by Jason Winn
Madison: Thanks. Is there a storm brewer there?
Sean: Not sure, but she says there is some huge glass thing in the warehouse. Maybe that’s it?
Bingo, baby. Madison wished she just had a cruise missile to send over to the place.
Madison: Thanks. We’ll be up there in about an hour and a half. Tell Jane to stall them, if need be.
Sean: Copy that
Madison watched the video for another few seconds and then switched it off. She gave Dwayne a “you in or out” look.
“Let’s do this,” he said.
“Good, first we need to ready up. Follow me.”
She led Dwayne into the basement where she’d had a rather large gun safe installed a few months ago. It stored the heavy hardware Sarah had produced from her dad’s warehouse. Fifteen minutes later they were barreling down the driveway towards the target.
Chapter 58
“You should be fine with the Winter Roses,” said Margaret. She reached out and touched a green stem, letting the thorn tip scratch her thumb. “But, we’ll find out. Did you ever drink your grandmother’s red tea?”
“All the time,” said Dana. “She made us drink that stuff every time we came over.”
“You’re sure,” said Margaret. They stood next to the greenhouse. The Winter Roses scratched at the glass and one another in the cold, pre-storm breeze. Madison had driven off with the weird bikers, so Dana was reasonably sure she and Margaret were alone.
“Yes. It tasted like cinnamon and orange peel.”
Margaret bit her bottom lip before pushing past the roses and opening the door. “Alright. You should be fine, then.”
“Wait, how long does it last? I haven’t had it in years?” She stopped abruptly, suddenly unsure of what would happen if she touched a thorn.
Margaret turned around to walk inside, “so long as you’re alive. Once you’re dead, nothing can save you from them.”
The first thing Dana noticed inside was the heat and humidity. She’d been in greenhouses before, so she sort of knew what to expect, but this was sweltering. But the discomfort quickly evaporated at the sight before her. A jungle of flowers, vines and trees, all neatly organized along three long tables. Blooms of every color fluttered in a gentle breeze. It was hard to identify individual plants, there were so many. She could smell citrus, lavender and jasmine. There were undoubtedly more aromas, she just couldn’t put her finger on them.
“These were all collected by your grandmother and grandfather,” said Margaret. “Come on.”
Dana followed her deeper into the greenhouse, down the narrow path. She heard water gurgling around her feet. On closer inspection, Dana noticed long cisterns running below tables that supported many of the plant species. Margaret had stopped to look into the water.
“The fish in here, don’t bite,” said Margaret.
“Fish?” Dana looked closer and saw fish the size of corn cobs gliding through the dark water. Then she noticed a faint blue glow all along the bottom of the long troughs.
Margaret grunted, bent over and stuck her hand into the water. “Ahh, that’s it.” She stood straight up and presented a wet fist.
Dana crept closer. Margret opened her hand to reveal bright blue crystals, the same ones that Nancy crushed in the video.
“Who feeds the fish?” asked Dana. She had never seen anyone come in here. Fish had to eat after all.
“They eat these,” Margaret skimmed her hand over the water and produced a handful of little green bulbs. “Goose Weed.” She popped them into her mouth. “You can eat it too, high in protein. It grows like crazy, so the fish eat that and no one has to come in here to feed them.”
Dana was amazed. All this time, a magical garden was just a few hundred yards from the house and she never thought to come in and look around. Nancy Mosby must have spent years building this. She looked around. Above her were vines sagging with bright, orange fruits the shape of grapes. To her left were branches covered in little pink flowers. And her knees brushed against a stubby plant with something that looked like chili peppers, only the peppers were colored with green and white stripes.
“How come I’ve never seen anything like this stuff on TV or the internet?” asked Dana.
“The world is still full of mystery, dearie. Now follow me.” Margaret turned and continued further down the pathway. Eventually they came to a thick fog, stretching across the width of the greenhouse.
“Things get a little crazy from here,” said Margaret.
The only thing keeping Dana from turning and running away at the mention of “crazy” was the fact that Margaret seemed perfectly at ease in the place. If there was danger, she would tell Dana. Right?
They walked into the fog. The air cooled. The plant life changed. Big-leafed hostas covered the tables. Margaret stopped at one with light and dark green leaves the size of diner platters and reached under a big leaf. Dana recognized what she pulled out.
“Salamander bean?” she asked.
“See, you’re catching on quick,” said Margaret with a huge smile.
Now Dana wanted to explore the entire place. “What’s further on, past the fog?”
“Go see for yourself,” said Margaret.
Dana slid past her and shuffled through the thick fog. She couldn’t help but notice how peaceful it was in here. It was like being in a fantasy jungle, without fear of being eaten or stung. She emerged from the fog to feel cold. Something drifted onto her nose. It was a snowflake. The pea gravel underfoot had given way to frost and snow. She began to shiver and could see her breath coming out in little clouds.
While she wanted to stay and explore, Dana was not catching a cold, when she could just come back, with a jacket. She went back to Margaret, who now had a basket in one hand, full of salamander beans.
