“You make the call?” he shouted to Kevin over a loud thunderclap.
Kevin turned around and replied, “Yeah, I made it. We’re looking at fifteen for a response, maybe longer. You know how it is here.”
“He’s still here,” Russo said matter-of-factly. “This is fresh. I think we can get him.”
A sudden scream further down the alley diverted the attention of both officers. They both ran in that direction, weapons raised and pointed in the direction of the scream. Another scream pierced the heavy air. They were getting closer. The darkened skies opened up with another bout of rain. The officers turned down a side alley and saw a massive individual holding a rather waifish female around the throat, lifting her about three feet off the ground. Both officers immediately reacted and aimed their weapons at the figure.
“Put her down, now!” Russo yelled in a loud commanding voice. The imposing figure turned and stared at Russo. He dropped the female to the ground and immediately charged the two officers. “Stop, or we will fire!” Russo yelled. The figure did not stop; instead, he broke into a sprint toward the two officers, only thirty yards away.
Three loud reports emitted from each of the two weapons. The figure slowed down a bit and sank to one knee, but raised again, his pace noticeably slower. Two more reports bellowed from the guns, and the figure dropped into a large, trash-filled rain puddle, face first. His body did not move.
“Check the body, I’ll cover you,” Russo commanded.
Kevin slowly approached the body and pushed him with his foot. There was no response. Kevin holstered his weapon and turned back toward Russo.
“He’s dead,” he said.
No sooner had he finished his sentence than the figure rose from the ground and grabbed Kevin from behind, putting him in a headlock and lifting his 200-pound, six-foot, four-inch frame like a matchstick. Kevin barely managed a scream before his neck snapped. Russo stared in disbelief. His arm wavered as he brought his weapon to bear once more upon the figure. He was only feet away. Russo seemed almost paralyzed as he stared into the figure’s black, cloudy pupils. He managed to fire a single shot into the figure’s midsection. A piercing cry rang out, and the figure dropped to both knees. Both of his hands grabbed at his midsection. The rain had increased, and the thunderclaps had gotten louder and more frequent. It was getting dark, and intermittent lightning flashes lit up the alley. Russo ran over to his partner and checked for a pulse as he kept his weapon leveled at the figure. He was still on his knees, clutching his midsection in obvious pain. He pulled something silver out of his body and held it out in front of him, staring at the object. Russo detected a very weak and fading pulse from his partner.
Russo feebly grabbed at his shoulder mike, and in a voice that was nearly a whispered, said into it, “Officer down. 10-100, officer down.” He dropped his mike and leveled the pistol at the figure, not waiting for a response.
“You are going to die for this,” he said in a quiet, steady voice.
The figure slowly rose, looking at the dying officer, a twisted, evil smile on his face. “I cannot die,” his guttural voice proclaimed. Rain cascaded down his pale, bald head.
The figure reached down and picked up Kevin’s service pistol. He looked at it with the curiosity of a child before putting it down the front of his pants. He turned around suddenly and ran back toward the hotel.
Russo’s gun wavered in his hand. He fired the remaining rounds in his weapon, but they did not strike the assailant, slamming harmlessly into a wall. The assailant turned abruptly and ran down the main alley, out of sight. Russo ran to Kevin’s dying body and knelt down beside him, among several spent shell casings. He cradled Kevin’s head on his lap as he waited for help to arrive. His hands trembled uncontrollably. He dropped his weapon, the slide locked to the rear. Kevin stared up into Russo’s eyes one last time as a steady flow of blood cascaded out of the corner of his open mouth. Kevin raised his head and took one last gasp of air and sank back into Russo’s lap. Still no one arrived. Russo could hear traffic on his radio, but he was desensitized and did not care. Kevin’s life force slowly left his body in the middle of the trash-strewn alley. Russo’s tears intermingled with the cold rain cascading down his face.
The man on the sidewalk was obviously hurt. He was running as fast as he could, but he was beginning to feel pain. He had been hit several times by bullets.
