Stormbreak (The Serenity Strain Book 1) Page 11

  Curious that, she thought. But then, human or canine, an animal is an animal.

  She spiraled her cloud arms north along the great Appian Ways that now sat flooded and clogged with human invention. The metal and plastic boxes seemed to her as tombstones, overturned and haphazard, the perfect props for the play of idiots that was human existence. Man had relied on these machines to save him, to carry him to safety. And he had, in the end, merely drowned in tombs of his own making.

  Such is the hubris of man, she thought. But I am here now. I will teach him humility.

  A bazaar of shops, or so they seemed, their storefronts bright and varied once, now broken and ruined. Humans were taking things, stealing them, even in the throes of her storm winds.

  How deliciously covetous, she thought. These humans I will let live. These humans will be my subjects. My acolytes.

  But seeing them submerged in their own avarice only whetted her appetite. She sensed even more kindred spirits still, far ahead of her. I must gather these children to me, she thought.

  They will draw succor from me. I will be their mother.

  They will learn from me. I will be their teacher.

  They will worship me. I will be their god.

  * * *

  “I want to find Jasper,” said Megan. She stood in the doorway to the living room, her hair disheveled, a blanket from the bed wrapped loosely around her.

  Lauryn had dragged Mouth across the apartment and into the small, second bedroom Mark used for storage. She’d closed the door to test the theory of out-of-sight, out-of-mind.

  After the hurricanes, when the cops came, if they could prove he’d been inside the apartment when the attack occurred, there’d likely be no prosecution. Between the bashed-in door and the blood-soaked carpet, she didn’t think that would be much of a problem. Inside, she laughed at the absurdity of worrying about that after all that had happened in the last few days.

  Their sight returned remarkably fast in the fifteen minutes following the break-in. In fact, their vision was almost back to normal, though Megan still complained of a lingering, orange haze across everything. It reminded Lauryn of the aura before a migraine. She and Mark had it for a while too, but theirs passed. It’d been like seeing everything through transparent eyelids sheathed in a sparkling orange veil.

  Lauryn kept glancing outside for Cackler or other would-be invaders, and part of her wished her eyesight hadn’t returned. Most of the complex was destroyed, just stacks of splintered wood and ruined plaster now, drying under the rising sun. And, here and there, body parts sticking up from beneath the rubble. Maybe reaching for God in death.

  There was no sign of Cackler.

  Lauryn wondered if Jasper had suffered the same affliction. Maybe he’d taken shelter somewhere against the storm. The dog had always been prone to running off, even digging out of the backyard of their old house when he got bored. Cooped up in the apartment for nearly two days, he must’ve been looking for a chance to escape. She hoped for Megan’s sake he was all right. She hoped it for her sake too.

  Mark was blocking up the door as best he could. It still more or less fit in its facing, though the hinges were ripped from their holdings. He moved the couch against it and sat the chair on top of that.

  Since her parents seemed to be ignoring her, Megan said again, more insistently, “I want to go find Jasper.”

  Mark stopped what he was doing. “If that damned dog had been here—”

  “Mark.” They didn’t need Megan agitated again. But she shared Mark’s frustration. If Jasper had been here to bark, maybe Mouth and his minion would’ve just moved on. As it was, they’d all been put in danger. And Lauryn was forced to kill another human being. In front of her daughter. Not the dog’s fault, but still.

  “I want to go find him,” Megan insisted.

  Mark rounded on her. “Where the hell have you …” He caught himself, releasing his anger with a long breath. Opening his eyes, he said, “Sweetheart, those men came from outside. Jasper is out there somewhere. I’d just as soon not poke the beehive by going out to look for him. He’ll come back if … he’ll come back. We need to just stay put until the authorities reestablish control.”

  Megan’s face took on the pouty look trademarked by Teenage Angst, Inc. “But I want Jasper. I want my dog.” Her arms dropped to her sides and she turned around, dragging her blanket like the train of a dethroned monarch back into the bedroom. They heard the springs bounce as she threw herself onto the bed and began to sob quietly.

