Who the hell’s calling me this early?
She let it ring off and settled back into the sofa. Closing her eyelids, her mind presented images of werewolves tearing at her lacerated corpse. She opened her eyes and stared at gray shadows thrown onto the ceiling by the street lighting outside. Deanna tried to find a state of restfulness but her mind nagged her about the caller. Probably a wrong number, she reasoned, or a prank. Every call she received which she wasn’t expecting filled her with dread, and calls at almost four in the morning could never bring good news.
Deanna glanced at her coat as the cell rang again. Frowning, she stood from the sofa, and crossed the room to the armchair. She fished the phone from her pocket and stared at the LCD.
Confusion pushed its way through her anxiety. The girl’s name on the display belonged to a young blond woman Deanna had slept with about five weeks ago. That relationship hadn’t contained any substance; just animalistic lovemaking one weekend while the woman’s husband traveled to Paris on a business trip. They’d exchanged phone numbers, but the woman hadn’t called once since that weekend. Deanna had forgotten about her; forgotten to erase the number from her phone’s memory. Maybe the woman’s husband would be out of town for a few days and she wanted to spend some time with Deanna. Not a good idea. Deanna had never been one to be used, to be at someone’s beck and call, and it wouldn’t start now.
In an effort to screen her calls, Deanna had programmed voicemail and the phone cut off after the fifth ring. She stared at the small crystal display, waiting for the message confirming she had new voicemail. None came. Her thumb hovered by the power switch, ready to turn the cell off, when it rang a third time. What the hell? Deanna glanced at darkness settled in the hall, in the direction of the bedroom, and considered the chirpy tone might wake Joanne. The apartment might be expensive but the walls were thin. Deanna decided to find out what the woman wanted, and if it happened to be a couple days of sex then her answer would have to be no. Their lovemaking had been enjoyable, but Deanna made a habit of never going back to past relationships, no matter how fleeting those affairs were.
Glancing up to make sure her lover wasn’t standing in the hall watching, Deanna flexed her fingers then connected the call. “Stacy? What the hell are you ringing me for?”
“Hello, Deanna.”
Terrified shock sucked air into her lungs in a curtailed gasp. She’d heard the male voice on the other end of the connection only once before: three years ago in her parent’s bedroom.
“Do you know how long it’s taken me to track you down? You’re a strong, resourceful woman, Deanna.”
Three loud bangs echoed down the short hallway from the front door.
“I hope you’ll come quietly,” the voice said.
The sound of splintering wood resounded in the hallway, and Deanna could picture the shattered door swinging inwards on loose hinges.
She screamed, dropped her cell phone, and grabbed the handbag she’d tossed onto the armchair’s cushioned seat the night before.
The intruders were in the hall, snuffling and grunting like the monsters that invaded her dreams.
She’d had to disappear at short notice a number of times in the past but it’d never been this close before.
Deanna grabbed her coffee cup, stepped towards the window, and hurled the mug at the glass. The window shattered.
Another door splintered in the darkness behind her; Joanne’s screams reaching Deanna’s ears above the excited snarls of the pursuing horde.
Deanna didn’t have time to clear the debris that remained in the pane, and hoped she wouldn’t slice herself open on the pointed shards.
One of the pursuers barked as it entered the living room, calling to the others. Breath left her in panicked gasps as Deanna stepped through the broken window. Her feet slipped on glass fragments lying on the small, concrete balcony beyond the window but somehow she held her balance.
She had no idea how many of them there were; wouldn’t look to find out. Joanne no longer screamed and Deanna knew the woman was dead. She’d seen firsthand what those creatures did to human bodies; the image of her parent’s corpses frozen in her memory.
A deeper bark sounded behind her in the room: another one of those monsters. There were at least two of them coming after her and she needed to be quick.
Thankfully Joanne’s apartment was located on the first floor. If it hadn’t been Deanna could have broken both legs when impacting with the sidewalk. As she dropped off the balcony and fell to the concrete, a cold wind wrapped around her buttocks; between her thighs and across her groin. Her nightdress lifted and Deanna became aware of her nudity. Thankful that her body stayed nimble and strong from working out every day, she squatted when she landed, absorbing the blow.
