I drank deeply, while I started doing an internal assessment. My stomach, unsurprisingly, felt sore. Still, I didn’t feel any gaping wounds or bandages, which meant that I had probably entirely healed and was just dealing with the new and unstretched skin. My arms felt solid enough and it didn’t hurt to move my arms, which spoke well for the new tissue that had grown in after Alabama. Also, my back was hurting less. All in all, I was probably in better shape than I had been when I arrived at the Circus, minus the lack of food.
I looked up at Miles who was watching me carefully from his bedside position. His face was riddled with concern that was pouring through an unconvincing mask of bravery. Poor guy, he was probably blaming himself for this. Something along the lines of, “If he had been there, he could’ve stopped this” or something. Guilt complexes, I decided, were absolutely awful.
“How you holding up?” I asked as gently as I could.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to figure out an appropriate way to state his concern without casting stones. I waited patiently and tried not to show any judgement in my face. Finally, he responded, “I got really used to the idea of you being functionally immortal and not having to worry about you. Today scared me and reminded me that you aren’t nearly as immortal as you or your regeneration makes you out to be.” He shuddered, stifling a sob, and I felt his worry start filling the room, “You’re not allowed to die.”
I received images of him at my funeral, brought on by the blanket of sorrow. It wasn’t hard to understand where he was coming from and to be dragged down into the despair he was clearly feeling. I almost started crying in sympathy, which set him off. We bawled for a few minutes before my rational mind finally caught up. I don’t cry, or at least rarely do in front of people. It makes me all sorts of uncomfortable. Something was going on here.
With that in mind, I focused on the sorrow I was feeling and found it almost synthetic in taste. Stale, like old bread and distinct from my own emotions of concern and anxiety. I breathed and shook myself from the intrusion, tendrils of melancholy falling away like spider webs. Almost immediately, the tears dried themselves. And looked at Miles, putting two and two together. It hadn’t been that sad until he started expressing it. Probably a secondary effect of his psychometry then. Right, time to pull out of this sorrow hole. Tears were okay, but they could be shed later.
I forced a cough, and he looked up with a tear laden face. I smiled slightly, “It’ll be okay man. I’m still alive and I have every intention of outliving every last one of you pricks.”
He chuckled, and the sadness got a little less cloying. Looked like I was right. “Besides,” I quipped hoping to lighten the mood further, “Slate wouldn’t let me die. He’d tell me that I hadn’t filled the proper paperwork.”
The chuckles became full blown laughter and the blanket of sorrow was gone and was slowly being replaced by a warm feeling of happiness. That in turn fed our laughter, which amped up the happiness.
By the time the nurse came in a few minutes later, you could practically see sunshine and rainbows filling the room. He proclaimed me clear of the werewolf infection, and all was well in the world.
✽✽✽
Turns out that the world being well doesn’t last long. The initial test seemed to indicate that I was clear, but apparently my super immune system had done something with the werewolf infection that was curious, and they wanted me to stay overnight to run more tests. Miles had taken the bet that it was just them being safe and wanting to make sure. I, being the cynic, raised it from a friendly bet to a trip to Uno’s that it actually was because they wanted to see if they could replicate it to make Heizenholtz more effective. We shook, and then my stomach growled. I was stuck here, which meant hospital food. Thankfully, I was ambulatory and able to put on actual clothes, a change Miles had raided from my apartment, so I could go down to the cafeteria myself.
I was halfway into my third tray of food when McCoy arrived, looking weary. I noted that she had put on a bulletproof vest under her shirt and was carrying both the shotgun from the SUV and extra magazines for her pistol. She caught me eyeing the weaponry and raised a single eyebrow in challenge. I, intelligently if I do say so myself, didn’t comment and she rewarded my restraint with a bag she pulled from behind her back. She, by the grace of god, had brought me actual food in the form of Portillo's, immediately raising her twenty points of status. Without a second thought, I shoved the cafeteria slop away and began digging in.[75] While I ate, she started to fill Miles and me in.
