Eden Plague - Latest Edition, Page 2

  Daniel rested the gun on the table, still pointed at the other man’s chest, his finger off the trigger but close, very close. The serpent kept trying to wrap around that finger, make him squeeze it.

  The suit took another drag, then looked at his cigarette, speculatively.

  It occurred to Daniel that the unnamed man had no ashtray, so he got up, took a cereal bowl out of his cupboard and slid it across the dining room table to him. Since he was up anyway, he filled a tall glass with orange juice from the fridge. After violent action, the next best thing to alcohol was sugar. He didn’t get the suit any; he had his smoke.

  Daniel sat back down and sipped, feeling the cold sweet run down his insides. It steadied him a bit. He took a deep breath. “Okay, talk.”

  The suit smiled, smarmy, superior. “Just like that. The secrets of the universe?”

  The serpent coiled. Daniel kicked the suit under the table, hard, somewhere near his left knee.

  He convulsed forward, dropping the cigarette and clutching for the pain, and Daniel reached over, put his left hand on the man’s head and mashed his face into the table. With his right he used the magazine extension of the automatic to grind out the burning cigarette. “Now you owe me for a new tablecloth.”

  With his weight still on the man’s head, Daniel put the pistol down out of his reach, picked up the still-smoking butt and dropped it in the bowl-ashtray. He scooped up the gun again.

  “You can’t play conversation control games with me, you stupid suit.” Daniel made that word into an epithet. “I’ve been through every resistance training course, every combat psych and psy-ops and mind-freak exercise, and you are in my house now.” He felt violated, and it fueled him and what control he had left drained away like water through a colander of pasta.

  The serpent egged him on.

  “MY HOUSE!” The snake and the dexedrine seized control, the worm in his hindbrain that he prayed about and tried so hard to keep caged every day since the IED and the brain damage, his nemesis, that God-damned satanic serpent, forgive me Lord. This idiot, this suit, is a child playing with blasting caps and batteries in a toybox full of explosives and he might die, right here, right now, for that ignorance and stupidity. Daniel was on the edge of a whiteout, and the snake longed for it, longed to throw itself and the body he possessed into that bright hot place where all he had to do was destroy. Annihilate every threat, kill everyone that wasn’t on his side, and this fool, the serpent screamed, IS NOT ON YOUR SIDE.

  He wrapped his fingers into the intruder’s hair and dragged him to his feet, moving around the table. Daniel was a hair under six feet, 200 pounds and muscular, but the berserkergang closing in let him shake the smaller man like a rag doll, lifting him onto his toes with one hand. Nose to nose, the muzzle of the XD jammed hard into the man’s solar plexus, Daniel screamed into his face, “I just killed one person, and I just. Might. Kill. You. Too. So. TALK!”

  Then he threw the man back into the chair almost pushing him over backward, but he caught himself, and Daniel stood over him, shaking. They were both shaking, Daniel with barely-suppressed chemical rage, the cologned man with dawning fear.

  Finally afraid. “You can’t kill me,” he said, shuddering.

  Wrong thing to say. Oh, so very, very wrong.

  A silent explosion in his head, and the serpent took him, wrapped him up and dragged him under.

  Daniel watched his hand move of its own volition, watched himself as he shot the man twice in the chest.

  It felt so good.

  The serpent writhed in ecstasy.

  The man gaped upward, then looked down. Touched the entry wounds. Tried to speak. Slumped and was still.

  Crap.

  -3-

  Elise came conscious wondering what had happened, then knowing but hardly believing it. This is the guy Jenkins was supposed to recruit? The softhearted special operator who would help us with a minimum of trouble, who would be grateful, who could be controlled?

  Then why do I hurt so damn much?

  The first thing that hit her was the smell, blood and body stink mixed with the surreally mundane odors of soap and body gel. A shampoo bottle lay shattered by her arm, its gooey contents a puddle on the shower floor. Well, might as well make it useful. She reached over, scooping the stuff onto her hands and then rubbing it into her medium-length auburn hair. Rolling over, she got painfully to her feet.

