Kill Whitey (16 page)

I shuddered, grinding my teeth together and re-opening the wound in my mouth. The taste of blood made my stomach sick.

“Ah,” Whitey sighed. “There is nothing quite like it in the world. To sink your teeth into soft flesh, to ingest what you need, feel it working inside of you, the power it brings coursing through your veins. It is too bad you are not one of us, Mr. Gibson. You have fought well today. Your valor is to be commended.”

“One of you?” I no longer saw the point in staying quiet. “You mean one of the Kwan?”

“The Kwan?” Whitey sounded surprised.

“Yeah, that’s right, fucker. Sondra told me all about it. She said you were one of them. That you guys secretly control the world.”

Since he was standing directly in front of the soda machine, I couldn’t see Whitey. I only had a glimpse of his arm. But judging by how it was shaking, I guessed that he was silently laughing at me.

“You think I am one of the Kwan? Oh, Mr. Gibson, you are entertaining, at the very least. If I didn’t know better, I would take your misconception as an insult. Earlier, I said you were smart. I was wrong. You know nothing. The Kwan are a bunch of feeble old men, playing at magic and clinging to fairy tales. Pretenders. They wield no power. No real power, anyway.”

He tapped the gun against the machine.

“This is where real power stems from, Mr. Gibson—the barrel of a gun. In that way, perhaps I am indeed like the Kwan. They spread hate and discontent, because they tend to learn more during times of upheaval and chaos, as this is when mankind is at its most creative. The Kwan want to bring about the end of time, just so they can see what happens next.”

“And that’s you?”

“Mankind desires peace and order, but real power comes only from revolution. Violence and fear are its tools. I am filled with both. I deal both, and thus, I wield power against which no man can stand. So yes, in that way, I am like the Kwan. But they have no hold over my kind.”

“You all sound like a bunch of nuts to me,” I taunted. “Call it the Kwan or the mob or whatever the fuck you want—it’s all shit.”

“I told you, Mr. Gibson, I am not a member of the Kwan. I spit on them. They are just babes. I belong to a much older line.”

“Rasputin ain’t that old, Whitey. He’s not exactly ancient history.”

“My ancestor was but one link in a very long chain. We are very, very old. My kind have always been here, and we always will be. We live for a long time.”

“And all you gotta do is eat a baby once in a while, you sick fuck.”

“And why not, if that is what it takes? This planet belongs to us, not to you homo-sapiens. We are homo-superior.”

“That’s funny. I figured you for a homo just like the rest of us.”

“A little joke from a little man. Are those really your final words, Mr. Gibson?”

I placed my palms against the back of the soda machine. “No, my last words would be, ‘go Steelers’.”

Sondra stared at me in confusion. I winked at her and then nodded at the machine, silently urging her to do the same as me. Hesitant, she shifted position and put her hands on it.

‘Get ready,’
I silently mouthed.

She nodded in understanding.

“So be it.” Whitey pointed the gun at the soda machine again. “I’ll kill you both, root through my offspring and partake, and then—refreshed—I’ll deal with the rest of the policemen. After that, I think I should get away for a while. It occurs to me that a vacation is in order. Perhaps I shall return to my homeland. Sondra, I’ll be sure to deliver your regards to your family.”

“Leave my family alone.”

“Now,” I shouted, pressing against the back of the machine. “Do it!”

Sondra pushed with all she had. The muscles stood out in her neck and arms, pulling taut like cables. My shoulders, back and neck erupted in agony, but I didn’t care. The machine wobbled. The gun went off. Sondra shrieked. I shoved harder. Whitey fired a second shot.

“Push, Sondra!”

With a loud groan, the soda machine toppled over onto Whitey, crushing him to the floor. His bones snapped with an audible crunch, like twigs underfoot in the forest.

The whole thing felt like it took forever, but in reality, it happened in about five seconds time. I kept expecting Whitey to squeeze the trigger again—to unload his weapon on us. But he didn’t. Maybe we’d surprised him.

Sondra ran around the machine. I stepped on top of it and jumped up and down.

