Deranged Souls

by Ron Ripley

  “How do you know my name?” she snapped. “I never told it to you.”

  “I’ve known your name for decades,” Marcus answered.

  Gwen scoffed at him. “Nice try. I’m only nineteen.”

  “You’re dead,” Marcus said.

  She stiffened and glared at him. “You’re wrong. I’m alive.”

  “No,” Marcus said tightly. “You’re not. I watched you die, Gwen.”

  Her scream shook him and nearly left him immobilized as she launched herself across the snow. He fell back, throwing his hands up, one of his iron-studded gloves grazing her. She vanished as he slammed into the snow, the breath rushing out of him when he struck the frozen ground.

  Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his side, pushed himself to a sitting position, and saw Gwen explode out of her house.

  No, he thought, struggling to get to his feet. By the time he stood, Gwen had covered half the distance between them and was moving faster than he thought possible. He beat back the flight response demanding he run for the safety of home.

  There is no safety here, Marcus thought. The salt he had taken to contain Kimberly had never been replaced. Timmy was too weak to help. Alex and Elaine were missing. Without Alex, there would be no help from the rest of the Village’s dead.

  Damn it, he thought bitterly, and turned to lead with his left shoulder and present a slim target. He raised his hands and knew instinctively she would be too fast for him.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  Marcus tried to lash out at her, to beat her back with another blow. Gwen ducked it easily, snapping an open hand at him. Her fingers grazed his cheek, and he howled with pain. He staggered back, his face is numb.

  Gwen laughed and kicked at him.

  The tip of her toe caught his left knee, and he quivered from the pain. He crashed down onto the injured joint, and Marcus tottered, on the verge of falling. Gwen stood in front of him. She smiled, made a fist, and Marcus punched her in the thigh.

  The dead woman vanished, and he fell to his side.

  I can make it to the chapel, he thought. Door or no door. It is a haven.

  Marcus stretched out in the snow and started to pull himself toward it. His pain was too intense to allow him to walk. Every few seconds, he looked at Gwen’s home, expecting to see her. But there was nothing. The dead woman didn’t appear again.

  As the adrenaline dumped into his stomach, Marcus squashed the urge to vomit. He focused on the chapel. On getting to safety.

  Alex will try to find me, Marcus thought, risking another glance back at the house. Gwen was still missing. He will find me. Then, the two of us can return home. If Alex cannot control her, then we may have to try and escape from here. It is not safe with Gwen. She’s too strong. How, though?

  A low rumble filled the air, and Marcus looked at the chapel. More of the roof fell in, and some of the masonry crashed to the snow-covered ground.

  No, Marcus thought, horrified.

  He looked at Gwen’s house, saw nothing, focused his attention on the chapel again, and froze. Gwen stood between him and the shattered door. She held her hands loosely in front of her, and there was a dangerous air about her.

  “I think I’ve had about as much fun as I can stand,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I believe I could do with a bit more,” Marcus replied, forcing a smile. “How about we make arrangements to meet again tomorrow? Same time, same place? What say you?”

  She blinked, shook her head, and asked, “What did you say?”

  “I said, what say you?” Marcus repeated. “Shall we meet tomorrow?”

  “No,” Gwen snarled, stomping forward. She delivered a vicious backhand which caught the top of his head.

  With his head pounding, Marcus sat up. I will not die lying down.

  Gwen reached down for him, and then her eyes went wide. She froze and stared at him. Her body shook, and she whispered, “No. Not this.”

  Her eyes darted around, unfocused. Unseeing. She dropped her hands and shook her head violently. “No!”

  Marcus’ breath caught in his throat, and he waited, wondering why his execution was delayed. Her eyes focused on him, and she gasped.

  “Your scar,” she whispered. “Where did you get that?”

  Instinctively, Marcus reached up and felt the scar on his head. The roughly healed flesh he tried not to remember.

  The scar from when Gwen and Carol had been murdered.

  “When the bullet passed through you,” Marcus said sadly, “it struck my head. This is the scar it left behind.”

  “Marcus,” Gwen sobbed. “Oh, Marcus. I’ve been killing people!”

  “I know, Gwen,” Marcus whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want to,” she wept, her body trembling. “I don’t want to kill anyone else. Help me. Please.”

  “I don’t know what to do for you,” Marcus admitted. “You’re strong, Gwen. One of the strongest I’ve seen and, and you’re you, Gwen. I can’t hurt you.”

  “You can, though,” Gwen pleaded, her chest heaving. “You can destroy the house.”

  “What?”

  “My house. Burn it down,” Gwen said. “I know it. Burn the house and I’ll go away. Forever.”

  “Gwen,” he whispered.

  “Please, Marcus!” she begged. “I can’t kill anyone else. Marcus, don’t let me kill you!”

  “I won’t,” Marcus sobbed. He turned around and looked at her house. The pain in his knee sickened him, and he knew he wouldn’t be capable of walking.

  With his head hanging and his dead friend crying, Marcus began the long, slow crawl toward her home.

  Chapter 39: Secondary Plans

  “Is everything loaded?” Erica asked.

