Frankenstorm

by Ray Garton

  Fara’s eyes wandered in the direction of nothing in particular as she slowly nodded her head. She seemed to drift away for a moment, then turned back to Corcoran.

  “Yes, you’re right. I’ve got a lot to make up for, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ollie walked in before Fara could answer. He went to Fara’s desk, turned around, and leaned his ass on the front edge. He pointed his gun at Corcoran, then turned it on Fara, then back to Corcoran.

  “I want answers from you two,” he said. “This project, this whole thing, with your human test subjects and everything, this is for the government? The military? It’s Uncle Sam–approved, and everything?”

  Corcoran looked down his nose at Ollie with unconcealed disdain. “I have no obligation to explain any of this to you or—”

  Ollie pressed the barrel of his gun to the corner of Corcoran’s left eye. “I got your obligation right here. Don’t fuck with me, pal. I will shoot you. We came here with the idea that everybody other than the people we came for was expendable, just in the way. Now I’ve found a use for you, so you’d better take advantage of it. Answer the fucking question.”

  Corcoran licked his lips. “The work we’re doing here is for Vendon Labs.”

  “Vendon Labs is a government contractor, don’t bullshit me. This work is for the government, yes?”

  “Yes, it is,” Fara said, “of course it is. We’re developing a biological weapon for the military. A virus. I told you that already.”

  “I’d like to hear him say it,” Ollie said.

  A sudden explosion of sound and movement in the dark made everyone jump. A figure ran into the office through the open door shrieking, jumped in the air, and latched on to Corcoran’s back. Corcoran released a ragged yelp as he went down, hitting the floor with a grunt.

  Fara screamed as she lunged from the couch and hurried to Emilio’s side in the corner. Emilio stood so suddenly that he knocked his chair over as he shouted a string of obscenities.

  The figure was a skinny man with a shaved head, wearing a bloodstained hospital gown. Blood was spattered and smeared on his bare arms and legs, too. He straddled Corcoran’s prone body and began repeatedly punching the back of his head.

  28

  “I’m making cookies for the kids,” Rosie said as she led Latrice into the kitchen.

  It was a beautiful kitchen. The floor, walls, and countertops were all tiled in a mottled tan and brown. There was a big sub-zero refrigerator built into the wall with a shiny stainless-steel door, dark wood cabinets. But it was a slovenly mess. Dirty dishes, pots, and pans filled both sides of the sink and covered most of the counter space. Spilled food littered the floor, along with a couple of children’s toys, some pet toys, and scattered bits of dry pet food. An archway opened onto a dining area, but it was dark in there. On the floor in the archway was what looked to Latrice like a dog turd. She was grateful that cookies were baking. The delicious aroma probably covered other smells.

  “I got hot coffee, if you want,” Rosie said. “And we got lotsa booze.”

  “Coffee would be nice.” Latrice wanted to see if Rosie could find a clean cup.

  Rosie opened one of the cupboards. It was empty except for three lonely coffee mugs. “You want cream? Sugar? Or just black?” She took in a sharp breath and turned to Latrice with big eyes. “Um . . . no offense.”

  Latrice surprised herself by laughing. “No offense taken.”

  “Oh, good.” She poured coffee into the mug. “I just never know what’s supposed to be offensive anymore.” Rosie was so jittery that she spilled some of the coffee as she handed the mug to her. “You’re lucky to be here tonight, you wanna know the truth. The storm’s knockin’ the power out all over the place, but Giff’s got a great big generator. We got all the power we need. Where you from?”

  “Sacramento. I was planning to drive back tonight, but—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t wanna do that. The hurricane’s coming tonight. They screwed up. Or the hurricane got faster. Something. You might get stuck here for the night.”

  Latrice could not conceal her chagrin.