  Mark sighed. “Maybe I should go to her.”

  “Leave her alone.” Lauryn could hear the weariness in her own voice. God, she needed a good night’s rest.

  Mark finished making the front door secure, then sat down on the floor, Indian style. “I can’t believe she wants to go out there. It’s like she wasn’t even here twenty minutes ago.”

  Lauryn took the butcher knife from her belt along with another knife, a switchblade she’d found on Mouth, and placed them on the floor next to the cleaver. She slipped the pistol in the front of her jeans, then sat down opposite Mark. She swayed a little, then sat up straight. Tired didn’t begin to cover it.

  “She’s in a dissociative state. From the trauma. She’s focusing on finding the dog because she thinks it’s something she can control. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Still, she might be right.”

  “What?”

  “She might be right.”

  Mark stared at her. “Why would you possibly say that? And keep your voice down. She might hear you.”

  Lauryn debated whether or not to argue. The after-adrenalin hangover was just hitting her, and she was crashing, hard. But staying or going was an important decision to make. And the obvious choice wasn’t necessarily the right one.

  “You can see how well hunkering down here worked out,” she said.

  “Where’s the logic in that statement? Like being out there will be safer? I don’t think you’re thinking straight, Lauryn. I mean, come on. Leaving this apartment makes no sense whatsoever.”

  On the surface, no. But, she knew, Mark wasn’t thinking about the big picture. Another sign of trauma.

  “My mother lives alone, Mark.” She saw his shoulders sag.

  “Is that supposed to be an incentive for me to agree to leave this apartment?” His voice was spiteful. Mark had never been fond of Lauryn’s mother.

  She let it pass.

  “Conroe is nearly twenty miles away,” he said. “A few days ago, that didn’t seem like much. But now we have to convert backward to covered-wagon thinking. I-45 is jammed with waterlogged cars. You said so yourself.”

  “Seventy-five might be clear,” Lauryn said.

  “That back-road state highway? It’s probably underwater for half the distance between here and there.”

  “All right then,” breathed Lauryn. “We could hoof it up 45 on foot then. It’s stuffed with cars, sure, but above the flooding. I’d suggest bicycles, but you know Megan never learned to ride. A few hours rest here, and then—”

  “No.” Mark was getting animated, his voice fueled by fear and fatigue. “We are not going out there!”

  “My mother is out there.”

  “Your daughter is in here!”

  Scuffling sounds from the bedroom. “Actually, she’s in here,” snapped Megan before slamming the door on their conversation.

  “For the record, I kept my voice down,” said Lauryn. “And I thought you didn’t want to fight anymore.”

  Mark’s face lost most of its exasperation. “I don’t.” He lay backward onto the floor and put his arm over his forehead, covering his eyes. “I don’t. I … here’s what I do want. I want to protect Megan. And you. And.”

  Lauryn waited. “And?”

  “I … I don’t want to leave here. You know, in case …”

  “In case Iris shows up?” For once, there was no malice in Lauryn’s voice when she spoke h
er rival’s name. Just a weary acceptance of what was. Funny how disasters strip away the need to argue over petty things. Even things that weren’t so petty. Like lost love.

  Mark glanced up furtively from the floor, testing the veracity of her mood. “Yes. Yes, in case Iris shows up.”

  She caught his eyes and held them with her own. He had a puppyish quality about him at the moment, a helpless cuteness like the sleepy, farty student she’d fallen in love with. Only now his boyish appeal was expressed in the name of another. Strangely, Lauryn acknowledged to herself, she didn’t really feel anger at that. Perhaps she was just too tired. Perhaps the storms really had put things in perspective, helping her to focus on what she could do something about and what she needed to simply accept. A fast-tracked 12-Step Program. Perhaps she’d finally accepted with her heart what her head had known for years. It really was finally over between them.

  “You can stay here,” she said. “Stay here with Megan. Keep her safe.”

  Sitting back up, he gave her a look of disbelief. “You’re not going on your own.”