“So, Keitner has spilled all the beans he has. Brooks is officially looking into what to charge him with, but that’s not going to last. I already heard Slate talking about handing the case off to the local PD’s and getting him off the hook, despite his wishes.” I cocked my eyebrow as I worked to devour a Chicago dog. McCoy noticed and added, “Yeah, surprised me too, Slate being generous. But, I’m thinking it’s a bit more about Slate wanting the vampires running the Carnival and not having enough to prosecute on. I bet he thinks Keitner is holding out and thus needs to be guilted into telling us the whole truth.”
I chewed in contemplation. It didn’t seem entirely in line with the book Slate, but then again, given the fact I wasn’t exactly sure how legal our donations from Beretta were, I could see it. I didn’t have the energy to really dig into that exchange, so I shrugged and started on my shake while McCoy continued.
“Regardless, with the information we’ve got from Keitner, it seems like Jennings and Danvers have narrowed it down to a Wendigo. Which is good and bad for us.” She paused to steal some fries, which Miles took as a need to drive the conversation forward, “So, the good news is that we know what it is. Let me guess. The bad news is we don’t know how to hurt it?”
McCoy shook her head before carefully talking around the mouthful of french fries, “Nope, we know that. Apparently, Wendigo are just people. Granted, they’re people who eat other people. Which makes them stronger, sturdier, regenerating, and faster than your average man. The trick is hurting them enough.”
I cursed. Or more accurately, I tried to curse, which caused me to choke on my shake. After a coughing fit, I looked up at a concerned Miles and a bemused McCoy. With as much grace as I could manage after nearly choking to death, I asked McCoy, “How much damage are we talking here?”
She shook her head, “No clue. Jennings’ sanest sounding theory states that we’ll have to kill him once for each person he’s eaten. According to Keitner, if we’re being cautious, at least 70 times.”
I, having learned from my mistakes, didn’t choke on my food this time. Miles, however, nearly fell out of his seat. I let him flail while I considered the implications and methods to handle this.
Drowning, explosions, or going all Terminator 2 molten steel works on him might just do it. Still, something was bothering me, “What about the hearts?” I asked.
McCoy shook her head, “I’ve got no idea. Jennings and Danvers are still looking into it, but nothing like that has shown up in their research thus far.”
I pursed my lips in consideration, trying to piece it together. Miles, next to me, was doing much the same. McCoy just ate french fries and let us think. After a few moments, she interjected, “There are two silver linings to all this. Thin ones, but still there.”
Miles and I looked up almost in unison, curious.
“One, we’re too busy for me to be put on desk duty after discharging my weapon, so you’re stuck with me[76],” she said with a smug smile, “And two, we’re weapons free. Based on Keitner’s testimony and Niccols’ report, Slate has deemed Keitner too dangerous to take alive and it’s been signed off on by Porter.[77] Shoot to kill is authorized.”
I let out a low whistle. Shoot to kill was generally only authorized for werewolf packs, Mary Morbid, or other such threats. McCoy’s smirk reappeared, “Like I said, thinnest silver linings ever.”
I chuckled and shook my head, “I don’t know, getting stuck with you instead of Carlson is a solid competito
r.”
She put her hand to her chest in mock shock and gasped. We held our serious faces for all of five seconds before laughter filled the cafeteria. There were a few stern glances, but we didn’t care, we needed the laugh. McCoy looked around and her smile turned sly.
“Say,” she asked, “have you heard the joke about the orphan and the priest?”
Chapter 13
After Dinner Activities
The cafeteria was nearly empty when they finally came to kick us out almost two hours later. I hadn’t noticed that people had been leaving without more people coming in, having both watched and participated in Miles’ and McCoy’s contest to out joke each other.[78] There had been a couple good laughs, but the one that warmed my heart the most was when McCoy and Miles offered, almost in unison, to walk me back up to my room. I was too amused by their embarrassed flushes and concern to make snarky comments and tilted my head towards the stairwell in a silent admission that they could both walk me up.