  David nodded. “I uploaded the last of it a little bit ago. All the information to access it is on the thumb-drive I gave you.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up a backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Everything’s in order?” he asked her.

  The nurse nodded, and David glanced past her into medical. After a moment, he asked, “Will you wait for me there?”

  “Of course,” she said grimly. “Where else am I going to go, David?”

  He shrugged.

  Erica looked him hard in the eye. “The deal still stands. If you haven’t shown up in a week, then I’ll move on to the next stage.”

  David glanced in at Professor Abel Worthe, who lay asleep on one of the beds. The man looked old and frail, strapped down to the bed. His mouth was open slightly, and a line of drool spilled from the corner of his lips to the crisp white sheet on the gurney.

  “Is he safe to travel like that?” David asked.

  “Are you a damned nurse?” Erica snapped.

  David chuckled and shook his head.

  “No,” she said. “You’re not. I am. And yes, he’s okay to travel like that. Once we get out of New York, I’ll have a private ambulance meet us someplace and transfer him like that to the secure facility. Then, when everything is settled down, we can go over the material and evidence gathered. It’ll be good to take his mind off everything else for a while.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to double-check the security cameras to make sure everything is dismantled, and when I’m satisfied, I’ll secure the gates, turn around and leave,” David answered.

  “You’re going to let them starve to death?” Erica asked.

  “Yes,”

  “What about the boy?”

  “What about him?” David looked at her coldly.

  “All right,” she sighed after a moment. “I’ve got a long drive and a less than talkative passenger. We’ll meet you there. Be safe.”

  “Same to you.”

  He turned away and walked toward the security center. The compound felt too empty, the air cold and heavy at the same time. David didn’t like to think about the number of men and women who
had died in the service of the professor.

  They knew what they were signing up for, he thought bitterly. At least my people didn’t run away and scurry off to Europe.

  David smiled as an urge to pay the company a visit rose within him. There was plenty of money for a trip to Europe. Plenty of money to afford black market weapons once there, and then to successfully do damage to Alfor Securities, Inc.

  The idea of it made him smile, and he was still grinning a few minutes later when he went into the security room. He made certain none of the recorders were active, and as he went through, turning off each camera and tower individually, he came to a stop.

  David saw Subject D unconscious in the remains of the chapel, most of the roof collapsed about the boy. He saw Subject B crawling through the snow toward the Hamilton House.

  It was then that David realized Timmy Knip had to be in 114 Broad, alone and dying.

  I don’t want you to die like that, Timmy, David thought angrily. I want you to suffer. I want it to hurt. I want to look you in the eyes and blow your damned brains out.

  David shut down the last tower and made his decision. Out of habit, he checked the magazine in his pistol, and then he walked out of the security room toward the garage bays. Within a matter of minutes, David was in a Humvee. He raced down the road to the Village, his heart beating quicker with every second. Fear spurred him to go faster as he worried he wouldn’t be the one to kill Timmy.

  Don’t die, Timmy, David thought, speeding the last two hundred yards to the gate of the Village. He left the Humvee running as he jumped out and slipped into the Village. David unholstered his pistol and jogged toward 114 Broad. He could feel the eyes of the dead on him, but he didn’t pay them any mind. The dead didn’t worry him.

  You’d better still be alive, David thought. Just enough so you know what I’m doing to you. Just enough so you beg me not to.

  ***

  Erica Schomp backed the adapted SUV into the loading bay, turned off the engine, and climbed out. Her few belongings were secure in an old backpack on the front seat, and a travel mug full of hot coffee was in the cup holder of the center console. She adjusted the black knit cap she had on and walked to the stairs. Climbing them, she kept her eyes forward, beating back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

  She was here, when I first saw her, Erica thought, glancing at the doors which led into the facility. Standing there, smiling, looking like hell on wheels. Oh, Jane, I miss you. I miss you so damned much.

  She turned away from the doors to the back of the SUV. Erica keyed the trunk button, and the giant black hatchback slowly lifted on silent pistons. Once it was in position, she focused her attention on Professor Abel Worthe. A mix of hatred and pity swelled within her as she looked at the frail man strapped down to the gurney. He was still asleep, still under sedation.

  Erica patted the inside of her coat, reassuring herself that all the medical papers were there. Should she get pulled over, the papers would state her position as caretaker of Professor Worthe and her rights and responsibilities regarding transportation.

  “Let’s get you loaded, huh?” she said to Abel, who remained unresponsive. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, and she shook her head. “You were fantastic when I first met you, Abel. Stubborn, irresponsible at times, but still, you were a great man. Your vision was amazing. It’s why I agreed to come on board. Don’t worry, though. I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

  Talking to him as if he cares, Erica thought, unlocking the wheels of the gurney and pushing it forward. I’m sure he hears me. Should berate him all the way to the safe house. I won’t, though. I’ll play some crappy music or something.

  She snickered at the thought, lowered the gurney and eased it into the back of the SUV. It took her several minutes to secure the straps and to attach the oxygen monitor to his finger. She adjusted a pair of mirrors mounted to the interior sides, mirrors which would allow her to see his face while traveling.

  When she finished, Erica sat back and looked at Abel Worthe.