“Ready to go?” asked Margaret. “Or, do you want to stay a while?” Lightening flashed outside, followed by a rumble of distant thunder.
Dana looked at her clothes. She was soaked to the skin. “I think I’ll go back up and watch some more cooking shows.”
The two made their way back to the mansion as the rain began to come down in sheets. Storm clouds rolled over the city and Dana contemplated whether or not to tell Madison about her time with Margaret.
Chapter 59
The group, which was comprised of Madison’s Audi and the five bikers, pulled off of the freeway into an area just outside of Baltimore, known as Wagner’s Point. The place was a graveyard of battered warehouses and shuttered factories. Rusted chain-link fences had done virtually nothing to keep the looters and graffiti artists out. The winds of Hurricane Natalie tossed debris in all directions. Power lines whipped furiously, and Madison looked in her review mirror in awe as she saw all five of the bikers pull up behind her.
The warehouse was barely visible about two hundred yards down the street. It backed right up to the water, which was now cresting over the breakwater wall in huge plumes of white and green waves, pooling onto the street.
Madison pulled out her phone and called Sean.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, back.” The rain pelting the car made it hard to hear him.
“Where’s Jane?”
“See those big round gas tanks, next to the refinery?”
Madison looked to the west. “Yes.”
“She’s in the little guardhouse by the front gate.”
Madison squinted and saw a quick flicker of a flashlight. “I see her. Does she need any company? I brought friends.”
“She could use an extra pair of eyes.”
“Done. Where’s the glass thing?”
“In the back of the warehouse.”
“Got it. Look, I’m going to sneak in and take these guys out and blow that thing up.”
“How are you going to do that? There’s like eight guys in there. They’re probably armed.”
“I’m pretty sneaky. Just tell Jane that I don’t want anyone coming out of that place alive. If they get past me, we need
to track them. Got it?”
“I’ll let her know. Good luck.”
Madison hung up and got out of the car.
They were drenched to the bone and not one of them complained. Everyone squinted against the stinging rain. Madison opened the trunk of her car and passed out the weapons, pistols and submachine guns.
“I’ll go inside and check it out.” She found herself shouting over the rain. With that, she pulled out a pistol and clipped it to her belt along with a clip holster with three spare magazines.
“You’re just going to jog up there and start shooting?”
“I’ve been known to be invisible,” she said with a side grin. “One of you needs to go and meet up with my friend in that guard shack. Her name is Jane, and be nice to her. She used to be a cop. The rest of you wait about five minutes for me to get set up. Then set up around that warehouse and make sure no one gets away. When I start shooting, I’m guessing they’ll run outside to get to their trucks. When they do, shoot ‘em.”
“What are we going to do with the bodies?” Dwayne asked.
“Well, I’d say tossing them into the bay and letting the hurricane sort that out is good enough for me.”
With that, the few streetlights that were on, went out. “And look,” said Madison, “Hurricane Natalie has given us additional darkness for cover.”
Confident in the outcome, Madison got about fifty yards away from the bikers and pulled out her secret weapon, a vial of Predator’s Cloak. At least this time she wasn’t covered in a scent that would tip off her victims. Her rage built knowing that she was about to get even with the bastards that torched her kitchens and take out their stolen storm brewer. She drank the potion and took cover behind a collection of barrels. Two minutes later she lost sight of her arms and legs. But something was different. Her stomach made a growling sound, followed by a bloating sensation. Madison ignored it, wondering for a second what she’d eaten this morning. She pushed the thoughts out of her head and focused.
Showtime, assholes.
Madison decided to be reserved in her approach. She would sneak past the men scurrying in and out of the warehouse, get a glimpse of what was really going on in there and then execute every last one of them. She didn’t have to remind herself that these people were also trying to move in on her turf. They would kill her if she didn’t act now.
Chapter 60
Madison took care to go slowly in her approach to the warehouse. Men shouted and ran in and out of the tall structure, with its rust-stained exterior, faded letters on the side and corrugated steel roof. The wind howled, masking her bootheels on the decaying concrete.
As she approached, Madison saw three men, trying to shield themselves from the wind by holding their jackets up. They had sloped brows, hairy, round faces and wide shoulders. They stood next to two panel trucks, the kind people rent to move their stuff from one apartment to another.
The trucks backed up to loading docks, where other men ran in and out of the warehouse, pushing office chairs loaded with boxes which they hurriedly tossed into the backs of the trucks, without much care for how they landed. The boxes made banging noises over the sounds of the storm. Whatever they were moving was heavy, she thought.
Scanning the warehouse, Madison couldn’t see if there was another door. She would run past the outside guards and time her entry through the loading dock doors, after they tossed in the next load of boxes.
As she approached the three men, she could hear them talking in Russian. That fit with Contessa’s description. One of the men had crimson hair and a face that was more freckle than pigment.
She kept going. A pair of men pushing office chairs approached the door. They looked exhausted, huffing for breath with their heads down. She jumped to one side and waited for them to hurl two wooden crates into the back of the moving vans. She was dying to see what was in the crates, but that would distract from the mission. Plus, she didn’t want to get hit by one flying through the air. There would undoubtedly be more items of intrigue inside.
