Impact (Book 1): Regenesis

by Harrison Pierce

  Michael lowered the volume and studied his sister’s reaction. Their grandmother looked over at Michael and asked what was wrong.

  He shook his head and asked Jessica, “How much longer do we all have?”

  She only gave him a perplexed look and asked what he meant.

  “Never mind,” he sighed.

  Their grandmother shrugged and returned to her games while Michael turned the news back up. Jessica however ran a new search on REFOIA for information related to the assassination of Tony Winchester. The article was brief and only mentioned the assumption all officials held that Drake Winchester killed his own father, though the idea had since been rebuked. It also had the security feed of the incident, which Jessica reluctantly watched, though she retreated back into her bedroom before she played the video. She ran a search for Regenesis through the site once she finished the video, but only a one sentence blip existed, stating the drug was in process at Winchester Enterprises, though it had since been abandoned nearly a decade ago.

  ---*---

  11:59 PM

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Mia sat alone on a bench in the Capitol Hill Park, just as she was instructed to by the unknown caller who claimed he could help her with the investigation. She had her hesitations and didn’t consider the offer until the message was repainted on the phone booth outside her home. The park was pitch black, solely illuminated by a few lamps throughout the park. One stood nearby and didn’t help her see through the shadows for the caller. Every sound set her on edge, from a squirrel rustling through the branches of a nearby tree, to a sudden crow that flew overhead. At that moment Mia wished she had told Bryce about the meeting and brought him as backup.

  The lamp nearby went out suddenly and a stranger emerged from the dark behind her and in a fluid motion took a seat beside her and told her to remain calm. The man beside her wore rags, which included a stained and well-worn halfway zipped hoodie over an equally soiled tee-shirt. He also wore dark cargo pants, tattered leather gloves on his hands, a pair of shabby black combat boots, and he kept a frayed and torn blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The figure kept his hood up and hid his unkempt face.

  “Who are you?”

  The man didn’t answer. “Have you heard about the grave robberies?”

  “Yes. Was it Cladis who–”

  “He removed the bodies at some point yes, but he wasn’t behind unearthing and desecrating the gravesites.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is that Cladis didn’t dig those coffins out of the earth,” he told her. “I did.”

  “You? Why the hell would you–”

  “I had to be sure your hunch was right.”

  She looked and him and asked how he knew about her theory.

  “I may or may not break into your apartment on a regular basis to check up on your progress in the case,” he admitted.

  Mia swore and asked who he was.

  The man didn’t answer her. He remained silent, as if he wasn’t even there, but miles away. After a single crow flew past he relaxed slightly and continued, though he ignored her query, “Who were the last two victims?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Not now.”

  “No, who are you?”

  “Just trust me. Who were the last two victims in the investigation?”

  Mia let out a breath and told him, “Joaquin Hernandez and Danielle McMinn.”

  “What else?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What else do you know about them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How do you expect to solve this mystery on names alone?” The stranger retrieved a folded pile of papers and tossed it on her lap. “Joaquin Hernandez, male, aged forty-five, A negative blood, and widowed at the age of thirty-three; his wife killed herself and left him with three little ones. Hernandez worked at that department store he died in since he was fifteen. I never found anything that would have led me to know what his ability could have been, which means there’s a chance he never found it out himself.”

  The stranger tapped the sheets he’d given Mia and told her to read on. She opened the pages and found a detailed list of the victims, in order, with everything written down from age to their weight claimed on their driver’s license (assuming they had one). Mia found the entry for Danielle McMinn and read aloud, “Danielle McMinn, female, eighteen, B negative blood, and single. McMinn was a new hire at the department store Hernandez worked at and was killed in, though the two worked in different areas of the store and most likely never met, as she was hired a day before Hernandez was killed. Also, as McMinn only had less than twenty-four hours to discover her ability, she most likely failed to recognize what it was.”

  The stranger told her, “That’s the level of detail you’re going to need to have, at the very least, if you really do want to solve this case. And to be honest, even that’s a poor excuse for information on a case this complex.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  The man suddenly shot a glare behind them into the darkness.

  Mia looked back but didn’t see anything. “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer her. “We have a slight window of opportunity right now,” he said. “There was only a twenty-four hour window of time for the fifteenth victim to meet the sixteenth. Couple that with the remaining seven days we have to find whoever the sixteenth casualty will be before it’s too late, and it’s actually a bit of a break when you consider the average length between deaths is five days.”

  “That isn’t very much time though,” Mia reminded him. “It’s actually impossible, considering where she worked she probably had contact with dozens, if not hundreds of people.”

  The ragged man said it wasn’t impossible at all. “There’s something else I needed to tell you.” He stole the list back and turned to the first page again and showed her a series of letters written in red pen. “This is the blood pattern Cladis is following.”

  Mia looked at it and asked what he meant.

  “I mean that each and every one of Cladis’ targets follow one after the other in a pattern that is also driven by the type of blood each person has. It begins with O positive, then continues through A positive, B positive, AB positive, and all the way down as I’ve written it to AB negative. Mind you, it starts from the most common blood group and ends with the rarest group based on the worldwide average.”

