Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

by Justin Kemppainen

  Human? Isaac wondered. Supposedly he used to be. Maybe there's something left of that because he sure doesn't look like he eats people or drinks blood.

  Sergei frowned, not as confident. "How are we to assume this is all of his blood? Perhaps it belongs to further victims?"

  The Citizen researcher, Gregory Michaels, scowled at Isaac's comrade. "Once again," he jabbed a finger at the bloody pile of clothing, "you'll notice, if you're not entirely simple in mind, that the fabric has been slashed to ribbons. Do you honestly believe the flesh beneath would not suffer considerable injury?"

  "Yet there is no mark upon him," Sergei replied.

  Except the arm, Isaac thought, wondering why.

  "You have been fully informed of his healing capabilities on numerous occasions!" Michaels spoke in a harsh tone, veins throbbing on his forehead.

  Sergei gave a shrug, the expression on his face suggesting he remained unconvinced.

  "Look at his facial structure!" Michaels stepped forward and gestured. "Is there anything remotely carnivorous about it?"

  "Hmmm..." Sergei frowned, moving close and peering down at the creature on the table.

  While the Russian examined the unconscious Malcolm, Isaac spoke up, "Why didn't his arm heal like the rest of him?"

  Michaels sighed, rubbing his forehead. "He told me he put it through the sterilization field. I believe he was attempting to see the effects of it against his rapid regeneration. It seems his arm is recovering from deeper damage, and as such the mild surface wounds are untended."

  Isaac nodded, thinking this made decent sense.

  Sergei stood upright and made a face. "I do not see anything to suggest your conclusion, Mister Michaels. His jaw and mouth are small, but there's nothing to say he couldn't be the killer we seek."

  "Oh for the love of..." Michaels rolled his eyes. "Fine, let's check his teeth."

  He stepped forward and put his hands on Malcolm's face, intending to open the jaw. The moment his hands touched flesh, Malcolm's eyes sprang open. In an instant, the creature sprang from the bed, knocking the researcher sprawling.

  Isaac snapped a side-arm from his holster as Malcolm charged into the corner of the room, leaping upon the table and casting his gaze towards the broken window and wall above.

  "Malcolm, stop!" Michaels shouted from the floor, spectacles askew on his face.

  The creature hesitated for a moment, turning his head slightly.

  "You're okay. You're in my lab, remember?" Michaels said. Sergei crouched down next to the former Citizen, one hand extended with his own weapon and the other assisting the fallen man to his feet.

  Malcolm said nothing, body remaining tensed and ready to spring toward the window.

  "These gentlemen are concerned about you and the body they found. We just need to talk, and we should probably find you more clothing before you depart."

  Isaac kept his weapon and attention on the creature. Maybe he didn't kill our people, but that thing is dangerous.

  At Michaels' words, Malcolm seemed to notice that he was clad only in layers of shabby trousers and bloodstained boots. He turned around, crouching on the table and waiting.

  "Piotr, keep careful aim," Sergei spoke to an empty span of floor next to him. "The creature is frightening in its agility."

  Ah, not now, Isaac thought. "Sergei, Piotr's dead!"

  "Yes, yes of course." Sergei blinked, giving his head a quick shake before steeling his aim. "Begone, dear brother!"

  Phew, Isaac thought, glad that Sergei had been getting better with the hallucinations. He still imagined Piotr from time to time, but it had gotten quicker and easier for him to shake it off. Thankfully, it'd been quite a while since the last serious incident where Sergei had been expecting or relying on his long-dead brother to provide cover or backup in a hostile situation. Though it pained the battle-hardened Sergei to do so, this mostly came about by him being less often involved in anything combat-related.

  "Gentlemen, please." Michaels gestured to the firearms pointed at the creature, narrowing his eyes for an instant at the empty space. "Those are hardly necessary, doubly useless against him, and will not facilitate conversation or compliance."

