Madness (Asher Benson #2)

by Jason Brant

  I slid up beside Drew and hunkered down. “Guess I should make a play for the car then. Is it unlocked?”

  The standard-issue, black SUV they’d driven in was parked ten yards away, facing the front of the cabin. I could make it there in two or three seconds, but the gap I had to cross would leave me exposed.

  “Yeah.” Drew set his jaw and looked down at me. “Are we really going to shoot a couple of federal agents?”

  “If you could see into their heads, you wouldn’t be asking me that. They’re minds have been scrambled like a couple of eggs.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Yeah.” I struggled with the same thing as Drew. We were about to put down a few good people because someone, or something, had screwed with their minds. These weren’t killers or psychopaths.

  At least, they hadn’t been two minutes before.

  I caught sight of one jogging through the trees beside the driveway. He was a big bastard with a neck that was almost as thick as one of my legs. The dude must have slept inside a squat rack.

  “Ten o’clock,” I said. “Big boy behind the pine.”

  “Got him.” Drew raised his pistol. “Ready?”

  “Not really.”

  Drew popped off two shots as I burst through the open door and raced for the front of the SUV.

  The agents on either side of the driveway returned fire.

  Dust puffed up by my right foot.

  I hunched down and slammed into the grill of the SUV, my shoulder bending part of the chrome inward. The throb that ran into my neck and down my arm barely registered as I moved to the left side of the vehicle and peered around.

  A bullet popped the tire right in front of me.

  Drew fired again before ducking back inside.

  Wood splintered around the doorway.

  Nami shouted something unintelligible that I had no doubt was a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

  I chanced another look around the side and spotted Agent Goliath moving through the trees. He wasn’t coming straight at us anymore, but moving toward the side of the cabin.

  Bastard was trying to flank us.

  “Drew! Nine o’clock!” I wanted to let my mental guard down to see where the other agent was, but I feared the repercussions of feeling one of their infected minds again. If I got all woozy again, they might come right up beside me and splatter my pretty little brains all over the place.

  I happened to like my brains where they were.

  Another gunshot rang out from inside the cabin, but I couldn’t see Drew anywhere.

  The big agent running through the woods staggered sideways. He fell against a tree, his thick chest heaving. A white shirt, just visible through the open front of his black jacket, had a red splotch at his stomach.

  He saw me watching him and raised his gun with one hand, aiming at me.

  Then another shot came from the cabin, and a second impact put the big man down. The crack of the gun echoed through the silent forest around us.

  I moved around to the passenger side of the SUV, staying low, and yanked the front door open. As I slid inside, the driver’s window shattered, glass hitting me in the face.

  My eyes barely closed in time as sharp edges stabbed at my cheeks and eyelids. I ducked down in time to see two holes punch through the door.

  Even though I was out of sight, the other agent seemed intent to fill the vehicle with lead until one of her rounds found its mark.

  Cursing, I crawled back out of the vehicle and fell to the driveway. There hadn’t been any time to look for Nami’s gun.

  There were only two parts of a car that did an adequate job of shielding you from bullets—the engine block and the tire rims.

  I moved to the front of the vehicle again and hid behind the wheel.

  “Need a little help here!”

  The agent’s mind pulsed from fifty feet away, moving closer. She’d be on top of me in a few seconds.

  I looked to the door of the cabin again, but didn’t see anyone there. Where the hell was Drew? I tried to remember how many shots he’d fired, wondering if maybe he was hiding while he fished a new mag out of his pocket. Normally, I would have used my ability to find out, but the agent coming toward me had a little something extra going on in her head that I didn’t want any part of.

  A pistol barked from inside the cabin again.

  No one was visible in the door still.

  The ting of bullets punching through the body of the vehicle made me wince. I could hear each impact getting closer, methodically working their way toward the front.

  Was I one hundred percent certain that the engine and rim would protect me?

  At that moment, I had my doubts.

  So, I went with plan B. “Don’t shoot me!”

  The female agent answered by putting another two rounds in the opposite side of the vehicle.

  “Please don’t shoot me?” I grabbed a handful of earth and pebbles from the driveway.

  If she got close enough, I’d throw them in her eyes like a dirty fighter.

  Rocks versus bullets.

  My odds kept getting worse.

  Drew finally appeared in the door and took aim.

  Popped off two shots.

  And then lowered his gun. He turned his head and shouted over his shoulder. “Stay here.”

  “Did you decide to take a coffee break before helping me out?” I peered over the hood and saw the female shooter down a dozen yards away.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “There was another agent coming up behind the cabin that you failed to tell me about.” Drew scanned the trees with his eyes.

  “Damn,” I muttered. “Must be getting rusty.”

  “That’s what happens when you sit in this shit hole and get hammered every day.” Drew’s arms eased down as he approached me. “Are you sure that was all of them?”

  I stood up and braced myself against the car. My mind opened up, becoming a sieve to everyone around me. Thoughts that were not mine poured in like a boat taking on water.

  Panic came from Sammy.

