Hybrid, page 35
“Move, damn you. Get up, or I’ll shoot you as well!” he yelled into her face after her habit had come off. She climbed to her feet, and he pushed her up the stairs.
Chapter 55
“It’s bad,” Phil said to Patton as they turned Sister Ellen onto her side. “Definitely kidney, maybe spleen, but I don’t think he got the aorta.” He was applying pressure to the entrance wound with his silver gloves. “I have to go get him, and you have to take care of this.”
Patton was looming over him, sweat spilling off his forehead. They both knew that he was now almost certainly infected. “Go. I’ll take care of her.” They shared the briefest moment of mutual respect when their eyes met. “Take this and kill that son of a bitch, because if he comes down here alive, I’m going to kill him.” Patton tried to pass over his weapon, and Phil could feel the pure hatred in his soul.
“I won’t need that,” Phil said, then he turned towards the doors. He pushed but the crowbar was securely fixed to the handles. He looked back at Patton and the fallen nun, judged that they were safe, and turned back to the doors. It took surprisingly little effort; Phil imagined the doors flying from their hinges and then, they were. They rebounded against the far wall fifty feet away.
“I guess you don’t,” he heard Patton say as the echoes began to fade.
***
Izhan heard the explosion of doors and was thankful for the brief respite from Rucker’s undivided attention. He had reached the roof, and the nun ran out into the dazzlingly bright afternoon sun. They both shaded their eyes and stumbled forward. The chillers were on, and he followed their loud mechanical strumming. He grabbed the hem of the nun’s skirt, and she lost her balance. Izhan dragged her across the stone and tar roof. She wouldn’t be much of a shield against Rucker, but against bullets she would do fairly well.
They reached the condensers, and a large column of steam shot a hundred feet into the sky above them. He dropped to his knees, and Sister Janine tried to crawl away as he pulled out the remaining seven sheets of infected paper. He swatted at her, and she responded with a vicious kick. The heel of her shoe opened a large gash across his still-masked face. For a moment Izhan saw only stars; when they cleared he saw the expression of horror written over the nun’s face. He thought she was about to apologize for her savagery, but didn’t give her the chance. He took the butt of the gun and hit her hard in the face. Her nose broke with a crack, and she spun around into the gravel.
Rucker was at the door as Izhan tore his first sheet and tossed the pieces into the steam column. They shot high into the air as the mental wrestling match resumed. Izhan tore the second and third sheets, but before he could launch them, he was wheeled around and slammed against the metal wall of the chillers, the fragments of the infected paper inches from the rising column. He tried to release them, but Rucker now had full control. Small pieces of torn paper began to fall from the sky and collect at Izhan’s feet.
***
Voices and the noise of heavy footfalls started coming up from the stairwell, and Phil slammed the door shut without taking his eyes off Izhan. The isolation suit was both hot and unnecessary, so he slowly stripped it off. A tiny slip of paper fell out and was caught by a tiny breeze that wafted it towards the pile in front of Izhan.
“That’s better,” Phil said, after stepping out of the pants. “I would like a moment of your time, so why don’t you get comfortable as well?” The mask dropped off Izhan’s face and fell into the neat pile at his feet. “I can feel that you want to hurt me; you want it very badly.” Phil stared at Izhan while the younger man struggled to free himself from the invisible force that held him. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite as strong. The depth of your hatred is truly impressive.”
“What do you know about hatred?” Izhan sneered.
“Very little,” Phil admitted. Izhan could use the mental connection almost as well as Phil. “As you can see, I am capable of experiencing only a narrow range of emotions. The truth is that I can perceive your emotions much easier than my own.”
“You are an abomination in the eyes of God.”
“Are you trying to anger me?” Phil squatted down, using the chillers to shade himself from the sun as he gently sorted through the life of Izhan Ahmed. Izhan tried to resist, but he had no more luck freeing his mind than he did freeing his arms. “Where does all this hate come from?” Phil asked.
“Your Western society degenerates our faithful . . .”
Phil silenced him. “Yes, yes, our very existence offends the Almighty, and it is your duty to destroy us. It’s an excellent sound bite, but it’s all very trite and uninteresting.” Phil forced him to make eye contact. “You are an educated man, Izhan; you have lived here. Lesser men may actually buy into that nonsense because they don’t know better, but you do.”
The young man stared back at Phil, anger burning in his eyes.
“I really don’t want to hurt you, but I must know.”
“Why?” Ahmed asked defiantly, and used every ounce of energy to close his mind.
“Honestly, I can’t tell you. I find your willingness to commit acts of extreme sacrifice and extreme violence compelling.”
“I’m not going to help you learn how to be human,” he spat back.
Phil stood up. “If that’s your decision.” Clumsily, just as Reisch had done to Phil, he reached into Izhan’s mind and sifted through every thought, emotion, and memory. The young man passed out almost immediately, and with his loss of consciousness all resistance disappeared. For the first time in Phil’s life, he experienced the joys of childhood, the beauty of innocence, and the wonder of limitless potential. He felt the contentment of being a part of a family, of truly loving, and being loved by another in return. The fulfillment of being a part of something greater than one’s self.