  Lauryn simply stared back at him. “Mark, given where we are now with each other, do you really think you get to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

  He took a deep breath. “I simply meant … Megan needs a mother too, Lauryn. It’s foolhardy.”

  “My mother, Mark. I have one too.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. Your mother is alone in Conroe.” He picked at the carpet for a few seconds, considering his words carefully. “Look. You said yourself, we need some rest. Can we at least sleep a few hours and discuss it more when we’re not both about to collapse from exhaustion?”

  She smiled. It felt good for a change to do that. To realize she could smile, that it was all right to. “Where? Our daughter has taken over the bed and your furniture is now a portcullis guarding your castle.” Her smile drooped. “And your second bedroom is occupied.”

  Mark took a respectful moment to acknowledge the dead. Then he turned over onto his side to face her. “How about right here?” He made a sweeping gesture at the carpet, as if he were a model on a game show indicating an enviable prize.

  “Wow,” said Lauryn with mock sarcasm. “It really is like we’re back in college.”

  “I’m too tired for anything other than sleep,” he deadpanned.

  “You’re too estranged for anything other than sleep.” But her tone was almost playful.

  He tossed her a pillow just a little too hard and put another one under his own head. Lauryn laid down next to him, pulling a shawl over the both of them. She kept her distance, though that was difficult to do and stay under the shawl.

  We wouldn’t go there, even if he were the last man on Earth, she told herself.

  Mark was already snoring lightly beside her.

  I guess you don’t have to be a student to sleep anywhere, after all, she thought before falling into a light sleep, a smile forming on her lips.

  * * *

  She woke to the sound of shuffling in the kitchen. Lauryn grabbed for the butcher knife but it was gone. The cleaver was there, but the cold metal pressing against her belly reminded her the gun was there, and she slowly slipped it out. She used her ears to reconnoiter the kitchen.

  Slow, measured shunk, shunk, shunk sounds.

  What the hell?

  A chill crept up her spine, prickled the hairs on her arms.

  Mouth was dead. She’d been sure of it. But if he’d come and taken the butcher knife while she was sleeping, why hadn’t he simply killed her? And Mark? She glanced at the front door, but it still stood secured by stacked furniture. No one had been in or out while they slept.

  Lauryn raised herself to a sitting position, her left hand poised to push her quickly to her feet. Her right held the gun pointed toward the ceiling. Her thumb took the safety off.

  Shunk, shunk, shunk.

  She looked over her shoulder, past Mark’s motionless, mouth-breathing form. The door to the back bedroom was open. She cocked her ear again at the kitchen, then realized just how pedestrian what she was hearing really sounded.

  “Megan?”

  “Yeah?”

  Lauryn blew out a breath as the teen stuck her head around the corner from the kitchen.

  “What?” Then she saw the gun in her mother’s hand. “Um … Mom?”

  Lauryn saw where Megan’s eyes were focused and put the gun down. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

  Her daughter shrugged, her face clearly unsure if her answer would get her in trouble. Brandishing the butcher knife, she said, “Cutting carrots. I was hungry. I thought you’d be happy I was eating something healthy for once.”

  Lauryn laughed out loud, the relief flooding out of her.

  Mark stirred beside her. “What’s going on?” he said groggily. “How long have we been asleep?”

  Lauryn glanced at the iPod-radio. “It’s about 10:30 in the morning,” she said. “So, maybe three hours or so? How’s your sight?”

  “Other than the sleep crust? Crystal clear.”

  “Megan?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. All better now.”

  Lauryn nodded. “Mark, look, I know we were going to talk more—”

  “We should go,” he said. He’d shaken off the haziness of waking and was suddenly, stiffly alert.

  The pronouncement hung there for a moment, surprise registering on Lauryn’s face.

  “I had a dream,” he said cautiously. “It was bizarre.” He glanced at Megan, then remembered his own scolding of Lauryn earlier. Now wasn’t the time to soft-serve their daughter. “I dreamed about the next few days. We were on the road, traveling. In a building in town somewhere. There were bad men.”

