The Endangered (26 page)

The car slowly separates itself from the wall, teetering onto its roof. Crina stumbles, dazed and bloody, over to me. Crina, with one good arm, manages to pry the bar back enough for me to slip out.

“They were in a hurry.”

Crina is examining her arm, which lies limp at her side.

“Is it dislocated?”

Her grimace says it all. “Yeah…can you fix it?”

“Me? Uhhh…”

“Just hold it straight out.”

I oblige. With her arm raised to shoulder height, she wrenches forward. It pops into place as she cringes.

“Thanks.” She lowers her arm, massaging her shoulder. Her hand hangs limp, her wrist apparently broken.

“We gotta go back inside. Retrieve the data from their computers.”

I fall to my knees over Catch’s sword. I meant to pick it up, but now all I can do is fight to hold back tears. Crina walks over, standing behind me.

“He was a great warrior.”

Suddenly a blast from above shakes the foundation. We duck instinctively, moving toward the exit.

More explosions erupt.

We flee the garage, cross the street, and look up. Flames shoot from the windows of the top stories.

“That’s why they were in such a hurry,” says Crina.

Glass and debris fall down on us. We retreat into an alley.

“Damn it! There goes all our evidence.” Crina shakes her fist at the burning building. Anger swells inside of me. I feel like I could burst. Then I remember the look in Catch’s eyes and don’t care anymore. Nothing matters.

Sirens can be heard in the distance.

“We need to get out of here.” Crina gives my arm a tug.

I follow her to her bike, then stop.

“I can’t go back. I…I need time.”

“Don’t go after Striden. Not like this.”

I shake my head. “Not today.”

She starts to protest, then catches herself. She understands.

I back away still holding Catch’s sword. She revs her bike to life and disappears down the road.

***

Crina returns to the New York base.

“Xan?” She places a finger to her ear.

“Crina? What’s your status?”

“At the base. I’ll be in Jersey by sunrise.”

She pulls a first aid kit out and begins dressing her wounds.

“Will Catch and Lori be accompanying you?”

“’Fraid not. Xan…Catch is gone. Striden’s men got him. He and Lori were ambushed at the lab.”

“What! Catch was killed?”

“Affirmative.”

“Fuck. Oh man. Jesus. No. Fucking A.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“And Lori?”

“She survived, but…she’s taking an indefinite leave of absence.”

“What was in the building? You said a lab? Should we return to investigate further?”

“It was a lab. Now it’s a pile of burnt rubble. They blew it to pieces. Best you stay put. I’ll bring everyone up to speed when I’m there. In the meantime try turning on the news. It was hard to miss.”

“Understood.”

“And Xan, Striden wasn’t there, just his brother and some cronies. Be on guard; they know we’re close.”

***

From a rooftop several blocks away I watch with hollow eyes as fire fighters battle the blaze.

I close my eyes and see his ashes. Open my eyes—more ashes.

Everything inside me erupts.

The pain in my voice shakes the city.

The sky will glow, the streets will burn, and I will have my revenge.

Chapter 31

I awake to the smell of burning flesh. Shocked to see my arm in flames, I fall to the floor, beating it out quickly as I take cover under a nearby table.

‘Shit!”

Confused, I look around. The couch I’d crashed on is partly illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through a clouded window. I don’t know where I am and can’t remember how I got here. Not that I am trying very hard.

After slowly inching my way through the darker crevices of the room, I come to the conclusion that it must be the former residence of someone having an equally hard go at life.

The sink doesn’t work. The sole door opens to a dilapidated hallway. Even squatters had abandoned this place for better digs. I stumble down the hall, encounter more sunlight permitted inside through scantly boarded windows, and retreat back to the efficiency. Once the tattered excuse for a couch is pushed out of harm’s way, I resume my hibernation. The memory of Catch’s last moments a vivid nightmare, potent and crippling.

Days, weeks, months persist much in the same fashion…time is not something I am capable of gauging. Places escape me, too. I roam the streets in a daze, not fully conscious of my existence let alone the presence of others around me.

Never have I felt so alone. While not a stranger to independence, this level of solitude is foreign and unsettling. But it is all I can manage to endure.

***

I awake in a warm, bright room. The details washed away by the sunlight. I tie the silk scarf of the robe around my waist, having draped the smooth fabric over my undergarments. My cold toes are warmed by fuzzy cotton slippers as I ease them on one foot at a time. I make my way downstairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, I’m overcome by delicious aromas as they fill my nostrils. I inhale deeply, stretching my arms above my head; the scent of coffee, bacon, and eggs fills my lungs.

Catch turns from the stove, smiling. He is bathed in the morning sun, which trickles in from a large picture window. Birds can be heard chirping faintly outside.

