Nocturnal

by Scott Sigler

  He nodded. He really had no idea if he’d last seen her yesterday, the day before or just a few hours ago.

  She finished adjusting the blanket, tugging and twisting in her motherly way. “Good,” she said. “Now hold him close. Very close.”

  Aggie pulled the baby-filled bag to his chest. Whatever this kid was, it was evil. Aggie would play along, say whatever he had to say, do whatever he had to do until he got out of here. Then he could toss the baby into the bay for all he cared about it.

  He smelled that beautiful smell again. It was the baby … the smell came from the baby.

  “Time to leave,” Hillary said. “Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You know the place,” she said. “We are going back to the arena.”

  Origin Story

  Bryan drove Pookie’s Buick, following the Jessups’ jet-black, highly modified Dodge Magnum station wagon. Passing streetlights cast sliding reflections off the Magnum’s polished body. Bryan had never really thought a station wagon could be sweet. The customized Magnum, however, would make any gangsta wannabe green with envy. It rode on black chrome rims. Tinted windows hid the inside from view. Pull-out drawers packed the cargo area, hidden from view by the rear hatch. Bryan could only imagine what kind of arsenal the grandfather/grandson team had stashed away in the back of that car.

  Adam, oddly, drove like an old lady: slow, obeying every traffic light and sign, giving people plenty of room to pass him if need be. Bryan didn’t know much about cars, but even following behind he could hear the Magnum’s engine gurgling with unused power.

  The Magnum turned south on five-lane Potrero Avenue. Two-story houses and small trees passed by on Bryan’s right. Just a few blocks now. He had time for one quick call. He dialed. She answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  How could just the sound of her voice make him feel better? “Hey.”

  “Bryan, are you okay?”

  “Sure. Didn’t you get my note?”

  She paused. “I did. Thank you for that. But a nice note and a pot of coffee aren’t a replacement for knowing that you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay.” He wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but it was what she needed to hear. “I just wanted to check in.”

  She didn’t say anything. He waited. Up ahead, he saw SFGH coming up on the left.

  “Robin, I gotta go. Erickson might be in trouble tonight.”

  “Forget him,” she said. “Come get me and we’ll just go.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “All this death,” she said. “You and I could just leave, Bryan. We get in my car, we pick a direction, and we go. Together.”

  She was afraid for him. Or maybe she was afraid of what he might do. The sentiment broke his heart, but her solution wasn’t an option.

  “Robin, I can’t.”

  She sighed. “I know. I hope we don’t regret it.” Her tone of voice changed again, from melancholy to business-like. “Listen, I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to you. When you were a kid, you had the usual cuts and scrapes, right?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “And this rapid healing thing, that’s new?”

  “Yeah. I always seemed to heal a little faster than most people, but nothing like it is now.”

  “It’s because your Zed chromosome was suppressed,” she said. “That means you had all this genetic information, but it was dormant, your body wasn’t doing anything with it. Basically, your Zed information was switched off.”

  That didn’t seem possible. How could you have parts of your body that were shut off? Still, he wasn’t about to argue with an expert. “So what switched it on?”

  “When you came to see me in the morgue, you were sick, right? Really sick, as in body aches, chest pains, all of that?”

  How awful he had felt — the fever, the hammering aches, the joint pain. “Yeah, it was bad.”

  “We need to take x-rays. I bet they’ll show the same strange organ we found in Blackbeard. I also bet we find your bones have changed, or at least are starting to change. The sickness was because your body underwent a massive physical transformation. The question is, when did you start to get sick?”

  So much had happened in the past few days. It seemed like an eternity since he hadn’t been dealing with Erickson, Rex Deprovdechuk, the BoyCo kids, Father Paul …

  … that was it. The roof, where he smelled something that made him dizzy.

  “I started getting sick the same day I saw Paul Maloney’s body.”

  “Did Maloney’s body smell like urine?”

  He nodded. “It did. Urine and something else I couldn’t identify. I started feeling crappy soon after that.”