  Isaac frowned, exchanging an irritated glance with his comrade. A touch of a smile crossed his lips, knowing Sergei's exact thoughts on the matter of putting away his weapon in the face of danger. The Russian's focus had returned from the hallucination, and both men gave slight nods, relenting and lowering their pistols.

  "Good," Michaels spoke, smoothing his scattered hair. "Now, Malcolm, this may sound like a strange request, but can you please show us your teeth?"

  The creature crouching on the table cocked his head, displaying clear confusion from the request.

  "They are concerned that you may be involved in recent deaths and... post-mortem abuses of some of their people," Michaels spoke in a reassuring tone. "You and I both know you had nothing to do with it. Would you say the real culprits are the ones who attacked you?"

  Malcolm's eyes twitched back and forth between the two leaders of the Old Haven Union. Isaac couldn't tell what the brute was thinking, but he appeared as likely to continue his escape out of the window as speak any further.

  Michaels cleared his throat. "The assumption is that you killed them, slashed up their bodies, and drank their blood. Please show us that no apparatus which you possess would be capable of such action."

  Hmm... Isaac thought. Maybe that's what it is. His face, his mouth seem too small and simple to hold rows of razor sharp teeth. Although you don't really need sharp teeth for blood-drinking, right?

  "Please, Malcolm. All they need is simple proof."

  Isaac didn't believe Sergei would change his mind quite so easily even when presented with what would appear to be solid evidence. Isaac himself felt willing to entertain the notion, however, assuming Malcolm would comply.

  The three men standing in the room watched as the creature on the table parted his lips. Eyes widened as they viewed the bared teeth, a moment of shock and silence registering even on the face of Michaels.

  Small and innocuous in appearance, the creature's mouth at first glance appeared incapable of much threat. When the lips drew back, the three individuals saw a tiny set of pointed teeth, very sharp.

  Weapons snapped from holsters again, and this time Malcolm didn't hesitate. With the reaction and haste of a creature born to hunt, he sprang to the high window. Isaac thought for a moment the escape would be impossible, considering the one injured arm.

  However, even before aims were brought to bear, Malcolm gripped the edge with one hand and hauled himself through. No shots were fired.

  Scowling, Sergei jammed his pistol back into the holster. "There, we have the guilty party escaping and proof of his tendencies!"

  Stammering, Michaels responded, "A mere coincidence, I tell you he must-"

  "Are you sure?" Isaac cut in, frowning. "He ran away. You saw his teeth. Are you completely sure he's not the one we're looking for?"

  Michaels opened and closed his mouth. "His physiology... the organisms in his blood... Sharp teeth don't prove a need for-"

  "Perhaps it is not an issue of what is needed," Sergei said, "but of desires and habits. The brute may not require physical nourishment, but perhaps it delights in a darker form of sustenance."

  "But what about his wounds?" Michaels shouted, thrusting a gesture to the bloody clothing upon the floor of the lab. "You're being a fool in suspecting Malcolm when the real perpetrators run about and continue their mayhem!"

  "But we can't ignore this, either." Isaac turned to Sergei. "I still don't know if the creature is responsible for the deaths or not, but that thing," he pointed toward the broken wall and window, "scares the hell outta me. I don't know what it really is. Our Citizen here doesn't know what it is. No one does."

  Sergei nodded. "We cannot allow it free roam. For the safety of our people, we have to find it. While we organize this action, perhaps we can begin setting up another in
vestigation for the deaths."

  "This is idiotic!" Michaels shouted. "Where are your priorities? Your people are dying!"

  Isaac leveled a gaze at him. "We're in a war. People are dying every day. Now, rest assured we're gonna find out who's killing our people and make 'em pay, but right now I think that monster has run around unchecked for too long."

  "We have a chance to catch this creature tonight," Sergei said. "The killer, if not this Malcolm, can wait another day."

  Isaac and Sergei fell into conversation, discussing how to begin a hunt for the beast. Though Isaac still didn't think the Malcolm creature had involvement in the deaths, finding the monster seemed more important.

