The Broken Ones (Book 3): The Broken City

by Jobe, David

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Casa de Morte

  “Porra!” Carrie Anne cursed. She slammed the Petri dish down on the stainless-steel counter, shattering bits of glass. She sat back on her stool, running a hand through her hair. “What am I missing?” She spun to face the rest of the small laboratory. Before her, three stainless steel tables held the corpses of the recently deceased. They stared with blank eyes at the florescent lights that hummed overhead. They gave no reply to her. “You’re no help,” she told the dead. She sighed and stood. “What am I missing, Shiva?”

  The black cat beyond the glass divider looked up from his grooming at the mention of his name. It gave a low mewing noise that Carrie Anne took to mean that the cat didn’t know, and quite possibly didn’t care. Having voiced his opinion, it went back to licking himself.

  She looked down at the body of Reginald Fasser, a middle-aged man who had discovered he could move small items with his mind. His heart had given out a few days later at a party where he did trick after trick until his old ticker gave up the ghost. “Any suggestions?”

  Reginald remained silent.

  “Bah. I need some coffee.” She rose and padded across the tiled floor on bare feet. At the glass door, she removed her smock, revealing nothing underneath. She pressed the security code into the keypad, and the glass door slid to one side. Beyond she stepped into a glass chamber about the width of her arms wide and long. The glass door slid closed behind her, giving one final hiss as the locks engaged the airtight seal. A speaker buzzed out a countdown from five before the ceiling of the small chamber began to spray out compressed water, then disinfectant. It was overkill with what she had been working on, but she had been trained from the beginning that to ignore even the smallest precaution could have disastrous circumstances.

  Once the decontamination chamber finished, she emerged from the other side into a world of opposites. Behind her, beyond the glass enclosure, high-cost instruments of science gleamed in the fluorescent light. On this side, candles illuminated the rest of the secret chamber. Along the wall to her left, shelves upon shelves held glass jars with various body parts. They floated in their amber liquid. Truth was most of them were now body parts that had once belonged to her. A hand floated in one, an eye in another, and her other eye in yet a third. With each new annexed power, she had to forfeit a piece of herself, as the Goddess demanded. On the wall to her right sat the shrine of her goddess, skulls creating a platform of interlocking bones. Six skeletal hands held up a platform on which she would lay her offerings. The only thing that rested there now was a partially burnt picture of her deceased friend. She had offered it up, a way to focus her rage and drive. Behind the altar rested a large inhuman skull with jagged teeth and an elongated snout. No one but the denizens of her island would know the creature’s origin. Two wicked and cruel blades formed a cross behind the bleached white decoration.

  Before the alter, she knelt so that her forehead rested against the foremost skull, her hands splayed out beside her. “I beseech you Goddess. Help me see clearly. I need to find this cure. Too many of your forsaken are finding powers they ought not to have. Help me.” She bit her lip until she felt the taste of salt in her mouth. Licking her lips, she planted a blood red kiss on the top of the skull. She leaned back on her haunches before rising again. At the edge of the door leading out, she picked up the pair of tight shorts that she had worn down into her basement. In her house, that was all she wore. On her island, the customs were not as modest as they were in America. She only wished it had been practical to cover the floor of her home with white sand. She missed that from her home more than anything. “Shiva, come along.”

  The cat made another noise, perhaps one of malcontent, before jumping down from its perch.

  Carrie Annie moved to open the secret passage that would lead to her wine cellar when a whine hit her ears. Along the ceiling at small intervals, little red lights blinked to alert her that the security system had been tripped. Pulling a lever hidden behind a large shelf littered with leather bound books and hastily rolled scrolls, she pulled the shelving apart and away to reveal a bank of televisions. On the monitors she could see four men in black outfits slinking across the patio of her home. Carrie Anne gave a delighted laugh. She moved back to the altar, disengaging the blades. With one in each hand, she looked to Shiva. “Yes, yes. I know. Keep one alive. The Goddess had delivered.”

  She pressed the button that slid open the narrow passage to the wine cellar. She stepped into the path then stopped, looking back at the altar. With hurried steps, she went back to the altar a third time. Running a finger through the ashes of the burnt picture she drew a symbol over her heart. She smiled wide, invigorated by the thrill of hunting. It had been years since she hunted humans on her island. And these undoubtedly came armed. She sprinted down the passage, hitting the button to hide the secret entrance once she cleared the final section. A rack of fine wine slid into place behind her, completing a long wall of expensive vintages.

  She stopped just below the stairs leading up, opening the breaker box that rested on a wall there. She clicked off the main breaker, secure in the knowledge that her lab ran on a different line, with a backup generator if it became required. She then sprinted up the stairs to the door. She eased it open, glad that every hinge in the house remained well-oiled and tested. The door opened with no noise to announce itself. They had been coming via the patio, but she wasn’t sure if there would be more from another direction. Movies were full of blitz attacks, but with some group of hunters, they preferred to better their chances by working together.

  A flashlight beam danced across a nearby wall. “Burro,” she chuckled to herself. She danced across the floor, sliding into a small alcove between the stove and refrigerator, her thin frame wedged in between the cold metals.

