Broken

Hull

THE TRAIL ENDED AT A DOOR LEADING BACK INTO A SEMI-DARK construction zone. It was an obstacle course of construction materials-piles of drywall and lumber, sawhorses, tarps and rubbish. A room full of places to hide.

Clay cocked his head, nostrils flaring-listening, looking and sniffing.

I squinted to let my eyes adjust, and counted the exits. The farthest, an open doorway, led to what looked like another hall.

A shape passed that distant door, and I tapped Clay’s arm, redirecting his attention. He nodded, and we split up again, heading for that far door.

I made it there first and glanced around the doorway to see a figure obscured behind a sheet of opaque plastic hanging from the ceiling. Clay tensed but, after a deep breath, I shook my head.

“Nick,” I mouthed.

I cleared my throat, so I wouldn’t startle him. Zoe pulled back the plastic and waved us over. Nick was on her other side, hunched down, trying to pick up a scent.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “She went down this hall. I can smell her already.”

“So can I,” he said. “It’s the other one I’m trying to pick up.”

“We were wondering when he’d show up.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a zombie. I didn’t smell the same-”

“That’s because we’ve only killed him once so far. He’s not as ripe as she is.”

Clay waved us to silence. “Let’s concentrate on the one we have-the one that’s getting away as we stand here.”

We followed Rose’s trail to a door that opened into an outdoor construction zone. This site was empty, someone having apparently decided current events were sufficient grounds for a mass personal day.

Tarps flapped in the breeze, against the distant roar of the streets. Clay tapped my arm and gestured to a security van parked off to the side. I nodded as he alerted the others.

Zoe shook her head and whispered, “There’s no one here. I can tell.”

I bent to pick up Rose’s scent, winnowing it out from all the others. Once I found it, I started forward, weaving around piles of building material.

Within ten feet, we hit a spill of some kind, as if someone had dumped building chemicals-hopefully by accident. The trail became indistinct, the smell of rot more apparent on the air than the ground. Clay and I headed around the piles of material in one direction, while Zoe and Nick took the other.

I finally picked up Rose’s scent again, but only got about twenty feet more before I lost it behind trailers stacked with lumber. When I bent, Clay waved me up.

“You shouldn’t be bending so much. Can’t be comfortable. I’ll take a turn.”

As he crouched, I heard the crunch of stones underfoot. I motioned to Clay, but he’d already stopped, head tilted, following the noise. He grabbed the edge of the trailer and swung onto it. I followed…with more heaving and clambering than “swinging.”

By the time I was atop the trailer bed, Clay was on the lumber pile. He looked over the other side, then helped me up. As I scrambled to the top, a fair-haired head bobbed from behind a truck. A man stepped out. Thirties, maybe nearing forty, and small, though that was probably the fault of my vantage point.

The man was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. An office worker cutting through the empty construction yard. Then I noticed his pants were an inch too short and his shirt was too large in the collar and long in the sleeves. Not as ill-fitting as the bowler-hatted man’s clothes, but enough to make me take a second look. In that look, my gaze slid down the overlong sleeve…to a semiconcealed knife in his hand.

“Zombie?” Clay mouthed.

I took a deep breath, but he was downwind.

“Can’t tell,” I whispered.

He was below us-about a dozen feet away. Decent positioning for a jump. As Clay crouched, neither of us moved or said a word, but the man stiffened, and his gaze swung up and around. He caught Clay before we could backpedal.

The man’s face paled and his eyes widened. I shifted, and the man’s gaze shot my way, as if he hadn’t noticed me there before.

“Oh, thank God,” the man murmured in a soft, British-accented voice. “It’s you.” He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as his gaze turned to Clay. “Yes, yes, of course it is. I should have recognized you as well, but-” His eyes closed and he shuddered. “Dear God, my heart. When I saw you up there, I was certain I’d run straight into a trap, that you were another of those-” He shuddered again. “-those things.”

“Things?” I said.

“That…Those…” He faltered, as if he couldn’t find a word. “The man and the woman. They-” He took a deep quavering breath. “I’m sorry. Just give me a moment.”

