She finally stopped before the invisible wall of darkness. She almost turned away. But the voices in her head were becoming clearer now. She could almost understand them without really knowing what they were saying. They were, she felt, urging her forward, promising her enlightenment and companionship if she would just keep moving forward. She wiped away the sweat that was beading her forehead. The night was hot and she was thirsty, but still cautious. It looked cool and inviting inside the zone of darkness, but somehow she didn’t think it was a good idea to enter it. She wondered what she should do. She still had a task to perform. She grasped what courage she had left and slowly extended her gauntleted hand and put it into the dark.
It tingled and she felt a light, almost pleasant shock go up her arm. Even through the thick leather that covered her hand she could feel it was definitely cooler in the dark. Definitely cool and welcoming. She took another step forward and was completely enveloped in it. She felt it wash over her body almost like a lukewarm shower on a hot day. She felt as if she should stand there and drink it in and it would nourish her and cleanse her body and her mind with clear and sharp knowledge it had never had before.
And then she heard the laughter.
It was not in her head. It came from outside her, from the rubble that surrounded the intact structure that was the epicenter of the dark zone. It was familiar laughter, feminine but unpleasant, like the cackling of a witch’s coven or the insane hysteria of a pack of approaching Maenads. She remembered where she’d heard it before just when the first of the pack broached the rubble wall and stood atop it and looked at her.
It went back to the adventure when she’d first met Billy, when they’d set out in the Highwayman’s rig through what he called “the shortcut” through an alien dimension of strange landscapes peopled by strange creatures. One kind of them were hunting spiders who ran in packs and who tittered like little girls who were denizens of Bedlam.
A decade later, she heard their horrible laughter again as they appeared among the structural debris. This was not just a smell, a whiff of something in the air that she could easily conflate with another faint half memory. This was something solid and real. There were a score or more of them, their white, hairless, bulgy bodies held high off the ground by too many spindly legs. Their bodies were the size of large dogs, their lumpy heads had disturbingly human-like features but for their large, protruding fangs that dripped a thick ichor that smoked and steamed when it hit the ground. The Angel knew that it was powerful poison. It had seared her before—only her thick leather jumpsuit and Billy’s quick action saving her from permanent scarring.
What in God’s name are they doing on this world? the Angel wondered, and then the lead creature lifted its head and screamed like a dying animal, a high-pitched cry that hurt the Angel’s ears. It jumped down the wall it’d been perched on and the others followed it as it ran toward her, scuttling amazingly quickly on its spider legs.
For a moment the Angel stood frozen, staring at them as a great anger fastened upon her. The very sight of them sickened and offended her. They were obscene insects that should be wiped from the face of the earth, that should all die screaming, lingering deaths. She wanted to pick their legs off one by one. She wanted to see them curl up and shrivel under the blast of a flamethrower; she wanted a big-ass gun that she could use to blow chunks of ragged flesh off their bloated, squishy bodies. She wanted—
Overcome by her wildly running emotions, she staggered backward a step and sagged with sudden weariness as the overwhelming tide of hatred washed over her. She was suddenly appalled at what she’d felt. She wondered where those feelings had come from. She felt revulsion as she realized that they still plucked at her brain, begging to be released again.
It will feel so good to rend and tear and see their ichor run in rivers, the voices promised. Their ichor, and the blood of all your enemies.
“What is this?” the Angel asked aloud. “What—”
She looked out into the parking lot and saw that the pack was almost upon her. She had only a moment in which to act.
“Save my soul from evil, Lord,” she cried aloud in a heartfelt voice, “and heal this warrior’s heart!”
It was the wings that came to her, not the sword, and she sprang into the air just as the first of the beasts sprang at her. Its forelegs grabbed her around the knees as she rose, but the Angel kicked with almost hysterical strength. The creature’s legs were many but weak. She felt more of them clutch at her as it sought to swarm up her body and sink its dripping fangs in her flesh, but her first kick freed her right leg and her second kick punted the thing right where its head met its suet-fleshed abdomen. It screamed brokenly and catapulted away from the Angel, falling among the rest of the pack that was trying with no success to leap up and grab her.
