Nightshatter

by L. E. Horn

  When I said nothing, Danny continued. “Got in some trouble with my foster family. Ended up there for two years.” He shrugged. “When I got out, couldn’t find work.”

  What a waste. “Have you kept trying?”

  “Like anyone will hire us, looking like this,” Keith snapped.

  I nodded. It was true. Someone would have to look past the dirt and smell to see the potential within. It happened, but it was rare.

  Sargent Avenue teemed with morning traffic. Some ambitious planner had managed to squeeze trees right on the edges of the street. Danny fell silent as we walked the narrow sidewalk, past houses and small shops with brightly painted murals on the walls. We hung a left on Furby and passed beneath the spreading arms of Winnipeg’s signature tree—the American elm. These graceful trees lined many city streets, their arching branches forming a shady alleyway during the summer’s baking heat.

  “I love these trees,” Danny said into the silence. I detected a note of longing in his voice. Had he once lived on a street like this?

  The houses along here were small but generally well kept. The boulevard trees thinned after we passed Ellice and then vanished altogether.

  The new home of Agape Table was within the Waves of Glory Church, an innocuous white building across from the sprawling complex of the University of Winnipeg, which, along with the Red River Community College, occupied considerable space in the city’s core.

  I dished out a five-buck donation for the three of us. Breakfast was superb—eggs and bacon on an English muffin, hash browns, coffee, and fruit. I wolfed it down with a voracity that had Danny’s brows climbing to his hairline.

  Afterward, we hesitated outside the building.

  “Let’s go to the Forks,” Keith said, avoiding my eyes.

  Danny glanced at me and looked uncomfortable. What did Keith do at the Forks? It was an attractive downtown market and a major tourist attraction, although it was both early in the season and the day for many people to be present.

  The last thing I needed was any legal entanglement. “I’m heading back. Thanks for the breakfast suggestion.” I nodded and turned away without waiting for a reply. When I glanced over my shoulder a few strides later, Danny was trailing Keith, headed toward Portage Avenue.

  I spent the day walking the usual homeless zones, visiting the shelters, bumping shoulders with people who were becoming familiar. Later in the day, I saw Danny again, nodding to him when he smiled. Noah appeared and disappeared a few times, maintaining a crowd of people around him. I recognized three as permanent hangers-on and saw Danny with him on one occasion. I made a point of never staying long in one place and tried to keep my movements random to disguise my interest in the wulfan. By the last time I saw him, late in the afternoon, he treated me no differently than the other young men and women.

  In order to allay suspicion, I decided I wouldn’t return to Salter Street after my meeting. I tracked time by checking the digital parking meters, and when the shadows fell long and the meters indicated it was after eight, I headed for the Alexander Docks and Sam.

  Created in 1929, the docks were intended to provide a central river hub for transportation of cargo to businesses in the area. However, as road and railway networks expanded, the hub moved much farther downriver, closer to Lake Winnipeg. For a while, the tourist trade took advantage of the docks to run paddle-wheel boat tours, but as the infrastructure disintegrated, the dock was closed. I assumed it would become part of the ritzy waterfront development south of it, but for now it provided a river view for many homeless.

  By the time I reached the flowing water, darkness had fallen. I had almost an hour to wait, so I found myself a spot along the riverbank, put my back to a large tree, and pretended to sample from the bottle I carried in a paper bag. The mighty Red River, still swollen from the spring melt, mesmerized me as it swirled past. I stayed awake only through great effort and the knowledge that those who prowled the banks might perceive me as vulnerable. A rough-looking individual walked by. When he returned for a second pass, I met his gaze, letting him see I wasn’t drunk and far from helpless. He didn’t return for a third.

  I kept my focus and took silent tally of those who came and went, and those who stayed. I recognized a few from my travels, but none seemed associated with Noah. The wulfan obviously didn’t worry enough about me to have me tracked.

