by KC Klein
“Let’s talk?” I said. “We can make our way over to th siy over e hospital. Get you a nice warm shower and a hot meal.” And then whatever colored pill that would make you uncrazy.
In one quick move she pulled out her weapon, and I was staring down the barrel of a gun for the second time in my life.
“Don’t make me put a hole in your arm.”
But this time I wasn’t scared. Twisted logic traveled both ways on this mentally unstable freeway. “You wouldn’t shoot me. It would be like shooting yourself. And how stupid is that?”
Yeah, right back atcha, babe.
“I’ve lived through worse. The question is—have you?” Her voice back to command mode.
In that second I believed her. She oozed of hard core. But me? Nope, I didn’t do pain well. I slammed the door. “You’re crazy, Lady! Absolutely nuts. You belong in a padded room where they give you drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.”
She opened her car door and barreled toward me, gun waving. I froze, second-guessing my impeccable logic that she wasn’t going to kill me.
The gun cocked with a sickening click. She aimed, then shot the ground by my feet. I screamed, threw my arms over my head, and did the one-legged dance.
“I’ll give you a five-minute head start, and then I’m coming after you. And so help me God, if you’re not half way up the mountain, I’ll make you dig our grave, and I’ll put us both in there myself.”
Chapter Three
Both feet hit the ground in a clumsy sprint up the rocky path. After about five minutes, the death threat of oxygen deprivation and a gunshot to the arm were neck and neck.
I braced my hands on my knees and sucked wind. Blood started flowing to my brain again and rational thought returned. I’d been up this trail numerous times. I used to run this every other day after work, and I knew two things for sure: There was a parking lot on the other side of the mountain, and the mobile phone in my fanny pack was useless until I left the preserve. I just had to keep ahead of hecom^r . . . and pray she wouldn’t commit her suicide and my murder.
My breathing slowed to a more normal rate, and I continued up the trail at a less death-defying pace. The moon had set, but the stars were bright enough that I could make out the dirt trail and was able to avoid tripping over the majority of the rocks.
It was a few miles up the mountain and down to the other parking lot, so I settled in for long run. The landscape was in deep shadow, but I knew this place. This was home.
The desert was an acquired taste like that of strong coffee or an aged whiskey. Ancient cactus and enduring mesquite trees made their home in a hostile and thirsty ground. I had a sort of hard-earned respect for a land that held fast to the heat of the sun like a mother would her newborn baby. Because despite the cover of night, the temperature still kissed the nineties.
A tingling of goose bumps trailed along my arms, spreading to the thin skin over my skull. Endorphins flowed to my brain and aligned my thoughts like a completed puzzle. Either time travel was possible and everything my BBD said was true, or something way more plausible—I was off my rocker.
Yeah, there was no escaping; crazy ran strong along hereditary lines. Some families are bent. They’re just made that way. There are things a Freudian couch and a handful of antidepressants couldn’t fix—though a bottle of vodka usually made a damn good attempt. After all, it had been my mother’s favorite form of therapy.
The toe of my shoe caught, and for one second I was suspended in air, the next sprawled across the dirt trail. My knee stung as I turned and sat on my butt to pick out the pebbles digging into my skin. My ankle throbbed. I flexed my foot and winced. No broken bones, but possibly a pulled tendon. It would be smarter to wait and finish the trail in daylight, but a crazy woman with a gun was as good of motivation as any.
The sun was trying to peek over the distant mountain range, throwing pinks and purples across the sky. Twenty feet away, in a shallow ravine, a mesquite stretched wide, offering protection from the coming heat. A joke of shelter really—more of a tease, but I pushed to my feet and limped closer.
Black spots obscured my vision. I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my dirty palm. Instead of dissipating, the spots grew and multiplied. The edges around the holes crinkled like fire, burning gaps in the atmosphere, like cigarette holes to paper.
I shook my head and tried to clear my vision, but the black holes metastasized, eating away the sky like a cancer.
