by Anton Strout
The man didn’t have time to take it all in. Another tentacle rose and wrapped around the floating piece of wood he was on. It tugged it under the surface, dragging him down. This time he was lucky enough to have gotten a deep breath in, but his luck was about to run out. I felt a crushing sensation against his spine from the tightening of the tentacle, and as he went deeper a shape rose up to meet him. Even with daylight up above, it was hard seeing through his eyes in the murk of water, mud, and blood, but one thing stood out as his breath left him and he began to fade. An enormous yellow eye.
I never wanted to be stuck in someone’s death. I had no idea what effect it might have on my brain or if it would be like needing to wake up while falling in a dream. I pulled myself out of my vision and checked my vitals. My heartbeat was steady, but not thumping in my chest, which was a good sign. The hypoglycemia from using my powers kicked in, but that was to be expected. I still felt a little bit of emotional strain of the victim in my head that I couldn’t shake, but I was thankful it didn’t belong to any of the other people who had been haunting my visions. When Jane’s hand came down on my shoulder out of nowhere, I nearly screamed.
“Got a sec?” she asked. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I closed my eyes and tried to shake the psychometrygenerated emotions off of me, but managed only to make myself dizzy on top of slightly disoriented. “Actually, can it wait?” I asked, trying to control the fear and anxiety in my voice. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Oh,” Jane said. I looked up from the broken piece in my lap. Jane’s face was a mix of disappointment and sadness.
I slid the piece of the sign off my lap and got up off the floor. “It can wait,” I said, pushing down the remaining raw emotions. I grabbed Jane by the hand and walked with her over to my sofa. “What’s wrong?”
“When you started with the Department, did they put you through Undead 103?”
“103,” I repeated as I tried to recall it. “Oh yeah. Shamble On?”
Jane nodded. “That’s the one,” she said. “A lot of zombiefighting techniques and the philosophical aspects of confronting them. How did it make you feel when you took it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was so overwhelmed that it kind of blurred into everything else I was learning at the time. Wesker may have just thrown the pamphlet at me and left it at that. Why?”
Jane sighed. “We were going over what to do in the event that one is bitten by the living dead. Wesker suggested that there was only one thing to do in such a case, only one inevitable conclusion. Kill them.”
“Leave it to Wesker to take it as dark as he can right out of the gate,” I said.
“But he’s right, isn’t he?”
“I try not to think about it,” I said. “I take a more optimistic approach to our jobs than that.”
“How so?”
“I do my best not to get bitten in the first place,” I said.
“Seems to be working so far,” Jane admitted with a small smile. “Still, don’t you worry about dying?”
“I didn’t use to,” I said, “but lately? Yeah. Mostly because of the Inspectre. He’s looking and acting old, more so since Mason Redfield came back all rejuvenated.” Jane nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Have I been acting more morose than usual because of it? If so, I’m sorry.”
“No,” she said, quick to correct me. “It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
She squeezed my hands, meeting my eyes with dead seriousness. “It’s just that . . . with this mark on my back, I can feel myself changing. You saw how useless I became on that boat the other night. I can feel it trying to gain control over me. I don’t want it to come to that.”
I didn’t like where this was going. “What are you suggesting?”
“You saw how they protected me,” she said. “Those water zombies. They’re waiting for me to change. I’m slowly falling under her spell.”
“So, we’ll fight it,” I said, and then added, “Together.”
“For how long?” Jane asked. Tears began running down her cheeks. “Wesker’s not having any luck breaking that woman’s hold on me. The magic is too old, too strong. He’s been able to slow it with a few counterspells, but we’re fighting inevitability here.”
“I won’t let that happen,” I said. “I promise that. We’ll find a way.”
“Promise me something else,” she said. “Please.”
“Name it.”
“If I become like her. . . or worse, I want you to kill me.”
The air went out of my lungs and my heart sped up. “Don’t ask me for that,” I said. “I can’t promise that.”
Jane looked angry. “Why not?” she asked. “Don’t you love me?”
I wanted to shake her. “That’s precisely why you can’t ask me to do that to you,” I said. “How can you expect me to strike you down?”
“Listen to me,” she said, grabbing my face and pressing her forehead against mine. “If it actually comes to that, I won’t be me anymore. That’s the point.”
“I’m the glass-half-full kinda guy, Jane. You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Fine,” she said, agitated. She stood up and turned to walk away but I grabbed her arm.
“Jane, don’t.”
She turned back to me, crying. “What do you want me to do, Simon? Do you want me to end up killing you? Because that’s what she’ll want me to do. I can already feel it.”
“You can?”
“Yes! For days now.”
The emotional panic of my vision mixed with my own frustration. “Why are you only telling me now?” I snapped.
Jane softened. “Because I thought if I told you, you’d want me around here less. I mean, what guy wants a homicidal girlfriend, right?”
“I. . .” I couldn’t find the words, which only frustrated me further. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jane. I mean, I’ve dated girls with far more homicidal tendencies than you.”
“Really?” she said, cheering up a little.