  Thoughts of seeing Sam tested my endurance. Her world was eons away from this one. My filthy state, which I had worked hard to engender, now caused me concern. I didn’t want her to see me like this, and a part of me wanted to run, to return to the bridge, the wulfan, and the other homeless. It gave me a renewed appreciation for those who were not playing a role, those who faced the uncomfortable and often disgusted glances of passersby. Here I was, only three days in, afraid to meet the woman I loved because I looked like a derelict.

  A few minutes before ten, I stood, pulled my hood up around my face, and meandered back toward Waterfront Drive—and Sam.

  9

  A familiar black truck sat waiting, and my heart accelerated. I opened the passenger door, smiled into her wide gray eyes, and sniffed.

  “Something in here smells delicious. Other than you.”

  Sam grinned in obvious relief. That I appeared still in one piece? Or that I’d shown up at all?

  “Lee’s takeout. My treat,” she said.

  I moved into the small circle of light extended by the open truck door, glancing at the leather seats. “If you don’t throw a blanket down, Garrett will never forgive you.”

  Her relieved expression faded as she scanned me from waist to face, and she failed to disguise the shock beneath the smile. “You look so different. Your nose . . . and when did your hair get so dark? Did you dye it?”

  “Conducted a little plastic surgery, without the plastic. And I think the hair makes me look mysterious.”

  Her eyes widened. “How? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She reached behind the seat and scrabbled around, emerging with a folded blanket.

  I spread it over the pristine leather before settling onto it. “Knew he’d have one. I’d be surprised if he didn’t use it for all his friends and family.”

  “Liam.” Sam breathed the word on the gust of a sigh. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better.” Despite being embarrassed by my state, I couldn’t seem to stop grinning at her. “Sorry about the smell. I had to blend in.”

  “My God,” she said, swinging the truck in an arc and heading back along the drive, toward the city’s heart. “You look like you’ve been on the streets forever. No wonder Jason’s crew haven’t been able to find you.”

  “Did Jason tell the board about my plan?”

  “Jason’s been close-lipped about that, so I don’t think so. He’s got his guys looking for you in hotels and checking the routes out of Winnipeg. He’s splitting his time between that and looking for the recruiters on the streets, but they’re getting nowhere. He said they’ve found the arms dealer’s son, but so far he’s clean. They’ve got nothing.” She sighed. “As crazy as your plan is, it’s the best chance we’ve got to find these guys.”

  “Aren’t the enforcers watching you?” I asked. The surest way to locate me would be to follow her.

  “Jason says he can’t spare any more people, and I have an in with those assigned to us.” She grinned at the reference to her family, then grabbed her shirt collar and pulled it down, revealing a butterfly bandage between her neck and shoulder. “The doc dropped by today to check on us, and Chris updated him on your plan. He knew which side Hayek would take. The good doc removed my tracker.” She glanced at me. “We’re enabling you, though I’m not sure you’ll need our help. You look nothing like the Liam we knew. How on earth did you blend in so fast?” She chewed on her lip. “When you mentioned living on the streets—you really did?”

  Eyes fastened on her white teeth against the soft pink of her lip, it took a moment to register her discomfort. I hadn’t told her much about my past, oth
er than I was raised in foster care.

  Idiot. This is Sam. She won’t judge you for it. “Not my first rodeo,” I admitted.

  Her eyebrows rose. “When were you homeless?”

  I sighed. I so did not want to talk about this, not when we had limited time together. “In my teens. I ran away from a bad situation.”

  Sam sucked in her breath. “How long?”

  “About eight months.” I stared at her profile, admiring the strong yet feminine features framed by red hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

  Aware of my perusal, she squirmed a little in her seat. “Have you found anything?”

  “I think so. But he hasn’t made any offers, yet.” I hesitated. “There’s a wulfan among the homeless.”

  She shot me a surprised glance. “He’s connected?”

  “I’ll know soon.” I rubbed at a spot on my hoodie, trying to remember what had made it, but decided I didn’t want to know. “Things have been okay at Chris’s? They didn’t send any wulfleng after you?”

