Catharsis (Book 2): Catalyst (6 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

            It takes another ten minutes of cruising side streets and doubling back on myself  before I find the vehicle I'm looking for (I keep missing the roads they're on.).  The large, dark SUV is surprisingly easy to miss even with me looking for it, and I'm pretty sure I pass it twice before I finally pick out the right one.  I cruise behind it for several minutes to make sure the tracker is pointing to the correct vehicle before I feel positive I have the right one.

            "Ok, Ren, I've found 'em," I say quietly into my helmet's microphone.  "Nothing too suspicious yet, though.  They've just been cruising the main road and sticking to the speed limit so far.  Windows are deep tinted, so I can't see inside.  I've no idea what's waiting for me in there."  I continue riding behind the SUV for a moment and contemplate my next move.  "You're sure this is the right one?"  I finally ask him.

            "Well, am I sure that this vehicle came from a house that is connected to the drug trade?" He asks rhetorically.  "Yes, I am.

            "Am I sure that the people
in
that vehicle are connected to the poison being spread throughout our city?"  He continues in the same tone.  "I am only
mostly
sure of that.

            "And am I sure that you should stop this vehicle and talk to the people inside of it and question them about their activities tonight?"  He pauses before finishing.  "Yes, Catnip.  I am relatively sure on that one."

            His rare use of a nickname for me lightens my mood and makes me smile.  His knowledge of his own impending doom (due to the cancerous blood that pumps through his veins) seems to keep him regularly rooted in the ol'
dark and gloomy
side of life, so his occasional glimpses of a sense of humor are a treat.

            "Best case scenario, Cat," he says interrupting my thoughts.  "Is that you stop a vehicle packed full of drugs, money and miscreants, and you get a chance to unleash a bit of joyous fury on them."

            "And worst case?" I ask him while watching the vehicle in front of me brake for a stoplight.

            "Worst case is that you've stopped a vehicle that makes regular visits to one of our city's dens of evil, and you help them see the light of their poor choices," he says.  "I think that is pretty much a win-win situation."

            "I'm convinced," I say as I pull my bike onto the sidewalk a dozen feet away from the stopped SUV.  "And I'm going silent as I approach.  Keep your ears on and your fingers ready."

            I don't really have a plan in mind as I pop out the bike's kickstand and lean it over.  My goal is to get them to open a window and see what happens from there.  The open window will allow me to see if any of the scents inside give me probable cause for an all-out attack.  All I need is a reason, and not even a very strong one at that.

            Keeping an eye on the parked vehicle a few feet away from me, I remove my helmet and hang it on the bike's handlebar (I'd prefer to keep it on for protection during a fight, but wearing it pretty much negates most of my senses.  And I'm going to need them tonight.  Especially if I plan to replenish my energy by feeding.  Trying to bite someone while a helmet guards my mouth would be ridiculously comical.  And no one needs that in the middle of a fight.).  Quickly brushing my fingers through my hair (one of the drawbacks to wearing a helmet as a girl - tangled and sweaty hair caused by helmet-head), I step around the parked bike and walk up to the passenger side window and knock.

            "Hey," I shout at my own darkened reflection and mime the international sign for rolling down a window.  "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?  I have that new flavor that everyone loves."

            I have no idea if they can even hear me inside the vehicle, but I figure I have to say something to get them to open it up.  Might as well start with something confusing and just hope for the best.  It's worked in the past.

            While I wait for a response from whoever’s inside, I inhale deeply to get a sense of the night air and see if I can pick up any hints of what to expect from my soon-to-be-new acquaintances.  As the cold air rushes into my lungs, my brain filters it for anything of importance.  The most powerful smell in the city always hits me first, burnt fuel and exhaust (the reason why I have to wear a helmet while I ride), and it is quickly followed by a half dozen competing food smells which tells me that we are near civilization and takeout restaurants. 

            As my brain removes the distractions, I become aware of two things almost simultaneously: the next most prevalent scent and the distinct sound that almost always follows it.  I can smell the slimy odor of oil and gunpowder wafting heavily out of the car, and it is closely followed by the tell-tale
ch-clinks
of metal on metal as someone on the other side of the window racks the slide of a very large gun.

