The Empty (26 page)

She bolted to her right, and then zigzagged left. The other reyaqc, the one that did not hold Shane, swiped at her with claw-like hand, but missed by several inches.

“Do not damage them!” shouted Tresset. “They are both valuable. Especially the female.”

The reyaqc was only inches behind Julia when she made it the Hummer. She thrust the door open, using it to smack her pursuer in the snout with a loud
thunk
! The thing roared a curse, but Julia had bought herself enough time to hop into the vehicle, and close and lock the door.

There were no keys.

Nothing in the ignition.

Not on the floor.

Julia smacked the steering wheel with the palm of her hand and cursed Donald Baker for ever being born.

The reyaqc pounded on the glass, attempting to break it with his fists. The Hummer shook with each blow. But worse yet was the heat. The outside temperature hovered around one hundred-fifteen. Inside the Hummer it was probably closer to one-thirty. Without the keys, she wouldn’t survive for more than a few minutes. Already, sweat poured off of her and she found it hard to breathe the thick searing air.

The pounding stopped.

The reyaqc moved away with a grunt and a stomp.

Donald Baker stood at the door, keys in hand. He inserted the key into the lock, twisted his wrist, and then pulled open the door. “Come out of there before you suffocate.”

“You said I wouldn’t be harmed,” shot Julia in protest.

As per usual, Donald’s expression was that of a plastic mask. “You are valuable to them, Julia. Do as they say. You’re less likely to be injured.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tresset looked different, of course. It had been several years since they’d met face-to-face, and the reyaqc chieftain had had numerous infusions since that last encounter. But, like Donald, he tended to seek donors of similar facial structure and form as those of his previous givers, allowing his general “look” to remain somewhat consistent. The face was still round, the skin pale, the hair on his head dark. His lips were thin, his eyes slightly narrow, but alert and bright, displaying a keen intelligence. His nose was somewhat less angular than in previous years, and the nostrils wider. This width, along with the tawny fur about his body, feline-like incisors, and retractable claws, were derived from his sustaining species, the mountain lion.

Donald leaned his head back ever so slightly, sniffing the air. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the scents of a reyaqc pack. It filled him with warm nostalgia and brutal memories. As the two strolled through the compound, Donald allowed his gaze to linger on the many animal cages situated toward the southern end of the old mine. There were mountain lions, of course—for Tresset. There were two German shepherds, a half-dozen cats, a brown bear, a few wolves, some bats—and a red fox. Almost unconsciously, Donald glanced at the back of his left hand, at the small tuft of orange-red fur that had clung stubbornly through the years. A century since he’d last received animal essence, and still, despite his denials, he was at some level, a molt. The sins of the past, he’d learned, always visit the present, and most likely the future as well.

Donald inhaled once more, savoring the multitude of aromas and the tales they told. “You do understand,” he said. “There was no need to imprison my companions.”

Tresset did not bother to look at Donald, but continued strolling, hands clasped behind his back, nodding at various reyaqc whenever one drew near. “Dolnaraq, this is my pack. I’ll run it as I please.”

Donald sighed, and corrected his companion. “Tresset, my name is Donald Baker. It has been for some time now.”

Tresset scoffed and spit. “Donald, yes. And before that, Matthew Greene, and before that Oskar Kohler. You pretend to be one of them, but you and I both know that it’s impossible for you to ever truly connect with the humans.” The reyaqc chieftain paused, staring at his lifelong comrade. “Look at you. You dye your hair in order to keep the color consistent. You wear a beard to mask the subtle changes in your facial structure after infusions. You wear colored contact lenses behind tinted glasses. I doubt you’d know your true nature if you somehow encountered it in a freak moment of authenticity.” Tresset drew closer, his tone sincere, concerned. “Dolnaraq, we are old, you and I. Certainly our frequent infusions of essence have provided us the appearance of youth, but the age span of a healthy reyaqc is but one hundred thirty years—one forty under the best circumstances. Don’t you think it’s time you returned to your people; finish out your life’s work among your own kind?”

