Christopher's Blade

by Ron Ripley

  The gathered people in the cafeteria remained silent, contemplating David’s statement.

  “Now,” David continued, “I’m not going to deny any of the professor’s odd behavior lately. In fact, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t noticed it. He’s not sleeping well. His focus is on the project, and we need to remain focused, too. With that being said, let’s cut the man some slack. If you get too worried, then let me know. We’ll see what we can work out. Understood?”

  Everyone, even McGillicuddy, nodded.

  “Excellent,” David said. “Let’s get moving. The gate team needs relief in half an hour, and the second hunter-killer team needs to be prepped for insertion.”

  David waited until everyone filed out before he made his way to the control room. Nurse Schomp sat in a chair, her eyes rimmed with red. There was a weary air about her.

  We’re all getting run-down, he thought. It’ll be good to have Alfor here. They’ll be able to help. Tremendously.

  “How are you?” David asked, instantly regretting the question. Some hint of his regret must have flashed across his face because the nurse chuckled bitterly.

  “As well as can be expected,” she answered.

  “How’s the professor?” he asked, nodding toward the closed door.

  “I think he’s getting worse,” she said, her voice grim. “I had to force him to get dressed this morning. He came down here in his pajamas.”

  “His pajamas?” David asked, incredulous.

  She nodded. “Yup. House slippers and everything. I took his hand and escorted him back to his rooms. We’re going to need to make him stop. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Why?” David shook his head. “Doesn’t he just need a little rest?”

  “David,” Nurse Schomp said, leaning forward. “He’s heading for a nervous breakdown. In fact, he may well break completely. I don’t think either of those are unreasonable expectations, do you?”

  “I do,” David said gruffly. “He’s working too hard.”

  She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “He’s one step away from being committed. For his own good, too.”

  “That’s a little harsh,” he grumbled.

  “David!” she snapped. “I caught him drinking her remains.”

  He winced as though slapped.

  “You can’t deny drinking someone’s incinerated remains is abnormal,” Nurse Schomp said tightly. “We need to get him to rest, eat, and deal with the medium’s death. If not, we’re going to lose him. For good.”

  “All right,” David said. “All right. I’ll talk to him, see what I can do.”

  “I’m going to go get something to eat,” Nurse Schomp said, standing up. “I need to try and keep something down.”

  “Are you sick?” David asked.

  “I’m heartbroken,” Nurse Schomp murmured, and left the room.

  Sighing, David knocked on the inner door and waited for the professor’s acknowledgment before he entered. The room was gloomy, lit only by the weak glow of the monitors. David frowned at the sight of the professor’s empty chair. “Sir?”

  “Here, David, here,” the professor said, and David followed the sound of the man’s voice. Professor Abel Worthe was in a chair, huddled in a corner and wrapped in a thick blanket. The man’s thin, wispy beard was longer, his eyes sunk deeper. His cheekbones were more pronounced, and for the first time, David could smell a subtle foulness in the air. He suspected it emanated from the professor, but he didn’t want to move closer and confirm his fearful suspicion.

  “Are you all right, sir?” David asked.

  “A little under the weather is all,” the professor said weakly. “Tell me, David, what is the status of the advance group from Alfor?”

  “ETA is six hours, sir,” David reported. “We have equipment and weapons ready for them. Their director of operations sent us an advanced list, and we were able to fill it entirely.”

  “Of course you were,” the professor said, smiling. “You’re the finest there is. Any other news to report?”

  “Not yet, sir,” David said. “We will be sending out the second hunter-killer team a little later.”

  “Do you think this will run her to the ground?” Professor Worthe asked.

  “I do, sir,” David answered. “She’s alone, and she’s inhibited by a wound that’s poorly healed. Granted, she ambushed a team and managed to sneak up and kill Jane. It was a mistake to send Jane out alone.”

  “The blame for her death rests solidly on my shoulders, David,” the professor murmured.

