Zero Sum: An Alexi Sokolsky Supernatural Thriller (Alexi Sokolsky: Hound of Eden Book 3)

by James Osiris Baldwin

  Bravery was one thing; recklessness, quite another. I cursed bitterly, checked that I had enough ammunition in the rifle, and ran off after him.

  I screeched to a halt in front of the broken door to find... nothing, save for pieces of warped metal and plastic, the guns, and the MiBs’ goggles and headsets. They had been vomited in a pile near the mortuary table. The Streetsweeper was nowhere to be seen. Zane was pacing around the edges of the room, huffing and sniffing.

  I flinched, aiming up as I looked around wildly at the ceiling, the corners of the room, then toward the bathroom. The only sign of the dead FBI agent were his effects: a tie clip, the cover from his notebook, his ID card and an assortment of other small, inorganic items. Everything was gone, including the blood.

  “It could be in the bathroom,” I said to Zane.

  The cougar ignored me, shoulders hunched as he—she?—paced back and forth. I went to the bathroom and opened the door, staying around the wall. The toilet was mangled, as was the wall. The large industrial air vent overhead had been torn out, leaving a gaping black hole. The plaster around it had clearly been gouged by claws. Fear mingled with relief, until a thin wailing sound pierced the air from outside. Sirens, the warbling cadence of the Vigiles Magicarum fleet vehicles.

  “Zane!” I went back out. “Zane, we have to go!”

  The cougar growled at me, and when I took a step forward, she bunched and hissed. My heart sunk. Zane had changed once already, and shapeshifting burned a lot of calories. He hadn’t been able to eat in between changes, and his Ka-Bah had gone feral.

  Suddenly, I was pissed. Furious. “Your fucking action hero complex is going to get us killed or worse! Snap out of it!”

  The big cat reared onto her back legs, hissing and striking at me with a paw. I slapped it aside, grim-faced, and then punched Zane’s Ka-Bah right in the side of her head. It wasn’t going to hurt her, but it seemed to shake something loose. Human awareness returned to her eyes, just before I seized her by the scruff and pulled her toward the door.

  “Move it!” I let go at the threshold, and broke into a limping jog. The puma followed on my heels, ears flat to her skull, tail held low.

  Lightning flashed through the windows; rain pounded the door, the glass, and the garden outside. The street beyond pulsed with purple, blue, red and white lights. The Vigiles and NYPD were working together. They’d cordoned off the street in front of the house to stop curious onlookers from getting closer, while entry teams mustered out in front of the house, visible as dark lumps through the sheeting rain. Conscious that the Streetsweeper could still be inside, I hustled into the parlor, then beyond that to the sunroom door. The sunroom was a greenhouse-like structure full of stacked chairs and folded plastic tables. The marquee was longer than it was wide, and ran down the side of the house to the corner of the road, where another door led out into the garage entry. The two sentries were gone, but the gate and garage were open. Voices rang out from inside: voices, then screams.

  “Well, they found the Streetsweeper.” I kept a hand on Zane as he flattened to the ground. “Don’t even think about it. We’re getting out of here.”

  Zane growled, bunching as I got ready for the sprint. We broke out into the open at a run, which slowed to a trot and then a standstill as the sky turned red over our heads, and a deep, sonorous moan rolled through the air. It made the ground rumble and the dirt on the ground dance.

  My heart sank as a familiar, shuddering ripple of dark energy washed over me in a crawling wave. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and the rain—already chilly—turned icy. Behind us, something hard, something I couldn’t see in the dark, punched through the top of the sunroom like a bullet, the sound of shattering glass breaking through the roaring storm.

  “Run!” I took off as fast as my legs could carry me.

  Darkness deeper than night fell over New York city like a blanket. The streetlights were dulled. The troopers out on the street didn’t even notice us as we pounded through the hail thundering down over the city. I kept anticipating the smell of blood, but instead, a nauseous, rotted odor began to saturate the air, as half-seen shapes—some the size of my thumbnail, others as large as my hand—rained down on us and scuttled away through the rancid water. We were sloshing across the thin torrent that was racing downhill along the street when the quality of the rain suddenly changed, turning rancid. The reek of human excrement suddenly dominated everything.