I join him, peering over his shoulder at the bacon spitting grease as it crisps at the edges. He reaches his arm around my waist, pulling me tighter as he kisses my cheek. I return the gesture and he nibbles my ear.

“What have you become?” he whispers coarsely. “Go to them. You cannot hide forever.” His voice cuts through my dream and my eyes fly open.

Awake, I lie on my back trying to grasp that feeling of warmth, but it’s lost. I shiver at Catch’s harsh message, still ringing in my head. My ears burn as though sent from Catch’s breath itself. 

Well that was new.

The jarring juxtaposition between the vision and my present reality is too much to bear. I force myself out of a porcelain tub only to find my clammy skin sticking to its cold surface. Once on my feet, I wade cautiously through the bed of used syringes littering the wooden floorboards.

The condemned building is sullen and dark, but I can see fairly well as I move for the nearest door and make my way downstairs. I stop when I see a junkie passed out at the bottom of the stairwell, then make a hasty exit.

Catch is constantly on my mind, but never in it, never in such striking context.

Is it my own subconscious? Does some part of me feel guilty?

Does some part of me feel anything besides anguish?

***

The streets of Chicago are noisy and alive. I walk for some time before spotting a crumpled Chicago Tribune to learn where I am.

I’d stepped off the train only to avoid being thrown off. And I only boarded the train because New York City had become insufferable.

I’d bought a cabin with a dead man’s money, locked myself in the room, pulled the shade down over the tiny window pane and curled up in a corner for the duration of the trip. My slumber was only interrupted by my own convulsive grief spasms until we reached the end of the line and an attendant tossed me off.

It is nice to walk again, but I am weak and the nomadic life has become increasingly draining. My arm has never fully healed from its encounter with daylight and is plastered in scabs and boils. It seems appropriate that my physical torment should match my emotional, so I let the thirst fester and cannibalize.

I wanted him the instant I laid eyes on him. His gaze locked on mine from across the room and I felt a connection deep beneath the flesh. It was infatuation at first sight and fatal attraction in its truest form. I didn’t care about anything when I was with him; the world fell away. He lived for the next adrenaline rush and I shared his affinity for spontaneous, destructive behavior. Running blind, all we saw was each other.

Now I am lost.

Reality came up and struck, hard and cold and merciless, a blow from which I’d never recover. I disappear, cloaked in hooded garments to hide my appearance. A pale, sickly corpse, I hide out in decrepit hostels and spend nights strolling absently. On occasion I seek out the dingiest dive bar I can find to drown my sorrows, wishing it wasn’t so much work for my kind to feel alcohol’s effects.

Humans are revolting and yet refreshing in their insecurities. I sit back and watch the bar fights play out, the drugs get exchanged, the wedding rings slip from fingers. Always trying so hard to stay one step ahead of the next guy, prosaic motives with equally predictable outcomes.

I am no better. In fact, I guarantee I’m not. I recognize the flaws and do nothing but perpetuate the downfall of society.

I represent all that is unholy, abhorrent and perverted.

I am a monster in the truest sense.

This universe is full of secrets and endless versions of hell.

Chapter 32

Not much has changed regarding my despondent state. I’m plagued by nightmares and visions. Many of which contain faces of those I’ve killed. I don’t mourn their deaths as much as envy them. I’ve tried to sleep outside, begged for the strength to let the sun take me, but all I see is Catch scolding me for taking the coward’s way out. And then I picture Deacon’s smug grin and know I have unfinished business. I may have taken revenge on the wolf who pulled the trigger, but I hold every one of those forsaken beasts responsible.

That anger keeps me from unraveling entirely.

With Adrian’s and Catch’s demise, the blood ties are equally lost. Yet I feel their presence stronger now than ever before. It feels as though I’m being watched from the inside, like they’ve absorbed into my psyche, enigmatic and powerful.

Or maybe I’m delirious from starvation.

I stand amid a small crowd of subway travelers, a skeleton of my former self. My ragged, unkempt hair falls over my face as I search my pockets for a lighter. The Zippo clicks several times and finally sparks to life. I just manage to light a cigarette as the subway barrels in and the draft extinguishes the flame.

I look up, exhale smoke and stare in disbelief at the image before me. Catch appears for an instant, his lips move as though he is trying to communicate something, and then he’s gone. My posture goes rigid; the cig hangs loosely from my bottom lip as people stroll past, unfazed by the ghost in the subway windows.

The subway departs. I glance around at the unassuming bystanders. No Catch. Just me. Crazy from hunger. I flee the subway station.

‘Go to them’?  Catch, is that what you said?

I can’t go back. Not yet at least. My heart’s not in it.

In lieu of Catch’s haunting, I sneak aboard a cargo ship bound for Port of Tilbury. My first effort toward a return. I am not ready, but the long ride across the Atlantic might help me prepare. Or at the very least, preclude any more cameos from Catch.

