Night Beyond The Night (37 page)

Christ Almighty. What the hell is this?

At last it pulled free, and he saw, with a horrible fascination, that the crystal seemed to have tentacles. Slender little tentacles that had grown into the body, barely the circumference of a toothpick, some no bigger than a hair . . . and no longer than his little finger. They looked like fiber-optic cables.

He dropped the stone into a bowl, and, resisting the urge to examine it more closely, turned back to her damaged body. Allie seemed to be breathing a bit more easily, but blood and puss still oozed from the wound in her shoulder.

Elliott cut away the rest of the dead flesh, noticing that the muscles and tendons beneath seemed to be fairly intact, despite the tentacles that had infiltrated them. He was concerned about the loss of blood, and that her skin had become even warmer since he’d started working.

All this time, Ian had watched silently, his face set. He’d made no move to touch Allie other than the moment when she first cried out.

When Elliott had done all he could, he cleaned the wound. Allie cried out again, writhing and moaning on the table as he washed it with alcohol. He hated to cause her pain, but he had nothing else. Ian moved closer to hold her steady, but his touch seemed to be more impersonal than tender.

After he finished bandaging it up, Elliott looked up at Ian. “That’s all I can do for now. The infection hasn’t spread to the rest of her body, so there is hope that she’ll recover. But I’ve never seen anything like that before, so I don’t know the nature of the illness. What has happened in the past?”

“Once the skin begins to darken and reject the crystal, no one has survived.”

“Did they remove the stone?” Elliott asked.

“Yes. But it’s always been too late. I expect this time to be different.” Ian’s face bore no trace of relief. “You’re more than a simple doctor.”

Elliott met his eyes. How Ian knew about his skills, he didn’t know, but he refused to heal Allie with his bare hands. He would not attempt to take on her illness—an illness he didn’t understand, and wasn’t even certain he could absorb into his own body.

“You haven’t laid your hands on her,” Ian said. There was a definite threat in his voice, burning in his eyes.

Elliott’s heart sank.
He knows
.

The gun appeared in Ian’s hand and he walked over next to Elliott. “Take off the gloves and put your hands on her.” The cold metal barrel touched his temple.

Elliott hesitated, despite the pressure against his head. “Pulling the trigger won’t help your cause.”

“It’s already a lost cause—don’t you think I don’t know that? I have nothing to lose and you’re my only hope.
Put your hands on her
.” When Elliott still didn’t move, Ian stepped away and spoke through his teeth. “If that’s the way you wish to do it, then.”

With sharp movements, he opened the door. Three men stood there. Large men. Ian needed to give no command, for they surged in and before Elliott could react they’d swarmed around him, and forced him toward the bed, holding his arms out in front of him. Ian stripped off the gloves and Elliott began to struggle harder, knowing what was to happen next. If he moved or didn’t concentrate, it might not work. If they touched his skin during the fight, it would flow into them.

But it did no good. Despite his great strength, Elliott couldn’t overcome the power of the four of them. They held him by his sleeve-covered arms, and the rest of the clothing on his body protected the men as they forced his hands down onto Allie’s face.

Elliott felt the sizzle of unwanted energy flow through him, warm and strong, swirling down into his limbs. It shocked and surprised him, the force of it, and his knees weakened.

When they released him, he spun immediately, trying at once to lunge at them, but one of the goons shoved a chair at him, catching him in the gut with its arm. The blow paralyzed Elliott, knocking every bit of air from his diaphragm, and, gasping for breath, he sagged to the floor.

When he looked up again, the men were gone. He was alone with Allie.

And the burn had already begun . . . just below his clavicle.

One year After

One year later.

Mayor Rowe decided to have a celebration. A new sort of Thanksgiving. It’s a good idea—remind people that we’ve survived. And see how far we’ve come.

Theo was finally successful hacking into the satellite. He’s been working on it for more than six months, and got in.

The images he showed me confirmed what we’ve believed: there’s nothing much left. Of anything. But there’s something odd . . . in the Pacific Ocean. Will want to look more closely at that and at the new images over the next few weeks.

