Desert takedown, p.11
Desert Takedown, page 11
Nathan’s stomach flipped. So much for bluffing. “Perhaps you should show me what you’re doing here. Try to convince me not to take your life.”
Dr. Schumer grinned — meant to let Nathan know that he did not buy into the casual, cocky, defiant attitude Nathan held.
“Do you have both your souls right now?”
“That’s a bit personal.”
“It’s also important. Please, answer truthfully. You won’t like the results if you lie.”
Nathan’s shoulders dropped slightly. He knew what was coming, and he didn’t like it. “I’ve got both souls.”
Dr. Schumer reached into a drawer and pulled out an old Lugar. “You understand, yes?”
“You don’t want me feeling like I can take any chances.”
“So glad you see things clearly.”
Dr. Schumer pointed the weapon at Nathan and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into Nathan’s head, and he only had time to see the ceiling before the Darkness crept in.
While being killed in this situation did not surprise him, Nathan mentally tapped his foot in impatience for the healing process to finish. But before that could happen, his second soul had to seep out of his eyes.
Except it didn’t. As it started to leave, he felt its dark mist clinging to him. Like he had done when killed years before, this soul fought against the idea of going into the Darkness. Normally that posed no problem — Nathan always made sure to use the old, the weak, the stricken, and the dying for his souls. But during the training camp battle, he had little choice. He had taken the soul of a young and strong soldier in training.
He could feel the soldier clawing back in — trying to, at least. Instead, his actions tugged at Nathan’s soul, stretching it out through his eyes.
The panic in the soldier, his sheer terror at the Darkness, made him a dangerous opponent. But Nathan had more experience both as a fighter and as an Immortal. He figured his best chance would be to end the fight as fast as possible. Don’t give this soldier a chance to think or get his bearings.
Rather than pull back into the body, Nathan surged forward slamming his smoky soul straight into the soldier’s mist. They tumbled backward like writhing serpents. It was awkward and odd to maneuver in this form, but Nathan had a little experience with it — twice he had fought for this body. Twice he had won.
Rage and fear shot through the soldier. Like lightning bolts flashing in storm clouds, Nathan saw the mist electrify right before the soldier swept forward.
Nathan dodged the attack and managed to get in a hit as the soldier zipped by. But as Nathan’s body spun around, he saw the hole in the ceiling above — a hole leading beyond the physical realm. The Darkness.
Time became a glacier. He could feel the harsh cold of the Darkness, the lonely nothingness of the Darkness, the empty emptiness of the Darkness — and yet, for the first time, he did not feel fear. He had died so many times since that first death in a New York deli. He had felt so much fear at this horrible bleakness of existence.
It reminded him of the Cardinal.
The Cardinal — a Prime Immortal who had never lost his main soul. That strange man had displayed powers beyond simple immortality. He had suggested in one way or another that Nathan might have more power available, too. On a few occasions, when the Darkness crept in to take his main soul away, Nathan had somehow harnessed that dark energy. Only for a second or two and never with any real sense of control. But he had done it.
In that same moment, while frozen in thought gazing up at the Darkness, Nathan felt the soldier’s mist attacking from behind. The air filled with static anger, crackling with electrified fear, as the soldier blasted forward like a javelin aiming to pierce through Nathan. But Nathan simply shifted his body to the left. He watched the spear-shaped mist fly right by. The momentum could not be stopped fast enough. The soldier only had a moment to reach back towards Nathan. But it was too late.
The Darkness engulfed the soldier’s mist. Then Nathan’s body gratefully reeled Nathan back in.
Nathan heard the quiet plonk of the slug falling out of his head and hitting the floor. He opened his eyes, a bit disoriented, as he tried to compartmentalize all that had just occurred — process it, categorize it, and put it away for later analysis. He could do that. He had to. After all, Dr. Schumer still stood behind his desk holding the Lugar and pursing his lips — the closest he could come to a shocked oh.