  “Oh, that’s okay, we got room. It don’t look like it from the front, but this is a big-ass house. Giff’s dad, Hank, had it built a long time ago. Hank’s gone now, though. I mean, he’s not dead. Well . . . not that anybody knows for sure. See, Giff’s dad is kind of, you know, mentally unhinged because he’s been doing drugs for so long, and years ago, he went off and decided to be a homeless bum. Lives in the woods, eats at homeless shelters. Only now, nobody knows where he is, ’cause he’s disappeared, like a bunch of other homeless people. Giff thinks they’re being experimented on in the old mental hospital, but only because he listens to a crazy fuckin’ show on the Internet.”

  Rosie seemed to be a sweet girl under all those meth symptoms, but she had a harsh voice and Latrice found herself unable to keep up with her chatter. She sipped her coffee and turned down the volume on Rosie’s voice.

  She couldn’t be stuck here for the night. But she knew Giff might never get in touch with Leland. Latrice had the sinking feeling she would be going home empty-handed.

  “—want some of these cookies, Latrice?”

  She was startled out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Cookies are almost done. Want some?”

  They smelled delicious and Latrice was hungry, but she’d decided she could not stay. If she got out of there right away, maybe she could beat the hurricane. She couldn’t take Highway 101, though, because it ran along the coast. There was another route that would take her to Redding and she could catch Interstate 5 from there, but she didn’t know what that route was. She’d have to Google it. But she could do that in the car.

  Before she could respond to Rosie, an explosive crash made the entire house rattle.

  Latrice and Rosie stared at each other a moment, paralyzed by the shock. Rosie shouted, “What the fuck?” and ran out of the kitchen.

  As Latrice followed, she heard excited voices ahead.

  Giff shouted, “Sounded like somebody drove into the goddamned house!”

  When Latrice got to the living room, it was empty. Rosie was looking out the front door, struggling to hold on to it as powerful wind pounded into the house. She leaned out of the door for a moment, then came inside and shoved it closed against the wind.

  “Goddamn, somebody drove a Jeep into the corner of the house!” she said.

  Two gunshots cracked outside, then someone shouted, and the shouting got louder until the door flew open and Giff stumbled in.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he was shouting, “he shot me! Dad fucking shot me!” He had not put on a coat and his clothes were soaked. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side as he grabbed the door with his right hand and tried to close it.

  “It’s your dad?” Rosie said.

  “He shot Jimmy! In the head! ”

  Giff almost had the door closed when it was shoved from the outside.

  “Open this door, you cocksucker!” It was a man’s voice on the other side of the door.

  Giff threw himself against the door and slammed it shut.

  The gun fired again and Giff hit the floor, frantically crawling away from the door.

  It flew open again and an old man dressed in black, with a pale, shaved head, burst into the house, shouting and shooting.

  29

  Andy could not remember ever being so afraid. He and Donny huddled together in the backseat of Ram’s police car, peering out the window at Jodi’s house after hearing gunshots and screams. The wind assaulted the car, which bounced on its shocks under the force of the storm.

  “What’s he doing in there, Dad?” Donny whispered.

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  Another gunshot was accompanied by a brief flash in the dark front window.

  Andy’s palms were wet, his hands were shaking, his mouth was dry, and he felt nauseated. Somewhere in the
back halls of his mind, his mother called for him to come take his medicine, and his hands clenched into fists.

  “I need you to stay right here in the car, Donny,” he said.

  “You’re going in there?”

  “I have to. Your mom’s in there and we want to make sure she’s okay, right? Don’t we?”

  Donny nodded, but his frown did not support the gesture. “But what do I do if you get shot?”

  “Ram is—that police officer is a friend of mine, he won’t shoot me.”

  “What about Vic and Anton and them guys? They’ll shoot anybody.”

  “Just stay right here, Donny. I won’t be long. I just want to make sure that—well, just stay right here and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He gave Donny a tight hug, then ignored his own fear and opened the door. The wind snatched it from his grasp and swept it open wide. Andy got out, closed the door, then ducked his head, leaned into the wind, and went up the front path, up the porch steps to the door.

  His heart throbbed in his throat, choking him with each beat.

  You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all this stress!