“Get in!” Dr. Keitel yelled out of the open passenger window of the black Mercedes, as he pulled up alongside the curb.
The man on the sidewalk instantly recognized the man yelling at him. He realized that this man was the only one on this world who could help him. He needed to heal; he wasn’t ready to die just yet, and for all of his bravado in the alley, he realized that death truly was a possibility. He opened the back door of the Mercedes and dove inside. He slammed the door closed as Dr. Keitel hit the gas and sped off.
CHAPTER 19
“Look at me, man. Tell me what you saw!” the detective demanded.
“I already told you,” Russo responded defiantly. “We found the dead woman. Kevin pursued. He got taken out. I fired my pistol at the suspect, and he wasn’t even fazed. All right? What else do you want from me?” Russo was now totally soaked from the rain. Someone had placed a fire department blanket over him, but that too was now soaked.
Detective Roman lifted up the yellow police tape and strode purposefully toward the investigating officers. He opened his jacket, revealing his badge on a neck chain, to the officer on the perimeter. Recognizing Officer Russo, Roman immediately quickened his pace toward him. Officer Russo, seated on the ground, buried his face in his hands. Another detective was trying in vain to extract any information he could get. The alley had transformed into a major crime scene. Tarps protected the crime scene from the rain, and forensic technicians busily marked evidence around the woman and the fallen officer, who was further up the alley. Numerous placards on the ground identified shell casings and other evidence by number, so they could be tagged and photographed. The rain continued, but only as a light sprinkle. Darkness forced the technicians to set up portable lights to illuminate the immediate area.
Roman put a hand on the detective’s chest and lightly pushed him back from Officer Russo. “Take a break, man.”
The detective looked at Roman in profound shock. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he asked, his voice rising.
Roman turned and stared him in the eye, exhaustion and determination emanating from his own eyes.
“I said take a break, jackass. What part of that do you not understand?” His voice was almost a yell, causing a few nearby officers to stop what they were doing and glance toward Roman.
The detective raised his hands in defense. “Fine. The captain will hear about this.” He turned his back and walked away.
“Prick,” Roman muttered to himself. He knelt down and put his hand on Russo’s shoulder. “Ryan, I’m sorry about what happened, but we have to talk, OK?”
Russo looked up at Roman and nodded. “All right, just keep those assholes off of me for now, OK?”
Roman sighed. “Let’s take a walk inside and get out of this rain.”
Russo got up, and they both retreated into the hotel. It was mostly devoid of cops, save for a couple interviewing Leroy. They both sat down in adjacent puke-green pleather chairs, each chair exhibiting a multitude of rips and tears.
“Tell me what happened,” Roman requested. “What did you and Kevin see?”
Russo rubbed his face with his hand and looked up. “We got the call. The guy inside said we were twenty minutes late or something, I dunno. Anyway, he says the guy is out back doing drugs. We go out in the alley and find the first girl. She is almost half-eaten. Nasty.”
“Tell me about the girl’s wounds.”
“She had chunks out of her body, almost like she was bitten by some big animal. Her neck was broken too. Anyway, the body was fresh. Her blood hadn’t coagulated yet. She was still warm, man.”
�
��What happened next?” Roman put an L&M to his lips and lit it. He offered the pack to Russo, but he ignored the offer.
“This big guy was there, wearing a leather jacket and pants. Bald dude. He had this other chick held up like three feet off the ground. We heard her screams and ran over. He was strangling her. That’s when we opened fire. We thought he was down, but he grabbed Kevin. I emptied my Glock, but he got away. We never did get any backup.” Russo paused for a moment, staring at the floor. He looked back up at Roman and said, “I’ll take that smoke now.”
Roman offered him his pack of L&M’s. Russo removed a cigarette and put it to his lips. Roman produced a zippo lighter and lit the cigarette. “I think the man that killed Kevin is involved with three other murders that happened in this area,” Roman said. Well, four, if you count that jackass I shot like seven times at the junkyard.
