The Awakening

Stunned at the outburst, Gaby turned and caught Mort in her sharp-eyed glare.

He put a hand to his head. 'Jesus, Gaby. While you're off hunting down one monster, another could be hunting for you. Here!' He held out his hands in entreaty. 'What if one of those things shows up and I'm the only one around? I can't fight like you. I'm not as brave as you. I don't—'

Pushed by urgency, Gaby leaped off the chair and grabbed Mort's shoulders. While evil threatened, she knew better than to concern herself with one individual.

But this was Mort.

And he was… a friend.

She had to find the most expedient way to placate him. 'I promise you'll be fine. I know these things, Mort, remember? But if it makes you feel better, there's a gun in my room, You can hold on to it until I get back.'

A rush of color leached from his pallid face. 'A… a gun?'

'I keep it tucked away in a special box in my bedsprings. Go on up and get it. It's already loaded, and the safety is off, so be careful.'

He shrank back. 'But… I've never touched a gun.'

Damn him for holding her up. 'You aim and shoot. That's all there is to it. A couple of bullets will stop anything, even monsters. Just try not to hurt yourself, okay?'

'Maybe you should take it with you?'

'No.' Again, Gaby bounded up onto the chair. 'It makes too much noise, especially in the woods.'

'Woods?'

Her vision fluctuated, going inward. Only with an effort did she clear it. 'I'm out of time, Mort. If you want to help, go out front and see if Luther is still hanging around. If he is, make sure he doesn't trail me.'

Sounding more sick by the moment, Mort asked, 'How am I supposed to do that?'

'Talk to him. Keep him busy. Pretend I went upstairs to bed.'

'You want me to lie to him?'

He made it sound like corrupting the innocent would be the worst of her crimes. 'Fine. Don't help. But at least back off and let me do what we both know I can do!' To keep from having it snag on the narrow sill, Gaby removed the knife and leather sheath and held both in one hand. 'I'll be back before you know it.'

'Right.' Misery etched every line in Mort's face. 'Bloody and dazed and sick.'

'Maybe. Now shut the window behind me.' Weapon in hand, scraping her arms, nape, and spine in the process, Gaby wiggled out. Luckily, Mort kept the back lane mostly cleared, so there weren't any broken bottles to cut her on her clumsy climb from the window.

The window dropped shut behind her, and she heard the latch snap into place.

Churning motivation kindled through her veins, pushing her, urging her to haste. With only moonlight to guide her, Gaby went to the alley that connected the lane to the street, and peeked out. Streetlamps left a yellow glow on the hot pavement and concrete.

Making note of ordinary things outside God's command wasn't easy, but she managed to scan the area for Luther. She saw no one, but she wasn't one to trust mere eyesight anyway. Just because she didn't see Luther didn't mean he wasn't there.

Before the twisting ache took complete control, Gaby needed to make some headway. She needed to put a lot of distance between her and anyone who might detain her.

Ducking back out of sight, she reattached her sheath and with the familiar nudge of her blade at her back, crept two blocks down along the back lane. Moving in near silence, she went right past a druggie who didn't notice her and sidled by two thugs in deep conversation.

Once she'd left the apartment building behind, she cut toward the street. Staying in the shadows, she broke into a fluid run. It was dangerous, being here in the open where someone could try to interfere. But with each second that ticked by, the exigencies of the moment sharpened.

Events took place—with the doctor, with Luther… perhaps with her. Under His influence, Gaby could only decipher her purpose, not the why of it.

The pain became a ravenous craving, gnawing on her soul, obliterating all things peripheral. Surroundings faded away to nothingness. They held no import, not when God had need of her service.

And yet… a tiny worm of awareness remained, squiggling through the agony.

Please, she pleaded in small blips of sentient awareness, keep Luther safe.

Watch over Morty.

Guard Bliss.

Not physically with her but still right there, in her thoughts and spirit where she couldn't forget about them, these people afflicted her mind. She could literally see Mort, so beaten down and sad that she'd left him behind.

And Luther, ripe with suspicion and an overpowering protectiveness.

And poor Bliss, scared and young and alone—trusting her…

Go away. Gaby silently screamed to those emotional phantoms. She had a job to do, a job they couldn't understand, things they couldn't fathom.

The warring of her duty against her emotion made her ill. Too many people concerned her. Too many people had gotten past her shields, dividing her attention, causing her to right the pull, weakening it and her.

To block them from her mind, Gaby concentrated on the agony, visualizing it as a live thing, red-hot and fierce within her.

She wouldn't stumble; no never that. She'd just suffer—and keep going.

Without thoughts of her friends to lead her into deadly errors.

Losing all concept of real time, she reached the face of the looming hospital structure. The moon cowered behind thick gray clouds. Distant streetlamps couldn't illuminate through the humid air. An aura of monstrous proportions bloated from the area, pickled with black holes indicating imbalance, muddy with evil, gray with depression.

For those who saw auras, the warning couldn't be clearer.

For those who fought evil, it didn't matter.

Single-minded in her purpose, without looking around to check for witnesses, Gaby forged beyond the fog of contamination and plunged into the black woods. A gust of wind surged behind her, bowing trees, parting shrubs, creating a bold ingress to her goal.

She blended with the shadows, moved with the night sounds. Undetectable. Agitated but inconversable. As much a spirit as those restless apparitions swirling round her in a maddened frenzy.

Oblivious to the thorny twigs that snagged her skin and the jagged stones that dug into her exposed toes, Gaby prowled deeper.

At the corners of her consciousness, images of both Luther and Morty tried to intrude.

No. She snuffed them with ruthless determination and pushed ahead. Farther and farther into the woods.

She would do what she must, and thoughts of them would not hinder her. Yet the more she tried to barricade them from her mind, the greater her agony became. A few shaky steps later, the effort of blocking them took out her knees, and she stumbled.

Confused, Gaby crawled upright and took two more steps.

Her lungs squeezed, making her gasp for each breath. She strangled, unable to go on.

What the fuck was this?

The agony tore into her, more ruthless than anything she'd ever experienced. She doubled over, stunned, disordered—and then she heard it.

Laughter. Moaning. From the doctor and the victims.

And worse: lumbering footsteps from her left. Eyes closing, Gaby curled in on herself. She didn't have to see the intruder to know who it was. Opening herself, she felt him, saw him, knew him.

Morty.

Oh God, no.

Now it made sense. She couldn't block him, because he wasn't just a troubling thought. The idiot had followed her after all.