by Barry Reese
Garibaldi marched over to the fully-stocked bar he kept in the living room and prepared himself a martini. “I had a successful evening, I think. Made quite a few connections and even got to meet Evelyn Davies. She’s a delectable little creature.”
Hochmuller made a prissy face and Garibaldi hid his amusement well. The German was not partial to women, instead having a fancy for young boys barely into their teens. “I have the Ivory Machine ready for you,” Hochmuller said, obviously not wanting to dwell on the subject of Evelyn Davies’s beauty.
Garibaldi allowed himself to be swayed from the topic of conversation. His heart rate increased as he pondered the possibilities presented by the German’s words. “Can we test it tonight?”
Hochmuller fidgeted a bit before finally giving his assent. He led Garibaldi and the largest of the dogs through the apartment to his private workshop. It was a converted bedroom, with the original furniture torn out in favor of a utilitarian sleeping cot, several steel-topped work areas, and a makeshift surgical lab. But the crowning achievement of his work was a gleaming white machine that lay next to the window. It had a rectangular base that was about the size of large radio. Sitting atop this base was a rotating dish with a small pointer in the center. Dubbed the Ivory Machine, this was the culmination of years of work, not all of it being Hochmuller’s. When the Third Reich began to crumble, Hochmuller had stolen the device and fled with it to America. It had taken some time for him to reverse engineer it but now he felt secure that he understood how it worked.
Garibaldi opened the window, allowing the unseasonably cool air into the apartment. He looked down to see the German Shepherd dubbed Raptor watching them with interest. Smiling, he gestured for the dog to come closer. “Atlanta’s going to be just the first city to fall before us, Raptor. Think of this as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. After I’ve brought this city to its knees, I’m setting my sights on Washington, D.C.”
Hochmuller activated a switch on the Ivory Machine and a hum began to fill the air. Raptor whined and backed up a few feet, his ears perking up. A nearly invisible beam of yellow energy was being transmitted from the pointer in the center of the dish, traveling far into the upper atmosphere. “How large an area would you like to include in the test?” the German asked.
“What are the limits?”
“I can blanket the entire city of Atlanta in the Crimson Rain… or I can go as specific as a small building, if I know the exact coordinates.” Hochmuller smiled coldly. “Would you like me to test it on the Davies home?”
“No. The Davies aren’t any threat to me,” Garibaldi said. If Evelyn had been there to hear him, she would have breathed a sigh of relief. Garibaldi had made no connections between Evelyn’s husband and the mysterious Peregrine. “Do it on that place called the Hot Spot. Nobody will miss a few of those kind in this city.”
Hochmuller silently agreed. The worst part of the Reich’s fall had been the fact that Hochmuller was now forced to live amongst mongrels of all races and classes. While the Jews were still the worst of the lot, the Negroes were not far behind in his racist mindscape. “With pleasure, Herr Garibaldi.”
* * *
Anthony Washington was smoking a cigar, leaning against the side of the Hot Spot. The music within was still rocking the joint but Anthony had needed a breath of fresh air. The fans inside did the best they could but the smell of sweat and the heat of so many bodies had gotten to him in the end. It meant that someone else might steal a dance with Clarice, but Anthony was going to take that chance. Besides, if she couldn’t be trusted to stay true to him for the duration of a smoke, she wasn’t worth his time anyway.
Anthony took a deep drag, glad that the poor weather from earlier in the night had finally moved on. The streets were still wet but the skies were free of clouds.
And then something wet landed on Anthony’s coat sleeve. He groaned, thinking that the rain was returning, but as he looked up, he saw the twinkling stars and knew that his earlier thoughts had been correct: there were no rain clouds to be seen. Then another drop fell and then another. Anthony saw several of them strike the ground and something about them made him pause. He knelt down and stared at the droplets, which were a peculiar color. The water seemed tinged with red, giving it a scarlet hue.