Whether driven by anger, frustration, hunger, or maybe all three, the pack fell upon their shrieking comrade, and tore it apart, devouring the ichor-dripping chunks of flesh while the Angel flew away to rejoin the Committee aces at the outskirts of the city.
Michelle stood over what was left of Aero. The noises and pounding in her head faded. The anger subsided. She began shaking. It was Mummy. It had to be Mummy. She’d never hurt Aero. Oh, yes, you would. And you’d be right to. Killing him only makes sense.
She no longer knew who she was. Something was inside her. And it wanted blood. Endless gouts of blood. Or maybe it was what she had wanted all along. Yes, if she were being honest, it had been a struggle not to kill. And now it made such sense.
“You’ve lost it,” Ana said. It wasn’t Adesina. It was Ana. But she didn’t sound like Ana. She sounded a little hysterical. “You pulverized him. You just slaughtered him.” She twittered. “Slaughtered.” Then she put a hand up to her mouth. “Why am I laughing? Why am I laughing, Michelle? This is horrible. But so funny.” Tiago had a murderous expression as he stared at the two of them, then a chuckle escaped him.
Michelle couldn’t help herself. She began laughing, too. As she giggled, she wiped her hands on her pants. The blood grew tacky as it began to coagulate. It clung stubbornly and she couldn’t get it off her hands. There was ichor under her fingernails. She didn’t bother trying to get it out.
It was only a few blocks to the Jokertown precinct. Frank tried to run, but stopped after a few strides. It jarred the wound in his side, and pumping his arms tore at his shoulder, and his feet were screaming. Even walking he still arrived at the doors blown and breathless.
Wingman heaved up from behind his desk. “Shit! Franny! Where—”
Franny threw up a hand. “No time.” He pushed through into the bull pen. There was an eruption of sound as everybody started talking at once, questions were thrown at him too many to understand much less answer, and then he was surrounded. Rikki, small and quick who resembled a human greyhound, Slim Jim the absurdly skinny ace, Beastie, big furry and lumbering, the claws on the tips of fingers practically dragging on the stained linoleum; Bill Chen, his first partner, who was almost as tall as Beastie, but an ace. Even Tabby and Bugeye, the men who had made his life a living hell, were grinning and pounding him on the back.
His partner, Michael Stevens, pushed through the crowd and grabbed him in a hard hug. Frank gasped and the black detective released him like he was a hot skillet. Maseryk strode out of his office.
“SHUT UP!” Everybody did. “So, our globetrotter returns,” the captain growled.
“You can chew me out later, Captain. Right now I’ve got to get to the UN.”
“Oh, excuse me. I’m taking orders from you now? I haven’t even decided if you still have a job. My office!”
Franny, limping, followed him. Behind him someone began to clap. It was picked up until a hailstorm of applause accompanied him to Maseryk’s office door. Franny’s shoulders hunched with embarrassment and he felt his face burning. Maseryk’s shoulders were hunching too, but Franny expected it had more to do with anger.
The instant the door shut Franny blurted, “Greko
r’s taken control of the Jokertown Clinic. He’s threatening to kill people. The woman who kidnapped the jokers is there and she’s directing everything, including me. Please, Captain, I have to get to the UN and bring the people she wants.”
“Who are they and why does she want them?”
“Has any news about Talas reached the States?”
“Yeah. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on, but it looks like a wild card outbreak.”
“It’s not and Baba Yaga does know what’s happening.”
Maseryk leveled a hard stare on him. “Explain this. Slowly.”
“We don’t have time!” Franny yelled. Maseryk glared and Franny grabbed at the fraying edges of his temper. “The old lady says the world is ending … and … and, I think I believe her. Captain, please just let me go get these people before more innocents get hurt.”