Then vision faded altogether. Nothing. Darkness.
I bent over and lowered my hands to my knees. Dizziness rolled through my stomach in a wave. I reached out to steady myself against the trunk, but instead of rough bark, my hand flailed wildly around, meeting nothing but air.
I lost my balance, tipped forward, and fell into darkness.
Chapter Four
Pain. God, there was pain. Every joint ached. Every muscle seemed stretched beyond its limit. And cold. When had it gotten this cold? I opened my eyes. Where was I?
And then like an animal sensing fear, I knew something was wrong. Black. There was nothing but oily blackness. Was I still outside? Had I been passed out that long? I turned my head toward the sky expecting the soft glow of stars and the moon, nothing.
I struggled to a sitting position, stiff from the cold ground. I fanned my hands out groping in the dark like a twisted game of blindman’s bluff. The tips of my fingers brushed against a dirt wall. I scootched and placed my back against the rough coolness. At least my butt was safe.
Something wasn’t right. Every cell in my body seemed to beat out one message—run. But I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, much less run away.
It was as if the blackness sucked out all light and sound. There were no low hum of passing cars, no blare of sirens. Even a quiet desert was never this silent. No chirping crickets or rustling leaves. No scurry of life. Just my harsh panting—loud even to my own ears.
And the smell. I drew a deep breath of air trying to identify the scent. No sage or rosemary, or even the metallic smells of the city, but something off, foul, like . . . decay?
Panic wrapped around my heart and squeezed. As a doctor I’d smelled this before. It was an odor that came with the job as much as the scrubs and pagers. Death.
Only decomposing flesh could emit such a foul stench.
The rancid smell grew and burned my nostrils. I slapped my hand over my nose and struggled to swallot sw the taste of rot, as it slicked down my throat.
God, let it be a dead animal and not some corpse lying here next to me.
The thought shot me to my feet—scraping my back along the rocky wall. I stood legs apart, hands fisted and ready to do battle. The body might have fallen here and died of natural causes . . . or something else might’ve killed it.
Darkness chipped away at what little courage I had. I shook so bad, my legs could barely support my weight. But there was something I was missing, something that my muddled brain had forgotten.
“My phone,” I cried with relief. I’d thrown my phone in my fanny pack before I’d left the house. And maybe, just maybe, I could get service. Cold and numb, my fingers grappled with the zipper and finally won. I recognized the smooth plastic, but fumbled and dropped my lifeline with a sickening thud.
“Crap,” I sobbed.
I fell to my knees and did the universal hand-pat-sweep in complete darkness. Moving in wider and wider circles, I crawled forward. But the phone evaded me, as if the darkness had devoured the small black rectangle for breakfast.
Good God, where is it?
My imagination ran rampant with the image of a decayed body, complete with missing limbs and only half a face. I was certain I was within a hair-span of sticking my hand into a pile of squishy flesh.
A breeze blew past my ear—a mere shift in the wind? Then, a touch to my shoulder, not hard, more like a brush or a . . . lick?
I stopped my frantic search, and slammed myself back. My hands braced against the rock behind me, nails trying to find purch
ase in the hard dirt. Frenzied, I wiped my shoulder and my fingers came away wet and sticky.
I turned my head from side to side, desperate for any source of light, when a heated, moist gust of air blew into my face. My hair fluttered around my face as my chilled body warmed. I sucked in and drank the smell of the fetid air as it washed over me. Gagging, I tasted remnants of last night’s cookies, and swallowed them . . . a second time.
Adrenaline levels spiked. I froze and did the only thing I could think of—I prayed.
God please let this tacky moist stuff be from the only mature pine tree in all of Scottsdale, growing in the only deep crater on this mountain preserve because God, if I’m not here alone, I’m truly going to piss my pants and pass straight away from sheer terror.
I didn’t get an answer. Prayers didn’t work that way, just the sound of me hyperventilating in the dark.
