Alien Taste (23 page)

“I have to admit one thing.” Max got a glass of milk and poured Ukiah one too, adding chocolate syrup to it. “All this is too impossible to believe.”

“Except at the day-to-day level,” Ukiah said, gazing at the milk.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You got me milk without me asking, chocolate even.”

Max made a frustrated noise. “You would have asked for milk right after I closed the door. You always do when you eat this way. The more calories you take in, the sooner you stop eating, so you got the chocolate.”

“And when do I eat like this?”

Max looked at the milk then at Ukiah, emotions warring on his face. “Oh hell, Ukiah, this doesn't mean shit.”

“When do I eat like this?”

“When you get the shit beat out of you,” Max snapped. “You eat like a pig, sleep like a dog, and in a few hours I'm wondering why I was so worried about you because you look fine.”

“But it's not really human, is it?”

Max shook his head. “No, but it still doesn't mean shit. We've done this so many times we don't have to talk about it. Just because we now know why doesn't change anything.”

“What am I going to tell Indigo?”

“Depends.” Max got up to wash his dish and the pans. “If she's your first love that breaks your heart in a few weeks or months, probably not everything.
She is the FBI, and you could be considered a carrier of a dangerous virus. Ex-lovers are sometimes your worst enemies. But if she's the girl that you make forever with, then you tell her everything.”

Ukiah laughed weakly. “So I tell her a little every day for the rest of our lives?”

“Well, that's one way of doing it.” Max came to rest a hand on Ukiah's shoulder. “I don't know Indigo the way you do, kid. I won't be living your life. I wish I could tell you to do X, but that might be something I could live with and you couldn't. Take the day off. Go and see her. Think before you say anything. That's all I can tell you to do.”

Ukiah sighed. If he had only known a few days earlier, then he could have avoided the problem by not becoming Indigo's lover. The thought, though, made him feel desolate and cold. No, he couldn't stand the concept.

Surely to love was a sign of being human.

 

Max had a lead on their skip, heading down into Wheeling, West Virginia. He had come out to pick up Ukiah to ride shotgun on the trip. Ukiah tried to offer to still come with Max, but Max firmly turned him down.

“Look, you've had your throat cut, you've been kidnapped—well, shot in the chest and then kidnapped—and had the shit kicked out of you and almost shot, and then been violently ill all in three days. By rights I should just stick you on an airplane for the California defensive driving school, but I don't think running away will be good for you. I'll just get Chino to come with me. Go see Indigo.”

“She's probably going to be mad that I didn't call her already. Hell, it's almost noon.”

“I called her this morning. I told her that your
moms had called me and you were here, laid low with food poisoning. She was worried, but not mad.”

“Thanks, Max.”

“I'll be back probably late tonight. It's a two-hour trip down, two hours back, and the normal couple of hours of screwing around. If it gets too late, I might stay the night.”

“See you tomorrow, then. Watch your tail.”

“Watch your head.” Max tousled his hair and got up into the Cherokee. “And keep your Colt on.”

“Right.” He followed the Cherokee out to the end of the driveway and watched it go down the lane. Clouds as big as spaceships were cruising across the summer sky, and one slid across the sun, throwing Ukiah into shadows as the Cherokee turned onto the main road and headed off for West Virginia.

Saturday, June 20, 2004
Evans City, Pennsylvania

It took all his courage to call her.

She answered with “Special Agent Zheng” in her steel-hard voice.

“Hi. It's Ukiah.” He wasn't sure what to add.

Her voice went warm and concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I hope I didn't worry you too much.”

“Max called and told me what was going on. I'm sorry that I bugged your bike without warning you. When it went dead, I was afraid that I might have caused you serious harm.”

Ukiah laughed weakly. “We both have our little demons, don't we? I'd like to see you. I'm out at my moms at the moment, but I can be down there within twenty minutes.”

“I'd like to see you too, in one piece. How about twelve-thirty, outside my office?”

He checked his watch. It would give him forty minutes to make her office. “I'll be there.”

 

She came out of the Federal building carrying her helmet and riding jacket. He found himself smiling
in spite of everything as she walked up to him. Her eyes gleamed with happiness, and she tasted of plums when they kissed.

“I'm so glad you're okay.” She handed him her helmet as she pulled on her jacket. “Did you find the Pack? Did they tell you what you needed to know?”

His heart fell with the reminder of what he needed to tell her. She caught it on his face and her brow creased slightly.

“What is it?”

“I found them, they told me. We need to talk. There was so much I didn't know about myself, stuff I found out, that you need to know.”

She nodded slowly. “Let's go someplace private, then, and talk.”

She pulled on her helmet and straddled the seat behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Private? His first thought was of his tree house. It was a long drive, though, and he wasn't sure how much time they had. She might only expect to take a long lunch. He settled then on the offices. Max was gone and the place would be empty.

