Broken

Rotten

I WALKED SLOWLY PAST THE SILO, STILL STRAINING FOR A sense of Clay. When I reached the other side I felt that little twinge of relief and anticipation that told me he was nearby. As for where exactly he was, I had no idea. But he’d be looking for me.

With a half-dozen strides, I was close enough to touch the silo, and I started circling toward the back. Quick steps pattered over the pavement-someone running across the parking lot, footfalls too heavy to be Clay or Jeremy, the slightly awkward clomp of one unaccustomed to silent hunting.

I caught a whiff on the breeze, heavy with rot. On that same breeze came a more familiar-and certainly more pleasant-smell. Clay was getting closer. I smiled and picked up my pace to lure my pursuer farther behind the silo.

The clomping footsteps sped up, closing the gap. Closing in fast. Waiting for Clay wasn’t going to be an option.

I spun around and found myself a hairsbreadth from being skewered by a butcher’s knife. It was probably more like two feet away, but any time a knife that big is pointed at you it seems a whole lot closer.

I roundhouse kicked…and flew off my feet as my new center of gravity took over. My foot barely brushed my attacker. The ground sailed up to meet my stomach. My hands shot out to break my fall, but I managed to twist around and find my balance.

As I veered up, the man rushed me. I kicked again, this time low, snagging his calf and yanking. As he fell, the blade veered my way, but I skated out of the way-not nimbly or gracefully but unscathed. I pounced onto his back and he crumpled, arms flying out, knife pinging off the side of the silo and tumbling to the grass.

A shadow crossed over my head, but I stayed where I was, on all fours on the man’s back.

“You want me to take that for you, darling?”

“Please.”

Clay put his foot onto the man’s neck and pressed down until he let out a strangled grunt. I recovered the knife-the sort that graces gourmet home kitchens everywhere, and rarely carve anything more than takeout rotisserie chicken.

“Impressive.” I gave it a trial swing and made a face. “Unwieldy, though.”

I knelt beside the man. It was definitely him-though he’d gotten rid of the bowler hat. He’d shaved his whiskers and changed into modern dress-ill-fitting slacks and a golf shirt that looked expensive enough to have come from the same house as the knife.

He tried to stay facedown, but Clay booted the other side of the man’s head and kicked his face toward me. Then he pressed harder on the man’s neck so he couldn’t turn away again.

Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, but he only curled his lip. I adjusted my grip, lifted the knife, then plunged it down a handbreadth from the man’s face. After a second, he opened his eyes. He stared at the knife, buried to the hilt in the ground.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Where’d you come from?”

His lips pulled back, showing blackened teeth and the missing incisor I’d noticed the night before. “From hell.”

“Good,” Clay said. “Then we’ll know where to send you.”

Jeremy rounded the silo, walking fast, then saw us and slowed.

We spent the next few minutes interrogating the man. Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he find us? Why did he come after us? He wasn’t talking. A more thorough “interrogation” was out of the question here, in midday. Finally, Jeremy eased back onto his haunches.

“Let’s see if we can get him someplace better.” He looked around, then nodded at the swamp. “Down there.”

As Clay yanked the man to his feet, I stood, brushed myself off and turned to walk around the silo. A shadow leapt behind me, splayed on the sunlit side of the tank. I wheeled to see the man in Clay’s grip, caught in midlunge, his gaze on Jeremy. I leapt forward to knock Jeremy out of the way, but Clay already had his forearm around the man’s neck.

“Try that again,” Clay hissed against his ear, “and I-”

The man wrenched forward, as if still trying to attack Jeremy, but so far away that Jeremy didn’t even move. Clay jerked the man back, more warning than genuine effort. A sensible man would have felt that iron grip, seen how far he was from his target and noticed he’d lost his chance at a surprise attack. But he kept struggling, kicking and swinging. When his fist swung a little too close to me, Clay jerked him back, hard. A dull snap, like the crunch of celery. The man went limp in Clay’s grip.

“Goddamn it!” Clay muttered, teeth clenched to keep his voice down. “I’m sorry, Jer. I didn’t mean-”

Jeremy waved off the apology and took the knife as Clay lowered the body to the ground.