  She crosschecked his claim with the list of victims and discovered he was right. “How did you figure this out?” she asked him. “No one else has, how is it that someone from the streets managed to stumble across this?”

  “I’m not an informant if that’s what you think I am,” the ragged man told her, (although he stopped and realized that he was informing her about the investigation, but disregarded his comment). “I’m on your side Mia, through all of this.”

  “Who are you though?”

  He apologized and told her that they needed to leave. “I’ll contact you in a few–”

  The man stopped midsentence when a single crow landed on the walkway in front of them. He didn’t say a word, but looked intently at the bird until it flew away.

  “We need to leave Mia.”

  “What are–”

  “I didn’t expect to encounter anyone else here, but I was wrong.”

  “Who is it?”

  “The Delta,” he hissed.

  Mia’s heart raced as he urged her to leave, however she didn’t make it very far before a group of four men shouted at her from a far. She glanced around but couldn’t find her contact.

  One of the members of the Delta caught up to her and asked where she was off to in such a hurry. “You must be lookin’ for a good time, right baby?”

  “No, please, I was just leaving.”

  “Well where are you going to? Maybe one of us could give you a ride,” one of the men said with a chuckle.

  Another man mentioned a party they could show her. “It�
�s loads of fun, lots of people, lots of girls, plenty of good times too.”

  “No thanks.”

  Mia tried to break away from the gang but one of the members grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. “How about we take you there and let you experience it before you shut us down, alright?”

  “Leave her alone, now.”

  The group turned and found the ragged, homeless man Mia spoke with just before the Delta appeared. He stood, slightly hunched over, but unwavering. The man repeated his order and demanded they free her. “I will only say this once more, release her alone and never return or I will take her from you.”

  Mia shook where she stood when she heard him speak. His voice was deeper, much deeper than it was moments earlier, and the man sounded absolute in his promise to harm the four men. However the Delta didn’t heed his warning. Three of the men stepped forward while one remained back and held Mia tightly. Two of the three members of the Delta brandished switchblades and one retrieved a handgun and aimed for the man’s head.

  “Night night, you piece of–”

  The tattered man lunged at the gunman and tackled him to the ground before he could finish his sentence. The stranger rolled to his feet as the others ran after him, including the member who held Mia captive. She ran for cover to witness her contact brawl amid the Delta. Three of the men seemed to ambush him, but he reappeared behind the group out of nowhere. The stranger grabbed one of the men by his wrist, outstretched the man’s arm, and broke the man’s arm backwards at the elbow. He finished him off when he took the man by the head and drove his knee into the youth’s forehead.

  The gunman retrieved his weapon and fired two rounds into the homeless fellow, though neither bullet impeded his assault on the Delta. He weaved past two of the gang members to reach the gunman, kicked in his knee, broke his wrist when he seized the gun and swiftly jerked his hand so hard that it nearly turned halfway around. The wounded man fell to the ground and shrieked in horror and agony.

  As the last remaining members of the Delta attacked, the man vanished momentarily before he resurfaced behind them and bashed their skulls into one another.

  With all four men on the ground, unconscious, weeping, or worse, the stranger quickly found Mia and told her to leave. “Get home and stay safe.” His voice had returned to a calmer and softer tone, far from the threatening and almost animalistic growl it was earlier. “I’ll be in touch soon enough.”

  Mia didn’t voice a word of protest. She turned and ran back to her car outside of the park, all while she clutched the documents her strange new friend gave her. However she heard the sudden screeches and screams of the four young men who were wounded and didn’t dare imagine what the stranger had planned for them.

  ---*---

  September 12th, 2029

  8:15 AM

  Al-Jazirah area, Iraq

  “Are you sure he will be here?”

  “I am quite certain, Vladimir,” Pyotr told him.

  The two young men stood in the center of a long, desolate road. There wasn’t anything beyond sand and sparse shrubs for miles, with the exception of two slow-moving, dull tan objects off in the distance. The pale sky above only gave a hinted tint of blue, so faint Vladimir guessed water was a long journey away. Vladimir wore his usual dark brown khakis and a buttoned up shirt. Pyotr on the other hand wore a suit of armor of pure silver with gold trimming, his gauntlets, boots, and cape all matched, and in his hands rested a blade of pure silver.

  A small gust carried sand from the desert floor and partially obstructed their vision. Pyotr would have asked Vladimir to assist him next, but he was already a step ahead of him. Vladimir raised a single hand toward the heavens and within moments tumultuous clouds overshadowed the desert and poured rain over the area for miles.

  Pyotr thanked his friend with a smile. “Just so you are aware, those are tanks off in the distance.”

  “Why do they have tanks?”

  “Their hope is to spark a war with Syria and blame it on the local government, simply to add more contention to this already somewhat unstable region,” Pyotr reported.

  “Does he realize we are going to be here?”

