damage—then why couldn’t he sense the baby? Why couldn’t he track us through the seed he’d planted in Sondra’s belly? It made sense. Supposedly, he needed those stem cells. Maybe they called to him, pulling at him the same way that Sondra had pulled at me all those long, lonely nights when I’d watched her on stage.
The footsteps slowly came down the hall. The men’s room door squeaked open. We heard it swing back and forth on its rusty hinges. The footsteps echoed as Whitey searched the bathroom. Then he entered the hallway again and did the same with the women’s restroom. When he was finished searching, he came out into the hallway once more. The footsteps stopped at the break room door.
Fear is an amazing thing. It coursed through me then, but all of my pain was gone. I felt totally alive—if only because death was so close.
“I have a gun,” Whitey said. “I took it from one of the policemen outside. I do not think he will mind, since he is currently on fire. Actually, I’m sure he’s nothing but ashes by now. What is the American saying? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust? Somewhat appropriate, don’t you think?”
I shivered. The sweat on my arms and head felt ice cold. Beside me, Sondra trembled. She let go of my fingers and put her hands over her belly.
“In any case,” Whitey continued, “he won’t be needing the gun anymore. It’s a very nice weapon. Very powerful. Of course, it won’t do much to me, but on the two of you, I think the results will be quite spectacular.”
He stepped into the break room. I peered through the space between the machines. I couldn’t see all of him, but what I did see wasn’t very pretty. His bloodstained clothes were burned and tattered. Entire chunks of flesh were missing from his torso, limbs, and face. The tip of his nose was gone and one of his fingers had been severed. Both were probably lying out in the parking lot somewhere, just waiting for a bird to swoop down and pluck them up. One of his eyes was red. A hole in Whitey’s belly provided a gruesome kaleidoscope of colors—purple and white and black and more red. Lots and lots of red.
Whitey clutched a police revolver in his right hand, tapping it aimlessly against his hip. He stopped beside one of the tables and pulled out a rickety chair. The legs squeaked on the tiles, and the chair creaked as he eased into it. He crossed one leg over the other and pointed the handgun at the vending machines. I wondered if he could see our feet, but then decided that it didn’t really matter. There was no doubt he knew exactly where we were hiding, or at least had a close proximity, just like before.
I heard the distant wail of sirens again. Another wave of cops and emergency personnel were probably descending on our location. This time they’d take no chances. They would hit this building with everything they had. Problem was, Sondra and I would most likely be dead before then.
Of course, judging by the amount of smoke that was beginning to drift into the break room, we’d all burn to death first.
“So,” Whitey said, “I have seen what this weapon does on flesh. I wonder what it can do with these machines?”
He pointed the pistol at the first vending machine and pulled the trigger. Sondra’s scream was lost beneath the report. The bullet slammed into the vending machine, rocking it back and forth, and then ploughed through the back, embedding itself in the wall just a few feet from where we stood. The vending machine wobbled a few more times and then was still.
And that was when I came up with a plan. It wasn’t a good plan. In fact, it probably wouldn’t work. But it was certainly better than the alternative.
“Hmmm.” Whitey stood up and walked towards us. “That was interesting, wasn’t it? Judging from the sound—and Sondra’s scream—the bullet must have traveled completely through the machine. Amazing, really. I wonder what the effect would be at point blank range?”
He placed the barrel of the handgun against the second vending machine’s glass front. Then he pulled the trigger again. The results were the same as the first, but the damage to this machine was much more severe. The unit rocked back and forth, just like the other had done. This time, Sondra and I both screamed. Sondra began pleading with him in Russian, presumably begging for our lives. Instead of answering her, Whitey just laughed.
“I have many bullets left.” Whitey now stood directly in front of our soda machine. He placed the gun against it. His breathing was harsh and ragged. I wondered how much of his lungs were left.
Sondra cried out again in her native tongue. Whitey ignored her.
“We have seen what one bullet does to these machines. I wonder what would happen if I used all of my bullets? Are you ready to find out?”
“Please!” Sondra switched to English. “Please Whitey, do not kill us. Is way we can work this out. I know things. I can tell you. Valentin and Alimzhan have been stealing money from you. Cherney and Ludwig deal drugs on side, and not give you cut. Buy them from black man on Queen Street. You see no money from this.”
“You are much better at sucking dick than you are at begging, whore. I am completely aware of everything that transpires within my organization. Valentin and Alimzhan have already been dealt with. Cherney and Ludwig have children at home. If they need extra money, why do I care if they take a second job? As long as it doesn’t impact me, then I am all for it.”
“But you have killed others for this…”
“And perhaps I will kill Cherney and Ludwig, as well. Perhaps I will have them shot in the head—order their corpses to be disposed of in LeHorn’s Hollow or some other suitable place. But that is not your concern, Sondra. You should be worried about the fact that I’m going to kill you first.”
“We can work something out,” Sondra repeated. “Please. I tell you anything you want to know. The building is on fire, Whitey. You will burn with us.”
“The smoke is from the burning police cars outside, and there is nothing to work out. I’m going to kill you both, and then I am going to slice open your belly with a piece of sharp metal from this very machine. I will cut out our child and rip it open with my teeth.”
I shuddered, grinding my teeth together and re-opening the wound in my mouth. The taste of blood made my stomach sick.
“Ah,” Whitey sighed. “There is nothing quite like it in the world. To sink your teeth into soft flesh, to ingest what you need, feel it working inside of you, the power it brings coursing through your veins. It is too bad you are not one of us, Mr. Gibson. You have fought well today. Your valor is to be commended.”
“One of you?” I no longer saw the point in staying quiet. “You mean one of the Kwan?”
“The Kwan?” Whitey sounded surprised.
“Yeah, that’s right, fucker. Sondra told me all about it. She said you were one of them. That you guys secretly control the world.”
Since he was standing directly in front of the soda machine, I couldn’t see Whitey. I only had a glimpse of his arm. But judging by how it was shaking, I guessed that he was silently laughing at me.
“You think I am one of the Kwan? Oh, Mr. Gibson, you are entertaining, at the very least. If I didn’t know better, I would take your misconception as an insult. Earlier, I said you were smart. I was wrong. You know nothing. The Kwan are a bunch of feeble old men, playing at magic and clinging to fairy tales. Pretenders. They wield no power. No real power, anyway.”
He tapped the gun against the machine.
“This is where real power stems from, Mr. Gibson—the barrel of a gun. In that way, perhaps I am indeed like the Kwan. They spread hate and discontent, because they tend to learn more during times of upheaval and chaos, as this is when mankind is at its most creative. The Kwan want to bring about the end of time, just so they can see what happens next.”
“And that’s you?”
“Mankind desires peace and order, but real power comes only from revolution. Violence and fear are its tools. I am filled with both. I deal both, and thus, I wield power against which no man can stand. So yes, in that way, I am like the Kwan. But they have no hold over my kind.”
“You all sound like a bunch of nuts to me,” I taunted. “Call it the Kwan or the mob or whatever the fuck you want—it’s all shit.”
“I told you, Mr. Gibson, I am not a member of the Kwan. I spit on them. They are just babes. I belong to a much older line.”
