Shift: Infected, #5, page 40
This wasn’t smart. He had no idea how many people he was dealing with, how well armed they were, but he was furious, the animal taking over and making him lose control. He was aware only that there were other people in the room: four men, most smoking, some on drugs (amphetamines, prescription, pot, booze), two sprawled on a couch, one standing, the one he had just knocked to the floor. The standing one pulled a gun—there were speech sounds, noises, but they made no sense to him—and Roan lunged at him, roaring. There was an explosion, a burst of hot cordite he could taste/smell like peppery metal, but he didn’t know if it hit him or not. There was pain, but there was always pain, and it was impossible to tell one pain from another. Pain was a light and he was the sun, radiating pain, gifting the world with his aura of pain as his body broke and traded one form for another.
He grabbed the man, pinned him against the wall, sank his teeth into his neck before he realized what he was doing. He pulled himself away as the man screamed and threw him down, blood in Roan’s mouth and blood pouring from his neck, where Roan had torn the flesh. Someone grabbed him from behind, but he flailed, his elbow smashing into his attacker’s skull hard enough to make the man collapse as if shot. The other two men ran, one outside, the other deeper into the house, screaming something, making urgent speech sounds that Roan was no longer human enough to interpret. But he recognized fear, the taste sweetly savory, and followed that little breadcrumb trail promising scared prey, all the more tender for their fear. Another man appeared at the end of the corridor, and he had a bigger gun, but Roan jumped the millisecond before he fired, and he heard bullets buzz through the air like angry hornets as Roan landed on the man, driving him to the floor, hitting hard enough to break something (Roan heard the bone snap; not his, this was a musical, beautiful sound of distance), and as he roared down into the man’s face, the man screamed, a pathetic noise of pain and terror, facing something he couldn’t understand. His fear smelled like rain, like fresh meat, like warm blood.
He caught a scent deeper in the house, a smell he knew, more fear, more pain, and the faint but distinct scent of death. Roan crawled over the man and headed down the hall, farther in, following the siren’s call of death. He wanted to sink his teeth into that. He wanted to take a bite out of all of it.
This was his house, his place, his territory. And they were all his prey.
21
Animal
HOLDEN was still arguing about payment when the shit went down.
He’d heard the huge bang, the collision shortly behind them when they were driving in, but couldn’t see anything, as they were too far ahead. He hoped that Roan wasn’t involved in that, but if he was, he was determined to see this through without him. He had a gun, a knife, and an urge to kill these motherfuckers, who probably wouldn’t expect him to put up much of a fight—surely that was good enough.
Once they’d gotten here, they sat in the living room and smoked pot, had some beers, and discussed what was going to happen. Holden was deliberately fickle, changing his mind about doing a group sex scene, and then wanting more money, which played out the time. Also, he didn’t really hold in the pot smoke, nor did he do more than sip his beer. He wasn’t going to get fucked up, but he was happy to let them think he was going to. It also helped that the pot they had was total weak sauce. He knew guys who drove in much better B.C. bud on alternate weekends. Drugs weren’t really his thing, but if he was going to do some, he liked to do the good stuff.
He eventually snuck off to the bathroom and lounged in there for a bit, eating up more time. Checking the phone, he found his connection dead. Natural drop off, or had Roan really been plowed into? Shit, he hoped he was okay.
What was he thinking? The guy was a superhero. He’d be fine.
Holden saw a few closed doors on the way to the basement, but he had a weird feeling that he was the only true “guest” in the house today. Which meant what about Jordan? Probably nothing good.
