Still, he had to stop him—or die trying.
Saul caught up to Gestalt just as the Rogue had reached the beginning of the dirt track. He leaped onto Gestalt’s back and both of them went tumbling into a nearby tree. Saul did everything he could to stay on top of Gestalt, knowing that if Gestalt managed to get leverage on him, he’d go straight to the wound at his side which was already beginning to leak out a substantial amount of blood.
Saul delivered a hard blow to Gestalt’s face and was rather amazed when he saw that it was not very effective. Gestalt managed to get an elbow up, taking Saul in the chin. Saul bucked back just a bit, allowing Gestalt to raise his knee and kick Saul off of him. Saul went flying into the forest, surprised at Gestalt’s strength.
Saul had never fought a Rogue before and wondered if they all had this sort of strength. When he hit the ground, he hit his wounded side and let out a gasp of pain. He got to his feet just in time to see Gestalt rushing at him. He hesitated, hoping to lure Gestalt in.
Sure enough, Gestalt saw the blood spilled and his enemy weakened and came running. Saul timed his attack perfectly, catching Gestalt as he left his feet to leap at him. Saul caught Gestalt in mid-leap, shoving him hard to the right where his body collided hard into a tree. Saul acted quickly, barely allowing Gestalt enough time to recover from the assault. Saul was on him at once and thrust Gestalt’s head forward directly into the tree. There was a crunching sound as Gestalt’s nose broke.
Still, the force of it all had irritated the wound at Saul’s side and the pain was beginning to catch up to him. His genetic make-up would heal it soon, but the wound had been too severe for a quick recovery. Time was something Saul definitely did not have tonight.
Saul pushed all of this to the side and grabbed Gestalt by the head again.
“Fine,” Gestalt spat. His nose was beginning to heal already but there was a wet gurgling noise in his throat as blood worked its way down from his damaged nose. “I have information you want,” he said.
“No, I don’t believe you do,” Saul said. “At this point, I think you would say anything to stop me from killing you.”
Gestalt grinned and nodded his head in agreement as he shakily got to his feet. “That’s a good point, too. But no…as I said earlier, I know much. I know what information you want more than anything else and I also know that no matter how closely linked you are to The Guard, they will not give it to you.”
“What are you talking about?” Saul asked. He was glad for the distraction of the conversation; it was giving his wound proper time to heal without all of the exertion of fighting.
“Your father,” Gestalt said. “You’ve been seeking answers to his death. Correct?”
Saul stepped forward, prepared to wrench this bastard’s head straight from his neck. “Speak carefully,” Saul cautioned. “I will not hesitate to tear your tongue from your mouth if you speak ill of my father.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Gestalt said. “It is not your father that I have a quarrel with. It is your precious Guard. They know who killed your father and why he was ordered to die.”
“Ordered?”
“Yes. And as a matter of fact, I know with great certainty that it was The Guard that ordered your father’s death.”
“And how can you be certain of something like that?”
Gestalt took a step back before he answered this question. “Because,” he said. “They enlisted me to do it. I killed your father.”
Unbridled rage bloomed in Saul’s eyes. He threw a punch that was directed by nothing but pure fury. Gestalt was able to deflect it and then delivered a punch directly to the wound in Saul’s left side. More than that, he tore at it, tearing the flesh back even further.
Saul reached out and grabbed Gestalt by the throat, surging through the pain in his side. He clenched his hands around Gestalt’s throat, determined to squeeze until his neck popped beneath his hands. Meanwhile, he felt Gestalt prying at the wound along his side, actually digging his fingers inside Saul’s flesh.
Saul tried to hang on, but he could feel Gestalt’s talons, scratching at muscle and sinew, drawing more blood and setting his body on fire.
Both men struggled against one another, Gestalt nearly unable to breathe and Saul almost doubled over from the pain in his ribs. Saul held on, feeling his strength falter, feeling his grip loosen.
Saul’s hands fell away from Gestalt’s neck, powerless. He felt exhausted, felt as if he would collapse within the second. He managed to keep himself up on one knee, his hands on the ground. Before him, Gestalt coughed through a bruised throat and stalked over to Saul.
“I’ll enjoy overtaking this town,” Gestalt said. “You know, I—”
Saul’s hand found a fallen limb as he tried getting to his feet. He brought it up in an arcing motion and buried it in Gestalt’s chest. Gestalt screamed and tottered back, falling to his back. He scrambled away as Saul tried getting to his feet and when he did, Saul saw that his aim might have been slightly off. He thought he might have missed Gestalt’s heart by a few inches.
Still, the bastard was wounded.
Saul got to his feet and chased after Gestalt, but it was no use. He was too drained and his body, despite its immense power, collapsed.
5
Nikki held her arms up into the air and stared at Jason. She wanted to cry but knew it doing so would be pointless; Jason would not be moved. Not in the state he was in. She examined his hardened face to see if there were any signs of that awkward goofball with whom she had watched so many movies, laughed at so many stupid jokes.
But that Jason was long gone.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said.
“I know.”
And with that, Jason reached out and slapped her hard across the face. A flash of anger coursed through her, but she stamped it down. She simply shook her head at him and kept her hands raised, showing that she would not fight him.
