Gorgon

CHAPTER 4

Within the overgrown thicket, the grass moved. A manhole-sized ‘door’ lifted an inch. From the darkness, unblinking eyes followed the woman as she ambled slowly through the parkland. Allandale Woods was eighty-six acres of oaks, maples, pines, and peppermint trees. There were also deep ponds and cattail marshes fed by underground springs. It was beautiful, secluded, and where Aimee Weir had come every other day for the past eighteen months since she had returned home.

After she’d passed by, the grass trapdoor lifted further and Alex Hunter slid out. He rose to his feet, keeping behind the trunk of a mature oak. Since finding Aimee again, he’d been at war with himself over whether he should reveal to her that he was alive, or stay hidden. Indecision racked him, short-circuiting his ability to think clearly. Seeing her both electrified and tormented him.

He watched her, knowing where she’d stop — the same place every time. There were very few formal monuments in the woods, but this one had stood there since the end of the Great War in 1919. A single sandstone block, rough carved and dedicated to a solder who had never returned home. Aimee bent to place a single flower on the ground in front of it. He wondered if she ever questioned what had happened to the previous flowers she’d left. Alex put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a single crushed bloom. He held it flat in a hand that was black with dirt and grease, looking down at its fading beauty. His eyes traveled further down his body and took in the decrepit clothing. His hair hung to his shoulders for the first time in his life, and he also had a long beard, probably stuck with twigs and debris. He only ever thought about his appearance when he saw Aimee.

He looked at her again — she hadn’t changed. She was still beautiful, and still haunting him, as he obviously did her.

You got nothing to offer her. You’re dead, and you look it, a sneering voice whispered in his head.

His jaw clenched and he took a half-step out from the tree, but, like a dozen times in the past, he stopped. What would he say to her? What could he say? She did think he was dead. He’d let her think that, everyone had let her think that.

You’d end up killing her.

Never. He shook his head, anger flaring.

The Other One would. You can’t control him.

I can, I know how now. Alex sucked in a breath and stepped out further.

‘Mommy.’ It was the boy — about two years old, with black hair and gray-blue eyes.

Alex retreated into the shadow of the huge tree trunk.

Aimee kneeled to gather him to her, and stayed down as they looked at the inscription together. A man joined them. He bent to kiss Aimee’s head and ruffled the boy’s hair. Alex leaned his head back against the tree and watched. It was such a normal and comfortable scene, so unlike his own chaotic life. He shut his eyes.

I told you. You’re nothing but a memory now. Nothing but a … ghost.

Alex’s eyes watered. They looked so happy — the perfect family unit.

I could win her back, he thought with little conviction.

The man put his arm around Aimee and together they walked slowly away. She called the boy to follow, but he stood for another few seconds staring at the monument.

You’ll never win her back, the voice sneered.

A snake slid out of the long grass into the warm sunlight, and moved quickly toward the boy. Alex recognized the brown triangular banding and powerful short body — a copperhead, venomous, and deadly to a child. He tensed, judging he could make the several hundred feet in a few seconds. But before he could move, the snake reared up.

The boy’s hand shot out, grabbing the snake around the neck. He showed no fear as he held it, turning it one way and then the other. The snake’s mouth opened and its long fangs reared forward. The boy squeezed, and squeezed, until the head fell to the side, the flesh compressed within the scaly skin.

‘Joshua.’ It was Aimee calling to him, and he dropped the snake and scampered after her and the man.

Alex’s mouth curled into a smile. He’s like me, he thought. So it can be passed on.

He stepped out from behind the tree again. He had so much to tell the boy, so much he could show him. He could help.

Help? You can help get him killed.

Alex paused.

When they know what he is, they’ll cut him up — like they tried to do to you.

I won’t let them — I’ll tear them apart. Alex’s fingers came together, gouging a chunk of bark from the trunk.

You can’t even protect yourself, the voice said. Look at you — you have to hide like an animal. You couldn’t protect him all the time. Once they know, they’ll snatch him up, and he’ll end up in a hundred pieces — an experiment, a lump of tissue under a microscope. That would be your legacy. What would Aimee say if you brought that to her door? A disdainful laugh. You know what she’d say, don’t you?

He closed his eyes and ground his teeth, knowing that everything the voice said was true.

Aimee lifted the boy and placed him on her hip. He looked back to where the snake’s body lay, then up to the tree. He stared, seeming to see through its trunk, and Alex knew the boy saw him.

Joshua waved.

Alex lifted a hand and waved back slowly.

After another few seconds, he rolled away around the trunk, his eyes watering.

Get the fuck out of here, dead man.

Alex nodded, and started to walk.

He jacked a car, and drove without a plan, cap pulled down to hide his face from the many cameras he knew were watching. Alex had been a HAWC, a Hot-Zone All Warfare Commando, and he’d been the best of them. He had lived off the land, slept under snow, hidden under burning sands and in more urban environments than he cared to remember. He knew how to make himself invisible if circumstance demanded it.

He also knew who, and what, he was. He was capable of things that other people couldn’t hope to accomplish. He was different, very different, and because of that people either wanted him dead, or wanted to dissect him to see what made him tick. His own military science division had tried to take him down, then the Israelis. The memory of Adira Senesh, the Mossad agent who had saved his life, and nursed him back to health, made him frown. She had turned out to be no better than any of them. Trust was the one thing he missed, and without it he felt truly lost and alone.

His memory had slowly returned, but there were still some gaps. When he pushed hard to see into those dark places, he got tattered images of freezing caves, and loathsome jungles inhabited by creatures that should only exist in nightmares. The headaches still kicked his ass, but given he’d been almost liquefied by a black bacterium from the center of the Earth, he counted himself lucky to be alive.