The basement was just a basement, although it seemed a bit more Western Washington than Eastern Washington to him, for reasons he couldn’t actually explain. The walls and floor were poured concrete, the lighting harsh and basically fluorescent, the set up very basic porn, what with a bed, a chair, and two digital cameras on tripods, with a computer setup tucked away in the back corner. It smelled like sweat, sex, ozone, and Febreze. There was the guy in charge of the cameras, “Lenny,” an average looking pear-shaped guy with thinning curly black hair and an underbite he really should have had seen to as a child, while his two fellow “performers” were “Alex,” a reasonably buffed-up guy with a bland face and a smattering of back hair, and “Rex,” a more handsome but almost tragically skinny guy who had the build of Iggy Pop. The tattoo on his calf (a rather ornate scene of the Virgin Mary, roses, and a bleeding heart) seemed to draw far too much attention to his toothpick legs. Holden recognized Alex from the video where they'd killed Coyote.
They all took off their shirts and discussed what was going to be happening until Holden balked again, this time pointing out he was not a bottom unless he got paid a hell of a lot of cash, and nobody had mentioned anything about barebacking. (Honestly, if you wanted to fuck him, you really did need to pony up a lot of dough, to the point where he just solicited as a top, because most people couldn’t afford him otherwise.) They started dickering about the cash again, which he internally found hilarious, as these guys were going to give him the money, kill him, and take the money back. So why not just give it to him without a fight? Dickheads! It made him dial up the diva behavior.
They had just about reached a resolution when they heard the screams from upstairs, followed by an almost simultaneous gunshot, and a roar that could chill the blood. All four of them looked at each other, Holden feigning surprise (it was really hard not to laugh), and Lenny exclaimed, “What the fuck was that? Was that a bear?”
“Ah fuck, I bet it’s that fag detective,” Rex said, racing up the basement stairs. “He said he might be coming.”
He? Maddux? Holden might never know.
“No human makes a sound like that,” Alex called after him, as the sound came again, more gunshots, more screams, another roar. The roar alone told him Roan was gone. When he was half transformed, you could almost hear a little bit of a human scream of rage underneath it—just barely, a tiny little lifeline that let you know you weren’t completely fucked yet. But this was the completely fucked noise, the one that told you the human had checked out and the lion had checked in. Doctor Jekyll had left the building, but Hyde was hanging around, waiting to start some shit.
Alex was nervously peering up the stairs, and Lenny walked back to the computer, meaning neither was looking at him. Holden put his foot on the edge of the bed and reached into his boot, pulling out the Glock. He loved this little thing; he’d been practicing with it and found it not only easy to pull and use, but a hell of a lot of fun. He had to ask Roan if he could buy it from him, if they both lived through this.
“Alex,” Holden said.
“What?” he replied, annoyed, still trying to look up the stairs.
“Would you at least look at me when I kill you?”
That made him turn around. “What?”
And that’s when Holden shot him in the chest. A hole appeared in the center of his naked torso and blood exploded all over the back wall as Alex staggered, staying on his feet, looking genuinely stunned. Lenny yelped in shock and dove behind the computer desk like a soldier seeking cover.
“Coyote was one of my boys, motherfucker,” Holden told Alex before he finally tripped on the bottom stair and fell down, first against the now blood-smeared wall, then onto the concrete floor. He tried to press himself up, but his hands slipped in his own blood, and he went face-first into the floor. He coughed, choked, made one more attempt as a shockingly deep red puddle grew wider and wider around him, and then stopped trying to get up. Upstairs, more gunshots, screaming, the thud of bodies, and roars made a din loud enough to guarantee the cavalry didn’t come charging down the stairs. Holden imagined he should have felt something, but he had seen this fucker strangle Coyote, garrote him until he stopped moving. He deserved this. He honestly deserved so much worse.
“Hiding, Lenny? You really wanna die wedged beneath a desk?” If it looked like the cameraman was coming up with a weapon, he was going to blow his fucking brains out.
But Lenny must have known this, because he emerged hands first, shaking so badly his voice was a mass of tremors. “D-don’t sh-shoot me, p-please, don’t k-kill me. I didn’t hurt any-anyone, I d-didn’t—”
“No, you simply filmed it and uploaded it for the masses, so that makes you a far better person. You wanna live through this? Gimme the hard drive.”