  “We found signs in the forest, and we think there were three of them. They may have considered coming after Peter and Josh, but perhaps they’ve realized it would be a bloodbath. So far, we’re secure.”

  I nodded—relieved that Sam’s family was there to back them up. “So, what’s the scoop on the virus?”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “First things first. You’re getting a night at a nice hotel”—she wrinkled her nose—“and a shower. Then food.”

  I should have protested, but I hadn’t intended to watch the wulfan tonight anyway. Mention of food and a shower made me crave both with a fierceness that threatened to erupt the fangs from my gums.

  “No argument?” she laughed.

  “Nope. Get me in the door of a decent hotel and you deserve my loathsome company for the evening.” I brushed at the mud on my knee and gave it up as a long-lost cause. “You didn’t use your own credit card, did you?”

  “Hayek reserved for me. Used his assistant’s card, apparently. Should throw Jason for long enough.”

  “See, the use of the word ‘should’ doesn’t inspire me with confidence.”

  She grinned. “You’ll just have to trust me, soldier.”

  We left the truck parked on Pacific Avenue, far enough from the hotel that our location wouldn’t be obvious if the enforcers scouting for recruiters recognized Garrett’s truck while we were away. Getting me into the classy establishment on Waterfront Drive turned out to be harder than I’d thought. Sam trotted in first and everything went well until I stepped through the door.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A burly security guard appeared out of nowhere. I’ll give him credit for good manners. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to leave.” I didn’t really blame the guy considering I stank like a sewer and looked worse.

  “He’s my brother,” Sam said, stepping in between him and me. “And I have a reservation.”

  The concierge advanced on us, his expression resolute. “I’m sorry, but his presence here might upset the other guests.”

  “Again, I paid for a night’s stay.” Sam had that gleam in her eye. “I want to give my brother a hot meal,”—she lifted the bag of takeout—“a shower, and a safe place to sleep.” She was the perfect poster child for Decency and Good Works.

  “There are other hotels more suitable, perhaps . . .” I watched with interest as a bead of sweat trickled from his brow and down his cheek. Considering the strength of Sam’s personality, I actually thought he was doing pretty well. Even the beefy security guy had backed away.

  “I have chosen this one as a special gift for him. I intend to take him to my room. May I please have the key?”

  He gathered himself for one last effort, now perspiring freely. “But—”

  “I’m sure the press would love to hear how you refused to oblige someone based on their appearance.”

  He weighed the potential downside of poor public relations, and I witnessed the crumpling of his personal resolve. With a quick glance around him, he gestured for Sam to accompany him to the desk, where he handed her the electronic key. We moved into the elevator. The second the door closed, she wrinkled her nose.

  “You do stink.”

  The hotel turned out to be the nicest one I’d ever stayed at, not that I’d done much traveling. When we got to our room, I stopped just inside the door, afraid to shed filth on the pristine carpet, and my gaze fell on the king-sized bed. All coherent thought screeched to a halt.

  “Okay, strip.”

  I blinked. “Do you realize how many times you’ve said that?” I asked. “You always want me naked.”

  “You’ve no idea,” she said, shooting me a look that stopped my breath. Then she sighed. “We’re not eating until you’ve had a shower.” She put the bags of food down on the desk and pointed into the gorgeous bathroom. “Now.”

  I tiptoed my way into the washroom and closed the door. My clothes were so filthy I suspected they might stand on their own in the corner. I poked them into a stiff pile before stepping into the shower. The hot water and soap against my skin was almost orgasmic. I lost track of how long I stood beneath the double waterfalls, but I finally stepped out with a sigh.

  I surveyed my clothes with distaste and left them where they lay, wrapping a white towel around my waist and tying it as I exited the bathroom. Sam sat on the bed, using chopsticks to pick through a heaped plate.

  “You clean up good.” She pulled her lips back from her teeth. “The bruises are picturesque.”

  I looked down at myself, realizing that I showed evidence of being rolled in the truck like a dice. “Only you would think bruises are attractive.”