“I’m close to breaking this,” Roman told Russo. “I can feel it. I’ve got to get with Detective Seebolt and have him help me sort this mess out.”
Russo put out his cigarette in a full ashtray and stood up.
“One last thing,” Roman asked. “What happened to the other girl?”
“I don’t know. She was taken by ambulance; I think she was still alive.” Russo got up to leave. “Didn’t you get suspended or something?” he added.
“Something like that. Have you seen Detective Seebolt around?” Russo shook his head, “No, haven’t seen him.”
Roman briefly shook Russo’s hand and went back outside to the alley. He wanted to get a look at the deceased female. He didn’t care about the crime scene; he just wanted to look at her wounds.
The open dumpster lid exposed the body. As a photographer snapped pictures of the scene and the body, two technicians examined something on the side of the dumpster. Roman carefully stepped over a large pool of blood and peered into the dumpster.
The woman inside looked like the guy at the junkyard. Parts of her body showed traces of that same black ooze, possibly emanating from the wounds on her shoulder, but he could not be sure. It may have come from the assailant. Roman noticed that her left breast appeared to have been bitten or torn off, and her throat area was deeply bruised. He noticed a small purse in the bottom of the dumpster. He looked at the nearest technician, who was prepping an amino black reagent test to check for fingerprints in the blood.
“You guys retrieve anything out of here yet?”
“No. We are under orders not to touch anything until Captain Martinez and Sergeant Alvarez from Homicide arrive to take charge of the crime scene.”
“Is that so?” Roman mused out loud. “Well, I don’t have all day.” He withdrew a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on. He grabbed an evidence bag from the technician’s kit. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Roman heaved himself into the dumpster, trying hard not to land on the woman. The surefire flashlight illuminated the dumpster sufficiently. He examined the body quickly and paid particular attention to the black ooze around the hole where her breast used to be. He reached down and retrieved the woman’s purse. He heaved himself out of the dumpster and opened the purse, trying to take as less time as possible. Its contents seemed ordinary enough until he found a kit junkies use to shoot up and some heroin. He put both back in the purse, which he threw back in the dumpster. The technicians stared at him in disbelief.
“Thanks,” Roman said as he walked away from the dumpster. He looked at the crudely sketched map he had drawn earlier and noted the direction Russo said the assailant was said to be headed.
Toward the junkyard. Roman exited the crime scene just as several vehicles made their way in. I really don’t want to go back there alone.
Roman saw a black RV with what appeared to be a large radar dish on the roof, followed closely by two green camouflaged military Humvees. Trailing behind the strange convoy were Captain Martinez and Sergeant Alvarez in a white unmarked Crown Vic with emergency lights in the grill and dash flashing red and blue.
This is getting too weird. What the hell is the military doing here?
“I am receiving, Matthias,” Cruwell said. “Go ahead with your transmission.”
“Captain, the policeman is on the move,” Matthias replied. “Our target has struck again, this time drawing a large contingent of other police. Our target appears to be heading toward the place we were earlier, with the hole in the fence.”
“OK, we will rendezvous at base. The police might be planning an operation at the junkyard. It’s just a matter of time before they realize they are dealing with an alien. If they fail to kill it, we must ensure that the target does not escape.”
Matthias switched off his mike. From his position across the street from the Ambassador Hotel, he observed the activity with keen interest. He had maneuvered himself toward the alley in back of the hotel, but the police perimeter stopped him. He observed Roman’s conversation with an obviously distraught officer who was sitting on the ground, their exit into the hotel, and Roman’s emergence a few minutes later.
Roman headed directly toward him. They locked eyes for a brief moment before a small convoy of vehicles pulled into the alley, forcing him to one side and Roman to the other. Matthias noticed Roman pull his jacket up ever so slightly, so as to hide his face, as the last vehicle pulled in. Roman quickly turned up the street toward the junkyard.
Matthias turned his mike back on. “Scotts, do you have a fix on the target’s position?”
Cruwell’s staticky reply came back. “No. He is becoming more difficult to track with this weather. Don’t forget that he’s dead, he omits no heat signature.”