            Suddenly the wind around me stops blowing and the world comes to a pause as my adrenalin accelerates and my reaction time goes from simply impressive up to
superhuman
.   Acting on instinct more than skill, I dive across the hood of the car as the window that is now behind me explodes into a rainstorm of glass and metal showering the street with death.

            I believe they have just ever-so-impolitely served up my "probable cause" on a big ol' platter of firearms and hatred.  How kind of them to save me the trouble of having to try and find a creative way to search the car.  They brought the evidence
to
me.

            As I slide across the large truck's hood (Or is this thing classified as a "car"?  I never know.), I look into the front windshield to get an idea of who I'm facing, but all I see is a reflection of myself as I glide across the polished, black metal. 

           
Dang
, I think. 
They tinted out every window.  That'll add to the challenge
.

            I'm hoping that whoever was on the other side of that gun blast was so focused on shooting me that they might not have noticed my disappearance and subsequent launching across the front of their SUV.  It's unlikely, but possible.  A girl can dream can't she? 

            As I clear the far side of the hood and land on the pavement next to the front tire, I immediately jettison myself towards the rear of the car in a tight roll and pop up into a crouch near the back bumper.  My ears are ringing with the echoes from the shotgun blast that tore open the passenger door and window (It
had
to be a shotgun with how loud it was and how much damage it did so quickly.  And I
hate
shotguns.  I've had a bad history with them.).  It was way too loud and unexpected for me to properly protect myself from it.  I'll just have to go without that particular sense for a few minutes (Although it certainly would have been helpful right now with the side of the car exposed to the elements.  I bet I could hear all kinds of conversations in there...if I could only hear.).  But that thought does remind of another person who
can
hear right now.

            "I'm OK, Renny," I whisper just loud enough for my mic to pick it up.  "They blew out the side window with a shotgun, but they didn't get close to me.  I'm safe," I say and then consider my next move.  "I believe they have just volunteered themselves to be tonight’s quick snack, though."

            Awkwardly duck-walking the few feet across the length of the back of the vehicle (I don't want them to see my head pop up through the rear window and ruin the surprise.), I peek around the passenger side of the Escalade and look towards the now blown-out window.  Above the scents of the city and the guns, I can pick out definable smells for at least four different people.  Four people who will provide me with enough energy to unleash some fury on one Mr. Chadwick Morrin tonight.

            And even better than that?  One of my future snacks is starting to lean out of the window to get a better look at the street around him.  It's almost like they're gift-wrapping this meal for me.

            Pulling on the bit of darkness I've been holding in reserve for just this moment, I use the power it gives me to slow time even more and allow myself a chance to run up to the window and surprise the poor guy before his head even fully clears the sill (I know now that I don't actually
slow down time
, but instead I accelerate my own metabolism and body functions to the point that I move at a speed that is faster than the normal human eye can register.  It's not
quite
as cool as stopping time, but it's still incredibly fun and effective.).

            Launching myself forward towards the opening the shotgun blast created, I sprint the length of the car in a split-second and arrive at the window just as his chin comes into view.  With surprise as an advantage, I use my momentum to power a punch that I send straight into his nose with as much energy as I can muster.  The force of my hit rocks his head backward into the SUV's shattered window frame with an alarming
crunch
.  I watch as his eyes begin rolling back into his skull even as his head starts to ricochet back towards me.  He's out cold, and he never even saw me approach.

            Knowing that I'm about to replenish my dark energy with this man's lifeblood, I tap into what little I have left to elevate my strength, too.  Reaching in through the open window (and avoiding the remaining glass fragments as best I can) I use both hands to grab the man's torso and pull him up and out of the window and onto the street with me (I get lucky that he isn't wearing a seatbelt, or it all would have been thwarted by a small strip of fabric.  Luckily, drug thugs don't seem to embrace the Buckle Up! Laws too heavily.).  Once he's on the street, I drop to my belly and shimmy under the car while pulling him with me.

            Even though I can't see what I just did through their eyes, I can only hope it looked as cool as I imagined it.  It should have been as sudden, violent and disconcerting as one of the Xenomorph attacks in those awesome
Aliens
movies.  It should be enough to throw them off their game and give me a moment to enjoy my new friend.

