They kill, p.21
They Kill, page 21
She detoured toward a section of the floor where easels were set up. Some of them had paintings on them – simple works depicting houses, trees, and animals – but most were empty. There was a can of paint thinner on a nearby table, and she grabbed it. She quickly unscrewed the cap and discarded it. She then went to another work area, this one set up for small welding projects. Scraps of metal lay on a table, along with soldering wire, and what Sierra had come for: a handheld blowtorch. She picked it up, thumbed off the safety switch, and turned the flame setting as high as it would go. The torch had automatic ignition, so she wouldn’t need to activate the flame until she was ready to use it. She then started for the front of the building once more.
By this point, the conflict between Mandy and the others had degenerated into an argument about who had the better claim to Sierra. Jeffrey hadn’t joined in, though. He was still preoccupied with removing Chucks from his face. He’d cleared the ones from his eyes, but the sockets were filled with the thick goo he had in place of blood, and Sierra had no idea if either eye remained functional.
As she walked past Karolyn’s body – careful to avoid stepping in her blood – she had to force herself not to look at it.
I’m sorry, she thought. And then she thrust her sorrow aside, leaving only a cold hatred for Mandy and a determination to make her pay for what she’d done. Sierra activated the torch as she drew near Mandy and visualized splashing paint thinner on her face and chest, then touching the torch flame to her and quickly stepping back as the woman became a big-titted bonfire.
But as Sierra approached, Grace smashed the mostly empty liquor bottle she’d been holding into the side of Mandy’s head. The bottle broke and glass shards cut into Mandy’s cheek, causing it to bleed heavily. Mandy growled, sounding more animal than human, and shoved Grace. The older woman stumbled backward just as Sierra came within striking distance of Mandy, and she collided with Sierra. Paint thinner sloshed onto Grace – not a lot, but some – and the torch’s flame touched her. There was a loud whumpf as fire erupted on Grace, and Sierra jumped back, startled. She dropped both the paint thinner and the blowtorch, and they hit the floor. Without Sierra’s finger depressing the ignition switch, the torch’s flame cut off, and the paint thinner that spilled onto the floor from the fallen can didn’t ignite. Sierra barely noticed. She was too transfixed by what was happening to Grace. Even though only a small portion of paint thinner had gotten on her, the fire spread rapidly across her body, and the woman shrieked in agony and flailed about, arms flapping wildly in a vain attempt to extinguish the flames that now engulfed her from head to toe.
At first Sierra didn’t understand how so little paint thinner could cause such an intense blaze, but then she remembered what Grace’s transformation had done to her. Her skin was dry as desert sand, and it had taken only a small spark to set her moisture-free body aflame. Sierra set aside her desire to get revenge on Mandy for Karolyn’s death and decided to focus on keeping her own ass alive. She turned and ran toward Marc, who had already started running for ArtWorks’ back entrance. Smart boy, she thought.
She heard a belching sound, and a gout of fire shot past her on the left side. It was quickly followed by a second belch and another blast of flame, this one shooting over her head. Grace was vomiting that nasty brown liquid of hers, but like the rest of her, it had ignited and was coming out as jets of flame. In her peripheral vision, Sierra saw that the two flame streams that had missed her had already started a pair of fires – one in the painting area with the easels, and another on a wall where student self-portraits were displayed.
She’s going to burn the whole fucking place down, Sierra thought.
When Grace wasn’t vomiting, she screamed. For the most part her screams were incoherent, but at one point it sounded as if she shrieked words. Sierra wasn’t certain, but they sounded like I want my goddamned purse!
And then Sierra was in the back hallway and running toward the rear door. Mark had already gotten out, and the door hung open, as if waiting for her to go through. She didn’t keep it waiting long.
* * *
Jeffrey’s vision hadn’t been entirely destroyed. He could still see out of his right eye, a little, although the images were hazy and blurry. He first became aware that Grace was on fire when he saw a bright orange glow ahead of him. If his sense of smell had still functioned, he would’ve detected the stench of her burlap-like skin burning, and if his body could still register temperature, he would’ve been aware of the heat. So his first real clue that Grace was burning came from Stuart, who said, “Holy shit! The bitch is on fire!” then screamed in pain.
Jeffrey heard frantic movement then and sensed people passing him. He heard the front door knocked open so hard it tore half off its hinges, and he heard one of the front windows explode, as if something large and heavy had struck the glass. Grace’s screams cut into his ears, and the orange glow in his vision began to move rapidly back and forth. Soon other orange glows blossomed, and he realized that Grace was running around, mindlessly spreading her flames in fear and agony. He guessed the sounds he’d heard a moment ago had been the others fleeing ArtWorks to avoid being devoured by flame, and he supposed he should do the same if he didn’t want to become part of Grace’s conflagration. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure where the door was. He thought it was behind him, so he turned around, but all he saw was a brownish-black smudge. Was it a wall, or maybe smoke? He couldn’t smell, and he didn’t need to breathe, only inhale in order to speak, so if the building was filling up with smoke – which seemed likely – he couldn’t detect it.