  Focus from Drew.

  Hilarity from Nami.

  No one else was around us.

  The woods were clear, all the agents guarding me dead.

  Nami thought, Why do I keep getting involved with these motherfuckers?

  “Because you think I’m sexy,” I yelled toward the cabin.

  “Suck a dick,” she shouted back.

  I let go of the SUV, reasserted my defenses, and turned to Drew. “Something is seriously FUBAR here.”

  “What was your first clue?” He holstered his pistol. “They might have been plants by Smith. We’ve been struggling to deal with the traitors he has peppered through the system. They—”

  “They weren’t,” I interrupted. “Whatever was happening to them came on suddenly. I’ve been listening to these people’s thoughts for weeks. They weren’t working with anyone but our government.”

  Drew’s frown deepened. “So what are we dealing with here? Another telepath? Is Murdock 2.0 running around out here?”

  “Can’t be. The Bridge didn’t form between us. I’d know right away if another telepath was around.”

  Nami poked her head through the door and looked around. “Am I going to get shot if I walk out of this dump? I can’t take the smell in here anymore.”

  “It’s clear.” Drew fished his cell from his pocket. “We need to get a team up here and see what—” His words died in his throat as he stared down at the screen. “Damn.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “No service.”

  “Right.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “No way.”

  Sammy came out of the cabin and walked over to us. She kneaded her hands together in front of her stomach. “Why does this happen every time I’m around you guys?”

  I knew she didn’t say it to make me feel guilty, but that was the exact effect it had. There was a reason I’d skipped town with
out saying goodbye to anyone.

  Drew ignored her. “We need to search the pockets of the agents and see if one of them has a phone with a different carrier.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “Arthur’s Creek only has one cell tower.”

  “Shit.”

  “That about sums it up.” I nodded in the direction of the road at the end of the long driveway. “The police station, if you can even call it that, is a mile or two down the road. They should have a landline. We can call in the cavalry from there.”

  Sammy’s face scrunched as she looked at the dead body of the female agent. “Don’t they have radios on them?”

  Drew shook his head. “Yeah, but their range is extremely limited.”

  “Let’s save the chitchat for the road.” Nami reached up and opened the front passenger door. “Fuck this place.”

  8 – A Little Gas Spill

  Jim fought back a retch as he stumbled toward the back of the gas station. The burning sensation in his eyes intensified as the bitch behind him gave him another shot from the pepper spray.

  Goddamn it burned.

  He’d seen a man get hosed down with one of those by the cops before, and had laughed while watching, thinking the perp was just a baby with a low pain threshold. He never would have imagined just how devastating the effects were.

  His lungs were on fire.

  His eyes felt like he’d ground a thousand bars of soap into them.

  Hell, his lips tingled the way they did after he had a couple of atomic wings down at Frank’s Pizza.

  An idea clicked in place as he thought of the pizza joint. He’d chugged a glass of milk after eating the wings to help fight the heat. Dear Lord, he hoped the same thing would work with pepper spray.

  Bob screamed from somewhere behind him.

  Jim hated that little pipsqueak, but he figured they were both in the same hurt locker just about then. If he’d been able to see, he might have even gone back to see if he could help the smug bastard.

  But he had a couple of fat women chasing him around with a bottle of instant pain that he had to deal with first. One of his meaty hands wiped at his eyes as he continued to stagger back down the candy bar aisle. The other waved around, searching the area for something, anything, that he could use against the unlikely attackers.

  Candy and beef jerky and little bags of potato chips fell from the shelves as his hand knocked them loose.

  Glass shattered behind him.

  He heard another spray from the can over his shoulder and braced himself for a fresh wave of nausea. None came.

  He hoped he’d put enough distance between him and the women.

  Pain bit into his hip as he bumped into a freezer that held ice-cream bars and fudgesicles.

  “Where are you going, Jimmy?” one of the women asked, her voice high and taunting. “Is a big boy like you afraid of a couple of little ol’ bitties like us?”

  Jim tried to reply, but his lungs didn’t want to cooperate. They felt like he’d inhaled hot coals.

  Instead, he stopped, planted his lead foot, and spun around, throwing a backhanded slap as hard as he could. He aimed low, knowing that his height advantage would make the blow go high if he didn’t.

  The crack that filled the air and sent a reverberation up his arm was possibly the greatest sound he’d ever heard.

  A surprised shout came next, followed by the cacophony of more products falling from the shelves to the floor.

  Jim couldn’t see who he’d hit, but he knew it had been a solid shot—solid enough to send one of them into the shelving lining the aisles.

  How many of the women were following him? Judging by the screams that continued from the other end of the station, he figured that Bob was dealing with at least two of them. The little shit was out of shape, but he definitely could have handled one of the older women by himself.

  Jim decided to keep the offense going. He threw two more punches in wide arcs, hoping his long arms would connect with something else.

  His right fist hit the metal shelving.

  The skin over his knuckles split.

  His left found a jaw.