Donald met Tresset’s gaze, his eyes unblinking, his conviction sound. “I understand my role, Tresset. I am no traitor to our people. We live in a world dominated by humans. We’re dependent on them for our survival. Their society thrives, and still you live in deserted mines, running what little electricity you get off of discarded generators, infusing from animals, hunting for your food. The reyaqc have the potential to be a great people, but you and those like you squander our gifts. You blame the humans for your situation, when it is within your own power to affect change.”

“No, Dolnaraq. We are already a great people, as a true reyaqc defines greatness. Unlike you, we have no need to be something other than what we are.”

“No need? Then why did you require me to negotiate and purchase this abandoned mining site for your pack? Without such aid, humans would have run you off as trespassers. The world has changed, Tresset. There is little unclaimed space. Land must be purchased, not just occupied. There are satellites that can spy on you from the sky. If a reyaqc pack were to occupy such a place as this with no justification or rightful claim, they would be investigated. As it is, I’m forced to give explanations for you and dozens of other packs I’ve assisted, telling authorities that reyaqc groups are offshoots of the Amish or some other religious order that seeks privacy. Or, such as in your case—that you’re a mining company doing preliminary evaluations of the site before commencing to mine. Do you have any idea how much paperwork has been filed on your behalf, how many licenses have been acquired—how much money I and others such as I have invested?”

Tresset spat, and then resumed strolling. “You make my point for me, Dolnaraq. You think as the humans think. You confine yourself by their regulations. You even married a human—married! The reyaqc don’t marry. We have no such concept. Yet, you choose to deliberately refrain from strengthening our species by fathering strong specimens for the next generation. Instead, you tie yourself to a frail human woman with whom you can never reproduce.”

“You scoff at humanity while living as their leeches,” countered Donald. “Not only do we infuse our very essence from their core, but even as you claim your independence from them, you utilize their inventions—those vehicles you own, the generators that power your compound, the air conditioners, the computers, the cell phones, even your paints and canvases—all stuff of humans.” Donald paused before adding, “As for the wife, she is dedicated to the reyaqc cause. As well, she allows me a certain social status. Her family is well connected. And as to offspring, those I provided in my younger years.”

Tresset nodded a subtle nod and gazed at the rock-strewn earth before him. Donald glanced to his right, noticing two fur-covered reyaqc mating, unashamed, in the midst of the populace, the male nearly suffocating the female with his weight and intensity as he served his own lust. Despite his background, Donald couldn’t help but think of them as barbaric, as animals even. “The reyaqc have contributed much to human society,” offered Tresset as if unaware of the sight before him. “Though, none have received due credit. Aristotle, founder of western thought and early science—a reyaqc. Peter the Hermit, instrumental in the formation of the misguided Crusades—reyaqc. Two signers of the American constitution—reyaqc. Genghis Kahn—reyaqc. Tolstoy—reyaqc. But each was forced to hide behind the mask of humanity for fear that the simple-minded humans would not understand their true nature. But you know all this. You’ve written extensively on each of these men in your ever-so-precious
Histories.
”

“What is the common element among these well-known reyaqc?” countered Donald. “None were molts. None lived in animal-like packs on the fringes of civilization. None mated in the streets like dogs. Rather, they contributed to the greater good with the hope that one day our people could come forward as equals and be accepted.”

Tresset cocked his head, offering a wry grin. “Khan was hardly what you would call civilized.”

Donald chuckled. “Despite his somewhat barbaric ways, Khan established laws and was even instrumental in creating a standard written language for his people. He instigated a postal system. Even in his brutality, he was a civilizing force.”

“And so will I be.” Tresset withdrew his neatly folded antiseptic rag from his pocket and wiped his palms and forearms. “But I will not pretend to be human in order to accomplish my goal.”

No
, thought Donald.
You’ll
allow
me
to
do
that
in
your stead
,
and
then
belittle
me
for
having
the
foresight
to
pave your
way
. Aloud, he said, “What goal is that?”

Tresset’s milky eyes gleamed and it seemed he stood a little straighter as he said, “An established reyaqc territory in the western United States. A recognized people. A nation unto ourselves, with our own laws, our own government.”

