Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 4

Running seemed effortless for Mariella as she tried to put as much distance between herself and the hospital. She barely seemed to draw breath, as though the sun itself was all she needed to power her movements...

The girl's flight came to a sudden end as she ran, headlong, into the front of a badly-parked car. Sprawling across the hood, her impact set off the car's alarm, and Mariella's history of not entirely legal activity caused that sound to snap her right back into the real world.

Her first instinct was to disable the alarm, even though the vehicle's owner was probably too far away to do anything, but Mariella wasn't going to take any chances. The windows were up, the doors locked, so Mariella had to be more direct, delivering a measured kick to the nose of the car, springing the catch of the hood - just as someone very dear to her had shown her.

Flinging the hood open, Mariella quickly found the shrieking alarm device and yanked its wiring out, silencing it. The breath the girl had been holding was finally released, leaving her mouth as a soft murmur: "Thanks, Pablo, mi amor."

Silence descended all around Mariella. It was strangely calming at first, but as she looked around, her anxiety started to grow again - the city seemed... dead. Looters had smashed every window, like carrion crows pecking at a corpse, leaving the sidewalk strewn with expensive merchandise; broken perfume bottles, jewellery - someone had tried to steal a sports car from a lavish showroom, only to wrap it around a streetlight a little further down the street...

Mariella's heart began to flutter - it was a familiar sensation, something far stronger than fear, and the girl decided to heed that call. This was a high-class shopping area, quite deserted, and a chance like this would surely never come her way again...

Mariella strolled in through the broken doors of a designer fashion store, the logos of every desirable label under the sun adorning its walls, as though she had every right to be there, and there was not a soul around to stop her. As she wandered between the racks of dresses and suits, occasionally tripping over discarded accessories that cost more than her family's monthly rent bill, Mariella felt as though she had to be dreaming. She dared not touch anything as she went, afraid that even thinking about trying anything on would break the spell...

"Now or never", she whispered to herself, and reached out to take a leather jacket from the rail.

"Mariella...?"

It was Bert's voice, out in the street - and thankfully, not a shout that woke her from a lovely, impossible dream. At first, Mariella felt inclined to let him keep on shouting, staying quiet and hidden until he was gone - he'd known about Mariella's legal status, and he had let her walk into a hospital knowing they would check up on her...

Bert was, however, the only person who could tell her just what had happened at the hospital...

"Yeah, what?", she called out from behind the jackets, out of sight.

"Mariella, please come out of there", Bert replied softly, calmly. "They're putting the military on the streets. If you're caught in here, you could be..."

"What, shot?", she shouted back. "Hey, I'd like to see them do that to a dead girl!"

"Mariella..."

"Bet you'd like that, too", she interrupted Bert, before he could try to sweet-talk her. "Maybe you'll find out what kinda freak you've been sheltering, right?"

"You're wrong", he assured her, gently. "If that was to happen, I would have failed. I'd have failed you, and myself."

"Pretty words", growled Mariella, "but they don't change anything..."

The growl became a whimper as Mariella felt tears welling up inside her. "I... I don't even know what I am now", she told Bert, between sobbing breaths. "I got nothing left now - my family must think I'm dead... my friends... I-I..."

Bert stepped into the nearest available light, the sun streaming down through a six-sided skylight. "You still have the ability to trust", he said to her. "I can't give you any answers, not yet - but I can give you this..."

Bert threw back the hood that had been hiding his face from the world, and Mariella failed to stifle a gasp of disbelief. One side of the man's face was gone - erased, flesh and bone smooth and even. An eye, all of the nose except for a slit of a nostril on the other side - half his mouth was sealed up, stopping abruptly as though it had never existed on half his face. One part of him was a featureless spectre, the rest a lively-eyed man of considerable intelligence, and perhaps even greater kindness of spirit...

"You poor man..." she whispered, creeping closer. "What... how...?"

"Sometimes I'm not sure whether I want to know", said Bert, replacing his hood. "I have no idea what I've lost, along with half my face. We've both lost a life, in one way or another, but you... you can at least remember what you had..."

"Dunno whether I feel sorry for you, or jealous", said Mariella, solemnly.

"Feel neither", advised Bert. "Tell yourself there has to be an answer somewhere. That's what keeps me going."

Mariella's nod in response was half-hearted. "Yeah - suppose you're right", she sighed, "but while I'm waiting, I gotta find me something better to wear than this...!"

The girl vanished into the forest of display racks, and Bert tried to give chase, but it was clear from the start that it was going to be a fruitless task...

Every now and then, Mariella would pop her head up above the "forest canopy", gleefully brandishing her latest discovery. "Jacket - seven thousand dollars - mine!", she would exclaim. "See this dress? Downtown, say ten, twenty dollars? Here, eight hundred bucks! Thank you...!"

