The Double Human

by James O'Neal

  Johann stepped down into the dining room and froze when he saw a second table occupied by three men. All had dark hair and oval eyes. The slightly flared nostrils told him that Bejor had not come alone as he had promised.

  Johann had honored the treaty and had not brought a weapon. He was a little bigger than any of the men but four on one wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t even be a fight.

  He stood and stared at Bejor, trying to decide if he could kill the one man for his betrayal before the others leaped to their feet.

  THIRTEEN

  Tom Wilner nearly had his hand on the butt of his 11 millimeter duty weapon and its thick handle, which housed a stacked magazine of twenty rounds. He had a second magazine clipped on the left side of his belt. He clutched Mari and pulled her close to him. It was an instinct and not tactically smart. He needed to be able to move and shoot and wanted to draw fire away from Mari, not pull her into an easier target for these thugs to shoot.

  He heard the sound of a rifle action behind him and turned. A dirty, skinny man in his midtwenties smiled, showing off yellow, rotted teeth. In his hands he had an ancient army surplus bolt-action rifle; the kind that were used in one of the world wars of the twentieth century.

  “So, Mr. Policeman, what brings you down to the zone?” called a man from the upper level.

  “Why do you think I’m a police officer?”

  “First thing is that big autopistol under your jacket.” The beefy man paused and smiled. “You don’t recognize me?”

  Wilner thought he might be familiar but couldn’t place him. He shook his head.

  “I was in a group called the Zone Troopers. Now you remember?”

  Wilner knew him now.

  “You busted us up pretty good a few months back. Now I’m a policeman myself.”

  “That what you call yourself?”

  “That’s what I am and you broke the law by entering the zone illegally. And this is your second offense. You gotta pay.”

  Wilner saw the men upstairs start to spread out. One of them had a black eye patch with a white cross over the patch. Another man joined the one with nasty teeth on the lower level.

  He tensed, knowing that there was no negotiating with creeps like this. The best he could hope for now was to get Mari out of the building safely.

  Then one of the men behind him hit the ground with a thud. His old rifle clattered across the scarred marble floor. The other man stood staring at his friend as blood started gushing onto the grimy floor.

  Wilner made the next move.

  Steve Besslia had discussed the case of the killer with Wilner and thought he might have a way to help identify who or what the killer was. He had veered off his normal patrol route and pulled his Hive-bike into what used to be the Pompano police department’s parking lot. The building was east of Interstate 95 in a very sparsely populated section of the Eastern District.

  Besslia knew a little of the history of the area and the city of Pompano was one of the first to go to a more cost-effective collective police enforcement. They used the old Broward County sheriff’s office until that went belly-up due to lack of tax revenue. The remnants of the county sheriff’s department and the state police became what was now the Unified Police Force.

  Besslia wasn’t sure what he might find but he knew he could contribute and prove what kind of cop he was.

  The old three-story building had a drainage ditch around it like a moat. The driveway over the ditch had collapsed years before and now wild plants and weeds sprang up in the middle of the crumbling road. Besslia guided his bike to one side, then cut at an angle across the shallow ditch. The water beaded off his good boots. The engine had been designed to be completely submerged and still worked as long as the exhaust wasn’t blocked for more than twenty seconds.

  He parked the bike under what used to be the main entrance to the building. A wide synthetic sheet designed to be cut- and tear-resistant was draped across the front. A stenciled message across it read, DO NOT ENTER.

  Besslia considered the hanging sheet and message. He jumped up and grabbed two handfuls of the tarp and yanked down hard. As he suspected, whoever had installed the sheet of synthetic fiber had purchased nearly impregnable material, but failed to use anything but nails to hold it in place. After all the years of hanging there, Besslia’s weight bent the supporting nails and now he was faced with the next barrier.

  Besslia looked at the sheets of rotted plywood secured across the front. He rapped a piece with his knuckles and it crumbled like wet paper. After years of constant rainfall the simple wooden barrier fell away as Besslia pushed it.

  Now he was looking at cracked and broken glass panels that at one time made for an ornate and useful entrance to the Pompano police department. He used his expandable stun baton to clear out the sharp edges of glass in one of the small frames, then leaned down to crawl in and realized his gear belt with the big duty weapon and V-com would keep him from slipping inside. He unclasped his belt and stuffed it into one of the weatherproof saddlebags on his Hive-bike. He pulled a smaller, old-style 9 millimeter he kept for emergencies from the bag and tucked it into his belt. He didn’t think anyone would be inside, not with all the usable houses around, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Now, in just his uniform with the gun tucked into his pants, he felt more agile.

  Inside, the musty, damp smell was so strong he tasted it. He flipped over the baton to use the powerful flashlight built into the handle of the weapon. He had a choice of stairs or two doors on opposite sides of the lobby. He figured that an archive or evidence room would be on the first floor of a building. No one wanted to carry things upstairs or try and jam larger pieces of evidence into an elevator.