“Standard self-defense advice,” I said. “Never let yourself be taken to the second location. He knew we weren’t taking him there for a pleasant chat.”

Jeremy nodded, then knelt and put his fingers to his neck.

“Dead?” I said.

“Presuming he had a pulse before.” As he backed up onto his haunches, his nose wrinkled.

“Smells pretty ripe, huh? Maybe it’s just me, but I swear it’s getting stronger.”

“It’s certainly not getting better.” Jeremy looked around. “We’ll need to dispose of the body…”

“Swamp’s best,” Clay said. “Unless you want him to take a little trip in the back of a transport.”

The man moved. I jumped forward instinctively, getting between Jeremy and danger. Clay stomped on the man’s neck. His foot passed clean through to the ground.

“What the-?”

The body jerked again and this time, we saw that the movement was the man’s body collapsing into itself like a rotting melon. There was a whispering crackle as the body stiffened and went hard. Then it just…disintegrated.

“Huh, guess that solves the disposal problem.” Clay watched the sprinkling of dust settle into the grass. “Wish all my corpses would do that.”

“Now is anyone still going to tell me he was just a normal guy?” I said.

“Doesn’t matter.” Clay waved at the grass. “Threat eliminated…or disintegrated.”

“That’s it? We just blow away the dust and go home?”

“Far as I’m concerned.”

I looked at Jeremy. He finished wiping off the knife, then whipped it. The knife flew about a hundred feet before landing in the swamp with a splash. Perfect aim, as always.

“Elena? I’d like you to follow his trail. Perhaps we can figure out how he got here…and make sure he came alone.”

That was easy. Not only did the taint of rot give it away, but his path went straight around the south side of the service center and into the front lot. He’d known exactly where I was.

The trail led to the nearly empty northeast corner. Only one car was there-a burgundy midsize with Ontario plates. As we drew closer, I could see red streaks on the driver-side window.

“Don’t slow down,” Jeremy murmured as the three of us continued our “stroll.” “When we walk alongside it, glance inside, but we’ll keep heading for the road.”

We knew what we’d see when we passed the car, and we weren’t wrong. A man’s body lay stretched over the front seats, pushed down out of sight, his wide eyes staring at the roof, throat gaping open.

“Keep going,” Jeremy murmured.

We walked to the road, then headed along the front of the service center.

“Chauffeured at knifepoint,” I said.

“So it would appear,” Jeremy said. “I was keeping a watch behind us, but I don’t recall seeing that vehicle-or seeing it for long enough to appear suspicious.”

“Meaning he followed at a distance.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Clay said. “He’s gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, time to go home.”

I turned back to Jeremy. “It must be the letter, right? We did something with that letter last night, and opened a time hole into the nineteenth century-”

Clay snorted.

I turned on him. “Oh, sorry, is my explanation a little too far-fetched for you? The guy who turns into a wolf a couple times a week?”

“I’m just saying-”

“That there’s a logical explanation. Sure. How’s this? He’s a mugger with retro fashion sense, and he was hiding under a sewer grate in Cabbagetown, waiting for a mark to wander past. That transformer fell, scared the shit out of him and he jumped from his hole and ran for his life. Then he saw us chasing him, realized we could identify him-by his serious BO if nothing else. He decided he had to take us out before we reported him to the police for sewage-hole trespassing with intent to commit robbery.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s no less likely than ‘he jumped through a time hole,’ is it?”

Jeremy motioned for us to resume walking. “I’ll have to agree with Elena. A supernatural explanation is most probable, something connected to the letter. Presumably, he came through that time hole or portal or whatever it might be, and wanted the letter back.”

“And was somehow able to track it after he got away last night,” I said.

“None of which matters,” Clay said. “Because only one guy came through that portal, and now he’s dust.”

“True,” Jeremy said. “With any luck, that’s the end of it. But we’ll need to make sure.”

Clay opened his mouth to protest, but Jeremy continued. “It will be a quick trip. We go back, we scout the area, make sure nothing else has happened and there are no traces of anyone else passing through. If all goes well, which I expect it will, we’ll be sleeping in our own beds tonight.”