  “She was a soldier, sir,” David said. “There are, as we like to say, a thousand ways for us to die. Unfortunately, we both believed she was more than capable of handling the escaped subject. We have learned our lesson painfully.”

  Professor Worthe nodded.

  “Sir,” David continued, “with a pair of rotating teams familiarized with the ground they’re covering, they’ll be able to pinpoint her soon. She is, as I said, slowed by an injury. While she may have brought food, which she supplemented from Jane’s supply, her resources are finite. I believe she will run out before the teams catch her, which in turn will make her careless as she attempts to feed herself.”

  “I certainly hope so,” the professor said. “Well, this situation seems to be in hand, as much as it can be.”

  David considered asking Professor Worthe for the letter’s status so the APB could be put out. A look at the man’s exhausted features and haunted expression convinced him to rely instead upon Nurse Schomp.

  “I’m sorry, David,” the professor said. “I am radically out of sorts today. As you can probably see, I am not feeling myself as of late.”

  “I know, sir,” David responded. “You don’t have to explain. I can see the amount of stress you’re under. This experiment is everything. Not only to you but to me as well. I hope you understand that.”

  Professor Worthe’s smile broke through his scraggly beard. “I do. Now, I wanted to address the matter of Luis.”

  Inwardly, David winced at the man’s name. He was frustrated that the acquisition team had not only failed, but had disappeared. Undoubtedly killed by the owner of 125 Berkley Street. Shane Ryan.

  “What about Luis, sir?” David asked.

  “I want to know what happened to him,” Professor Worthe said. “I need to know. In addition to this, I need the house. There is no question about it. We must have 125 Berkley Street here in the Village. It will be the crown jewel. I have been reading about it. The number of people who are said to have had experiences there. Others who have simply disappeared, David! Vanished into the house!”

  Like Luis and the team, David thought.

  “This man, this Shane Ryan,” Professor Worthe said with venom in his voice. “He cannot stand between us. I fully believe he ambushed our team. I want you to do the same.”

  “I’m not sure we have the capability to conduct an operation outside of the Village, sir,” David said. “Not with the two hunter-killer teams hunting the subject.”

  “I know,” the professor said, nodding. “This is why I want you to ambush Shane Ryan.”

  “Me, sir?” David asked, confused.

  “Yes, you,” Professor Worthe said. “You will plan and carry out the mission. I don’t want you attempting it until the issue of the escaped subject has been concluded, and Alfor has been fully integrated into our remaining staff.”

  “Of course, sir,” David said.

  “Is there anything else to report?” Professor Worthe asked.

  David hesitated, considering the issue of Timmy scalping the dead, and then he shook his head. “Nothing of any importance, sir.”

  “Excellent,” the professor said, sighing. He seemed to sink lower into his chair. “Could you bring me the wine glass and the bottle of Shiraz beside it, please?”

  “Yes, sir,” David said. He glanced around, saw the items on a small table by the door and retrieved them. Is he going to drink this early in the morning? Has he really fallen this far?


  “Could you open the bottle, please?” Professor Worthe asked.

  “Certainly, sir,” David said. The bottle had been opened once before, and the cork was only slightly in the neck. He pulled it out and set all three items on the desk in front of the professor.

  “Excellent,” Professor Worthe murmured. “Thank you, David.”

  “You’re welcome, sir,” David said. “Is there anything else?”

  The professor shook his head. “No, not at this moment. I am certain I will speak with you later.”

  David nodded and left the room, an uncomfortable feeling of doubt and worry stealing into his stomach.

  The professor is not well, David thought, closing the door behind him. He paused for a moment, listening for the tell-tale sign of a drink being poured. When he didn’t hear anything, he shrugged and continued on his way.

  ***

  Abel reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and removed a small vial. It was one of fifty-six he had in his bed, carefully wrapped in the finest silk pajamas he owned. Each vial contained a slight measure of Meredith’s remains.

