I know it’s possible the curiosity might kill the proverbial cat, but it’s also possible it could lead to some new and wonderful feature that I had been unaware of up until now. Maybe the gun will fire a missile at the target or something else insane. The actual result turns out to be almost as game-changing.
As soon as I click the button with my thumb, a small red beam of light shoots out of a non-descript box that had been attached to the muzzle of the rifle. The beam is super thin and difficult to see even with my eyes, but I can tell it goes far off into the direction I’m pointing the gun.
“What the?” I gasp, and then smile as the realization of what I had just unlocked hit me. “Oh yes, now this is awesome!” I declare.
A laser sight? An actual laser sight? This gun not only has the little scope on top, but if I click that button next to my thumb, then I apparently can activate a red dot that will show me exactly where my bullet is going to go. This almost feels like cheating.
Immediately deciding I need to check this out, I take aim at a plank of wood that is only a few dozen yards away. I don’t bother using the little scope on top of the gun, I just keep the rifle down at my hip and turn it so that the projected dot finds the middle of the board and then I pull the trigger.
Shh-crack, the gun reports and the wood snaps into two pieces exactly where I had been aiming. Large chunks of processed tree fly in different directions as the now-shortened planks whirl through the air.
Smiling to myself, I turn and focus the red dot on an overturned wheelbarrow over a football field away from where I’m standing, and I pull the trigger again.
The Shh-crack of the gun is quickly followed by a loud, reverberating WHABANG as the side of the wheelbarrow caves in from the impact.
“Oh, this is almost too easy,” I say out loud and look for an even bigger challenge.
There’s another abandoned warehouse down the street, and I decide to use it as a solid test of my new range and accuracy. Squinting to bring the side of the building into view, I steady myself to prevent the red dot from jumping around too much on the target. I adjust until I can center the red dot on a second floor window without it vibrating.
“Boom,” I breathe and pull the trigger.
Part of the window explodes in the distance, but I notice it isn’t the same part I was aiming for. It was a pane just below the one I had painted with the dot, and I remind myself that I’ll need to adjust for the drop again next time. All of the shots I had taken with the rifle so far had been close enough that the bullet drop hadn’t been noticeable. But at that last distance, a distance the pistol never could have achieved, I will need to reconsider things.
“Oh,” I say softly. “I do believe I have found myself my new favorite toy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By the time I finish practicing, I have exhausted a third full cartridge in the rifle and perfected my aim to the point that I can hit a target while either it or myself are in motion. I practiced throwing things into the air and shooting them as they fell, and I even tried hitting a target while I was in a full sprint. Both proved to be enjoyable challenges, and neither was one that I particularly exceled at, but they also give me motivation to come back and try again. You can’t master everything on the first day, or it wouldn’t be enjoyable to revisit it.
My bigger issue, aside from running low on the ammo that I had brought out with me, is that I am getting hungry. Distractingly hungry. I had been trying to use the Darkness as little as possible while I practiced, but even using it very little still meant I was using it. And all those “very littles” have added up. The urging of the Darkness to go out and quell the Hunger is getting to a point that I can’t ignore anymore.
On top of that, if Ren is successful in setting up my visit tomorrow then I absolutely cannot go into that prison still hungry. I need to have the Hunger completely satiated and quiet. I don’t want to give the Darkness any more pull or influence over my decisions than I can avoid.
That means I’m going to need to get some fresh blood into my system tonight.
“No point putting it off,” I say and shrug while gathering the weapons and empty ammunition boxes together.
I’ve come to realize that ignoring The Hunger only increases its intensity and leads to greater complications later. It seems to be to my benefit to quell its roar as soon as it’s felt and recognized rather than try and ignore it and hope it’ll disappear on its own. It won’t. It never has.
If I’m lucky, then Ren might still have some full bags hanging in our fridge. I still haven’t gotten up the courage to ask him where he keeps getting the bags from, and I’ve instead just been storing the question in the “maybe it’s better not to know” category. Ren has always been resourceful since I’ve known him, but having consistent access to bags of fresh human blood? That’s just a bit frightening. Well, frightening…and useful.
Unfortunately, for both of us, the “bagged blood” isn’t quite as strong as when it’s “fresh from the tap”. I’ve begun to notice that it takes more of it to achieve the same level of energy as when I go out hunting for it. It is definitely a great solution, but it’s only a temporary one usually. A stopgap for those days when I cannot go out and get blood on my own, but continuing to be Hungry could be detrimental. And not just to me, but to anyone I might encounter. Ren’s cancerous blood may be poisonous to me, but neither of us knows what might happen if the Hunger gets strong enough. There’s every chance this supply of refrigerated blood is just a self-preservation technique. It could be, and if it is, then it’s been an effective one.
As I step back through the rear doorway into the warehouse with the rifle slung over my shoulder and hands full of the pistol and crushed boxes, I look over towards Ren’s computers so I can ask him about our blood supply. But his chair is empty. The computers are all still on, but most of the screens have reverted back to his screen saver which means he’s been gone for a while.