 

She tugged off her helmet as she followed him into the mansion. This time she paused to touch the rich chestnut burl paneling. “This place is so beautiful.”

Ukiah nodded, disarming the security system, except for the outside doors. “I didn't know it at first. I'd only been in a few houses when I was a kid, and you've seen my moms'. I thought everyone had great big Victorian mansions. After a year or so of being in and out of people's homes, it suddenly struck me. Wow! This is big and it's elegant and it's beyond what most people could ever hope to own.”

She laughed. “Can I have a tour?”

He had planned to tell her the moment the door was shut, but the chance for delay was too tempting. “Sure. This is the foyer. Max and his wife bought the grandfather clock in England on their second honeymoon, a couple of days after his company was bought out. When they got back to the states, they bought this house for someplace to put it.”

He took her into the reception area, which still could pass as a living room, and showed her his office. He took her upstairs to peek into Max's master bedroom suite, large enough almost to be an apartment. The guest room. The second-floor laundry. The exercise room, which she shook her head at and commented, “Too many rooms to be filled in any way possible,” and he nodded.

He opened the door to his bedroom. “This is my room when I stay in town.”

She went in and he followed. She poked her nose into every corner, laughing at one point at the closet full of black T-shirts.

“I wear them constantly,” Ukiah said, defending them. “Look, they have ‘Private Investigator' written on the back, big and bold, so you can see it from a hundred feet. You don't know how many times it has kept me from being shot. People can recognize me from the back as one of the good guys.”

“I was laughing because they look like the FBI jackets I wear on busts.”

“Well, Max took the idea from those jackets.”

“I'm glad he takes such good care of you.” She came and leaned her head against his chest. “I love listening to your heart beat. It's so strong and steady.”

He held her tight, breathing in her scent. Her warm hands ran under his shirt to touch his bare skin, and she kissed his neck, his chin, and then slipped her
tongue into his mouth. He groaned softly, the gentle torture of loving her and being afraid of losing her. He returned her kisses with passion, lost in the heat, until she guided him to his bed. He hung back, shaking his head. “Oh, Indigo, there are things we should talk about. There are things I need to tell you. Things that after you hear, you might not want me.”

“I think I know, and I don't care.”

“You can't know. This is impossible, crazy stuff that I can barely believe.”

“They did the autopsy on Wil Trace. He died of a viral infection, and throughout his body were exit wounds, where animals had eaten their way out of him without a trace of how they got into him. They tried to take blood samples of the Ontongard, but the samples all disappeared, and there were strange invasions of mice and bugs. Janet Haze was a halfway point between the two. Her body showed signs of infection, and all her blood samples vanished. Pack knows Pack. The Ontongard and Pack hate each other on sight.”

Ukiah looked at her, stunned. “Yes. That's the beginning of it.”

“And Pack knew you in the park at night. The Ontongard knew you in a room full of cops. All your blood samples at the hospital vanished, contaminated mysteriously with bugs.”

He startled. “They were?”

She nodded. “I checked last night, after you left. Whatever Pack and Ontongard are, you are too. And that's not completely human, is it? That's what you suddenly realized yesterday. I saw you being taken away to be killed, and you weren't as rattled as you were last night. It hit me after I tried to figure out why. Once you approach it with the right mindset, all the clues are there, waiting to be seen.”

He nodded. “I thought I was different because I was raised by wolves. Then last night, I realized how blind I had been. The Pack had set it all up, spelled it all out, even underscored a few points, but I didn't get it.”

“I've had all night and all this morning to think about it, Ukiah. I don't care what you are. I love you. I want to be with you. It was agony to think I might never see you again.”

“Are you sure? Our children would be Pack too, and their children too.”

“If we have any.” She looked pained. “If you're not human, there's a chance that we won't have any.”

She had considered more of this than he thought possible. He stroked her cheek. “I was created to have children with a human. The problem will probably be
not
having kids with you.”

“That is an age-old human problem I can cope with.” Indigo murmured and pulled him onto the bed.

 

While still sprawled on his bed, they ordered Chinese to be delivered. It was a small feast with pints of General Tso's Chicken, Mopo Tofu, Orange Beef, Stir-Fried Shrimp Rice, Won Ton Egg Drop Soup, and Crab Ragoon. While Indigo was in the shower, the bags of food were delivered. Ukiah carried it to the attic game room and unpacked them onto the coffee table.

Indigo followed his calls up to the attic and laughed in surprise. “This is pig heaven. I should have guessed.” She walked out to stand under the basketball hoop. “Is this regulation height?”

“Yeah.” Ukiah served himself out of every
container. “Max put it in this spring after one too many jokes about the ceiling at the Super Bowl party.”

She came to check out the wall of electronics. “Max sure loves techno toys.” She fingered the edge of the seventy-two inch flat screen TV. “This must be amazing to watch.”