Sweat was now streaming down his acne-spotted face. He was probably twenty-five, but he had the kind of face that would make him look awkwardly adolescent until his mid-thirties. “Wh-what?”
He was running out of time. He might actually be out of time, so fuck it. “Hard drive, now!” he shouted, in a drill sergeant voice. (And he should know, as he had one as a client once. Really liked being spanked.)
Lenny jumped and almost lunged into action, grabbing the computer stack and working its casing off. He looked up at him suspiciously, working with shaking hands, and said, “You’re not a hooker.”
“’Course I’m a hooker.”
He seemed deeply suspicious of this. “But you’re with him.” He looked up toward the ceiling, where the monster-movie sounds of inhuman roars and all too human screams continued.
“Yep. Us fags stick together.” Lenny briefly got a guilty look in his pale hazel eyes, just confirming what Holden had already guessed: not a single gay here. All gay for pay. What, couldn’t they find a gay psychopath who would happily fuck and kill another guy on screen? Surely there were a few who’d volunteer. It was discrimination, that’s what it was.
He’d pried the cover off and started digging out the hard drive with no delicacy whatsoever. Luckily, Holden didn’t care what shape it was in, as long as he got it. Lenny was still shaking and trying to pretend he wasn’t. Fear had made his deodorant fail, and he was starting to give off an odor not unlike canned tamales. Holden wanted to shoot him just for that. “Can you call him off?”
He didn’t need to ask what “him” he was referring to. “No. How do you call off a lion? It’s not like you can train them to heel.” And this was the only thing bothering him right now. Roan wasn’t almost transformed, he was fully transformed; bringing up Dylan or even Paris would have no effect on him now. And what great irony would that be if Roan killed him and ate him after all this?
Lenny yanked the hard drive out like it was a rotten tooth. “He’s not even fucking human. He should be locked up.”
“This from the snuff filmmaker. Put the drive on the desk and start moving toward the stairs. Slowly. Any sudden moves and I kneecap you.”
Lenny shot him an evil look but did as he said, keeping his hands where Holden could see them. “What kinda hooker are you?”
“An action hooker.” He almost laughed as he said it. Okay, maybe the pot did have some minor effects.
Lenny looked down nervously at Alex, lying face down in a pool of blood almost as big as he was. He paled, looked like he might be sick, which made Holden wonder if he tossed his cookies every time he filmed one of these snuff clips. Probably not. It was probably different when you actually knew the person killed. “If you don’t want me to kill you, you’d better start running.”
His head snapped toward him violently. “You mean go upstairs?” As if to emphasize what a silly, suicidal prospect that was, Roan roared very loudly, a sound that chilled the blood with its mindless, animalistic rage. He was a hurt cat, and he’d be damned if he knew what had hurt him, so he was going to take down everyone in sight on the off chance he’d eventually get the one responsible. Holden wondered how many people were left upstairs. The smart ones must have run out of the house at the first opportunity, while the stupid ones went for guns. Natural selection in action. “I can’t—”
“Stay here and get shot, or go upstairs and see if you can get away before he finds you. Make your choice.”
It was no choice, and the evil look he gave him told Holden he knew it. But Lenny had seen him kill Alex, so he knew shooting him too would be nothing. There came a point when your sins were so great you couldn’t possibly make them worse, and Holden was there, at that zero point where he had absolutely nothing to lose. Lenny swallowed hard, probably made some attempt to gather his courage, and attempted to avoid the blood and Alex’s body as he ascended the wooden staircase. Holden kept his gun trained on it until he heard the door open, letting in the noise of someone’s stereo playing faintly, a background noise to the carnage. The basement wasn’t really well soundproofed, but out here, in the middle of nowhere, it didn’t need to be.
As soon as Lenny was gone, Holden put the Glock down long enough to pull on his shirt and stick the hard drive in the waist of his jeans like it was just a bigger, bulkier gun. He checked to make sure the cameras weren’t on (they hadn’t been switched on yet), and that there wasn’t a slaved backup drive that he’d missed. He was aware of another scream upstairs and wondered if Roan had caught Lenny.