He could relate to Reisch’s need to feed on the emotions of others; they were a powerful potion, both intoxicating and revolting at the same time. The sensations and passions that defined Izhan Ahmed flowed into Phil, filling a void that until this moment he didn’t know existed. Even the negative emotions, the pain and suffering, satisfied Phil’s sudden need. He pressed into the young man’s mind, trying to drain it faster. An alien desire to completely consume the life of Ahmed began to overwhelm Phil. For the first time in his adult life he was allowing himself to be lost in a self-indulgent desire. He felt the control over his mental equilibrium begin to slip from his mental fingers as he drained something vital from the small man. He embraced the chaos and wondered why Reisch feared it so intensely. A voice in his mind began to roar in ecstasy and with a start he realized that it was his own. He had become one of the Monsters.
He suddenly broke the connection, and both Phil and an unconscious Ahmed fell to the gravel. He stared at the prostrate terrorist with his breath coming in gasps. He had come close to killing this man, and in the process, losing himself. A fear as old as Phil rose in his chest and he imagined a small windowless room with a tall steel door.
“What happened?” said a muffled voice.
Phil jumped in alarm at the unexpected appearance of the nun. Her face was covered in blood, and her nose was misshapen. She stood unsteadily and staggered towards Phil.
“Stop, Sister; stay away from that paper.” Phil ordered. He quickly climbed to his feet. The echoes of his greatest fear still resonated through his mind, and he staggered a little as he caught Sister Janine a moment before she lost her balance. “He’s unconscious,” he said, supporting the nun with his arm.
“He shot Sister Ellen.” She started to cry and had to breathe in spasms because of her blood-clogged nose.
“I know,” he said, and both of them turned towards the roof’s metal door as the SWAT team behind it started to use a battering ram. “Can you go and wait by the door, Sister? I just need a moment more with Mr. Ahmed.” Her head swiveled back to the fallen terrorist, who was just beginning to stir, and then back to Phil. “Are you with the police?”
“No ma’am, but they’re with me,” he said. She stared a moment longer and hobbled across the roof. A helicopter buzzed overhead, and Phil gently pushed it away; he still hadn’t finished with Izhan.
“Did you get what you needed?” He was awake and still defiant. Phil had released him, and he quickly reached for the pieces of infected paper.
“Please don’t provoke me,” Phil said, and then not so gently pushed him into the metal frame that housed the air conditioning coolers. “Sister Janine believes that you are evil incarnate, but I know that you’re not.” He stared into the dark, hate-filled eyes of Ahmed. “You’re just a man, and we don’t have the luxury of dismissing you as the devil.” Phil sat in the shadow that a nearby building cast across the roof so that he could better see Ahmed. “I have to admit that I am somewhat disappointed. I was hoping that you had had some type of religious or personal epiphany that would drive you to this extreme. But you’re more complex than that, and once again, I can’t discount you.”
“Are you going to be my shrink now, and tell . . .”
Phil cut him off. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a lot of time, and I have no patience to listen to your vitriol.” He stared back at Izhan, and a desire to make the terrorist writhe in agony welled up in Phil’s chest.
“Go ahead.” Izhan read the desire that was building inside of Phil. “You can break my body, but never my soul.”
“I have more control than that,” Phil answered, suppressing the sadistic craving. “At the moment, I want to understand you more than hurt you. I suggest you take advantage of that.” They stared at each other until Ahmed’s expression softened an iota.
“You can never understand me,” he scoffed, but with less venom than earlier.
“I understand that you are not a religious zealot, and that most of your compatriots are not zealots either. You are devout, I will grant you that, but you are also a group of educated men. To some degree, I can understand the refugees, who have known only squalor, suffering, and hopelessness, strapping explosives to their bodies, but that hardly describes you or any of the others. You were chosen because of your education, because of your ability to adapt and function independent of a group. I can see that in your mind. So why would you subordinate those abilities; why would you blindly follow those who espouse hate?” Phil paused for an answer, but all Izhan had was more derision. “Part of the answer lies in human nature, and in that respect, you are not much different from the man downstairs who wants to kill you. But that only gets you part of the way; your sin is that you never questioned the culture of hate that surrounded you. Instead of examining it, you ignored the responsibility of an educated man and accepted it. You allowed yourself to believe the lies because to challenge them would be to challenge those who spread them, and you were too weak to do that. You are going to die because of that weakness.”
“My death is inconsequential compared to the devastation we have brought to your country.” He smiled smugly.