And so, we moseyed over to the stairwell, having no desire to be trapped in a small space after the werewolves earlier. Plus, I needed to stretch my legs after the two-hour gorging. Eager to move past their brief stumble, Miles and McCoy moved to continue their joke fest.
“And, then I turned to the lady, and said,” Miles recalled through some stifled laughter, finishing a particularly off-color story, “If you want her to stop, you can tell her yourself.”
I chuckled carefully, having both heard the story before and having a very sore and freshly healed abdomen. McCoy, however, nearly hit the floor laughing, stumbling on the stairs. “Oh my god! And how red did she turn?”
Miles shook his head, “I don’t know, I was too busy hightailing it out of there before she decided to take my advice.”
I paused to let McCoy find her legs again and found myself smiling wider despite myself. The past two hours had shown me that McCoy wasn’t all that bad, even without the alcohol. Apparently, some honest laughter and being away from large numbers of assholes did wonders for her demeanor. I made a note to hang out with her again outside of work and away from people. She caught me smiling at her and looked at me curiously, “How are you not laughing Tennant?”
I shrugged, “I’ve heard it before. Also, I had to pick him up from the apartment since he didn’t have a car. Had to stop so I didn’t get us into a car wreck on the way home.”
There was a pause and then she looked as if she was about to double over again, “Oh my god, that’s right you were stranded Miles.” She shook her head chuckling, “I honestly think I could hear that story a thousand times and laugh every time I heard it. Thanks Miles, I’ll make sure to spread that story around.”
“Oh, please don’t,” he said with a slight grimace, “I think the poor woman has suffered enough.”
“Oh, stop. She deserves it. She totally….” McCoy trailed off, stopping in the stairwell, a shadow of confusion crossing her face.
Miles, who had noticed it first, asked, “What’s wrong?” a second or two before I could
“Shhhh,” she cautioned, with one finger up, cocking her head as if she was listening, eyes closing in a focused trance. Reflexively, I started digging for my telekinesis. Not activating it yet, but certainly having it nearby. Miles produced a pistol from somewhere and handed it to me. I took it, checked to make sure it was loaded and removed the safety, while he unslung his shotgun and switched the safety off.
McCoy snapped out of her trance and her hands were already pulling her shotgun to bear, and with a voice so hoarse, it might’ve been a whisper, “The entire floor is quiet. There’s no one alive up there that I can detect.”
I felt my eyes go wide. There had to have been dozens of people on that floor. Nurses, other patients, night doctors. Where did they all go? I felt Miles quiver besides me as the follow up thought hit us both, “So, did they go somewhere, or did someone kill them?”
We all looked at each other in contemplation, each knowing what we needed to do but not wanting to do it. I decided to offer them an out.
“Technically, we’re all off the clock,” I said, testing the waters.
McCoy looked at me in disgust for even suggesting such a thing while Miles had a solemn look of determination on his face.
“Figured as much,” I said, “Onward and upward. McCoy, take point while I call it in. Miles, you’re on rearguard. Take it nice and safe people.”
McCoy handed me her phone and we started creeping up the stairs. From memory, I dialed a number. It was late, and most sane people would be asleep, but the phone only rang twice before it was picked up.
“This is Slate.”[79]
“Deputy Tennant reporting in sir. Cross, McCoy, and myself are at the Lovell Health Center, West Campus. As of 2323, Deputy McCoy is reporting no signs of mental activity on the 4th floor where my room is. We are currently in the North West stairwell and ascending to investigate.”
I could practically hear Slate processing through the phone as he started typing on a computer. Maybe he didn’t sleep either. “Understood. Welcome back Tennant. There have been no triggered alarms in the past 5 hours and their servers are unresponsive to my pings, which suggests some form of sabotage.” He paused. Based on protocol, he would tell us to stand down, which I don’t think any of us were okay with. I decided to interject before he could.
