“Bruce! Rachel! He’s got Rachel!” Lilly cried out. She was his daughter’s best friend. She was bruised and her clothes were torn as well. “That monster has her.” She continued. Her voice was hoarse from long periods of shouting.
“Step away from the door.” Bruce instructed and swung the axe through the frame and door near the handle breaking the lock.
He kicked the door in and found his daughter limp on the bed while Marcus was on top of her. In a fit of rage, he charged in towards Marcus. He heard Lilly call out Bruce’s name, which alerted Marcus. He wanted the old man to see what he had done to his daughter. Yet, he didn’t expect the old man to be as strong as he was.
Bruce tackled Marcus to the ground with the axe handle pushed out in front of him. It drove him back and off Rachel. Bruce was now mounted on top of Marcus and had the handle pressed against his throat. Marcus held the axe handle and attempted to push Bruce off him but the strength of the man along with his fury kept it from moving. Marcus choked and found a sudden burst of energy pushing the axe handle off his throat and lifting the old man off the ground. Rachel awoke and saw her father on top of Marcus. Her voice was weak.
“Don’t kill him Daddy. Remember what Pastor Jim said.” She paused and took in some struggled breaths. “Azrael aren’t the only monsters in this world. A man is a monster when his anger makes him kill another man.” She finished.
Bruce glanced up at her while still keeping a firm grip on the handle.
“Baby, are you okay?” He panted as he asked.
“I’m fine Daddy.” She spoke quietly.
“Alright, I won’t kill him then. But this man will be punished for his crimes.” Bruce conceded.
He wrenched the axe from left to right and caught Marcus across the temple with the handle dazing him. He flung the axe across the room and proceeded to punch the man in the face until his fists were too sore to punch anymore. Marcus’ face was severely bruised, both eyes were swollen shut and his nose was broken. Bruce brought him to the basement of the hotel and locked him in an inoperable walk in freezer. He made sure the ventilation was adequate so he didn’t suffocate. On the metal door, he wrote the man’s name and crimes in permanent marker and left his journal next to it on a table. His plan was to relocate the residents to a new location the next day and have someone return to place the man in some type of prison for his crimes. Unfortunately, Bruce and the residents barely made it twenty miles before they all were discovered and infected by the Azrael.
Tricon happened across the town in search of people to experiment on that no one would notice missing. Marcus was found severely anorexic and dehydrated. Knowing what kind of man he was upon reading the crimes on the door, the Tricon staff wasted no time sedating the man with syringes and dragging him to their lab to trial a prototype serum of the virus. They branded and inked in a barcode on his hip to help identify who was who.
After weeks of injections, Marcus succumbed to the virus and became too dangerous to contain. Their experiments managed to link a few logic portions of the brain to the survival virus portion creating a clever thinking Azrael.
Jane found a receipt attached to Marcus’ file paid by a staff member of the Field Museum. It was delivered not long before the Chicago outbreak. After further investigation, photos taken of the Azrael form of Marcus was remarkably close to that of the Alpha that she was studying. It was a set up. Tricon sold that Azrael to Chicago in hopes that it would cause an outbreak, thus weakening their defenses or splitting up its forces. She speculated more but needed further evidence before she brought it to Simon. She doubted that he would believe her thinking that she was only trying to shift the fault of the Chicago Lab Outbreak on to someone else. Her proof was within their database. Their mission had changed to simply recon the area in more detail than Mario had done earlier but she needed to get inside again. Yet, she did not know how she could motivate them to break inside once more.
The moon escaped the titan-sized clouds illuminating the landscape that surrounded the group. A lookout discovered them and hollered something to another guard. Seconds later gunshots struck near the group.
“Shit!” She mumbled.
