of chocolate soda. On top of the chest, he had a supersized bottle of liquid cold medicine, a travel-all first aid kit, three pairs of cheap, fleece-lined gloves, and four family-sized packages of beef jerky.
After Janet paid out, Sam carefully packed most of the items away inside his duffel bag. His mood sobered as he held the first aid kit. The blue plastic case bearing a bright red cross served a not-so-gentle reminder that he couldn't afford to relax. Not for a moment.
After he finished packing, Sam hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder and tested the weight. Not too bad, he thought. He unslung the bag and sat it beside the chest, then joined Mark and Janet. After a brief discussion, it was decided that Sam would wait at the truck stop while Janet and Mark went after the rental car. Sam watched the pair walk arm in arm across the street and along the frozen sidewalk.
Enjoy the moment, because there are some bad times, ahead, thought Sam. Some really bad times.
CHAPTER 35
Mississippi Delta
Soft rays of January sun streamed into the room, casting delicate shadows upon the walls. A stiff breeze stirred the drapes that hung on either side of the window. Despite being situated in the desert, the temperature inside the stone house was more than comfortable.
Paul had no way of telling time, but judging from the way he felt, surprisingly pain-free, he was sure that he had slept around the clock. Maybe longer. His head felt thick, as if he had a hangover, and a bitter aftertaste lingered in his mouth. He struggled up onto an elbow, then without thinking, pulled back the thin blanket, and swung both feet to the floor.
As he rose to a sitting position, he braced himself for the pain. Miraculously, there was none. Gingerly, he probed the flesh around his injured knee and realized that the swelling had disappeared, leaving only the hint of a bruise. That's when he noticed that sometime during the day, the splint had been removed from his arm. A compound fracture of the radial forearm completely healed.
Damn! How long have I been asleep? The heaviness was gone from his chest, and there was only a trace of discomfort when he inhaled. He raised his T-shirt and found the purple-tinged remains of the blow that had nearly crushed his sternum. Instinctively, Paul knew he would carry the bruise for the rest of his life. He marked me! The bastard marked me. Shoving the thought aside, Paul stood up and on shaky legs, walked acro
ss the narrow room to the waiting food. He carried the table and tray back to his bed, and ate the simple fare in silence. He was just finishing when the door cracked open and Nathaniel peeked inside.
"Well, little brother, I see that you managed to find your supper. Feeling better?"
Paul, slowly chewing a mouthful of sourdough bread, nodded and motioned for Nathaniel to come in. He filled his cup from the pitcher and sipped at the amber liquid. Apple cider, tart and ice-cold.
Nathaniel smiled warmly and took a seat in the ladder-back chair beside the bed. Paul marveled that the chair held the massive warrior's weight. Even sitting, Nathaniel was nearly as tall as Paul... with Paul standing. The indigo tattoo was no less impressive in the soft afternoon light.
"Yes, thank you. I'm feeling better than I have a right to, considering the extent of my injuries. Tell me, how long did I sleep?"
Nathaniel smiled. "Let's see... as you measure time, I'd say it's been about six hours."
Speechless, Mark stared at his rescuer. Surely this was a joke. Nathaniel continued smiling.
"I... I don't understand. What you're suggesting isn't humanly possible...."
Nathaniel chuckled softly and said, "Yes, no, and no."
Confused, Paul shook his head. "I'm not following. What did you say?"
"I said, yes, you really don't understand; no, I'm not suggesting anything but rather, I'm stating fact; and no, it's not humanly possible. Although it once was possible, long ago. But that's another story."
Exasperated, Paul said, "Okay, the joke's on me. Now, please tell me what in the hell you're talking about?"
This time Nathaniel leaned back in the chair and laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. Paul's anger faded as he marveled at the sound of mirth coming from Nathaniel. If laughter could ever be called lyrical, this was a symphony. And it was contagious. Despite his puzzlement, Paul found himself joining in, and soon the room was filled with the sound of pure joy.