Sink In Your Claws
She jerked her knees up and hit him in the balls. Hard.
He yelped and scrambled away.
“Touch me again and I’ll kill you. Swear to God. I will find a way.”
Donnie was crestfallen. “I love you! Don’t you understand?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“But, Kait.” His eyes watered. “Our children. I want you. To advance science.”
“You’re crazy. Keep your hands and dick to yourself.” She hoped aggressive bluffing would scare him off. If he wanted to overpower her, she was in no position to put up a fight.
“Help us. Join us. Be my helpmate.” He bent to her again, reached out.
“Donnie. Enough.” Thompson pulled him away. “Your courtship ritual needs improvement. Focus on our goal.”
“But I never—”
“Prepare the work areas.” Thompson hauled him up and turned him to the lab. “Go.”
Donnie pouted but obeyed.
Thompson looked down. “My dear, I would welcome you joining us. It would make Donnie very happy. He wants you, loves you—or . . . more accurately, desires you.” He laughed. “He can have you. But not until I use you first. I need your cop.”
Her heart stopped.
I’m bait.
What was screaming its bloody head off in the other room?
Donnie’s cell rang. He answered it and hurried back. “Dr. Thompson, a vehicle pulled down our road. Dad thinks the cop's on premises.”
“Excellent,” Thompson replied. “Get ready.”
Donnie looked at Kait. “It’s not too late. You can still have me.”
*
Michael swerved into the field. He flipped off the headlights and pulled into a weedy patch. The car’s wheels sank into a shallow gully near the tree line, out of sight. He opened the door, slid out and crouched on the ground with difficulty. Every muscle protested. He took a deep breath.
Should have taken more Vicodin.
Pain shot through him.
A handful. Or the bottle.
Going after Kait alone was a bad idea. Einar’s voice echoed in his head about not following orders, about disobeying command, about . . . whatever.
Sorry monster man. We’ll deal with it later.
He was making his injuries worse. Wasn’t supposed to use his hands or shoulder—hell, he’d removed the bandages but couldn’t close his fingers around his gun. He took another breath, sweating despite the cold. Blocked out the pain.
Body low, hands open and flat on frozen mud and broken reeds, he squinted in the dark. As his eyes adjusted, he made out an improvised warren of storage buildings.
Shit, K was right. Branch Davidian science freaks here we come.
He yanked out his Glock 22. Fingers protested. He forced the gun into his left hand, curling his fingers around it by shoving them down with the palm of his right. Pain shot up his arm.
Fuck. That did damage. More desk duty.
He crept through the field as fast as his injured body would allow, covered by weeds that brushed his face and hands with malevolent caresses. The house lights went out.
Damn, they know I’m here.
He threw himself on the ground. Pain. Motionless. Give it time. No sounds from the house. He lurched to his knees and ran for the first structure. Skidded within an inch of the wall and stopped, heart pounding. He gasped, breath visible in the cold. Crouched at the corner, avoiding a flood lamp’s glare, peering around the edge. He scanned for movement. Listened for sounds or voices to betray Kait’s location.
His cell vibrated. He fumbled it out of his coat pocket.
Einar.
Michael answered. “Shit. Where are you? I’m going in. They have Kait!”
“Goddamn it, Mikey. Stop. DO NOT move without us. We’re close.”
“Can’t do that.”
“That’s an order! Halt your crazy ass.”
“Einar, I can't wait.”
“Stop. I’ll have you suspended—”
“Go ahead. I gotta keep moving.”
“You need backup! Michael, please don’t—”
He hung up.
Sorry Einar. You’re right. But I can save her.
He snuck to the next structure.
Again he listened, craned his neck to see. In the farthest boxcar, light flickered below the door, broken by shadows crossing its path. Voices and screaming. Shit. The sounds were ungodly. He wished it an animal, knew it wasn’t. He’d heard that shriek on the river.
The heavy door groaned. Metal scraped metal, rusted gears creaked in protest. A tall figure appeared.
Michael watched from the darkness, debating his next move.
Einar, get your ass here. I need backup. Said you were close.
For a moment, he hesitated. Recent conversations echoed in his head, warnings—Kait and Einar telling him not to go it alone, stop with Lone Ranger antics. Einar yelling about procedure. Fine. All sound arguments. But what if there wasn’t time?