A scream sounded from around the corner and Anthony stood up, watching as a pretty dark-skinned woman in a revealing dress began to dance a strange little jig. She was wiping at her arms and legs in a violent manner, strips of flesh coming off with every stroke of her fingers. She was drenched in the Crimson Rain created by Hochmuller’s machine.
The sky seemed to open up then, unleashing a torrent of the stuff. Anthony felt it striking his scalp and neck, unleashing a horrible burning sensation. He howled like a wounded dog, scrambling back into the interior of the club. Outside the screams worsened, growing in number.
The Crimson Rain was melting the flesh of all it touched.
* * *
Garibaldi poured himself another drink. “Wonderful! Doctor, you are a genius!”
The celebration had begun in earnest several moments before, when Garibaldi had managed to tap into the police channels. Ambulances had been dispatched to the Hot Spot and there were already three confirmed dead, with many more disfigured and injured. The mysterious crimson rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, drenching the nightclub for no more than three or four minutes. The unique chemical composition of the rain went inert within moments and was only activated when it was in direct contact with animal tissue, so there was no danger of it seeping into the city’s water supply, though the nervous government official didn’t know that yet.
Hochmuller accepted the compliment with a slight bow. When he’d first arrived in Atlanta, he’d been uncertain about what to do, but among his first actions had been to buy himself a new identity. The papers were purchased from a man who worked for Garibaldi, and when Garibaldi checked into the background of this former Nazi, he had come to the conclusion that a partnership might be beneficial to both. “What next, Herr Garibaldi?”
“First, we let everyone know that what happened tonight was no bizarre act of God. Then, after we’ve shown them another display of our power, we’ll start to make demands. I want to use Atlanta as an example: defy us and you’ll burn.”
“What about the Peregrine? Surely he’ll try to stop us…”
“I hope he does,” Garibaldi said a little hotly. “If he gets caught in our Crimson Rain, all the better. But to be honest, I have other plans for him.” Garibaldi smiled at Raptor, who suddenly stood at attention and growled in rising excitement. “If I get my way, the Peregrine’s going to be ripped to pieces by Raptor and the boys… while I get to watch from a ringside seat.”
* * *
It was early the next morning when Max Davies arrived to survey the damage at the Hot Spot. He’d gotten the call from Will during the night but hadn’t come out to investigate then; both Evelyn and Will had persuaded him that there would be nothing he could do for the victims, and a fresh mind was probably going to be called for.
In the sunlight, it was hard to imagine that only a few hours before, this had been the scene of death and horror. There were police officers all around, of course, with bright yellow crime scene tape blanketing the scene, but otherwise there were no visible signs that men and women had been disfigured for life—and worse—at this spot.
Max was wearing a finely tailored suit, his olive complexion and wavy dark hair giving ample evidence to his family’s Mediterranean descent. He caught sight of Will McKenzie and steered his way through the crowd to reach his side. “Any leads?”
“Not really… but we do have something for you to take a look at,” Will replied. The fair-haired police chief reached into a pocket and withdrew a cigar wrapped in a pink band. “But first… I’m gonna be a daddy.”
Max stared at the cigar for a moment before the words truly sank in. He took the cigar and then embraced his friend. “Congratulations! How fa
r along is Kirsten?”
“About four months. Guess it happened during all that madness awhile back. We don’t really know if it’s going to be a girl or not, but I have my fingers crossed.”
Max’s grin matched his friend’s. “Well, you know I couldn’t be happier for you two.”
“Thanks, Max.” Will tried to adopt a more professional demeanor but it was obviously hard for him, and Max could understand why. Will and Kirsten had been trying to conceive a child for quite some time and Will had obviously been a bit jealous of Max’s family. Max had no doubt that Will would make a fine father. Will’s hand retreated into another pocket and this time it returned with a flask of pink-tinted water. “We’ve sent some of this stuff to the lab, but I thought you’d want to take a look at it, too. Reports are that a localized shower developed and that this stuff burned the flesh right off anybody it touched.”