  “Well, you lack ink, so—”

  “You want me to get tattoos?” I surveyed her with surprise.

  She tilted her head, running her gaze up and down my body in a frank perusal that made my skin heat. “Nah. You’re pretty enough without them.”

  “Why do people keep calling me pretty?” I groused, giving the towel another tug to check the knot. My stomach, unconcerned with my indignation, growled loud enough to make her laugh.

  “I hope you brought paper plates. I think I’m coming down with a virus.”

  Her smile faded. “Not funny, Liam. But I did bring plates.”

  I popped my disposable chopsticks free from the wrap and tested the structural integrity of my plate with a mountain of Lee’s best. I noticed she’d set hers aside with little of it eaten.

  “So, if you won’t eat, at least fill me in,” I said.

  Her gaze seemed fastened on my mouth as I hooked teeth into a deep-fried shrimp and pulled it away from the chopsticks.

  Focus, Liam. “Sam?”

  She blinked and sighed. “Doc Hayek brought someone with him today. A Dr. Grone. He’s the wulfan virologist that’s been looking at our samples.”

  “We all have the virus, don’t we? Except Chris.”

  Eyes wide and dark, Sam nodded. “Chris tested negative. But Josh and Peter are positive, and so are you.”

  She looked away and blinked a few times. I realized that despite all the evidence, she’d remained hopeful. My ready acceptance of the news made her frown when she turned back to me before continuing, “But at least now we know where the virus came from.”

  I stopped chewing.

  “There’s a doctor here in Winnipeg researching HIV. He thinks the regular wulfan virus could be a cure for AIDS and certain types of cancer. He wanted to tap into the wulfan ability to heal.”

  “Slight side-effect problem there,” I said, not liking where this was headed.

  “Yeah. Well, they’ve worked to separate the wulf from the healing properties. But the slow reproductive cycle of the virus caused issues, which reduced their research to a crawl. They needed to produce a strain that reproduced faster than every twenty-nine days. So they combined the wulfan virus with the rabies virus. Three years ago, they found success.”

  Holy crap.

&nbs
p; “They manufactured a version of the hybrid virus that reproduces every five days. But before they did any human trials, they needed to make sure they had an antiviral as a safeguard. They used the rabies antiviral as a platform, and apparently the antidote is near completion but not yet ready.” She met my eyes. “When Dr. Grone examined Hayek’s samples, he discovered you’ve all been infected with the virus they modified for their study.”

  I swallowed my mouthful and stared at her. “So, I take it this mutant virus was under lock and key?”

  “Dr. Grone said it had the highest level of security, but someone obviously got to it. He’d no idea it could cause the kinds of changes we’ve seen. He’s shocked.”

  I sighed. I was the victim of a well-meant lab experiment gone awry. My stomach growled, and I paused to shovel more food into me. Lee’s had never tasted so good. After a few mouthfuls, I asked, “When did the virus go missing?”

  Sam shrugged. “No one has a clue. They didn’t think anyone could steal it since their security is top notch. Both the theft and the fact that the bodies and samples from Brandon went missing point to the virology lab as having a mole, someone who reports to the organization.”

  “And they have no idea who stole it?”

  She shook her head. “Jason and Dr. Grone are working on that. But thanks to you, they have a mutant wulfleng body to study. Garrett was determined to protect it no matter who showed up to steal it.” She paused. “He said you grew ten-inch daggers from your fingers?” When I nodded, she shook her head and continued. “Well, you almost took the guy’s head clean off. Anyway, the body will help them to determine what the thieves use to control the side effects of the virus.

  “Side effects? That’s what he’s calling what happened to Peter and Josh, and the madness that’s affecting the wulfleng?”

  She nodded. “Dr. Grone said the virus can be lethal to humans within days unless it’s controlled by a regular schedule of antiviral shots. It isn’t just as simple as losing one’s mind. The rabies part of the virus can cause paralysis and death. It will in wulfan too, but it takes longer.”