First Born (36 page)

If they hadn’t been arguing, they may have heard her stellar landing as Bird Light in a tree nearby. Lily thrashed to untangle her wings from some branches. They both carried assault rifles. The woman must have been in her late fifties. Her voice carried through the air as she admonished Mr. Liu’s kidnapper. They were by the fire circle, in front of the raised shelter.

Next to the woman’s foot lie Li Liu curled up on his side. Manacles bound his ankles and wrists. He mumbled under his breath with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Shoot to wound, then I’ll dart her,” the Watcher said.

“The police are on their way. I’m not taking any chances. I’m just gonna kill the bitch and we can get out of here. You saw what she did to my son!”

Lily waited. The silver ball of the roulette wheel rolled around her head, finally coming to rest in its slot. Nothing made sense. Yet, everything made sense. Life was a game of chance. It had spun her round and round. One of her attackers was Phil Miller’s
mother?
Was Phil the Croupier who had started the wheel turning?
Had he started with Peter? What are my odds?

The man she recognized from somewhere.

“I need some information from her. Don’t kill her.”

“Ernie, I don’t know why you didn’t bring the hounds. They would have flushed her out by now,” said Mrs. Miller. She pronounced “why” in the traditional southern way, cutting it short to “Whah.”

Ernie?

The mention of dogs triggered a remote memory of meeting Ernie what’s-his-face at a company picnic. He was the Atlanta PD’s tracker. Was Ernie working with anyone else on the force?

She remembered Seth had suspected it was a member of law enforcement. He recognized the scent from Liu’s property.

She had the advantage. The logical thing to do was shoot them. The problem? She had lost the rifle when teleporting Seth. She left the pack with him as well. However, she did have the Glock resting in the back of her waistband. The cargo pockets just hadn’t seemed as secure as the back of her granny panties.

She needed to pull it together for Mr. Liu. At that moment, she realized his eyes weren’t closed all the way. Touching the crucible for strength, she spoke to him.
I’m here, Mr. Liu.
His lids fluttered as if he were struggling to open them. He shook his head.

As quietly as she could, she clawed her way down the tree and drew the Glock. Lily retracted her wings so that her back rested firmly against the knotty bark of an old oak. She took one more breath. Counting seemed like a good strategy. One...two...three—she made it to the next tree. One...two...three...and to the next one. It was just like doing the waltz.
No problem.

Mud and debris covered her brown shirt that remained incredibly intact. Scratches decorated her arms from twigs, branches, and flying debris during her cyclonic rage storm that had
teleported
her and Seth. She couldn’t think about Seth right now. Her head already throbbed from exertion and stress.

“Let’s just shoot him and leave!” Miller said, pointing down at Li Liu like he was damaged goods. Lily’s heart hammered wildly against her ribcage. She was within twenty feet now. She needed to get closer. Once she fired, she’d need to follow up with fangs and claws.

A prodigious amount of acid swirled in her stomach. Her legs felt like noodles as she crouched low, placed her gun on the ground and shifted to a Shih Tzu. With the gun in her teeth, she crawled on her belly through the long grass until she was ten feet away and hugged the base of one of the aged oaks with its twisted limbs that had survived the crucible that was Tray Mountain.

Swallowing vomit, she shifted back and raised the gun assuming the stance her father had taught her. The shot rang out echoing across the expanse of trees into the valley below. She missed her target.
No!
Ernie dropped to his belly in response to the blast, gun in hand. Screeching filled Lily’s sensitive ears. She had missed the dog handler, but struck the woman. Miller writhed around on the ground yelling obscenities while blood spurted from her upper arm.

Lily dropped and rolled behind a rock to avoid his bullets.
Note to self: must learn how to aim gun.
She peered around the rock to see Mr. Liu scooting on elbows and knees away from Ernie. Again, he shook his head in an emphatic “no” at her.

The overwhelming compulsion to protect overrode any sense of reason. Fangs filled her mouth, her legs and arms expanded, and her back ached as wings released. She had thick furry legs like a Saint Bernard with the claws of a mountain cat. Something wet soaked her paw.
Eesh, drool.

With a roark she launched herself at Ernie Gates intending to pin him and tear out his throat. She heard a snap and felt wire tangle around her as she thrashed around on the ground. The more she clawed and bit at the trap, the more tangled she became. The net consisted of a chain mail material like the kind used for shark diving.

