Cain's Blood (29 page)

eff stared down the hallway. The firestorm that’d lit up the
blackness had dwindled to a single point: A man on fire. A man
who was somehow part him. Screaming in agony, flailing against
the floor and wall. Its mind now Jeff’s mind, its thoughts Jeff’s

Two thunderous shots came from beside him. Someone—Castillo,
he thought—putting the burning man out of its misery. Or, just maybe,
it was to put Jeff out of his, as the alien thoughts vanished in an instant.

“We need to get back up top,” Ox said, as if there wasn’t a dead
body still smoking in front of them. “The others will need cover.”
As one, they went back up the hallway, not speaking. even through
the mask, Jeff could smell its burning flesh, couldn’t avoid looking at
it, the man, as they stepped around—and it
was
a man, not a thing anymore. A man with open, staring eyes and a gaping, terrified mouth. A
man that could have been him. Made from the same stuff. Made by his
father.
“keep moving,” Castillo said, the words surprisingly loud in the
sudden hush. his feet started forward again, and they moved up the
hallway, the smoke finally clearing enough for the little green lights to
come up again, guiding their path until the natural light from outside
came clearer. “Wait here, keep down here against the wall.”
Jeff blinked hard, lifting his arm to rub his sleeve over the mask,
clearing away the greasy soot and grime of the flamethrower residue. “I’m good,” he said. his throat closed up at that thought, and he
stepped forward, even as a burst of gunfire sounded around the opening
of the bunker.
“Nice job back there.” Castillo gripped his shoulder. “you hear me?”
“yeah.”
“Give us one minute to collect the others, then we’re out the back
as planned. Ok?”
Jeff nodded, swallowed. And then Castillo and the others were stepping outside. Through the opening, he watched Ox gesture. Another
man’s shaggy outline materialized in the trench line, silhouetted in the
shelter’s half-cracked opening. rosfeld, Jeff thought maybe.
No sooner had rosfeld appeared than a hissing whistle and several
thunks surrounded them with sound. Smoke detonated from a dozen
different places, enveloping the trench rolling down the hallway and
cutting off Jeff’s sight. he couldn’t see three feet in front of him.
“Castillo!”
“Don’t move, Jeff,” Castillo’s voice came back from outside, reassuringly close. “It’s only smoke. I got you.”
“Grenades!” someone—Jeff couldn’t tell who—shouted.
“Down!” Castillo barked, yanking Jeff out through the doorway
and throwing him bodily into a low trench as a tremendous boom filled
the whole world. Jeff felt his body smack the bottom of the pit almost
with relief, the tactile contact the only thing that kept him pinned to the
earth. ears ringing, gasping for breath in the stifling mask.
he fell away from Castillo, hugging the bottom of the pit and praying the wet, cold earth would stop spinning beneath him. Around him
there were curses, orders, and the sound of more gunfire, but his pulse
was pounding so loud in his ears that everything seemed an echo of the
initial boom. he scrambled further along the trench, seeking cover,
safety, until he trusted his eyes enough to not see three of everything
and lifted his head. Smoke everywhere, bodies rushing around like
ghosts in an ash storm. Jeff looked left for Castillo—and he was gone.
Jeff spun back around. Castillo had been right with him, but he was
nowhere. The trench was empty, and he was blind beyond maybe a few
feet. “Castillo!” he yelled, but in the rain of gunfire his voice was completely lost.
Then the smoke cleared enough and he squinted into it. Castillo
was crouched ahead, not ten feet away, waving at him—his face obscured by his gas mask and his body tight and coiled, as if he was ready
to spring. “Castillo . . . ,” Jeff shouted and pushed forward, relief washing through him for the first time in what seemed like hours.
As Jeff rushed forward, Castillo looked up and smiled at him.
Except you can’t smile through a gas mask.
Jeff’s feet skidded to a stop.
It wasn’t Castillo.
And the face wasn’t really a face at all anymore.
Just an open gaping maw, dripping, leering at him with terrible glee.
he’d seen that same non-face a hundred times before. The same
face had reigned over his nightmares and stared out of dark shadows for
as long as he could remember. It wasn’t really a face anymore because
it was
every
face. It was
his
face. his and Ted’s and henry’s. And Al’s and