He lifted his hand. The knife blade flashed. Clay dropped, ready to leap, and the man nearly fell backward, arms going up to ward Clay off.

“D-don’t-I mean you no harm. Please-”

“Drop the knife,” Clay said, his voice a nearly unintelligible growl.

“The-?” The man’s gaze dropped to his hand. “Oh, oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry.” He stooped and laid the knife down, then gave a small, nervous laugh. “I can’t blame you for being wary. I know they’ve been after your wife, which can’t be very pleasant.” His gaze slid to my stomach. “Particularly considering her delicate condition. But I believe-” He swallowed. “That is to say, I hope I can help you.”

“Not interested.”

As Nick and Zoe approached, I could see that my assessment of the man’s size hadn’t been skewed by our position-he wasn’t much bigger than Zoe, in height or weight.

Zoe stopped and looked at him, head tilting as if puzzled. Nick was downwind, so I motioned for him to sniff the air. He did-twice-then shook his head.

“Hello,” the man said, his head bobbing in greeting. “I was just speaking to your friends. I saw you together earlier. I was following you. That is to say, I was following her, that…thing. The woman. She led me to you, and I continued on here, in hopes of getting an opportunity to speak to you. But before I could go inside, the other one cut me off.”

“The other one?” I said.

“The man. Her partner. He saw me and-” The man swallowed, his gaze tripping around the construction site. “I hid, and I thought I lost him. Then I heard noises. I was preparing to run when I saw you.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

Clay grunted, telling me not to engage him.

I leaned closer and whispered, “He’s not a zombie.”

Clay’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t care.”

“I’m not one of them,” the man said, then hesitated. “Or, I should say, I do not believe I am. It’s all very…” He shook his head sharply. “It doesn’t matter. My name is Matthew Hull, and yes, I did come through that…whatever it was. I could use your help, and in return, can offer my own.”

I glanced at Clay, but he was staring at Hull as if he could bore into his thoughts and read his intentions.

Hull continued, a near-pleading note in his voice. “My perspective is one you’re not likely to have, or be able to find elsewhere. A firsthand account, so to speak.”

Clay’s scrutiny was obviously making Hull uncomfortable. He shifted from one foot to the other, glanced over his shoulder at Zoe and Nick, then took a sideways step, as if preparing for a quick escape.

“Perhaps we could speak in someplace more…public,” he said. “We passed a park south of here. When I was following you. The road appeared to circle around it.”

“Queen’s Park,” I said, as Clay tensed, ready for the leap. “Fine, but we have someone else who’d like to speak to you, and he’s not here right now, so why don’t I give him a call…”

I took out my cell phone. A momentary distraction that worked better than I expected because, as I lifted it to my ear, the man stared at me in confusion. The perfect opportunity for Clay to take him down. When he didn’t, I looked over to see him staring out over the construction yard. There, on the other side, a man was creeping around a dump bin. While I couldn’t make out his features, I recognized his form and his stance, slightly stooped. The other zombie.

Below, Hull had noticed our attention wander. I motioned to Nick, telling him to go after the zombie and leave this one to us. He slipped away. Zoe hesitated and glanced at me for instructions. When I didn’t give any, she followed Nick. The man watched them leave.

“They-they’re still here, aren’t they?” he stammered. “Those…things. Perhaps I should leave this to you-”

“Don’t move,” Clay said.

“We could still meet in the park,” the man said, gaze darting about for the clearest escape route. “Shall we say, dusk? At the north end?”

Clay leapt just as Hull bolted. A second sooner, and he would have landed atop him. As it was, he hit the ground about five feet behind the already running man. As I moved forward to jump down, the toe of my sneaker snagged on an exposed nail. Any other time, that would have just meant an embarrassing stumble and quick recovery as Clay sprinted away, leaving me to catch up. But the moment Clay saw my shadow stutter, he stopped, turning fast, arms going up as if I was about to fall headfirst off the trailer.

“I’m fine!” I said. “Go!”

