Abomination (14 page)

“How do you modify the behavior of a pig?” asked Ryan.

“That I don’t know. I left before they finished.”

“How many other scientists were working on the Didache
Project?”

“There were close to thirty with varying levels of
skill, but there were four of us that spearheaded the research. The others
mainly acted as technicians building the live samples and uploading them into
the virus.”

“So the other three are still there?”

“I believe they are, but Scott would know for sure,”
answered Kristina. “All three had IQs off the charts and their first PhDs
before their twentieth birthdays.”

“When did you get yours, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I was a late bloomer. My first was at twenty-two. Ryan,
those guys have the answers.”

Ryan looked at his buzzing phone. “I’m sorry, I need to
take this.” He stood up and walked into the hallway for privacy. It was Deputy
Director Donaldson. A few moments later he returned to Kristina’s room.

“They found Richard Elliot in an abandoned house in the
Ninth Ward. I’m sorry, Kristina. It looks like he committed suicide.”

“Oh, my God,” whispered Kristina. “Ryan, we did that to
him.”

“No, Kristina, you didn’t,” said Ryan, trying to console
her. “But I promise you I’m going to find out who did. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll wait here,” she said with a forced smile.

Derek and Joshua were walking back to their hotel room
when the familiar wave of nearly unbearable pain hit them simultaneously. When
Ryan put the first bullets into Peter Arrington, the pain started in their
ribcages. As each subsequent bullet entered their doomed comrade, they felt
each penetration. Nineteen rounds went into Arrington before the headshot ended
his life.

They both ducked into an alleyway as the full force of
the killing reached them. Joshua leaned against a brick wall to brace himself
while Derek dropped to his hands and knees. They were both growling while
clenching their teeth to keep from screaming in agony.

When the agents killed Arrington, the episode lasted
nearly a minute. When Alex Tifton killed Richard Elliot, the episode only
lasted fifteen seconds. Derek received his wish that Richard would die quickly.
As blood dripped onto the ground from their noses, both men looked at each
other, puzzled.

“It had to be Alex,” said Joshua. “The feds didn’t have
time to mobilize their assault teams.”

“How could he kill him?” asked Derek. “Those two were
like brothers.”

“They may have been like brothers, but the Colonel is
more like Alex’s father,” explained Joshua. “That weak mind would do anything
dear old dad told him to do.”

“Alex just added himself to the list of people I’m going
to kill slowly,” said Derek.

“That list is getting pretty long,” said Joshua.

“Not one name on it doesn’t deserve to be there,” said Derek.
“The Colonel being on the top of that list. His brainiac puppet scientists who
did this to us and the fucking fed hitmen that killed Peter are close behind.
They all deserve to be on it.”

“Patience, my young angry friend,” said Joshua. “We
didn’t expect Alex to jump the gun and take Richard, but that only tells us the
Colonel is getting sloppy. He’s starting to panic. He’s going to send every one
of his henchmen, including Alex, and the feds to come after us in Atlanta. And
when he does, we’re going to show up at his front door in Maine. We’ll arrive
with a smile and plenty of time to work on him and every other white coat at
the lab. Anyone that could even come close to slowing us down will be a
thousand miles away chasing our fucking ghosts. Once we cut the head off the
snake, Alex will be shitting his pants and running scared. It’ll make doing him
much sweeter.”

“What’s the plan after, Joshua? What the fuck are we
going to do? Where are we going to go? They’ll just keep sending guys after
us.”

“And we’ll send them right back in fucking body bags.
But we’ll be doing it from a Caribbean island I plan on calling Joshualand. And
every six weeks the natives will bring me a virgin sacrifice to keep their new
god happy. Because they know what will happen if they don’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Joshua!” said Derek, taking a step back
from him. “You want to stay this way? You want to keep killing women and
tearing them apart? You want to keep puking up their blood? I’ve taken your
sick comments and jokes with a grain of salt because I thought that’s how you
were coping with this, but now I wonder. I’m wondering if you like being this
way.”

