by Ron Ripley
No polite knock precluded the opening of David’s office door.
McGillicuddy stood wide-eyed in the doorway, his knuckles white around the knob.
“What is it?” David demanded.
“The chopper,” McGillicuddy said, “it’s down.”
David felt ice race through his veins, threatening to freeze his heart and kill him where he sat.
The sensation lasted only for a split second. “What happened?”
“Waiting for the feed to upload,” McGillicuddy said, shaking his head. “Do you want it fed into here?”
“No,” David said, standing up. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”
McGillicuddy led the way out of the room and down the narrow hallway to the security center. The door was already open, and when he walked in, David saw a trio of techs standing around one of the monitors.
“Here,” McGillicuddy said, gesturing him forward.
David stepped over, the techs moving aside for him, one of them saying, “Just hit play.”
Leaning forward, David took hold of the mouse and clicked the play button. The feed from the helicopter’s camera, which was mounted on the nose, relayed images of the treetops passing below. David watched the scenery pass by without comment, his frown deepening as the chopper banked and came in on its approach. He saw the first team on the ground, and then the helicopter hovered in one position.
From past experience, David knew the men replacing the first team would fast-rope down to the clearing. With the descent accomplished, and if the area was believed secured, the second team would supply cover for the first team as it climbed the ropes. As this took place in the video footage, however, the chopper shook and then peeled off in a widening, downward spiral.
Part of David wished there was audio with the crash. Most of him did not.
The camera was half-tilted to the sky, and in the churned snow, he saw a body lying there. David shook his head with disgust, reached for the mouse to pause the video, and then one of the techs said, “Hold on. It’s not done yet.”
David’s hand hovered above the mouse, and he waited.
A minute later, the missing subject entered the frame. She limped her way to the prostrate form and put a round in the man’s head.
“Do you think she did it to everyone?” McGillicuddy asked.
“I’m sure she did,” David said with a mingled sense of admiration and disgust. “It’s what I would have done.”
Leaning back, David rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “All right. I want to scramble a chopper from anyone who owes us a favor. I don’t care if they’re active duty or not. We need to get the bodies and any identification out of there in case someone wonders why there’s a helicopter in the middle of upstate New York.”
“Um, David,” McGillicuddy said. “There’s more than just the crash.”
“What?” David asked, surprised. “What more could there be?”
McGillicuddy nodded to the techs, and one of the men leaned over David’s shoulder, bringing up a map of the area. In a hushed voice, McGillicuddy whispered, “There.”
David followed the line of the man’s finger, and he clamped down on his jaw tightly. The object McGillicuddy was pointing at was a thin line on the map.
It was nothing less than one of New York’s many interstates.
The subject would soon be traveling on it.
“Get me –,” David stopped. An air raid alarm sounded, ripping through the compound. One of the techs turned away and checked another monitor.
“Fire!” the man snapped. “Fire in the Village!”
Swearing, David leaped out of his chair and raced for the vehicle bay.
***
“Do you really think they’ll come?” Alex asked in a soft voice.
“I do,” Marcus said. He adjusted his position, nervously patting down the salt-filled sack hidden in his coat. “I also know you’ll stay back and not interfere. Timmy has very nearly finished the explosives, and when they are complete, I will take my leave of you to deal with Christopher.”
Alex’s voice grew softer and Elaine, who rarely let the boy out of her sight, glanced around at them.
“I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“I don’t want to be hurt,” Marcus confessed. “But we must drive him into the chapel if we are to get ahead of the dead Worthe has transported here.”
Alex nodded silently.
Marcus turned his attention back to the front of the Village, where on either side of the cobblestone road the first two houses burned. Searchlights from the guard towers played across the gate as dark gray smoke billowed up toward the night sky. From beyond the gate came yelling, then the roar of engines. Worthe’s men were approaching.
Marcus glanced down at Alex, worry and fear warring within him. He knew the boy controlled the dead Indians. Even the dead Frenchmen listened to the child. Elaine was nearby, Alex’s constant guardian.
He’ll remain here, where he’s supposed to be, Marcus thought, his eyes darting to 114 Broad a short distance away. He’s a good boy.
The door to 114 Broad opened, and Timmy stepped outside. In his hands, he held a small container, carrying it with a carelessness which made Marcus wince.
“Ready, Pops?” Timmy called as he went striding toward Christopher’s.
“If I’m not?” Marcus asked, getting to his feet carefully.
“Too bad for you,” Timmy snickered.
“I’ll be back,” Marcus said to Alex.
“I know you will,” Alex whispered, and Marcus hurried after his son.
Chapter 43: And the Word is ‘Go’
The gate opened, and the Humvees raced in. Each of the guards was burdened with multiple fire extinguishers. On the road behind them came the rumble of a diesel engine. It heralded the imminent arrival of a water truck equipped with hoses, which David hoped would be enough to extinguish the flames.
“Where are they?” David demanded of the lead guard.
“The boy’s near 114 Broad,” the woman responded. “Timmy and Subject B are approaching Christopher’s house.”
“Good,” David said, nodding. “They’re out of the way. I want that truck in here as soon as it arrives.”