  Her clothes were torn and so was the nylon cloth that covered the heavy Kevlar vest. The bulletproof helmet she had worn showed a couple of scars as well. Good thing, that saved my life. Eden or not, bullets in the brain tend to be fatal.

  Eden. She laughed to herself. The one and only, the first. Call me Eve. If they’ll only let me find my Adam. I’d thought it might be Daniel Markis. No chance now.

  She reached out, turned on the water in the shower, letting the hot soothing liquid run over her clothed body. It still felt wonderful. She lathered up her hair, then awkwardly used the soap to wash off what she could of the blood and fluids as she waited for Jenkins to make his pitch.

  ***

  The house was silent as Daniel stood there, and he suddenly felt dizzy, ice cold, drenched in sweat. Numbly he reached over, bumped the thermostat up a couple of degrees, then leaned against the wall, sweating. Listened to the silence. Mostly silence. The serpent still gibbered in his hindbrain. Too many chemicals, he knew. Steroids and painkillers and speed, and they had betrayed him this time.

  But he heard something else. A rushing sound, not the forced air of the heating system either. Water. It sounded like the shower in the basement was on. Had a pipe broken? Did one of his rounds damage something?

  He reloaded automatically, then retraced his steps back down to the basement. No way that guy – sorry, that woman – got up. No way, after the mess I made of her.

  The serpent in his head slithered forward again.

  He edged around the bottom of the stairs, then glided forward with all the stealth he could muster and slipped back to his position in the unfinished part of the basement, behind the thin wall with its sixteen or so holes. Yes, the shower was running, and something moved within. Several of the rounds had gone right through the tile and now the water was soaking back, drizzling through the holes.

  What on God’s green Earth?

  He waited, took up a position behind the crack of the door, and waited some more. It took several minutes but finally a figure came out of the shower, out of the bathroom. It looked to him like she had rinsed with her clothes on, to get rid of the blood and filth, but amazingly she was up and walking around. Toweling off. Not fast; she moved haltingly, like an old woman, or a hurt one. She held an exotic-looking weapon by the barrel in one hand, with a Kevlar helmet under the same arm. She had mangled body armor on, too. He could see five or six scars where his rounds had hit the vest and helmet and not penetrated.

  So I tagged her, but didn’t kill her after all? But I fired sixteen rounds, and I smelled the stink of the body letting go, which normally only happens at the moment of death. At least some of her legs and arms should be out of commission, but she’s using all of them. One, two, three, four. Yup, all four limbs operating.

  Weird.

  Daniel stepped out from behind the door while her back was still mostly to him “Freeze, you.”

  She dropped the gun and helmet onto his old blue basement rug, held her hands up away from her body. “Don’t shoot, please. It hurts.”

  “I bet. Turn around. All the way around, keep turning.”

  He inspected her. No visible weapons, and just that vest. Besides that, just torn up slacks and a ragged button-down blouse, with holes and rips in interesting places and still some blood. Angry red wounds on her arms and legs, at least five that he could see. Spreading purple bruises. Cute, too, about five-six, reddish-brown hair, gorgeous blue eyes, nice curves under all that mess, he thought.

  She was standing, she was walking. Somehow. Woman or not, she had fired a very deadly firearm at him.
The gun didn’t care who used it, and dead was dead.

  Wasn’t it?

  The serpent in Daniel’s head was not pleased.

  “Turn right, go up the stairs. Don’t think about it, just do it. Up, up!” He followed her ascent, déjà vu, just like with the suit. He marched her through the kitchen and told her to sit next to the suit’s body.

  The woman looked at the dead man, at the entry wounds, and made a choking sound. Her hair was long and wet, her face ugly with bruises and what looked like a shot through her cheek.

  He snarled, “I tried to talk to him. He gave me the wrong answers. Take that vest off.” Cute, she may be but she tried to kill me and I’m in no mood to be nice.

  She took it off, painfully slow.