Although my first instinct is to worry about a kidnapping, I notice the chair isn’t overturned and there is no sign of a scuffle. It just looks like he left. It’s an unusual occurrence for him to disappear, but not completely unheard of. Sometimes he has to leave for supply runs that can’t be accomplished through deliveries or by his many networks of connections in the underworld. And if he’s trying to make sure we’re prepared for tomorrow, then there’s every chance he had to go out and grab something important.
Intrigued, but not worried, I head over to the weapons locker. With a small sigh of regret, I hang the rifle back up on its hook. “Don’t worry,” I tell the dark metal of the gun. “I’m sure I’ll find a use for you soon. That was too much fun to not revisit.”
After returning the rifle, I decide, on a whim, to reload the pistol instead of putting it back in the locker. I might not be able to carry that large, beautiful one around with me, but I can most certainly keep its relative nearby. And who knows when it might come in handy. Wouldn’t hurt to have it, just in case.
Or so I tell myself.
Searching the locker a bit more, I uncover a black, nylon holster that seems to hold the small pistol in place fairly well. It’s not a perfect fit, but with the strap buttoned around the back of the grip it stays in when I jiggle it.
“Probably not gonna get much better than that on short notice,” I say and attach it to the back of my pants under my shirt. “Hopefully I won’t need you anytime soon,” I continue. “But better safe than sorry, right?”
With the gun secured, I close up the locker and head over to Ren’s work area to poke around. Bending over, I inhale several deep breaths around his chair and keyboard and check to see if I can pick up any hints as to why he left. In the back of my mind, a small part of me was afraid I would smell fear or anxiety or stress or another emotion that might indicate foul play had caused his absence. But the only thing I pick up is a faint residue of excitement.
He wasn’t upset when he left; he was happy. He had found something in his research tha
t required him to take off, and he was looking forward to the trip. That’s good enough for me. Ren’s not in trouble, so I don’t have to bother him.
“That’s good to know,” I say as I jog over to the fridge to check our blood supply. I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do for the rest of the night to entertain myself with Ren gone, though. In addition to my boredom I also need to make sure I keep my Hunger in check until tomorrow. But that’s an easy enough problem for me to work on, and I’m a big girl.
I’m still thinking about that as I pull open the refrigerated door and peek inside.
“Well there goes my boredom,” I mumble as I notice that we’re down to only two bags left in stock. Two bags isn’t bad, but it also isn’t quite enough to completely satiate the Hunger. I need the Hunger to be non-existent tomorrow. I can’t have it peeking up even the slightest hint of its presence into my thoughts. For that I would need a minimum of six bags of blood. Four bags might even work on a normal day where I’m not under stress or trying to constantly keep myself in check around sweet-smelling humans. But tomorrow? With me walking into that prison and trying to wear a disguise and confronting Chadwick? I wouldn’t even begin to feel safe.
Plus if I finish off these bags, then we have no backups. I might very well need something to keep me sane after tomorrow’s meeting. Coming home to an empty fridge with a voracious appetite is not a situation I wish to explore.
That means I have to go out hunting tonight. I need some fresh blood to keep everything in check internally. Ren won’t be happy that I’m going out and risking things, but I don’t see any other option at the moment. Plus, he isn’t really here to talk me out of it. Or to try and stop me.
More importantly, and this is the part I don’t want to really think about, I want to go out. Lately, hunting and live-feeding has been more effective at keeping the Hunger at bay than anything else. The bags work, but I don’t enjoy them. Not like I do when I stalk somebody. There’s just something about the experience that can’t be replicated. And it eases a pressure in my head that I can’t explain. It’s just a thing I need to do.
And that’s the part I don’t want to think about.
Letting the cold metal door softly close, I jog back over to Ren’s desk to leave him a note. It wouldn’t do to have him get back and realize I’m gone. His worrying about where I’ve gone and why would just cause more trouble than either of us need.
Picking up one of his post-it notes and a pen, I jot down:
Ren,
Went out for a little bit. I’m fine. Had to do something. Will be safe. Finish what you’re doing, and we’ll talk when I’m back.
Cat
It’s vague, but it at least lets him know where I am. Mostly. There’s no need to tell him I’m hunting if it can be avoided. That would just make him worry unnecessarily. Plus, I’ll be fine. I’m just going out for a quick snack, and then I’ll be back.
What could go wrong with that?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Luckily my time spent out behind the warehouse allowed the Zero to build up plenty of charge to last for the night. The last thing I want is to be out hunting and away from Ren, and then have to worry about finding ways to get home.
With it just being a quick trip, and no cartel-focused activities planned, I leave the helmet at home and just ride out into the embracing darkness of the night. It’s nice to feel the cool wind pull at my hair as I accelerate away from the warehouse and down the neighboring deserted streets.