Chapter 30
Janice and Patrick
Stan lazily looked out through the interior window of an armored van with the right side of his forehead leaning on it. The landscape hurried past in the foreground whiles everything behind slowly disappeared beyond his view. The window fogged up from his breath leaving a thin layer of milky dew on it. He brushed it off with his sleeve and observed a small herd of Azrael sprinting towards the van. They must have been drawn to the sound of the engine or by its movement. They caught up to the van as it made a turn and collided with the side of it. The sounds of their attacks startled Janice awake. She turned to see what it was. Satisfied that they were outside, she shut her eyes and fell back to sleep. Stan got a close up look at their wild gray eyes as they struck his side of the van. He craned his neck and watched them gradually fade into the distance.
Stan considered the small group that was hanging out at the structure across the street from the safe house after the dangerous one left. Their movements, body language and herd dynamic seemed different from usual. At first, they appeared to act like normal people. It seemed that they were investigating whatever was inside the place. However, when the howling scream exited the building, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He got the chills and feared for his life. It even caused Janice to wake up to hurry to the window to see what it was and where it was coming from. Moments later, one of them barreled out of the structure acting like normal Azrael again. The others followed it as it sprinted towards Chicago. Its posture changed from upright to gorilla-like as it made turns. Janice and Stan both were worried that the small herd would find them. Fortunately, they continued to move away from them. Ten minutes later, the armored van arrived. They both wasted no time collecting their things and rushed towards the van. They both thanked the extraction team as they entered the vehicle and sat down quietly in their own seats. Janice kept her pistol in a new holster that she found at the safe house. Since Stan wasn’t a member of the Highwaymen, his pistol was confiscated by one of the men. No words were exchanged between Janice and Stan once inside. Janice quickly shut down and embraced a much-needed nap. That howling Azrael interrupted her short siesta earlier. Stan was too wired to fall asleep and continued to study the landscape beyond the window with extreme scrutiny.
“So, you were there when it happened, kid?” A heavily scarred man in the front passenger seat asked Stan.
He was talking around a mouthful of minty scented tobacco. The knot in his lower lip indicated the source. The smell of the tobacco barely hid the rancid odor of tooth decay in his mouth. A yellow film coated the teeth that were still in his mouth. His dark brown hair had scattered strands of gray in it. His beard was mostly gray with a few patches of dark brown in no real order. The scars on his face cut exposed patches of skin where the injury had been. It appeared that he must have been involved in a violent knife fight or something like it. His left ear had lost the top half of cartilage and he was missing a few teeth on the top row of his mouth. This man was not pleasant on the eyes. He leaned his head down and spit into an empty soda bottle. A strand of brown saliva clung from the edge of the opening to his bottom lip. He swiped it away with the top of his right hand, wiped it on his right pants leg and screwed the top on the bottle.
“Boy? Are you on somethin’?” He continued while waving his hands across Stan’s eyes as if he were calling someone deep inside him.
“No, sir. I’m just glad to be out of that place.” Stan answered with a smile.
“The Paul Simon Facility or that shithole we found you two in?”
“Both.” Stan admitted. He glanced back outside the window, leaning his forehead against it.
“How did you two get away?” He asked still curious about their survival.
“Leave the boy alone Patrick.” Janice spoke while r
esting the left side of her head on the window with her eyes closed.
“It’s for the report, Janice.” Patrick grimaced or his face just appeared that way.
“You don’t need the information now. I know how this shit works. Now could you please shut the hell up? I’m trying to get some sleep!”
Janice pulled her face from the window and sneered at Patrick. He nodded and turned back towards the front of the vehicle. She laid her head back down and closed her eyes again.
“Get some sleep, Stan.” She urged.
“I wish I could.” Stan admitted.
“You can. Just accept what you saw, process it later, and pretend that we’re not still in danger.” Janice explained with her right eye open displaying a cynical grin.
“Are we still in danger?” Stan gulped and studied the urban setting beyond the window with more concern.