He hesitated until he saw that I was indeed okay. Then he continued the pursuit, but slowly now, as if my stumble had reminded him where his priorities lay. As the gap between Clay and Hull widened, I knew that the only way we were going to get him is if I caught up-and fast. So I concentrated on forgetting the twenty-pound weight on my gut and the sweat streaming into my eyes.

As I sprinted forward, something jumped from behind a pile of lumber. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught only a furry brown blur, and my brain screamed “wolf.” I backpedaled so fast I tripped and thudded down on my backside, letting out a whimper as I felt the jolt slam through to my stomach. I jerked forward into a semi-seated fetal position, protecting my stomach.

Something hit my shoulder, teeth catching in my shirt. A strangled snarl from Clay. A high-pitched squeal of rage from whatever was clinging to my shoulder, then the thump of flesh hitting wood as it flew off. I caught a whiff of my attacker then, and knew what it was even as I turned to see it lying dead beside a pile of boards.

“A rat?” I said. “In daylight?”

“Elena?” Clay’s voice was oddly quiet, with that same strangled note I’d heard in his snarl. “Don’t move. Please, don’t move.”

I started to ask “why?” then realized speaking probably fell under the heading of “moving.” Instead, I moved only my eyes, following Clay’s gaze up to the pile of boards beside me. There, perched on top, were four rats, all staring at me. Their mouths were open, lower incisors revealed. The fur on their foreheads was flattened, their ears rotated forward. They let out short hisses and the occasional squeak. Definitely not a display of welcome.

Clay’s gaze slid to the other side of me, where I remembered seeing a pile of bricks. I couldn’t look that way without moving, but a crosswind brought more rat stink, and I knew I was surrounded by them.

I tried to relax. Reminded myself that as nasty as rats were, even a dozen of them were no match for two werewolves. But the crosswind brought another smell-that smell of disease we’d picked up on the rats in the warehouse.

Diseased rats. Out in the daytime, when rats normally seek shelter. Aggressively confronting, not just a human, but a werewolf.

The rats started to chatter, teeth snapping and grinding, needlelike incisors flashing, eyes blazing with rage, as if the disease had driven them mad and only the faintest shreds of sanity were keeping them from jumping down and ripping into me. As they hissed and squeaked, I could see those sanity shreds stretching thinner, ready to snap.

I didn’t look at Clay, knowing if I did, the panic in my eyes might panic him. He was trying to think up a way to get me out of there, and didn’t need any distractions.

“Inch toward me,” Clay said, his voice just above a whisper. “When you’re close enough, I’ll grab your feet and pull you out of the way. Just move very, very slowly.”

Before I could “inch” anywhere, I needed to get my hands on the ground. I hated uncovering my stomach, but there was nothing else I could do to move forward. I started with my left hand, easing it down toward the ground. The largest rat lunged for the edge of the wood pile.

I froze, heart thudding, knowing they’d sense my fear and fighting to control it. The big rat paced along the edge of the pile, as if struggling to resolve warring fight-or-flight impulses. Behind it, the others jostled for position. The sharp scrabbling of claws on wood underscored their chatters and hisses as two more rats joined them.

“Clay?” I whispered. “It’s not going to-”

“I know.”

“If I jump up fast and-”

“No.”

“I have to. They won’t wait much longer. If you cover me-”

“They’ll attack before you get your hands down.”

“Maybe if I can push off…” I knew even as I said it that I couldn’t. My stomach was too big for me to jump from a sitting position without using my hands.

“I’ll-” My throat dried up and I swallowed before starting again. “I’ll just have to move fast. Put my hands down and-”

“Clay!” Nick’s loud whisper cut through the construction yard. “There you-” He stopped at Clay’s shoulder. “Holy shit.”

A quick confused glance at Clay, as if to say “Why are you just standing there?” then Nick leapt forward. Clay’s hand slammed into the middle of his chest, stopping him.

“Spook them and they’ll attack.”

“What’s-” Zoe began as she came up behind Nick. She saw me. “Good lord. Don’t move. They must be rabid-”

“It’s something else,” Clay said. “Some disease from the portal. Elena? I’m going to jump in there. When they go for me, get out.”