Desperate, she looked for Mr. Liu. His energy pulsed around him in a waning, green layer. Lily focused on Ernie Gates, whose energy field was an angry red as he stalked toward her. He was a good tracker and
trapper.
Too focused on Mr. Liu’s face and planning her stealth approach, she hadn’t noticed anything in the tall grass.

“I saw you at the football field. A monster, just like my mother,” he said, the gun trained between her eyes. Lily’s head buzzed like it was full of a thousand bees. “I started to feel something after our fight at Liu’s studio. At first, I thought it was your scratch that precipitated the change. That you infected me. All the steroid treatments Hitomi had given me started to strengthen me, but it was after the studio that I was able to block Hitomi from invading my mind. Then I thought of Phillip who was a Vestige too and had gotten treatments. You bit and clawed him, but nothing happened.”

Lily struggled with the net some more. She actually was making some headway with her teeth, breaking the chinks in the chain mail. She stopped when he leaned down. “It was difficult with your friends of the Atlanta Homicide division swarming the place, but I managed to procure your grandmother’s letter and get it translated. You need to tell me about the crucible and how it works. Otherwise, I’ll shoot different parts of Mr. Liu until he bleeds out.”

Lily growled.

He laughed. “With your grandmother’s necklace, I can finally be who I was meant to be—the First Born.”

Lily refused to meet his eyes. She looked off toward Barbara Miller. Miller’s keening from the bullet wound had given way to whimpers, but now she was silent, curled in the fetal position against a rock of the fire circle, still clutching her rifle. Lily’ heart lurched when she saw Mr. Liu worming his way toward the woman’s leg.

Lily looked at Gates, but it was too late. He sensed the movement behind him and turned to shoot. Lily wrapped her paw, net and all, around his ankle as rage and pain coalesced into her vortex and drew the evil into the spinning hole with her.

At 10:30 a.m., the temperature hit ninety-two degrees. Sweat rolled down Caldwell’s neck, tracing the path of his spine. Not a twinge of Lily had hit him since the cabin. They had notified Helen PD that they were apprehending suspects in the park. The local police were not part of the team going in much to Caldwell’s relief. He had no idea how to explain to anyone else what they might see. However, local officers were assisting in blocking off the area to traffic and another team was on standby if they required back up. Agent Mercer was in the chopper making passes of the area overhead. Scott had rejoined them and stood by their side holding a sniper rifle, her huge eyes intense.

“Shoot to wound,” Lake said.

Caldwell bit the inside of his cheek. “Lieutenant?”

“If it’s Ernie, know he’s a good shot.”

Scott nodded. “Barbara Miller’s not a bad shot either. She won the Dixie National Rifle contest three years in a row as a teenager.” Scott’s brows rose. “‘Course, she’s fifty now, but that doesn’t mean she’s lost it.”

Caldwell looked to her in question.

“I mean lost her skills. Can’t speak about her mental stability.”

“I know she’s real pissed off about her son,” Caldwell said, shifting his weight. They stood around the hood of Lake’s unmarked. They had a short, but steep hike to the summit. Visitors at the Bison View Lodge reported shots fired close to thirty minutes ago. He looked at Scott then at the Lieutenant. He wanted to trust them, but he knew they were considering the circumstances of Lily Moore’s disappearance and the fact that technically she had been on the run.

Lake knew the details of Caldwell being captive inside the Quinn cabin, Scott didn’t. Caldwell didn’t want to wait a second more, but he wanted Scott to understand. “Lily Moore has some special abilities.”

Scott turned to him. “Simms, you think I’m a complete dumbass. I can put things together. I’ve seen some freaky shit. Don’t patronize me. I watch
Fringe.
I’ve studied the forensic reports including the ones from the wildlife lab.”

He nodded once and took the lead, gun drawn. He turned around once more and looked at both of them. “Don’t hurt her.”

Lake rolled his eyes. “Simms, cut the shit or I’m leaving you in the car—handcuffed, windows up, no air.”