The pot was giving this all a patina of illusion. It hardly seemed real, so maybe that’s why he wasn’t too worried about facing Roan. He had to go upstairs; the basement was a prison. There were no windows to the outside, no cellar door. It was go up, or be stuck in here until Roan went outside to hunt down the unlucky assholes who had to escape on foot, assuming he did. Since he could change at will, he could presumably change back at will, but since he was all lion when the cat came out, how did the human will the change? There was a philosophical, emotional, and medical conundrum that no one had the answer to, not even Roan.
He checked the cameras to make sure they didn’t have any drives he should remove, and found one had a portable case, so he simply put it in and slung the case over his back. The other camera he destroyed, first by throwing it against the wall, and then adding insult to injury by shooting it. He was pretty sure there’d be no evidence to salvage, but he wanted to make sure.
He went to the head of the stairs and pressed his ear against the door, listening. It was hard to determine what was going on now, as it was rather quiet, but he was pretty sure he heard Roan’s low-level growl, which was enough to make your average person shit their pants. What he’d never told him, and frankly never would because he knew how badly he’d take it, was that his growl only sounded like a lion’s (or some other big cat) when he was still in some vestige of human form. When he was fully transformed, it honestly sounded monstrous—it was a cross between lion and dragon, something sort of recognizable crossed with the unbelievable. It worked well, though; it made you want to start running and keep running until you dropped.
Holden knew the bathroom wasn’t far from the basement door, and there was a window in there that, while small, was still big enough for him to pull himself through. If he could get there, he could get out of the house and check the back shed, which he had seen while walking from the car to the front door. He didn’t know if they kept people back there or what, but he knew Roan wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t check it out.
Relatively sure Roan was in another part of the house, he eased the door open, wincing as a hinge creaked and the smell of blood hit him. It had been in the basement, but it smelled even bloodier up here. The front door must have been open because dry air was blowing in from the desert, kicking up the scent of meat, moving it through the house.
He went fast, slinking from the basement to the bathroom door, not running because running just encouraged a cat to come after you. (Oh, had he forgotten to tell Lenny that? Oops.) He didn’t see anything in his quick shift from one room to another, save for what looked like a splash of blood on one of the walls of the main corridor and a fallen gun. As he ducked into the bathroom, a shadow crossed the head of the hall, and he heard Roan’s growl, much louder now. Holden closed the door and thumbed the doorknob lock. It was as flimsy as hell, and if the lion threw himself full force against it, the door would break like construction paper, but he didn’t need it to hold for long. Just long enough for him to get away.
He heard Roan at the door, growling and snuffing, claws ripping at the carpet as if trying to reach under the door. Right now lion Roan was tentative, testing the borders, but as soon as he realized it was solid he would go after it in earnest until something pulled his attention away. At least this confirmed no one had got a decent shot on him.
He had to stand on the toilet to reach the window latch and push the window up, then he had to punch the screen out, but none of that was difficult. It occurred to him that Roan as a lion was kind of like a guy on crack. They weren’t invincible, but goddamn, they could seem like it, as they were so inured to pain nothing seemed to stop them. It was instant kill shot or nothing.
He pulled himself through the window until he could sit on the sill, then carefully pulled leg one through, then the other. He knew he was starting to put on weight—he could exercise and limit carbs all he wanted, but he was getting older, and your metabolism naturally slowed down—but at least he wasn’t so chubby that he couldn’t squeeze through the window. Not that it wasn’t a tight fit. He made sure to close the window after him on the off chance Roan broke the door down.
He jumped down to the backyard, which wasn’t a proper yard at all, just barren scrub land eventually defined by a chain-link fence that glimmered silver on the horizon like a mirage. The sky was starting to lighten, the sun coming up somewhere out of his view, and already the cool bite of morning was starting to warm. It would be an insanely hot day, so Holden hoped to be far from here before afternoon could roast him alive. At least it would be a good day for burning.