“You got it,” she said.
He turned his attention to the burning houses, the flames climbing far too quickly up the sides.
How? David wondered. All the electricity was cut off from these. Did Timmy set them on fire? Why would he? Was it Subject B?
The questions raced through his mind, challenging his tired brain to process the information quickly before he missed some important clue. As his mind turned over the questions, he watched the Humvees come to a stop in the center of the street. Men and women hurriedly climbed out, dragging fire extinguishers out of the vehicles and running towards the buildings. They were a stopgap measure, David knew. Nothing more. He needed the water truck.
David saw a burst of white from an extinguisher and smiled.
***
“Now,” Alex said to the dead Huron known as Philip. The Indian nodded and let out a cry that pierced the night.
Muskets opened fire, and the ghostly rounds slammed into some of the guards. The blows knocked a pair of them down, and Alex nodded, saying, “I need one of their rifles. Get me one.”
Philip let out a laugh and sprinted off.
***
Marcus heard the thunderous roar of the muskets and nodded to Timmy. His son’s grin was large and disturbing, a frightful gleam of enjoyment in his eyes. Timmy whistled as he walked around the side of Christopher’s house and disappeared.
“Christopher!” Marcus yelled, standing a short distance away from the dead man’s house. “Come out!”
A moment later, the dead killer exited the house through the open front door.
“What do you want, Marcus?” the dead man asked, his body almost perfectly formed and solid. He almost pulsed with energy. “Have you come to die?”
“No,” Marcus replied, his eyes darting nervo
usly toward the bayonet in the dead man’s hand. “I’ve come to talk with you for a while.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Christopher replied in a flat, dull voice. “I want to see someone’s secrets. Anyone’s. I need to. Have you come to share yours with me?”
“No,” Marcus said, his heart racing, pounding against his chest.
“No,” Christopher whispered. “You’ve come for a heart to heart, Marcus. And I must admit, this is something I want, very much. I wish to see how brave you truly are, and the best way to do so would be to cut right into it. To see what makes your heart so special.”
***
Timmy set his makeshift explosive beneath the generator in Christopher’s kitchen. He squatted in front of it for a short time, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and lit the fuse.
Without wasting a moment, he stood up and bolted out the door.
Thirty seconds, he told himself, I have at least thirty seconds.
The house exploded and threw him into the darkness.
***
The Village shook and rattled as David yelled out a string of profanities. Christopher’s house exploded, the roof of it rising twenty feet in the air before crashing down and shaking the Village again. As he watched, the house collapsed under the weight of the shingles and support beams.
The dead Huron warriors continued to fire on David’s men, and if it hadn’t been for the professor, David would have pulled the guards out.
But everything was for the professor.
The water truck came to a rumbling halt beside him, and David climbed up onto the driver’s side step to look in. McGillicuddy was behind the wheel, his face glistening with sweat. “What’s the deal, David?”
“Get the truck in there,” David said. “Keep an eye on the Indians. They’ll be gone as soon as they’re bored, but I don’t want to lose the damned houses before they do. Douse both buildings.”
“Got it,” McGillicuddy said.
David jumped down, and the truck eased into the Village.
***
Philip dropped the weapon in front of Alex. Dennis stepped out from the shadows and knelt down in the snow.
“Are you certain about this?” Dennis asked Alex.
Alex nodded and shivered. “You won’t stay?”
“No,” Dennis said sincerely. “I won’t stay. I promise.”
“Okay,” Alex whispered in a small voice. He closed his eyes and thought about his life before the Village. Before he knew Marcus or anyone. He remembered the beatings his step-father had given him. Alex thought about how he had made it through them.
He disconnected from himself. His thoughts drifted away from reality. Part of him felt the cold and heard the musket fire. Faintly, he smelled burning wood. But none of it was real. Just like when his step-father would beat him and break his nose. It happened to someone else. His body wasn’t really his, and if it wasn’t his, then he didn’t have to worry about what happened to it.
Something cold slipped into his chest, and Alex felt his arms move by themselves.
Chapter 44: Christopher’s Game
The explosion caused Marcus to stagger back, his feet becoming tangled. He had a moment of painful clarity before he crashed to the snow-covered ground.
I’m going to die, Marcus thought, and the bayonet sliced through the air where he had been a second before.
Christopher’s face was blank, empty of emotion, his body no longer pulsing with the curious electricity of only a short time before. He reversed the swing of the long bayonet and brought it down toward Marcus. Cursing, Marcus rolled to the left, the blade sinking into the snow and striking the cobblestones beneath. Marcus got up, screaming with the effort. Pain exploded in his leg and arm, the wounds reminding him of their existence.
Christopher stepped forward, and Marcus snapped his good hand out, the iron-studded glove punching through the dead man’s chest. The bayonet fell into the snow as Christopher snarled.
Fumbling, Marcus pulled the makeshift, salt-filled sack out of his coat. Jerking the weapon out of the snow, he thrust it into the bag. A second later, the blade cut through the bottom of the sack. Salt and bayonet tumbled out into the snow, and Marcus could only stare at it in horror.
