by Platt, Sean
“I guess he’s got it under control.”
Paola looked down, clearly hoping for a better answer.
But Mary had none. She had to trust Desmond’s instincts, even if hers were shredding her gut.
* * * *
CHAPTER 6 — THOMAS ACEVEDO
Acevedo looked up to see a giant of a man in all black standing with an assault rifle aimed at Beef’s fallen body.
The man seemed more like he’d been sent by special ops than from a rival cartel. Acevedo wondered if he was part of a drug bust or if the government had grown wise to the vials’ existence.
The women screamed, launching themselves at the gunman, fingers open like claws eager to tear him apart.
The big man’s eyes went wide, seemingly surprised by the women’s ferocity, likely unaware that they were infected with an alien species.
The big man slammed his rifle’s butt into the first woman’s face, sending her to the ground in a heap. The second woman was too quick, grabbing the rifle with both hands and wrenching it from his.
Rather than fire, she swung it like a bat, hitting the big man across the face and knocking him to the ground. She tossed the rifle back, where it landed at Acevedo’s feet, and approached him slowly, like an animal stalking prey.
A low growl rolled from her throat, just under some sort of alien clicking.
The large man looked up at her, seemingly frozen, mesmerized more than frightened. The alien was likely seizing control of his limbs, rendering him incapable of fighting back.
Acevedo considered his options.
If he didn’t intervene, she might tear the man apart.
Acevedo didn’t know who in the hell the gunman was, or if he was a threat, but the giant had saved his life, so the priest owed him the same.
Besides, if Acevedo did nothing, there was a damned good chance she’d seize control of the man and give the alien another puppet for attack.
Acevedo grabbed the rifle and aimed at the infected woman, squeezing the trigger twice, the semiautomatic fire tearing her head and back to shreds. As she fell to the ground, twitching, Acevedo turned the gun onto the first woman.
She started to stand, but Acevedo fired a few rounds into the back of her skull, then aimed the gun on the big man just starting to get back up.
Is he already infected?
Acevedo’s heart pounded as the giant stared at him with the same glassy eyes he’d been giving the woman.
Acevedo asked, “Who are you?”
“Luther Wahl, with Homeland Security.” Confusion faded from his face. He put his hands in the air as if to show he wasn’t about to reach for his sidearm or any of the fancy-looking grenades attached to his belt.
“State your business,” Acevedo said, still trying to determine if the man was under alien control.
“We’re here to get the vials, and I suggest you put the rifle down as we have the place surrounded.”
“Bullshit,” Acevedo said.
“Your lady friend, Marina Harmon, is already in custody.”
Shit.
“Get down!” Luther yelled, eyes bulging wide.
Acevedo heard something, like the sound of water pooling, behind him. He spun back, firing the rifle into a thick, black liquid-like substance rising from Beef’s fallen body. The liquid seemed to be assembling itself into some sort of form.
The Darkness.
Acevedo had seen it in his dreams, in the visions, but this was his first time seeing it face to … icy black void.
It was abhorrent, the antithesis of life, of goodness. It was worse than evil. Worse than the devil. It was nothing — an emptiness desperate to grow, stretch its tendrils, and absorb all that it could.
But no, it was more than nothing. Nothing held no intelligence, but The Darkness had a cold, calculated intellect, far greater than his own. He could feel it peering into his soul, picking him apart, searching for any weakness to exploit.
Feeling the alien’s mental prods sent a chill through his core. And for the first time, Acevedo wondered if he had what it took to battle what had to be stopped at all costs.
He was paralyzed, standing in the bedroom staring, as The Darkness gathered its mass above Beef’s corpse, floating above his body as if suspended by dozens of slowly undulating wind currents.
“Come on!” the big man yelled, pulling Acevedo by the shirt tail, backward and through the bedroom doorway.
As they fell back into the hallway, The Darkness shot a large, ropey black appendage almost blindly over them, knocking a hole through the plaster above the door frame.
“Go!” Luther shoved Acevedo toward the living room.
The priest’s mind was chaos in a blur, his eyes still drawing The Darkness in its raw form, still trying to process what he had seen, as the big man pushed him forward and out the front door into the brightness of a lying blue sky.
“Down!” Luther yelled, shoving Acevedo down and falling atop his body, crushing him against the rifle still in his hands, now pressing into his chest.
Behind them an explosion, likely from one or more of Luther’s grenades.
The sound and heat washed over them, along with a dying alien scream that sliced through Acevedo’s soul.
* * * *
CHAPTER 7 — EDWARD KEENAN
After updating Director Bolton of the operation’s status, Ed leaned against the van, waiting for Agent Harrison of Homeland Security’s Los Angeles field office to finish talking with reporters outside the cordoned off area at the end of the block.
Several agents in biological suits were securing every house to ensure that the block held nothing left of the alien threat.
So far, it seemed to be contained, though it was impossible to know if the man calling himself Beef had infected others elsewhere in the week or so since he came in possession of the vial.
Harrison finally finished with the reporters and headed over, sucking his cigarette to a nub.