In the distance, a circle of neon-blue light appeared and crept steadily toward me. The light skimmed across the red-packed ground, gliding over jagged rocks and shallow furrows. The harsh florescent glow surrounded me, turning my skin an unnatural blue. Then slowly, the circle widened, revealing the ugliest, most terrifying creature I’d ever seen.
I screamed.
Chapter Five
Its body was made up of gray scales the size of salad plates that overlapped, forming like a well-fitted armor. A viscous blue substance coated the scales, creating a sucking sound with each inhale. My gaze traveled up and locked on a pair of predatory eyes that constricted in the neon glare. A football-shaped head bent low, toward me.
Its mouth unhinged, mere inches in front of my face, baring long knife-like appendages. Blood-stained teeth were slick with stringy saliva, billowing as its heated breath blew in my face. White mucus, glowing blue in the light, dripped from its claw-like hands. The beast was huge, at least ten-feet tall, round and fat like a well-fed tick. But it was the black intelligent eyes that captured my attention. Its piercing stare crossed all communication barriers, relaying to me one message . . . prey.
The gurgling in my throat signaled the death of my scream.
Its head lowered and bumped my cheek with its flattened face. Two slits in the front opened and closed, as it inhaled my scent. Its head rose, eyes fluttered back as if in ecstasy. Then it lowered and came back for a longer sniff.
Terror had nothing on me. I’d done terror; terror was two floors up for me. I knew in mere seconds I would pass out . . . just hoped it was soon enough.
The sound of rocks crashing came at me from the side. Out ofsou the blackness a man hit me hard and solid in the stomach.
There was no contest. I was weak and slow; he was strong and fast. I was slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of me.
Blackness enveloped us as the neon circle of light went out. Panic surged through me as I struggled against the heavy weight across my abdomen. Run. Get out of here.
Rough whiskers abraded my cheek and his harsh breathing rasped in my ear.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, then shifted and pulled my face tight against his neck. The scent of sweat, metal, and male heat reached me as I fought to breathe.
“Now!” he shouted, at some unknown signal. He seized my arm and pulled us both to our feet, almost dislocating my shoulder in the process. Gunshots splintered all around us, streaking through the night like bolts of lightning.
I decided, if this was my last moment on earth, I didn’t want to see death coming. I squeezed my eyes shut. A coward to the end.
“Move!” His shout was barely audible above the chaos crashing around my head. Machine guns fired. Men screamed. Then a primal animal roared so loud and high-pitched that I tried to break free to protect my ears.
The man was having none of my self-preservations. He pushed me up over a crumbling rock wall, his hands squarely on my butt and thighs. I clawed at the dirt and rocks to gain leverage. Finally, over the wall I moved forward on hands and knees, desperate for distance. Within one panicked breath the man was there, pulling, forcing me up into a dead run.
Within four strides he jerked me to a stop and let go.
Free of his support, my feet skidded out from under me. I landed hard on my butt, fire splintered through my tailbone. My teeth smashed together biting my lip. I rolled onto my side, gagging on the taste of metal, warm and thick, as the blood mixed with my saliva.
Stricken with no sense of direction, I froze alone in the dark.
With the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns punctuating the night with their sharp bursts of light, I could see other men, their faces streaked with black, hovering and firing behind what little coverage there was. Then he was C>
I could barely stand—the throbbing in my lower back made my legs quiver. I hobbled a few steps and collapsed to my knees.
“Get the hell up. Now!”
I shook my head. My lungs were on fire. “Who are you?”
“If you can talk, you can run,” he shouted.
I tugged back on my arm, but his grip was relentless. It was either run or be dragged. With sheer strength of will, I forced myself to my feet.
A brain-jarring explosion erupted from behind. Heat singed my back as the blast propelled me, throwing me through the air. My body skidded to a stop along the ground.
I trembled. I didn’t want to rise again, but the man refastened his hold and gave no mercy.
He hauled me across the hard-packed dirt. I stumbled to my feet, forced to run blind in the darkness.