Since no other course of action presented itself, he started walking forward, hands – well, hand and stump – held out before him. As he searched for the door, he wondered if it might not be better to stay here and let the fire have him. He was supposed to be dead, he knew that now, and since the man in the black suit had brought him back, he’d killed people. He’d tried to kill Sierra and Marc, the people he loved more than anything in the world. He never should’ve been returned to life. It was a mistake, one he could rectify now, and by doing so he’d protect Sierra and Marc – not to mention everyone else in town – from him.
He stopped walking forward, dropped his arms to his side, then sat down cross-legged on the floor to wait.
Grace’s screams cut out after that, and he knew she was gone, one less monster for the world to worry about. He hoped Sierra and Marc had made it out okay. He thought it likely they had. His sister was smart as hell, and she possessed an emotionally restrained calculating side to her that was useful in emergencies. One summer when he was thirteen and their parents were at work, he’d wiped out on his bike and cracked his head on the street in front of their house. Sierra had been playing with her Barbies in the yard, and when she saw him go down she calmly rose, went into the house, called 911, and then came back out to sit with him while she waited for help to arrive. She’d grabbed a clean washcloth on her way out and pressed it to his head to staunch the flow of blood. She’d felt nothing the entire time, she’d told him later. I just did what needed to be done.
Even in a situation as bizarre as this, he felt confident that Sierra would keep her head about her. Marc, however, wasn’t so good at dealing with his emotions in a crisis, but Jeffrey knew Sierra would take care of him. They were safe, and once he was gone, they would stay that way. He wished he could say goodbye to them. He hated the thought that their last memory of him would be of a living corpse fighting other monsters in Sierra’s workplace, but it couldn’t be helped. He closed his eyes – not that it changed his vision much – and waited for death to claim him. Again.
“This is all very noble of you, but I’m afraid I still have need of your services.”
It was the man in the black suit.
Jeffrey felt a hand take hold of his wrist – the one that still had a hand attached to it – and pull. He felt himself yanked onto a hard surface, and then the crackling roar of fire cut off. Someone, presumably the man in the black suit, helped him stand. He understood what must have happened. The man had opened a rift that opened onto ArtWorks, he’d pulled Jeffrey to safety, then sealed the rift once he was through.
“You’re somewhat the worse for wear, aren’t you?” the man in the black suit said. “If we had your hand, I could try to reattach it, but since you don’t seem to have it on you, I assume it’s been lost in the fire. I’m not sure I can do anything about your eyes, though. They’ve devilishly complex structures. Still, no harm in trying.”
Jeffrey felt the man’s fingers lightly touch his eyes. This was followed by a not unpleasant tingling sensation. After a moment, the man lowered his hands, and the tingling faded.
“How’s that?” he asked.
Jeffrey turned to look across the street. His vision was still blurry but better than before, and he could see out of both eyes now.
“Improved,” he said. “Not perfect, though.”
He could see flames inside the building through the windows and open door, saw black smoke billowing through the openings as well. ArtWorks was lost.
“Good enough to help you get around?” the man in the black suit asked.
Jeffrey shrugged. “I suppose. You should’ve let me burn, though.”
He turned and with a swift motion fastened his remaining hand around the man’s throat. He concentrated the full force of his deathtouch on him, pictured his flesh turning black and shriveling as the life fled from his body. But after several seconds passed without anything happening, Jeffrey released his grip on the man’s throat. When he took his hand away, he saw the skin on the man’s neck remained smooth and healthy.
The man grinned.
“Did you honestly think I’d grant you a power that could harm me?’
“Figured it was worth a shot.”
“I would’ve been disappointed if you hadn’t made the attempt.”
The sound of sirens filled the air.
“I believe the local fire department has been summoned,” the man said. “They’re going to have a difficult time battling this blaze. Its flames aren’t exactly natural in origin.”
Jeffrey couldn’t see well enough to make out the man’s features, but when he next spoke, his tone made Jeffrey think he was frowning.
“I didn’t expect Grace to die this soon. Your sister is more resourceful than I gave her credit for. Still, I’m pleased with the way things are progressing. Quite pleased.”
“Whoop-de-fucking-doo,” Jeffrey said.
“I liked you better when your brains were scrambled. Hopefully, this period of lucidity will be as temporary as the others. Let us depart now. As much as I’d enjoy watching firefighters struggle to douse Grace’s flames, we still have work to do.”
“What work?” Jeffrey asked.
The sirens were louder now, and he knew the emergency vehicles would be here within moments.
“Phase One is complete,” the man said. “Now it’s time to begin Phase Two.”
He locked his arm around Jeffrey’s and began to lead him down the sidewalk. Jeffrey, seeing no other option, allowed himself to be led. He hoped the man was wrong about his mind and that his thoughts would remain clear. If so, he’d bide his time and wait for a chance to kill this black-suited motherfucker. He wasn’t sure such a thing was possible, but if it was, he’d find a way to take the bastard out.
The man in the black suit whistled happily as they walked, and Jeffrey amused himself by imagining killing the man in ways that were extremely painful and messy.
Chapter Twelve
Marc was waiting for Sierra in the back alley when she came out of the building.
“Thank god,” he said.