  “Bryan, I know what happened to you. Well, the general idea, anyway. We’re sure Paul Maloney’s death was a symbol killing, like Oscar Woody’s. We know Woody’s killers had the Zed chromosome, so it’s logical to assume Maloney’s did as well. I’m pretty sure there are hormones in the urine that activated your Zed chromosomes, made them start expressing. You had all this dormant code inside you, waiting for a signal. When that signal came, boom, your body was off to the races.”

  That was one for the comic books — he had superhealing and, apparently, some level of superstrength, and what was his origin story? I sniffed pee. Not exactly as cool as being bitten by a radioactive spider. “But why would my Zed be dormant?”

  “I have no idea,” Robin said. “Based on everything else we’ve seen, it’s got to be some kind of species protection strategy. If one of your kind is—”

  “My kind? I’m not one of them.”

  “Scientifically speaking, you are. Don’t be a Sensitive Sally. Anyway, maybe tens of thousands of years ago — no, hundreds of thousands, but that creates a whole primate family tree issue that—”

  “Robin, I’m almost at the hospital.” He saw the SFGH complex coming up on the left. “Can you get to the point?”

  “Sorry. My guess is that way back when, if one of your kind was isolated and their genes did express, maybe normal people killed them. So maybe suppressed genes contribute to survival. Maybe the genes evolved to only express if others of your kind are around — a safety-in-numbers kind of thing. Nature triggers suppressed genes all the time with hormones and other signaling mechanisms. You started out suppressed, normal, until your body detected others like you, then your latent genes activated.”

  He didn’t understand a quarter of what she was saying. Not that any of it mattered right now.

  “I gotta go,” he said.

  “Have you called Pookie?”

  Shit. He’d forgotten about his partner, and the fact that he’d had Pookie’s car for going on twenty-four hours now.

  “No, I haven’t. Can you call him and tell him he can pick up the Buick at the hospital?”

  She paused. “Bryan, he was looking for you all day yesterday. He called me this morning. He’s pretty pissed you didn’t let him know you were alive.”

  As well he should be. But Bryan had too much to deal with at the moment — he really couldn’t handle Pookie’s disappointment on top of everything else.

  “Look, Robin, just call him for me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “I love you, Bryan.”

  “I love you, too.” Those words were surprisingly easier to say the second time around. He hung up.

  San Francisco General Hospital had many buildings, but the northern-most one housed the mental health wing — where Erickson was being kept. A head-high brick wall lined the sidewalk, with a ten-foot-high red fence rising from the top of it. Bryan wasn’t sure if the fence was to keep people in, or out.

  Adam slowed, then did a fast U-turn to slide into an open parallel parking spot just before Twentieth. Bryan struggled to turn the Buick as sharply and realized that not only was the Buick a crappy car, Adam was a far better driver. Bryan parked right behind the Magnum. The Magnum’s rear passenger door opened. Alder leaned on his cane as he
slowly got out. Bryan got out to meet him.

  “Wait here, Inspector,” Alder said. “I’ll find Chief Zou and straighten this out.”

  “Are you good friends with her?” Maybe Alder could help patch things up, get Pookie his job back.

  “I haven’t seen her in twenty-eight years,” Alder said. “And we’re far from friends. Adam? Let’s go.”

  Alder’s cane clicked against the sidewalk as he and Adam walked toward the opening in the wall that led into the hospital complex.

  In the Maze

  The electric lights were off. Atop the mast of skulls, a few torches burned, casting out a weak light that failed to penetrate the arena’s trenches.

  There was no noise except for the crunch of dirt under their feet and a faint, regular echoing rumble that came from the shipwreck behind him and to his left. Trench walls rose up on either side. Aggie couldn’t see the cavern’s ceiling high above, it was too dark for that. He kept moving, tried not to think about the fact that he was walking through the maze — the same place the teenage boy had been killed, then butchered for food.

  “This way,” Hillary said as she turned right.