“We’re always in danger, Stan. As long as we have air in our lungs and a sharp mind, the Azrael will be a threat no matter where we are. Once you come to terms with that, you’ll sleep better.” Janice clarified and closed her eye while trying to find a new comfortable position. Eventually, Stan shut his eyes and submitted to a deep sleep.
Patrick removed a wallet from his back right pocket and opened it. Inside was a picture of Janice, himself and their eight-year-old son Robbie. It was taken a year before the outbreak. He had a full head of dark brown hair, his face was free of scars and he had a perfect smile. They all appeared happy and oblivious to the future that their son was deprived.
Two years ago in transit to Chicago from Dearborn Heights, MI, they experienced their first Azrael encounter. A small group of six was blocking the highway in Indiana. Before the trip, they had been hiding out in their basement with a year supply of food and water. Patrick worked for the state and was tipped off about the outbreak in Georgia the day it happened. He kept his mouth shut; purchased all the canned food and bottled water he could fit in the back of his truck and brought it home. When Robbie came home from school, he brought his son and Janice to the basement to inform them of what was happening in the world. He hoped that it would have been contained by the military within months but had enough provisions for a year. He showed them a video from the Atlanta airport outbreak and read them the official report. Not much more convincing was needed to keep them down there. Friends came by to visit on occasion, ringing the doorbell and peeking through their windows. After a few minutes, they would give up and leave. After a week and a half, they stopped coming by altogether. Shortly after, the screams of neighbors being attacked outside worried Patrick and Janice. Fortunately, Robbie slept peacefully completely oblivious to their impending doom. Once supplies began to thin out a message broadcasted about the Chicago District’s existence made them rethink their survival strategy.
His truck was parked outside on the street but his wife’s car was in the garage. Once they entered her four-door sedan, Patrick knew that the battery was dead. The lights didn’t come on nor did the vehicle make any dinging noises indicating that the door was ajar. He quickly charged the battery with a mobile jump-start kit that he charged with the generator that they used in the basement to run the heater in the winter if they were to lose power. They both held their breath as the garage doors slowly lifted using the power from the same generator that they used to charge the battery of the car. Patrick pulled out cautiously. The streets were barren except for random cars stopped in the road. Once he entered the highway, they observed horrific accidents left to rust out in the elements while weeds attempted to surround the rusted frame of each vehicle. Patrick carefully weaved around all obstacles until he found a back road that was less littered with vehicular speed traps. He followed that route for a few hours until he was forced back onto the highway in Indiana. That’s when his life changed for the worst.
A small grouping of crazed men noticed their car as they tried to drive along a bridge. It had most lanes blocked by an accident involving a tractor-trailer and five cars. There was just enough room for the car to squeeze through but it had to move through the car maze at a crawl. When Patrick noticed them coming he knew that he had to move through it with more urgency.
“Patrick, those men…” Janice pointed towards maddened people with dirty and torn clothes running at them. “…they’re coming this way.”
“I don’t think those are men, Jan. It’s a group of those…things.” Patrick commented.
“Do you think they can stop us?” She asked.
“Not if I have anything to do about it.” He paused for a moment and studied his surroundings. “Make sure all the locks are locked.” Patrick instructed while locking his own door and the one behind him. Janice locked hers and Robbie’s behind her. He, now more than ever, disliked his wife’s thrifty spending on her car. Who still purchases a car with manual locks? He thought. By this time, the men were nearly on them. She could see their eyes. They were frightening.
“Hurry, Patrick!” She urged and the concern was noticeable in her voice.
Patrick eventually broke through the road obstacles and pressed on the petal forcefully. It awoke Robbie from his nap.
“What’s going on Dad?” He asked while rubbing at his eyes with his fists. At that moment, a massive arm punched through the window where he was sitting and grabbed the boy’s shirt. It stretched out and surprised the young man.
“Shit!” Patrick cussed as he heard the window break. He flinched and instinctively brought his shoulders up to shield his neck from the broken glass.