“Fine, go.”
“I … I don’t have any money or ID, nothing. I need a way to get there, and I … I don’t think I can walk.” Admitting that seemed to bring his exhaustion and pain into stark focus. Franny swayed, and laid a hand on Maseryk’s desk for support.
Maseryk’s expression softened. “Okay, I’ll wait on that report for now.” He opened the door, and started issuing orders. “Stevens, alert SWAT and get people over to the clinic. We’ve got a hostage situation. Tell them I’ll meet them there. Beastie, get Black a squad car.”
Bill Chen stepped forward. “I’ll drive him.”
Franny eyed the big Chinese-American ace. Bill had been his first partner when he’d arrived at Fort Freak, but Franny’s early promotion to detective had angered the older man. They hadn’t been on good terms since.
“You don’t have to,” Franny said.
“Yeah, I do. You look like shit.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ll probably wreck the damn car.”
“You two lovers work it out,” Maseryk snapped and strode away surrounded by a phalanx of cops.
Bill and Franny exchanged measured looks; finally Franny nodded. “Okay.”
“So where are we going?”
The traffic was maddening. Even with the cherry lit it was taking forever to reach the green and white slab rearing against the June sky. Franny’s knee was vibrating. He gripped it with a hand to try to still the motion. It wasn’t helping his nerves that so far the drive was taking place in total silence.
Bill’s big hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. He stared straight ahead at the sea of brake lights. They crawled forward a few more blocks as cars tried to get out of their way.
“You did a good thing.” The words emerged as a growl that wasn’t easy since Bill had a ridiculously high-pitched voice.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I just don’t know why the fuck you didn’t reach out to me instead of that damn Fed.”
“So you know about—”
“Yeah, his body along with a bunch of Russian goons fell out of the ceiling a few days back.”
“How the hell—Mollie,” Franny concluded grimly. He shook his head. “I cannot figure that girl out. She strands me in Talas and then goes back?” A few seconds of thought and he had the answer. “Oh. Of course. The money.”
“You done talking to yourself?”
“Sorry. Does Jamal’s family know?”
“Yeah, they’re in town to claim the body.”
Franny closed his eyes. “I should see them.”
“Yeah, they’d probably like to know how their kid ended up dead in Trashcanistan.”
They fell silent once more. Fanny sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t reach out to you because I knew what I was doing was probably going to end my career. I couldn’t ask that of anybody else.”
Bill reached out, and gripped Franny’s shoulder. Unfortunately it was the left and Franny hissed in pain.
“Sorry. Jesus, how fucked up are you? As for your career ending—” Bill gave his high-pitched laugh. “I suspect that you have once again fallen in a pile of shit and will emerge smelling like a damn rose. You brought those jokers back. That counts for a lot, and the press and the brass have a bad guy they can crucify. Mendelberg.”
“What?”
“She was getting kickbacks from Grekor.”
“Which means Baba Yaga,” Franny said slowly. “No wonder she tried to shut down the investigation and left my ass hanging in Shymkent.”
“Where the fuck is that?”
“Not the garden spot of Central Asia, I can tell you that much.”
Bill saw an opening and shot through. He pulled a U-turn and they slid to a stop in front of the UN entrance. “I’m gonna head back. It’s gonna be all hands on deck.”
Frank leaned back in the car and gripped Bill’s hand. “Thanks. For everything.”
“Enough with the overly serious good-byes. I’ll see you back at the station.”
Frank stood and watched the squad car pull away. “Maybe,” he said to the air.
The UN lobby was like a stirred anthill. People dressed in everything from business chic to Arab dishdashas and African dashikis were rushing past. Most of them with cell phones pressed to their ears. That was heartening to Franny. Their tight and fearful expressions were less encouraging. He pushed through the crowd, including a number of confused tourists sporting cameras and I HEART NYC T-shirts, and stepped in front of a fat man in a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, black knee socks, and sandals at the visitors’ desk.