It’s been a month since Elsie died. I still dream that she’s with me. I always will.

—from the journal of Lou Waxnicki

Jade stared out the window into the darkness, peering through her one good eye. The pain resulting from her earlier reunion with Preston had begun to subside, except in her arm. She’d landed on it when he shoved her to the floor, and had felt it twist under her.

How was she going to get out of here? She could hear faint cries from below, and Jade knew it was the youngsters, locked in the hold. Somehow, she had to figure out a way to free herself . . . and them.

She found that watching out the window helped to take her mind off the discomfort. Perhaps she hoped she’d see Elliott and Theo riding to the rescue. A fanciful thought, but one she focused on, hoped for. The floating house had angled more perpendicular toward the shore during the last hours, and Jade now saw a different view of the shore . . . where hulking shadows lurched. Emerging from the ocean, staggering toward land.

Ruuu-uuthh. Ru-uth. . . .

Although she couldn’t clearly hear their moans, she’d seen and heard them often enough. At dawn, the
gangas
trudged in a large pack toward the waves rushing onto the beach, and then, as the sun rose, they kept walking down into the water until it covered them. They emerged in the same way after the sun had gone down, marching in a ragged army from the depths of the sea.

But this time, as she watched them, Jade caught her breath. She listened, and faintly heard their haunting sighs.
Ruuthh. Eddy . . . to . . . Ruuth
.

She frowned, something tickling the back of her mind . . . but the insistent pain clouded her train of thought and she found it hard to concentrate. Yet something drove her, something bothered at her. She knew it was important, and she struggled to get the window open.

She listened.

Eddy . . . Tuh-ruuuth. Eddy . . . Truth?

Jade strained to listen. She’d heard them so many times before, every night and many mornings for years and years. Why was it so important now? Something Preston had said . . . she filtered their conversation through her scattered thoughts.

Ready . . . to . . . Truthhhh?

She listened, straining her ears, combing aurally through the eerie groans to the syllables beneath.

And then she got it. Through the fog of her pain, it crystallized and she understood. A glimmer of light in a murky gray world.

A piece of the puzzle of the Strangers.

Elliott was dying.

And so was the girl.

Whatever the crystal had done to infect Allie had seeped deep into the tissue and organs of her delicate body and would not release it. And it had now infected him. He touched Allie freely now, and felt life draining away. From both of them.

Ian’s gamble hadn’t worked, and not only would it not save Allie, but it would soon destroy Elliott as well. There was nothing he could do for her, and only a desperate chance to save himself by getting out of this locked room.

During the last hours, Allie had grown grayer, her blue veins shining more clearly through her flesh. Despite the bandage that Elliott had dressed her wound with, blackness had crept beyond the edges and discolored her skin.

Elliott brushed his fingers over her cheeks, felt the clamminess of her skin, and, because he allowed the sensation—was looking for it—he felt the drain of life. The imposition of death. With his thumb, he made a cross over her forehead and said a silent prayer.

There was nothing else.

And so, despite his growing weakness, he turned his attention to the room—something he’d been too busy to do earlier. A generous size, well lit by a large, glazed window, the space was neat and appointed with the bed and several chairs. A table. He looked inside a small cabinet, flush with the wall, and found it empty. On the table next to the bed lay the implements provided to him by Ian—forceps, a knife too small to do much damage. But he slipped it into his pocket nevertheless. The half-used bottle of vodka, the bowl in which the crystal lay, thick black-red blood pooling beneath it. Another bowl with bloody, wadded towels.

Elliott eyed the crystal and its delicate tentacles, then scooped it up with a damp cloth and stuck it in his pocket.

The crystal . . . so important to these people. Yet so deadly.

Just then, he heard the clunking of the lock and the door opened behind him. He turned once more. The door opened and he looked up to see Ian filling the doorway. Though weak, Elliott would have launched himself immediately at the man if he hadn’t seen the two men behind him. Raul Marck and Luke Bagadasian.

Elliott drew in a deep, slow breath and revised his immediate plan to attack Ian. He could kill one of them with his bare hands, but Preston was the one he really wanted.

