Even The Dead Will Bleed

by Steven Ramirez

  I pulled the kid aside. “Listen to me, Lewis. You’re going to have to get your car, drive it around to the other side and pick us up.”

  “What if he tells them?” Vlad said.

  Peter handed me his gun. “I’ll go with him.”

  “Wait!” I emptied the bullets from Lewis’s gun and handed it to him. “Put that in your holster.”

  I watched as the two men marched towards the lot, side-by-side. Though I could hear voices, I couldn’t make out the words. One of the grey-suits challenged Lewis. He looked like he was explaining something and gestured at Peter. For a slacker, he wasn’t bad.

  Lowering his weapon, the grey-suit stepped back and allowed the two men to pass. A moment later I saw the headlights come on in a ten-year-old black Ford Explorer. Then the sound of an engine as the vehicle approached us. Soon we would be away from this place.

  Trower appeared in the road, accompanied by more grey-suits. He was shouting and waving his arms at the vehicle. I prayed that Lewis would keep going, but he slowed down, coming to a complete stop in front of Trower.

  Trower waved his gun at Lewis, indicating that he should exit the vehicle. Then he peered inside and found Peter in the passenger seat. Though I couldn’t make out the words, I could see by the way that Trower was interrogating Lewis, the kid was getting rattled. He answered Trower’s questions, his weight shifting from one foot to the other like he had to pee.

  Trower stood there motionless, contemplating what Lewis had told him. He turned to his associates and said something. Then, without warning, he shot Lewis twice in the chest. As the kid crumpled to the ground, the miscreant put two more into his head.

  The sound of a revving engine made the men look up. The Explorer lurched forward, barely missing Trower, and raced towards us.

  “Get ready!” I said.

  Peter took the corner tight on two wheels—almost flipping over—and screeched to a stop. As the others piled into the back, I jumped into the front passenger seat and we took off.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing!” Peter said.

  “You’re fine. Just watch the road.”

  The sound of shooting now as grey-suits swarmed from behind and in front of us.

  “Don’t stop for anything,” I said.

  “Right.”

  Peter picked up speed as the grey-suits formed a line in front of us, their weapons raised.

  “You have to keep going, no matter what.”

  In a few seconds he broke the line, scattering bodies everywhere in a sickening mix-tape of ripping flesh, crunching bones and screaming. The sounds of gunshots echoed as we took the private driveway out of the property.

  “Slow down!” I said.

  As we reached the street, a line of fire trucks, police and Sheriff’s vehicles raced the other way towards St. Lazarus. It would be hard for the grey-suits to make it past them, giving us time to escape.

  “Where to?” Peter said. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, to keep them from shaking.

  “We need to make a stop,” I said.

  “Dave, is that wise?” Isaac said.

  Vlad coughed. “We must get Sasha away from here.”

  “Dave, please!” Sasha said.

  “I’m not leaving Maritza behind,” I said. “She’s in too much danger.” Then to Peter, “Drop me off up here and I’ll get her myself.”

  Sasha grabbed my arm. “No!” She turned to her brother and pleaded with him in Russian.

  “I’m not leaving her!” I said.

  A leaden silence hung in the air. Peter looked at me, a heavy expression on his face. “I’m still paying off school loans, you know. This isn’t going to help my job prospects. Fine, give me the address.”

  As we drove on towards Karen’s house, I noticed Peter glancing into the rearview mirror at Sasha. At one point she caught him looking and his cheeks flushed.

  Just what we needed—more complications.

  The rain started up again as we approached the house. By the time we reached her street, it was pouring down. Every one of the houses in the cul-de-sac was dark, except for Karen’s. Hers was the largest property and was located at the end. We parked in front on the street. Vlad was weak from blood loss, and Peter and I each had to take an arm to support him as we approached the front door. Isaac followed with Sasha.

  Before I could ring the bell, Maritza answered. “David!”

  “We’re okay.”

  Peter and I helped Vlad to the kitchen and eased him into a chair. Karen entered the room.