“How do you hope to accomplish this feat?”

“Why, in the same manner humans have used for centuries—war.”

Donald was astonished at his companion’s temerity. Though, this, he probably shouldn’t have been. Tresset had always had a bit of a god complex about him, never fully understanding—or being willing to understand—the limitations set on him by the world in which he lived. “Tresset,” offered Donald, almost as if addressing a child. “The United States boasts a population of over three hundred million. The world contains over six billion humans. The reyaqc number only in the thousands worldwide—not even tens of thousands, but just thousands. Your pack, though large, numbers no more than one hundred. We are not on the brink of dominance, but rather extinction.”

Tresset eyed Donald as if he was the child. “Victory no longer need belong to the largest, most well-equipped army, Dolnaraq. Look at nine-eleven. See what Al-Qaeda achieved, or what the IRA accomplished in Ireland. A small, fiercely-dedicated force might topple a giant. You may not respect our way of life, but that makes us no less formidable.”

Before Donald could respond, there came a sudden growling and scuffling from behind. Turning, he saw two adolescent males skirmishing over a slain and bloody coyote. The larger of the two, an auburn-colored molt with an extended snout and a lean muscular frame, wrestled his rival to the ground and pinned his right arm in place by clenching his jaws over the other’s wrist. The other kicked and squirmed, raking razor-like talons across his opponent’s back. The aggressor screeched, releasing his grip and allowing his foe to flip to his left, tossing the larger molt onto the stony dirt.

“Dolnaraq! Barthoc!” said Tresset. “Enough. You can battle over the carcass later.”

Immediately, the two young reyaqc scrambled to their feet. “Yes, chieftain,” said one.

“As you say,” added the other, his voice winded, and blood dribbling from his back.

Tresset appraised the two nervous molts. “Dolnaraq, have you yet repaired Padnor’s vehicle?”

“No, Father. Not yet,” said the smaller of the two, his eyes alternating between Tresset and the dusty ground.

“Do it then.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” And then they were gone, marching quickly to their right, and then around the side of a small wooden building, and out of sight.

Tresset smiled as he stared at the coyote carcass, now left unclaimed on the rocky ground.

“Dolnaraq?” asked Donald with a curious twinkle to his pallid eyes.

Tresset shrugged. “Over the decades I’ve sired many sons. I was running out of names. Now, Dolnaraq, why are you here? I can only keep your companions safe for so long.”

“There’s a rogue in Las Vegas. Four deaths, and several near-deaths, all within the past several days. There may be others of which I’m unaware.”

Tresset chuckled. “A rogue, Dolnaraq. You know my opinion on rogues. They weed the human garden. You worry too much about humanity and not enough about the reyaqc.”

Yes, Donald knew all too well Tresset’s position on rogues. But this didn’t change anything. “Until we can reveal ourselves in a controlled manner, reyaqc survival depends on anonymity. A rogue threatens our secrecy, opens us to dangerous exposure. As usual, you misunderstand my motivations.”

Tresset bent and snatched a claw from the ground, perhaps half the span of a finger in length. He turned it from side to side examining it, and then slipped the piece into his left front pocket. “It’s not your motivation which is in doubt, Dolnaraq, but your judgment and ultimate loyalties.”

Donald hesitated for a moment, thought about his response, and then chose to remain on tack, leaving Tresset to his own biases. “The rogue. Do you have any thoughts as to who that might be?”

Tresset rose to his feet. Whatever issue he’d had concerning the claw was not something to be shared with Donald. “You want to know if anyone from this community has recently left for human civilization?” The reyaqc pondered this for a moment. Or, thought Donald, at least he made a show of pondering. With Tresset one could never be certain. So much was done for effect. Despite Tresset’s accusations, Donald was not the only one who wore a mask. “There is one,” offered Tresset finally. “A young male. Treleq. He left maybe five months ago, seeking to purge himself of animal essence and to become civilized like the great Donald Baker.”

Donald ignored the dig. “Did he take willing givers?”