Harrison was in his fifties, a seasoned vet who seemed to know his shit and how to do his job — an unfortunate rarity in agency types.
Harrison said, “OK, reporters are handled. They’re running with the homegrown terror cell angle, for now. Residents are cooperating because they want to be sure their street is safe and free from the ‘chemical weapons.’ So, where you headed?”
“To get the rest of these damned vials.”
“So how long were you guys at Black Island going to keep us in the dark about the real shit going on?”
“Sorry, not my choice,” Ed said. “Need to know and all that shit.”
Harrison smiled. “Gotcha. Director Bolton has updated us, so feel free to reach out to me if you need anything or want more people on this. I’ve got some great agents who can help you.”
“Thanks. For now, we’ll keep it small as we can. I think we might be able to put an end to this before risking this thing getting too big.” Ed walked around the van and got inside.
Luther was sitting in the driver’s seat, shaking his head no, meaning he had yet to convince the priest and woman to help them.
Ed sighed and turned back to Acevedo and Marina, sitting in the van’s rear, each cuffed to a bar along the side of their seat.
“So, you’re still not cooperating?” Ed asked.
Marina said, “I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“That’s nice and all, but you see, you’re not involved in some random crime. This is a matter of national security, and as such, you have no rights. None. Zero. Zilch. You have no right to remain silent. You have no right to an attorney. You have only one option, to cooperate.”
“You can’t just keep us detained,” Acevedo argued.
“Ah, but we can, Father. And we will. Now I believe my partner here explained the stakes, right? That this is a matter of utmost urgency, correct?”
Neither spoke.
Ed continued, “I want to know how you’re involved in this, and I want the names on this list translated.” Ed had already sent a photo o
f the paper and its code to the agency’s code breakers, but had yet to hear back.
Acevedo said, “We’re not helping the government to get a hold of the vials. God only knows what you all will do with them.”
Ed laughed. “What we’ll do with them? These vials are out there and this thing is infecting God knows how many people, and you’re worried about what we’ll do? Not to highlight the obvious, but you do realize that you’d both be corpses, or worse, if my partner and I hadn’t come along and saved your sorry asses? I’ve seen what these things can do, firsthand.”
Acevedo looked down, saying nothing. Clearly he had some trust issues with the government. He needed persuasion, and time was thin.
Ed hopped into the back of the van to join them, and pulled out his Glock.
Marina’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Ed looked up at the priest, who seemed to be barring the fear from his face.
“Here’s the deal. You’re going to help us find and secure the remaining vials. In return, you’ll get your freedom back with no charges filed.”
“Charges?” Marina interrupted, “we didn’t do anything!”
“We both know that doesn’t matter,” Ed said. “So, as I was saying, you’ll help us, and we’ll pretend like none of this ever happened. Or we could open door number two, and see what’s behind it.”
They both looked at Ed with a mix of curiosity and fear, exactly like he wanted.
Ed turned to Luther. “Oh, man, I love when they pick door number two.”
Luther said nothing, perhaps uncertain of his role in the performance.
Ed took the gun and pressed it against Marina’s leg, hard until she winced.
“Door number two isn’t something you want to open. I know Mr. Acevedo here is a tough customer, but I’ll bet he wouldn’t want to see someone else get unnecessarily hurt.”
“Are you threatening me?” Marina glared at Ed. “Are you saying you’re going to hurt me if he doesn’t give you the information? What kind of thug are you?”
“The kind that will do whatever it takes to protect his country.”
“Yeah, real patriotic,” Marina said, “threatening innocent civilians.”
“I do what has to be done. And in my book, you’re hardly innocent. Not when you choose to harbor evidence that will truly help people.”
“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Marina said. “Your kind of ‘patriotism’ is exactly the kind of overreach that scares us from cooperating. You don’t think twice about threatening people to get what you want; what the hell are you going to do once you get the vials and have some real power?”
Ed punched Marina hard in the mouth.
She fell back, crying out in shock and an eruption of pain.
The priest was quick, kicking out with his feet and knocking Ed backward.
Still cuffed to the seat, Acevedo was restrained when he attempted a follow-up move.
Ed was back on his feet, gun aimed at Marina’s head. She continued to glare at him, the kind of woman who wasn’t used to taking orders. Ed respected her brazen nature but couldn’t let that respect prevent him from doing what the situation required.
He hoped Acevedo wouldn’t call his bluff. Because Ed was prepared to shoot her, if that’s what it took.
And while Marina was right (Ed was a government thug) it didn’t mean he took pleasure in hurting others, particularly a woman.
“You’re a monster,” Acevedo said.
Ed met his eyes and held them. “You’re damned right, Father. I am. Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know or do I have to prove just how monstrous I can be?”
The priest inhaled and exhaled, nostrils flaring as he glared at Ed.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 8 — BORICIO WOLFE
Boricio woke cold and naked with the certainty that someone was watching.
His eyes flicked open, though Boricio kept his body still so as not to alert any fuckers who might be waiting for his rise n’ shine.
As his mental haze slowly faded, Boricio was surprised to find that he was no longer in the cell, or even inside. He was out in the woods, with a frigid morning fog gluing itself to the ground like a cunt hair clinging to wax.