My chest ached, lungs burned. I’d no idea how long we ran. My body slowed. My oxygen-starved brain no longer obeyed orders. Willing to beg for mercy, I wondered if God had answered my prayer or the Devil himself.
The man pressed harder and I knew I had my answer—Antichrist.
I picked up the pace.
Finally, we slowed to a stop. My hand brushed along a large smooth boulder. Then he freed his savage hold to my arm.
I collapsed. Every bone liquefied from sheer exhaustion. Grateful for the reprieve, I dug my fingers into my cramping side.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
Fine with me. I flipped on my back and gasped for air. I doubted I’d live through the next few seconds, much less the rest of this day. Stealth was so not my priority.
“Quiet,” he whispered, harshly.
Unable to utter a word, I shot a middle finger in the direction of his voice. Granted, he did just save my life, but he’d been none too gentle about it.
He laughed, but it sounded hoarse. Like that part of his vocal cords had about as much use as my treadmill. Of course, he’d been able to see all along. When we were running, he had me swerving all over, possibly to avoid objects.
I dropped my hand with a thud, too exhausted to care if I’d forgotten to be grateful.
“It’s the damn thin air,” he said. “I forget how thin the atmosphere is till I have to run a mile in it. Stay here. Let me make sure she’s gone.”
Female? Something that vicious had a gender? The thought of it breeding caused a cold shiver to pierce my heart.
As soon as he was gone, I wanted him back. True, wishing the Antichrist back smacked of pure crazy, but lying waiting in the dark for monsters wasn’t exactly a sane plan either.
“Let’s go.” He took my hand and led me up a rocky hillside. After a few shaky steps, he pulled me into a crouch alongside him. A flare of light broke the darkness blinding me for a second. When my vision cleared, I saw the florescent stick he used to illuminate a small dark tunnel. The harsh blue light played havoc with his features throwing them into shadowy contrast, all but one, the piercing blueness of his eyes.
“Did anyone else survive? Are all of your bodyguards dead?” He had pushed a pair of night vision goggles on top of his head and rubbed his face, smearing dirt and sweat across his brow.
Bodyguards? “No,” I shook my head, “no one else.”
“What do you mean no one else? As in you are out here by yourself?”
I nodded, hoping it was the correct resp
onse. I desperately wished I knew which response was.
“What the hell kind of irresponsible goddess are you to come out here all alone?” he growled as his hand gripped my wrist.
If his voice was harsh before, then it had just dropped to a whole other level. Even with the sweat on my skin, I felt chilled. What was it about his question that made me nervous? His tone? His actions? Didn’t matter; I followed my gut a Cowe“nd did a favorite diversion tactic and asked one of my own. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
I tried to keep my tone light and ignored the way his hand ground my ulna and radius together.
His fingers snapped open as if my skin burned to the touch. He moved back a fraction of an inch; his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Why do you ask questions you should know the answer to?” His voice hinted at hesitation, as if he was afraid of my reply.
Something about my response had changed him. His suspicion rose between us like a physical barrier, brick by thick brick trapping me in. Well, he wasn’t the only one. His questions scared the crap out of me. Why would I know who he is and where we were going? Yeah, I trusted him alright—about as much as I did a Rottweiler, in a locked room with a steak tied around my neck. I put my hand up in a gesture of peace. “Listen, I appreciate you saving me back there, but I’m not going anywhere without a little information.”
There, I did it. I took matters firmly in hand.
With the merest of shrugs, he side-stepped and pushed me aside. Then placed the glow stick in his mouth and crawled into the dark cave on the side of the hill.
I stood gaping in disbelief as he vanished into a mountain. Oops, my bad, I hadn’t realized the conversation was over.
My desire to follow through the coffin-like hole was neck and neck with working a double shift in the emergency room on New Year’s Eve. But as I watched the light get fainter and fainter, the pendulum swung in the opposite direction. I sure didn’t want to be left in the dark and with whatever the hell had been chasing us.