The endless lines on the road were a tether, dragging him forward. His face was blank, but his mind was a cyclone of emotions — and the sneering voice was always with him. You’re a coward, a hobo, a dead man. You got nothing left, no purpose, no hope. As the voice sounded again, he screamed his fury and banged the steering wheel until it broke in his hands. He held the single remaining spoke and put his foot down, his fury matching the machine’s speed, until the engine popped and spluttered, then died.

As the car rolled to a stop, he blinked, conscious that he didn’t know where he was. It was dark, and after midnight. He looked at the shopfronts — Omaha, Nebraska. Over 1200 miles from Boston. He’d been driving nonstop for two days, without sleep.

He pushed open the door, grabbed his duffel bag, and started to walk, keeping his head down. He had to believe he’d done the right thing, that he’d saved Joshua. By fleeing he’d made him safe.

What makes you think they’re not watching the kid now, waiting to scoop him up?

Alex shook his head and kept moving.

You certainly can’t help him now, huh, tough guy?

He placed a fist to his forehead and pressed hard. ‘Leave me alone!’

His voice echoed down the dark streets. He was on the outskirts of town, in an industrial area. He’d been walking as if in a trance. The place was rundown, with graffiti all around. There would be no cars worth stealing here.

I just need to rest, he thought as his mind churned.

He only heard the men as they hurried to catch up to him.

‘Hey, Jesus … creeping Jesus … what’s in the bag?’ one of them called.

Alex kept his head down and kept moving, his fatigued mind trying to make plans where none existed.

The three men jogged to come abreast of him and watched him for a while, eyes sharp and hungry. They exuded a sense of menace, like a pack of savage dogs preparing to circle their prey. To them Alex would have seemed a drifter, with his long hair and beard. The duffel bag over his shoulder and dirty longshoreman’s jacket completed the image of a traveler who’d been down on his luck.

Alex allowed his eyes to flick over them: two solid, one whip-thin, all dressed in the uniform of the disaffected — dirty jeans and hooded tops. One of the tops lumped slightly at the belly — the unmistakable impression of a handgun. He had to assume they were all carrying something. But it didn’t matter.

‘Hey, asshole, I asked you a question. What’s in the fucking bag?’

Alex kept staring straight ahead but he heard the footsteps quicken. They were close. A cigarette butt bounced off his shoulder.

‘Hey, creeping Jesus — give to the poor.’ The man laughed cruelly. ‘Give every fucking thing you’ve got to the poor.’

The laugh came again, confident, and closer. They were fanning out behind him, moving into a simple attack position. Alex automatically assessed their assault pattern and picked up speed, quickly scanning the street. There was no one else around — good.

More yelling, and an empty bottle exploded against his shoulder. His hands curled into fists, and he ground his teeth. Parasites — he hated them; these ticks on civilization that burrowed in and then corrupted it from the inside out. So many good and decent people had died — family, friends, comrades — so these … men could replace them. Life’s transaction was all wrong.

They were nearly on him now, their footsteps rapid, almost dancing in anticipation. They hooted and catcalled with the exhilaration of the hunt. They didn’t really care about what was in his bag or pockets. They wanted to rain hell down on someone, and tonight he’d been chosen.

‘Stop, or we’ll fucking stop you!’

So be it, Alex thought, and quickly shifted sideways into a small alley. It stank of urine and was almost pitch-black and tomb-quiet.

The men sprinted after him, screaming their annoyance, thinking he was attempting to flee. ‘You sonofabitch — we gonna want some skin now.’

They careened around the corner, and skidded to a stop. Alex hadn’t run deeper into the gloom to hide among the mounds of soggy newspapers and rotting garbage. Instead, he stood with his back to them, hands down at his sides, as immobile as dark block of stone. His body was relaxed, ready, but his mind burned; his pent-up fury was like a tidal wave smashing against a rock wall, the pressure building.

He felt the trio’s soft footsteps on the wet asphalt as they approached. They slowed, wary. He closed his eyes. He heard and sensed everything — their breathing becoming quicker as excitement accelerated into nervousness. There was a slight ruffle of clothing, then the click of a hammer being drawn back on a small caliber revolver. He automatically identified the weapon from the sound: a .22 snub-nose Smith & Wesson J-Frame — a toy.

A snigger as the men’s confidence returned, and then an almost imperceptible movement of air behind his head.

Kill them all, the voice whispered deep inside his brain. Let me.

He spun, and grabbed the man’s gun hand just as it was coming up behind his ear. He bent the hand around and back on itself, forcing the gun under the shooter’s chin, crushing both his finger and the trigger at the same time. The bullet entered his skull and probably ricocheted around a few times in the cranium, not able to escape and turning an already addled brain to mush.

The man’s face retained a look of surprise even as life’s spark left him. Alex released his body, but before it had fallen to the ground he’d turned and swung his closed fist backhanded like a sledgehammer into the face of another attacker, who was holding up a greasy blade. The blow came so fast and hard, the man’s skull crumpled like an old soda can. Alex flung the body into the wall behind him.

The third attacker dropped the metal bar he held and turned to run. He didn’t get half a dozen paces before Alex had him by the collar and was flinging him to the slick ground. It was the whip-thin one, scrabbling backward, babbling now.

‘I didn’t know … sorry, man … I didn’t know.’

Alex lifted him again and slammed him into the wall. The thin hands tore at his captor’s grip, but he might as well have tried to break steel chains.

Alex brought his face in close. ‘You have no idea what’s really out there.’

‘I didn’t know. Please … don’t.’ The eyes that had been aggressive and confident were now wide with terror. The predator had become prey. He clawed at Alex’s hands and then at his bearded face, babbling and sobbing. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

Alex felt nothing for the man. No, that wasn’t true; he did feel something. He felt good. He drew his fist back.