Glass sprinkled down from the balcony, the chasing creatures following her into the early morning darkness. Some kind of perception alerted her to one of them dropping from above. It miss-timed its leap and flattened the roof of a Ford station wagon parked close to the curb. Metal groaned and the windshield popped from its housing. The monster collapsed into the vehicle, its pursuit temporarily halted. The Ford’s alarm system blared into the night, echoing off buildings across the street.
Deanna started to run.
Force of habit made her leave her handbag open, and Deanna thrust her hand into the compartment, fingers curling around the can of mace. She’d used one once before, never forgetting how it’d saved her life that night. They’d posted sentries in the road: one emerging from the shadowed recess of a neighboring garden, another hiding behind the nearest parked car. They didn’t come for her in a combined attack and that spared her, as Deanna emptied the canister into the face of one monster, then the other. She dropped the mace, reached into her handbag a second time and grasped the car keys.
She’d parked her red Citroen further down the road away from the apartment, and her stride faltered as a transformed figure loitered by her vehicle. With no mace she wouldn’t be able to fight her way past the creature to reach the car, and she’d have no chance of outrunning them either; not so many.
Clicking the unlock button on the set of keys, new hope surged into her frightened muscles as the alarm deactivated on a red Porsche parked five yards ahead of her.
Joanne’s car!
Memories returned of Joanne downing six pints of lager at The Greyhound in Kensington Square last night, and Deanna taking the keys from her. Fate had edged the cards in her favor.
The beast guarding her Citroen grunted in anger as Deanna reached for the Porsche’s front door.
Footfalls slapped the concrete behind her and panted breath cut through the wail of the damaged car’s alarm. The scenario flooded horrific memories into her mind: recollections of a stormy night in California as her parent’s murderer chased her along Main Street in her hometown of Sands. She’d escaped that night but had been running for her life ever since.
Lights flickered to life in apartments along Rutland Gate, illuminating the fading darkness, the cacophony rousing the entire street from slumber. Deanna pulled open the door to Joanne’s car and flopped into the seat. She tossed her handbag onto the passenger seat, managed to push the key into the ignition on the first attempt, and screamed when the first of her pursuers slammed into the side of the car.
Claws scraped the paintwork, its growled breath blew condensation onto her window, and long fangs flashed white in her periphery vision.
Deanna turned the ignition, the engine roared into life, and she gassed the car.
The door opened. A terrified cry screamed from Deanna’s lungs, and she maneuvered the car from its parking space with a squeal of burning rubber. The creature held onto the vehicle for five yards, then lost its balance and sprawled onto the blacktop.
She risked a glance into the rear-view mirror and almost lost control of the vehicle.
Hybrids swarmed onto Rutland Gate; some swooping down from Joanne’s balcony, others streaming out the front door of the property. A f
ew of them began looping up the street in pursuit of the car. Some disappeared into darkness at the far end of Rutland Gate. Deanna noticed two of them scaling the building’s façade towards the roof.
She slammed the brakes as the car reached Kensington Road, and without indicating Deanna peeled the car onto the main street. She thanked fate that at a little after four in the morning, the usually busy thoroughfare was deserted. Accelerating a short distance up Kensington Road, the Porsche responding with power, she swung right onto Trevor Place. As she negotiated the tight square, pale figures scrambling over the rooftops above seemed luminous against a sky turned purple by advancing sunlight. She trusted the maneuverability of the Porsche, and its tires screamed as if in agony as she sped the vehicle onto Brompton Road and accelerated up the A4 towards Hammersmith.
Once on the straighter blacktop, Deanna risked a glance in the rear-view mirror but failed to pick up the shape of any pursuing hybrids. The knot around her waist had loosened, the silk material of her nightgown slipping over her thighs to expose her crotch. The gown had opened further up, and the uncovered nipple of her left breast hardened with the cold air inside the vehicle.