“Thanks for the science lesson,” Matthias said. “Keep trying.” He realized he was beginning to get cold; he was drenched head to toe from the slight by steady rainfall. He pulled his coat around his body and hurried off after Roman. The mission was beginning to feel like another day in the trenches. The darkness swallowed him as he followed the detective, keeping close enough to monitor him but far enough away to be inconspicuous.
CHAPTER 20
I have you now. Roman peeked around a corner of the junkyard fence, expecting that this was where Kevin’s killer was taking refuge. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, almost a mist, and the clouds had cleared so that the moon helped Roman see in the newly arrived nightfall. He put his left hand against the fence to support himself. He hadn’t run this far and this fast in quite a while, and he was exhausted and lightheaded. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been spotted or trailed, but with the way things had been going, he couldn’t take that chance. As he debated whether to call in for backup or not, his cellular phone played the opening theme to CHiPs. He was going to ignore it, but out of habit he glanced at the screen, and he recognized Maynard Fontenot’s number. He put the phone to his ear.
“Roman.”
“This is Maynard Fontenot. I haven’t heard from you. What’s going on?”
“Look, I can’t exactly talk right now. I’m about to bust this guy right now. Let me call you back.”
“All right. Look, I turned myself in to my boss. I am suspended and under investigation. I didn’t mention your name, though. I could really use your—”
Roman cut in. “Look, I’ll call you back. I have to go.” He ended the call and put the cellular back into his pocket. He drew his Glock and press checked the slide, verifying that he had a round chambered. He thought about using his flashlight but quickly decided against it.
As he edged closer to the hole in the fence, a black Mercedes passed by, driving at a high rate of speed, briefly startling him. It struck him as odd that a car like that would be in a neighborhood like this. Once the car passed around the corner, he looked around again. Seeing no one, he entered the hole in the junkyard fence.
“Come here, you asshole,” he muttered under his breath. The rain picked up again, becoming a steady torrent. Roman looked up at the night sky and cursed the rain. Typical Texas weather—you couldn’t count on a reliable forecast. He headed towar
d the location of his last encounter.
Roman had taken about half a dozen steps when he was suddenly flung into a stack of crushed cars. His Glock flew from his grip. The impact momentarily knocked the wind out of him. Although he had difficulty catching his breath, he managed to stagger to his feet. A deafening thunderclap erupted as he looked around the muddy ground for his pistol. As he leaned over to see the ground better, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, spinning him around. He came face to face with the homeless guy from earlier that day.
The homeless guy was holding his severed arm, which Roman had blown off with the gun from the shuttle. The walking corpse paused and tore a piece of flesh off of the arm and began to chew. The Hispanic guy from earlier that day approached from out of the shadows, moving in very slowly but deliberately. The entrails of someone or something dangled out of its mouth. Each man had a massive chunk of flesh removed from his neck, and they were both devoid of clothes. Several bite marks and pieces of missing flesh covered each of their bodies. Each also had unusual, solid black eyes.
The men’s mouths moved as if they were trying to form words, but nothing comprehensible came out, just low, almost inaudible growls. Roman felt hands around his throat, choking the breath out of him and holding him tight. The mouth of his assailant opened, belching forth a god- awful stench Roman likened to that of an animal that had been dead for several days. The man leaned in closer to Roman, as if to bite him. Before he could, two sharp, loud cracks pierced the sound of the rain. He released his grip around Roman’s throat and dropped him to the ground.
Roman gasped, struggling to find his breath. Standing in front of the hole in the fence was the man he had made eye contact with in front of the hotel, holding a large caliber handgun. He recognized the trench coat and the Chuck Taylors. The two walking corpses both approached him, the smell of flesh seeming to drive them into action. The man by the fence hole reached into his jacket pocket and removed a magazine with blue ammunition that contrasted sharply with the surrounding darkness. He calmly ejected the magazine from his weapon and replaced it with the new one.
Dawn of the Mad Page 15