I figure I should be fine if I can find three or four people to help fill my belly. Since I only plan to use half a liter or so from each person, it might take a bit more than the average night, but I’m in no hurry. It’s now just a matter of determining where to go and who best to use.
The city’s homeless population has been a source I have used in the past, but that path comes with some drawbacks. One is that their blood isn’t always the cleanest due to their living situations. I sometimes get some odd side effects depending on what’s in their blood stream, and I can’t always take a full pull from them due to many of them already being participants in the blood-donation-for-money game. Sometimes after I begin feeding, I’ll notice right away that the blood is thinner and weaker than anticipated, and I’ll know that they’ve donated recently and are no longer a sufficient source for a meal.
The other, and slightly more compelling, reason why I don’t use their population as much is just guilt. I feel bad. Life has already thrown them enough of a curveball without my adding to it by hunting them down. Sometimes using them feels like spanking a puppy. Maybe you can justify it on occasion when it’s needed, but you’ll always feel bad afterwards and wonder if maybe there wasn’t a better solution.
Plus, the first human I ever killed after developing these abilities was a crazed vagrant that attacked me in an alley. It was an event that still haunts me to this day, and I’ll never be able to wipe it from my memory. I carry reluctant fear of them that may be overly unfounded, but that doesn’t stop it from existing. So far it hasn’t completely halted my use of them on occasion, but it does help me only tap into that resource when absolutely necessary.
Instead, I’ve found that some of the larger city parks work much better to my advantage. Depending on the season, the selections and options can be quite enticing. The warmer the weather, like tonight, the better the chance there will be random people roaming the grassy areas or using the lit walkways. And that’s all I need…some nice, unsuspecting people.
The first several times I went out hunting and attempted to check out some of the parks, I was shocked to see how populated they were even later into the night. I had grown up on television shows and movies depicting city parks as centers of unchecked violence and terror once the sun went down. But that didn’t seem to actually happen. These social areas of the communities were much more crowded than I ever thought they’d be. Either the criminals were all living in peace with each other in these neutral zones, or somehow Hollywood had lied to me for years. The more I hunted and watched the people in the park, the more I realized it was the latter and not the former. The vast majority of the humans I stalked in the parks weren’t criminals at all. Just people. People out enjoying the local greenery or walkways or basketball courts.
It turns out that cities are quite a bit safer than I’d been led to believe. At least in areas like this. Now the back alleys and darkened, abandoned streets and the thriving drug dens where I’d begun my war on the cartels? Those are still scary places. And most definitely populated by the unsavory types I’d grown up seeing in movies.
But the main parks? They are relatively safe.
Which, of course, makes it ironic that this is where I’m choosing to hunt for my evening meal. I’m probably the only real threat in the entire place. And I’m supposed to be one of the good people.
After locating a park that I hadn’t been to in months, I find the parking lot located near what looks to be a large, but currently closed, carousel.
“That’s a cool addition to the park I don’t think I remember seeing last time,” I say as I pull into an empty spot, turn off the bike and nudge out its sidestand with my toe. After propping up the bike, I wander over to the colorful, animal-covered and over-sized merry go round. It’s mostly painted red with gold and bronze trim around it along with a gigantic mesh cage surrounding the entire building. At first it looks like it’s been created to keep all the wooden-carved animals safely contained inside, but I realize that doesn’t make any sense. They’re not going anywhere. Then it hits me, the wire isn’t to keep the animals in, it’s to keep the people out. I’m guessing at night, when it’s closed, random hooligans would try to make their way onto it and hurt themselves or the structure itself.
The park may not be rife with bloodthirsty criminals swarming its pavement paths looking to ransack the place, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its fair share of idiots or drunkards or dumb kids. Or all three combined.
Walking ov
er to the fencing to get a better look, I wrap my fingers through the chain links and pull. It barely moves at all. I flex my arms a bit just to test its strength, and the metal sighs a bit in protest but nothing releases.
“I’m impressed,” I whisper. “Stronger than I expected. Maybe they really are trying to keep the animals trapped inside.”
Releasing the fence, I pull my hood up over my head and turn to face the vast openness of the public area in front of me.
“Where to first?” I ask the night and scan the possibilities.
A sudden realization of noise off to my right attracts my attention, and I jog off in that direction to figure out what it is. Without even getting close, I can tell it’s voices. Quite a few voices, too. They all seem to be yelling and making quite a racket.
Cutting through one of the many small groves of trees in the park, I use the shadows as cover as I approach the commotion to figure out what’s going on. To my dismay, it isn’t nearly as exciting as I was hoping it would be. It’s just a game of basketball. An impressively rigorous game of full court basketball with ten dark-skinned kids all running back and forth and playing and shouting at each other. As I watch them, though, I realize my first assessment of them as kids was a bit premature. These are teens. Older teens, too. Maybe even some in their early twenties. In the overall scheme of life they are young, sure, but I’d say most of them are my age or older. I’ve just spent so much time lately around Ren or cartel cronies or other old people that I think my perception of what a “kid” is has been skewed.
Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 13