With his head slightly spinning, Nathan eased forward and snagged a tissue off Dr. Schumer’s desk. He wiped the blood from his forehead.
“That was remarkable,” Dr. Schumer said. “I have seen plenty lose their soul, but never before have I seen an Immortal fight for his body. To see two souls struggling for control — what a thrilling experience.”
“Glad you enjoyed the show. Because I sure didn’t.” Nathan froze. His mouth dried. “You just said that you saw my soul and my second soul fight. But the only people who can see the mist of a soul are Immortals.”
Returning to his chair, Dr. Schumer said, “Happily guilty.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dr. Schumer offered Nathan a drink, but Nathan declined. He wanted to stay clearheaded. Plus, he had too many thoughts ricocheting around his brain to even deal with a simple request like a drink.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Nathan said. “How is it that I didn’t see this? I mean, it’s been my experience that most Immortals can tell when they’re talking to another Immortal. At least, they all seem to know I’m an Immortal. We have, for lack of a better word, an aura about us. But you don’t read at all.”
“Have you ever met an Immortal as old as I am? I don’t mean in terms of years, but rather, in terms of the physical age of the body.”
Nathan shook his head. “I’ve met a few who were middle-aged. A few who were a little beyond that, too. But I think you have the most elderly body I’ve seen.”
“It’s not by choice, I assure you. But I suspect that as our body ages, our shine — that’s what I call it — dims.”
Nathan gestured to their surroundings and the miniature Nazi flags standing on Dr. Schumer’s desk. “Why this? Why associate yourself with these assholes?”
“I will forgive you that rude and ugly characterization, but only because you do not understand who you are speaking with. You certainly do not understand what you’re involved in. I suppose now would be a good time to exercise one of our few cultural institutions — the trading of our life stories. Since this is my home, and I’m the one with the gun, I think it appropriate that you tell your story first.”
Nathan did his part. He told the full tale of how he had been sitting in a New York deli, gearing up to propose marriage to his girlfriend, when an Immortal entered the establishment and, in the midst of a fight with another individual, ended Nathan’s life. He told his tale of how he had fought to regain control of the body, explained how Larkin’s people trained him in the ways of the Immortal world, and he even shared a few of the adventures he had experienced — not all, but enough to keep with the tradition and not appear ill-mannered.
As he listened to Nathan’s story, Dr. Schumer poured a tumbler of cognac. He swirled the drink and sipped it as if he had great experience and appreciation for the more delicate flavors alcohol could present. At the same time, Nathan had the sense of sitting in a theater watching a performance that did not quite hit the mark. No specific word or moment threw things off, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Dr. Schumer would say to him might not be the complete truth — a dangerous deviation from Immortal norms.
After sipping his cognac once again, Dr. Schumer set the tumbler on his desk with a soft clink. Nathan noticed that the music had changed. Probably happened a while back, but he only heard it now. Mozart — at least, Nathan thought it was Mozart. A more energetic piece. He made another mental note for his Things to Learn list — improve musical knowledge.
“I’ve met quite a few Immortals over the decades,” Dr. Schumer said, “but you are by far the youngest I’ve ever encountered. Not your body, of course. To figure out how long that thing’s been rolling around would take an arduous amount of research. But you — your Nathan K soul — that is so young. I suspect you’ll be able to provide me with a tremendous wealth of data because of your unique perspective. Most of the Immortals I have dealt with were so old they could barely recall the day they became an Immortal — if not for having told the tale numerous times.”
“I’m eager to hear yours,” Nathan said, and he meant it. Whatever else may happen in the coming hours, Nathan had learned the importance of this tradition — even with an enemy.
Dr. Schumer straightened his lab coat as he readjusted in his chair. He cleared his throat. Nathan came close to pointing out that, as an Immortal, he could wait forever until the doctor fulfilled his duty and told his tale. But at length, Dr. Schumer finished his drink and gave a firm nod as if to say he was ready.
