The Felix Chronicles: Five Days in January

by R. T. Lowe

  The man’s nostrils flared and he tore after Allison, swinging the knife wildly, attempting to slice off her head in a single hacking blow to the throat.

  Allison blocked his knife arm with her left hand, jumped, jamming her right elbow against the back of his head, then she snapped his head forward, her feet touching the ground as she drove his face through the passenger window of Felix’s Jeep, showering glass across the seats. The man, unsteady, pushed himself away from the car, face lacerated in a jigsaw pattern, eyes half-blinded from the blood gushing down his forehead. Allison chopped down on his arm and he lost the grip on his knife. He lunged for it. Allison leapt high, pounding her knee under his chin, breaking bone and teeth. The man staggered back. Allison spun and slammed the side of her fist against his jaw, knocking him backward and off his feet, straight to his back, looking up at the sky. The other Protector—Komi—stared down at him, eyes wide, lips parting in shock.

  “Hey Komi,” Allison said, gesturing for her to come forward. No need for strategy with this one. Komi was gaping at Allison, backpedaling slowly, fear in her eyes. “Come here! I’m gonna shove that knife up your ass!”

  A yellow swirl of movement flickered across the crushed gravel and a man appeared as if conjured out of the air, standing behind Komi. She swiveled her head to see who it was and then her head was gone, cleanly severed just above the jawline. She slumped to the ground, blood fountaining over Tripoli’s brother who churned up clouds of dust as he scrambled to his feet. The man stretched out his grossly engorged neck, and like a python swallowing a wild pig, the woman’s head slid down his throat. Slowly, he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his yellow rain slicker and smiled down at the corpse death twitching at his feet, his long bloody teeth triangular and serrated, like a shark’s.

  A Numbered One, Allison realized, staring in shock, barely hearing the panicked screams to her back. Why had it killed the Protector? Why wouldn’t it? a voice in her head quickly responded. The Numbered Ones were Lofton’s creations and the Protectors were as much Lofton’s enemies as they were Felix’s. The Protectors killed all Sourcerors. But what was a Numbered One doing here? Who was doing the ambushing? Who had sent the text? Was it the Protectors? Or someone else? She threw a glance behind her to see if there was anywhere they could run and flashes of blue and orange and red streaked overhead and all around, as if the shadows cast from the machinery had come to life and garbed themselves in color. They seemed to be everywhere all at once, darting from place to place, making little thumping sounds, like the release of compressed air from a canister. Then they stopped in unison as if they’d carefully choreographed their arrival and Allison understood the true nature of the shadows. A great host of Numbered Ones had assembled around the corpse, staring down at it, grinning and running their fingers over their mouths.

  How many were there? Ten? Fifteen? Allison ticked them off in her head and landed on twelve, studying them, part of her still not believing what she was seeing, what her mind was registering. The creatures weren’t much taller than Allison and on the thin side, not physically imposing. Their hair was short and dark and their skin held a little color, like desert sand. They all looked the same, just like Felix had told her, except for their clothes, which ranged from bright and wintry to staid and formal, and a few wore sweats and gym shorts. It appeared to her they had found their clothing in a landfill. Everything else Felix had told her came rushing into her mind: they were inhumanly fast and strong and their mouths were like bear traps; they controlled their victims with their eyes, and if you gazed into them you’d be dead in seconds; and two of those things had almost killed Felix. Two. There were at least a dozen here now.

  “Stay put,” Allison whispered to her friends. “Don’t run. Don’t look at their eyes.” They’d gone quiet now, too scared to scream or run. Their situation had changed, Allison realized. These things were not people. They were something else entirely, and Allison knew their survival depended on Felix. Now she needed her safety net, but where was he?

  Tripoli’s brother was limping away, clutching a hand to his damaged face, trying to escape to the road beyond the sagging and vandalized perimeter fence. A Numbered One appeared and threw him to the ground, effortlessly, holding him fast with a white orthopedic shoe pressed to the back of his neck, the soil sticking to his blood-smeared face like a coating of bread crumbs.