David’s too. All of them. even the one painted like a clown. each and
every copy of the same damned thing.
It was one of the things that he’d felt moving down the steps, crawling down the hallway toward him. Only he hadn’t known this one was
here, and he’d run right fucking toward it like some sort of idiot baby
running to his daddy. Jeff turned. fled.
Where was Castillo?
he had to find Castillo! But Castillo could have
been anywhere—he was probably fighting for his life, and if Jeff came
up on him too fast, he’d be distracted. Maybe even killed. Jeff wheeled
around, his eyes skipping off buildings, bunkers, men. flashing bursts of
gunfire. “No no no no no!” Jeff cried, though no one was listening anymore. The smoke had cleared enough that he could see the line of trees
ahead, not thirty feet away. he didn’t need to, couldn’t really, get to
Castillo. he’d fucked up the one thing Castillo’d told him to do. But it
didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, Castillo would find him no matter where
he went. he just needed to get away and hide. he’d be fine if he made it
into the woods. he could hide there, he could be safe.
The woods!
his lungs burned as he reached the deep black trees, stumbling over
roots and fallen branches, his breathing coming so fast and hard that it
steamed up the inside of his mask until it was dripping with condensation and his vision was entirely blurred again. Like nightmare running.
With a grunt, he ripped off his gas mask, tossed it as he picked up pace,
the sudden rush of oxygen all he needed to keep going.
he broke free so quickly from the trees that he stumbled, eyes
quickly scanning the three buildings in this clearing and barns beyond.
Which one to choose? he picked the smallest, furthest away, before the
barns. Jeff rushed ahead and slipped inside the unlocked door, resisting
the urge to barricade it shut. Nothing would scream out
Hello I am sitting inside this building
faster than some lame-ass chair stuck up against
the doorknob.
The small storehouse held enough food to last well through an Armageddon or two. Jeff’s eyes widened as he raced past row upon row of
canned foods, foil-packaged Mres, and enormous jugs of bottled water.
The jugs were almost as large as he, and he skirted sideways halfway
down one of the rows, stealing behind the first level of containers. The
space wasn’t large, but he could crouch here and wait. Wait for Castillo.
Hide. Survive.
The door opened at the front of the building.
Jeff felt the breath die in his throat. The footsteps that came into
the room were a man’s footsteps, but they weren’t Castillo’s.
Slow. Measured.
And coming his way.
Jeff tried to make his breathing more quiet.
Wouldn’t Castillo call out?
I got you, pal. I got you, pal. I got . . .
The steps came close enough, he knew. Past the strongboxes of
canned food and the Mres. Past the stockpiled oats and bags of flour
and rice. Jeff could almost feel it viscerally as it passed the first row of
water. knew it was there as it had been before.
And coming closer.
Thoughts flooded through him, incoherent, but weirdly, terribly recognizable. rage again, and death. extreme focused purpose.
hunting, always hunting. for something that seemed never to be found.
It was him again. It. The thing. Another copy.
I’m dead.
The thought so clear and simple.
It was going to get him. Castillo wouldn’t come. Castillo
shouldn’t
come. It was just him, the dark shape who he would become, who he
was destined to be
. I deserve this
. The thought came swift and hard, and
he felt himself gasp. It felt it, too.
Jeff held his breath again, even though he was dead. even though he
was responsible for all of the people who had died already—how many
were there, by now? he couldn’t count. Didn’t want to know. he’d been
invented in a lab exactly like this thing had been.
It stepped into his aisle.
All those people who’d already been killed. All of those people who
were still going to die.
All of this is my fault.They used me, the blood inside
me, to make those toxins, these things, all of it . . .
It walked down the aisle toward him. Almost as if it could smell him
in his hiding place. Almost as if it knew the truth that Jeff was only coming to see.
he was the monster here. he
deserved
to die.
Without taking another breath, Jeff crawled free from his hiding
place and stood in front of himself. The monster he would become. The
monster he already, and always, was.
he looked up at it.
And the monster looked right back.