Joshua took two steps closer to Derek. He didn’t move
towards him as an aggressor, he moved in closer so he could hold his undivided
attention. Regardless of the intent, Derek stood his ground. He didn’t always
agree with Joshua’s methods or ideology, but he knew the only way to destroy
the people that destroyed them was as a team.

“It doesn’t matter if I like being this way or not,”
said Joshua in a lowered voice. “I am what they made me and I can’t change
that. Even they can’t change that. Either we accept what we are, or we end each
other right now,” said Joshua, offering his pistol to Derek. “I didn’t enjoy
killing those women, and I threw up their blood just like you. I tried to stop
myself just like you. And just like you, I couldn’t. So get off your high
fucking horse and let’s finish what they started. After they’re gone, we’ll
figure out what to do next.”

Derek reached out and pushed the pistol toward the
ground. “Then stop acting like you enjoy this so much. Stop making me wonder
what’s going on in your head.”

“That I can do, Derek. I didn’t know it was bothering
you so much. You’re right, I do joke around because I don’t know how else to
deal with this. I’m sorry. You and I need to stick together. Running scared is
what got Peter and Richard killed. We didn’t ask for this, but they gave it to
us anyway. Let’s start giving a little back.”

“Okay,” said Derek. “We need to go home. Even those
idiots should figure out it’s where we’re heading.”

*****

Ryan and Michelle arrived at the house where Richard
Elliot had been hiding for months. Scott Wilson’s team was there waiting for
them. Ryan immediately noticed Scott looked nervous.

“Agent Pearson, Agent Dobbs,” greeted Scott.

“This was a suicide?” asked Ryan.

“Apparently,” said Scott. “The local police received an
anonymous call that someone was squatting in the area. They saw a light coming
from a shack behind this house. This place hasn’t had electricity for years.
They discovered four graves in the shack. One of them is very fresh. They found
Richard inside the house. We haven’t touched anything. We were waiting for you
to get here.”

“Well, that’s quite a departure from the Virginia
scene,” said Ryan. “You guys wouldn’t even let me in the door and handed me my
hat as soon as you arrived.”

“We’re under orders to allow you to verify his identity
and that he’s dead. And that’s all we’ll need from you,” said Scott, making a
show in front of his team. “When you accomplish the task, you’re to leave the
scene so we can process the area. My men will accompany you inside. I need to
make a phone call.”

“Then I guess we need to get started,” said Ryan.

The agents walked into the small house with four men
dressed in black coveralls following close behind. They headed to the largest
room dimly lit by battery-powered lanterns.

“Any chance we could get more light in here?” asked Ryan
to one of his escorts.

“No, sir.”

Ryan chuckled at his new friend as he and Michelle
approached Richard’s body positioned in a chair. A shotgun was between his legs,
and what was left of his head was draped over the back of the chair. His brain,
bone fragments, tissue, and blood covered the wall and ceiling behind him. The
blast greatly distorted and reduced the anatomy of Richard’s head, but there was
enough left for a positive ID.

“Would you agree that’s Richard Elliot?” asked Ryan’s
escort.

“I do.”

“Would you agree Richard Elliot is dead?” asked the
escort, writing down Ryan’s response to the first question.

“I do.”

“Thank you, Agent Pearson,” he said, writing down the
second answer. “Would you please wait outside while we process the scene?”

“Could we do this over the phone next time?” asked Ryan.

“No, sir. We needed you for this very important phase of
the investigative process. And now we’re finished with you.”

Ryan took a step toward the young man wearing black
coveralls. As the FBI agent towered nearly five inches over him, the young man
tried to take a step backward. The wall prevented his retreat. “You have no
idea how wrong you are, kid.”

Ryan turned and walked out of the room.

“I think he likes you,” added Michelle before she
followed.

As they cleared the front porch, Scott Wilson passed
them without a word. Dallas and Tom arrived on the scene and met Ryan in front
of the house.

“What did we miss?” asked Dallas.

“One of the worst staged suicides I’ve seen in a while,”
said Ryan.

“Did you miss me?” asked Dallas as Michelle caught up.

“You were gone?” replied Michelle.

“Why do you think it was staged?” asked Tom.

