Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) (11 page)

“Aaron Kosminski and H.H. Holmes,” Robert continued. “They were
both
Jack the Ripper. They killed together, enjoying each other’s sick company. Holmes returned to the U.S. when they were finished, but not before killing Aaron and dumping his body in the Thames. That’s when he built his murder castle right there in Chicago. Did you know that, Dan?”

Dan was beginning to feel sick. The thought of associating with such a freak—even when he was human—made his stomach churn. He could feel the bile creep up his throat.

“I could make you like me, Dan,” Robert said, passing into a beam of moonlight.

He stopped, turning in Dan’s direction. He knew. Those black eyes stared right into Dan’s soul. He was looking right at him. Dan swallowed, a feeling of weakness falling over him as Robert turned to him fully.

“I can help you, you know,” he said, cocking his grotesque head strangely. “Those mercs, as you call them, are no match for me. I could help you get your friends out. Except for the nigger, of course. Fuck him.”

Dan raised his rifle, switching on the thermal scope and aiming right for Robert’s head. He could see the sickening smile that spread across the mutant’s face, and he felt his anger build as he pictured Vincent’s head rolling past him.

“That
nigger
was my friend, asshole,” he growled, pulling the trigger.

Robert disappeared in a blur, dashing to the side as the bullet sped past him. Dan immediately leaped to his feet, sprinting to another group of cars and crouching between them. He heard Robert scuffling and whipping his tentacles around as he sought him out.

“That was a good shot, Dan,” Robert cackled. “That’s another thing I like about you. You are a warrior; a true Viking, like your ancestors.”

I’m English,
Dan thought.
Maybe. Who knows?

“You have that killer instinct that predators have. If you weren’t immune to the virus or the spores like you are, you would have become like me. Your mind is too precious to become a Stalker. You are not an animal like they were. You are a true hunter; a killer at heart.”

Dan shook his head, creeping around the other side of the car as Robert neared it. He did his best not to make any noise on the asphalt, but his shoes wouldn’t cooperate. The rubber soles squeaked against the floor, causing Dan to stop and grit his teeth.

Fuck.

“It’s no use hiding from me,” Robert said. “I can always find you. But I’ll make you a deal. I will stand here and let you run. Then, when I think you’re a good distance away, I’ll come after you. That will be our game. If I win, you join me or die. If you win, then I suppose
I
will die. Isn’t that right?”

Dan considered running, but that was what Robert wanted. He was right there on the other side of the car, waiting for Dan to flee into the shadows. That was what he would do any other time, but now his mind was clear. He would not flee.

“That’s right,” he said, jumping up and firing a double-tap into Robert’s chest.

The mutant screamed in pain as the bullets ripped into his white flesh. Black and green fluid splattered as Robert staggered back, his tentacles flaring in rage.

“
You fucking prick!”
Robert hissed.

Dan fled, sprinting into the shadows, but cutting around a pillar and stopping right there. He would wait for Robert to pass and put a few more rounds in his ass. As he crouched, he heard Robert cursing and pounding the floor with his feet as he charged. Dan held his breath, his fists gripping the Sig as the angry mutant rushed past him.

He aimed and fired again, this time in full auto. The bullets ripped into Robert’s body, severing a tentacle and tearing his back wide open. He howled in pain and rage as Dan fled again. The sounds were sickening, almost like a monster crying.

“Why did you do that, Dan?” the sickening voice pleaded, coughing and choking.

Dan didn’t answer. He lowered himself into the open window of a car. There was a corpse in the driver’s seat, and the keys were dangling from the ignition. He reached over the corpse to open the door and push it out, and then slid over behind the wheel.

But, before he could turn the key, white tentacles shot into the window, wrapping around him and violently pulling him out of the car. He felt himself swirling through the air, then slam onto the hood of the car. His wind was knocked away, and he coughed blood with the impact. Pain shot through his side as a rib was broken. He collapsed onto the hood, breathless, and stunned.

Through his swimming vision, Robert’s face appeared above him. Dan looked up, helpless and defeated as the face came closer. It was the most horrifying thing Dan had ever seen; like a glossy skull, stretched over with taut, white leather. It was translucent, and Dan could see the bones and greenish veins underneath. The eyes were lens-like and black; glassy and round with a sinister angle.