The girl was a force of nature, unstoppable, irresistible - but Bert was willing to let her continue, in the hope she would burn off some of her nervous energy, which she certainly appeared to be doing. Her reserves, however, seemed limitless, but at least she couldn't possibly clear out the whole store.

"See this belt?", called out Mariella. "Six hundred dollars! I'm having two!"

"Why have two?", asked Bert, helplessly.

Mariella's eyes glittered slyly in the half-dark as she replied, quite emphatically: "Because. I. Can..."

Bert gave pursuit, anxious that Mariella's exaltations might attract outside attention, from either the authorities or concerned locals. He grabbed a bag from a display as he passed, hoping it would be large enough, but he could breathe a sigh of relief when he at last caught up with the girl, and saw she had been quite selective with her "purchases", only a modest pile draped over the back of a chair.

"Take a look at this", said Mariella, holding up a short black leather skirt. "If my mom saw me with this, she'd be saying 'Mariella da Silva, you are not leaving my house wearing that - d'you want people to think my daughter is a whore...?' Well... well, that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

Mariella deposited the skirt in Bert's hands. "Assistant? Ring that up...!"

The girl headed off down another aisle, and Bert started loading the garments into the bag, every now and then looking back to the street to see of any trouble was approaching. So far, all was well...

Suddenly, Mariella let out a little shriek, and Bert came running, arriving in the shoe section, just in time to catch a glimpse of the girl vanishing into the rear stockroom of the store, and a light going on. "Are you all right?", Bert asked her. "Is anything...?"

"Oh please have my size!", exclaimed Mariella, just audible over the signs of frantic rummaging. "Please please please please...!"

The sounds of desperate searching through numerous boxes ceased. A hand thrust out through the doorway towards Bert. "The black dress", she demanded. "The short, stretchy one...!"

Bert handed her the garment in question, and there was a rustle of clothing, to which he respectfully turned his back. He missed Mariella emerging from the stockroom, momentarily losing track of her completely, but spotting her at the seating area of the shoe section, sitting herself down with a large box on the seat to her left. Hands trembling, Mariella flung the lid off the box, tore away the tissue paper inside, and stared at the contents with open-mouthed awe, as though she had uncovered some rare and ancient treasure.

"Oh. My. God."

The girl took from the box one of a pair of exquisite long black leather boots - Bert briefly wondered just when the boot was going to stop - and Mariella showed almost religious reverence as she undid the zip running all the way down the back, and extracted balled-up tissue paper from the foot of the boot. Then, with breath held, bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth, she thrust her bare foot inside.

"Ooooh...", purred Mariella, bending over to zip up the boot. "Every... girl's... dream."

Sliding into the other boot was just as much of an act of worship, and it was certainly something of a revelation as Mariella stood up on four and a half inch heels, the tops of the almost crotch-length boots disappearing under her short skirt...

"Jacket...", ordered Mariella, as she took her first, and surprisingly confident steps. "Belt."

Bert gave her the things she asked for, and stood back as she slipped on the full-length, finely-tailored jacket, strapped the belt on loosely around her hips, and walked over to the nearest mirror. She was nodding well before she saw her head-to-toe reflection...

"So", she said, turning to face Bert. "Whadda you think? Do I look like a prostitute?"

"You look like a girl who just won a million dollars, and decided to treat herself", replied the man with half a face.

"Very diplomatic", said a grinning Mariella.

"You're too kind", Bert responded. "Now, could you perhaps do me one more kindness?"

"Such as...?"

"Such as can we now get out of here?"

"Sure", said Mariella with a relenting smile. "Let's go - at least I got something I can call mine. It's about time to meet up with your friend Rick, anyway..."

It was hard for Bert to even try to smile, but he managed something approaching a smile as Mariella stepped back out into the warm Nevada sun, popping on the designer sunglasses she had snatched from a display on her way out of the store. She seemed transformed, the events in the hospital forgotten, for now at least - he clearly wildly underestimated the healing power of "retail therapy"...

A gun-shot rang out, muffled somewhat by distance, but still enough to make hearts skip a beat. "Trouble", murmured Bert. "We can't wait for Rick - let's just go."

"Don't panic", said Mariella, striding over to an abandoned, but undamaged car. "I'll get us out of here..."

Six minutes earlier...

"You have got to be fucking kidding", muttered Rick Bailey as he turned the corner onto the road outside St Clair Community Hospital - and slammed on the brakes as he saw several "people" walking somewhat stiffly across the road, oblivious to any danger from what little traffic was about. He recognised their movements at once - these were not human beings, but the weird "zombies" that had caused the whole world to grind to a standstill.

"Well, fuck that", he spat, and reached under the seat for a gun-belt, loaded with ammo and a chrome-plated Desert Eagle 45. "No-one messes with a hospital when there's a Texas man around!"