“The obvious tells were his finger still on the trigger and
the shotgun still between his legs,” said Michelle. “The recoil would’ve at
least knocked his finger away and probably the gun as well.”

“He was also sitting in an old wooden chair in the
middle of the room,” added Ryan. “The shockwave from the blast would’ve laid
him out on the floor. Of course, the second blood spatter that was poorly
concealing the first helped a little, too. Unless he killed himself twice, I’d
say he had some help.”

“Like I said, these guys aren’t pros,” said Dallas. “And
neither is Scott.”

“Scott?” asked Ryan.

“When we pulled up, he was standing beside your car like
a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar,” continued Tom. “He saw it was us
and quickly headed toward the house. There was a large white envelope sitting
in plain sight with your name on it. We tucked it under your seat.”

“Did anyone else see him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dallas. “All eyes were on us
when we turned the corner. I killed the headlights as soon as I recognized
Scott. I figured he was leaving another note. I don’t think he went to spy
school.”

“No, I don’t believe he did,” said Ryan. “He’s spooked
about something. Okay, let’s head back to the house and open our gift from
Scott.”

As they left the crime scene, Ryan dialed the director’s
number.

“
Is he dead?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like he did it himself after he buried
his last victim.”

“
I wish Derek and Joshua had followed his example,
but they decided to take two more women instead. I just received a call from
the Atlanta Field Office. Two bodies were discovered off a jogging trail at a
state park a few hours ago. Both victims have our guys written all over them.
We discovered two more went missing exactly six weeks ago just outside of the
city. We’re digging deeper to see if any others have gone missing in the past
few months.  It’s our worst nightmare, but it looks like they’re working
together.”

“Any news on the whereabouts of Dr. Anderson?”

“
Nothing concrete, but we’re assuming she’s with
Joshua in Georgia. I’m sending a plane that should be there in a few hours. You
need to hit the ground running.”

“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Ryan, ending the call.

“We need to pack up the house and get ready to move.”

“Where are we headed?” asked Dallas.

“Atlanta.”

“Your home town.”

“Sort of. I went to high school there my junior and
senior year. I left for Virginia the week after I graduated. Our buddy Derek
went to the same school as me, but he was a freshman when I was a senior. He
actually grew up there. It’s a little west of Atlanta. But we do actually know
some of the same people.”

“Yeah, I figured that’s why they grabbed you up pretty quickly
when this thing broke,” said Dallas. “It’s also kind of weird he joined the
Marines and ended up in your old unit. It’s like he was trying to follow in
your footsteps.”

“Lucky me,” said Ryan.

They arrived back at the safe house and immediately
headed for the windowless room. Everyone wanted to get a look at the autopsy
reports from each of Peter Arrington’s victims. The similarities and patterns
were obvious as soon as the files were spread out on the table.

“They’re all blond with blue eyes,” observed Tom.
“Between 120 and 140 pounds. All very attractive young women.”

“And all killed the same way,” continued Michelle.
“Large holes in their necks apparently from bites. Larger holes in the abdomen
with –”

“With organs missing,” finished Ryan.

“He’s eating them?” asked Dallas with a grimace.

“And bleeding them dry,” continued Tom. “Each victim is
also missing about two-thirds of their blood volume. Some of the organs were
returned inside the abdominal cavity with bite marks, but very little missing
tissue; however, they were drained of blood as well.”

“You’re telling me they’re fucking vampires?” asked Dallas,
holding the painful expression.

“No, I’m not telling you they’re vampires, Dallas,”
clarified Tom. “Vampires don’t exist. What I am telling you is that he’s taking
their blood. We just don’t know why.”

“Cannibalism isn’t breaking news,” added Michelle.
“Those types of serial killers are rare, but unlike vampires, they do exist.”

“Many, if not most, serial killers take some type of
trophy from their victims,” said Tom. “Physically holding on to something belonging
to the deceased helps them remember and relive the moment. Some take objects
such as a driver’s license, jewelry or keys. A lesser number actually take
parts ranging from snippets of hair to the entire head. I don’t know of any who
have taken such a large volume of blood, but I’m not willing to rule out
anything at this point.