“Really,” I said, calming down. I could do this. I could separate my emotions from the feedback loop of my psychometry. “You wouldn’t be the first. If I had a dime for every time a woman wanted me dead, well. . . I don’t think I can count that high, frankly.”
She smiled at that. “Just promise me you’ll think about the bigger picture if I. . . change,” she said.
“I will,” I said. “I’ll think about the bigger picture, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to kill you if it comes to it. It just means I’ll come up with something.”
“Ever the optimist,” she said and hugged me.
She wrapped her arms tight around me, and despite the fact that it felt good, it took all of my nerves right then to fight off the unbidden image rising up of her crushing me until I was lifeless in her arms.
26
I had walked through the theater at the back of the Lovecraft Café countless times by this point, but it was rare these days to actually stay in it longer than it took me to get down the aisle and key into the hidden door that led to the Department of Extraordinary Affairs. Several days later, however, I found myself sitting in one of the theater seats, taking in the newly cleaned-up, zombie-free beauty of the place. Gilded fleur-de-lis decorated the walls and an ornate old-world chandelier hung high above. It was really quite beautiful now that I had stopped to take it all in, more so than I had in the past. Jane sat on my left, wrapped up in the ending of Fright Night, while Trent looked around nervously sitting on my right.
“So, this was your genius idea?” I asked him. “Hanging out, watching movies? Great master plan, Trent.”
“Hey,” he said. “At least you’re getting paid. I’m not even getting a snack or anything out of this.”
“Funny,” I said. “I thought payment enough for you would be not sitting in a holding cell.”
“I’m the victim here,” he said earnestly. “I told you. I had no idea that what they w
ere up to was so sinister.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Depending on how helpful this is, it may go a long way to getting you back to school instead of prison.”
“Shush,” Jane said, not looking away from the movie.
I lowered my voice and leaned in toward Trent. “You sure they’ll come?”
He nodded. “Oh, they’ll come, all right,” he said. “Trust me. They won’t be able to resist the movie lineup I’ve put the word out about. A horror film festival? It’s going to be impossible for them to pass up.”
Connor sat several rows in front of us and turned to look back at me. “How do we know they’ve even heard about it?”
“We put up ads everywhere,” I said. “Online, even on campus. In the old days I would have gotten a Shadower team to do it, but in the spirit of economy the Inspectre hung every flyer up himself. Jane even chipped in, in her own way. She told the computers to help spread the news of the film festival.”
“Really?” Connor asked, a fixed look of skepticism on his face.
I shrugged. “Something like that,” I said. “I’m out of my element there. You’ll have to ask the technomancer.”
The credits were rolling now and Jane was finally able to take her attention away from the screen. She nodded. “It was easy peasy,” she said. “Even without my power, I could have done it.”
“Awesome,” Trent said, agitated. “Can I at least get a popcorn or something?” He leaned forward, looking over at Jane. “Is he a cheap date? He is, isn’t he?”
“Don’t get fresh,” I said, pushing him back into his seat. “I’m not going to get you a popcorn. This isn’t a date.”
Trent looked at me, horrified. “You’re so not my type.”
“What?” I asked him. “Not evil enough for you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Just the wrong set of chromosomes. Sorry.” He turned and looked off into the darkened theater. “What if they notice me?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got the situation under control.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Like when you tried to capture them last time? No offense, Mr. Canderous, but I take very little comfort in that.”
“No,” I said. “This time we’ll get them. Your friends know more about the reborn professor than they let on about, maybe even the water woman. Look at it this way—at least you’re not tied up this time. That’s an improvement for you already.”
Trent looked around the half-full theater. “What about the rest of these people?” he asked.
“We shut down the theater for the day,” I said, “and filled it with any available agent we could spare.”
“It’s far emptier than I’d like it to be right now,” Jane said.
“Elyse is so going to catch on to this plan,” Trent said. “She’s going to sniff them out before they even sit down. She’s smart like that.”
“Don’t worry about your old friends,” I said. “Right now, you should be more worried about all of us in here.”
“Great,” he said, but sounded unconvinced.
“Fine. If you want to worry about something, worry about your pals not showing up. If they don’t, there’s going to be trouble for you.”
“I’m with Simon on this one,” Jane said. “I don’t think they’re going to show. Why would they come out for this at all when they can just watch them on television?”
“It’s not quite the same,” Trent said.
“Exactly,” Connor said from a few rows ahead of us. “Movies were meant for the big screen . . .”
I shushed him as the coffeehouse curtain opened and Trent’s three friends walked in. Jane, Trent, and I sank lower into our seats, doing our best to keep unnoticed, hopefully so we could get the drop on them once they settled in.
The three students were still in the clothes they had escaped in the other day. Elyse wore her hair pulled back in a short ponytail, but Mike and Darryl both looked like they hadn’t showered. I could have been wrong, though. Maybe bedhead was all the rage at NYU right now. Mike looked like he was trying to pick the best seat in the house, which made sense considering the fact that he was always carrying a camera on him and probably planned to bootleg the film. He found what he considered to be at least a passable viewing spot, and then started into the row before Elyse and Darryl did. “Hurry,” he whispered. “The credits are already rolling.”