The Natural History Museum flashed passed on her right side, and Deanna pushed the accelerator further as the car topped the Hammersmith flyover. She gripped the steering wheel hard, knuckles flushing white, and her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes.
Slamming her hand on the dash in frustration she screamed, “How the hell did they find me?”
She had no steady job, no fixed abode, and changed her name every four weeks; no one should know who she was or even how to find her. She’d spent more money on hair products in the last month than she had on food in an effort to remain undetectable, but they’d found her nonetheless.
A shiver rippled through her essence as Deanna recalled the flat, callous tone of Simon Cain’s voice through her cell phone. He’d spoken in the same manner three years ago; with a cold indifference as Deanna fought to overcome the grief at finding her slain parents. Those first four months since she’d escaped Sands with her life had been a constant fight for survival. She would never be able to prove it but felt certain there were hybrids in the crowded terminal at LAX while she’d waited to take the first flight out of California. Other suspicious characters had seemed to follow her at every destination as she tried to stay alive, crisscrossing America, coming to terms with her loss, before deciding a return to Europe might give her a better chance of staying alive. She thought that after two years of running she’d put enough distance between herself and Cain that she could begin to breathe a little easier—apparently not.
Joanne’s face flashed into her mind, but Deanna pushed the thought aside. She hadn’t loved the woman; in some ways she’d been the one doing the using, relying on Joanne for a roof over her head, a warm bed and someone who could offer comfort. Deanna hoped the woman’s death had been quick and painless. As Joanne’s countenance faded, so Stacy’s came into view: the married woman with the great body who had seduced her over a month ago. She couldn’t begin to comprehend how Cain had found her. Deanna realized her stupidity at not changing her cell number after that weekend, but she’d been certain her trail until then was watertight. Every month a different woman; a different look with a different personality—she should have been untraceable. For all Deanna knew, Stacy could have been one of them. She shook her head; not possible. Deanna had gone by the name of Denise Stone then, her hair shorter than now, blond instead of its current brunette shade. Deanna hadn’t told Stacy a thing about her past and besides, they’d spent most of the forty-eight hours fucking with little time for conversation. No, Deanna decided, Stacy wasn’t one of them. The only thing Deanna felt certain of, was that Stacy had been murdered.
Determination churned in Deanna’s essence and pushed aside any feelings of remorse. She wouldn’t end up like Joanne and Stacy: torn apart by a bunch of animals. She wouldn’t end up like her parents.
Reducing the Porsche’s speed, Deanna swept the car around the Hogarth roundabout, and drove west on Great West Road. Keeping the speed up, she checked the mirrors for cops and tried to breathe more easily. The frantic sensation of being chased had lessened, and over the last thirty-six months Deanna had learned to trust her instincts. The road merged with the motorway, and Deanna pushed the gas pedal further, taking the Porsche close to a hundred miles an hour. The M4 motorway meandered at its beginning, but the sports car handled beautifully.
She glanced out of the vehicle’s windshield. The districts of Brentford and Isleworth were hidden beneath dawn shadow, but the horizon defined itself as daybreak’s first rays fractured the blanket of night. The landing lights of a descending aircraft blinked against the backdrop of a London morning. Deanna reached over to the passenger seat and delved into her handbag. She never knew when she’d need to escape, and checked the zipped internal pocket to make sure her passport still resided in the compartment. Her fingers found her purse next, the leather pouch bulging with the multiple credit cards and fake ID’s she alternated between. She figured the time had come to ditch all those old identities and manufacture some new ones. Cain had almost found her, and Deanna’s cover appeared to be wearing thin.
Twenty minutes ago she’d been drinking a cup of coffee in a flat in Kensington, but now she was on the run again. Outside the speeding vehicle, the aircraft began its final descent towards the runway, and Deanna knew she’d have to leave England once more.
Departing the motorway at Junction 4, she drove the Porsche down Tunnel Road and headed for the world’s third busiest airport.
