“You had no idea?” I asked.
“God, no.”
“He never tried to get in touch?”
Toys shook his head. “Why would he? We hardly parted on the best of terms. The last time we saw each other, we tried to commit mutual murder.”
“Shame you didn’t try harder,” I said.
Toys didn’t meet my eyes. “Something else I need to work out.”
He sounded really sad, genuinely remorseful, and I felt like an ass for having said anything.
“Toys,” I said, “look … I wanted to—”
The young Brit shook his head. “Don’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going say.”
“I don’t care what it is. Whatever you have to say, whatever you think you have to say, say it to someone else. Not to me.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He raised his eyes and looked into mine. “Because I don’t want to hear it. Not from you or anyone else. Not ever.”
He made to leave, but I shifted into his path.
“No,” I said, “I think you will hear me out, because I need to say it. Church, can you give us the room?”
“Captain—” began Church, but I shook my head.
“Close the door, too.”
He left and shut the door.
Toys stopped and stood there, bracing against it, jaw set, eyes glassy with dread at whatever I was going to say.
“Listen to me,” I said. “We both know what you’ve done. We both know that it’s going to take a lot more than good works to make you feel better about who you are. If you’re expecting me to forgive you, that’s not what I wanted to say. If you expect me to thank you, I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want me to say.”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t worry … I won’t. But I will say this. Call it a confessional moment, one sinner to another.”
His gaze sharpened on mine.
“I’ve wanted you dead for a lot of years now. If it wasn’t for Mr. Church and Junie, I’d have killed you already. Probably wouldn’t have used a gun or knife. Might have used my hands, because it would have felt good. What you did while you were with Gault and Vox is unforgivable. I don’t give a pint of cold piss if it was because you had a rough childhood. Believe me, so did I. There’s nature, there’s nurture, and then there’s choice, you dig what I’m saying?”
He nodded.
“If you’re on some kind of road to redemption, that’s between you and Church or maybe between you and God. I wouldn’t even hazard a guess as to how many good works it takes to undo the death of one innocent person. And you know what? I don’t care. I’m not in the forgiveness business. I’m a hunter and I’m a killer, and none of that trains me to be compassionate to my enemies.”
Toys said nothing.
“What I want to say to you is this. I don’t forgive you. I don’t like you. I don’t ever want to be friends with you. But … After what happened? After the other day? You and I are no longer enemies. We’re not even, but we aren’t at war. Not anymore.”
Toys said nothing.
I stepped back, took a breath, let it out, and turned toward the door.
“What,” he said quietly, “no kiss?”
I cracked up. When I turned, he was smiling, too. A sad smile, but a real one.
“Fuck you,” I said.
And I left.
4.
The ashes of the political fires are still falling.
No one thinks the president will do well in the next election. The bin Laden video, however unfairly, stained his presidency. So did the rise of the Seven Kings organization. It didn’t matter that ultimately it was one diseased mind, one money-hungry bureaucrat, and a self-sustaining infrastructure that nearly ended things. Someone has to take the bullet, and the president was captain of the ship. Mixed metaphor. Fuck it.
Either way, I don’t much care. The more I become aware of the way politics works, the less invested I become in politicians. I don’t fight for them anyway. I have my own agenda.
In the wake of Regis and Solomon, the drone thing became the center of the national conversation. Everyone can see the benefits; everyone is aware of the dangers. Like most things, it’s all about the gray areas. We’ll have to wait to see what fills our sky tomorrow. For today, the skies are clear and quiet.
5.
On a bright and sunny Sunday morning, Junie and I dressed in our very best clothes. I wore a suit that made me look like a million bucks, and a tie that brought out the blue of my eyes. Junie wore a gorgeous dress that fit every delicious curve while still hiding the scars that were now healing nicely. She had a pair of shoes that it took her two weeks to find. I thought they looked great, but they also looked like six other pairs of shoes she already owned. I am not brave enough to say that to her.
We drove in a limousine provided for the occasion. All of the guests were being chauffeured. As we stepped out of the car, I saw Bunny standing on the steps, he on a lower one and Lydia on a higher one. She was adjusting his tie. They kept smiling at each other.
Everyone was smiling. Top, Montana, and Brian. Violin—who appeared in one of those outrageous European hats that straddle the line between high fashion and comedy. Even Lilith was there, though she was not smiling. I don’t know if she understands how that process works. I have never before seen her in civilian clothes. She sat next to Mr. Church. And, weird thing, she looked kind of hot. Most of the guys in the place couldn’t take their eyes off of her. But then they’d see Church looking back at them, and they’d turn away so fast you could hear their necks creak.
Bug was there, and it was the first time I’d seen him since his mother’s funeral. I hugged him. So did Junie. I think he liked Junie’s hug better, which is fair enough.
Bug even managed to smile. Maybe his first in a long time. Was there less innocence in that smile? Less optimism? Less of that rare and precious quality that defined him, that made him—far more than his computer savvy—the heart of our dysfunctional little DMS community?
God, I hope not.
He was coming back to work soon and seemed eager to begin playing with Davidovich’s science. We’d recovered all of his design notes. Everything. It was a good bet that MindReader was about to take a quantum leap forward. Pun intended. We’d need it. We needed an edge. With enemies like we have, we needed any edge we could get.
But that was tomorrow’s concern.
Today wasn’t about the war. It wasn’t about weapons or damage or loss.