He slapped her again, nearly a punch his time. Nikki stumbled to her feet and now realized that despite what she might want, she was going to have to fight him. The sound of that last slap had been sharp, echoing through Filth Camp and mingling with the sound of an approaching train.
“Stay with us,” she begged, doing everything she could to prevent what she knew was coming.
“What the hell for?” Jason snarled.
Somewhere out in the forest, someone yelled. Nikki was pretty sure it was Saul. She looked from the edge of the forest and then back to Jason, torn.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Run to him. You know you want to. You’re so afraid that you’ll become nothing without him.”
But before Nikki could make any sort of decision, Jason was on her, pushing her to the ground. His weight took her by surprise and when she tried to throw him off of her, he placed his forearm over her neck and brought his face down close to hers. She could feel his erection pressing against her upper leg and was suddenly reminded of the few awkward times they’d shared where he had tried to advance things in their friendship.
But this was a different Jason. This was someone…something different.
“I think…I think I have to kill you,” Jason said. “I’m going to stay with Gestalt. And if you aren’t in the equation, I won’t have the urge to see you—to want you.”
“Jason, I—”
She spoke only to fool him. She brought her head up hard, head-butting him. The sound it made was sickening, but it jarred him loose. Nikki rolled out from beneath him and leaped up, delivering a kick that connected squarely with his chin. He wheeled around and went to the ground with a shout.
Nikki turned to run into the woods, having decided that Saul was much more important than whatever game Jason had planned. She stopped cold when she saw Gestalt standing at the edge of the forest. A large piece of wood was sticking out of his chest and he was coated in his own blood. Apparently, Saul had gotten the better of him.
But where is Saul?
It was a good question…and one that sh
e was afraid to have answered.
Gestalt was too preoccupied with his own condition to pay Nikki any attention. He barely even gave Jason a passing glance as he strode towards the edge of Filth Camp where the train tracks glistened eerily in the dark. He bypassed them both and went running for the tracks. As he did, the woman that had remained by his side during the fight and waited patiently and helplessly in its final moments, followed him.
No you don’t, Nikki thought. She ran for Gestalt but was tripped by Jason as he shot an arm out and grabbed her leg. As she fell, her hand actually grazed Gestalt’s shoulder and fell upon the branch that had been driven through him. She grabbed the branch and tried to drag him down by the two feet or so that stuck out from his back.
But he was too fast and too strong. He pulled away, leaving Nikki holding a snapped-off portion of the branch that had nearly killed Gestalt.
Nikki went to the ground and Jason was there again, coming at her with a vengeance.
Frustrated and fed up with the insanity of the night, Nikki acted on impulse. As Jason came down toward her, she shoved the fragment of the tree branch upwards with a shout. There was a crunching sound as the wood split down the center but she felt the give as it sank into Jason’s flesh. She gave it one final push, the wood tearing into her palm; that sent it through his breastbone and into his heart.
Jason let out a gasp as his eyes grew wide with the understanding of what had just happened. He tried to say something but words would not come. Death was quick, coming in and taking him in less than a heartbeat that he would never have. For a moment, she thought she saw the humanity in Jason’s eyes—the part of him that had existed before Leibald Greely had taken him.
“Jason…,” Nikki said, finally allowing herself to weep.
Behind her, the train had approached, tearing through the night like a demon. Nikki could barely see the movement as Gestalt waited and deftly leaped onto the side of one of the cars. He pulled along this female companion, pulling her up onto the train as if she was nothing more than a rag doll.
Nikki didn’t care. Jason lay on top of her, dead and still bleeding. She allowed herself to cry a bit longer and wrapped her trembling arms around what had been, at one time in a life that was not very far away, her best friend.
6
Saul found Nikki in the field, lying with Jason’s body still on top of her. She was crying, in a manner he had seen her do only once before. Strangely, she had been crying over Jason that other time, as well. Saul gave her a moment for her grief and sat down in the tall grass. He felt the wound along his side healing although it still hurt like crazy. He closed his eyes and did his best to reach out for Jill, hoping that she was faring well against the Rogues that had escaped through the woods towards Red Creek.
He found her easily enough and tried to send her an image of what he could see. He listened to the train rolling away in the distance and wondered where Gestalt would end up. He’d have to tell The Guard about this whole situation. But as far as Saul was concerned, he thought it might be best if he stayed away from The Guard until it was absolutely necessary.
If what Gestalt had said was true, then he couldn’t trust The Guard. And although Saul detested Gestalt like he had no one else, he actually thought that there might be a bit of truth to what Gestalt had told him. It did line up with some of the things that Poole and Crone had shared, as well as Saul’s own suspicions.
Saul sat in the field and waited for his body to heal. After the wound healed, he would go help Jill – provided she was not back by then. Once they were all together, they could figure out their next steps.
While Saul might have escaped alive and his sister and girlfriend were essentially unharmed, the whole night felt like an enormous defeat.