Robert’s mouth opened, revealing a long, snake-like tongue that slid out from between his long, razor-sharp fangs. It whipped around, and then slowly snaked toward him; its tip gleaming with venom.

“Fuck you,” Dan choked, his vision fading.

He knew he was done for. Robert would kill him right here and now, probably eating him afterwards. He closed his eyes. There was no use watching.

But then, the weight of Robert’s body was gone. A howling scream sounded, disappearing into the distance. Dan opened his eyes, holding up his head to look in front of him. He saw Robert’s pale body dragged away by large, shadowy figures. Robert thrashed and screamed as the shadows crowded around him and ripped off his tentacles. Dan slid off the hood, rounding the bumper to return to the driver’s seat, quickly grabbing the Sig before slamming the door.

He started the car, keeping his eyes on the scene ahead. With a growl, he put the car in gear and slammed on the gas. The car shot forward like a rocket, throwing him against the driver’s seat. The shadows disappeared, fading into the darkness and leaving Robert’s torn form staggering pale against the moonlight outside.

Dan plowed into him. He saw Robert’s eyes widen, glowing with the red, furious fire as he struck. The impact jarred the car, but Dan kept his foot on the gas, driving the mutant back toward the outer half wall. With a crash, the car slammed into the concrete, bursting through it and crushing Robert’s body along with it. The car sailed down two floors, straightening out as it fell. It was almost in slow motion. Dan watched the street grow closer and closer with every passing millisecond, and the pale form of Robert clinging to the hood.

Dan closed his eyes, pushing against the steering wheel with his weakened arms. He knew it was no use; he would go through the windshield and probably die; splatting against the street right along with the mutant.

But, hey, it was only the second floor. Maybe he would—

Were those drums? Something loud and banging; regular, in a pattern. Drowned out, but still loud as fuck. The sounds echoed in Dan’s head; bouncing around inside his skull like a death metal symphony—or some James Horner epic.

No… they were distant gunshots.

Dan couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see anything. There was no light. Why? His body was racked with pain; intense pain. And where there was no pain, there was numbness. What the fuck was going on? What had happened? Where was he?

He took a deep breath. It was hard, and his back hurt when he did. But the breath was there. It went in and out. He could hear it. He could hear his own moans as the pain coursed through him; feel the stinging, stabbing sensations of broken bones.

Pain meant he was alive.

He was alive.

He forced his eyes open, seeing the swirling dark blues and orange colors of dawn. Everything was blurry and shifting before his very eyes.

But he was alive.

He blinked, fluttering his eyes until they built the strength to open fully. He stared, dazed, at the side view mirror of a car. His head was leaned against the inside of the door, and his own image stared back at him.

Jesus,
he thought.
What a fucking mess.

Blood covered most of his face. His nose looked broken; not too bad, but slightly swollen along the bridge. There was a cut above his right eye—or was it his left? He couldn’t tell just yet. He stared at himself for a moment, wondering what had just happened. He remembered driving off the edge of a building, falling in slow motion… why?

He saw his own eyes widen as he realized he had crashed to the street… and why.

He shot upright, ignoring the pain and frantically looking around him. The street was dark, lit only by the dim orange light on the horizon and the moon that hung low in the sky. There was a firefight in the distance, not too far away, but far enough to where he was not actually a part of it.

He looked in the passenger seat. His Sig lay on the floor in front of it, along with his backpack. The windshield was shattered, as were most of the other windows. The car’s hood was crumpled and destroyed. The car was totaled.

But he was alive.

Robert.

Dan grabbed the Sig and backpack, slinging the pack over his shoulder and pulling the door handle. It was stuck. He slammed his body against it, gritting his teeth with the pain. It was shut for good. He climbed out through the busted window; nearly stumbling when hit the street. He checked the magazine of the Sig, slowly creeping around the front of the car.

In the rubble, Robert’s mutated body lay severed in two. His bottom half was smeared underneath the car; nearly unrecognizable. His top half lay sprawled out on the asphalt; his arms straight out and still, like some alien Jesus crucified right onto the pavement. His face was destroyed, and the broken jaw, lined with jagged and broken fangs, hung open in a strange jack-o-lantern fashion. Pools of antifreeze were all around him, and some of it coated his skin. It had burned him like acid, and ate away at his strange, white flesh.