  I swore, wrestling with the car door, and threw the bags inside first. Zane got in after them, and I slammed the door closed, turning back to the street as the cougar wrestled with whatever had stuck to her fur.

  “BINAH!” I called out to my familiar, and threw a hand up to generate a magical shield against the filth and bugs raining from the sky. “Binah!”

  The sky rumbled, and the water on the ground shuddered. As the sound cleared, I heard her: a faint panicked meowing coming from the house beside the funeral home. She’d gone to their garden. I ran over and vaulted the front fence, weathering blows against the shield. There were bugs in the sludge. Large, cockroach-like bugs with spines and needle-sharp pincers swarmed up my boots and over the cuffs of my coveralls, trying to burrow through them and into flesh. I slapped them off as I struggled not to throw up at the wretched violet-and-tar brown stench of their ichor, and vaulted the fence into the garden. “Binah!”

  Binah was fighting for her life on the front deck of the house, trapped inside a circle of insects. A cockroach the size of her head leaped at her, chittering. She spat and struck it away, and jumped up to hang on the screen door with a hiss.

  I thundered onto the wooden floor and stomped on the first line of bugs, grinding them under my boots as I fought toward her. The bugs popped and burst into foul-smelling fluid, and the insects still alive swarmed the gooey mess, sucking it up and increasing in size as they did so. I had to drop the shield to grab Binah and haul her out the door. Her claws pierced my shirt and the flesh beneath as she clung, terrified. I wrapped myself around her and ran back out into the rain.

  Bugs now made up the majority of the movement on the road: scuttling, drowning, fighting, eating one another and growing. They surged and splashed around my feet like schooling fish as I ran back, doing my best to shield my cat from the blows overhead. Zane had changed back, pale and scared as he threw open the door and took her from my hands. He picked the biting cockroach creatures off her like oversized ticks while I pulled others out of my hair. The sounds of people screaming, crying, and the sharp rapport of gunfire rang out from around the corner. Car alarms, sirens... chaos, just like the meat storm.

  I dove into the car once most of the crawlers were off, slammed the door and plucked out the ones that had embedded their proboscises through the denim and into skin. I was bleeding from dozens of tiny punctures.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Zane pulled one out of my hair and threw it out the window. “What the fuck?”

  “This is bad,” I said, thinking back over what Kristen Cross had said in her report. “Very bad. A second harbinger. It has to be.”

  Zane looked as exhausted as I felt, but he still had the energy to scowl. “Yeah. But a harbinger of what?”

  Tiredly, I watched the insects pound against the windshield and splatter, their bodies splitting into bugs the size of mites that were washed away by the water. “For once in my life, I’m not sure I want to know.”

  Chapter 22

  We got back at 3 a.m., exhausted. I’d only been up for seven hours, but it had been one hell of a night.

  Strange Kitty was closed, and the yard that had been a warzone only hours before was now cold, wet, and still. I could smell the bugs, but no longer see any on the ground.

  Zane had left for home, so it was just me and Binah. I burst into the darkened clubhouse, thinking I’d be here alone, but was surprised to see Jenner’s bony shoulders at the bar. She had her back to the empty room, hunched over her drink. A battered AK-47 lay on the counter near her elbow. She wore no jac
ket: just a loose faded black tank top that had definitely seen better days.

  “Jenner?” I called out to her.

  “Ehhn?” She started up a little. She sniffed the air as she turned and focused on me, bleary-eyed. “Oh, Rex. Yo.”

  Her voice was heavily slurred. Grimacing, I crossed to the bar. The craving for alcohol simmered behind my concern, peaking as I got closer and smelled the fumes wafting off the bar counter. My mouth was ashy and parched, tongue sticking to my palate, and it smelled good. “Where is everyone? Are you alright?”

  “I’m pissed off, is what I am.” She put her glass to her lips and threw back whatever was in it. “The universe needs to let the fuck up for a day.”

  “Tell me about it.” I tried to stay back from the bar and banish the craving. “Did you see what was going on outside?”

  “I sure as shit smell it.” She hawked in her throat, grimacing. “Figured it was the shit garnish on top of the shit sandwich that was tonight. Started getting ready for the end of the world yet?”

