Alien Taste (11 page)

He closed his eyes hard on the thought of never seeing Mom Lara again. No. No. Things will be fine. What to do about the damn rabbit? “Pumpkin,” he tried again, this time trying something he'd overheard at church. “Cally, if we don't bury Miss Pretty Lightfoot, how is she going to go live with God? You want her to be happy, and what would be happier than to be with God?”

It stopped his sister in midscream. “She won't go to heaven if we don't bury her?”

Ukiah winced and tried to imagine all the ways this conversation could go wrong. “Wouldn't you be upset if one person said you could go but someone else wouldn't let you?”

Cally was a study in serious thought. “We should bury Miss Pretty Lightfoot. Can we do a funeral? Pray and sing and then have cake and punch afterwards?”

He was puzzled about the cake and punch until he remembered that was how the Sunday School teacher's funeral had gone. “Sure, pumpkin.”

So they dug a hole in Mom Lara's rose garden using a shovel and garden trowel. They emptied the last of the oatmeal into a plastic sandwich bag and used the round container as the coffin. Cally demanded that some of Mom Lara's prize roses be picked and put in with Miss Pretty Lightfoot. Ukiah complied, sure that this once his mothers would only want Cally to be happy.

They knelt together in the freshly spaded earth. Cally pressed her hands together and intoned like Reverend Brown, “Now we pray.” Ukiah mimicked her pose, intending only to sit silent beside her. Instead he found himself praying silently with intensity that amazed him. “God, let Mom Lara be okay. Let them get out the tumor that's making her so sick and let her come home. I don't want her to leave us. I don't want Mom Jo to cry. I don't want Cally hurt. Please, God, don't let her die.”

. . . And he was kneeling on the cold concrete of the huge warehouse, tears running down his cheeks. Hellena held him still in the vise grip but her eyes no longer were locked with his. She was looking at Rennie, some silent communication going between them. Rennie glanced about the ring of the silent watchers, collecting the unspoken vote.

“The boy,” Rennie turned to Coyote, “lives. He's part of the Pack. We won't let you harm him.”

The eyes of the Pack turned toward Coyote, cold determination almost like a wall between them and him.

Coyote's gaze swept over them, disapproving. “So be it. Be warned, I don't think Hex can corrupt a Pack member, but this one, this one he would try very hard indeed to corrupt.”

He walked across the warehouse and out the door. Hellena released her vise grip, stepping forward to support Ukiah with her body as he sagged wearily forward. It was gray outside instead of dark, he suddenly realized, and remembered that sometime during the night there had been a thunderstorm. The search through his memories had taken hours.

I'm going to live?

Rennie shook out tight muscles and yawned widely, cracking his jawbone joint and his neck. “Damn cold bastard.”

“Do you think he'll do anything behind our back?” Hellena murmured, still intent on the closed door.

Rennie considered it for a minute. “No. I think if he wasn't truly convinced of the boy, he would have taken us all on. He saw that I was right, but he won't admit it.” He came to hug Hellena, towering over her. He looked down at Ukiah leaning exhausted against her.

I'm going to live?

Rennie nodded and handed off his shotgun to Bear. “Thanks for the backup.”

“You walk the edge, Rennie.” Bear muttered, shaking his head. “Watch you don't fall.”

“Don't wake the sleepers.” Rennie patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't wake the sleepers.” Bear headed out the door, following Coyote.

Rennie flashed an amused grin at Ukiah. “How do you feel? Can you talk yet?”

Ukiah wet his mouth and tried. “Um, yeah, I can talk. I feel like shit.”

“How about your legs? They work yet?”

“Maybe.” Ukiah managed to stand, but it was obvious he wouldn't stay that way.

“Nope, not quite.” Rennie caught him, steadied him long enough to undo the cuffs. Then, with another practiced yank, he had Ukiah in a fireman's carry. “Since you managed to stand, I'd say the gas will wear off shortly.”

He carried Ukiah easily out to the car. Rain still beaded on the finish, and puddles reflected the light. Rennie opened the passenger door with his free hand and dropped Ukiah into the passenger seat. The Pack leader tucked in his feet, fastened his seat belt and shut the door. A growing sense of relief was washing through him as Rennie got in and started the engine.
They're not going to kill me. He's actually going to take me home.

That relief was enough for several minutes. He leaned against the glass, okay with the silence. When Rennie turned onto the parkway, heading for downtown, instead of crossing through Squirrel Hill to reach Shadyside, Ukiah shifted uneasily.
Maybe he's not taking me home.

Rennie glanced at him. “I'm assuming the FBI will be watching your office. Their missing agent has them riled as hornets with a broken nest. I'm dropping you on the bus line downtown. You can catch a bus or call your partner.”

Unbidden came the memory of Wil Trace's face. A wife and three children. Ukiah sighed and glanced at Rennie. “Did you take the FBI agent?”

Rennie shook his head. “We're the obvious bad guys, aren't we? The Pack isn't what it looks like, though. We're the heroes in a war—a long, hard, bitter war.”

“Against who?”

“Someone a lot better at covering their asses than us. FBI doesn't have a file on them, doesn't have a clue. They've taken the FBI agent, but we don't know why. They're up to something, something big. All we do know is that Janet Haze was part of it, but she's vanished.”

“Who are they?”

Rennie glanced over at him, then shook his head. “You need to stay out of this war. In many ways, you're the goose that lays the golden eggs. If the other side found out about you, they wouldn't rest until they had you. You might think the Pack is harsh, but remember this. I had compassion enough to leave your partner alive. The Ontongard would
have put your hands around a gun and made you blow out his brains just for fun.”

“How can I avoid them if you don't tell me who they are?”