  The heavy wooden door was locked but degraded enough that a kick by Besslia sent it snapping into two pieces. He started checking offices and doors with no luck. Then he found an old map of the building. It was under a glass desk cover and not completely faded. It was designed to show telephone extensions but Besslia saw what he was looking for: a separate building in the back that housed archives, files and stored evidence.

  He found the rear door and kicked it hard enough that it opened, tearing out the plywood and bringing down the fiber tarp all in one motion.

  Besslia stood and smiled, feeling like a kick-ass cop with legs of steel. Looking up at the rusting old radio tower he wondered why no one had really moved into this neighborhood. He didn’t hear much about the area on patrol. People used to claim that wild dogs roamed around but he hadn’t heard that in at least a year. Besides, who’d be scared of a few dogs after everything that had happened?

  Crossing the lot that had a few inches of standing water, he was glad of his good boots. The small one-story building had metal poles sunk in the concrete all around it. The metal fence had long since rusted and broken away from the poles. Remnants of the barrier sat in piles between the standing poles.

  As he stepped over one pile of fencing he thought he heard a sound. He turned quickly but the lot was empty. He moved forward under the overhang and rapped the door with his knuckles. This one was solid. He tried the handle. Locked.

  He looked to each side, then heard the sound again. This time clearer. It was a growl. A light, steady, unsettling growl.

  This time he spun and reached for his duty pistol. He froze as he realized the stories about wild dogs were true. But no one was going to believe what he was seeing now.

  Johann Halleck decided to sit down at the table with Bejor Simolit like everything was all right and there wasn’t a pack of Simolit men ready to spring at him.

  Bejor didn’t rise or acknowledge Johann other than with a flick of his black eyes.

  “You are alone, Johann?”

  “I am. I see you decided to bring friends.”

  “You are still viewed with suspicion by my family.”

  Johann looked at him until their eyes met. “I will not speak of the incident. I was within treaty guidelines and reported the incident as required.”r />
  “This is something still to be determined. That is why I brought my sons. None of us is armed and we will not harm you, if you have come with peaceful intentions.”

  Johann just glared at the old man’s arrogance. He was insinuating that Johann could not be trusted when, as a Simolit, he was by definition untrustworthy. Although he knew Bejor was at least three hundred years older than him—somewhere between six hundred and fifty and eight hundred years old—he looked only slightly more worn. He had a few gray streaks of hair and a wrinkle on the side of his face like about a thirty-five-year-old human. He was known as a warrior and had fought for a number of different nations in wars. He didn’t seem to have a cause or creed he fought for. He just liked to fight. He had even been in the first and second Iraqi wars; the ones that started the entire Middle East conflict. The Simolits often crowed about their contribution to their adopted countries but Johann knew most joined the military because they liked the thrill of battle.

  Finally, Bejor became weary of the staring match and said, “What is so important we must meet face-to-face?”

  “A killer,” was all Johann said.

  “Of humans?”

  Johann nodded.

  “Why should I care what happens to a few humans?”

  Johann knew the question was coming and was ready. “Because part of our treaty says we will not exploit or prey upon humans. None of us.”

  “That was your family’s demand.”

  “Which your family agreed to.”

  “Why do you think it’s one of us?”

  “The first murder occurred almost fifty years ago. The killer outran a UPF detective and fled into the Quarantine Zone.”

  Bejor rubbed his chin as he considered the information. He looked across the room out a wide bay window as the rain picked up intensity and started falling hard.

  Johann said, “Fifty years is a long time to be killing for a human.”

  “But I can’t imagine why one of our people would do it.”

  “We didn’t know why some have done things in the past but they did things too dark for us to record. There’ve been murderers, rapists, all the faults that afflict humans we have also seen over the years.”

  Bejor nodded slowly. “I will never understand your family’s concern for the humans but I respect your concern for our honor. I will see if a Simolit family member is responsible.”

  “I will ensure that a Halleck is not responsible as well. Whoever the killer, we must find a way to deal with them. The transplant of humans here will help us all.”

  “How so?”

  “More commerce, more choices, more restaurants, I don’t know. But we must live among them.”

  “My cousin, Tiget, had his own ideas.”

  “And where did those lead him?”

  “I wondered about your role in his death too.”

  “I will answer you honestly. I was involved in Tiget’s death. And frankly, he got what he deserved.”

  Bejor smiled. “I appreciate the Halleck honesty. I will be in touch soon.”

  Tom Wilner darted toward the man, frozen with indecision. He knew his only chance was to act while the others were in confusion. Before he could even strike the man, he realized something was wrong. Then the man toppled over, his body thumping onto the hard floor without the slightest hint of life left in it.

  He motioned for Mari as he stared down at the two dead men. Blood filled the floor from unseen wounds. He knew to worry about it later. His combat experience told him that now was the time to figure out how to escape.

  He dragged Mari into the main entry as he scanned the area with his pistol out. She stared at the dead men but didn’t ask any questions. He shoved her into a tiny closet with no door but with thick walls all around it as the heavy footsteps rumbled down the stairs.

  The first man in view said, “Chingala, how’d you—”

  But Wilner’s bullets silenced him as he scrambled back up the stairs. Wilner charged the stairwell and fired up a couple of more times. One round answered, striking wide on the front wall.

