A Perfect Machine(35)

Best approach is just straight up the tracks, right? Of course, there’d be a guard at the door of the caboose, maybe two. Especially now. And probably at least a couple on the roof of the warehouse. What would make this all the more difficult was the crunching snow. There was no way to be completely stealthy.

Unless you crawl on your belly, idiot.

So he’d crawl on his belly, slither along beside the tracks, then just pop up and attack everyone? Brilliant plan. This was beginning to look more and more unlikely.

A distraction of some kind would be nice. Maybe another fool like Duncan to go die for me. The thought made even Krebosche wince – and he’d thought he was beyond pangs of conscience – at least for Duncan.

He tucked himself behind the wall of the last building before the field opened up and cover was gone. Once he left the safety of this wall, he’d be entirely exposed. Just the open field and the train tracks between him and the caboose.

He glanced up at the sky. At least the clouds were cooperating. Can’t have a fuckton of snow without clouds, he thought. So moonlight would be at a minimum. Maybe just the occasional break in cloud cover to expose his movements.

He breathed deeply twice, three times. Decided on the belly slither. He laid himself down flat, poked his head around the side of the wall. No movement at the warehouse or the caboose. No sound. Just steadily falling snowflakes and his heart threatening to burst from his throat. Maybe the guards were hidden from view because they were afraid of getting picked off by a sniper. He didn’t know. But it was now or never. He felt his resolve weakening by the second.

Just as he was about to work his way out, a voice from behind startled him.

“Looking for someone?” Palermo said.





T W E L V E





“He would have told someone,” Henry said. “If he hadn’t already.”

Faye didn’t respond. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pulped skull of her co-worker. Blood pooled around Steve’s body, and the clumps that had sprayed through Henry’s fingers crawled slowly down the wall like snails.

Finally: “You don’t know that. You didn’t know that.”

“He wanted to take a picture, Faye.”

“So he deserved to die for that?”

Henry was silent. At some point, tears had sprung from his eyes, grown cold now on his face. He tried to wipe them away, feeling ashamed of them. His clumsy fingers made it difficult.

He distractedly wondered what color the tears were.

Then: “Yes. He deserved to die. He would have exposed me. Exposed us. Or at least tried to. And I can’t hide how I used to when I looked human. That was a big part of what made it easy, I imagine. Now, though… look at me. No way this will be easy to cover up, explain away. Steve said it was hard to hold on to my image in his head, sure, but he was gone for a while, yet was able to still remember me enough that he knew to come back here to look for me. That would never have happened before. Not when I looked human.”

Faye left the coffees alone, forgotten. Moved to the couch. Fell into it, put her face in her hands, elbows on her knees. She didn’t say anything for a long time. When she finally did, it hit Henry hard: “I want you to leave.”

“Faye, listen–”

“No. Get out.”

“What are you going to do with…” Henry motioned toward Steve’s body.

“I’ll deal with it. Just go. Get out. Now.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

She looked up at him, locked eyes. “I hardly give a fuck.”

As this exchange took place, Milo felt something push upward within him. That feeling of dread had coalesced into something new. Clearly, that feeling had been warranted, and was now at least partially realized with the dead body still leaking blood on the floor. But this was something else. That cold ball of lead in his belly felt like it was heating up; he felt like he was heating up somehow. Becoming more… substantial?

He reached a hand out toward the table upon which Faye had placed the coffee cups. Closer to the cup handle. Closer. Then his fingers passed right through.

But just as his heart was sinking, something caught his eye. He lifted his gaze quickly. Standing to one side of the table was the woman he’d seen in the hospital furnace room. As before, the air pressure in the room seemed to change with her appearance. But back then, she had seemed fairly calm; now she seemed agitated. And this time, Milo thought he heard sounds coming from her mouth. He watched her lips intently, realized he could make out a word here and there. She was telling him something, staring directly at him. And just as he had been feeling more substantial himself, so she seemed more substantial to him, as well.

Concentrating harder, it was like someone had turned up the volume in his brain. Words formed – all of them at once in a sudden rush that shocked him and made him stagger back: “You cannot let him leave. You cannot let him leave. You cannot let him leave.”

Milo turned back to Henry. Neither Henry nor Faye had spoken in the past minute or so. Henry just stared down at Steve’s body; Faye’s face was slack, her initial anger giving way to fatigue. Milo wasn’t sure that she was aware Henry was even still in the room.

Milo was about to turn away from them and focus his attention back on the woman when he realized he was wrong. Faye and Henry were still talking; he just could no longer hear them. He watched their lips move. Henry gesticulated. Faye turned away from him. The anger was back in her features, clouded her eyes. Milo thought the look on her face bordered on hatred.