  “Nice to see all of you,” she said, removing her reading glasses. “Oh my goodness, Vlad!” She knelt and examined his leg. “Olga, ven aqui!” Then to Peter, “And you are . . .”

  “Dr. Peter Asimov,” he said.

  “Ah, yes. The good one.”

  Confused, Peter looked at me.

  “Karen did a background check,” I said. “That’s why we were able to trust you.”

  “Glad to know I passed.”

  Olga entered and, seeing Vlad, she said, “Hijo!”

  As Isaac helped Karen up, she spoke to Olga. “Let’s get him to the bathroom.” Then to Isaac, “Time to work your magic, Doctor.”

  Everyone except Maritza and me left the room. When we were alone she sat next to me and took my hand.

  “I’m surprised you came back here.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Worried?”

  “Where did you get these clothes?”

  “Karen picked me up a few things. Never mind that, what’s the plan?”

  “We need to get Sasha out of here. We’ll drive her up to Tres Marias. Isaac can look after her there till the baby comes.”

  “And Peter?”

  “Well . . . he’s an immunologist, and Isaac thinks he can be of use. He wants to help. Also . . .”

  “What?”

  “I think he likes Sasha.”

  “You mean, like-likes? Are you jealous?”

  “No. It’ll be good for her to have someone who cares about her. In that way.”

  “I see. And what’s my role in all this?”

  “I think you and Karen should go somewhere safe for a while.”

  “Because you’re worried.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And . . .”

  I avoided her gaze. I didn’t want to say what I was feeling—it was too soon. Besides, we had more important matters to deal with. But she was insistent, taking my face in her hands and forcing me to look into her eyes.

  “And . . .”

  “I love you, Maritza,” I said.

  She kissed me and pressed me close, whispering into my ear. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I love you too, David. So much.”

  The only other person I had ever said that to—other than my mother—was Holly. And now I was telling a girl I hardly knew. I kept waiting for the body-wracking guilt to wash over me like a torrent of rusted nails and broken glass. The only thing I felt was a gentle warmth and calmness.

  Peter burst in, breathing heavily. “Outside,” he said. “Black Escalades. A lot of them.”

  “Wait here,” I said to Maritza.

  I followed Peter to the front windows and peeled back the curtain. Rain was pouring down in sheets, punctuated by lightning and thunder. A dozen or more black vehicles filled the end of the cul-de-sac, boxing us in. Grey-suits stood in a line in front of the house, holding long guns. From behind, a lone figure in black pushed through, carrying a handgun. He looked from side to side, then directly at the house.

  Trower had found us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A Bowlful of Tears

  “Give us the Russian girl,” he said, his voice echoing like the announcer at a race track.

  I turned to find Peter and Sasha staring at me in horror, she gripping his hand. Without speaking, I returned to the kitchen and gathered up the few weapons we had. I handed a gun to Peter and he joined me at the window.

  “Give her to us and I won’t kill yo
u,” Trower said. “You have my word.”

  “What do we do?” Peter said. “There are too many of them.”

  I wiped away the sweat from my eyes. “I know.”

  The distant sound of breaking glass distracted me. I signaled for Sasha to come to me. As she rushed forward and cowered behind me, two figures emerged from the kitchen. The first was Maritza. And behind her, a grey-suit twisting her arm hard—making her scream—and pointing a gun at her head. The front door burst open. I fired point-black at the approaching figure. A grey-suit groaned and slid to the floor, blood spurting from his neck and eye holes. Trower followed, holding his hands in the air, accompanied by more agents.

  “Shoot again,” he said, callously stepping over the dying agent, “and your reporter girlfriend dies.”

  Peter and I dropped our weapons. I turned to find Maritza biting down on a scream, the grey-suit grinning as he drilled the barrel of his weapon into her ear to see what she would do. I felt Sasha release her grip and, before I could stop her, she marched stiffly towards Trower. He grabbed her and tucked his weapon under her delicate chin.