Although Luke came in a close second.

But how much longer did he even have? He wasn’t going to go out without taking one of them with him.

Trying to hide his weakness, Elliott met Ian’s eyes. He saw reluctant comprehension in the other man’s gaze. And anger. Deep, burning fury.

Yet . . . he didn’t recognize grief. Only rage.

“I’ve done everything I can do,” Elliott said. A strange calmness settled over him as he considered his options.

“That’s not going to be enough.” Ian came forward and looked down at the slight body draped in white sheeting.

Elliott ignored him and focused on Luke, who had the balls to look at him as if he were an ant. “You betrayed Jade,” he said to the loathsome man. He couldn’t wait much longer. It required every bit of concentration and strength to keep his knees from buckling and his breathing steady. He wasn’t in pain as much as he felt like a rubber doll . . . but he knew exactly what was happening. He could feel the infection burning away his skin, into his body.

He couldn’t wait for Preston.

“The reward was too good to pass up,” Luke said, swaggering into the small room.
Closer now. Just a bit closer
.

Elliott felt a wave of weakness, but he braced himself against the chair. He wanted nothing to give away his position. “And you needed the money to keep yourself in a supply of crystals, so you could grind the dust,” he said, remembering the gritty sparkles he’d seen in Luke’s computer room. “You weren’t making enough money from selling electronics.”

“Not nearly enough. And I wanted to sample her before I turned her back to Preston. But the bitch was sharing her slimy gash with someone else. . . .”

The rest of Luke’s taunt faded away as red rage blinded Elliott. He drew in a deep breath, calmed himself, and said, “Congratulations. I assume you were the one who sent the message that she needed to come to Greenside, pretending you were Theo. Was that so you could confirm her identity? Or set her up to be captured?” He extended his hand as if to affirm the congratulations. “But I came along with her and screwed up your plans.”

Come on, you fucking bastard. Get your ego over here and shake my damned hand so I can send you to hell
. Elliott no longer felt any remorse over what he intended to do.

“Yeah, that was pretty brilliant of me. Pretending to be the geek. It worked, but you left before anyone could come and collect her.”

Elliott could hardly listen to the man’s response . . . he was focused on his hand, still extended.
Come on, you bastard. You’ve got the ego. I know you want to show it off
.

Luke looked at him and Elliott allowed the anger to show on his face, taunting him. Goading him into reacting.

When Luke moved and accepted Elliott’s hand in a shake, he was prepared for a fist to come flying after it. And it did.

Elliott ducked, but not before he had a firm handshake with Luke. The blow glanced off his temple and Elliott spun away. Triumphant.

Luke surged at him again and Elliott dodged once more, and the fight would have continued if the door hadn’t opened again.

“What is going on here?” The tall, slender man standing there looked as if he were about Elliott’s age, perhaps a bit older. Closer to forty. His hair was jet-black, pulled back into a short tail at the base of his neck.

Luke froze and retreated to the side of the room as the new arrival walked in. He came directly to the bed, barely glancing at Elliott.

“She won’t last the night,” he said in a soft voice. He sounded pained, more so than Ian had. But when he lifted his eyes, Elliott felt coldness sweep over him.

Those gray orbs, the color of raw iron, didn’t match his voice. They were hard and unfeeling.

“Are you pleased, now, Preston?” Ian said, confirming Elliott’s suspicions.

Preston. Elliott was blinded by anger and fury, and his whole body stilled.
Dammit
. If he’d waited
two more minutes
. . . .

The weakness had already begun to leech away and Elliott knew that it was only a matter of time before Luke succumbed to the illness. It had worked. If only he’d been able to apply it to the immortal, the one he had no chance of killing.

Power surged through him, power and determination. He’d find a way to kill the man here, right now. If he touched Allie again, would he take on the illness a second time?

He realized Ian had moved. Once again, the gun was pointed at him, causing him to hesitate. “Our doctor here is a bit upset by your presence, Preston,” Ian said. “He’d like nothing more than to bash your head in . . . but I’m not quite through with him yet. There’s still hope for Allie, and until then, I’m not about to let him do anything foolish.”