  Lauryn’s eyes searched his face. Mark looked like he might be about to cry.

  “Daddy?” Megan saw it too. It worried her.

  “Then we should stay here, it sounds like,” Lauryn said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to bet their future on a dream, but Mark was so earnest, it was like he was telling them a natural fact, not simply relating a nightmare. She almost reached out and put her hand on his arm. Almost.

  But Mark shook his head. “No. I dreamed that too. Staying would be worse. In the dream where we stay, I saw more of …” He gestured toward the second bedroom. “More like him. They came in and …” He glanced at Megan, then focused his eyes on Lauryn’s, then yanked them away again to the floor. “I couldn’t stop them,” he said quietly. Looking again into his wife’s eyes, this time more deeply, he said, “And neither could you.”

  Lauryn gave him a moment. Megan stood in the doorway to the kitchen, the butcher knife hanging limply at her side. Her mouth was half open as she listened to her father.

  “And in the other dream? The one where we go?” asked Lauryn.

  “There were bad men there, too,” he repeated. Mark swallowed hard. “And there were words. ‘Kiss’ and ‘bottles’.” He shrugged. “I have no idea what they mean. But you guys weren’t hurt. It’s all really vague. You know how dreams are. Only, this felt entirely real, like I was looking into a crystal ball or something.” His manner changed from subdued to determined. “We should go.”

  Lauryn looked to her daughter. Megan shrugged, nodded.

  “Okay, then,” said Lauryn. “We go.”

  Chapter 12. Sunday, morning.

  He’d thought it a cruel joke, the blindness. He’d raged at God. Invited Him to come down off His pearly white throne and meet the Maestro. That’s what he was calling himself now. She’d given the name to him in his dream of darkness: Marsten the Maestro. The conductor of a symphony of suffering, she’d said. That’s what he’d be. He’d compose his personal masterpiece in bloody notes written on page after page of human skin, she’d said. This was his new and only purpose in life.

  After leaving the prison, Marsten and the five other Serenity test subjects made their way to the center of town, sheltering where they could against the weather. At last, that was tapering off, though strange, foggy
cumulus clouds were rolling in from the south. He knew of whence they came, but for now, Marsten kept it to himself. The devastation wrought first by Glenn, then by Helen was massive. Apartment complexes destroyed. Churches razed. Homes with roofs torn off. Bodies floating in low-lying areas. Occasionally, the group would run across an individual or family hunkered down in an apartment or home. The six of them made short, satisfying work of anyone who resisted. Soon their white jumpsuits were replaced with the finest fashion the township of Huntsville could offer.

  No sooner were they standing at the Walker County Courthouse, Marsten’s immediate goal for a reason he neglected to explain, than the orange flash overwhelmed their sight. Like the brightest of sunspots, only totally enveloping everyone and everything. The others went nuts big time when they realized they’d lost their vision. Smack started chattering about Judgment Day. Simpson had wanted to run away, and Marsten almost let him just to get rid of him. Juggs bitched like Juggs always did. Everything was always about her. And Franklin—Franklin was quiet as a church mouse, which annoyed the Maestro most of all. The only way Marsten had known Franklin was still with them was by calling roll after everyone calmed down. He’d answered. Quietly.

  Of all of them, Maggie Mae—what he called her, though it wasn’t really her name—impressed him the most with her reaction. She’d laughed out loud. Said something about God’s ironic sense of humor. That’s when Marsten had invited Him to come on down and meet the Maestro. Maggie laughed harder at that, encouraging his challenge. He’d felt her hands on him shortly thereafter. And she’d whispered in his ear with a voice so sultry and wet with heat that he’d taken her right then and there in the courthouse lobby.

  The others listened while they grunted and moaned, each responding entirely in character. Smack provided blow-by-blow commentary on what he could hear. Simpson complained about the noises they were making, in case the law was around. Juggs critiqued the sounds of their performance. Franklin said nothing at all.

  Screwing without eyesight was a totally new experience for Marsten. It was even more interesting than doing it in the dark. Being blind could be fun. There was always an upside.