CHAPTER FOUR
1
Four hours before Saul Benton learned that a Rogue by the name of Gestalt had killed his father, Kara was pulling into a small driveway that led to a simple brick house. She had just gotten off work but had taken the time to swing by her house to change out of her uniform. Considering the business at hand, she didn’t think it would be at all appropriate to be in her police uniform.
Kara parked in the driveway behind an old pickup truck and looked at the list of three names that Magdeline had given her. Kara knew the names well but the fact that these people were members of The Marked didn’t upset her as much as the way in which Magdeline had given her the names.
Kara supposed it had been telepathy. Whatever it had been, it had occurred just after lunch when she had been pouring herself a cup of coffee. She’d heard Magdeline’s voice in her head just as clear as a church bell, giving her the names of the three Marked members that she needed to visit. It had been so sudden and so unexpected that Kara had spilled the coffee and slightly burned her wrist.
Kara got out of her car and slowly walked to the front door of the brick house. She knew the house’s owner well. He was an older gentleman named Paul Wickers. He was in his late fifties and worked as a mechanic at the only auto repair shop in Red Creek. When she rang the doorbell, she hoped he had not started drinking. Paul had a bit of a drinking problem and Kara herself had even pulled him over on occasion, letting him slide on the Breathalyzer test.
Kara heard him approaching the door and wondered just how in the hell she was supposed to explain something like this. Paul answered the door, not yet changed from his garage clothes. His white tee shirt was stained with oil and his pants were caked in filth.
“Kara,” he said. He was clearly confused, looking out to the driveway and not seeing her patrol car. “Not dressed in uniform, not in the patrol car. So to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
She smiled at him nervously. He removed his hat, trying to be polite. His graying hair was a mess and it somehow made him look older.
“I was hoping I could have a word with you,” she explained.
“Yeah, of course,” Paul said, stepping aside to let her in. “Sorry about the state of the place. It’s the maid’s week off.”
She smiled at the joke and tried to recall how long ago it had been since Paul’s wife had died. She had died in car crash while visiting her sister somewhere up north. It had been at least five years ago. Kara had heard that was when Paul had started really hitting the bottle hard.
“Don’t even worry about it,” she said. The place was a wreck, though. Empty beer bottles were scattered here and there. What Kara thought might be a carburetor to a car was sitting in the corner of the living room next to a tattered recliner.
“So what can I do for you?” Paul asked.
“You know,” she began, “there’s no real gentle or subtle way to ask this, so I’ll get straight to the point. And if it sounds weird, well…that’s because it is.”
“Okay,” Paul said, starting to look a bit worried—not for himself, but for Kara.
“If you think back over the course of your life,” Kara went on, “was there ever a time where you maybe had an accident or something that resulted in you dying…just for a little while?”
Paul’s face went instantly pale but a smile crept up into his face.
“What?” Kara asked, afraid that he had somehow offended him.
“Actually, yes, that has happened to me. And here lately, over the last few months or so, I seem to keep thinking about it. It just won’t get out of my head.”
“So you remember it pretty clearly?”
“Oh yeah. I was twenty-five years old. My wife and I went on a vacation to Myrtle Beach. I went out for a swim and as I was sort of goofing off in the surf, a wave knocked me down. When I fell, I twisted my knee and couldn’t stand back up. I was carried out by the waves. I found out earlier that a lifeguard pulled me out and when he got to me, I was probably already dead. Mouth to mouth didn’t work. But I came to in the back of the ambulance. I had been basically dead for four minutes.”
“Do you remember if you saw anything when you were dead?”
“Not really. There was light, bu
t not that pretty serene kind you hear about in most near-death experiences.”
Kara nodded, knowing full well what he meant.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking?” Paul said.
“I died for a while, too. When I was much younger. I was dumb with drugs and it’s a boring story, really. But yeah, I had the same experience.”
“You know who else has had it?” Paul asked.
Kara grinned. She pulled out the paper on which she had written the three names and read them aloud. “Penny Carlisle and Ray Yancy?” she said.
“I only knew about Penny,” Paul said.
“Do you know her well?”
“Pretty good. We started talking about dating about three years ago but it never really panned out. But we have dinner from time to time and the subject came up.”
“You have her number?”
“Yeah.”
“Give her a call for me, would you? Ask her if she’d be willing to have a few visitors.”
As if in a dream, Paul crossed the living room and took the phone from a cluttered end table.
“What is it?” Paul asked. “Something…something bad is happening, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And I think it might get worse. And we’re all part of it. We can stop it, I think.”
Before he punched in Penny Carlisle’s number, he gave Kara a look that sent a chill up her spine. “It’s Red Creek, isn’t it?” he asked. “There’s something about this town that…I don’t know…that attracts people like us. Right?”
She nodded. “I’ll explain it all later as best as I can,” she said as she pulled out her cell phone. She called information for Ray Yancy’s number as Paul called up Penny Carlisle.
2
Within an hour, the four members of The Marked were sitting in Penny Carlisle’s beautiful Victorian-style house. It was the only thing she had gotten out of the divorce from her wealthy husband, a man that was currently making a fortune on the real estate market in Boston. Kara looked around at the unlikely group and understood just how surreal this whole absurd notion was.
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