Stupid! he screamed at himself. Fool!
Marcus dropped the useless sack and snatched the weapon up, a bitter cold biting through his glove as he clutched it desperately. Shivering, he glanced around for Timmy, and when he didn’t see him, he started to limp for the chapel. Before he managed two steps, Christopher struck him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling.
Marcus didn’t let go of his grip on the bayonet.
“It’s mine!” Christopher screamed, leaning forward, reaching for the blade.
Marcus gave it to him, driving the weapon and his glove all the way through the dead man’s thigh. Christopher vanished only to reappear a second later, kicking Marcus in the ribs. The pain was immediate and immense. Marcus vomited and tasted blood with the bile. Christopher tried again to take the weapon from him, and again, Marcus denied him with a strike to the chest.
Marcus got to his feet, taking a cautious step in the direction of the chapel even as Christopher showed himself a few feet away.
“That’s mine, Marcus,” the dead man hissed. “Do you know how many Germans I had to kill for it?”
“No,” Marcus said between clenched teeth. “You have to be put away, Christopher.”
“I don’t,” Christopher said. His voice climbed higher. “I don’t ever. You have to give it back to me. I need to know. I need to see what’s inside you, Marcus!”
As Marcus’ name left his lips, Christopher threw himself across the snow.
Marcus wasn’t quick enough.
***
The rattle of gunfire made Timmy Knip realize two things.
First, he was crawling on his hands and knees. Second, he had heard a rifle fire. Not the heavy thump of the Indians’ muskets, but the distinct, sharp crack of an M4 rifle.
With these two epiphanies, Timmy managed to force himself to his feet. He saw the ruins of Christopher’s house, and Christopher himself. In a daze, Timmy watched the psychotic ghost knock someone down.
No, Timmy thought listlessly. Not someone. Marcus. Hell, man, why didn’t you get out of the way?
Because he’s old and wounded, you idiot, he scolded himself.
Remembering the physical limitations of his father, a jolt of awareness raced through him. Timmy straightened up, squeezed his hands tightly in their iron-studded gloves and yelled out, “Hey, Chris, did your parents want another girl? Is that why they named you Chris?”
The dead man paused and looked over at Timmy.
“Yeah, me!” Timmy said, his head pounding as he waved at the dead man vigorously. “I want to know, did they make you and your sister share dresses? I mean, when it was just the four of you at home?”
Timmy grinned as the dead man took two steps towards him.
Then the grin faded away as the man turned back, wrenched the bayonet out of Marcus’ hand before he focused his attention on Timmy once more.
“Oh,” Timmy muttered. “Damn.”
***
David stood at the gate, arms folded over his chest, furious. He could hear someone firing their M4, and he wanted to know who was stupid enough to have brought anything other than a shotgun. While he waited, he watched the driver’s side door of the water truck open. McGillicuddy stood up and leaned out the door to talk to one of the other guards.
David blinked, and the back of McGillicuddy’s head exploded.
The man collapsed to the ground, the water truck rolling backward with the sudden absence of any pressure on the brake. David was reaching for his radio when another shot rang out, dropping the guard McGillicuddy had been speaking with.
Snatching his radio up, David keyed it and screamed, “Get out! Get out, now!”
He turned to the guards around him and yelled, “Covering fire!”
Although
he couldn’t see who was firing at his men, David drew his own sidearm and fired as the guards in the Village cast aside their fire extinguishers and ran for the safety of the gate.
The unseen shooter had no sympathy.
Shot after shot rang out, and only one of the guards who had entered the Village with McGillicuddy survived.
Nine others lay dead.
The humvees and water truck were abandoned, the houses burning.
“Lock it,” David ordered.
No other shots were fired as the gate was closed and locked. The survivor and the guards who had not been involved looked to David for orders.
“We’re going back to the compound,” he said. “Most of you here are going as soon as Alfor arrives. I won’t risk losing you. This place will keep until we catch Alfor up to speed.”
While his troops walked dejectedly to the last Humvee, David turned to face the Village once more.
“I’ll kill you,” he said. “Whoever you are, I will kill you.”
With his back stiff with rage, David rejoined his troops.
***
He’s stupid, Marcus thought, pushing himself to his feet.
Timmy was dancing backward through the snow, alternately ridiculing and yelling at Christopher.
Gasping with the pain shooting through his shoulder and leg, Marcus limped as quickly as he could. Move toward the chapel! he thought. Damn it, Timmy! The chapel!
Timmy feinted to the right as Christopher drew back to strike, then stepped into the blade as the dead man switched the weapon from his left hand to his right, driving it forward. The steel pierced through Timmy’s left sleeve, and by the expression on his face, Marcus knew it had gone through the man’s flesh as well.
Christopher let out a harsh, short laugh, and Marcus yelled hoarsely as a small shape stood up between them.
***
Alex felt as though a thousand bees were crawling around the inside of his brain, his knees wobbly. Timmy stood behind him, and Christopher was in front of him. The dead man held onto his bayonet tightly, and Alex knew the blade was stuck in Timmy’s arm.