The Empty (32 page)

Minya forced a weak smile that quickly transformed into a grimace of pain. “No,” she said through clenched teeth. “Tresset Bremu has a son named Dolnaraq. It is he. But, the baby will need a mother. The males, they teach the young to fight and to hunt, but they don’t tend to their needs.”

Julia understood. In this society that would seem natural. “Then who?” she asked. “Who should get your baby?”

“You, Dr. Julia. Raise her. Teach her.”

“Her? You already know the gender?”

Minya shook her head. “Reyaqc are born without gender. They require an infusion soon after birth. This initial infusion determines the sex.”

“You want her to infuse from me?”

Minya nodded. Her skin was losing color, her features seemingly less defined.

“You want me to adopt her as my own?”

Minya nodded again, but was suddenly racked by intense pain. There was another surge of blood. “Minya, I’ve got to perform the procedure. We’re running out of time.”

A tear escaped the corner of the girl’s eye, and yet she tried to be so brave. “Promise me, Dr. Julia. Promise you’ll take care of my baby.”

Julia met the girl’s pleading gaze and nodded. Despite Minya’s odd appearance, Julia now knew within the deepest recesses of her being that this girl was as human as any person on the planet. “Yes, Minya. I’ll take care of your baby.” This promise, made so hastily, with no time for consideration, terrified her more than anything had in her entire life. But somehow, deep within, Julia knew it was right that she raise this child, this pup, not even human, as her own.

She had no scalpel, but already she’d come to a solution. Racing across the rocky ground, she came once again upon Shane. He was dead now, but Julia had no time to mourn. Quickly, she withdrew the sharp, curved tooth from his neck and wiped the blood from it with her shirttail. Yes, it was as she’d remembered it, thin and very, very sharp. It might cut almost as well as a razor blade. Retuning to Minya, she sliced some fabric from her sleeve and wrapped this around the base of the tooth creating a makeshift handle. This would be an awkward instrument, but Julia believed she could manipulate it adequately.

Moving into position, Julia said, “I’m ready to proceed, Minya. This is going to hurt terribly. I’m sorry.”

Minya nodded. It seemed she might be trying to think of some brave final words, but nothing presented itself. Julia gave her a quick squeeze of the hand and went to work, making a small horizontal incision in the skin just above the pubic bone. Minya screamed and writhed, but Julia sought to steady her with her left hand, while cutting with the right. The tooth was sharp, and cut the tissue well enough, but the cuts were more jagged and uneven than had Julia used a scalpel. Still, it would need to suffice. Now she was slicing through the underlying tissue, gradually working her way to the uterus. Still, Minya screamed, but these seemed weaker, less frantic. Wiping sweat from her brow, Julia then separated the abdominal muscles with her fingers. This caused her some difficulty, and she wished for clamps—and while she was at it, a whole surgical team along with a sterile environment to boot.

Julia found it necessary to make two insignificant cuts in the musculature in order to achieve the space required to work on the uterus. Minya bucked again, causing Julia to drop the tooth. Quickly, she retrieved it, wiped it once again on her shirt, and then proceeded to make a low transverse incision. Minya was almost entirely quiet now and Julia almost wished for the bucking and screaming. Somehow, some impossible way, she hoped against all logic that the girl would come through this alive.

Julia reached into the uterus, found the child, curled her fingers about it and gently pulled it free of its mother’s womb. The child was a strange looking thing. The nose was nothing more than two slits above a lipless mouth. There were no ears, but rather small crescent-shaped holes on each side of the head. The skin was a transparent blue, wrinkled and cold, the eyes tiny and colorless. Julia moved to present the child to Minya, but the girl was dead, her pale white eyes staring sightless into the smoke-filled sky. Julia was surprised to find she was crying. She was a medical professional, an emergency room physician. She’d lost patients before. But this girl, this precious young girl, caught amidst this insanity. It seemed so unfair.

Then there was a voice. That all too familiar voice that in no way belonged in this place. And it was panicked, frantic even as it called her name.