He crouched, hands numb. His shoulder throbbed. The figure stepped onto a cement pad in front of the boxcar. He raised an arm, shadowed in the artificial light.
“Detective Lewis. Good evening.”
Kait’s boss.
I was right.
“Detective. I’m glad you could join us tonight.”
He didn't move.
“We offer a trade. You for Kaitlyn.”
Michael gritted his teeth and gripped the gun, bleeding fingers sticking to it.
“Come forward. Agree to our terms. Kaitlyn leaves with no harm done.”
He weighed options. Wait for backup? Move?
“Contemplating prudence, detective? I admire professionalism. However.” He cleared his throat. “You have one option. Mine. If you don’t agree, don’t come forward now, I will kill her.”
He heard a gun click.
“Do you think I’m bluffing?”
No. I don’t.
“Watch in darkness.” Thompson shifted, shadow moving in the light. “Or step forward and prevent it.”
Can’t wait. Can’t risk her life.
He stood. Left his hiding place, gun dragging.
Thompson's eyes gleamed. “Excellent, detective. The right choice.” He held out a hand as a parent would to a child. His other remained locked on a .45 caliber pistol.
Michael took a few slow steps and halted, shocked at his exhaustion. God, he was out of shape. No wonder he’d been confined to a desk. “I want to see her.” Unsteady, he raised his Glock with both hands. Tried to hide the shaking. “She walks before I come closer.”
“Donnie, bring Kaitlyn.” Thompson stared at Michael.
“No,” came the answer. “She’s mine. I want her.”
“Donnie, now’s not the time for romance. Undo the tape. Bring her here. Keep the goal in mind.”
Michael stepped forward a pace, gun aimed. “Now.”
“You don’t look well, detective. Feeling under the weather?” Thompson yelled again. “Donnie. Do as I say.” Scuffling sounds grew louder.
Donnie pushed Kait into the doorway, an arm around her chest.
“She’s mine,” Donnie protested. “Don’t give her away. Please!”
Kait was in stocking feet, blouse ripped, face bruised from the hard ride. She was disheveled. And pissed. She struggled. Lowered her head and yanked away from Donnie.
Thompson grabbed her.
She looked at Michael, hair falling in her face. “Shoot them. They’ll kill you.”
He stepped forward, knot in his gut. “Tell me K. Are you okay?”
Kait nodded, fear in her eyes, bravado in her voice. “They’re assholes. Don’t worry about me. Kill them.”
Donnie grabbed her. She fought. Thompson stepped between them, put his hands on her and shoved Donnie out of the doorway.
“She’s fine, as you can tell. She walks when you come forward.”
Michael took a step.
“Put your weapon down.” Thomp
son held the gun to her head, pressing it into her temple.
Kait froze, fear now obvious. Her eyes pleaded with him. But he didn’t have a clean shot and didn’t trust Thompson not to harm her. He wanted her safe. Besides, he didn’t think he could fire the gun—his fingers were a bloody frozen mess. His arm was numb.
He couldn’t fight them.
“Michael, don’t. Stay back.”
Einar was on his way. He’d be there, would know what to do. She was the priority. “Let her come to me.”
Thompson pulled her forward. “Put down your gun.”
“She walks past me. After—I drop my weapon and come to you. A trade.”
“Michael, no! Don’t. They’ll kill you.”
Thompson untied her. “Walk. Now.”
She shook her head.
He shoved. “I’ll shoot you both.”
She walked to Michael. She reached him, stopped and leaned close. “Don’t. They’re psychotic. Don’t put down you gun. Don’t go to him. It’s you they want. I don’t know why. But, they will kill you . . . Please, don’t. I —”
“Keep walking, K,” he said, Glock shaky on Thompson. “Get out of here.”
She saw his hands. “Oh God. Michael.” She grabbed his arms.
He looked into her eyes and motioned with his head. “Walk to the field by the main road.” He shifted his gun to one hand and dug car keys from his pocket. Shoved them into her warm hand, enclosing it in his. The keys were covered in cold, sticky blood. “Get out of here,” he whispered. “Please. Get to safety. Police are on their way. Einar knows. Find him. It’ll be okay.”