From inside, Rick popped the trunk of his 4x4, and flicked the safety switch of the booby-trap to "OFF", before leaving his vehicle and opening the hidden compartment in the back. He quickly equipped himself with a pump-action shotgun, a belt of cartridges, a second handgun he tucked into the back of his pants, and a sheathed hunting knife that he jammed between his belt and his waistband - there was little time to waste, and a whole lot of people with one man standing between them and danger.

The "zombies" were advancing in a tightening circle, and Rick made his way through by putting a bullet through the head of the nearest of the entities. He chuckled as the green liquid inside, like motor oil or hydraulic fluid, spilled out onto the roadway, and the emptying shell of false flesh gradually slumped to the ground, trying to walk until it no longer had legs, then he raced to the sidewalk, and made ready to stand his ground.

"Hospital's for humans only!", he roared. firing a shot in the air. "Leave now, or I open fire!"

The "zombies" kept coming. Rick returned his Desert Eagle to its holster, and switched to the shot-gun. A cartridge blew open the chest of another of the inhuman beings, taking it clear off its feet, showering everything in range with droplets of glowing green...

Hostility detected. Bio-probes under attack - two units neutralised. Tactical response advised. Relaying upgrade codes for conversion to tactical mode...

Two of the "zombies" directly in front of Rick slowed their approach, and before his eyes, they started to change, their forms losing some of their detail, their clothes losing buttons, pockets, fabric texture, their hands melting into blunt clubs, faces blurring into crude mockeries of humanity...

"That supposed to scare me?", barked Rick. "Ain't gonna work, boy!"

Bailey levelled his shotgun at the face of the first of the unfinished figures, and pulled the trigger...

There was the explosion of ignited gunpowder, the recoil, all just as Rick had expected, but the creature's "face" did not explode in a spray of green. The creature just walked through the shotgun blast, lead pellets falling harmlessly to the ground...

"Fuck you!", roared Rick, and pointing his weapon right into the entity's chest, he fired again.

More shotgun pellets rained down on the sidewalk. The monster was unharmed, and it kept on coming.

Rick went for his hunting knife, and put all his strength behind it as he stabbed at the creature's throat. The blade turned aside at the last moment, barely an inch from the monster's "skin", but before Rick could think what to do next, he was flying through the air, his chest crushed, heart reduced to blood-soaked pulp. His spine shattered, his skull smashed as he struck the hospital wall - he was dead before he hit the ground.

Hostile neutralised. Continuing with investigation. Deploying tactical units at building entrance, converting lead bio-probe to interaction mode...

Dr Calloway kept out of the way as the three strange beings, human-shaped but quite definitely not men, marched without ceremony, without emotion, into the examination room, and started looking around with those unearthly oily-green orbs they had in place of eyes...

One of them, in the shape of a middle-aged black man in a dark brown business suit, looked down at Dr Halsted, who was lying on the examination couch, still recovering from whatever had happened to him. Green light shone over the neuro-medicine specialist, sweeping back and forth over his body, and gradually coming to rest over his chest. After a few seconds, the light blinked out, quite literally, and the creature turned to look at Anne with quite human-seeming eyes - and spoke.

"Explain." That one word had the most curious quality, as though every letter was spoken by a different voice, or a sample of a separate voice...

"I... I don't understand", mumbled Dr Calloway.

"Alien technology was detected at this location", continued the entity, ominously taking a step forward. "Energy residue on organism-unit Halsted:Alistair-George is of non-local origin. Explain."

"I genuinely don't understand", Anne responded, insistently. "I cannot explain what happened because I've never seen anything like it before. He touched the girl, and bang, it was like he'd been electrocuted, or hit with a stun-gun..."

The creature advanced another step, looming over the doctor. "Girl. Identify."

"M...Mariella da Silva", spluttered Dr Calloway. "She just walked in, with memory loss - the medical records said she was dead..."

The entity turned to the computer screen on the examination room desk, bent forward to rest its forehead on the edge of the monitor - and its face melted, becoming a green-streaked fluid that poured down into the vents of the monitor, and into the gaps between the keyboard keys. Dr Calloway watched this for several minutes, alarmed, at times even horrified, but always fascinated as she tried to work out just what kind of being she was dealing with...

The tendrils of "fluid" began to retract, the creature slowly raising its "head" as that part of its body began to reform. By the time it was upright again, the face had been restored, except for the eyes, which had returned to their previous hollow, faintly glowing state, and before Anne could even begin thinking of anything to say, the bizarre beings were filing out of the examination room again, in complete silence.

Information for all units: Continent 2, south-western sector, sub-sector 14-7-19. Commence non-invasive sweep for organism-unit da Silva: Mariella-Antonia - override local notification of deceased status. Possible source of unknown technology. Locate and contain for collection and analysis.

...to be continued...

Posted at 23:28 on 23.10.2009


~ o O o ~


Previously...
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 9 - 04.11.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 8 - 02.11.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 7 - 30.10.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 6 - 28.10.2009
Mane-of-Night And The Wayward Child - Chapter 5 - 25.10.2009