It was then Julia realized she was under attack.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Charles Chambers came upon the reyaqc settlement from the north. Though it had probably been something less than two hours, it seemed he’d been traveling for days—racing through the dusty desert, winding down forgotten roads, squinting into the night for fear he might miss a sudden turn and go tumbling off of some cliff or embankment. Fuel had been a concern as well. He still had some, he was sure of that, but definitely not enough for the return trip. Now, gazing down upon chaos from the crest of a rise, he wondered what his wife had stumbled into.

As expected, it was an old silver mine. Most of the few remaining structures seemed decades old and in need of repair. But nearly half of the compound was ablaze. Shadowy forms ran from building to building, igniting them with torches. Figures darted this way and that: fighting, brawling, slaying. Bodies, both dead and near-dead, littered the ground and it seemed there was no near conclusion to the scene.

Julia was down there—somewhere. He was sure of it.

How was he to find her? Did she still live? The only thing he could think to do was to ride into the madness and search. If he found her, he’d throw her onto the back of his bike and put as much distance between them and this place as possible. If they ran out of gas, well, he had his cell phone. He’d call Triple A.

So Charles slipped the Ninja into gear and followed the uneven dirt road into the compound. He found it difficult to accept the scene before him. These were not human beings racing about, fighting, setting the place ablaze. These were something else, some monstrous race of half-beasts.

Reyaqc.

He remembered the term from the web sites. But that had been pure nonsense.

But it hadn’t.

Donald Baker had proved to be real. So had Tresset Bremu. Each was named on legal documents connecting them to this place. The inmate had been real as well. Those strange white eyes—the same eyes he now saw all about him—had been real. The elongated teeth had been real. The strange loping gate. The fur-like shots of hair. Oh, he’d been strange looking, true. But Charles had never once—not seriously at least—considered that the man was anything but human.

Charles motored past a forest green Hummer on the northernmost edge of the compound and wondered if this belonged to Baker. There was a metal building ablaze to his left and two wooden structures to his right likewise engulfed in flame. These were now nothing but ruined frames. Charles shuddered as he recognized the odor of burning flesh. A naked figure raced by, its hunched form covered in blood-matted fur. Its snout seemed canine, though its anatomy was more or less human. Another shadowy form loomed ahead. It rose to upright, the severed arm of its fallen foe clutched in its taloned hand, its muzzle rife with red pasty matter. Charles veered left, accelerating as best he could on the loose sand and gravel surface. He had no desire to come within reach of that thing. A flaming form bolted from the left, shrieking a haunting screech of pure agony and impending death. “Dear God,” whispered Charles as he continued forward. He had no idea if there was anything he could do for the fiery figure and feared attack should he stop to help.

Now, slowly moving along the east side of the compound, he scanned the grounds, hoping against all odds that he could find Julia alive and unharmed amidst the insanity. Smoke hung in low wispy billows and glowed orange in the firelight. Tilting his visor back so he could be heard when shouting Julia’s name, he immediately felt the sting of burning ash upon his cheeks. “Julia!” he cried into the fiery night. “Julia! Where are you?”

A figure stepped out before him. Charles maneuvered to his right, but found another beast coming at him from that side as well. A glance to the left and he knew he was surrounded. With no hesitation, Charles gunned the throttle, aiming for the space between the two forward-most reyaqc. But instead of evading his charge, the beast to the right came directly on him, head lowered like a linebacker. The reyaqc connected at Charles’ ribcage just above mid-chest. For a fraction of an instant, Charles dared believe that he may remain upright, but then the tires slid out from under him and he hit the ground hard, his helmet taking the brunt of the impact, a sharp pain shooting through his left shoulder.

The thing dove upon him—its face! This beast was nothing resembling human. Its jaw was long and narrow, nostrils wide and flaring, its ears slender and tapered. And it had horns. The type one might see on a ram. No, these were nowhere near the size, but the general shape and look was the same. The thing pummeled him in the gut causing Charles to curl into a tight ball. Then it tugged at his helmet, most likely wishing to rid the thing so as to attack the face or head. He had only seconds to act—or seconds to die—Charles fumbled a hand into his right jacket pocket and withdrew a tiny Glock .40 caliber M-27. He’d only used the pistol once, on a firing range just after he purchased it for protection. But at this short range, he didn’t think he’d have much difficulty hitting his target.