What the hell? How did I wind up here?
Fuckers better not be wanting to play Hillbilly Cornhole.
Boricio’s last clear memory was a plate of food being slid into his cell. Hard bread and some sort of cold crap that looked like chum slopped out from a can. Boricio was just hungry enough to eat the shit he wouldn’t have served to a dying mongrel, but couldn’t help picturing that gaggle of guards buttering his bread and barf slop with their baby gravy, chasing squirts with slapped asses like the merry band of butt ticklers they were.
They must’ve drugged me.
But why would the fuck would they set me free?
Boricio wondered if Rose, or the alien squatting in her body, had been involved. Had she taken over one of the prison pigs and set him free?
If so, had she also infected him?
Boricio didn’t feel like there were any aliens inside his head, but would he know if there were? He wondered, not for the first time, if Rose knew her body had been hijacked. Or was the alien somehow able to fool her into believing that all the bullshit belonged to her? He remembered when the alien had first entered her body, how she’d told him to run. She knew what was happening and that if he didn’t run she’d attack him as the alien’s puppet.
Sometimes Boricio wished he’d had the courage to kill her and spare Rose a life as a host for some fucking parasite. He found it ironic that the one time he should have killed someone, he couldn’t. It was like a sex addict going to a hooker without getting a hard-on.
If I could’ve done what I should’ve done, she’d at least be at peace.
Boricio again wondered if Rose was behind his escape and if she could’ve possibly infected him.
There’s no fucking way I wouldn’t know if some fucking goo monster was up in my head.
Boricio wondered if he’d been inoculated against an alien infection when Luca had gone inside him. The Boy Wonder had turned out to have been infected by the good aliens, after all. Boricio wondered if the prison guards — if Rose had infected them — had brought him out here, tried to infect him, then realized they couldn’t and left him alone.
But Boricio didn’t feel alone.
Someone, or something, was watching.
He listened, trying to make out any sounds that might surrender his spy. Whoever it was they were too quiet to be one of the lettuce-licking yokels who’d locked his ass up.
Boricio risked turning his head an inch, and heard a twig snap behind him.
He turned, fists clenched, ready to strike out, but was surprised at what he saw — a fox, lying on its belly, its paw caught in a snare trap, a rope noose around the animal’s front left paw, tied to a tree a few feet away.
The fox whined as Boricio sat up, golden eyes watching him, frightened. The fox was either too tired or drugged to growl.
Or maybe it recognizes that we’re not too different.
Boricio moved toward the animal, admiring its silky red coat, and the streaks of deep black along its ears and paws. A beautiful creature and from what Boricio knew, a gifted predator.
“Sorry, boy,” Boricio said, assuming it was a boy fox, he sure the hell wasn’t about to go checking for spuds. “I know how you feel.”
Boricio examined the rope, a thin yellow line around the creature’s paw, which was wet from chewing in attempt to escape.
It was a simple noose construction, and Boricio figured he could pull it off — if the fox let him.
“All right, Brer Fox, I’m about to proclimate your emancipation, but you bite me and I’ll have to snap your neck like a Pez dispenser. Capisce?”
The fox whined, brow furrowing as it looked at Boricio, its tail moving slightly back and forth.
“I’ll take that as an aye-aye, Captain,” Boricio said as he moved his hands closer to the fox. He figured foxes probably sensed fear like dogs, so he kept his movements slow and deliberate, showing no nerves as he set his hands near the animal’s razor-sharp teeth.
The fox winced, then vented a low growl as Boricio touched its leg. Boricio could feel its hot breath on his arm.
“Now, now,” Boricio said, “you agreed to let me help you. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat you, wear your coat, or fuck you like some of these hillbillies might get to doin’. I’m setting you free, as you should be.”
The fox continued to watch him, but the growl faded.
Boricio found where the knot slid around the rope and pulled, loosening the noose enough to slide it off the fox’s leg.
“OK,” Boricio said. “Here we go, nice and slow.”
He lowered the noose, opening it more as he reached the fox’s thick wide paw, then pulled it off.
The fox stood, its ears at full alert as it looked around, then bolted off.
“What? No thanks?”
The fox reached the thickening tree line and was about to disappear when a gunshot boomed like thunder.
Boricio watched in horror as the fox fell to the ground.
What the fuck?
Boricio spun around, seeing nothing but woods in every direction.
In front of him, Boricio heard the sound of hillbillies hooting and hollering. It sounded like a dozen, maybe more.
“The hunt is on!” someone yelled in front of a cackle.
Hunt? What the fuck are they talking about?
Then, Guard Tard’s familiar drawl: “You better run, boy. You is next!”
Another shot, though Boricio wasn’t sure where it landed.
Not needing to be told twice, Boricio ran.
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — MARY OLSON
Mary woke to her child screaming. The clock read 2:15 a.m.
Even though in all likelihood, Paola was having another seizure, Mary’s first instinct screamed danger, so she grabbed the shotgun beside the bed and raced from the bedroom.