  Carefully, Abel opened the vial, picked up the wineglass and tapped the cremains into the bottom of the glass. When he was certain it was empty, he capped the vial and returned it to his pocket. Later, before lunch, he would add water to the vial and drink the last bit of dust contained within.

  Abel sighed, picked up the bottle of Shiraz and held it for a moment. Shiraz, he had learned, was once Meredith’s favorite wine. It had taken a great deal of research to discover the tidbit of information, but it was worth it.

  He removed the cork and added the wine to the glass slowly, swirling the liquid casually, making certain he gathered up all the remains. When he finished, he recorked the bottle, set it down, and took the first sip of the day.

  Abel smiled as a curious sense of happiness and completion entered him. Deep beneath his growing paranoia and sadness, his rational thoughts writhed and twisted away, trying to make him aware of his actions, of the madness of them. Abel ignored the complaints and suggestions. He understood the only way to be close to Meredith was through ingestion.

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The thrum of computer towers and the monitors filled the air around him with a pleasant, numbing buzz.

  Abel opened his eyes, lifted the glass to his lips again, and tasted the sweetness of her soul.

  Chapter 41: Staying Alive

  “Is it a good idea?” Alex asked.

  Marcus looked down at the boy and smiled. “I am afraid, my boy, it is our only idea.”

  “Oh,” Alex said morosely.

  Ruffling the boy’s hair, Marcus said, “You needn’t worry about anything just yet, Alex. Timmy is still gathering the supplies, and soon he should return and work upon the explosives we need.”

  “What if he blows us up?” Alex asked.

  “Then we hope we don’t come back as ghosts,” Marcus said, smiling.

  Alex grinned and nodded. “Yeah, definitely not ghosts.”

  They stood in front of 114 Broad, looking over at Christopher’s house. The dead man had been noticeably absent. Other ghosts, according to Alex, were constantly stopping by the structure, drawn to the power emanating from it.

  What will we do if they turn upon us? Marcus thought grimly. Is Alex strong enough to fight them off?

  Marcus decided he would rather never learn the answer to the question.

  “Marcus,” Alex said.

  He turned his attention to the boy, surprised by the serious note in his voice. “Yes? Is there something wrong?”

  Alex hesitated before he nodded. “Yes. There are people coming. A lot of people.”

  “How do you know?” Marcus couldn’t take his attention off the child. Alex’s face was pale, his jaw set. Is this something new? Can he see the future as well now?

  “Timmy’s grandfather,” Alex whispered. “Earlier he said a new group of guards are going to be brought in. He said they’re on their way and we need to be ready for them.”

  Marcus didn’t know why, but the knowledge that the information came from a ghost reassured him.

  “Hey!” Timmy called from 114 Broad. “I’m back. You want coffee or tea or some crap like that?”

  “Coffee, if you please,” Marcus said. “Anything for you, young man?”

  Alex smiled and nodded. “Could I have hot chocolate please?”

  “Of course,” Marcus said. “Are you coming inside yet?”

  “Not yet,” Alex answered. “I want to get a little more sun, then I’ll be in.”

  “All right,” Marcus said. “Don’t stray, please. I know the dead listen to you, but I’d rather not take any unnecessary chances.”

  “I won’t stray,” Alex said solemnly.

  Marcus smiled and went inside. His leg didn’t bother him as badly as before, and he suspected his arm would soon be out of the sling.

  ***

  When the door closed, Alex turned to Timmy’s grandfather.

  Dennis glanced back toward the gate. “Alex, I’d see about getting some help from the Indians.”

  “How?” Alex asked, frowning.

  “Well,” Dennis said, scratching the back of his head, “Timmy’s been talking about blowing up Christopher’s house, which isn’t the best idea, but that’s on my boy. Anyway, you set fire to the first couple of houses tonight. The guards will come in their vehicles to put the fires out. When they open the doors, you have the Indians ambush them.”