“Like that, you fucker?”

Whitey let out a muffled groan. His arms and legs stuck out from beneath the machine. The pistol was still clutched in his hand. Before he could squeeze the trigger, I jumped to the floor, careful to avoid slipping in the pool of his blood that was spreading out from beneath the wreckage. Sondra and I ran to the break room door. I noticed red streaks on the floor where she stepped.

“Are you hit?”

“No, I not think so.”

“Your foot is bleeding.”

“I step on something sharp and cut it. Is okay. Is not bad.”

“Come on,” I grabbed her hand. “That soda machine won’t hold him for long.”

“Da. It won’t.”

We ran into the darkness.

twenty

We fled down the hallway and back into the deserted machine shop. The room was full of smoke, but I still didn’t see any flames. Most of the building seemed to be made of concrete, so it was possible that it wouldn’t catch on fire. Maybe Whitey had been telling the truth when he said it was just the vehicles that were aflame. The smoke rushed towards us as we entered the room, clinging to our bodies and crawling up our noses and down our parched throats. We dropped to our knees, coughing and gagging. My eyes watered and it was hard to see.

“Is no good,” Sondra choked. “We will not breathe if we are to stay here.”

“You’re right. Let’s see if we can get out the way we came in.”

Sondra shook her head. “Is police there.”

“Not anymore. Whitey killed them all.”

“But more will come?”

“Yeah, I’m sure there are more cops on the way, along with firemen and Quick Response units and who knows what else, but if the fire is keeping them away, we might be able to squeeze past unnoticed.”

“I do not think it will work.”

“Well, if you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

When she didn’t respond, I crawled towards the first room. After a moment’s hesitation, Sondra followed me. I turned back to her and smiled in encouragement. Both of us were coughing, and snot ran down our faces. We weren’t a pretty sight, but Sondra was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, even in her current condition.

The first room was filled with a cloud of thick, black smoke, hovering just inches from the floor—an almost solid wall that obscured everything else. The sirens were louder here, and even though we couldn’t see, we knew there were a lot of cops and other personnel right outside the building. We heard them shouting to each other.

“So much for that,” I said. “They’ve probably got the fucking place surrounded. Now what?”

“Larry,” Sondra wheezed, “I am feeling sick. My throat…it burns.”

“Smoke inhalation. We need to get lower. Let’s try the basement.”

As we crawled towards the back room again, I noticed that Sondra’s foot had stopped bleeding. The bottom of her sock was red. I started to comment on it when behind us, we heard a series of muffled thumps, followed by a hissing sound. As I looked back, something soared through the smoke and landed on the floor in the main room. It was about the size of a baseball. As it rolled towards us, I saw that it was a grenade.

“Shit! Get down.”

Sondra flattened against the cement and I climbed overtop of her, shielding her body with mine. I squeezed my watering eyes shut and tensed, waiting for the explosion. Waited for the shrapnel. This was it. We were going to die.

But nothing happened.

The hissing grew louder. I opened my eyes. A cloudy substance was leaking out of the grenade, mixing with the smoke. I pulled my bloody shirt up over my mouth and nose, and motioned at Sondra to do the same.

“Gas,” I hissed. “Those motherfuckers gassed us. Head for the stairs and hold your breath as long as you can. Hurry!”

Holding our breath, we made it to the basement stairs. I glanced down the hallway, worried that Whitey might have already freed himself, but the smoke was too heavy and I couldn’t see the break room. My burning lungs felt like they were going to burst. We plunged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and came out into a basement. The air was clearer, and we stood up, gasping for breath.

“Is dark,” Sondra said. “I can’t see.”

“Our eyes will adjust eventually. I’m betting that the cops are getting ready to storm the building. Keep going, while we still can.”

“You go first, yes?”

“Sure. Take my hand.”

“Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

We started forward. I went slowly, only able to see a few feet ahead of me. The basement level consisted of a long hallway with multiple doors on either side. The floor was covered with dust. Each door had its designation stenciled on it. We passed by the boiler room, the generator, the electrical room—Shock Hazard, the sign warned us—the pump room, a janitor’s closet, an HVAC room, and several storage areas. At the end of the hallway was a freight elevator. I hadn’t seen the elevator on the floor above us, and figured it must have been hidden behind debris.

“Dead end,” I said, feeling the walls in the darkness. “Can’t go this way.”

The air was still relatively clear, but my eyes were beginning to sting. It was simply a matter of time before the smoke made its way downstairs, bringing the tear gas with it. We reluctantly started back the way we’d come.

“I don’t know what to do,” I apologized. “I’m sorry.”

Sondra started to speak, but Whitey’s sudden and enraged cry cut her off.

“
SONDAAAAAAA
!!!”

“Oh shit,” I said. “Guess who’s back?”

“Is no guess. Is Whitey.”

There was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, followed by a crash that reverberated through the ceiling. Dust fell from the light fixtures, irritating my burned scalp.

“Noh more gamesh,” Whitey shouted. His voice sounded weird. “Noh more tahk. Onlee tym fo killingh nohw, Mishar Gibshon.”

I tried the doors for the boiler room and the electrical room, but they were both locked. Next, I tested the door to the pump room, sighing with relief when I found that it was unlocked. Hurrying, we slipped inside and shut the door behind us. Sondra gasped. With the door closed, it was pitch black in the pump room. I waved my hand in front of my face but couldn’t see it. I felt a sudden surge of hope. Whitey wouldn’t be able to see us either. My excitement fizzled when I remembered that he could apparently track us anyway via some extrasensory connection with the baby. There was nowhere we could hide, not even in total darkness.

Above us, I heard Whitey’s muffled footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Listen,” Sondra whispered.

“I hear him. I’m sorry, Sondra. Get behind me. When he comes in, I’ll bum rush the son of a bitch while you get away.”

“Nyet. Not Whitey. I hear water.”

I tuned out the approaching footsteps and listened, but didn’t hear anything. My hearing was still wavering in and out, but I’d thought it had been improving.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Da. Am positive is water. It sounds like it is beneath us.”

“My hearing must be more fucked up than I thought. Can you find the source?”

I felt her kneel beside me in the darkness and heard her palms slapping at the concrete floor as she explored. Her perfume lingered, faint but reassuringly present. She moved away from me, and even though I could still hear her, I suddenly felt very alone.

“Here,” Sondra cried. “I find a…how you say? Grape?”

“A grape is a fruit. You mean a grate?”

“Da. Grate. Is water beneath.”

“Let me see.”

I dropped to the floor and felt my way over to her. Groping in the darkness, my hands found her shoulders. I followed Sondra’s arms downward, brushing against her breasts, until I felt the grating. It was made out of metal and cold to the touch—probably made of iron or steel, and molded in a checkered mesh pattern. There was definitely water rushing below it—fast, judging by the sound. I slipped my fingers between the squares and pulled. Squeaking, the grate moved a few inches.

“It’s loose,” I whispered. “If the pipe down there is big enough for us to crawl through, we may have a chance.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the sewer. Must run beneath the entire industrial park. I’m hoping the pipes are big ones. They should be, given the amount of stuff that probably flowed through here when these companies were still open.”

“Sewer? Where the poop goes?”

Even though I couldn’t see her face, the disgust in Sondra’s voice was unmistakable.

“Not poop,” I whispered. “At least, not anymore. This whole complex is deserted, just like the two buildings we’ve been in. Nobody flushes their toilets anymore.”

“Then what is the water?”

“I don’t know. Probably run-off from the fire trucks outside. All that water from their hoses probably went down into the drains. If it can get out, then so can we. Now help me lift this damn thing.”

She grabbed hold of the grating and together we lifted it out of the way. The water got louder. So did Whitey’s footsteps. I felt the edges of the hole. It was big enough for us to slide through. Then I spit into the darkness and heard it splash into the stream.

“Not too far of a drop. Ladies first.”

“Larry, I am afraid. You will go first, yes?”