  He watched her, tried to be dispassionate, but still liked what he saw. She was average in build but fit and perfectly proportioned. His eyes traced the contours of her form and something stirred in him as his baser instincts threatened to take control.

  The serpent was pleased.

  Daniel shook himself. What’s wrong with me? He struggled. Reaching inside for the anger, he used it to regain his balance. Remember, this woman tried to kill me. The body reaches for sex after violent action, the urge to procreate, but I swore off all of that when…he pushed painful thoughts away again and concentrated.

  He knew it was useful in a field interrogation for the subject to be afraid, to keep from recovering composure. He figured he needed to push this woman through that window. Besides, she had genuine reason to fear him. The serpent hovered behind his eyeballs, threatening to take over again at any moment.

  Daniel spoke. “So tell me, and make it fast. I really want to shoot you again.” It came out in a croon, husky, like a lover.

  He placed his finger on the trigger again and the serpent danced in the dexe-codone fog.

  “Okay, okay, please don’t,” she tried to reason with him. “We’re here to help you. Recruit you! Come on, Daniel, throttle back!” She shivered from the cold and the fear and more. Something’s not right here, he shouldn’t be this keyed up. I’ve got to reassure him, convince him I’m not his enemy.

  “How do you know me?” he growled.

  She spoke quickly, hoping to keep him distracted until he relaxed. “Jenkins had your file! It’s true! You fit the profile, all the skills, high moral index, ruthless but not corruptible, the Company wants you. But it’s going to be harder now.” She hooked a tentative thumb at the dead man beside her, avoiding looking. The thought of him lying there made her stomach churn.

  “The Company” is what the CIA’s employees called it, like it isn’t even part of the government. Maybe it isn’t, really, Daniel thought.

  “Please, we can help each other.” She wasn’t sure she believed that anymore but still held a fragment of hope. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.

  He saw she was settling down; he needed to keep her momentum going in the direction of explanations. He gestured with the gun. “Keep talking. What was the plan?”

  She responded quickly, trippingly. “Jenkins was in charge – I had no choice. I was just supposed to provide the demonstration, which I did, as you see. I couldn’t kill you anyway, even if I wanted to, but you were supposed to think so, to get your attention.”

  He wondered what she meant by “couldn’t kill” him. Seemed like she could have if I’d been in front of the shotgun.

  She reached across with her right hand to scratch vigorously at her left arm, where one of the bullets had taken out a chunk of flesh. She looked pleadingly at Daniel, willing him to understand, to give her a break. Be the one I need, she prayed to herself. “I tried to talk him out of it but he was an arrogant son of a bitch and he wouldn’t listen.”

  Which reminded him. “So how come you aren’t dead, or at least bleeding out on my bathroom floor? How come you’re still on your feet?” This whole conversation was surreal, but he couldn’t argue with his own two eyes so he figured he might as well just go with it until he figured it out. “Are you some kind of vampire? Werewolf? Immortal? Alien? Zombie?” He ran out of possibilities.

  She continued her explanation in spite of the growing pain in her gut. “It’s a new thing. A kind of healing booster. Do you have anything to eat?” Daniel noticed she was looking sallow, white almost, and shivering. It seemed like she was getting sick, and her veins and muscle definition were showing through paper-thin skin. “I’m starving,” she pleaded.

  His stimulated mind raced. He threw mental rocks and the serpent reluctantly slouched back toward its cave. Healing booster, super-healing. When she said starving, she meant literally starving. From his extensive medical training he figured that her body was already catabolizing itself, cannibalizing at the cellular level, trying to heal those wounds. Can’t outrun biology, healing takes energy and materials, no matter how advanced the drug or technique. And he needed this woman for answers, and maybe to keep him out of an Agency cell. He’d brushed up against the spooks Over There, and he had no desire to be “rendered.”

  Funny, how similar the two meanings of that word ended up being. One, to be boiled down to fatty paste. Two, to be given over to a foreign country to be tortured.