Phil slowly nodded his head and allowed Izhan to see the utter failure of all their work and sacrifices. “The truth is that you are dying for nothing. No one will visit your father and tell him of the momentous things you achieved in the name of God.” Phil listened as the will and heart of Izhan Ahmed broke. A small part of him rejoiced at the young man’s agony, and he quickly chastised himself. He would not be as weak as Reisch and allow his Monsters to consume him. He would never again come that close to losing himself. Changed or not, he, Phillip Rucker, would always be in control. He would make his own decisions, not his childhood Monsters, and in time perhaps not even the Routine that had ruled virtually his entire life.
The pounding from the other side of the door became more insistent, and now there were two helicopters circling the rooftop. Tears began to flow down Izhan’s face, and Phil listened to him pray. He prayed for a righteous death, one that would bring honor to His Holy Name.
Phil reached down and retrieved the small pistol that Izhan had used to shoot Sister Ellen. He turned towards Sister Janine as she let out a scream. “It’s all right,” he yelled to her over the sound of the helicopters, and then turned back to Ahmed, whose prayers had become more desperate. “I haven’t learned to hate yet,” Phil said and tossed the gun to the terrorist.
Sister Janine stared dumbfounded at Phil. He walked towards the nun and guided her away from the door. “It’s going to be all right. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”
Phil let the door go and three men dressed in black body armor tumbled onto the rooftop. It took them only a moment to assess the situation, and in that moment, Izhan raised his gun. Both of the marksmen in the circling helicopters ensured that Phil was correct.
Chapter 56
“Father Oliver died,” Greg told Lisa over the phone.
Lisa suddenly felt empty. Amanda had come home with the news that Reisch had disappeared, and now this. “How?” she asked.
“One of the SOBs was posing as a cop,” Greg paused, and Lisa could hear him try to stifle a sob. “The guy shot Oliver. He was out by himself. If I had been there, I could have done something.” His voice was breaking. “We found him in a hospital all shot up, and do you know what he did? He goes out and finds the other bastard and kills him right before the guy shoots me. He saved me with his . . .” Lisa let her husband suffer quietly. “Honey, I have to go. I’ll call you later. There are arrangements that have to be made.”
Lisa hung up the phone and turned to Amanda. “You heard?”
Amanda nodded and went to hug her mother-in-law. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. Sorry that any of this ever happened.”
Lisa cried for several moments and then slowly pulled away. “Your eyes are moist, Amanda,” she said, wiping a tear from her daughter-in-law’s face.
“I guess I’m not totally made of stone.”
“It’s terrible, but I wasn’t just crying for Oliver. I didn’t know him as well as Greg did.” She looked into Amanda’s eyes. “He’s a good man, and he’s in a lot of pain. I feel so helpless.” She tried to stifle a sob, but it escaped as a gasp. “He won’t share it with me; he’ll take that pain and hide it in a place that I’ve never been able to reach, and it will eat away at him. Sometimes . . .” Now her tears were falling again. “Sometimes, I wonder why God has brought so much pain into our lives.” Lisa’s voice began to rise and her voice broke. “What purpose did it serve to allow John Oliver to die? What purpose did it serve to take the lives of Michael and Jacob? Why does He allow such evil to exist? My soul needs an answer beyond the knee-jerk ‘trust in God’s mercy,’ because I really haven’t experienced a lot of His mercy in the last few years.” Her voice had turned hard and angry, but her tears continued to fall.
“I had a part in that,” Amanda said, and a second tear fell down her cheek.
Lisa wanted to deny it, but there was no point in lying. “Amanda, I thank God every night for bringing you into our lives, and I know that Greg does as well.” Lisa smoothed Amanda’s hair, and then kissed her forehead. “No matter how much you change, no matter what happens to you, we both love you with every fiber of our being.”
Amanda wiped more tears from her eyes. “I know that.” She pulled completely away. “Are you stocked for the week?” She said suddenly, changing the uncomfortable subject.
“Yes,” Lisa said. “Are you going to stay?”
“For a little while, at least until Greg comes home.” Amanda picked up the small satchel that she had brought back from Fort Collins. “He has more of the virus, and he won’t stop, no matter how many of his terrorist buddies get killed by priests.”
“How will you find him?”
“I have no idea. I’ve lost all traces of him. I don’t know if he’s too far away, or dead, or just completely shut himself down.” She nervously opened and closed the small bag. ”I should turn this in and see if someone else can divine something from it.”
“You’re sure it’s . . . Of course, you’re sure it’s not infected, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it here,” Lisa corrected herself. “He wouldn’t stay in Colorado. I’m guessing that he’s made a beeline for the nearest border or ocean.”
“Costa Rica. He plans to wait out our demise while sitting in a tropical jungle,” Amanda said, and Lisa stared back at her curiously. “I saw it in his mind when we were at the hospital,” Amanda explained. “I saw everything,” she added quietly.
***
The check-engine light was on continuously and the temperature gauge was well past the red line. Reisch let loose a string of profanities in three languages, but his predicament didn’t change. He was going to have to find another mode of transportation, but in rural New Mexico, three hours after a nationwide curfew had been established, that was going to be a difficult task.