I shifted my gaze to the pacing rats. The biggest one was perched on the edge, as if calculating the distance to my belly, snapping at the others as they jostled him.

“Elena?” Clay said. “I’ll be okay. I can handle rats. Better me than you right now.”

I hesitated, then nodded. Clay slowly lowered himself to a half-crouch, ready to jump. Then something hit his shoulder. Zoe, knocking him out of the way. Before anyone could react, she raced toward me.

“Run!” she said.

The king rat jumped, the others flying behind him in a stream of brown fur. One hit my side. Another my head, claws catching in my hair as it scrambled for a hold. I was already up, barreling forward. Hands clamped around my arm. Clay yanked me out and passed me to Nick, then dove past me.

I turned to see Zoe covered in rats, at least six of them, hanging off her arms and clothes as she swung wildly, trying to get them free. More attacked from the ground, lunging at her legs. Clay kicked the nearest one, bones crunching as his foot made contact. He grabbed one off Zoe and whipped it into the brick pile.

Nick steered me out of the way, then ran back to help. By then, the rats were already dispersing, hissing and squeaking as they ran for cover. Nick snatched the last one off Zoe’s back. The rat twisted around to bite him, but Clay’s fist knocked it out of Nick’s grip, and it hit the ground, convulsing as it died.

I hurried over to them. Zoe was shivering, eyes wide and wild, as she looked herself over.

“They-they’re gone, right?” she said, teeth chattering. “Oh, God. That was-” She rubbed her hands over her arms as the bites healed.

“Thank you,” I said.

A weak smile. “Not much of a sacrifice. Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be good as new. Wounds heal and, whatever they carry, I can’t catch. These clothes are garbage now, though.”

“Doesn’t look like they ripped anything,” Nick said.

“That’s okay. They’re still going in the trash.” She wrapped her arms around herself and gave a hard shudder, then shook it off. “Well, now that I’ve revealed myself to be a total wimp…” She waved off our protests. “I can talk the talk, but as a predator, I’m a washout.”

She looked at Clay. “Thanks. I know you were just getting them out of the way before they went after Elena, but thanks. I was about ten seconds away from doing my Jamie Lee Curtis impression and screaming like a total sissy-girl.”

“I was about five seconds away from it myself,” I said. “Psycho killer rats. That’s a new one for me. Whatever disease they’re carrying must be making them-” I stopped, my head jerking up. “Clay? Nick? Did you get bit-”

Clay put up his hand to stop me as I sprinted over, ready to check him myself. “They only got Zoe.” He glanced at Nick, frowning. “You didn’t-”

“You didn’t leave any for me, remember? Deprived again.”

“Left you one.”

“Which you killed.”

“Are you sure everyone’s okay?” Zoe said. “I smell blood.”

Clay lifted his arm to check the bandage. It was soaked with blood.

“Shit,” he said. “That must be what the rats smelled.”

“Here,” I said. “Let me-”

He waved me off. “Got a few more strips on this shirt. You work on picking up a trail. I’m guessing if Nick circled back, he lost the zombie, right?”

Nick nodded. “We both did, so we came to grab Elena to see if she can pick up the trail. There’s roofing tar over there, and I can’t smell a damned thing except that. Where’s-”

“Lost him too,” I muttered. “So much for our bird in the hand. Come on.”

We made it just to the other side of the trailer when Clay’s head jerked up, gaze going north, following something. A second later, running footsteps thundered through the construction yard. A young man in a security uniform raced around the corner, a sandwich in hand. The absentee guard, returning to his post, he hoped, before anyone noticed he’d been gone.

Clay swore. Zoe stepped closer to Nick and motioned for us to head toward the road. The guard saw us, lips parting as if to call out. Zoe waved with one hand and gripped Nick’s arm with the other, then she motioned to the far road. Just two couples taking a shortcut through an empty construction site. The guard nodded and waved us on. We’d have to pick up the trail off the site.

Logically, there had to be a trail. Three, in fact-Rose’s, the bowler-hatted man’s and Hull ’s-but we couldn’t find them.