  “Mari,” he called out. He took her hand as she scurried out to meet him and then both fled toward the front door.

  They raced down the front pathway to his waiting car.

  “How’d you kill those men? Is it a new kind of weapon?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” He ducked low by the car and opened the passenger door for Mari to dive in.

  The front door of the old city hall burst open and the three surviving men raced out with their old long rifles. Two of them fired at the car. Wilner opened up, this time aiming for the men. He couldn’t risk them hitting Mari.

  One man toppled from the top of the stairs and the man with the eye patch grabbed his leg and fell straight forward. The last man, the one from the old Zone Troopers, retreated back inside, firing a round as he abandoned his friends.

  As Wilner screeched away from the curb one of the wild rounds struck the back of the car.

  FOURTEEN

  Steve Besslia eased his finger off the trigger of his little backup weapon and said quietly, “Nice doggies.” He felt his breath return and fought a smile that crept across his face. The seven wild dogs in front of him stood in the shallow water of the old parking lot, snarling and showing their teeth. The biggest one had his belly out of the water but the rest were half submerged.

  “C’mon, fellas, who are you tryin’ to fool,” he said as he looked at the pack. As best he could tell there were two Chihuahuas, three dachshunds and two that looked like some kind of small but long dog mix.

  Had these dogs really terrorized the neighborhood? This was the legendary Pompano pack?

  They all advanced quickly, barking and snarling, so Besslia retreated into the building, not wanting to hurt any of them. He weaved between desks and filing cabinets, narrowly avoiding the snap of one dachshund.

  He tumbled over a stack of fallen roof tiles and then felt concern, as his face was level with the tiny pissed-off dogs.

  As a light-colored Chihuahua raced toward him, he struggled to work his pistol past the debris to fire. He had no choice.

  The dog was faster than he thought and closed the distance instantly. A dachshund was right behind the Chihuahua.

  This would be an embarrassing way to die, he thought briefly, but a noise froze the dogs in their tracks. The Chihuahua skidded to a stop and turned just inches from Besslia’s face.

  The UPF patrolman sprang to a sitting position and by the time he stood up the little dogs had all scurried out of sight.

  Then he saw why.

  Leonard Hall heard the gunfire from outside. He had been admiring his work on the two men inside the North Miami Beach city hall. He particularly liked how one of the men had managed to stay upright so long. It had diverted the cop’s attention enough for him to fade back into the maze of narrow hallways. He hadn’t meant to strike both men but it was too much of a challenge and too exciting.

  He had also enjoyed seeing this cop in action. The man was smooth and fast. He had to have some kind of military training. There was no indecision in him. He also managed to protect the woman during the entire fight. Leonard admired that.

  He had heard Wilner and the woman race out of the building and the curses of the three men following them.

  Now only one man had returned. He faced the front door with his rifle aimed like the cop might come busting back inside.

  Leonard smiled as the man backed directly into him without ever looking behind him. The gang member thought he knew the old building was empty. This was his turf.

  Leonard had the spike on his German combat knife extended and the weapon solidly in his grasp. He waited until the muscular young man had moved almost close enough to hear his heartbeat, then he struck first on the right side, slipping the spike quickly out, and flipping it to the man’s left side, he struck again.

  The man collapsed flat on the ground, his nervous system shutting down due to shock.

  Another gang
member, clutching his leg, hobbled in through the front door. He used an old rifle as a crutch. Leonard met his single visible eye. The other eye was under a black patch with a white cross on it. The man stared at him, frozen for a second.

  Leonard stood over the corpse holding the bloody combat spike.

  The man struggled to pull the rifle he was using as a makeshift crutch up at Leonard.

  Leonard decided he’d had enough fun. His urge, for now, was satisfied.

  The man struggled with the rifle, trying to raise it before Leonard could act.

  Leonard simply slipped away. He wanted someone to spread the rumors of what had happened.

  It had been an exciting and interesting day.

  Wilner felt like he was dropping off a date. Mari stood in front of him with her hand wrapped around his arm. He knew that kind of excitement could traumatize some people. He’d seen it in the military. But she appeared to be taking it well.

  “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice.

  He smiled. “For what?”

  “For taking the time to look into something that affects the zone. People here feel abandoned. But they still wish they had policemen and firemen to depend on. They shout about how great no government is but most people would welcome back the United States if they wanted us.”

  “What about you? Would you welcome the United States?”

  “I never hated the United States. Like many, I used to blame them for all the problems of the world. Now I see the truth. Every nation must take responsibility. The United States and your presidents have only been trying to secure the country.” She looked up and smiled. “I’d get to see you again too.”

  “I promise I’ll be back. I’m going to find this killer. What I need is someone who can identify him. A living witness.”

  Mari nodded. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows anything more than just gossip.”

  “Do you have access to a V-com or old-time phone?”

  “I have ways to pass messages. Sometimes one of our computers can connect with another that could send a message. The United States blocks most satellite transmissions from south of the border.”