“Sir, the rest of the building seems unaffected, which indicates a high degree of sophistication. Regardless, the longer we wait the more likely this can cascade into a disaster. We’ll focus on scouting out the situation and disengage if faced with a threat.”
That was a lie and one that Slate knew was a lie. However, it was a lie that Slate knew he could do nothing about, which meant I might pay hell for it later, but right now all he could do was support us.
“Scouting only. I’m contacting Great Lakes Naval to see if we can get you some actual back up. If you can, evacuate the building to ensure safety.”
Wow, he wasn’t messing around. Normally, I’d expect him to call in the local police. But then again, given that we had a shoot to kill order and had already had a run in with the local werewolves, it was probably the right call.
“Acknowledged,” I said, pushing those thoughts aside. Responses would take time, and we had a job to do between now and then.
He hung up and handed the phone back to McCoy, filling them in as I slipped into the point position.[80] Gun at low ready, I climbed the stairs, pulling the first fire alarm I saw, and continuing upward as the sirens began to wail. I could hear the bustle and grind as people started pouring into the stairwell, but I didn’t pay that much attention. I was too busy being worried that no one was coming through the fourth-floor door.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I pushed the sounds of evacuation out of my mind, and paid attention to the thin door window to the floor. It was dim, which told me that the main lights were out, but the emergency lights had taken over. Worryingly, there were no flashing lights or sirens typically associated with fire alarms. I peered through the window but couldn’t see anyone or anything through the small gap in the pale light. I fell back and made some hand signals to the group, both of them nodding in understanding.[81]
On the count of three, Miles opened the door, I slid right, and McCoy left. My side was clear, but I heard McCoy gag. Before I looked, I checked my corners and then turned to find a bloodbath.
Two nurses were leaned backwards over the central station, arms twisted at awkward angles and their chests splattered in blood. From our spot, 15 meters away, I could see the grizzled off white of human bone protruding from the bloody chests. I couldn’t tell from here, but there was probably an empty cavity and there was only one thing I knew about was running around ripping out hearts.
“Voigt,” I cursed.
In response, there was a crackle of static as the PA system turned on, “Oh, hello Deputy. I’ve been expecting you.” The voice was honeyed and strident as it poured over the intercom.
Well that wasn�
�t good. Such a prompt response meant he was likely close enough to hear me. McCoy and I exchanged glances before turning to check the nearby rooms. Miles was still in the doorway, making sure we could escape. My room was a similar bloodbath to the hallway, but no sign of Voigt. McCoy’s shake of her head indicated her room was identical. Meanwhile, Voigt continued on the PA.
“When I heard that you had stopped by the Carnival looking for me, I was a little concerned and was considering leaving town. But then I heard that you could regenerate, and I had a thought.” I paused, considering our options. There was no way we could fight Voigt, but he was talking, which meant he was both giving us information and unlikely to be moving. I had seen Alien enough times to know that going looking was an awful idea, so I spun my pointer finger in a circle above my hand and we grouped back up by the door, ready to leave as soon as shit inevitably hit the fan.
“You see,” he continued, “I realized that you were the solution to all my problems. This hunger I feel just will not go away, but I don’t want to kill people. But you? I could just keep eating you forever and then I wouldn’t have to die.”
I felt bile rising in my throat and swallowed hard to keep it down. That sounded even less fun than being a science project for the government. Still, if he was focused on me maybe we could get out of here and keep him from killing anyone else. I held up a fist for us to stop, circled around the stairwell scanning for threats. McCoy tapped my shoulder and looked around. Not a standard sign, but I got her point. I nodded, and she let her gun go down and closed her eyes once again. I could see her eyes rapidly twitching under her eyelids, so I turned and focused on the hallway to see if he was approaching us.
“But when I got here, you were already gone. I decided to wait, but then the hunger set in. And once the first bone snapped and someone screamed. After that, well, they really all had to go.”
World Wonders Page 9