“So what?” Darryl asked, ducking down as they worked their way across the aisle.
“It’s the best part!” Mike said, practically spilling his drink as he tripped over something.
“Shh!” Elyse said, and sat down once Mike stopped.
As they finished settling in, the new film began and the screen filled with a shot of a graveyard. It reminded me of Good Mourning: How to Tell a Funeral Party from a Zombie Horde, the short training film I had been shown during my initiation into the Department.
Jane grabbed my arm. I turned to her. She looked worried. “This film is clean, right?” she asked. “I don’t want to have a repeat of Mason Redfield’s resurrection.”
“Looks like we’re going to find out, I guess,” I said.
Trent leaned forward in his seat, staring ahead at his old friends. “I don’t believe it,” Trent whispered. “Is Mike. . . bootlegging this?”
“Oh,” I whispered, “is that where you draw your criminal line now?”
“Stop bickering and get ready,” Jane said, standing up. Connor was already up, right behind the group of them, and had his hands on the back of Elyse’s seat.
“On behalf of this theater’s management,” Connor said with some volume behind it, “you’re under arrest. . . mostly for being dicks and attacking us the other day.”
“Shit,” I heard Elyse hiss out. The three students jumped up out of their seats, but Connor grabbed Elyse with both hands. Mike climbed over the seat in front of him. It was like watching a blubbery baby trying to escape its crib and would have been comical if not for the fact that he actually was getting away. Darryl turned toward Connor and swung for him, bringing his arm down across both of Connor’s. His grip on Elyse broke and the girl pulled away, crouching forward.
Using the agility I had witnessed during her last escape, she pressed herself into a handstand on the seat in front of her, knocking Connor back over the seat behind him as her legs swung up.
“Stay here, Trent,” I said. I stood and pulled out my bat, extending it. “Try not to get stabbed this time.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. The young student looked stunned by the chaos erupting all around him and stayed in his seat.
I ran down our row after Jane until I hit the aisle, then started down toward the fight in front of me.
Mike had made his way to the front of the theater now, gracelessly but effectively. Elyse continued walking on her hands along the tops of the seats after him. She flipped off the last one when she hit the front row and stuck her landing like a pro before running to join Mike. I ran after her as Darryl ran down his row toward the aisle leading up to the coffeehouse.
“Heavy Mike,” Darryl shouted. “Memory card. . . now!”
Several agents were trying to subdue Elyse and Mike, but they were pulling their punches since they were dealing with humans for once. Elyse was a scrapper and gave them as good as she got, her gymnastic flourishes holding them, along with a knife she now held in her hand. Mike was doing his best to push off any of the attackers who got past her, all while holding his camera over his head and out of reach. He popped open a slot on the back of it, pulled the memory card free, and flung it across the theater, aiming high. Darryl, tall as he was, had no trouble plucking it from its trajectory while he reached down with his other hand into his front pocket. He fumbled out his smartphone. The glow of its display along with the film playing gave him enough light to slot the card. He slammed it into his phone and held it straight out in front of him while he backed up the aisle.
Several short movie clips flashed onto the phone’s screen
—scenes of Central Park and several different shots of subway stations. With each bit of film, the screen gave an audible pop and crackle, producing a steady stream of creatures into our world. Birds from the park and shots of rats on the subway tracks. The aisle started to fill with them, adding to the chaos all around us.
“That works,” Darryl said, examining his work, “but I meant the other card.”
“I already gave it to you!” Mike shouted.
“Oh, right,” Darryl said with an embarrassed shrug. He popped his memory card out of the phone while he fished around in his pocket for the other one. It came out in his hand and he slammed it in the phone. Darryl pressed on the keypad, then, backing away, held the phone out in front of him. I stepped back, waiting for whatever monstrosity they threw at me next.
Nothing happened.
“Crap,” Darryl said. He reversed direction, heading back down the aisle and making his way over toward Elyse and Mike at the front of the theater. “Elyse! We’re out of juice!”
Elyse looked panicked and her face sank, but only for a moment. She adjusted her grip on the knife in her hand before swinging it around in a wide arc.
It stabbed into the wall of the theater, but not before passing through Heavy Mike’s hand, pinning it there. His video camera tumbled to the floor of the theater and shattered to pieces as a howl of pain erupted from Mike. “Elyse!” he shouted in a mix of surprise, shock, and anger.
“Sorry, Mikey,” she said. She grabbed Darryl as he pushed his way through the crowd over to where Mike was pinned. Blood was already running thick down the pinned student’s arm. Darryl shoved his phone into the stream and a flair of energy sparked from it. A scene flickered on the screen. It was footage of me from the other night when I had come across the students saying their good-byes to the professor at Eccentric Circles. Something looked different about me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I leaned in closer to the tiny image, avoiding Elyse’s kicks with my bat.