She wouldn’t let go of his hand. “I love you, stubborn fool. Don’t you listen? We told you not to go it alone. Let me help. You cannot solve this by yourself. Let me stay. Please, I don’t want to lose you.” Her eyes welled.
“Go, K. Don’t give him time to change his mind.” He squeezed her hand. “Go. I’m telling you. You’re worth the risk. Totally.” He pulled her close, kissed her. Then forced her fingers from his grasp and pushed her toward the road. He stepped to Thompson. “She gets a head start before I put it down. I don’t trust you.”
“No Michael.” Kait hesitated, took a step.
“Typical cop. Jaded police response. I gave you my word. She’ll not be harmed.”
He took another step.
She glanced back. “Michael.”
“K, GO.”
“No—”
"Yes. Get out of here.”
Thompson fired into the ground in front of her.
“K, run!”
She ran.
Thompson laughed. “Enough drama, detective. Deal’s a deal. I kept my end of the bargain. Give yourself up. You look pale anyway.”
Michael forced himself forward, nerve endings screaming. Stopped at the concrete slab, dropped the gun. It fell with a dull thud. He held out his hands. “I’m yours.”
“Excellent.” Thompson grabbed him and dragged him into the train car. He gasped for air.
Didn’t expect instant annihilation.
Donnie pulled the door shut and secured the bolt, then wheeled around and slammed a knee into Michael's gut.
Christ. He doubled over in pain.
“The last ingredient.” Thompson smiled.
Donnie yanked Michael's arms behind him and tied him up.
“You’re crazy,” he shouted. “Police are on their way.”
Donnie ambled to a storage cylinder along the wall and grabbed a metal rebar. “I’m tired of you, cop. She's mine.”
“ Get away, you —”
Donnie smashed his knees with it. “Why! I don’t understand . . . ” He brought the pipe down again and again. “You’re just a cop.” Smash. Screaming. Breaking bone. Donnie spat as if poisoned. “A dumb little cop. I’m a scientist. She needs me.”
Michael collapsed to the ground in agony.
Einar, get here now.
He writhed. Sweat coated his forehead. “Idiot. You can’t compel Kait to love you. Kidnapping doesn’t improve your odds.”
Thompson pulled the crazed chemist away. “Focus. Don’t forget our goal. Anger comes later.”
Donnie closed his eyes and took a long breath. “You’re right.”
Thompson pointed. “Finish securing him. Cover his mouth. I don’t want to listen to him. Bring him and our revenant to your lab.” Then he crouched beside Michael, yanked his head up by a clump of hair. “You see, detective, I’ve worked on a project for years. You’re the missing key.”
“What the hell do you mean?” He wanted a bottle of Vicodin to pour down his throat. Tried to get up but fell in a heap.
Donnie returned with rope, chain and duck tape. He smacked Michael’s face hard and bent him over. “Who’s the idiot now?”
Michael shook his head.
Donnie grabbed his arms and tightened the hand restraints to cut off circulation. Duck-taped his mouth and pressed the adhesive into his skin.
Shit. That hurts. Everything hurts.
Michael stared at the ceiling, wondering how much time he had left.
Donnie dragged him by his broken legs to another room and dumped him in a corner. The space gleamed with light and antiseptic steel. He crumpled, in shock, unable to fight the pain. Donnie left, laughing. He returned moments later. He wasn’t alone.
Michael blinked and closed his eyes. Opened them.
What the hell?
Donnie hauled a chained creature behind him—a stinking, misshapen not-quite-human monster, hands tied, jagged claws splayed. Donnie grinned and pulled it next to Michael. “Company.”
Michael stared. He almost retched. A rank, overpowering aroma assaulted him.
It squirmed, flexing claws. Glowing yellow eyes met his. It snarled.
Michael jerked back. Shut his eyes and turned away.
Can’t be real.
But he wasn't imagining that smell and he was close enough to touch the thing.
Thompson returned and looked down. “We’ll get to you in a few minutes.” He and Donnie hoisted the creature onto a stainless steel veterinarian gurney. It screamed and fought. They secured it with leather straps.
Michael opened his eyes. Tried to focus through the pain.