“Thank butane,” she countered.
Marc frowned, not understanding.
Sierra would explain later. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
They hurried down the alley until they came to a cross alley. They took it, and eventually came out onto the street near where they’d parked. They were closer to Sierra’s Ladybug than Marc’s Civic, so they decided to take the Beetle. They climbed in as the sound of sirens filled the air. Sierra didn’t think there was any way for firefighters or police to connect her and Marc to the blaze in ArtWorks, but she didn’t want to stick around and end up being questioned by the cops. Plus, she had no way of knowing if Mandy, Randall, or Stuart had escaped the fire. It would be a relief if they all burned to death with Grace, but Sierra didn’t think she’d be that lucky.
Then she remembered.
“Jeffrey.”
Marc looked at her. “Is he…?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Marc didn’t say anything more, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was, that it might be better if Jeffrey didn’t make it out of ArtWorks.
She started Ladybug’s engine and pulled away from the curb. As she drove away from the Historic District, a fire engine roared past them, siren wailing and lights flashing. It was soon followed by a paramedic vehicle and a pair of police cars. Considering all the mayhem that had taken place in Bishop Hill since sunrise, she thought the town’s first responders had gotten themselves a real workout today.
She thought of Grace screaming as flames devoured what little flesh had remained on her bones. The woman had been troubled and too often was a pain in the ass, but she’d been a sympathetic ear when Sierra had badly needed one, and she regretted that Grace had gotten mixed up in all this, whatever this was.
“Where to now?” Marc asked. “I vote for the nearest bar. I could use a drink or twelve.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I have another destination in mind.”
She’d left her phone on the break room table when she’d heard Karolyn first scream, and she hadn’t thought to retrieve it on her way out of the building. She’d been rather preoccupied with not burning to death at the time. She hadn’t been able to get hold of her parents before all hell had broken loose in ArtWorks, and she needed to know if they were all right.
“I want to check on my mom and dad, make sure they’re okay.”
She thought Marc might object. Her parents didn’t resent him as much as she did. Had. But he wasn’t exactly their favorite person either. But he only nodded, laid his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes.
Sierra gripped the steering wheel tight, and tried not to think about black blood gushing from between Karolyn’s legs as she drove.
* * *
Stuart had been standing close to Grace when she first burst into flame, and when she’d begun belching fire, he caught one of the streams on the left side of his head. Krista had attempted to augment him with a fire-suppressant attachment, but the flames were on the side of his head where the Bluetooth device had merged with his ear. The flames, which burned hotter and faster than ordinary fire, melted the dish jutting from his flesh and seared the skin around it. As badly as that had hurt – and it had hurt like a bitch – the pain was nothing compared to what he felt when the fire continued burning into his skull and began to melt the Bluetooth receiver. Krista screamed in his head, a high-pitched electronic shriek, and then she began shouting error messages and giving a rapid rundown of the system damage she’d sustained before falling silent.
Grace had been running around, spewing streams of flame everywhere, and as ArtWorks began to burn, Stuart bailed. He shoved his way through the front door, left hand pressed to his head in a useless effort to stop the pain. He felt drained of energy, barely able to walk. He headed slowly for his Camaro, intending to get inside, get the hell out of there, and find a place to hole up for a while where he could see what, if anything, he could do to repair Krista. He needed her. As much as he hated to admit it, she was the source of his power, and without her he’d never beat the other freaks that wanted to get their hands on Sierra. He didn’t know what the fuck that was about, or where they’d come by their powers, and he didn’t care. He only cared about himself. If he’d been a more self-reflective person, he might’ve realized this last thought encapsulated everything that was wrong with him. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.
As he moved down the sidewalk, half walking, half shuffling, he heard the sound of glass shattering. He looked back and saw Mandy leap out of the window and land on the sidewalk in a crouch, as if she were a big cat of some kind, a tiger or panther or some shit like that. She was singed around the edges – the tips of her hair smoldered and her blouse and skirt were scorched in several places – but she appeared unhurt for the most part. She raised her head, sniffed the air, then she stood and started running in the opposite direction from him. When she reached a side alley, she turned and disappeared from view.
A few seconds later, Randall Kovach walked out of the front door. He looked different now. His head had shrunk somewhat, and he had a suggestion of ears and a nose. His mouth and eyes looked more normal, and his skin was a lighter shade of yellow. His head injury – which before had been a bloodless divot – was now bleeding freely. He looked up and down the sidewalk, and when he saw Stuart looking back at him, he headed the other way. He continued past the alley entrance where Mandy had turned and kept going.
Stuart wanted to go after the fucker and pay him back for stabbing him between the shoulder blades. Krista had done her best to repair the damage, but the area still hurt. But the burns he’d suffered hurt worse, and he figured fuck Randall. He’d settle up with the asshole later.
He continued toward his Camaro, but before he could reach it, a woman ran out from a coffee shop called CaffeNation and almost ran into him. He realized that sirens were blaring, and he figured their noise had drawn the woman outside to see what was happening. She was African-American, with scarlet-dyed hair, wearing a white dress with horizontal pink stripes. She took one look at Stuart, and her eyes widened in surprise.