  Neither man listened to Michaels while he continued to voice objection.

  ******

  Bones aching, heart pounding, Quinton ran through the streets of Old Haven. True to his word, the elderly man moved with an agility befitting a much younger individual. His breath drew in and out, deep and fast but calm and relaxed in spite of the exertion. Hands gripping the smooth wood of an old, bolt-action rifle, he continued running.

  Howling madmen trailed behind him, their numbers he couldn't determine.

  The old man cursed himself for his lack of attention, spotted traveling through the area to find Rick's new exit point. Too many easy months, he thought to himself, no threats to traveling have made me careless.

  Quinton didn't know their direction, but by their frenzied behavior he assumed they were of the group which attacked Rick's odd companion the previous night.

  In either case, the twisting path he moved in proved difficult for his pursuers to follow, and soon their ravenous cries and taunting faded away into the background.

  He relaxed his pace to a brisk walk, muscles sore and shaking. Hm... he thought. Maybe I am starting to slow down.

  Gathering quick bearings, he estimated another mile or two of travel before he reached the spot where Rick indicated. From his pack, he produced a small flask of water and took a drink. Securing it, he straightened the pack and slung his rifle. Moving along, he turned a corner.

  The cold steel of a knife raked across his chest with a bright flash of pain.

  Eyes met, one set aging and cold and the other filled with murderous lust. Blood dripped from the edge of a knife, which snapped forward again.

  Quinton grit his teeth and fought.

  ******

  On the south side of upper-Haven, a small group of men gathered. Weapons in hand, rationed ammunition between them, they prepared for their strike. The propaganda speakers blared messages favoring each faction of the conflict, but the noise went unnoticed by the preparing soldiers. Their loyalties were long-since decided.

  An actual attack of covert or blatant variety had not occurred from either side in many weeks. Tensions remained high between the Old Haven Union and the Citizenship regardless, too much hatred and blame for the current conditions.

  Neither side seemed willing to push too hard. The Citizens held greater numbers, so the OHU was not confident in a full-scale strike even though their opponents were largely untrained. In spite of lacking much means for efficient delivery, the OHU also retained the contingency plan, several units containing the deadly biochemical agent. They were heavy and difficult to move or carefully plant, but it wouldn't be necessarily impossible to use given appropriate desperation.

  Citizen Davidson sought to change at least part of the dynamic. Not that he necessarily wished for the permanent end to all non-Citizen individuals: he would have gladly accepted them into his fold. However, such a thing would likely prove high in difficulty from both sides, considering the hatred everyone displayed.

  Perhaps, when it has ended, I will be able to convince my subjects to accept some of the prisoners, he often thought. We shall certainly need sheer population numbers if the city is to survive.

  In the end, the discovered corpse didn't do much to alter Davidson's opinion. It merely created a nudge, a reason to undertake risky maneuvers. The more he considered it, the less he thought of the OHU as being guilty of the brutality. The thought of who might have done it provided a mild worry, but it paled behind the more pressing concerns of their small war and how best to end it.

  Thus, the soldiers prepared for a deep incursion into OHU territory. Intending little contact, they clad themselves dark in color and light in burden.

  Davidson, with a few final words of encouragement, departed to allow his soldiers a moment's peace before the assault began.

  ******

  Entirely oblivious to any of the particular events, Kaylee lounged in her dwelling. Unlike her experience working with Elijah and Victor, she never received any information or task of real importance. Her time was spent in simple service to the cause and in the extracurricular of conspiring with Rick when possible.

  Since the summons of the early morning, where Sergei and Isaac voiced concern over her often-missing companion, she hadn't done much. Due to their requirement that she stay away from patrol in order to be a potential information source, she had little to do at all.

  She spent time in the small apartment, sleeping for a while followed by boredom and attempts at relaxation. Kaylee marveled at the impossibility of it, remembering only short time earlier when rest and calm provided a blessing seldom gained.