Max’s eyes darted around to the pockets of water that remained along the street’s corners.
“It seems to be okay now,” Will said, sensing his friend’s thoughts. “In fact, I dipped my whole hand into that puddle over there and came away with nothing more than a few icky fingers. Whatever acid was in this stuff doesn’t appear to be active anymore.”
Max slipped the vial into his own pocket. “Make sure that the proper authorities know to send me the medical bills from everyone who was hurt.”
Will nodded. “You should let them know you’re paying for their care. People would like to thank you.”
“I’d rather keep it anonymous. Mind if I look around on my own for a bit?”
“Not at all. If you find anything, let me know.”
The Peregrine moved away, watching with cool interest as several police scientists scooped up a stretchy substance from the ground and dropped it in an evidence bag. From the stench, Max knew what the odd substance was: it was human skin, sloughed off from its host after the acid had done its work. He couldn’t help but think that trouble usually came in twos or threes… here he was worried about Garibaldi and the mysterious Flock when suddenly along came a flesh-eating crimson rain. It would be convenient if all those things were somehow connected, but until he saw a reason to link them, he had to assume they the works of multiple madmen.
Max stepped into the club and took a moment to soak it all in. Normally this place was filled to the brim with people, mostly blacks that were made to feel unwelcome at many other nightspots. Max and Evelyn had dropped in a time or two, but Max had quickly realized that their presence only made most of the club-goers uncomfortable. Not knowing that Max was the owner, most of them wondered why he was there and whether or not he was watching them for some nefarious purpose.
Making sure that no one was watching him, Max headed to a back stairwell and slipped inside. At the bottom of the stairs lay a locked door to which Max alone had the key. There, in the basement, lay his second Peregrine’s Nest.
Not even Will knew about the lengths to which Max had gone to provide security here and, in the past few months, at his home. Tired of the many enemies who had attacked his wife and family, Max had purchased a large number of video cameras and hidden them in various locations that belonged to him: this club, his home, the Aerie where the Claws of the Peregrine lived… all were blanketed by cameras which recorded images on massive reel-to-reel tapes. The earliest video cameras had been created by John Logie Baird, based on the electromechanical Nipkow disk and used by the BBC in experimental broadcasts through the 1930s. Recent years had brought several improvements, however. All-electronic designs using the cathode ray tube were now in use and Max found them far superior in both quality and reliability.
Max had used the tapes at his house to watch Garibaldi the evening before. The criminal had not behaved suspiciously at all; in fact, he’d acted exactly as what he appeared to be: a reformed man seeking to ingratiate himself into upper crust society. But Max knew better, video evidence notwithstanding.
Max sat down and started going through the footage from last night, pausing when he finally reached the proper time. He saw the men and women thrashing about in pain and the strange red-tinted rain that fell from the sky. He watched the entire thing twice through and was about to admit that he’d gained no knowledge when something occurred to him. One of the cameras was mounted on the roof. He didn’t normally check its footage because ninety-nine percent of the time, any problems occurred on the ground level. He called it up now and began to cycle through it. Just a few moments before the Crimson Rain had begun to fall, Max thought he saw a strange yellow beam slicing its way into the heavens. Was it somehow related to the rain? What sort of beam was that?
Max stared at the footage, trying to get an idea where the beam might be originating. It almost looked like it was being generated from downtown Atlanta… and then a nasty grin took root on Max’s lips. One of the first things he’d done last night was look up Garibaldi’s current address. The man was living in the penthouse suite at Century Tower, which just happened to be in the heart of downtown. Garibaldi had never been known as a technical genius of any kind, but it did seem like too much of a coincidence that a strange ray would be projected into the sky, right next to where Garibaldi was living.
Realizing that his unspoken hope to have everything tied together might be closer to reality than ever before, Max turned off the recorder and stood up. He would share his findings with Will… and then tonight he’d pay Mr. Garibaldi a visit.