  Aggie followed. That strange, echoing noise picked up in intensity, and Aggie realized what it was — Mommy was snoring.

  Hillary had led him from the white dungeon, taking a different path than she’d used before. This time, instead of coming out on the ledge, he found himself sliding through a narrow, hidden passage and into the arena maze. Aggie hadn’t known what to expect. He certainly hadn’t expected the place to be empty, nor would he have dreamed that a place of monsters and death and terror could be even more disturbing when it was empty and mostly dark.

  A tug on his arm. Hillary gestured all around, showing off like a proud homeowner. “Tonight, everyone will be here to watch the king join with Mommy and give our kind a future. That is when I will take you out. Until then, I have a place for you to wait. Come.”

  She turned left. Aggie found himself at the cavern’s wall — a dead end. Hillary slid past a tall boulder and into a hidden space. She vanished from sight.

  Aggie gently adjusted his grip on the knit bag, then followed.

  A Blast from Amy’s Past

  It was like walking into a time warp.

  Amy hadn’t seen this man in decades. He had the same eyes, the same mouth and the same face, although wrinkles had blurred and softened his features. But all the time in the world couldn’t fade the memory of their last meeting.

  “Alder Jessup,” she said.

  He smiled and nodded. “Amy Zou. It’s been a long time.”

  She looked at the man just behind Alder. Again that time-warp sensation. The man looked like the Alder she remembered from so long ago, if that Alder had been a metal-hipster douchebag.

  “Hey, cop,” the younger man said. “Gestapo stare-downs might work on the trust-fund kiddies, but I’m past that level.”

  Alder closed his eyes and sighed. “Chief Amy Zou, this is my grandson, Adam. Adam was just going to get himself a cup of coffee.”

  Adam smiled and nodded. “Nice meeting you, Chief. If I stumble upon a rampaging herd of wild donuts, I’ll break out the speargun and bring you breakfast.”

  The angry young man walked off, his chains and jewelry rattling with each step.

  “My apologies,” Alder said. “All I can say is that his talent is well worth the trouble.”

  “Mister Jessup, why are you here?”

  “I came to watch over Jebediah. I assume you’re here to do the same. If you are, perhaps you should come out to my automobile. Adam has brought several items that could be of use to you should Marie’s Children attack.”

  Those words nearly made Amy flinch. She looked up and down the hall. No one was paying attention.

  She leaned in. “Alder, we have this covered. I have people on duty to protect him. I just came from Erickson’s room. He’s not awake yet, but he’s getting better.”

  Alder sighed in that way old men can sigh and make you feel like a child no matter what age you are. “All this time, my dear, and you still don’t truly understand.”

  She thought back to the nightmares she’d seen in Erickson’s basement. Alder was right — she hadn’t truly understood what was out there, how many were out there.

  He patted her on the shoulder. “I am not just here to protect Jebediah,” he said. “I would like to have a word with you about a police officer of yours. I think we need to discuss one Bryan Clauser.”

  Zou Talks to Bryan

  Bryan stood on the sidewalk of Potrero Avenue, watching Pookie stare at the Buick’s driver’s-side window. Streetlight gleamed against the cracks in the glass, lit up the tentacle-like sprawl of beer tendrils that had dried in place.

  “Awesome,” Pookie said. “You know, sometimes when people borrow my car, they get it washed and leave me with a full tank of gas. But this? This is so much better.”

  “I said I was sorry. I’ll pay for it.”

  “With what, food stamps? We’re fired, remember?”

  Bryan rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Really, man? I think we’ve got more important things to worry about than the window of your POS Buick.”

  Pookie shrugged. “Yeah, we do. Like the two hundred bucks you owe me for my trip to Oakland.”

  “You thought I was in Oakland?”

  “Did I mention, I looked everywhere? Why, yes, yes I think I did mention that.”

  “But two hundred dollars?”

  “I took a cab,” Pookie said. “You know how I hate public transportation. Kinda the reason I bought a car, know what I’m saying?”