  “They won’t be able to kill them,” Alex said, shaking his head.

  “Doesn’t matter if they do or don’t,” Dennis said. “What you want are the vehicles.”

  “Why?” Alex asked, confused. “We won’t be able to drive out.”

  “Nope,” Dennis said, smiling.

  A thought crossed Alex’s mind. In a soft voice, he said, “We could block the gate with them.”

  Dennis nodded.

  “They wouldn’t be able to open the gates,” Alex said, his mind racing. “If they wanted to get in, they would have to go over the fence. Or they would have to cut it, but they wouldn’t want to. They’d be worried about the ghosts, especially since the Indians have been attacking outside the fence. The Indians don’t sleep. They’d always be looking out for an attack.”

  Alex, his heart thundering, smiled at Dennis. “They would want an attack, and I would make sure they got one.”

  “You’re a smart one, kid,” Dennis said with admiration. “I know officers who wouldn’t have been able to reason all that out. Hell, I didn’t reason it all out.”

  Alex blushed at the compliment.

  “You get in to see Timmy,” Dennis said.

  Alex nodded, then he paused. “When it’s time, will you still help?”

  Dennis looked uncomfortable. “You still want me to use you to shoot?”

  “I do,” Alex said fiercely. “I want them killed.”

  Dennis winced at the hate in Alex’s voice, but he said, “Yes. I will.”

  “Thank you,” Alex whispered and went inside to tell Marcus and Timmy about the ambush.

  Chapter 42: Bird Dog

  The sound of rotors woke Joyce up from a light sleep.

  As she lay in her small hiding place, her eyes open, she saw the helicopter coming closer. It flew low over the treetops, several men clearly visible through the open doors. They were clad in white and heavily armed.

  More of them, she thought bitterly.

  Within moments, the helicopter was only thirty yards away, and movement through the trees caught her attention. The men who had been hunting her were advancing toward the small clearing. Their weapons were slung, their body language telling her they were preparing to leave.

  They’re switching out again! Anger boiled up in her, and she shook her head, losing her sense of calm and resolve to wait them out. They’re going to keep hunting me! No more! No!

  As the anger in her turned to hatred, she saw the helicopter hover above the cl
earing. The new men threw ropes out of the open doors and began to rappel down. When they reached the snow, they held the lines for the men going up.

  Joyce’s heart thundered as she rose up to a kneeling position. Her poorly healed joint screamed in protest, but she ignored it as she drew her semi-automatic pistol. She took careful aim at the rotor housing and fired as quickly as she could. From the weapon came an almost single, continuous roar, brass shell casings arcing out.

  Sparks, smoke, then flames burst out from the rotor housing. The helicopter twisted, the men fell from the ropes, and the machine spiraled down. The tail slammed into trees, sheering them even as shards of metal flew off the damaged helicopter. Joyce watched, joyful, as the machine spun into several of the men. One of the rotors sheared off and cut a man in half.

  Snarling, Joyce ejected the magazine, slapped a fresh one in, and got to her feet. Clumsily she waded through the snow. The stink of aviation fuel and burning pine trees rolled past her as she caught sight of one of the men hurrying toward an unseen object.

  Joyce didn’t even pause as she snapped off another pair of shots, dropping the man in mid-stride. Someone attempted to climb up from a mass of churned snow near the helicopter, and she shot him through his open mouth.

  Joyce paused long enough at the edge of the clearing to take a quick glance around. She spotted seven bodies, one of whom was still moving. Another set of shots stopped him. She limped around the clearing, sweating from the heat of the burning helicopter. She stopped at each body and put a single shot into the head, making sure they were all dead. A look at the burning wreckage told her she wouldn’t be able to get close enough to check to see how many bodies were in it, or underneath it.

  Joyce searched the nearest body, found ammunition for her weapon, reloaded and carefully made her way back to her gear. As she did so, she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

  Somewhere nearby, an air horn blared.

  ***