  Three Numbered Ones approached Allison, walking slowly, speaking to each other in low voices, smiling. Allison averted her eyes, reminding her friends to do the same. “Can we eat them?” one asked eagerly, and with fear rising up in her throat, Allison watched drool patter down on its black leather shoes, streaking the sides through a film of dust. Come on, Felix. Get your ass here now.

  “No!” a voice yelled angrily, the one with the yellow coat. “Not until the other arrives.”

  The other? Allison thought hopefully. Felix? Were they waiting for Felix?

  “We’re hungry, Number Fourteen,” it pleaded, flicking out its tongue and clicking its teeth together.

  “Very well,” Number Fourteen said blithely, as though it was bored, coming closer to get a better look at Allison who was holding her arms out to her sides to shield her friends. Please God no, Allison thought desperately and looked again to the gate. Where are you Felix? She swallowed down her terror and raised her eyes, ready to face the creatures. If they were going to die, they would have to get through her first.

  Number Fourteen stopped. “Eat them.” It flapped a disinterested hand at the Protectors to its back and the Numbered Ones howled in celebration of Number Fourteen’s acquiescence, chilling the marrow in Allison’s bones. Then they were on the Protectors, swarming them. Allison told her friends to look away, yet she kept her gaze steady, watching with grim fascination as they mutilated Tripoli’s brother, ripping apart flesh and breaking off bone, his horrible cries only subsiding once they had wrenched off his limbs. Komi, already dead, was simply eaten. When the creatures were finished—how long did it take? seconds? minutes?—they carried away the shredded ribbons of clothing and swept fresh dirt over the blood-soaked ground.

  Number Fourteen paced before them, chuckling, its yellow coat hanging stiffly from its shoulders. “But,” it said, stopping, and Allison could feel its predatory eyes on her, “we can’t eat the bait before the fish arrives.”

  So it was Felix they were after, Allison understood, relief washing over her. She had never imagined the prospect of being monster bait could be so thrilling, but now she knew the Numbered Ones would let them live until Felix arrived. Then her sudden hopefulness dissolved just as quickly as it arose as her thoughts turned to Felix. There were creatures crawling all over the quarry, and just two, she reminded herself, had nearly killed Felix in the forest.

  Allison looked over her shoulder at her friends and said in a whisper, “They want Felix. Keep your eyes on the ground and stay here. Don’t move.” She noticed Harper was sobbing softly and added, “It’s going to be okay. We’re not going to die today. Felix will be here soon.” She wasn’t sure if she believed her own words, but she couldn’t allow them to panic, and Harper looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

  Lucas raised his doubtful eyes to Allison’s, his lower lip trembling in fear. “What’s Felix going to do? They’re…monsters.”

  “Have faith,” Allison answered and stared off at the gate in the distance. She closed her eyes for a moment, and in her mind, she could see Felix, rows of boarded up houses flying by him, feet eating up great chunks of asphalt. He was close. She could feel it. An almost imperceptible smile played at her lips. “Felix is coming.”

  ***

  Felix sprinted through the gate and between the foreboding eyes of the silos standing guard like ever watchful sentinels. The ash-colored landscape stretched out to the horizon, a giant dust bowl carved from the otherwise flat terrain like a fresh carton of ice cream with a single spoonful scooped out of the center. To the south and north, the quarry had been blasted in a series of pyramid
-shaped steps, each formerly reachable by zigzagging dirt roads that had eroded and crumbled, leaving tumbles of rock and soil at their base. Felix couldn’t see where it ended to the west, his view obscured by rows of towering contraptions looming over outbuildings and smaller, squatter machinery, like the skyline of a city long abandoned and given up to rust and dirt. This was a trap. He knew that. The Faceman had ambushed him in no-man’s-land at the house rented by Quinn, the tabloid reporter who’d stalked Lucas all last semester, and he’d done it by hacking his phone—just like now. The similarities were impossible to ignore, but he had no way of knowing if his friends were here or not—they weren’t answering their phones and he didn’t have time to run back to campus. And even though he knew this was a trap, he didn’t know who was setting it—the Protectors? another of Lofton’s testers?—and if his friends were actually here, it meant they were being used as pawns, so he had no choice but to walk right into it. A dark vehicle came into view. He recognized his Wrangler immediately and his nerves coiled, heightening his senses. He’d left his keys on his desk and Allison and Lucas knew where he’d parked it. Of course it could have been hot wired and stolen, his friends still sleeping off their hangovers in Downey with their phones turned off.

