The Warning

by Michelle E Lowe

  “The First National Bank just blew up,” the dispatcher replied.

  “Should we ask if they need help?” Cooper said.

  “No. We have strict orders to get this guy to the station.”

  The car’s roof suddenly caved in, shattering the windshield. Geiger again lost control and struck a pothole, blowing a tire. He slammed on the brakes, but wasn’t able to stop before the car crashed into a light pole. The air bags exploded from the dash and steering wheel. Nikolai smacked into the divider when he was thrown forward.

  The tearing sound of metal ripped through the darkness as the roof pulled away. A bald man stared down at him from the opening. Then he felt himself grabbed by the arm and lifted out of the car. He went airborne when the man jumped from the roof. The asphalt came rushing up to meet him.

  “Hold it!” Cooper ordered, drawing his weapon while reaching for the door handle.

  The bald man released Nikolai and raised the manhole cover, which he flung Frisbee-style at the car. The hurling disk crashed into Cooper’s crippled door.

  Nikolai barely had time to process what was happening before he was pulled into the sewer. His arm felt like it was about to be torn from its socket as the man dragged him through the tunnel. Everything happened so fast his thoughts were still trying to catch up with the present moment.

  “Stop! Goddamn it, stop!”

  The man released him. “I’m sorry. I suppose such force is no longer necessary.”

  It was pitch black, but Nikolai could smell the strong stench of old waste. “Yeah, I’d say so. Who are you?”

  “I’ll tell you everything you need to know once we get there.”

  “Get where?”

  “I can’t say much right now, but I know you were framed.”

  All the emotions he’d experienced—fear, confusion, and the urge to soil himself—instantly vanished and was replaced by shock. “What? How do you know that?”

  “Just follow me.”

  The man moved behind him and took a tight grip on his cuffed wrists. With a yank, the short chain snapped and his hands were free.

  “Come,” the man said. “We have to go.”

  He moved so fast, Nikolai thought there might be two of them. He followed the sound of footsteps echoing in the tunnel.

  Jean Crowe was busy with victims from the bank explosion. She’d been at the hospital for sixteen hours and had four hours left on her shift. Yet with the new arrivals coming in, she’d likely remain longer.

  The first to arrive had been the SWAT leader covered completely in black soot.

  “What’s his blood pressure?” she asked, trotting beside the gurney a paramedic pushed. Another paramedic squeezed an ambu-bag, pumping oxygen into the officer’s lungs.

  “One forty over ninety. He’s stable, but he’s suffering from smoke inhalation.”

  She brought out her ophthalmoscope and pried open one of his eyes. “Let’s get him into the E.R.. Any police fatalities?”

  “None that I know of. Most are just suffering from shock. The hostages weren’t so lucky, though.”

  As they wheeled the gurney into the nearest available bay, Jean knew she was in for a long night.

  Nikolai felt a hand slap against his chest and the breath left his lungs. The hand also prevented him from taking another step. He heard the clank of footsteps on metal. A dim light appeared overhead as a manhole cover lifted, revealing a ladder.

  “This way.”

  Nikolai hesitated. He thought of running but judging by the man’s speed and his ability to see in the dark, he probably wouldn’t get very far.

  He took hold of the cold rung of the ladder and climbed. At the surface, he was pleased to smell the city’s thick smog. The scent of the East River also hung in the air and the steady flow of traffic on the FDR rumbled nearby.

  They stood in the middle of the East River Prison yard. The building had been shut down before it became operational. The earthquake of 2012 had caused massive damage to its foundation, and the price to repair the prison was higher than it had originally cost to build it. Other construction projects had already reached the billion-dollar mark, which left the prison abandoned.

  “This way,” the man beckoned, signaling Nikolai to follow.

  Nikolai trotted beside him as they neared the double doors of the building. “It’s ironic that you saved me from jail and then bring me to a prison.” The man’s dull eyes locked on him, his expression blank. “Not an ironic kind of guy, huh?”

  The man said nothing as he opened one of the doors. Thick chains around the handles had already been broken.

  “Did you do that?”

  The man stepped into the darkness ahead. “Do what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nikolai followed him inside. “This place is pretty big. What if there’s, you know, other people here? Anyone living in an abandoned prison would have to have something wrong with them…” His voice trailed off, realizing the man might have brought him to the building because he stayed there himself.

  “Don’t worry,” the man consoled. “I’ve already chased away the squatters.”

  He said nothing more as he led the way through the dark. The hazy redness of the city sky penetrating through large holes in the ceiling where sections had collapsed offered little light. The floor was littered with heavy piles of fallen concrete.

  He followed the sound of the man’s footsteps. From the moment he’d been dragged underground, he’d suspected that his rescuer wasn’t entirely human. He hadn’t the nerve to confront him, but would rather hint around it until the man slipped up or confessed to who he was. Or rather, what he was. If his suspicions were correct, he wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “So, how is it that you can make your way around without any lights?”

  “Do you need a light?”

  “I need a stiff drink,” he returned quickly. He kept moving forward until he ran into something. “And yes, a light would help.” He groped around before his hands slid over a smooth, dusty surface. “Hello? Are you there?” There was no reply. “Damn, those things can leave a room fast.”