The beast struck again. Charles fumbled the pistol, his fingers dancing in an effort to control the thing. No! This was his only hope. He couldn’t let it go so easily. He caught the handle, but tentatively. The beast smacked him across his helmeted face. Once again, the gun bobbled. Charles’ heart raced. Somehow retaining his grip, he managed to flip the safety and to then press the small barrel into his assailant’s abdomen. The report was a muffled pop. At first Charles wondered if the Glock had fired at all. Yes, he’d felt the recoil. Yes, there’d been a sound, however muted. But the reyaqc continued to pound at him. Just as Charles was about to squeeze the trigger again, the reyaqc stiffened as if only now coming to the realization that it had been shot. Its pallid eyes went wide, its too long jaw dropped open. Using the butt of the pistol, Charles slammed his right hand into the side of the beast’s face, causing it to tumble off of him to the left. Now he saw the tiny hole in the abdomen, the seared flesh, the spreading crimson ooze across the lightly furred belly.

Holding the Glock out before him, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his side burning, and his gut feeling like recycled mashed potatoes. The other two reyaqc obviously recognized the gun for what it was, and backed away, retreating into the night without sound or threat. Charles released a sigh. He was far from an expert shot. If both reyaqc had chosen to charge, he doubted he could have felled even one of the two.

With an eye out for further attackers, Charles glanced at his Ninja. Lying only a few feet away, the motor still hummed. Quickly, Charles marched to it, killed the engine, and then pocketed the key. He couldn’t ride the bike and hold the gun. Right now, the gun seemed the better choice. Once he’d found Julia, they could return to the bike. As well, Charles removed his helmet, setting it beside the Ninja. That thing, though offering some protection in the event of an attack, could be a hindrance.

My God, how was any of this possible?

Charles scanned the area, still trying to comprehend the scene. All around, voices belted out orders; small groups rushed one way or another, engaging other similar groups in hand-to-hand combat. The battles were fierce and bloody. But one thing brought a wry grin to Charles lips. It seemed he was the only one to bring a gun to the party. He squeezed the thing, felt the forward cant of the grip in his palm, admired the military matte finish. He had only eight rounds left. But eight rounds might cause sufficient fear amongst these unarmed beasts for two humans to escape into the night.

An uneven row of small huts and sheds sat off to his left and to the south. Several had been set ablaze, and bobbing torches moved in his direction. Though his side stabbed with burning pain—he was convinced now that he’d broken a rib in his tumble from the bike—Charles jogged forward, threw open the door to the next shed and, gun held at the ready, peeked inside. Empty. He decided to repeat the process, hopefully staying ahead of the fire starters. There was a fierce cracking sound to the west and Charles turned to see a large wooden building collapse in upon itself amidst hungry flames.

“Julia!” he cried as he went from one building to another. “Julia!”

Now someone had begun setting fires from the south, heading north. Charles could only pray Julia was not in one of these. She was an intelligent woman. Surely she’d realized what was happening and had fled to open ground.

Another thirty yards forward, he saw two forms on the ground, one kneeling, the other on her back, legs spread wide. Birthing? In the midst of all this chaos! The kneeling shape was familiar in form.

His heart leaped.

Julia!

Yes, crazy. But something Julia might just do. Stop to assist in a birth though the world collapsed about her. Could it be? Could that really be her, or was he just seeing what he wanted to see?

There was another form as well, not five feet to the side—large, inhuman. It was rising slowly, as if injured, possibly just regaining consciousness. The others didn’t take notice. They were too involved in the birthing drama. Charles raced forward, gun held before him, crying Julia’s name. The shadowy form of the reyaqc was almost upon them. Julia turned her head toward the thing. Yes, it was Julia. He was sure of it. She held an infant in her arms, was trying to shelter it.

Charles fired once, twice. The lumbering form glanced in his direction but showed no sign of injury. Apparently both shots had gone wild. Charles stopped, planted his feet wide as he’d been taught at the firing range, held the gun steady with both hands, aimed, and then fired a single shot. The reyaqc jerked to the right. Charles fired again. The creature went down like a marionette with the strings cut free. The gun dealer had been right when he’d claimed the Glock packed a lot of stopping power for such a tiny weapon.