“I can't because I don't know. They change their names, they hide in shadows, and the only time we interact is to kill each other. I can't tell you who, but you'll know them.”

“How?”

“When your hackles rise, and you get caught between running from or tearing the throat out of a person, you'll know—he's one of them.”

Rennie pulled to a stop beside the Steel Plaza T-station. He reached over, undid Ukiah's seat beat, and opened the door. Ukiah half expected a shove next and slid out under his own power. His legs were still wobbly, and he clung to the door.

“That's it? You're not going to explain anything that just happened? Who the hell was Prime, other than my father? Who was my mother? Is she dead? What kind of monster did you expect me to be? How did Hellena do that memory thing, and why did you decide to let me live?”

“I would tell you, boy, but sometimes it's a mercy not to know. What was done to your mother”—Rennie shook his head—“it's not a good thing for someone to know about themselves. Go on, go back to your life, and stay clear of everything that touched Janet Haze's life.”

Ukiah stepped back, teetering until he caught hold of a bus stop sign. “You've got to tell me more.”

Rennie looked at him, long and hard. “I don't know if I can explain. I've never had to. Usually when you join the Pack, you receive the Pack memory. You're Pack but you're not. I wouldn't even
know where to start. Call your partner and go home. Don't wake the sleepers!”

The sedan leaped forward, the passenger door slamming shut. Ukiah watched it go until it vanished and then glanced around. A public phone stood only a dozen feet away. Feeling like a toddler, Ukiah let go of the bus stop sign and staggered to the phone.

Max answered his phone on the first ring. “Bennett.”

“Max, it's me.”

“Where are you?”

“Downtown, outside the Steel Plaza T-Station, on Sixth Avenue.”

“You safe?”

“Yes, I'm safe.”

“Hold on, I'm on the parkway heading into town. I'll be there in a minute.”

It was nearly to the exact minute when the Hummer slammed to a stop beside the bus stop. Max leaned over and opened the passenger door. Ukiah climbed shakily in.

“Are you okay?” Max regarded him worriedly.

“All things considered—yeah.” He slammed the door closed and slumped into the seat.

Max found first gear, swung the Hummer back around, and started down Sixth Avenue again—only much slower. “How did you get away from the Pack?”

“They let me go.”

Max glanced at him in surprise. “Just like that?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Hell no, but—” Max glanced at him and something went unsaid, something rooted in the kidnapping, borne of fear and desperation. Max veered away from it, and Ukiah was glad. Things were too raw and painful from those moments. “I just can't
believe they went through all that just to talk to you.”

Ukiah gave a dry laugh.
This is what true relief feels like.
What he had felt before was the lessening of terror. “Oh, I guess you could call it talking.”
If your idea of a discussion includes an ax, shotguns, and a debate on whether the prodigal son should be cut up and served for dinner instead of the calf.

“What the hell did you talk about?”

“It was a slight family disagreement that they wanted to settle.”

“Family disagreement? Wait a minute! It was the name they twigged on first. Do you mean that it was the Pack that lost you in Oregon? Is that what all this insanity is about?”

“Yes. I think. They claimed that my father had been part of the Pack, a man called Prime. I don't know how they could be sure I was his son, but they were dead sure.”

“I don't get it. If that's true, why did they come to kill you?”

How did he know? Oh yes, the headcam. “Do what you want to me but not here, not in front of him . . . finish this wherever.” “This was supposed to be a slash, not a grab . . .” Oh the joys of modern technology.

“I'm sorry, Max. I had to get you to back down. I just had to.”

Max shrugged but didn't look at him. “Well, actually, you were right. None of us were hurt. But if they had killed you—”

He lapsed into silence, and they drove along Fort Duquesne Boulevard, trying to work their way around the always present construction. Max suddenly swore, glanced at his watch, and then handed Ukiah his wireless phone. “You still have time to catch your moms at breakfast.”

Whenever work kept him out overnight, he tried to call them during breakfast. “Do they know?”

“I trust you too much, Ukiah. You said that the Pack wouldn't hurt you, and I couldn't stop believing you, even after we viewed the disc. I was waiting for news, one way or the other, before telling them.”

Ukiah flipped down Max's speed dial list to his moms' number. The phone rang twice and then Mom Lara, her voice slightly guarded, answered. “Good morning, Max, what's up?”

“It's me, Ukiah, Mom.”

Her tone changed completely. “Ukiah! Why are you using Max's phone?”

“Lost mine,” he said truthful. “I'm just checking in. How are things at home?”

“Things are fine. Yes, yes, it's Ukiah.” This was to Cally, who was talking excitedly in the background. “Cally wants to talk to you.” Before he could reply, the phone was traded off, and Cally was saying, “Ukiah, could you get me a new doll?”

“A new one? What's wrong with your old ones?”

“Ranger ate them last night. GI Barbie, Dr. Skipper, and the Beddy Bye twins.”

Mass carnage. Ukiah found himself laughing soundlessly. “Okay, pumpkin, I'll get you a new doll, but you've got to take better care of it or Ranger will eat it too.”

Max rolled his eyes and mouthed, “You spoil her rotten.”

“Thank you, Ukiah. I want a—”

“Pumpkin, I can't promise you a certain doll. You'll have to be happy with the one I get, okay?”

There was a long little-girl silence of unhappiness, and then, “Okay, I'll see you tonight. I love you.” And Cally hung up.

Ukiah laughed out loud and handed Max back his
phone. “I owe her, Max, otherwise Mom Lara would have got around to asking questions about what kept me out all night.”

They had, Ukiah noticed, crossed the Monogahela River and were running alongside the Ohio River.

“Max, where the heck are we going, anyhow?”

“The FBI called me. A body showed up in an arson fire. They wanted me to come down and see if I could identify it as you.”