Twice I caught that whiff of rot that told me one of the zombies had been by, but after following them for a few feet other scents got in the way. Hull was even tougher, lacking that special zombie odor. His story might be complete fiction, but if he did come through that portal, that was why we hadn’t picked his trail up at the site.

After twenty minutes, the blood seeping from Clay’s arm had soaked through a third bandage. We decided-or I insisted and Nick backed me up-to take Clay back to the hotel so Jeremy could have a look.

Not wanting to walk down the road trailing blood, we stopped in an alley to apply a fourth bandage while I called Jeremy and told him not to expect that Cabbagetown delivery, but to return to the hotel for Clay.

“There goes another shirt,” Clay said as he handed me the remains of his T-shirt.

“Here,” Nick said. “Use mine.”

“No, mine’s garbage already.”

As I tore a strip for the bandage, I couldn’t help noticing Zoe…hovering. All three of us turned to look at her, perched on a trash bin, leaning toward Clay, gaze fixed on his bloodied arm.

“The answer is no,” Clay said. “Yeah, it’s going to waste, but it’s not teatime, so stop drooling.”

“Ha-ha. I was just considering whether I should offer to help.”

“By sucking up the rest of it?”

“No, by drooling. You must be used to that, Professor, students drooling over you.” She hopped off the trash can. “In this case, though, it might be more welcome than I suspect it usually is. I could stop the bleeding.”

“How?” I said.

“Vampire saliva stops blood flow. Keeps our dinner from bleeding out once we’re done feeding. I can do that here.”

“Do I wanna ask how?” Clay said.

“Normally, I’d lick the affected area, which I know neither of us wants, so may I suggest some discreet expectoration onto that bandage?”

I looked at Clay. He nodded, grunted a thanks and I handed Zoe the bandage.

Zoe’s saliva did the trick. Ten minutes later, as we walked down Bay Street, Clay’s bandage was still white. But while that meant he wasn’t strolling downtown wearing a bloodied bandage, he was still half-naked. With each honk or whistle, Clay’s hands jammed deeper into his pockets and he stepped a little farther into the shadow of store awnings.

We’d been searching for a taxi since leaving the museum but, like everyone else, they seemed to have taken a personal day.

“I could take off my shirt too,” Nick said.

“There’s an idea,” Zoe said. “Wait, let me grab my lip liner. I’ll write ‘Meet us at Remingtons’ on your backs.” She grinned. “Bet they’d get a crowd tonight, cholera or no cholera.”

“Leave your shirt on,” Clay said.

Zoe looked at me. “We could take ours off too. In a show of solidarity. It’s legal here.”

“It is?” Nick perked up. “Why have I not seen a single topless woman the whole time I’ve been here?”

“Because, outside of beaches and concerts, you probably won’t. And if you do? They won’t be anyone you want to see topless. Every time I see one, I thank God for eternal youth. But, still, it is legal.” A sly look my way. “So, if you want to take your top off…”

“Trust me, these days, I fall into that category of women no one wants to see topless.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

Her gaze rolled over to Clay, expectantly. He just turned to watch a taxi zip around the corner, then swore when he saw it was occupied.

Zoe sighed. “Not even going to rise to the bait, are you, Professor?”

“Show me bait; I’ll rise.”

“Oh-ho. So you think just because I’m a woman-”

“Didn’t think that at all. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, you may be prettier right now, but don’t forget who’s the one with eternal youth. In a few years, that six-pack of yours is going to look more like a collapsible cooler bag.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Another sigh. She started to say something else when a trio of young women ogled Clay, tittering as they passed.

I waved toward a variety store with a rack of tourist T-shirts in the window. “Want one?”

“Please.”

“I couldn’t resist,” I said as I handed him the folded shirt.

He shook it out and laughed. It read “Had a howling good time in Toronto ” above a picture of a mutant wolf with fangs as big as walrus tusks. Typical tourist wear-drawn by someone in a distant country who’d never actually seen a wolf, but was certain Toronto must be teeming with them, running alongside the Inuit, moose and polar bears.