***

The streets of England zoom past. A flurry of buildings, streets, cars…I’m playing a racing game in first person.

Or so it would seem.

Then abruptly the images freeze. The pause button has been hit. I’m at an intersection with a clear view of the street signs. Vertigo. I’m sucked underground, standing in a sewer.

I hear the sound of metal striking metal. I turn and run to the source of the clashing. Crina is cornered by other vampires; she fends them off. A stake in one hand, a knife in the other.

Suddenly an attacker heaves an axe, sends it spiraling through the air. Crina sees it too late and is decapitated as the blade slices cleanly through her neck.

My eyes open as I jolt straight up, smacking my head on the lifeboat suspended above the one I’m lying in.

Okay, Catch, I get it.

I fight for him more than anything else. The slaying, brutality, violence…the intensity of it all appealed to Catch. Not me. The war came to me; I didn’t ask to be a part of it. But I did it for him. Maybe he held some inexplicable power over me. Maybe I just wanted to matter.

Whether I liked it or not, these creatures were my family. They adopted me, cared for me, took me in. Done more for me than quite possibly any human.

And now they need me.

So I would go. If not for me, for Catch. I owe them that much.

But the rules are different. Despite all that Catch had done to me, it was he who held the key to my humanity. He’d saved me in more ways than I’d ever been willing to admit. Not to him, not even to myself. When I felt, I felt for him, the love and the loss. Now I am numb. And the ones who started this, the ones responsible for his demise, they would suffer. It is their turn.

***

The damp London air hits me in colicky spurts of wind and rain as I disembark from the cargo ship. I flag the first cabbie that crosses my path, and he gives me a long stare before accepting my fare and speeding off to my desired location. 

From under the Bateman street sign, I recognize the intersection immediately and my stomach tenses with anticipation. The manhole cover is right where Catch showed me it would be. I lift it and jump inside before I can talk myself out of it.

The tunnel reeks of sewage and dead bodies. A moment ago I was barely able to lift the manhole cover. Now my body reacts to the sounds of a struggle and smell of sour blood like someone clicked the “on” switch. A foreign power guides me blindly.

I enter the scene in a blur of motion and chaos, intercept the axe, snagging it midair by the handle. I redirect it in a giant, sweeping arc and drive the blade through its owner’s neck. Like a knife through butter.

His body collapses into a pile of dust. The axe remains fixed in the cement wall.

The last of the attacking vampires and Crina are momentarily stunned. Then Crina uses the distraction to knock down the vampire, kick up the dagger at her feet, and stab him through the neck, popping off the head.

He disintegrates and the sewer falls silent.

I stand facing Crina, blood dripping from the gash on her face. She flashes a smile and throws her arms around me. The uncharacteristic embrace startled me, but I know instantly I am where I’m supposed to be.

She steps back and looks me over.

“You look like hell.”

I pick up one of her attacker’s swords and study the emblem on the handle. I don’t recognize it.

“Why are vampires attacking you?”

“Long story.” She wipes blood from her face. “How on earth did you ever find me? How are you even here right now?”

“I always had a knack for timing. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Crina is about to respond when her hand goes to her ear.

“Hello? Yeah, yeah I’m all right. Where were you guys? My signal must’ve cut out. I’m headed back to base. You won’t believe who I found.”

***

“Visions? Like premonitions?”

“From Catch. At first I thought I was hallucinating from hunger. A mirage in the desert after days without water, you know? I dismissed it. Then came the nightmares with such intensity…they were impossible to ignore.”

“And the ambush in the sewer tonight? You saw it before it happened?”

I nod. “But in my version, you didn’t survive the attack.”

“You saved me.”

“Catch saved you. He saved us both…I thought I lost everything, but I was wrong. You, Marcus, Xan, the others. You are all I have left. And I abandoned you.”

Crina shakes her head.

“We didn’t see it that way; we understood…When was the last time you fed?”

I am sitting on the couch back in my room at the mansion. It was nearly dawn when we returned and everyone had retired to their quarters. No homecoming party. Thankfully.

The microwave beeps and Crina removes a large container of blood. She had lined up glasses and now proceeds to fill them and bring them over to the coffee table.

“Drink,” she orders.

I obey.

After several pints I sprawl lengthwise across the couch and let the high consume me. The warmth returns with such blistering force I swear my heart resumes beating. I close my eyes and see red. Then something strikes my leg.

Crina stands over me. “You smell like the sewer we crawled out of. Go take a shower. Get yourself cleaned up.”

My hair is full of grime, my nails black; dried werewolf blood stains my clothes, unchanged since that night months ago. Makes me relieved I cannot see my own hideous reflection.