  A gunman swept his light across the room. Finding only stainless-steel kitchen appliances, he advanced forward. Carrie Anne stepped out behind him, drawing the blades in a cross pattern. She gave a low whistle, and when the man spun, she closed the blades like giant scissors, slicing the man’s neck wide open. Blood doused Carrie Anne as the attacker stumbled back, the forgotten gun clattering to the floor as he clutched at his ruined throat. Fearful the noise would draw more, she slipped to the side and danced around the staggering man. Into the dining room, she sprinted, ducking down under the table as a pair of beams raced around the corner and sprinted for the kitchen. Carrie Anne sprung at their backs, slicing the first just below the knee on one leg and the ankle on the other. He screamed out, pitching forward as his gun sailed into the kitchen. The other turned, spinning with pistol in hand. Carrie Anne danced up, slicing the extended arm off at the same place she had cut off her own before. The man screamed, but Carrie Anne stepped in, gazing into the eye sockets of his mask, she hissed, “silent.”

  The wounded man’s scream ended.

  Carrie Anne heard the fourth assailant when the screaming stopped. He spun around the corner, gun already ready. It barked three times, each bullet striking Carrie Anne in the center of her chest. For a moment they both stood there stunned. Carrie Anne looked down to see her skin unbroken, but now she could see a large bruise starting to form on her left breast. Carrie Anne screamed in frustration and flung one of her blades at the man. He tried to duck to the side, but that meant it slammed into his eye and not the center of his face. In a spurt of blood, the man went down, a hilt sticking up from his face. Carrie Anne spun on the wounded man she had disarmed. Her free hand closed over the bleeding wound, the fingers glowing as she did. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as she cauterized the wound with the power she had gotten from Sarah Givens. She leaned into his ear and whispered. “You’ll live. It’ll be a pain filled existence, but you’ll live. And with your blood, we shall quell your people’s quest for power. But first, I’ll discover who is pulling your strings, my little puppet.”

  She heard movement to her right and found the second man crawling on his arms to try and
get to his gun. Carrie Anne stepped over to him, planting a blade into his extended arm. She leaned down to whisper in his ear, her left knee planted on the small of his back. “Your master should have come themselves. They’ll learn soon enough the nature of their folly.”

  “Mistress?” Kani stood at the door to the kitchen, her stance submissive and concerned. She too only wore the shorts of their native shores.

  Carrie Anne smiled. “Ah, Kani. My apologies for waking you. Please, clean up the corpses. Make sure to save some bits for Shiva. He does love his treats.”

  Kani nodded, placing a finger to her throat in subservience. “Of course, Mistress. Will there be anything else?”

  Carrie Anne thought about it. “Make some coffee first. It’s going to be a long night.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Talky Man

  The Solum Castellum apartments rose like a giant tomb out of the narrow streets of Indianapolis. For blocks, no building managed half the height of the giant structure. To Steven, the place reminded him of a movie from his youth where the whole insane complex had gone up in flames. Even now, in the early morning hours, the building blocked out most of the sun for the block they were on. They sat inside an electronics van that they had acquired a few days ago. Dragon Lady, who Steven now knew as Sasha, sat in the driver’s seat, appearing to be looking over work orders on a clipboard. He rested with his head against the glass, red ballcap over his face, looking like a tired coworker waiting for his marching orders. In truth, he struggled to control his excitement. It had taken him a couple of days to track down the police officer that had shot him. Then they had trailed the man for half a week, learning where he went, and more importantly, to who.

  He had discovered the police officers squeeze, and today would be the day that he exacted his revenge. The talk of the town was all about Jesuit Patton and his willingness to make amends. He didn’t need Sasha to tell him how much of a ruse that was. No one just gave away money without being forced to do it. Half of the city would be at that parking lot, trying to get a piece of the pie or to watch the spectacle unfold. Some with signs calling the ones with powers all sorts of names. Names held over from past times, used for people with different skin tones, then gender, and just before the Altered, they’d been fighting about gender identity. Now it was the Altered’s turn to stand before the angry mob and demand equal rights. That made him smile. His aim was so far beyond equal rights that before this was all said and done, the people with picket signs would be begging him to be considered equal. But, if he was to rule on high, he had to show the world that he was not to be trifled with. You can’t just shoot him and think it ends there. No, today he had devised a wonderful plan to break the police officer mentally and emotionally. Maybe after the cop had seen the carnage, he would off himself. That would be pure poetry in Steven’s book.

  “How’s it looking?” He didn’t move his head, though his eyes scanned what he could see from his vantage point.

  “Nothing yet, my love.” She grinned saying it.

  Steven had come to the brilliant idea that he only need tell the woman one command, and the rest would fall into place. Instead of making her go all glassy eyed on him, he simply told her that she loved him. It amazed him what he could get away with after that point. He no longer had to give demands. He just had to say what he would like, and she went after it with full gusto.

  “I figured he would be on his way to the money grab session by now. There’s no doubting he has some power, and on a public servant’s salary, he could use the money.” He rubbed the few days’ worth of stubble that had started to grow on his chin.