  He clenched his eyes shut against the sound of his mother’s voice.

  You’re fine, he told himself. There’s nothing wrong with you. There would be something wrong with you if you weren’t afraid right now.

  He went into the house.

  Once he closed the door against the bullying wind, he stood in the dark and listened.

  The house seemed eerily silent after the music that had pounded so loudly earlier. Through the howling of the wind, he heard a voice speaking quietly, but angrily. It sounded like Ram.

  He moved to the archway to the left and looked into the living room. There was a small sphere of light at the other end of the room, but before Andy focused on that, his eyes paused over the still shapes in the dark. Three were on the floor, shapes of deeper darkness within the darkness. Another was half-sprawled on the couch and another lay on the floor beside the couch. Still another was slumped in a chair.

  Andy’s eyes moved to the light and saw Ram on his knees, shining his flashlight into Anton’s face. Anton was sitting on the floor with his back against an ottoman that had been shoved against the wall. Blood glistened on his face. Ram straddled Anton’s outstretched legs and held the flashlight in his left hand. In his right, he pressed the barrel of his gun to Anton’s cheekbone. He was speaking to him in a low, breathy voice, but angrily, sometimes spitting as he talked.

  Andy gulped and tried to stir up some saliva in his mouth. He said, “Ram?”

  Ram moved with frightening speed as he rose to his feet and turned around, aiming his gun at Andy.

  “Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Andy said, raising both hands.

  “Oh, Andy,” he said, smiling as he lowered the gun. He turned to Anton again and kicked him hard in the face. Anton’s upper body flew sideways and hit the floor. After that, he remained still.

  Ram came to Andy, stepping over the bodies on the floor. His left arm swung at his side, sending the flashlight’s beam sliding wildly across the floor and onto the walls.

  “Did I lose track of time?” he said. “I do that sometimes.”

  “Whuh-what, uh . . . what are you doing?”

  Ram frowned. “Doing? What I told you I was going to do. Set things straight. Make sure you got custody of your son.” He sounded defensive and a little offended. The he added, with a smile, “And hey, I did the world a few favors in the process. These people? Scum. All of them. Your ex-wife was hanging out with some bad people, Andy, bad people. Drug dealers, pimps. Niggers! And she was exposing your son to all of it.”

  “Where . . . where is she?”

  He lifted the flashlight at his side and pointed it at the couch.

  The beam fell on Jodi, who lay with her upper body on the couch, legs hanging off to the side, feet resting on Vic’s head. Jodi’s cheek rested on her right arm, which was extended across the cushion. Her eyes were open and seemed to bulge from their sockets. A strip of glistening red started at her nostrils and covered most of her mouth, chin, and right cheek. There was a black hole nearly centered in her forehead.

  Andy’s lungs turned to ice and he could not inhale or exhale. He could not move his limbs. Even his eyes would not move from Jodi’s corpse.

  She’d served him corned beef and hash the first time they met. She had cried when she’d confessed to him that she was a drug addict, fully expecting that to be the end of their relationship. She’d cried and laughed at the same time when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d wailed in agony and delight as he watched Donny come out of her. He’d seen her at her best and worst and everything in between, and during the years she’d managed to stay away from drugs, she’d been the best wife anybody could hope for, the best lover and mother and friend.

  Now her dead eyes stared at him in the beam of a flashlight because he had sent Ram to kill her.

  But he hadn’t! He never would have gone along with it if he’d known Ram’s intentions. How could he have known the man would turn it into a mass killing? How could he have known?

  Hey, mommy’s boy!

  Then his lungs of ice shattered and he gasped for air as he rushed to the couch, arms outstretched, saying in a high wail, “Jesus Christ, what did you do?” He dropped to his knees beside Jodi, reached both hands out to touch her, but he couldn’t do it. His trembling hands stopped a fraction of an inch from her body, then pulled away. He turned to find Ram towering over him, the light on his face.

  “You changed your mind about her, did you?” Ram said. “Since we last spoke? Huh?”