What was left of him trembled, and there was a choking sound as he struggled to breathe. Dan approached him, looking down in triumph. Robert’s right eye lens was torn, and underneath was a pale, veiny eyeball with a single black dot that Dan guessed was his pupil. It was trained right on him.

Dan grinned through his pain, lowering the rifle and pointing it right at the disgusting, mutant face.

“Game over, asshole,” he said. “You lose.”

He fired, splatting what was left of Robert’s head. It exploded in a shower of black blood and green, gloppy brains. Dan stared for a moment, feeling a wave of victory flood over him. He stared up at the sky, imagining his Dad looking down at him; nodding his head in approval.

Victory.

As he turned to scope out the street, he remembered the shadows. They had helped him for some reason. They saved his life, stopping Robert from doing whatever the hell he was going to do. Then, they had torn him away and attacked, disappearing when Dan had regained his bearings.

What the fuck?

“Thanks?” he whispered.

The firefight was increasing in ferocity in the distance, toward the main area of the campus. He had to get there. The dorm was his route, he remembered. Without looking back, he stumbled toward it, limping slightly with the pain that wracked his body. He stopped for a moment, long enough to fish a few Vicodin from his supply. Then, he continued.

The double doors came into view, shattered, but flung open this time. He hadn’t remembered opening them; he and Vincent never made it there. Something must have come this way. He shook his head and sprinted toward them, stopping on the outside to peer in through the IR scope. Nothing. He crept inside, looking left and right as he silently padded down the hall.

The dorms on the ground floor were ransacked; most of them containing the bodies of students that had apparently been executed or torn to pieces by mutants. He found another, heavier door, complete with a stairwell sign. He opened it and crept inside, closing it silently behind him.

The stairway leading down was dark. He looked through the scope, seeing nothing but dark green, and started down them. They went down three flights, and Dan stopped at every landing to scope out each flight before continuing on.

Finally, after what seemed like descending into Hell itself, Dan reached the final landing. Before him was a steel door, unlocked and stuck open with a door stop. Through the dim light that filtered down from the stairwell windows, he could see a plaque underneath the door’s small window that read
To Cyberinfrastructure Lab.

Bingo. Vincent was right.

Dan slipped through the door, squatting just inside to scope out the long, dark hallway that stretched out before him. About one hundred yards ahead, the faint glow of artificial light formed globes along the walls. The mercs had power. That was obvious. Among the globes, two figures walked casually toward him. They were guards, most likely.

…and they were doomed.

He would wait and watch; letting them come close enough to be sure that they were alone. Though he had not yet sighted the Sig, the scope was close enough to his sight picture to be fairly accurate. He was confident he could hit them from a reasonable distance. The question was whether he could take them both out quick enough to prevent being discovered.

You’re a natural sniper, son,
he heard his father say in his head.
But don’t ever join the military. The Government doesn’t deserve people with talent. Use that talent to protect yourself and your family.

His family. Drew and Jake were his only family. Vincent had been like a brother, too. But now Vincent was lying headless in the street, and his head was probably being kicked around by zombies in some weird, macabre soccer game.

That was a fucked up thought.

Dan crept forward, sticking close to the glossy cinder block wall. He stopped periodically, peering through the scope to judge the guards’ distance. They were still heading in his direction, casually strolling as if they had no fucking clue they were about to die.

He began to hear their voices as they came within around sixty yards. Though he couldn’t understand them, they were apparently joking about something and laughing in a disgusting, fake military manner.

He would enjoy killing them.

He lowered himself to a prone position, looking down the scope, and holding the rifle up with his elbow. He could tap one in the head, taking him out instantly, and maybe fire a double tap quick enough to take down the other before he called out. It was worth a try.

He aimed for the head of the merc on the left. The guy was holding his head fairly still as he listened to his partner’s endless droning. He would prefer to blow off the other guy’s head, but now was not the time for amusing kills.