Clay shrugged it on. “How does it look?”

“God awful,” Zoe said.

Nick waved a finger at me. “The joke will be on you five years from now, when he’s still wearing it.”

“That’ll bother you more than it’ll bother me.” I reached into the bag and pulled out chocolate bars. “I heard stomachs growling.”

I produced a bottle of water for Zoe.

“Ah, nice and cold,” she said as she took it. “You’re so sweet.” She glanced over at Clay and sighed. “And so wasted.”

“Damned shame, isn’t it?” Clay said through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Criminal.”

At the hotel, we left Nick and Zoe in the lounge. Upstairs, Jeremy popped his head outside his room almost the moment we stepped off the elevator.

“There you are,” he said. “I was about to go out searching for you.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Clay said.

Jeremy ushered us into the room. He gestured to the bed, and had the bandage off before Clay even finished settling. A frown, then he reached down to an already-prepared basin of warm water, took out the cloth, squeezed it and carefully sponged off the blood. As the wound came clean, Jeremy’s frown grew.

“It does appear to be-” he began.

“Just a scratch?” Clay finished. “Told you.”

“But why did it bleed so much?” I asked, drawing closer for a better look.

“It’s a deep scratch,” Jeremy said. “It looks as if it nicked a vein.”

Clay looked over at me. “Right again. I’m a genius.”

“No,” Jeremy said. “You’ve been hurt so often you can’t help but recognize the signs.”

“What about…?” I began, then paused. “It was Rose.”

“She’s worried about syphilis,” Clay said.

Jeremy shook his head. “Don’t be. Unless she bit him, that isn’t a concern.”

Jeremy cleaned it well, then plastered it up and told me to let him know if it started bleeding again or bothered Clay. No sense expecting Clay to tell him. To him, as long as the limb was still attached, he was good to go.

Once Clay was bandaged again, Jeremy and I both breathed easier, and I could tell Jeremy what had happened at the museum.

“So the zombies are catching on to our plans,” I said.

Jeremy nodded. “Meaning our chances of catching one, without serious risk, are rapidly diminishing. Time to take a break and focus on Shanahan.”

“I’ll talk to Zoe. See if she’ll be more forthcoming about him now.” I turned to Clay, who was picking up the tourist shirt. “Hold on. I’ll grab one of yours.”

“I like this one.”

I rolled my eyes and helped him into it. “As for this Hull guy, his mannerisms suggest that he is what he claims to be-a refugee from the Victorian portal-but Clay thinks he’s working with the controller, maybe an actor hired to get close to us.”

“Explains how he just happened on the scene,” Clay said. “Better than ‘I was following the zombies.’ ”

“So what do we do about this supposed meeting?” I said.

“Let me think about it. For now, go back to Zoe.”

We started for the door.

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “Anita Barrington hasn’t called you, has she?”

I double-checked my cell phone, then shook my head.

“She called me here, at the hotel,” he said. “Something about digging up a story we’d probably like to hear. I called her back and left a message asking her to phone your cell or Antonio’s, but she hasn’t returned my call…”

“We’ll swing by there after we talk to Zoe.”

We had the lounge to ourselves, so there was no need to take our business to a more private spot.

I explained our suspicions about Shanahan, and why we needed to find him.

“Patrick Shanahan as a zombie-controlling madman?” Zoe said, her finely drawn brows raised.

“Madman…debatable,” I said. “But the zombie-controlling part seems a good guess. As for why he’s controlling them or why the portal was embedded in that letter or what he hopes to gain by getting it back, we’re still working on all that.”

“As motivations go, I always liked world domination myself. Or perhaps this is just metropolitan domination. Patrick never was the type to think big. Never struck me as zombie lord material either, but I can’t say I know him well. It’s a working relationship, and a sporadic one at that. Most of my jobs for the family were with his grandfather, and he wasn’t chummy with the hired help either.”

“Which means you won’t be able to give us much insight into Shanahan.”

“Next to none. But I know someone who can. A client. Randall Tolliver. He grew up with Patrick.”