Pay attention. Remember. It killed four kids.
Piercing eyes drilled into him.
Donnie stepped to the counter and pulled out a syringe out of a drawer.
The largest one Michael had ever seen.
Please, please, please don’t use that on me.
He went white.
With vigorous strokes, Donnie stirred a foul liquid in a porcelain crucible on a high temperature burner. Thompson duck-taped the creature’s mouth shut.
“Ready, sir.” Donnie dipped the syringe into the crucible and pulled back the plunger, filling it with thick molten liquid.
Thompson came to Michael and kicked him. “Detective, meet the creature that bit you.”
Shit.
I’m dead.
“Unfortunate. You had no time to get acquainted. Right?” Thompson smiled. “Your last case. You’d never have solved it anyway.”
Michael shook his head.
Shit. They drugged me. Where are you, Einar? I’ll wait next time. I promise.
He stared—monsters belonged in slasher films and horror movies. What was happening? He wasn’t imagining the creature. It was staring at him.
Donnie carried the syringe to the trussed revenant.
Thompson undid a restraint and forced its arm to extend, pressing it down. Fingers dug into its pale flesh.
Donnie inserted the needle and forced liquid into its vein. It convulsed. A hand jerked open, claws extended. It screamed through the tape, a piercing shriek, glazed eyes in agony.
Donnie refilled the syringe and injected another dose. It screamed again, arching its body. After one last convulsion it lay still, eyes open, head lolling.
Thompson looked at Michael. “You’re next.”
&
nbsp; CHAPTER 19
2011 Early December
His heart pounded.
Calm down. Focus.
Concentrate.
Four kids. Don’t forget.
His mind raced, desperate, calculating ways to escape. The slack-jawed lifeless creature made him shudder—what was it, and what had they done to it?
Pain from his legs shot through every movement. Donnie and Thompson worked with precision, motions choreographed like a demented ballet. Whatever they were doing, it sure as hell looked like a mad science demonstration. How did it involve him?
Thompson stepped to the gurney. He turned the mute face to him. “You served your purpose well.” He pried an eyelid open with a manicured finger. Peered into it. The other eye snapped open. “Ready for the last step, Donnie.”
Donnie scurried over, carrying a scalpel, alcohol, rubber tubing and four large Erlenmeyer flasks. Thompson took the scalpel and bent over its neck. Poured the alcohol around its windpipe. It permeated the air. The creature was sweating, eyes unblinking.
I hope it’s dead.
Thompson sliced its jugular veins and inserted tubing. He pumped his foot to operate the pneumatic switch and the table tilted down. Dark coagulated blood, reeking of decay and human feedings, flowed into the flask, coating the sides and oozing to the bottom. He filled one, handed it to Donnie and began another. He filled a third, fourth and drained it dry.
“Au revoir, mon revenant.” He gave it a pat. Then they unfastened the restraints and dumped it onto an open blue plastic tarp on the floor.
Donnie grabbed a hatchet near the counter and fingered the blade. “Dad did a great job sharpening it.” He took a large swing and chopped off the creature’s head. It rolled until it hit Michael’s thigh, mouth open in a permanent jagged howl.
Fuck.
He shut his eyes. His heart was going to explode through his chest.
I can’t breathe.
It was real.
It’s a nightmare, let it be a nightmare, I’ll wake up. Someone put me out of my misery.
Donnie’s cell rang. “What? I’m busy.” Hushed conversation. He hung up. “Dad sees flashing lights on our road.”
Thompson crouched in front of Michael. “Your turn.” He hauled him to a sitting position, digging fingernails into his wounded shoulder, pushing into bone.
Michael writhed.
“Pain. Last you’ll feel as a living creature. Embrace it.”
Huh?
No way out. Cops weren’t going to arrive in time.
“Must work fast, detective.” Thompson pulled on latex gloves. “But you deserve an explanation. Your demise is courtesy your generous action in saving that boy.” He laughed. “Clearly, no good deed goes unpunished. My creatures rarely bite adults. They have forty-day childhoods—they eat, hide, and gain strength. They are young and feed on children. Gives their blood a restorative quality.” He paused, a far-away look in his eyes. “Consider it a blood-based eternal fountain of youth.”