She waited for a moment. Hearing nothing, she stepped into the warehouse. Madison welcomed the relative calm away from the storm. The space was huge, as she’d suspected. Water covered the floor. It leaked from the roof and the far side looked like it already had an inch or two on the floor. All she could smell was the stench of dead fish, and her stomach roiled again. This time was worse than before. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.
The first thing that caught her eye, aside from the water, was what had to be the storm brewer. It was a large glass cylinder with a wide bulge in the center, like an old hurricane lamp. The thing had to be at least ten feet tall. The pudgy cylinder rested on a brass-colored base, with huge bolts securing it to the floor. Red liquid coated the inside, streaks running slowly down the sides. You’re going to have a terrible time getting that thing out of here, she thought. A ladder lay on the floor next to it.
She wanted to study it, seeing how it was totally different from hers. She reasoned they must have just cooked a batch, hoping to beat the storm. What was missing from the brewer, however, was a lightning rod. Hers had a huge one that poked out of the roof of the mansion.
What powered the thing? The Moonmilk world got a little bigger as Madison realized her brewer might be unique. She’d just assumed that the Preens’ car battery setup was some sort of ghetto rig, and that all others were the same as hers.
The power question was answered by the two cables running over to a gray, van-sized metal box with levers coming off of it. Lights flickered above the levers. She could see lightning bolt danger stickers all over it.
Elsewhere, empty shelves occupied the center of the space, tall wide ones that could be found holding pallets of items at places like Costco. Wanting an elevated position, Madison climbed up onto one and crept up behind the group of men who had been loading the trucks. The rattle of the steel roof masked her clumsy ascent.
The four men who had been loading the van gathered by the door. Another came out of a small office carrying a sealed bucket. The words Brushite were scrolled across the face of it.
One of the loaders was talking in Russian, pointing to the empty shelves. The others nodded.
“Da, da,” replied one of the loaders. Madison recognized the Russian word for “yes” at least.
The bucket man walked up to the group and started shouting. One of the loaders waved his hands and pointed at the big gray box with the levers and lights.
“No, stupid,” shouted the bucket man, before switching back to Russian. He pointed to another, smaller box over by the door, a red lever protruding from it. That seemed to quiet the loader and he started for the box.
In all, there were seven men. She couldn’t see any guns on them, but there was a real risk they were armed. Madison felt like she was about to lose her nerve.
Hey! These were the fuckers that killed friends of Nancy. You’re invisible. If they had some way to see you they’d have noticed you by now. Time to act. You start shooting, they run outside and the bikers and Jane kill the rest.
With that, Madison raised her invisible pistol, noted that it was very difficult to aim when you can’t see your sights, and opened fire. The men all ducked in unison. One fell to the floor. Pistols immediately appeared in their hands.
A terrible sound of screeching metal was followed by a torrent of rain falling through a new hole in the roof. Seawater rushed into the warehouse, coming in under the far wall. And a second later her mouth filled with saliva, meaning only one thing. She was about to throw up.
Oh fuck no.
Gunshots rang out as men fired in Madison’s general direction. But they were shooting below her, thinking the shooter was on ground level. Wood splintered away from the shelf next to her. The bucket man had dropped the Brushite and started shouting and pointing. The three that had been outside came rushing in through the bay doors, pistols drawn.
Madison did her best to aim and shot the last man coming through the door. He fe
ll backwards and disappeared from sight.
Five left.
Panic began to set in as the men swept across the warehouse, looking for the shooter. They weren’t running outside in abject terror. Invisibility had the disadvantage of not letting Madison run outside and wave in the reinforcements. Fearing that another barrage from her perch would give away her position, Madison thought for a second.
She felt for a fresh magazine in her belt. She pulled the one in her pistol and replaced it with the new one. As she was about to toss the old one, the weight of the empty one gave her an idea. She threw it at the big gray box. It hit with a big “clang.” The men all turned toward it and approached with pistols raised.
“Who is there?” one shouted. “We just want to talk. Where are you?”
Unable to hold back the sickening feeling, she threw up over the side of the shelf she was standing on. Thankfully the storm covered the sound.
Madison wiped her mouth and moved down the shelves, following the men laterally across the warehouse. When their backs were all to her, she fired again. One more went down, his hands clasped to the small of his back.
The remaining four men whirled around and opened up on her. Madison dove to her left, feeling hot metal graze her legs, ripping at the loose denim of her jeans. The pain in her stomach was intense now, clouding her concentration. Her leg felt warm, but it seemed to still work and there was just a slight burning.
She fired five rounds back at them, three of which hit the glass cylinder of the brewer. Wide cracks stretched out from the bullet holes in all directions. This was followed by another wretch from her stomach. She could see some of what came out of her mouth fly forward. To her terror, Madison noticed that some of it was visible. Was she losing her invisibility?
“Invisible, eh?” someone shouted in a thick Russian accent. “Think you’re pretty smart!”