  “Well, Abel, we’re just about finished up here. One last thing to do.”

  She crawled out, closed the hatchback, and walked to the interior doors. From her back pocket, she took out a folded piece of paper and taped it to the door. It was the third and last of three such papers, all positioned around the house in places guaranteed to be seen.

  Good luck to you, she thought, staring at the paper for a moment. I don’t know if you’ll make it, but good luck to you all the same.

  With a sigh, Erica turned around and returned to the SUV. Climbing in, she started the engine, checked on Abel in the mirrors, and took off her coat. She stretched, took a deep breath, and let it out through her nose.

  Right. She buckled up and drove out of the bay.

  ***

  Joyce pulled over at the sound of a car’s engine, and the others did the same. They had been traveling for two days, and there hadn’t been any sign of patrols or Worthe’s guards. Each day, they had moved closer to the main road leading up to the compound, refueling as needed along the way. The four of them sat on their snowmobiles, the engines thrumming as they waited to see what was going to happen.

  A minute passed, then another, and Joyce realized she had forgotten how far sound carried in the wilderness.

  She stiffened as a large, familiar, black SUV came around the corner ahead of them. While the majority of transportation at the compound was in the form of Humvees, there were several black SUVs as well, and Joyce didn’t doubt it was one of Worthe’s.

  As the vehicle passed by, the driver waved and continued.

  “Holy crap,” Ellen said, taking off her helmet. The others did the same.

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “That was Erica Schomp, Worthe’s private nurse,” Ellen replied.

  “Is that significant?” Victor asked.

  Ellen nodded. “Sure is. She didn’t go anywhere without him.”

  “Are you saying he’s dead?” Joyce asked, a cold hatred filling her. “I don’t want him dead; I want to punish him.”

  “No,” Ellen answered. “I’m not saying he’s dead. I mean, it may be a possibility. He was old. But maybe, just maybe, she’s taking him to a hospital or something? Unless she up and quit.”

  “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Victor mused.

  “Keep riding,” Joyce agreed. “Ready?”

  “I was born ready,” Tom said with a wink.

  “I think you were just born a pain,” Ellen confided.

  The four of them chuckled, put their helmets back on, and headed out once more.

  Chapter 40: Cold Hatred

  “You have to hurry, Marcus,” Gwen whispered.

  He stopped where he was, his head pounding, his body screaming in protest. His heart missed a beat when he looked upon her. Gwen’s face writhed across her skull, twisting and reforming, struggling between desperation and madness. Her entire body pulsed.

  “I don’t know who I am,” she gasped. “Someone’s almost here, and she’s me but not me. Oh, Marcus, help me!”

  She threw her hands up to her face and clawed at her eyes, screaming as she collapsed to her knees.

  Biting back his fear and his pain, Marcus tried to scramble forward despite the protests of his flesh. Gwen’s house was less than a hundred feet away, but he still had to get inside and find a way to set it on fire.

  Her screams became shrill, and the ground beneath him shook. He focused on the house and the desperate hope that he would reach it.

  ***

  David paused outside the back door of 114 Broad. He knew Timmy was in the house. He had to be. According to the after-action report filed by Alfor, his injuries were severe. This was borne out by the fact that no one had seen Timmy outside the house since the attack.

  Clearing his thoughts, David gripped the doorknob and eased the backdoor open. He glanced in, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and slipped inside. He waited, listenin
g.

  From the main room came the unmistakable sound of a death rattle.

  Still alive. Not for much longer sounding like that, David thought.

  He adjusted his grip on his pistol and crossed the floor silently, keeping to the edges of the room. He paused at the entrance to the front room. His nose registered sickness and death. Timmy had hours at most.

  David crept to the edge of the couch and looked down at him.

  The man’s eyes were closed, his face sunken and his skin pale. Blankets were pulled up around him despite the warmth radiating from the wood burning in the fireplace.

  David brought the pistol over the top of the couch where Timmy lay and leveled it at the dying man’s face.

  “Timmy,” David whispered. “Wake up, Timmy.”

  His eyes fluttered, opened, and Timmy Knip smiled at him. “Hey.”

  “How are you?” David asked through clenched teeth. “How’re you feeling, huh?”

  “Pretty good,” Timmy whispered. “Glad you came. Figured you would.”

  “Oh yeah?” David sneered. “You figured I’d come and see you?”

  “How could you not?” Timmy replied, looking at David with feverish eyes. “You’re a sissy. ‘Bout the only time you can handle me is when I’m dying. Thanks for proving me right.”

  “I’m about to prove you can die,” David snapped.

  “Sure you are,” Timmy wheezed, and the muffled bark of a pistol filled the small room.

  David gasped for air, sinking onto the back of the couch. He couldn’t feel anything below his waist. His legs refused to push him back up. He wasn’t even sure he had legs anymore.

  Timmy smiled at him, and the bark came twice more.

  “I’m dying,” Timmy hissed. “Doesn’t mean I’m unarmed, you idiot.”

  David’s eyes felt like they were moving through sand as he looked down. There was a trio of holes in the blanket, and holes in the back of the sofa. For the first time, he could feel blood seeping down through his clothes.

  “You shot me,” David said.