astillo froze in the storeroom as Jeff took position in front
of the dark man. The way they were standing, they almost
looked like father and son.

Jeff’s gas mask hung from Castillo’s belt like a talisman, the only
way he’d known which way the kid had gone when the smoke had fi

nally cleared enough for him to see the dark man barreling off into the
woods. Castillo had known who he’d been after, but by the time he’d hit
the treeline it had been a maze of possibilities. And then there had been
the mask. And then there was here.

he took another step closer, but Jeff and the other man’s stares
seemed locked in an unholy embrace. Or reflection. And, they were too
close. from this angle, Castillo couldn’t get a clear shot. This one had
the ballistic armor on again anyway.

Slowly, silently, Castillo laid his rifle aside and freed his own knife
from his belt. The blade in his hand, he tried to think of something
hector might say, or Odysseus, or kristin, or even rambo . . . nothing.
Not one damn thing came to mind.
he sprang forward. felt it turn away even as he flung himself forward, his arm reaching out in a slashing arc that was meant for a jugular
and ended up grazing a thickly clad arm. The fucking body armor again,
u.S.A. approved and equipped.

Jeff fell back, out of the way, as the man came up screeching like
some wild animal, rushing at Castillo. knives in both of its hands.
Castillo grasped for his pistol, but it had closed the distance between them before Castillo had even gotten his hand around the grip.
They slammed together, fire plunging into Castillo’s back and belly. he
knew what it was, knew he’d been cut open again. Gutted. he faintly
heard the dismaying sound of his pistol skittering away across the floor.
Driven against an aisle of water barrels, liquid splashed out freely
over the concrete and made the surface slick as ice. he shunted the
insistent weight and blazing pain away. rolled from it reflexively to his
right, his own knife still clenched tight in his fist.
They both charged again.
Too close, too fast!
One swipe and it was on
him again, pinning him to the ground. Leering as a black hand came
down and encircled Castillo’s throat. Clawed fingers digging into Castillo’s skin. ripping. Squeezing. The other hand brought up the blade.
Lifted its arm high.
Castillo’s eyes and face bulged from the lack of oxygen as he fought
the hands, desperate to pry him off. Still, he could see it swing down at
him; could see the sudden sharp, sideways lurch of the dark head.
Something striking that head. Blood splashing Castillo’s face.
The hand let go of his throat and the man crumpled sideways,
howling.
Jeff.
Swinging his arm again. holding something thick and metal.
Another crashing blow upon its head and the man collapsed to the
ground.
Still alive, Castillo knew, but stunned. human after all, in the end.
Of course.
Dear God, what fucking else could it have been?
he hazily watched as Jeff, staggering, dropped the weapon he’d just
used and, instead, retrieved the pistol from the floor.
“Jeff . . .”
The boy leveled the 9mm at the dark man’s head.
“No.” Castillo was up.
“I can do it!” Jeff shouted at him, his voice unnaturally loud in the
dim, dusty storage room, loud and full of pain and self-loathing and fear.
Castillo knew the sound. he’d made it himself many times before. Too
many times. “I want to . . .”
And then pulling the pistol away gently from Jeff’s hands. “No, you
don’t,” Castillo said, and he looked hard into Jeff’s eyes. “And you never
will.”
he watched as Jeff considered that, even as the man began to stir at
their feet.
This same man, or more likely a brother, had probably saved his ass
back in Iran. They’d been on the same team. Castillo aimed.
“you will never do this,” Castillo said.
Then he fired three times.
“enough,” he murmured, securing the gun against his waist. he
didn’t know if he was talking to it, himself, the whole rotten world. he
collapsed to one knee.
Jeff grabbed his shoulder. “Castillo . . .”
“What the hell you use, anyways?”
“I think it’s a can of wheat berries.”
Castillo shook his head. holstered the pistol. “What the fuck is a
wheat berry?”
“No clue,” Jeff said. “But Ox has a shitload.”
Castillo reached for the communicator at his hip. “Ox,” he said.
“My friend, we got us one troubling shitstorm out here,” Ox crackled back. his words were light, but the tone filled with genuine alarm.
“Bad guys closing in fast. Two minutes, tops.”
“Copy.”
“how close are—”
“Negative.”
“Castillo, we could—”
“Negative.” Castillo closed his eyes. “Last Call.”
“Castillo . . .”
According to the original plan,
all
of them would be escaping together
under the impending commotion. But Castillo and Jeff were clearly cut
off from that path. Best to at least get the other guys out. A start.
“Take it as an order if you’ll still take one,” Castillo said. “In the
next life, pal. Over and out.”
he hobbled across the storehouse and retrieved the automatic rifle
he’d placed there. Jeff watched him. Somehow, the kid seemed older
still, his light blue eyes quieter. Darker even. More aware. Too aware.
They looked like eyes that’d seen a thousand years.
How could they not?
“Come here,” Castillo said.
“What now?” the thousand-year-old boy asked. “Are we going back
to—”
Castillo grabbed Jeff by the chest as, a quarter mile away, Ox’s
fortress went up in an explosion that seemed to take off the entire top
of the mountain. The night outside lit like noon and the floor shook
beneath their feet, cartons spilling from the shelving around them. Jeff
was still screaming and their eyes joined again, Jeff’s alight in shock and
wonder at the enormous explosion that marked the total destruction of
“Last Call.” The amazed and horrified eyes of a child once more.
Thank
God,
Castillo thought.
“There goes our way out,” he said dryly, letting Jeff go. “Now we
just gotta get off this damn hill ourselves. Somehow meet back up with
these guys at the rendezvous spot.”
“If they make it.”
“It’s not them I’m so worried about, man.”
“Oh . . . So what do
we
do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Castillo’d pulled his own suit off, working at the
warm, wet shirt beneath.
Really had quite enough of getting stabbed by these
fuckers. . . .
“Can you  .  .  .” Jeff shuddered at all the blood, looked away. “I
mean . . . what is that stuff?”
“Medical glue. Think Super Glue for skin.”
“Will it work?”
“Nope. But, fuck, it’s . . . It’s better than nothing.” he did what he
could. There was no glue for what’d been
inside
. he had a couple hours,
tops. It was the full boundary of his life now. “Maybe enough to get off
this mountain,” he lied and wondered who he was lying to most. he’d
done as much as he could. In five, maybe ten more minutes, the ATf
ass-clowns would figure out what had happened and move in. “Come
on.” he made it as far as the door, but each step proved harder to take
than the last. he tried to figure out a way for Jeff to sneak by or fight
through twenty ATf agents. he . . . his thoughts were already growing
darker at the edges.
he turned to the boy.
Jeff was looking off to the west, beyond the storage sheds. “Castillo . . .”
“What?” he said and followed his gaze to the barn. his brow lifted
when he saw what Jeff had in mind.
“The horses,” Jeff said.
“horses.”
Jeff nodded.
Castillo’s next step was easier. Not much. But enough. “That’d be
cool,” he said.
Jeff glanced back at him. “yeah,” he said. “It would.”