“Before gaining my immortality, my name was Karl Wexler. I worked under Dr. Fredrich Schumer, learning medicine and scientific experimentation. I was an eager student, ready to make a name. It was 1939, and the world was opening up for Germany. We had success, we had growing strength, and we had a leader unafraid to upset the apple cart in order to make Germany strong and respected. Germany First was the slogan, and I loved it. Like you, I had a woman in my life — Greta — and we planned to get married once I returned from my latest post. It was a wonderful time. Everything looked to be spreading out before me with such joyful abundance, and I owed it all to the rising strength of the Nazi party.
“I’ve told this tale enough that I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. I did not get assigned to Auschwitz or Dachau or any of the concentration camps. The experiments done on those pathetic subjects had nothing to do with me.
“Dr. Schumer had the clout to request and receive a private facility near the Mauthausen camp. It was built in a warehouse, and the townspeople had no idea what went on inside. Nor did they care. They had already become comfortable with turning a blind eye to the fates of the Jews and the Gypsies and the homosexuals. Ignoring a warehouse was simple.”
Nathan wanted to interrupt. He wanted to stand and point a finger at this old fool and tell him that being Immortal would not absolve him from the horrors he had inflicted on people. But he remained seated. Robin and Altman were out there counting on him. He could not afford to appease his own desires. Not yet.
“I can see on your face,” Dr. Schumer said, “that you do not approve. No matter. Plenty considered us to be cruel madmen. I have no need to justify myself to you. Besides, the nature of our work is not important to this story. Not anymore. That was a long time ago.
“What is important is that one evening there was a fire. A careless cigarette tossed by a careless guard and all our work was destroyed. I’m sure you can figure this part out.”
“I’m guessing the fire caused a few deaths.”
“Dr. Schumer lost his second soul. I watched it happen. One moment, he was screaming in pain as flames burned him to death. The next, he had healed and stood up. I stared at him, lost in shock, as he walked up to me and shot me in the head. With the same Luger I used to kill you.”
“I’m honored.”
“I doubt that. But the honor became mine when I joined Dr. Schumer’s body and learned of my future life as an Immortal. He spoke to me often — most Immortals either can’t speak to their second souls or choose not to — but he loved having a second soul that conversed. He taught me about the ways of the Immortal, and I provided insightful commentary on anything he wanted to discuss.
“His Immortal body was already old. Mostly due to an ugly incident in the 13th century which resulted in being imprisoned for forty-three years. The rest was due to negligence.
“After the Allies invaded Normandy, things turned bad. Dr. Schumer had lived long enough to see where the situation would end. So, before it became near-impossible to get out, he used his personal wealth to escape Europe. We ended up in South America, at first, and then shifted to Australia, and finally Canada.
“In the end, a Nazi hunter caught up with us. When we died, I refused to leave. The Void tried hard to take me.”
“The Void? If we’re talking about the same thing, I call it the Darkness.”
“Every Immortal has a name for what they see. The Void, the Darkness, the Big Empty. Others have a more pleasant experience. For them, they call it Paradise, Nirvana, the Green Fields. The names go on and on. What they really are, these places we see, nobody knows. That is, nobody has returned to tell us.”
Nathan wanted to hurry Dr. Schumer along, but not only would that be rude, it might tip off that he had some mortal concerns at the moment — namely Robin and Altman. Normally, Immortals did not worry about passing long hours telling their stories.
Dr. Schumer coughed hard and spit mucus into a handkerchief. “Where was I? Oh, yes, the Nazi hunter that killed us. The Void opened up, and I decided No. I would not let that be the end. I fought for Dr. Schumer’s body. I fought hard, just as I watched you do, and like you, I survived. When I awoke, that Nazi hunter stared at me in awe. I killed him, but I knew better than to take his soul. He was far too strong and far too impure.
“And that’s how it started. I became an Immortal and embarked upon my new life’s work. Which will probably last more than a lifetime.”