  Then he saw them. Allison stood out in front, flagging him down, and behind her, Caitlin, Lucas and Harper were huddled so closely together it looked like they were sharing a tri-colored coat. He felt relief at first. They’re alive! Then fear. What are they doing here? Why aren’t they at the dorm? He slowed, glancing around, looking for signs of the ambush. The landscape was strange and foreign, like the surface of an alien planet, and the machines and contraptions, whose purpose was a complete mystery to him, were excellent hiding places, providing more than enough cover for whoever might be waiting for him. Allison was shouting something. He held his breath and listened—he’d sprinted for miles and wasn’t at all winded—and thought he heard the word “trap.” He ran ahead, unimpeded, his mind racing faster than his legs. Nearing a dilapidated building beside his car, he slowed to a walk and called out, “Hey! You guys okay?”

  “Numbered Ones!” Allison shouted back quickly.

  Numbered Ones? he thought, startled. How could there be Numbered Ones out—

  “Good morning,” a voice off to his left said pleasantly.

  It emerged from behind the building, wearing a yellow coat and a satisfied grin on its androgynous face. Two more appeared, just like that, as if they’d teleported, following alongside the first. Cautiously, Felix turned his head. Three more to the right, standing next to a machine that looked like it may have been used for sifting boulders. Another pair made their appearance, slapping their hands on the hood of his Wrangler, tracing their fingernails as they went, leaving deep scars through paint and steel. The conveyors in the distance groaned and rocks tumbled from their belts, crashing to the ground. Felix looked up. Numbered Ones were leaping from the conveyors and swinging along the crisscrossed undercarriages, thumping down softly in the dirt when they landed. They rushed Felix, encircling him. Then they waited there, smiling, licking their mouths.

  In total, Felix realized, a cold fear coiling around his insides, there were at least eleven, and possibly more if there were others staying hidden in this industrial wasteland. What were they doing here? As far as he knew, they’d only killed in Ashfield Forest. So why here? Why now? Why me?

  “Run Felix! Run!” Harper screamed at him.

  Allison said something to her in a low voice and she went quiet.

  Lofton knows I’m the Belus, Felix thought suddenly, and a terrible fear gripped his consciousness. That’s why his creatures were here. Lofton had discovered who he was and had dispatched the Numbered Ones to kill him and erase the threat. And after Lofton’s creatures killed him, they would go after his friends. Lofton had used them to lure Felix to the quarry, and now that the deed was done and their usefulness extinguished, Lofton had no further need of them. His friends would all die simply because of opportunity and expediency. They would all die because of him.

  Felix’s mind filled with rage. His war with Lofton had now spilled over to the people he cared about most. He’d hoped to avoid it, to somehow keep them clear of this madness, but now here it was, staring him in the face, and he was left with only one option: save them. But he couldn’t do it alone. He looked over at Allison, out front and shielding their friends, and remembered the last time he saw her, playing a game of foosball at the party, giving him a smile with a look in her eye that said more than words could ever communicate. He needed her now more than ever before, and he knew words wouldn’t be necessary.

  Felix’s eyes met Allison’s and he gave her a quick nod, a silent, desperate plea to protect their friends. Her green eyes flared before narrowing in a battle stare and she nodded back, curling her hands into fists. She understood.

  “I have to say,” the Numbered One in the yellow coat began casually, “nothing tastes quite so divine as a Protector.” It smiled at Felix, and Felix glanced around, wondering what it was talking about. He hadn’t seen any Protectors. “But I can smell your fear from here, and fear has its own flavor, which is why I’m going to pick you apart piece by piece, savoring your fragrance.”

  “What are we waiting for, Number Fourteen?” one of the others asked impatiently, crouching as if ready to pounce. “He’s here. Let’s feed.”