  “Changed my—”

  “Because you came to me, remember. You came to me with that story about how your wife was endangering your son. Isn’t that right? Am I misremembering that?”

  “No, no, you’re not, buh-but I-I-I didn’t want to—”

  Ram hunkered down and leaned his forearms on his spread knees, hands dangling between them, the flashlight’s glow coming up from the floor. He leaned close to Andy and whispered, “You can’t let the cunts get away with that. You just can’t, Andy, because if you do, they’ll just keep it up. And in the process, they fuck up the kids. I see it again and again.”

  Andy felt like he was sinking. Like the floor—even the earth under the floor—was dissolving and he was sinking down into the kind of nightmare from which it is impossible to wake up.

  “But the whole world’s against you, Andy. The laws, the courts—everything’s against you. Because this country’s turned into one big, fat, stinking vagina.”

  Andy thought of all the times he’d seen Ram with his family—a lovely, plump, blond wife, two blond kids, a boy and a girl—in town shopping, or sitting in a restaurant, or coming out of their church on Sunday as Andy drove by. While Ram might no longer have his youthful good looks, they made a handsome family, the kind of family you might see in a travel brochure, or in a prescription drug commercial. But the Ram Andy had known did not fit into that picture, so each time he saw them, Andy had told himself that Ram probably was a rotten husband and a nightmare of a father, that he probably cheated on his wife and treated her like a slave, and took all of his problems out on his kids.

  “So you gotta look out for yourself. I’m tellin’ ya, Andy, you gotta. Nobody else is gonna look out for you. Unless you happen to be one of those lucky few who has a friend . . . a real friend . . . who has your back. I was trying to be that kind of friend, Andy.”

  All it had taken to change Andy’s mind was that single, brief meeting with Ram in the courthouse. That had convinced him that Ram the hateful, sadistic boy had grown into a responsible man. Ram was so friendly and genuine, he’d made Andy want that to be true. He wanted to believe that the monster of his youth had been melted down into a decent, friendly human being.

  But Andy had been right the first time.

  “I wanted to be the kind of friend who would look out for you. To . . . well, like I said .
. . to make up for the way I treated you in school.” He rose up to his full height again, extended his arm, elbow locked, and held his gun a couple of inches from the top of Andy’s head. He shouted at the top of his voice, “Are you tellin’ me I made a fuckin’ mistake?” The corners of his mouth were pulled down and he glared at Andy.

  Hey, mommy’s boy!

  Andy’s mind, barely coherent, babbled at him: Go along just tell him go along what he wants to hear go along with whatever he says!

  “No, Ram, no, no, no.” He repeated the word “no” quietly, over and over, as he slowly got to his feet, holding up his left hand, palm out. “No, you didn’t. I’m, I’m—” For a moment, the words caught in the soft, moist tissue of his throat like shards of glass. He coughed once. “Grateful, really, I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  Ram slowly lowered his gun. He seemed confused by Andy’s response. “Uh, no. They didn’t hurt me.”

  “Good, I’m glad. We were worried.”

  He frowned. “We?”

  “Donny and me. Out in the car. We heard the gunshots and we were worried.”

  “About . . . me?”

  “Yeah. Donny’s still out there and the storm’s getting worse. Don’t you think we should get out of here?”

  Ram thought about that for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, we should go. We should. It wouldn’t be good to stick around here.” Still nodding, he said, “Hang on just a second.”

  Ram turned and walked back over to Anton, who still lay on his side, unmoving. Pointing his gun at Anton’s head, arm rigidly extended downward, Ram leaned forward slightly and fired. Then again. He stood upright and turned to Andy.

  “This was a good thing we did here tonight.”

  Jesus Christ, we?

  Andy wondered vaguely if Ram had always been like this, or if something had triggered it. If he did this sort of thing with any regularity, it seemed he would get caught. He had killed everyone in the room—did he expect to simply walk away and be free of any consequences? As a cop, he should know better. He didn’t seem to care if he got away with it or not. He didn’t even seem to be considering that.