  “Maybe he’s afraid that they’ll kick him off the force if they find out.” Sasha continued to study the clipboard, though her eyes seemed to see everything. Having an ex-military woman as a pet had its perks.

  “Or he’s being a self-righteous tool.”

  “He’s coming out now. There is another woman with him.”

  “Not his girl, I hope?” Steven sat up a little, faking a yawn.

  Sasha shook her head. “This one’s plump and appears to be nervous.”

  Steven laughed. “Oh, what naughtiness are you up to, Detective Lanton? Is this your side bitch? Maybe I’ll visit her next. I won’t leave you a shoulder to cry on.” He watched as they both got into a beat-up old car and drove away. Turning to Sasha, he offered her a bright smile. “Time to exact some revenge.”

  Sasha smiled back, taking the Glock from the seat between them and tucking it into her holster. “Then we take a vacation somewhere warm, right?”

  “Of course, my love,” Steven lied. “After I know that my enemy has been soul crushed.” He slipped out the passenger door, easing it closed behind him. He made sure that his jacket displayed the name of the company and his name, a one Daniel Fostender. Daniel was here to fix someone’s faulty cable. Sasha fell into step beside him as they crossed the large parking lot and made for the front door.

  “Say ‘error code’ if you want me to shoot the guard,” Sasha said just before she opened the door.

  Steven chuckled and said, “I don’t think that’ll be required, but I love your style.” He marched in, walking up to the security guard who smiled in return. “I’m here to kill someone, and you’ll let me pass. Then you’ll wait ten minutes without doing or saying anything. At that point, you will take your taser and shock yourself until you pass out or die. I don’t care which. If you live, you’ll remember me as if my face were burned into your memory. You won’t speak to anyone except Detective Lanton, and when he shows up, you tell him that what happened upstairs is his fault.”

  The security guard looked at him for a moment; long enough for the word ‘error’ to start to form on Steven’s lips, but at last, he said, “Of course, sir.” He blinked, and he pressed the button allowing them to pass the checkpoint.

  Steven gave Sasha a soft smile and a wink before leading her to the elevators.

  “Will he be able to remember all that?” Sasha stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor they needed.

  “Don’t know. Usually, my commands are one or two parts. Probably why it took him a bit to respond. I’m hoping all that was hard-coded into his little ant brain.” He leaned against the back of the elevator, unable to suppress a smug look.

  “You’re an impressive beast, my love” Sasha said with a wide smile.

  “You best remember that.” He stepped from the elevator into a drab looking hallway. It reminded him of so many b-horror movies of buildings haunted late at night. He turned to Sasha. “What do you think? Should you stay here and guard the exits? In case she tries to run?” He was careful to word it as a question and not a statement. He didn’t need her going mush-brained here.

  She looked up and down the hallways, considering something. “This would be the best vantage point to cover the exits. You go on ahead, and if anyone comes to ruin your fun, I’ll gun them down.”

  Steven beamed. “My girl.” He patted her cheek and then moved down the hallway to the room he knew belonged to a one Eleanor Millie. It had taken only a few calls pretending to be various people to get the woman’s name and unit number. People these days were far too free with other people’s information. A trick he had learned as a reporter, but it had so many more uses.

  He stood before Miss Millie’s door and rapped his knuckles on the cheap looking door. From inside he heard a voice tell him to hold on for just a moment. Miss Millie sounded a great deal younger than he would have expected.

  The door eased open to reveal the round face of a little blonde girl staring up at him. “Can I help you?”

  Steven stared down at the face of the young girl. He hadn’t expected this, but his mind already worked on ideas for how to add to Detective Lanton’s misery. He had no idea whose brat this was, but he doubted her parents would look favorably on what the detective was about to let happen to her. “Is Miss. Millie here?”

  The girl nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Can you
get her?”

  The girl shook her head.

  Steven gave an exasperated sigh. He leaned down and whispered, “go away, kid.”

  The little girl did not move.

  “I said...” Steven’s voice trailed off.

  The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head, revealing the whites until the red vein lines could be seen. Yet still, they rolled until eyes of pure red peered back at him. Above her brows, two more eyes opened, both just as red as the first pair. Another set appeared on the girl’s cheeks. She began to smile a cruel smile that had far more pointy teeth than a child’s mouth, or anyone’s, should ever have. The girl rumbled a low chuckle. “Heard talky man. Girl gone.” It gave a low grating laugh that made Steven ease up from his crouched position and step back.

  “Now list-” Steven started to talk, but the little girl silenced him with a guttural growl.

  “No more talky, talky man.” The one hand that held the door open began to turn ashen, the color receding from the skin in quick waves. The fingers elongated, the nails turning into black claws that were longer than the kid’s hand had been. It eased the door open, revealing that the girl’s body had begun a transformation as well. Her legs resembled that of a goat, bent backward, but instead of gray hair, they were a black that ate the light. As the legs trembled, the little girl rose, her face elongating into that of a snout resembling a wolf with scales, or possibly a dragon.