  So he got her some food. A big bag of lunch meat, a package of cheese slices, mayo, mustard, a loaf of bread, apples, paper plates, and a plastic spoon. A plastic cup for orange juice. No metal. Dad didn’t raise no dummy. Used right, a metal spoon can kill a man. I’ve already seen she’s dangerous, no matter how beautiful she might be. Even with that wet stringy hair he couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes. “Make me a sandwich too,” He said gruffly. He didn’t want to put down the gun. “And keep talking. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Elise. Elise Wallis.” She lined up six pairs of bread slices with shaky hands and started to construct sandwiches, after stuffing a piece of the loaf into her mouth like a slumdog orphan. She took a moment to choke it down dry, then continued. “It was just supposed to be a demonstration. You were supposed to shoot me, of course. Not quite so many times. And I didn’t really shoot at you, did I? Those rounds I had were filled with salt. Not even rock salt, just table salt. Nasty within five feet, but after that it just stings. Special ammo. It’s in his pocket in a plastic bag.” She sounded whiny, defensive. Querulous.

  Daniel laughed tightly. “Well, that didn’t work out so well. And now some poor arrogant tailored-suit schmuck is dead. I guess he didn’t have the super-healing. Why not? Experimental? Some kind of side-effects? Doesn’t work on everyone?” His mind was racing now, the adrenaline and the problem keeping him on track. He felt good, to be firing on all cylinders again.

  Outrunning the serpent.

  “Yeah, there’s a downside, mostly for the Company.” She finished making the sandwiches, pushed one across the table to him, and demolished another in four bites.

  He had to wait for her to keep talking anyway, so he took a cautious bite. Too much mustard.

  She looked into his eyes then, with a kind of haunted compassion or…something. Something hard to pin down. Maybe pity. He liked the eyes but he didn’t much like that expression, and he resolved he wasn’t going to fall for her sneaky womanly wiles, but there was still something in her eyes that he liked. Maybe it was because she had guts. In some other circumstances…

  She kept eating. Kept staring at him.

  He dragged his mind back to now, and barked, “Come on, talk between bites.” He still felt on the ragged edge of control, and his weapon hand started shaking.

  She stared at the gun and those shakes and said, “All right. Just let me tell it my own way, okay?”

  Another quarter of a sandwich went down her throat. She finished a cup of juice, poured herself some more. “I was a terminal patient. Cancer. Hodgkin’s. I had maybe two weeks to live. I was already in hospice, doped up. The Company made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Be a test subject for a new cure, they said. Of course I said yes.”

  She paused to eat another sandwich, and as sh
e did she watched him fidget impatiently, watched his flickering eyes. Not good. He’s losing it.

  He thought she was looking much better now, and her wounds were visibly shrinking. The bruising was getting smaller, the holes were closing, everything. His eyes moved all over her body, watching it happen. Unbelievable. But he had to believe it. It was right in front of him.

  He took the last bite of his sandwich and the woman across from him sighed, as if regretting something. The next second he found himself falling over backward as the dining room table flew up in his face. He forced his finger not to pull the trigger in reflex, and by the time he disentangled himself from the chair, table, tablecloth and sandwich makings, she was gone.

  Story of my life. The good ones always leave.

  -4-

  Staring down the barrel of Daniel Markis’ gun wasn’t Elise’s idea of a good time. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap and shoot her like he shot Jenkins, so as soon as she had enough calories in her to survive, she’d gotten the hell out.

  It didn’t mean she felt good about it.

  Everything in her wanted to stay with him, to explain what was going on, to hold his hand and ease the confusion in his tortured eyes. She could see the pain underlying the bravado, with compassion hidden behind his need to control an uncontrollable situation.

  But as a scientist, she knew there were just too many variables.

  So she ran.

  But she didn’t want to.

  She’d driven Jenkins’ SUV to Markis’ neighborhood, so she had the keys. Where the usual controlling jerk would have insisted on driving, Jenkins’ privileged upbringing meant he liked to be chauffeured. Serve me had been the subtext of his every move. Just like his father, who was far more powerful, and frightening.