“Hey, buddy! The line starts back there.” He pointed to the end of a long line of people.
“Police business,” Franny snapped, and his hand went instinctively to his breast pocket, except he was still wearing the now very rumpled tux jacket and his badge was somewhere in the hospital back in Talas. He also hadn’t showered since the run-down hotel in Shymkent and he was aware of his own stink and the dark stubble sprouting on his face.
“Yeah, you don’t look like a cop.” The man thrust out his jaw and chest, except it was mostly his belly that bumped up against Franny.
“I’m undercover. Now get the fuck out of my face!” Something in his expression must have penetrated because the peckerwood deflated and stepped back. People were muttering, backing away from him.
Franny turned and summoned a smile for the pretty Asian girl behind the desk. It didn’t ease her look of alarm. From the corner of his eye Franny spotted security drifting his way.
“Hi, I’m Detective Francis Black, my captain, Maseryk, from the Fifth Precinct sent me over. I need to speak to the Secretary-General and to the head of the Committee.” It sounded insane even to him.
“Do you … do you have an appointment?” the girl fluted, clearly stalling for time.
“No, this is an emergency. It’s about what’s happening in Talas.” He prayed she had a fucking clue that anything was happening in Talas. His prayer wasn’t answered. She looked confused and even more nervous. The guards were closing in.
A big heavyset young man dressed in slacks and a shirt stopped, spun, and walked over to Franny. “Talas? Did I just hear ya’ll say Talas?” He had a twanging Southern accent.
“Uh, yes. I was there. I’ve just returned and I have vital information.”
“Well that just beats all. That’s real helpful.” He held out a soft, rather moist hand. “I’m Buford Calhoun. Toad Man,” he added in a somewhat hopeful tone but with the air of a man who didn’t expect a response.
But Franny had a guilty pleasure. He had been a devoted follower of American Hero and he recognized the name if not the man. (Buford had definitely packed on a few more pounds since his appearance on the show.)
“You were on Team Spades.”
Buford beamed. “Sure was. That’s when people saw my talent and realized I could be a help. I got recruited—”
“Talas,” Franny reminded. “I really need to see the Secretary-General and/or the head of the Committee. Actually both of them would probably be best.”
&nb
sp; “Well, I don’t know Mr. Jayewardeeni all that well, and Klaus is out of town, but I bet Babel will want to talk to you. Ya’ll just come with me. I’ll get you right in.”
The Angel reached what she recognized as once being the command point—but it was deserted. Only the tents were left in mute witness to what was once a bustling hive of activity. Soldiers, doctors, patients—everyone was gone and the area was given over to the mists and tendrils of fog emanating from central Talas.
She landed in the deserted camp that was lit only by the greenish light cast by a swollen, miscolored moon that had risen while she was flying out of the center of the city. It was a bloated, diseased moon, shining lambent green like infected tissue. She avoided looking directly at it because it seemed as if a smiling skull leered back at her from its pitted surface. The Angel felt as though she’d come upon an abandoned ghost town lost for years in an unhealthy desert. She wondered how the feeling of age and decay could have come upon the location so quickly, and she realized that it was the silence, the smell of death and decay that already clung to it, as if it was inhabited by untended corpses left to rot.
She cautiously went into the hospital area. Some of the tents were flapping in the hot breeze that smelled like the breath of a dying animal, others remained standing and intact.
“Hello?” the Angel called. “Anyone here?”
Her voice croaked. She’d finished the last of her water a while back and it was thick with dust and dry as desert sand. She needed water, food, and medical attention. She quickly searched through the intact tents but in the first few found only what she’d feared she’d find, what confirmed her worst suspicions. Only bodies.
They had abandoned their patients, she thought, shocked. Some had tried to follow. Few were able to crawl more than a few feet before their torn and abused bodies had given up their impossible struggle. Some had not even made it out of their cots. All of their faces had expressions of terror on them.
High Stakes: A Wild Cards Novel Page 35