  Now, all I can do with myself is worry about Rick and how he'll react when I don't show up on patrol, she thought, unaware of Rick's recent ordeals and similar feelings. I hope he doesn't do anything stupid like try to come over here and find me.

  Kaylee doubted this would ever happen. Rick cared for her to be sure, the true extent a mystery to Kaylee, but his life existed within a perceived sense of duty. She didn't think he'd sacrifice himself only to find and save her when the city remained in darkness and strife.

  On the other hand, I suppose I don't really know, do I? she thought. Her attitude considered it best not to find out, so she decided to spend her down-time not in relative safety and comfort but out in the street.

  This is probably a bad idea, she thought. Logic dictated Rick probably wouldn't be out and about anyplace near where she would travel, but the afternoon wore on in monotony. As much to stretch her legs and feel even mild accomplishment as to try in vain to come across Rick, she stepped out for a walk.

  The usual contemplation accompanied her stroll, and she considered the goals of Rick and his "trustworthy" ally in the Inquisitor. She made a face in thinking about Gottfried, concerned Rick set himself up for a terrible fate in working with a Citizen-allied heathen.

  She still didn't agree with their standpoint in trying to escape. Too many stories had been told about the horrors of the outside world for Kaylee to be comfortable with the thought.

  Then again, life inside here isn't much better. I wonder if there's a way to fix the protection field thing without destroying it. For obvious reasons, Kaylee had no inkling toward how such a process would work.

  Nor did she know if any semblance of society could be gathered from the rabble remaining in Haven. Even with sunlight, the years had gone too harsh on the dregs of Old Haven and too easy on those living above. Kaylee doubted consensus could be reached between the two sides, and she agreed with Rick when he said numbers would be thin beyond recovery when the dust settled.

  Finding a solution to the curse Haven had become was a bit beyond Kaylee's abilities. Even so, she pledged to help bring it about, and in that regard she believed Rick most capable.

  It doesn't do much good when I have to be away from him. How the hell can I do anything to help when I'm stuck being a stooge over here?

  Kaylee's irritated contemplation provided little in the way of careful attention, and she'd not have seen Rick had he been walking next to her. It was such that a familiar elderly man, bleeding and stumbling down an adjacent street missed her notice until he called out.

  A hacking cough followed by a gruff voice snapped Kaylee from her thoughts, sending her into a startled panic. "Hold on!" she called out. Notion
s of flight crossed her mind in the instants before she realized who the injured man was.

  Quinton pressed a bloodied hand to his midsection, an expression on his face more of annoyance than pain. He favored one bleeding leg and spoke through gritted teeth, "Give me a hand."

  Kaylee rushed forward and threw his arm over her shoulder, supporting the man's weight and ignoring the blood smearing on her clothing. She swore, surprised by the exertion. Christ, he's heavier than he looks. Somehow she'd expected a half-dried husk, light and easy to carry.

  "What happened to you?" she asked, struggling to assist.

  "Attacked. Help me get to Sergei and Isaac."

  More whirlwind thoughts crawled through Kaylee as she labored to assist Quinton. His wounds did not seem overly grave, but a long slash decorated his leg, creating the primary trouble for his movement. Blood was splashed across his drab green clothing, a little from other small cuts on his body, but some of the spatter lacked a matching wound. Yikes, what happened to the other guy?

  Through the streets they went, making slow progress toward the Institute. Quinton gave no further explanation of his injuries, his hissing breath the only sound he produced.

  "Should we maybe take care of your leg at leas-"

  Quinton made an irritated grunt, silencing Kaylee and answering her question.

  A few random bystanders, members of the OHU, saw and scurried away from the presence of a wounded man hauled by a smallish woman. Several followed at a distance, curious at the activity.

  Only one individual came and assisted, taking some of the old man's weight. They had already been within sight of the Institute, so Kaylee didn't hold strong appreciation for the help.

  Through the doors, they were cleared by alarmed guards after several harsh words from Kaylee.