  A blaze of light clicked on beside him. Startled, he jumped away from it. When he steadied himself, he saw the man through a white beam.

  “I brought a light,” the man said, handing a flashlight to him.

  “Um, thanks,” he said, taking it slowly from him.

  “And I’m not a thing; I’m a man.”

  “What?”

  “You referred to me as a thing. I’m not an object. Don’t make that mistake again.”

  Nikolai cleared his throat and said with great care, “Sorry.”

  He shined the light around to find himself in the mess hall, surrounded by toppled steel tables. Neither of them spoke as they wandered through the complex. The building chilled Nikolai physically and mentally. They cut through the building, down eerie cell blocks, and into the recreation room. The man led the way upstairs, into a small guard’s room, walled in with bulletproof glass. When they entered it, the man clicked on a lamp powered by an old car battery.

  Nikolai clicked off his light and did a quick scan of the room. He spotted a worn sleeping bag on the floor near a steel counter, which ran along the glass wall. Near it was a plastic grocery bag filled with different items. He also got his first good look at the man who’d saved him. He was tall, around six-two, and muscular, with a smooth, hairless face, and no eyebrows. His head looked like a fleshless skull, with dark shadows pooled in the deep crevasse of his eyes. He didn’t look old, yet he seemed to carry age like baggage that couldn’t be left behind.

  “Are you tired?”

  “Anything but,” Nikolai said, walking to a chair and taking a seat. Time to ask some serious questions. “Why do you think I’m innocent? And how do you even know about the crime I’ve been accused of?”

  “I was there when they placed the body under the bridge.”

  He nearly fell out of his seat until he caught himself on the armrest. “
What? You saw that?”

  The man nodded. “It was two men that planted the body.”

  “Did one of them look like me?”

  “If one had, I wouldn’t think you were innocent.”

  “Trust me,” he said curtly, “it’s a justified question. What did they look like?”

  The man shrugged. “Just men dressed in casual clothing. One had an unusual patch of white in his hair.”

  “A patch of white in his hair?” When the man nodded, Nikolai said, “Tell me everything.”

  “I was in the park all day. Sometimes I stay there for days at a time. People believe I’m homeless and leave me alone. I stayed close to that bridge. I’ve even slept under it a few nights. This was how I saw that.”

  Skeptically, Nikolai said, “You’ve been staying near the very bridge where this shit went down? Central Park has a lot of bridges, but you became Johnny-on-the-spot and coincidentally made camp just before the body was dumped.”

  The man’s warning look stopped him from speaking any further. “The first time I saw those men was on the fifth.”

  The fifth? That was our one-year anniversary. Jade had wanted to go to the bridge before going out to celebrate.

  He thought about the Greywacke Arch. It was where he and Jade had first met. He’d been strolling through the park when he’d seen her. She’d been searching for something around an oak tree near the bridge and he’d asked if he could help. She’d smiled and told him she hadn’t lost anything; she was only admiring the old oak. They’d struck up a conversation, which led to a leisurely walk through the park and later coffee at Katz’s Deli on East Houston Street. Every time he and Jade had subsequently visited the park together, they’d gone to that particular bridge.

  “They came shortly after the two of you left that day,” the man explained. “I believe they were watching you.”

  “Who is this they you’re talking about?”

  “I don’t know who the men are, but I remembered their faces when they reappeared this evening.”

  “You were there when Jade and I were? Were you spying on us?”

  “No, of course not. If it makes you feel any better, keep in mind that if this misfortune hadn’t occurred, you would have gone your entire life without knowing I was there at all.”

  “No, it really doesn’t make me feel any better, but thanks for trying.”

  “When the men returned, they drove a white pickup with a picture of a fountain on the doors.”

  The symbol for the Fountain at the Bethesda Terrace. The truck must have been one of the vehicles Central Park security guards drove while on patrol. Were these guys security or just well connected enough to borrow one of the park’s pickups?

  “I observed them as they carried a sleeping bag under the bridge. I knew there was a human inside.”

  His ears perked when the man used the term “human” to describe what had been in the sleeping bag.

  “They returned minutes later with only the bag and drove away. Shortly afterwards, you showed up. I noticed the excitement on your face when you called for this Jade and how concerned you appeared when she didn’t respond. It wasn’t the reaction of a killer. I watched you go under the bridge, and soon after the officer arrived.”

  “You don’t need to tell me the rest,” he said bitterly. “If you knew I was innocent, why did you wait to save me?”

  “It wasn’t the right time.”

  “Wasn’t the right time? Are you kidding me?”

  “Everything happens for a reason. I didn’t take action then because it wasn’t time for me to intervene.” He sighed when Nikolai gave him a bewildered look. “Perhaps one day you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”

  “Doubt it,” Nikolai said as he stood. He sank his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “You’re a witness, then. If you testify to what you saw, I’m cleared.”

  “I can’t testify on your behalf, or anyone else’s behalf, for that matter.”

  “Why not? Is there something you don’t want people to know?”

  The man glared at him. “Careful.”

  “You know what I should do?” he continued. “I ought to bring the cops here so you can tell them what really happened.”