  Pookie didn’t get pissed that often, but when he did he didn’t stop talking about it. He wanted — and deserved — an apology. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you, okay?”

  Pookie nodded. “Apology accepted, but too bad you’re not talking to your dad — I’d have him ground you for trashing my ride.”

  Pookie Chang, lone resident of No-Subject-Is-Off-Limits Land.

  “That man is not my father.”

  “And I’m not chubby,” Pookie said. “Amazing how we can just wish things into existence.”

  “With what I’m going through, are you really going to go there? Now?”

  Pookie shrugged. “You need to get over it. I think you’ve filled your quota for feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “Feeling sorry for myself? You jackass, I’m a goddamn mutant or whatever.”

  Pookie used his jacket sleeve to wipe at the dried-beer tentacles. “So you got an extra chromosome. It’s not like you got cancer, Bro. It is what it is, so accept it and let’s move on.”

  Maybe Bryan should have done this solo after all. Only Pookie could reduce being a mutant, finding out your entire childhood had been a lie and tracking down serial killers that were actually your half-brothers to just get over it.

  Pookie stopped wiping at the cracked window. He turned to stare at Bryan. “You thinking you should ditch me? For my safety, maybe?”

  Bryan looked down at the sidewalk. He hated it when his partner did that.

  Pookie feathered back his hair. “Forget it, my Young Rebel Detective. No one wants a show about a loner cop. I told you I’m down for the gunfight. You’re stuck with me. Agreed?”

  Bryan looked up. Before he could answer, Pookie pointed down the sidewalk.

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Here come da judge.”

  Bryan followed Pookie’s gaze and saw Amy Zou walking quickly toward them, dress blues pressed, hat positioned perfectly on her head.

  “She doesn’t seem happy,” Pookie said.

  “Does she ever?”

  “No,” he said. “Should we make a run for it?”

  “Too late. And I’ve got a few things I want to hear from her.” Bryan crossed his arms, leaned against the black station wagon and tried to look disrespectful. He wasn’t sure how to do that — maybe he’d have to get some lessons from Adam.

  She stopped in front of them. “
Clauser,” she said. “Chang.”

  “Chief,” Bryan said.

  “MILFy woman who fired my ass,” Pookie said.

  Zou ignored the comment. “Clauser, we need to talk. Alone.”

  Bryan looked at Pookie. Pookie shook his head slightly. Even if Bryan wanted the man gone, he wouldn’t go anywhere.

  “Pookie stays, Chief,” Bryan said. “Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of my partner.”

  “Life partner,” Pookie said. “But only for tax purposes. Oh, and the Bed Bath and Beyond registry.”

  Zou turned her humorless stare on Pookie. She held it until he looked away. She turned back to Bryan. “Alder told me that you’re one of them.”

  She said it with such a matter-of-fact tone. Zou was right, and so was Robin; he was one of them.

  “I don’t understand any of it, Chief. I have no idea what’s happening and it’s freaking me out.”

  “But you came to the hospital,” she said. “Why?”

  Bryan looked at Pookie, who just shrugged.

  Bryan nodded to the building beyond the brick wall. “We put Erickson in there. Alder said Marie’s Children might come for him, so we’re here to protect him if we can.”

  “I have a full SWAT in and on that building,” she said. “They have Erickson’s floor on lockdown. Marie’s Children are hard to find, sure, but it’s a different battle if they have to come to us.”

  She stared at him. Bryan stared back. She seemed to be sizing him up. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever power game she wanted to play.

  “Look,” he said, “we were just trying to do the right thing.”

  The hardness around her eyes faded. Now she was the one to turn away. “I know that feeling. This time, maybe we’ll fix the damage you caused before the really bad shit starts.” She met his eyes again. “At least now you guys understand what has to be done.”

  “Yes and no,” Pookie said. “You can’t keep this a secret forever. People need to know what’s going on. The victims’ families deserve to know what happened to their loved ones.”