For once, it wasn’t about any of that.
We all walked up the steps and into the big Catholic church. Doctor Hu and Jerry Spencer were seated together. They stopped smiling when they saw me. But Aunt Sallie, still in a wheelchair, was parked up front and she actually gave me a smile. Or maybe it was a wince. Hard to say.
The organist was playing something pretty. There were flowers everywhere.
Mr. Church sat near the front. His official presence was as a friend of the family. A few of us knew different. He now wore black gloves in place of the white cotton ones. I would never see him without those gloves again.
The organist changed his tune to something more formal and official. We all took our seats. Then they came in.
The three of them.
So beautiful.
So happy.
They walked down the aisle together. Past all of us. Past friends and coworkers. Past people who, even then, wore guns in concealed holsters. Even in that place. Even on a day like this.
Rudy leaned on his new cane. Another hawthorn stick, another silver handle. I was with him when he bought it. The silver is as pure as it gets. He didn’t tell me why that mattered to him.
Rudy’s suit was gorgeous. It had been impeccably cut and tailored for him by someone Mr. Church knew. A friend in the industry.
Circe looked radiant. I use that word in a literal sense. She seemed to glow. She walked straight and proud. There were co
rnflowers in her hair that matched her dress. Every woman there wanted her shoes. Every man there probably fell a little bit in love with her.
But the brightest light in that place, the glow that drew us all there, was the tiny form that Circe held in her arms. Dressed in white, with intensely black hair and eyes that were as blue as the cornflowers. Circe and Rudy brought their child to the front of the church. And then the priest called for the godparents to join them.
Junie and I held hands all the way up the aisle.
I’m not Catholic, nor were more than half the people there. Some of them were from different religions; some belonged to none. Some of the people didn’t believe that there was anything beyond this world. No spirits, no angels. No devils or demons.
That was okay. People should be allowed to believe what they want to believe. If some of us have seen things that make us question the limits of the world and the possibilities of a larger world, then that’s on us. It’s ours to consider. To fear or not to fear as we each choose.
Rudy has less fear in him than he’s had for years, even though he knows there is more to be afraid of. It happens that way sometimes. He’s more like his old self, and I’m glad to have him back. He is the best person I know, and—let’s face it—he keeps me sane.
Ish.
So, on that morning, we all stood there and watched a priest dribble water on the head of Albert Joseph Rudolfo O’Tree-Sanchez.
The water was cold.
The baby cried.
We all smiled. We all wept.
And the world did not burn down.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jonathan Maberry is a New York Times bestselling author, four-time Bram Stoker Award winner, and comic book writer. He writes horror, thrillers, mystery, fantasy, science fiction, and suspense for adults and teens. His novels include Predator One, The Wolfman, and many others. Several of Jonathan’s novels are in development for movies or TV, including Vwars, Extinction Machine, Rot & Ruin, and Dead of Night. He’s the editor/coauthor of Vwars, a vampire-themed anthology, and is editor for a series of all-original X-Files anthologies, the YA anthology Scary Out There, and the dark fantasy anthology Out of Tune. His Vwars books have been developed as a board game. He is a popular featured expert on History Channel shows like Zombies: A Living History and Monsters, Myth, and Legend. Since 1978, he’s sold more than 1,200 magazine feature articles, 3,000 columns, two plays, greeting cards, song lyrics, and poetry. His comics include Vwars, Rot & Ruin, Captain America: Hail Hydra, Bad Blood, Marvel Zombies Return, and Marvel Universe vs. the Avengers. He lives in Del Mar, California, with his wife, Sara Jo, and their dog, Rosie.
www.jonathanmaberry.com. Or sign up for email updates here.
Also by Jonathan Maberry
Novels
Fall of Night
Code Zero
Extinction Machine
Assassin’s Code
King of Plagues
The Dragon Factory
Patient Zero
Dead of Night
Deadlands: Ghostwalkers
The Wolfman
Fire & Ash
Flesh & Bone
Dust & Decay
Rot & Ruin
Bad Moon Rising
Dead Man’s Song
Ghost Road Blues
V-Wars (editor)
V-Wars: Blood and Fire (editor)
Out of Tune (editor)
X-Files: Trust No One (editor)
Nonfiction
Wanted Undead or Alive
They Bite
Zombie CSU
The Cryptopedia
Vampire Universe
Vampire Slayer’s Field Guide to the Undead (as Shane MacDougall)
Ultimate Jujutsu
Ultimate Sparring
The Martial Arts Student Logbook
Judo and You
Graphic Novels
Bad Blood
V-Wars: Court of the Crimson Queen
V-Wars: All of Us Monsters
Rot & Ruin: Warrior Smart
Marvel Universe vs. Wolverine
Marvel Universe vs. The Punisher
Marvel Universe vs. The Avengers
Captain America: Hail Hydra
Klaws of the Panther
Doomwar
Marvel Zombies Return
Wolverine: Flies to a Spider
Punisher: Naked Kills
Black Panther: Power
Marvel Zombies Return
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
I. Ghost in the Machine
II. Clockwork Devils
III. Deus ex Machina
IV. Solomon’s Minefield
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Jonathan Maberry
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
PREDATOR ONE. Copyright © 2015 by Jonathan Maberry. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Rob Grom
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to
[email protected] The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-03345-1 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-03344-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250033444
First Edition: April 2015
Jonathan Maberry, Predator One
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