“Since Max put the system in, he has gotten kind of ‘volunteered' to host football parties.” Ukiah sat back into the leather couch, balancing his plate as he watched her explore the room. Indigo had only put on one of his black tracking T-shirts and her panties. She looked so sexy he considered forgetting about the food.

She stopped by the bookcase and eyed Max's collection of photo albums. “Are any of these of you?”

“I'm in the last two albums, there on the bottom.”

Indigo pulled the last two and came to slide into his lap. She flipped the first open and Max's wife looked out at them. Ukiah reached out and flipped quickly through the book. “I'm toward the end somewhere. I really don't look at this one much.”

They hit the photos of the wrecked car and Indigo stilled his hand. “This is the accident, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” He slid his fingers from the cold vinyl. “Max took pictures after they pulled it out of the lake.”

Black muck and slimy trails of algae covered the crumpled Porsche. Max had taken almost a whole roll; twenty-three compulsive shots, walking a slow circle about the car. It made the car somehow lurk on the page. Five pages of death on wheels. The twenty-fourth photo took a page by itself, even though there had been two empty slots after the car. According to the nearly invisible counter at the bottom, it was actually taken prior to the pictures of the car. It was of the fresh grave with the massive
headstone. “Aileen Bennett, Beloved Wife, 1965–1998” and “Max Bennett, Beloved Husband, 1965–”

Indigo shivered in his arms and flipped the otherwise blank page. The next page was also blank. “No more?”

“He skipped a few pages.” Ukiah flipped over the next five empty pages. “I think he has a roll of film he never developed that he left space for. Here, this is where the pictures with me start.” He tapped the first photo, him looking unsure at the camera, looking only twelve. “I remember Mom Jo giving him this photo the first time he came to the farm, so I think this was what he used as a reference when he worked my case.”

“Who is this kid with you here?” She pointed to the second photo, taken at a party.

“Johnny Libzer, the first case that I worked on with Max. The family asked us back a week later for this party. It was kind of embarrassing how much fuss they put up.”

The initial few pages, he noticed for the first time, focused on the people they had found. Sometimes Ukiah was in the frame, sometimes not. They were stilted, forced, posed things that Ukiah vaguely recognized as a typical snapshot. Max, though, liked to take “unguarded moment” pictures, and took them in quality par to a professional. Slowly Max's normal photos drifted in and took over—and for a while they focused only on Ukiah. Ukiah on a lookout point, eyes closed in focus, nose to the wind that blasted back his hair. Ukiah lost among the giant hemlocks of Cook Forest, looking at the camera with wolf intensity through a screen of ferns. Ukiah supporting one of the Boy Scouts he rescued from the Yellowstone wildfire, both covered with black soot.
Ukiah on one of the large stone outcroppings at McConnell's Mill, muddy from two days of searching the creek bottoms, asleep, half-curled about recently found, blonde moppet Sarah Healy.

“These are beautiful,” Indigo whispered as she reached the last page. “Do you think I could get copies?”

“I guess so.” Ukiah handed her the next album. “I'm afraid I took a lot of the photos in this one, and it shows.”

In the second book, Max expanded first to Ukiah's family and then to their range of friends. Mom Lara asleep on the front porch with Cally in her arms, the sunlight brilliant in her hair. Mom Jo perched in the tree house. Chino blending with the woodwork. Janey, regal and proud. Kraynak breathing smoke like a dragon. Their Friday night poker gang, lit only by the hanging light, caught in midlaugh.

Ukiah's photos were clumsy imitations. He had tried for Max's style but missed somehow. Looking at them now, Ukiah realized that one of his mistakes had been that he tried too often for a subject in motion. Parts were blurred, details were lost. He needed to catch the subject in a moment of stillness, wait until they stopped.

The last photos had actually been taken by a professional. They were used in a magazine, accompanying a story on the agency. He and Max had taken the photographer on a search-and-rescue into a fresh-water marsh. On black-and-white film, he had caught the marsh's stark eeriness and the grueling nature of the track. Ukiah had had to all but crawl through every inch of the trail, and only Max's backup from a punt-boat had kept him going until they found the missing girl. They were, Ukiah realized, the only pictures of Max and him working together.

Indigo shook her head. “It's strange to flip through the two albums and see Max come back from the dead.” She opened the first book and then laid beside it the second one. The gravestone on a sterile page. Max leaning against the Cherokee, laughing as Ukiah sprawled muddy and exhausted on the hood. “You love him, don't you?”

Ukiah nodded. “When I was young, going to church, doing stuff with the scouts, playing baseball, I saw the other kids with their dads and I wanted”—he scrambled for the right word—“needed so bad to have a father too. I'd make up stories for myself about what my father was like.” He shrugged. “Maybe it was like a chick imprinting. Max was the first guy to show up and feed the need. Somewhere along the way, he's become all the father that I wanted, needed.” He grinned and whispered. “But don't tell Max. It's not a
manly
thing to talk about.”