  “Sasha, no!” I wanted to lunge forward but had to stop myself.

  “Thanks for everything, Dave,” she said in a voice that was dead to all emotion. “There has been enough killing.”

  I thought I detected a flicker of purple in her irises. Then it was gone.

  “Smart girl,” Trower said.

  Without warning, Sasha’s eyes glowed purple and she began making mewling noises. As if anticipating her, Trower reached into his jacket pocket and produced a clear glass syringe filled with an iridescent purple liquid. Gripping her with one hand, he used the other to jab the needle into her neck. For an instant she froze, then went limp, her eyes returning to normal.

  “You had a good run, Dave, but it’s over,” Trower said. “This thing is way above your pay grade. It’s funny, back at Mt. Shasta when your wife was killed by that evil mayor, I encouraged Walt to let me put you out of your misery. I figured that, without her, you were done anyway. Walt’s a softie. He thought you’d crawl in a hole somewhere and drink yourself to death. But that didn’t happen, and just look at the trouble you’ve caused.”

  “You talk too much,” I said.

  “The result of too many years in Washington.”

  Another grey-suit urged Karen, Isaac and Vlad into the foyer with the barrel of his assault rifle. Though Vlad could barely stand, his eyes were defiant.

  Trower smiled with satisfaction. “This is fine.” Then to the other grey-suits, “Kill them all.”

  “Trower!” I said. “What about your word?”

  “Never believe anything, Dave, unless you get it in writing.”

  “You used to care. What happened?”

  For a second he looked sad. Then, his face hardening, he stared at me with that one pale blue eye. “Things change,” he said. “People change.”

  Numb and filled with hate, I watched him walk outside into the rain, nudging Sasha along with his weapon. I kept thinking if I hadn’t insisted on coming back for Maritza, everything would be alright. But it was clear to me now that, no matter where we had gone, Trower would have found us.

  “David,” Maritza said, her voice halting as the grey-suit forced her to her knees and pointed his weapon at the back of her head. She looked like she was hyperventilating. Then she seemed to relax and fell over. She had fainted.

  Watching her, I went to a dark place where there was no feeling and no caring. It was like witnessing an execution and the condemned was someone I didn’t even know. Peter shouted something, but I couldn’t hear him. Time slowed, and the only sound was the beating of my heart in my ears.

  Then an explosion ripped the darkness, raining flesh and bone, and I saw the grey-suit fall, half his face missing. Olga appeared in the kitchen doorway, trembling and holding my bullpup. I went for my weapon and fired at the second grey-suit, filling him up with death. Spinning backwards, he fell against the wall. When it was over, both agents were dead.

  Outside, the storm had gotten worse. The sharp, cold rain beat its way into the foyer. Lowering my gun, I stepped outside. Only one Escalade remained. The rest of the street was deserted. Through the rain I heard a whirring noise. Looking up, I spotted it—a drone with two glowing red lights—demon’s eyes. Quickly, I came back inside, took the assault rifle from the dead agent and returned outside.

  With careful aim, I fired multiple times. At first the drone attempted to flee, but a bullet hit a propeller and it began to spin wildly. Another stream of bullets tore it out of the sky. I walked towards it deliberately and picked up the carbon fiber carcass. A video camera was mounted securely underneath. Grabbing it, I stared into the lens. Then I sent a bullet through it.

  Back inside I held Maritza—who was conscious—in my arms and gazed around the room. Karen and Isaac were comforting Olga, who looked to be in a state of shock over what she’d done. Peter was supporting Vlad, who glared at me with a look of pure Russian hatred.

  I had failed. Sasha was gone. Everything was blackness.

  I sat at the kitchen table alone, contemplating the bottle of Maker’s Mark standing in the center. If there was ever a time to drink myself to death, it was now. I could hear voices in the background, though I didn’t bother to try to understand what they were saying. Outside, the rain beat against the kitchen door like a chorus of tiny hammers. No one had yet bothered to cover the area where the glass had been broken. A pool of water was forming on the floor.