            There isn't much room to move underneath the SUV, but all I need to do is pull his neck close enough to get my teeth to it.  Once I do that, it's just a matter of letting my instincts kick in and enjoy the rush.

            And this time, for Ren's sake, I remember to turn off the mic just before the warmth flows into me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

            The jolt of energy the man's blood gives me is a relief after the evening I've had so far.  Unfortunately, the boost is quickly absorbed by my body's attempts to heal my eardrums and cure their incessant ringing after that point blank shotgun blast and the necessary restoring of my already low chemistry levels.  It's tempting to take more than the three to four pints I allow myself (too much more than that, and he'll need medical assistance), as the man is incredibly healthy and toxin-free (he doesn't even smoke judging by the purity of his red blood cells).  But I don't allow myself to do that.  There is no need to gorge myself when I have three more volunteers just a few feet above me.

            Licking the small puncture marks I created in his neck, I allow my saliva to work its magic and seal the holes as I concentrate on what my returning senses tell me.  Being able to hear again is nice, but it brings with it some side effects.  Namely, the vehicle is still running and I am lying almost directly underneath the engine.  The motor's idling hum is nearly a
roar
to my sensitive ears, so hearing the conversations coming from
inside
the car are much more challenging than I had anticipated.

            I can pick out a heated conversation (raised voices, but not quite to the level of yelling) occurring up there, but I can't quite make out what they are saying.  I do notice two things, though, that catch my attention.  The first is that the emotions that are seeping through in the words are not as much of the fear variety as I had both hoped and assumed.  They seem angry, cautious and excited.  Not necessarily a good combination for my continued good health.

            The other thing I notice is that the words they're using are all in Spanish. 
All
of them.  And that is unusual.  Up here in the Midwest, we do have our Hispanic populations, but I have run into very few gangs that are solely comprised of the nationality.  I always assumed that was more of a West Coast or Southwestern thing.  Normally I just run into one or two guys speaking my native tongue per nocturnal excursion.  But an entire car full of them?  That is definitely unusual.  I wonder what's up with it.  I guess I'll just have to ask.

            Wiggling back towards the passenger side of the car so that I can pop up and attempt a surprise, impromptu conversation with my new friends, my movement is interrupted by a sound on the far side of the car:  the back door on the driver's side opening up.  Apparently, they've opted to come
out
to me.  How kind of them.

            Flicking on my microphone (I've learned that forgetting to re-activate it will just get me reprimanded later.), I quietly update Ren on the situation.  "First target neutralized," I whisper before adding, "And he was delicious."  I know the comment isn’t necessary, but sometimes it's fun just to aggravate the guy.  I have to have some hobbies, right?

            The speaker clicks on and then off in my pocket as his signal that he received what I said (Even though simple electronic
clicks
can't convey a disapproving tone, I'm still pretty sure I could sense one.  The guy is a bit too uptight sometimes.).  "Plus the back door just opened.  I think one is coming out to join me.  Standby."

            Scraping my belly on the ground, I shimmy my way forward until I am just beneath the open back door of the vehicle.  I figure I can wait for them to step out, and then I'll just grab their feet and yank really hard.  It typically works in the movies, and I don't see why the physics of it would betray me here.  Now it is just a matter of being patient and waiting for the feet to actually hit the pavement.

            But no feet come out.  And no more talking comes from above me.  I
can
hear movement, though.  And quite a bit of it.  Someone is right above me in the back seat of the SUV, and it sounds like they are lifting something heavy or at least shifting their weight back and forth quite a bit.  The sounds of suitcases opening and closing (or at least some time of large "container", and I'm pretty sure I hear latches) are distinguishable from the other sounds of rustling and assorted movements.  There is definitely something going on up there, but I can't tell what it is for the life of me.  The temptation to scoot forward and peek up from beneath the open door is nearly overwhelming, but after a small struggle I manage to keep my curiosity in check.  I can wait them out.  I'm the bigger person here.

            And then a sound from directly behind me catches my attention.  It's a sound that both floods my system with adrenaline thus slowing time, and reminds me that sometimes I'm not always the smartest person in the battle. 

            It's the hard metallic
clink-tink
of grenades bouncing off the pavement and rolling towards me under the Escalade.