***

After a long, hot shower, I change into some clean loungewear. It is impossible to find something that doesn’t smell like Catch. Crina is sitting in the living room watching television. I join her. She kills the tube and hands me a fresh glass of blood.

“You’re starting to look like yourself again.”

“You still haven’t told me why vampires were trying to kill you.”

“So much has happened, I’m not sure where to start…You should know we managed to decipher Adrian’s notes. The physicochemical properties pointed to a new C-level strain of influenza. Its taxonomic structure or whatever was a variation on known viral types.”

I blink and interpret the one word I recognize.

“The flu?” I voice disbelief. “Would it make us sick?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not meant for us. And it’s not the flu. We suspect it’s for a flu shot. But those bodies we found in New York didn’t die from influenza, I don’t care how potent.”

I vaguely recall the deformed test subjects.

Rotting flesh, dried blood, and missing extremities.

“Why a flu shot? Wouldn’t that save lives?”

“The Saviors spoke of a vaccine S&D was putting the final touches on. They procured a device for its production when they invaded the hospital in London.”

She smiles at the completely perplexed look on my face.

“I take it you haven’t been watching the news. Kidding. Anyways, now we’re getting to the part with tonight’s vampires.”

I recline, eyebrows raised.  

“A few months ago, a group calling themselves ‘The Saviors’ announced their arrival by taking over a wing of King’s College Hospital in the heart of London; they went after its cord blood bank. Hundreds were evacuated, dozens killed.

“Then they disappeared—underground. We’re trying to track them down. They took every drop of blood the place had to offer.

“And, apparently a lot of high tech equipment.

“Several weeks of tracking empty leads, no wolf sightings, not a glimmer of Striden. That corporate park in Jersey—completely wolf free. No Striden, no wolves, no illegal activity at all. Nothing like what we found in New York. The trail had run cold and we were discouraged, but hesitant to abandon the US altogether. These rebel vamps made the decision for us.

“So we packed up shop in US and headed home to face the nemesis in our backyard.

“We were too late to clean up the mess in London and they did a pretty good job of covering their tracks. Then one night two vampires came calling on Marcus. Marcus agreed to meet with them. They took credit for the hospital. Said they were forming a new clan, The Saviors.

“The Saviors are a group of vampires temporarily aligning themselves with Striden. They’d arranged a trade, supplies like weapons, medical devices and such for fresh human blood. Part of the deal was that they would arrange a cease fire between us and the wolves. Marcus refused to a truce of any kind.

“This angered their leader, Florien, and he started ranting about a new world order and a greater good. Said that Striden’s plan would make humans our slaves. A world where wolves, vampires, demons—the powerful would reign over the weak. You get the idea. Marcus was infuriated and threw them out, declaring that any friend of Striden’s was an enemy in our eyes, vampire or not.”

“Marcus isn’t one for making friends, is he,” I quip.

Crina forces a smile.

“Apparently they tried Vega first. He turned them away, too…This was just a few days ago. Now when we leave the grounds, we have to watch our backs. A wolf mauled two teens in Hyde Park. I picked up the trail and got jumped by my own kind. How are we expected to hunt while we’re being hunted ourselves?”

We sit in silence while I digest this information. This turn of events sheds new light on Vega’s warnings. I can’t help but wonder if he had a hand in putting these events in motion.

One problem at a time, Lori. This blood is making you delirious.

“The ones we took out tonight…Florien was the one you decapitated. If his followers seek revenge, we’ve got a second war on our hands.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Uh huh.”

After a moment.

“I saw him die.”

“I know. I did, too.” Crina stares through the bottom of her empty glass.

“No, I mean I saw it moments before it happened. I saw the arrow pierce his heart. And I did nothing. I just hung there weak and pathetic.”

Crina tries to hide any sort of reaction.

“There was nothing you could do.”

“Why did I see it if I couldn’t prevent it? It’s torturing me, Crina. I have to trust these visions. It’s the only way I can help. And that weakling hanging off the building is dead. She was a liability. One I can’t afford, we can’t afford.”

Crina starts to protest. There is a knock at the door.

Crina hesitates. “Come in.”

Trent’s wavy locks peek past the door. He enters, weary and depressed.

“Saw the light on, thought—”

His eyes meet mine as I rise to greet him. He darts over and lifts me up with a bear hug.

“Hi Trent.”

My feet touch the ground, but he does not release his embrace.

“You’re back! I can’t believe you’re here. I mean I can, but it’s unreal. Like shit hasn’t been the same around here without ya.”

He is wearing a white t-shirt a couple sizes too small and plaid shorts, or oversized boxers, that reach past his knees. Deep bags under bloodshot eyes. I may have looked like hell, but he’s a close second. I catch a faint whiff of Quinn’s perfume.