  Almost invisibly Maritza stepped into the room, noticed the whiskey bottle and put it away without saying anything. Then she stood next to me, kissed the top of my head and hugged me around my shoulders.

  “No one’s blaming you,” she said. “Trower would have found us, no matter what.”

  I took her warm hand and kissed it. Then I got to my feet, grabbed a water from the refrigerator and assessed the damage to the kitchen door. “I don’t think Vlad would agree.”

  “Look, he’s angry. Who wouldn’t be? They took his sister. But I think deep down he knows the truth.”

  I began searching cabinets, looking for aluminum foil and duct tape. The least I could do was stop the rain from coming in.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Trying to fix this.”

  “David, leave it alone. We need to talk as a group.” She took my hand. “Come on. Everyone’s in the living room.”

  I didn’t want to face her, so I looked out at the falling rain. “It was my fault.”

  “No, stop saying that. You’ve done nothing but protect that girl from the start. You’re a good man. Now, come on.”

  I took a deep breath and let Maritza lead me to the others. When we reached the living room I saw the bodies of the two agents lying exactly where we had left them, covered in white blood-stained sheets.

  Isaac stood. As I took a seat on the sofa next to him, he shook my hand. Olga was sitting by herself, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth. Karen and Isaac sat on either side of Vlad, who appeared as white as snow, his red-rimmed eyes avoiding mine. Peter sat alone on a chair, his hands folded, staring at his shoes. We were a sorry bunch.

  “Vlad, I’m sorry,” I said.

  Slowly he lifted his head and looked up at me. “I wanted to kill you. But when you brought down that drone, I knew. They were following us.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Karen said, “but I would really like to get these bloody corpses out of my house.” Saying that the way she did, in that imperious New York accent, made us laugh—all except Vlad.

  Wearily I got to my feet. “Peter and I can handle it.”

  “Happy to,” he said. “But first, I need someone to answer a question. The only ones who showed up were those agents. Why weren’t there any cops?”

  I thought about it. I remembered looking at the houses when I went after the drone. Every one of them was dark. “They must’ve warned the neighbors to leave.”

  Peter
looked at me incredulously. “But how could they do that without tipping off Karen?”

  “Maybe they threatened them. The point is, we are the only ones on this street right now.”

  “Any idea where they’ve taken Sasha?” Isaac said. “Should we pay a visit to—what are you calling it—‘Hellborn’?”

  I shook my head. “They won’t take her back there.” I remembered something the Russian girl had said. “Sasha told me they planned to move her to the desert.”

  “Which desert?” Peter said.

  “No clue.”

  Painfully Vlad sat up. “We are wasting time.”

  “I know that!” I said.

  I began to pace. Maybe we should return to Hellborn. If someone there could tell us where the facility was, we might be able to attempt a rescue. The problem was, Hellborn would be heavily guarded. And there weren’t enough of us. I kept thinking about the people who worked there. Walt Freeman, Trower . . . and Becky! It was then that I remembered how I’d found her home address when I looked through her purse. If we could get to her, she would tell us where the other facility was located.

  “Vlad, we’re going back to Glendale.”

  He nodded. “You want your vehicle.”

  “Exactly.”

  Isaac looked at me. “Dave, what are you planning to do?”

  “Do you remember Walt Freeman’s assistant Becky? I know her address.”

  “Isn’t that the woman you beat up?” Karen said.

  “I didn’t beat her up.”

  “You hit her with a gun.”

  “Dammit, what’s your point, Karen?”

  She looked at me steadily. “I was just wondering how far you’ll need to go this time.”

  I ignored her. “Vlad, let’s go. Isaac, I appreciate everything you’ve done. I think you should return to Tres Marias. After we rescue Sasha, we’ll join you there. Peter, I’d like you to go with Isaac. I think you can help him with the research.”

  “Absolutely. How will we get there?”

  Karen sat up. “You can take my Mercedes. I only need one car.”

  Isaac smiled. “Are you sure?”