London Heathrow Airport,
London, England
Alitalia run scheduled flights from London’s Heathrow Airport to Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport in Rome. The first flight of the day leaves at six a.m. from Terminal 2.
Deanna purchased a ticket for one hundred and twenty-two pounds and paid cash, but the damage had already been done. Using three different credit cards, she’d withdrawn a total of eight hundred pounds from three separate cash machines located around the airport. If Simon Cain had found her through some fleeting acquaintance gained over a weekend of sordid sex, then there was every possibility he’d trace her credit card transactions. She didn’t know how quickly such information could be gathered, but hoped she’d be thousands of miles away from England by the time Cain tracked her to the airport.
Twenty-five minutes before flight AZ0205 was due to depart, Deanna picked out a pair of dark, men’s trousers and a pair of dress shoes from Harrods, before selecting a white cashmere sweater from Naturally Cashmere and hurrying into the rest room. Fate had continued to play its cards in her favor: a businessman had left his suitcase and long trench coat unattended at the parking lot while he’d paid for a short-stay ticket and Deanna had stolen the coat while the man counted his change. She’d donned the lengthy garment while striding from the parking lot towards Terminal 2, and deposited her nightdress in an outside trash container. There would be no way she’d have been able to purchase a ticket wearing a negligee, but the trench coat had proved sufficient.
Deanna hung the coat on a hook inside the cubicle door and pulled the trousers from the bag. They didn’t fit perfectly, but the sensation of having her legs and privates covered strengthened her confidence. She stepped into the shoes and pulled the cashmere sweater over her head. The garments didn’t match, but she figured wearing badly coordinated clothing in a public place would be a small price to pay for getting off these shores with her life. Fumbling through the coat’s pockets, she located the businessman’s wallet. She didn’t look at his identification, but took sixty pounds in cash from the inside pocket. I hope this luck holds out a long time. She placed the wallet back in the same pocket in which she’d found it, left the coat hanging on the hook, and exited the cubicle.
The face staring back at her in the mirror looked taut and stricken with exhaustion. Three years running for her life had hardened her features and eroded any shred
of youth she hoped would have remained there at her age. She retained her natural beauty, but looked at least a decade older than her twenty-nine years. Leaning forward, Deanna splashed water into her face.
This is the last call for passengers travelling on Flight AZ0205 to Rome. Please proceed to Gate 10.
Cursing, Deanna dried her face, checked her passport and boarding card in her handbag, and left the toilets.
The walk to the departure gate took no more than ten minutes, and Deanna joined the queue of passengers lining up to produce their documents before boarding the aircraft. She glanced along the line, an anxious coil knotting her intestines as she tried to decipher faces in the crowd. She recognized no one, and wasn’t sure what a hybrid would look like in its human form, but nobody seemed interested in a tired woman wearing a cashmere sweater and men’s pants.
At the gate she produced her boarding card and passport. The man glanced between the photograph and her face without a ripple of doubt, processed her ticket, and then she found herself hurrying down the tunnel towards the aircraft’s door.
She expected the stewardess to transform before she reached the door, for the woman to shed her uniform and bound up the tunnel towards her with talons exposed and teeth dribbling saliva. Instead, the attractive Italian woman greeted Deanna with a smile and pointed her in the direction of her seat. When the doors closed, sealing her inside with the rest of the traveling public, Deanna feared all passengers and crew would swarm on her after morphing into hideous monsters. That didn’t happen either.
She willed her imagination to calm itself, but as her mind had been overactive for the last two years she knew such hope would be futile.
A shred of calmness invaded Deanna as the Alitalia flight thundered down the runway, her stomach sinking with gravitational pull as the aircraft arced through low-lying clouds. The calmness faded as Deanna wondered if she’d made the right choice by taking this flight. It’d been the first departure of the day from the airport, and would Cain take his chances and travel to Rome to meet her? Should she have waited just an hour more, and taken a different flight to a more obscure location? Deanna willed the nagging doubts from her mind. Instincts had kept her alive this long; she had to trust them now.
Monsters and Mortals - Blood War Trilogy Book II Page 2