  He turned to leave, but the man moved to stand directly in front of him. His sudden appearance startled Nikolai, but more so was the hand that came up and slapped him in the chest, lifting him off the floor. He thought his back broke when he slammed into the glass wall, then slid down to the counter where he sat against the wall. He grabbed the man’s wrist in an attempt to pry his hand away.

  “You’re not to breathe a word to anyone about me. Is that understood? I helped you and in turn have placed myself in danger.”

  As the man pressed harder against his sternum, Nikolai fought for breath. If the pressure continued, unconsciousness would follow. But the hand retreated, allowing him to slump over. He let out a gasp as he leaned against the glass, his hand clamped to his aching chest. He wanted to stand, but was afraid he’d collapse. He certainly didn’t want to stare up at the freak, sprawled on the floor.

  “I know what you are,” he blurted with what little breath he had. He let out a series of hacking coughs before shifting his eyes to the man.

  The man only stood, undaunted.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re doing here and why you felt you needed to get involved?”

  The man turned away and moved toward the iron door. “I am model 3007,” he said, stopping at the doorway. “I, and a handful of others, escaped Mill Rock fourteen days ago. We were separated during the escape. Some of us died. The ones who made it are now living among your kind, trying to blend in.”

  “Why’d you leave the lab?” he asked, rubbing his chest. “What’s so bad about it?”

  Seven turned to him. “We were scheduled for execution at the end of the month. They believe we have no souls—no independent thoughts of our own. That may be true for the newer models, but for us it’s different.”

  Nikolai slid off the counter. “Why were they going to kill you?”

  “We’re no longer efficient enough to keep around,” he said somberly. “We served in the Iraqi War and came back only to rot in that place.”

  The Replica looked no older than thirty. “You fought in the Iraqi War? That ended years ago.”

  “We’re not like you. We don’t age on a human schedule. In time, our bodies will succumb to age and simply die, but not before you are long dead. We only need to eat once or twice a month and we’re ten times stronger than humans. We possess greater speed and precision than you can ever dream of, and strength your kind can never aspire to.”

  Nikolai snorted. “Obviously bragging is also one of your traits.”

  He held back from flinching when Seven approached him. “My creator will be looking for me, just as the police will be looking for you. That makes us both fugitives, my friend.”

  Chapter 5

  The fire department responded quickly to the city’s distressed bank. They controlled the fire and extinguished the flames within the hour. Black water left by the hoses dripped like hot tar from what remained of the lobby ceiling. White steam rose like mist in a graveyard. What didn’t incinerate had been left a raw skeleton of its former self. The building was no longer a burning hellfire but had become a dark shallow swamp.

  Officers snapped pictures of the bodies and helped medics bag them. Among them was Grant, who stood motionless, staring down at a body of a petite woman. He’d searched over the badly burned and unrecognizable bodies, still in their ordered position by the robbers. Most of the perpetrators had been found behind the counter, holding their rifles in charred hands. The intense heat melted flesh and metal together, making weapon and gunman one.

  Grant found the woman only a few minutes ago. He knelt, took a gentle, yet firm hold of the fragile shoulder, and began to lift. Her flesh had melted onto the ceramic tile and ripped like Velcro as it came away. He ignored the tearing sound and cont
inued pulling until he’d flipped the body over. He kept his eyes shut for a minute, too afraid to see. Holding his breath, he slowly opened his eyes on the remains of the woman’s face. There were no familiarity to it anymore; most of the crisp skin now stuck to the floor, leaving only the skull. The fire had incinerated the eyes, leaving the sockets completely hollow.

  Maybe it isn’t her. Maybe she got away.

  He couldn’t tell if it was his daughter or not. A quick DNA test at the morgue would determine her true identity.

  He was about to leave when his eyes snagged on something. A thin chain concealed beneath the flakes of black skin around her throat. He touched it with his gloved finger and followed the chain around her neck, where her hands welded behind her skull. There, he felt a small, oval item and slid it around to the front. When he saw the object, he shivered.

  A locket. A little bronze locket identical to the one Jeri had gotten for her thirteenth birthday. The burnt and slightly dented item resembled her locket so much it drove him to pry it open with a penknife. Inside were two pictures: one of him, his wife, and Jeri, taken nine years ago; the other of Vixen, Jeri’s cat.

  He unlatched the chain and stood without taking his eyes from the pictures. Finally, he clutched the locket and allowed tears to roll down his face.

  Lucas Knox walked through the shattered front doors and into standing puddles of water. Beside him was a younger man. Alfonso Rivera had been a detective only a year under Knox’s wing. His witty sense of humor always lightened moods, but never came off as cocky, which impressed Knox. More importantly, Rivera was a loyal associate and friend.

  As he and Rivera went farther into the lobby, he caught sight of Grant with arms crossed over his chest, his fists tight and head bowed.

  “Jesus,” Rivera said. “Is that Grant?”

  Knox gave no answer as they approached the captain.

  “Come on,” Knox said into the man’s ear. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Grant allowed himself to be pulled away from his dead daughter. “It’s really her,” he said between heavy sobs. “My daughter is dead.”