Caldwell charged toward the summit with Lieutenant Lake. Scott brought up the rear, stopping and scanning the area with her scope. Caldwell arrived first, pulling up short. Lake almost ran into him. Greenery encircled the apex that was no more than a ten by twelve foot stepped rock floor. The only thing visible was the sky. Without communicating, the three performed an awkward side-step, searching the space and the dense surrounding shrubs.

Nothing.

“Shit!” Caldwell said.

Scott took off for a break in the foliage, a rocky path descending the back of the mountain. Caldwell didn’t let her get far before taking the lead. They walked single file down the narrow path lined by dwarfed and gnarled oaks. Eight minutes later, they came upon a campsite with a raised wooden shelter. A slumped figure in jeans, boots, and a blood-soaked camouflage shirt lay against a rock.

Lake and Scott scanned the trees, looking into the shadows as Caldwell crept closer, his adrenaline shooting through his veins like a speedball.

They drew up to her calling out their credentials.

When Caldwell reached the rock, he squatted down to check her pulse. Sweat and mud matted a mess of blonde hair. Smoker’s lines radiated out from her mouth in a sunburst pattern. Someone had used a sock for a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding. Lake radioed for emergency personnel.

Barbara Miller opened one eye.

“Mrs. Miller, you’re going to be okay. Paramedics are on their way,” Caldwell said. When he looked up, Scott was vigilant, scanning up and down in the trees and shrubs.

“Shot me,” Miller said, voice hoarse.

“Who?” Caldwell asked. Lake and Scott stood with their backs to him facing the trees.

“The demon freak,” spat Miller. She scrunched her face into one tan wrinkle. Caldwell waited. “Lily Moore.”

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” she retorted, resting her head back down against the rock.

“Hang in there, Mrs. Miller. We need your help,” Caldwell pleaded. “Is Ernie here?”

She lifted her head slightly and glared at him. “She took him away through the air. You believe that shit?”

Caldwell heard Scott shouting behind him. “Drop your weapon.”

He turned and stood up. A man stumbled; his slight build wavered drunkenly, holding the side of the shelter to steady himself.

“Li?” called the lieutenant as he took off toward him. The man sat down hard on his behind, finally surrendering to his body’s will. Bending over, Lake surveyed his condition. Caldwell pulled up next to him while Scott attended to Miller. Bruises bloomed all over his face and arms. His left eye closed to a slit.

“She’s gone,” he rasped. “He’s got her!” Tears streaked down Li Liu’s battered face.

August 20, 2010

Something has gone incredibly wrong. When I came into Dr. H’s lab this morning, the place was trashed. I read in her notes that Subject V1 has homicidal thoughts and the doc is concerned he is planning to hurt someone. She’s refusing to issue any more steroids to him. I’m sure he can find anabolic steroids from another source.

I waited outside Dr. H’s home tonight. Subject V1 showed up and they argued. He left around 9:30 p.m. and got into a blue Suburban. I couldn’t see his face—he wore a baseball cap.

I followed him so I could figure out who he is.

He pulled up in front of MY house and waited outside for an hour. I didn’t think he saw me, but he must have. When he finally left, I tried to follow. He ran a red light and sped off, but I got his license plate number.

As I returned to the house, it occurred to me that I might not be his target. Perhaps, the target is my neighbor, Subject T.

I’m worried about my safety, my neighbor’s, and Lily’s. Tomorrow, I’ll confront Dr. H so I can learn his identity. Maybe then I’ll have some idea what to do.

—Peter

A backwash of pigment spread across the water forming thick tentacles that probed the lake’s surface then sank down seeking the silty bottom.

Her head throbbed from pressure mixed with pain. Lily’s eyes trained on the tentacles following their path until she hit the wide-eyed stare of Ernie Gates. Memories came flooding back. Bile burned up into her nose as she retched into the water.

Gates lay shipwrecked on a rock—his lower torso still in the water. Blood oozed from his head, trickled to the stone, then dispersed into the water creating the bloody oil slick. Head wounds bleed a lot. She knew that first hand.

Panic jolted her as she detected his faint heartbeat and shallow breaths. She scanned the brush, trees, and footpaths as a rush of human sounds assaulted her ears. Lily thrashed toward Gates. A series of convulsions rather than swim strokes carried her across the inlet. Her side felt like someone had taken a soldering iron to it. Shot. Again. By the man she dragged under the wooden footbridge with her.