The depth of an Immortal’s shared story told a lot about how much respect that Immortal wished to give. Dr. Schumer’s thin tale showed only the barest respect. He told his tale because he was expected to. Nothing more.
As if to drive the point hard, Dr. Schumer stood and gestured to the door. “Now that we have gotten the pleasantries out of the way, allow me to present you with what is really important. My work.”
Nathan’s skin prickled, but he could not tell if it came from the heavy air-conditioning or from the way Dr. Schumer said those last words.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dr. Schumer led the way through the winding halls until they reached a large operating theater like a movie set of a morgue — far too big and well-outfitted to be the real thing. Though there were several armed men standing at attention in the halls, once they reached the big room, they were the only people. Well, there were also two corpses laid out on two tables.
Both bodies were male and young. They could have been bright, joyous men with wonderful futures awaiting them. Instead, they followed a path of hate that led them here. A strange odor rose off the bodies like mint and formaldehyde.
Wrinkling his nose, Nathan backed away. Dr. Schumer stood by Nathan’s side and gazed upon the corpses as a proud father watching his children walk for the first time. But Nathan did not see the cause for such delight.
“Ever since I gained control over this Immortal body,” Dr. Schumer said, “I have sought to understand what we are and how we came to be.”
“Are you telling me that these were once Immortals? That you’ve gone around dissecting Immortals trying to figure out how we tick?”
“Don’t be absurd. We are far too precious and too few. I would never waste one of us in such a way. Of course, should I be present when another Immortal lost two souls, then I would not hesitate to take advantage of such a rare opportunity. It would be a gift. But you do not have to fear. I would not encourage your death for that purpose. No, these two young men came from the training camp, as all of my subjects do.”
Nathan thought back through the layout of the main building, the positioning of the guards, and the way they dribbled away to nothing by the time he and Dr. Schumer had arrived in this particular room. “None of them know, do they? Obviously nobody at the training camp would’ve known, but even here in the compound — none of these people know what you’re doing.”
“A few have ideas. But they don’t understand what we are. And we have certain responsibilities within our community to keep it that way. You don’t go around letting everybody know you are an Immortal, do you? Of course not. Whether you were taught to stay quiet or not, you instinctively know that it is wrong for you to expose us.”
“One of the rules,” Nathan muttered to himself.
Dr. Schumer continued, “But a few of the smarter men here, and a few of those who have more access than others, have drawn their own conclusions. I suspect they believe I am trying to build some kind of superior soldier. Perhaps even an immortal one.”
Nathan pulled back the sheet covering the chest of one corpse. The Y-shaped autopsy incision carved up the young man’s torso. But also, Nathan noticed other marks — crescent-shaped ones not commonly associated with autopsies. “These suspicions of your men — are they right? Are you trying to create immortal soldiers?”
“At this stage, I only wish to understand how we are and what we are. We don’t have mothers or fathers that we know of. We have no knowledge of how we were created or how we make more. What kind of species are we that we can’t procreate? The males and females are all sterile. Yet here we are.”
“I always thought these immortal bodies were some kind of genetic mutation.”
“A one-in-a-billion mutation that just randomly happened over and over and over again? That defies any sense of logic.”
“Then what? You’ve been at this for sixty, maybe seventy years. What have you come up with?”
“Not as much as I would have liked. Of course, I am working alone, in secret, with no other scientists to bounce ideas off of, no other resources than those I can scrounge on my own, limited funds, limited equipment — frankly, it is amazingly impressive how far I have come.” He gestured to the two corpses again. “These two — subjects 4211 and 4215 — are my greatest successes yet.”
“These are successes?”
“I was able to harvest genetic material from myself and implant it into their bodies. They lasted one hour and an hour forty-five respectively. Until now, the results have always been instant death. I would give the subject the genetic material, kill them, and they would not come back. But these two — they were able to hold on longer.”