It made an effort to climb in to bite the boy. Quick thinking, Patrick smashed the side of the car on a guardrail crushing the man that was in the window. It lost its grip and was dragged away. Patrick glimpsed in the rearview mirror and perceived them all huddled around the man that was hopefully dead on the ground. He glanced over his shoulder.
“You doin’ alright, Buddy?” He asked.
Robbie was gone.
He slammed on the breaks, causing both of them to lunge forward. The sound of the screeching tires could be heard for miles. He studied the rearview mirror once more in horror. Those men…they were eating their son. Janice noticed his face and wondered why Robbie didn’t answer. She turned around and immediately felt sick.
“Robbie…Robbie!!!” She screamed. “We have to go back and get him.”
Patrick was already turning the car around and was heading straight for them. He noticed the crowd of men back away. Their son slowly arose to his feet. He moved awkwardly.
“He’s alive! He’s okay!” Janice cried out.
“I don’t think so, Honey.” Patrick admitted. “Look again.”
She noticed that he was running to them wild like.
“He’s coming back to us Patrick. My boy’s coming back. We need to hurry. They’re going to get him…look they’re following.” She pointed. “Hurry Patrick! Hurry!” She hollered.
Patrick knew that it was too late and wanted to plow over every one of those motherfuckers for taking his boy from him.
“I’m gonna make them pay.” He mumbled.
“You…you’re gonna hit Robbie. Slow down! What are you doing?” She cried out.
“He’s not our boy anymore. He’s one of them. One of those…monsters.” He answered.
“What the fuck’s your problem, Patrick? Stop it you’re going to hit our son.”
“He’s no longer out son. Can’t you see? Don’t you know what’s going on? They’re monsters. All of them are monsters. They took him and made him a monster too. Look at his face, those eyes! Look!”
She could not hear it. She wouldn’t have it. She seized the steering wheel and jerked it away. It caused the car to flip over several times. The vehicle landed violently off the bridge and wedged in a tree. Patrick’s face was severely mangled from the branches that broke through the windows and pinned him to his seat. Janice was banged up but sustained no serious injuries. They were both knocked unconscious. The Azrael had no way to get to them and after a few hours, they moved on to so
mething else. Janice awoke to a flashlight blinding her. It was getting dark and she had no clue who it was. What she did know was that they were not monsters.
“H…help…help us!” She weakly responded to the light.
“Shit, someone’s alive in there. Get some rope.” A woman yelled.
It was Giselle Johnson. She was on a scavenger run on the outskirts of Chicago just beyond the Indiana border. She was with her brother Jason.
They both recovered from their injuries thanks to the doctors from Chicago. Patrick had severe scarring on his face and some of his teeth were knocked out of his mouth. Patrick and Janice fell apart after that and said only a few words to each other since. It had been years since they had been in the same vehicle.
He turned and studied her while she slept. He spun back around and sighed. They never talked about that night. Their pain had worn down their bodies faster than age could ever do. Patrick turned to see Janice’s face one last time. Her eyes were open and she caught him staring at her. She just awkwardly glared back at him. Their eyes held a gaze for about a minute with no words passed. She wore a brief grin and shut her eyes. Patrick returned his eyes towards the windshield and wondered how things would be if they hadn’t lost Robbie that day. He rubbed his fingers across the scars on his face with his left hand, a constant reminder of that painful memory.
A downed tree in the road ahead caused the van to slow down and carefully navigate around the obstacle. As they shined their low beams on the road ahead, a mass of thousands of Azrael filled the asphalt as far as the eye could see. The driver immediately shifted to reverse, attempting to escape the threat. Sounds like thousands of massive hail balls striking the hood woke up the sleeping occupants and caused them to wonder what was going on. An image of countless pale muscular arms beating on the hood of the van with crazed Azrael faces horrified Janice and Stan as they inspected the source of the racket.
The Azrael (Book 4): Tricon Page 18