  “Bugs just fell over the city,” I said. “Everywhere.”

  “Thought that’s what I smelled.” Jenner shook her head. “Dunno if you saw the news. Miami just got wiped off the map by the biggest hurricane on record. They thought it was gonna head for the Bahamas, but it turned and hit Florida. Hurricane Samantha. Next one’s heading our way - they were saying they expect it to hit on Halloween. Category Four. They’re calling it the Perfect Storm.”

  “That’s the night you fight Tiny, isn’t it? Otto Roth?”

  “Yeah.”

  In the silence that hung between us, I took the seat next to her.

  “Did your man make it? Rob, the driver?”

  “No. Blood poisoning got him.” Jenner scowled. She had taken off her eyepatch, baring the scarred ruin of her eye. “I got too cocky again. Now another good man’s dead, and we’re screwed.”

  “They took the truck?”

  “Damn right they took the truck. My fucking truck, and my fucking guns.” Jenner slammed the empty glass back to the counter. “Now I have to answer to the fucking Crazy 8’s down in Miami, assuming they didn’t drown like rats. The floodwaters are up to the goddamn traffic lights. I shit you not.”

  “The only way the Nightbrothers could have known where to hijack the truck is if someone told them the route,” I replied. “Who knew?”

  She glowered at me. “What’re you trying to say?”

  “I’m not trying. I’m telling you. You have a rat in your ranks. So who knew where the truck would be?”

  Jenner stiffened with tension for a few seconds, grinding her teeth, and then sunk down to lean on the bar. She slid her hands up through her hair.

  “Ron and Zane,” she said. “Talya. A couple other crew. It might not be any of ‘em. We went on another wiretap hunt while you were gone. Found one inside the pool table. I dunno how they found time to drill the hole, but there it fuckin’ was.”

  “I doubt the Vigiles sent the Nightbrothers in,” I said. “Though given what Zane and I just found, I’m not discounting it. It’s still more likely to be someone you know and trust.”

  “Yeah.” Jenner shook her head. “Fuck me, Rex, I know we got problems here. There’s factions in the Tigers, you know. Cliques. The old boy’s club, the guys that fought with... with Mason in Vietnam, they aren’t happy with how I’m runnin’ things. You heard Ron the other day.”

  “I did.” Eyeing the rack of bottles, I took a seat on her other side.

  “Some of the boys blame me for all the dying last month. Some of them think we Weeders can’t be trusted to protect them. Can’t say I blame ‘em.” Jenner shook her head, her hair slipping over her cheek. “We got new recruits training up, but Dogboy fucking nailed it. We’re low on manpower, and it’s screwing with people. I think... I think they’d have rathered it was me who’d died, ‘stead of Mason.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said. “That’s ridiculous. What happened tonight demonstrated their loyalty to you.”

  “Nah. Bikers jus’ like to fight. Zane is good... yeah. The Big Cat Crew is pretty solid. It’s just though... fuck. I don’t even know.” She fumbled for the bottle on the other side of the bar counter. “Fuck feelings. Fuck Otto. Fuck storms.”

  “You need to slow down a bit,” I said. “I can smell your breath from here.”

  “My liver needs to work out too.” She uncapped the bottle - bourbon, as usual - and poured herself another. “You want one?”

  My mouth itched, and before I could help myself, I’d spoken. “Yes.”

  “This’ll put hair on your chest.” She leaned over the bar, snagged a beer glass, and dumped a tumbler’s worth of bourbon into it. I took it with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It smelled sour, but my body mechanically lifted the glass to my lips. It tasted pretty much how it smelled, and as the sense of satiation flooded through me, I made myself set the glass down. One mouthful was enough, I tried to tell myself - and the Yen.

  Jenner didn’t seem to notice the struggle, but then again, she was drinking out of the bottle. “So hey, Rex, between you and me, there’s something else.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Malek of Austin made me an offer.” She gazed up at the war memorabilia above the mirrors that hung behind the bar, frowning. “Guy by the name of Starfish. Me and his right-hand girl, Cassie Bones, have a history together. Good history, mind you, nothing bad. She runs a Weeder warband down that part of the South.”

  “And?”