CHAPTER IV
The Hounds of Hell
It was a little after nine o’clock that night evening when Garibaldi left Century Tower, accompanied by a short little man who was bundled up in a heavy coat. The Peregrine was perched atop a nearby building and he snapped a few photos of the men as they slid into the backseat of a black sedan, a chauffeur holding the door for them. A few moments after the car had driven out of sight, the Peregrine stood up and held aloft a projectile gun of his own devising. He took careful aim at the rooftop of Century Tower and pulled the trigger. A sharp hook capable of piercing solid rock shot forth, embedding itself in the concrete at the other building’s top. A long cable extended from the back of the hook to the projectile gun. Max disengaged the back end of the cable and tied it securely to a pipe on the rooftop of the building he was currently on. Since Century Tower was the tallest building in the city, Max sprang up on the cable and began walking in an upward direction, balancing himself like tightrope walker. Normally, the Peregrine would have simply picked the lock on the man’s door and entered that way, but security at Century Tower was tight and Max didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him.
The Peregrine moved across the cable as easily as most men would cross a street. Never did he give any thought to what would happen if he slipped and fell; such a failure simply was not an option. He reached Century Tower and quickly dropped over the side of the rooftop, bringing his feet down on the ledge outside one of Garibaldi’s penthouse windows. He brought out a glass cutter and quickly opened a portal for himself, slipping inside the apartment.
Special lenses in the Peregrine’s mask allowed him to see in absolute darkness. He noted that Garibaldi’s taste ran to the garish, as if he were still a small-time hood at heart, only now he had more money with which to indulge his interests. The Peregrine stealthily moved through the penthouse, thumbing through papers and opening drawers whenever the mood struck him.
He had just reached Hochmuller’s door when he heard movement behind him. He turned about, Knife of Elohim in hand. The golden dagger glowed in the presence of evil and it was shining brightly now. Max saw nothing at first but then he heard the sounds again and recognized them, or what they were: the sounds of clawed feet scraping against the floor. He tried to count how many animals there must be and realized that there were at least four of the beasts in the apartment. From the heavy tread, they had to be dogs.
The Peregrine was glad that he had a door to his back, as it would make it easier to fight the animals. As long as he kept them in front of him, he would
be better off. He sheathed the dagger and drew out both of his pistols, confirming that they were fully loaded.
The first of the dogs came into view and Max was shocked by how large it was. The German Shepherd watched the Peregrine with an almost intelligent gaze and Max found himself staring at the animal’s liquid eyes, entranced by how malevolent they seemed. The dog turned its head slightly and gave a quick bark, as if summoning his companions. The other three strode into view, wolfish grins stretching their mouths open. Sharp white teeth came into view and long strands of drool came forth, spilling onto the floor.
Max took aim with one of his guns, hoping that the sight of the weapon would deter the beasts. It did not, only eliciting loud growls from each. He didn’t really want to discharge a gun and draw attention to himself but neither did he want to wield a knife in close quarters combat with the massive dogs.
Raptor gave a quick motion of his head and two of his compatriots sprang forward at once. Max had no choice but to fire, blowing apart the head of one of the canines. He whirled about and shot the second, the bullet tearing a huge hole in its neck.
During these actions, however, Raptor and his remaining companion went into motion. Raptor sprang high while the other dog went low. Both struck the Peregrine at the same time and only Max’s quick action of throwing up an arm in front of his face stopped Raptor’s jaws from closing on his face. As it was, the dog took hold of Max’s right forearm, clamping down hard. The other dog went to work on Max’s midsection, its jaws snapping again and again, ripping open shirt and flesh. The Peregrine was unable to aim with his remaining hand but he fired randomly, hoping to catch the dog attacking his stomach. Three bullets went awry and still the oversize dog continued to bite at Max’s stomach, trying to literally rip his guts out.