“Elloh,” Whitey called. “Eye ahm comyngh fo eww, lihttul meyz.”

This time I was sure of it. Whitey’s voice had definitely changed. His words were slurred, almost unintelligible. Even so, he still sounded sinister and his intent was clear.

A thunderous crash from upstairs echoed throughout the building. Seconds later, booted feet charged across the floor. The ceiling vibrated. Shouts followed.

“Cops are inside,” I said. “We’ve got to go
now
.”

I scooted over to the hole and dangled my legs through the opening. Then I turned around and slowly lowered myself down into the sewer. It was shallow enough that my feet touched the bottom while my head and shoulders were still at floor level. I gasped as the cold water rushed into my shoes. The sudden shock cleared my head.

“It’s not deep,” I said. “Come on.”

I moved out of the way and Sondra followed me into the hole. There was a small amount of light in the tunnel—not enough to really see by but enough to let my eyes adjust. I couldn’t find the source. As my vision adjusted, I made out Sondra’s form—a beautiful, slender shadow. When she turned my way, I saw flashes of white from her eyes. Trying to be quiet but quick, I pulled the grating back into place. It wouldn’t stop Whitey, but maybe it would prevent the police from figuring out where we’d gone.

In the darkness, Sondra’s hand found mine. Our fingers intertwined.

“Can you see?” I asked.

“Nyet. Not so much.”

“Then just hold onto my hand and don’t let go.”

The air quality was better in the sewer pipe. The smoke and tear gas hadn’t reached this far and we could breathe freely again. It was stale and humid, and there was a faint hint of rotten eggs, leftover from when the system had been active, but it was a lot fucking better than the atmosphere above us. The corrugated tunnel was broad and round. I could sense the walls, but I couldn’t see them. I let go of Sondra’s hand for a moment and stretched my arms out, but my fingertips barely touched the sides. It wasn’t very high, though, and we had to stoop over as we walked. My head kept brushing up against the ceiling, bringing fresh pain to my blistered scalp. The water was only ankle deep, but it was cold. My feet and toes quickly grew numb. At least I wasn’t barefoot. It would have been much worse had I not been wearing the shoes Yul had given me. I wondered how the icy temperature was affecting Sondra.

I took her hand again. “You okay?”

“Is very cold,” she gasped. “And bottom is slimy. But I will be okay.”

I thought about the cut on her foot. What if it got infected. Who knew what kind of bacteria were down here? I decided not to mention it. We had enough things to worry about.

“Let’s try to keep quiet,” I whispered. “No more talking until we get further ahead.”

The light vanished again, plunging us back into total darkness. We slogged forward, trying to move as silently as possible, taking slow, measured steps so the water wouldn’t splash around our feet. I gripped Sondra’s hand, making sure she stayed close. It sounded like she was limping slightly, one foot dragging through the water. I wondered if she was having flashbacks to the ship again—of being locked inside that pitch black cargo container.

And then I wondered if that had all been a lie, too, and I hated myself for it.

The tunnel ran in a straight line, heading deeper and deeper beneath the abandoned industrial park. The silence and darkness were overwhelming. The quiet was broken only by the running water, my sloshing shoes, and Sondra’s chattering teeth. Otherwise, it was still. Even Whitey seemed to have disappeared, as if the darkness had swallowed him, too. I felt like shouting just to prove that we still existed, that we were still alive, despite the mobster’s best efforts. I longed for some light—a match, a cigarette lighter, even the dim blue glow of a cell phone. Whatever. Just a spark. Anything would be better than this solid wall of black. Moments later, I banged my forehead on an overhanging pipe. Cursing, I wondered how far we could go without being able to see. What if there was a sharp drop-off or we tripped and broke our legs? What if we came to an intersection or a dead end? What then?

I’d never been claustrophobic, but I was at that moment. I felt the weight of the industrial complex crushing down on us. It was suddenly hard to breathe. My chest tightened and my throat constricted. The darkness pressed against me. Something tickled my ankle below the surface and I squeezed Sondra’s hand hard enough to make her cry out.