He tested his quickness, swiveling his view over to the other guy to see how fast he could do it. He repeated the motion three times; satisfied that he could. Then, he closed in on his target, slowing his breathing, taking note of his heartbeat. He then held his breath, waiting for a good thump of his heart to pull the trigger.

When the black crosshairs centered on the merc’s face, he fired, then quickly swiveled to the right and double-tapped the other. The two men fell noiselessly—mostly. There was a plastic clank as their rifles fell to the floor. But nothing else followed.

Grinning, he stood and sprinted to them, shouldering his rifle and dragging their bodies behind a stack of boxes. The light here was much brighter, but still shadowy. Soon, however, there would be no place to hide. He would have to use strategy instead of stealth. That was worrisome; as Dan wasn’t really possess much “Strategery,” as Dubya would say.

He quickly searched their bodies, finding that each was carrying a silenced Ruger .22; not very powerful, but absolutely noiseless. They were made for point blank shots, and a .22 round straight into the skull was always deadly. The round was too small to come out the other side and would bounce around inside until it lost momentum, shredding anything in its path.

He tucked the .22s in his thigh pockets, and grabbed the mercs’ extra magazines. With one last gloating grin, he left them behind, creeping down the hallway until he reached a corner. He peeked around, looking through the scope. It was clear up until the next corner.

He quietly sprinted there, peeking around again. The hallway was longer in this section, and the lights were more frequent. He didn’t need the scope to see the two guards standing side by side, facing away from him. This would be a good opportunity to use the Rugers.

Strapping the rifle to his back, he drew the pistols and stood in a crouching position. Though he wasn’t the quietest stalker in the world, the subtle whir of machinery would cloak his approach and he could reach them without being heard. He thumbed off the safeties and crept forward, his heart racing.

“Did you see that redhead shit her pants when Burke put a bullet through her head?” one of them asked the other. Dan stopped to listen.

“Yeah,” the other laughed. “That’s why I joined this chicken shit outfit. Shit like that.”

“I can’t wait to get put on the execution line,” the first one said. “I’m itching to put out some lights. Fuck these people.”

“You got that right.”

As the two men laughed, Dan’s anger built. He gritted his teeth, rising to a standing position behind them and pointing a Ruger at each of their heads. He fired simultaneously, dropping them like flies, barely making a sound.

He crouched over their bodies, rolling them over to look at their stupid faces, and gloat over them. One of them had shit his pants.

“Sorry, dickheads,” he mocked. “You joined the wrong side.”

Bypassing the growing pools of blood, Dan continued forward. The hallway split off, going right and left, with a door facing him directly. A sign on it read,
Maintenance.
He stopped, unsure as to which way he should go. He wasn’t even really sure what he was looking for. Vincent had said Drew was digging graves, and Jake was doing something else. Whatever the two of them had been enslaved to do, they would return to the same place every day. There had to be a common area.

There was another sign next to the door with arrows pointing either way.
Server Farm
was to the left, and
Battery Storage
was to the right. He supposed the maintenance area would lead to the common areas of the building. That was logical. He peeked through the tiny window, seeing a storage room beyond. It looked like a good place to start.

He pushed open the door and slid inside. He stood among an array of shelves and racks holding cleaning supplies, various tools, and spare parts. It was a large room, longer than it was thin, and the shelves lined either side, with another long shelf along the middle. The smell of bleach and other cleaners was strong, but Dan could still smell the stench of blood and other bodily fluids. A mop sink in the right hand corner behind him was the source. It was stained and filthy, and the mop heads that were piled in it were dark brown with old blood.

This is probably what Jake was doing. Poor fucker.

There was another door ahead, probably to an identical hall. There was no window on this one; nothing to look through to see what was beyond. He would have to wait and listen; only opening the door when he was absolutely sure it was clear.

He pressed his ear against the metal, slowing his breathing in order to hear better. There were faint voices beyond, and the occasional watery splat. The voices seemed to belong to two men speaking under their breath; quietly and cautiously, not loud and careless like the guards.

As he listened to their tone, Dan realized who they were, and what they were doing. These were prisoners, and they were performing their assigned duties. They were prisoners he would rescue, but not before returning to the dead guards and stripping them of their weapons.

An insurrection needed weapons, after all.