  Pyotr shrugged. “He may. I wouldn’t put it past him, considering the level of knowledge he possesses about the two of us and our typical method of disrupting any of their chaotic plans.”

  “Then he is aware,” Vladimir muttered.

  “I would say so.”

  Vladimir only smirked and shook his head, “What on earth is he planning? Cecil must realize he has no hope of surviving this. We would never allow him to do something so dangerous. Why would he even come if he could continue to run as he’s done for so many years?”

  Pyotr let out a heavy breath and admitted that it wouldn’t matter if he did try to run. “His day has come my friend, even if he tried to escape now he’d simply meet another untimely fate.”

  “Then this is destiny?”

  Pyotr told him destiny didn’t exist. “Could I ask a question of you Vladimir?” Pyotr didn’t wait for a reply, “What have you learned thus far?”

  “In regards to what?”

  “I mean from your time in the States, what have you learned there?” he asked again.

  “Nothing,” Vladimir scoffed. “I still do not know why you told me to go back there.”

  “You will soon enough, my friend.”

  “Will I?” He rolled his eyes and muttered, “I have heard that promise before.”

  “You have,” Pyotr continued, “But I truly mean it. I cannot reveal everything to you now, but in time you will come to understand everything.”

  Vladimir let out a breath and rubbed his eyes. “Still, I do not understand why I am there, as I do not see any relevance to our overall goal.”

  Pyotr frowned. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about Rachel?”

  “What about her?” Vladimir spat. “I know who she is, but I do not see any reason why she matters.”

  Pyotr looked at him and said, “I would have thought you would have known by now.”

  “Known what?”

  “How do you think Jordan Wilder survived your assault?”

  Vladimir looked away and apologized, “I am truly sorry about that. I did not realize how out of line I had become. Although you have helped me manage most of the unseemly effects of my condition, I do, from time to time, begin to lapse.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Pyotr told him. “In all honesty it was a bit of an aid, seeing how it allowed Rachel access to her power.”

  Vladimir stopped him and repeated the words, “Her power?” He looked at Pyotr, “What do you mean by that?”

  Pyotr smiled, “You should ask her, not me.” Pyotr took a breath and turned back to the task at hand and said, “They’re here.”

  A pair of tanks slowly crept toward them. Two desert-tan tanks, American made, stolen, and armed with fifty-caliber rounds and one-hundred and twenty millimeter missiles. Neither Vladimir nor Pyotr moved; they simply watched closely as the tanks crawled forward.

  Vladimir managed to ask a few final queries before their conflict began. “Do you have any idea where Constantine is?”

  “Unfortunately I do not.”

  He frowned and asked, “He isn’t using his old name, is he?”

  “No, and it seems as though he has managed to learn some new tactics as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His usual patterns have all but vanished,” Pyotr told him. “I will often believe I’ve picked up the trail only to be led to a dead end.”

  “Then he is still aware of our pursuit,” Vladimir murmured.

  Pyotr nodded and reminded him, “I doubt he will ever forget about us.”

  “True.”

  The tanks arrived and stopped forty feet from the two of them. Vladimir asked whether Pyotr could tell if Cecil was present, which Pyotr managed to confirm.

  The hatch of the rear tank opened and a deathly pale ma
n emerged. His hair was white, as was his fine skin, and his eyes were soft and kind. He laughed softly when he saw the familiar duo, “I should have known it was you Vladimir.”

  “Obviously. Who else but Pyotr and I have hunted you and the rest of our dissenting comrades down over the years?”

  Cecil’s leisurely gaze fell upon Pyotr. He sighed quietly and dispassionately muttered, “And you brought the angel with you?”

  “Of course.”

  Cecil looked away from him and continued, “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you both this, but I have a war to start. Now, if you don’t mind standing aside, I need to hurry this along.”

  “You know we are not going to move Cecil,” Pyotr told him.

  “That is unfortunate.” Cecil looked back at him and asked, slightly unnerved, “Is there any way to kill an angel?” Pyotr never replied. Cecil then looked at the silver blade in Pyotr’s hands and asked, “Would that have the power to slay you?”

  Pyotr smirked and said it didn’t matter. “Whatever I would say to you would be wasted, as you are inches from your demise.”

  Cecil sneered, “Then maybe it can!”

  “Enough!” Pyotr snapped. He swung his blade forward and readied himself for the conflict. “Vladimir, it is time.”

  Cecil only rolled his eyes and mocked them, “Is there no more room for words?”

  “You have had years to reconsider your abominations you cur!”

  “So eager to spring into violence, Pyotr.” He shook his head and muttered, “You never changed.”

  Vladimir finally intervened and told Cecil, “Pyotr is right. You have been allotted more time than your crimes deserved. If you wish to concede now this could be much simpler and far less painful…” Vladimir studied Cecil and realized that his words were wasted, “But you have no intention of submitting here.”

  “No I do not.”

  “Do you earnestly believe you can overcome this?” Vladimir questioned him.

  “Well, even if I am meant to die here in this forsaken wasteland, perhaps I have the strength and luck to drag one of you down with me.”