  Jim roared in triumph as he listened to the thud of a body hitting the floor.

  He spun around again and continued his drunken trek to the back of the convenience store. The exploratory movements of his waving hand found the glass door on one of the refrigerators lining the rear wall.

  With an effort that felt Herculean, Jim pried one of his eyes open, the lid weighted by nearly half a dozen chemical sprays. The burning sensation tripled as he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

  A red sheen blurred the contents of the fridge as he yanked the door open. He felt more than saw the cartons, cans, and bottles as his bloody, sweaty hands ran across the shelves.

  A row of white at the bottom caught his eye.

  Bent down.

  Touched a small handle with his fingers.

  Yanked a carton free.

  Tore the cap off.

  Upended it over his face.

  The cool, thick liquid was a shower from heaven on his burning flesh. His eyes closed instinctively as the milk ran over his face. He forced both lids open again.

  He lost what little vision he had for several seconds as he stood there. The milk went into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He spit it out in a white mist that coated the ceiling and the wall of glass doors.

  When the jug was empty, he dropped it to the floor and ground his fingers against his eyes, working the milk deeper.

  The relief was better than he could have hoped for. He still hurt, his pores stinging and hot, but he could think clearly again.

  He wiped his face and blinked several times.

  His vision cleared for the most part.

  Two of the hefty women were sprawled out in the aisle. One was attempting to pull herself up by using the shelves, but her weight was too much and the whole aisle teetered toward her.

  The other was flat on her back, eyes open, bloody mouth a ruin of broken teeth and shredded lips. She didn’t move.

  Jim had never struck a woman before. Now he’d put down two in a matter of seconds.

  His mother would have been ashamed.

  Jim didn’t give a damn. His blood boiled at the thought of what they’d done to him.

  And why? What had caused them to attack him so suddenly, so ruthlessly?

  With the agony of his face subsiding, the throbs in his hands came to prominence. He raised them in front of his face and grimaced. A deep cut ran between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers on his right hand.

  Blood pattered on the floor.

  Shards of two broken teeth stuck out of the skin covering the knuckles of his left hand.

  Without thinking, he grabbed the pieces and yanked them free, tossing them back at the feet of their owner.

  Then he saw Melody behind the counter, swinging a bat over her head and then bringing it down again and again. The repeated motion made her look like a lumberjack working at a fallen log with an axe.

  The bat came back bloody after the third swing.

  Chunks of hair matted the aluminum.

  Melody stopped after a dozen swings, her hefty bosom rising and falling as she sucked in big gulps of air. She stared down at what Jim could only assume was Bob’s corpse.

  Thankfully, he couldn’t see the body behind the counter.

  The last woman stood behind Mel, by the coffee station. She’d watched the murder with a smile of glee.

  Jim gaped at all of them.

  “Why?” he asked stupidly and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Mel slowly turned her head in his direction. The murderous glare in her eyes made him recoil, a movement he hadn’t even known he was capable of.

  For most of his adult life, Jim had intimidated almost everyone he encountered. He didn’t do it intentionally, but the body God had given him often made people wary of his presence. The gruff demeanor he carried only added to the effect. The i
dea that he would be so easily scared by an upper-middle-aged woman, one who could stand to lose fifty pounds, felt impossible.

  But as he stared back at her, he knew that something horrible, beyond a murder with a baseball bat, had just occurred. The women had been changed on a fundamental level.

  Melody worked for the sheriff, for Christ’s sake. She took emergency calls and chatted with the lonely elderly people of the area.

  She didn’t beat gas jockeys to death for the fun of it.

  Or she hadn’t before today, at least.

  Jim kept his shoulders squared to the women at the other end of the aisles as he sidestepped to his left. The door was only twenty feet away. If he could get outside, he would jump in his truck and haul ass out of there.

  The exit was closer to the women than to him however, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could make it there first. It had been a lot of years since he’d run at an all-out sprint.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Melody asked. She raised the bat and let it rest on her shoulder. Blood and hair stuck to her blouse.

  She didn’t seem to mind.

  “Stay back, goddamn it.” Jim took another step. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—”

  “We don’t need to worry about that.” Melody gave him a grin that would have put a Cheshire cat to shame. “How about we show the football star a little thing or two about baseball, hmm? What do you say?”

  Mel maneuvered around the counter and angled toward the door with a swiftness that surprised Jim. She wouldn’t be making an NFL team as a running back anytime soon, but she still got around in a hurry for her age and bulk.

  Jim paused, fifteen feet from the door.

  Melody stopped too.

  Jim asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  The other woman came up behind Melody. She threw her head back and laughed at the ceiling.

  No, Jim thought. That’s not a laugh—it’s a cackle.

  The fat woman he’d slapped in the aisle had finally extricated herself from the fallen candy bars and potato chip bags. Her right cheek had an angry, red welt running from her ear to the corner of her mouth. Blood trickled from one nostril.

  She stayed where she was, her head low, eyes up. She watched Jim like a predator waiting for its prey to make a move.