  “Cassie and Starfish have wanted us to band together and merge gangs for years.” Jenner sighed, and puffed some of her fringe out of her face. “We always said ‘maybe one day’. We’ve always been pretty proud up here, you know? Wrapped up in our own business. Well, I spoke to Cassie again a couple days ago. She’s begging me to take the boys down and join her permanently.”

  “Are you thinking about it?” My fingers were playing around the glass, flirting with it. The amber liquid looked like honey, and the smell of it was becoming more enticing by the minute.

  “I can’t deal with it right now, because of Otto fucking Roth.” Jenner snarled under her breath. “I’ll kill that fucker on Wednesday night. I’m going to have to kill Dogboy and Gator, too.”

  I brought to mind my clearest memory of Dogboy: the sight of his bared fangs. “Dogboy is a vampire?”

  “Correct.” She lay her face down on her arm, pointing up at the ceiling with the other hand. “I dunno, Rex. I’m rambling. I’m pissed off at Cassie for turning the thumbscrews on me, but I know she means well. I think… I think maybe she’s got a good idea? But I can’t just fucking leave.”

  I thought for a few minutes. “I think we should.”

  “What? And abandon Strange Kitty?” She hawked in her throat. “Fuck that, Rex. Fuck. That. I can’t let Otto get his greasy fucking paws on my land.”

  “I’m worried that they were counting on you saying that, Jenner. This fight is bad news,” I said.

  “It’s a fight. Been in ‘em hundreds of times.” She shook her head. “They aren’t gonna outfox me.”

  “You know he’s not normal, don’t you? Otto is Morphorde.”

  “Don’t have to be Sherlock Jones to see that.” Jenner didn’t look up. “’Course he’s fuckin’ Morphorde.”

  “Then why not hit him and his club Tuesday night? Burn them out.” I frowned. “You said it yourself. He’s Khayty, an outlaw, and he won’t respect the rules.”

  Jenner began to chuckle. I watched her, perplexed, as she pushed herself up and turned to face me, a delirious drunk smile on her lips.

  “That’s where my favorite spook comes in, doesn’t it?” She said, exhaling a cloud of sweet, boozy breath. “Let’s go out back to my room.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to, not with her like this, but the tigress resolutely slid off the stool and weaved toward the red door. I almost took the drink with me, but forced myself to leave it on the bar and followed at a wary distance.

&nbs
p; Jenner staggered to the room where she occasionally slept and collapsed onto the bed. “I told Otto he can only bring two of his crew with him. And I know he’s going to bring Dogboy and Gator.”

  “Gator’s the spook? The old guy?”

  “Yup.” Jenner arched her head back against the pillows. “Now, Otto isn’t going to just bring those two along. He’ll bring his gang and hide them, but we’re going to set up before they do. We’ll lay a bunch of traps.”

  She was definitely drunk. Exasperated, I looked away from her. “Jenner...”

  “Don’t you ‘Jenner’ me. I was in the Viet Cong. My last life, I fought in World War Two while your parents were still in diapers, and I know what I’m talking about,” she snapped.

  “Fine. Traps. What kind of traps?”

  “Laaaaandmiiiines.” She stretched the word out with satisfaction. “Well, remote-control proximity mines.”

  I slouched deeper into the beanbag and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do with the bodies and-or severed limbs that result? Not to mention the noise. Are you going to fight off the National Guard by yourself, too?”

  “You stopped a bunch of bullets at that junkyard,” Jenner said, leaning up to look at me. “Can’t you create a buffer to diffuse sound?”

  I looked up and blinked at her. “You’re serious.”

  “Bastard wants to take MY land,” she grumbled. “I’ll fucking show him, Rex. Can you do it or not?”

  “Well... in theory, yes.” I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. “But-”

  “Buuuuut?”

  Proximity mines. “I’d need a large blood sacrifice to ward a whole area like that. And where in GOD’s name are you going to get proximity mines?”

  “Pfft. I already have ‘em. This is America, son.”

  “So... you’re going to lay literal landmines. And dig them up once you’re done, I hope.”

  “Bitch, I can smell the individual fucking pheromones in your sweat when I’m shifted. I can smell where we hid the landmines.”