  Felix looked into the slate gray eyes of Number Fourteen, holding them in his gaze.

  “Come here!” Number Fourteen commanded confidently.

  Felix knew it wouldn’t be able to control him with its eyes. He didn’t know how he knew—he just did. He wasn’t like Bill. The creature couldn’t utter a command and mesmerize him into mindlessly obeying it. The idea that this monster—Number Fourteen—thought he was like Bill and everyone else made him angry. I am not like everyone else.

  “I don’t think so,” Felix responded. He felt perfectly centered, his stomach hard and heavy, his limbs charged with energy, his fingers tingling.

  Number Fourteen cocked its head in confusion. “Come here child! I’m going to pick your bones clean.”

  Felix felt his mouth curling up in a smile. He raised his right hand and spoke very slowly. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

  With a thought, Felix yanked Number Fourteen off its feet and sent it rocketing against the side of the building where it broke through the siding and disappeared inside the broken shell of a structure. The others squinted their eyes in astonishment, turning to look at the gaping gash in the exterior.

  From the underside of one of the huge washing barrels, Felix focused his mind and snapped off a steel bar, speeding it toward him and over the head of a Numbered One clothed in a double breasted forest green blazer, easing it in to the palm of his left hand. He curled his fingers around it, cold and gritted with rust, four feet long, and at the end where it had broken off from the barrel, as sharp and jagged as an axe. He tested his makeshift warhammer, and though his hand guided it, it was his mind that controlled it. Do not underestimate them, he reminded himself, raising his right hand to his shoulder. He drew in a single deep breath and didn’t have time to let it out.

  Felix’s hammer swept aside the Numbered Ones storming from the front, crushing bone and ripping apart a creature wearing a vintage bomber jacket. Swarmed from behind, he pushed with his mind, and his ears picked up the hollow thudding sounds of bodies colliding against empty silos. A sharp pain lanced through his neck as he swung his hammer, bringing it down on a lunging head, blending the contents of its skull into the crushed gravel at his feet. Jaws snapped down on his forearm and he forced them open with a thought, holding the creature still while he swung his axe through its face, sending its lifeless body toppling over another that lay on the ground. A hand groped for his hammer, wrapping its fingers near his own. He whipped it around and the Numbered One lost its grip, flipping and tumbling past the Jeep before landing on its feet, and without hesitation, rejoined the battle. Felix whirled and the crea
tures jumped back, avoiding his onslaught. From high above, Felix glimpsed a flash of movement. He caught the leaping Numbered One and held it in place, imagining its back shattering into a million pieces. It let out a terrible screech, and blood, thick and black as oil, burst from its mouth as Felix released it, letting the corpse crash down in the dirt. Teeth ripped into his lower leg and he flinched in pain, stabbing down with his weapon at a monster that had scampered to him on all fours, driving it through its eye, staking its skull into the trampled earth.

  A scream rippled through the chaos and Felix turned his eyes toward it.

  Allison was on one knee, steadying herself against a rusted machine, while Number Fourteen bounded toward Lucas. Allison made a dash and grabbed its hood, jerking it off balance and landing a vicious kick to the side of its head. It snarled furiously and pounced on Allison’s chest, knocking her down, gnashing its teeth.

  Felix’s heart filled with terror and he abandoned all thoughts of the melee, starting for Allison. Two steps in her direction and he was brought down from behind, driven into the ground, his cheek skidding across a patch of coarse gravel. He rolled to his stomach. Teeth rushed for his face and he stopped the creature’s mouth. An eruption of pain exploded down his leg and he swung his left arm before realizing his hammer was gone. A mouthful of razors sliced through his chest and he felt the pressure of immeasurably strong jaws clamping down on his ribs. His body was jostled and his head twisted to the side, Allison now in his line of sight. Number Fourteen was mounting her, her arm held to its mouth, its eyes on Felix, licking its lips.

  “Leave her alone!” Felix bellowed. He tried to push the creatures away and everything felt wrong. His arms were weak and limp, useless, his connection to the Source fraying in his panic.