"The Unwilling Hosts"
May. 13th, 2022 01:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"
"The Unwilling Hosts"
12/3/2020
I.
"All the gore has been cleaned up by a professional service," said Mandate agent Charles Reischl as he led Jeremy Bane into the living room. "After the police CSI boys were done and my agency had already documented everything, this outside company comes in and scrubs away everything." A good-sized slightly stocky man in his forties, Reischl was bland and unmemorable with dark hair and regular features that would be hard to describe in detail. His face bordered on pudgy with a hint of a double chin.
"Makes it easier for the friends and family, I know," Bane replied quietly. "Having to get rid of blood and bone fragments of someone you knew isn't something most people can handle." At sixty-three, the Dire Wolf was still only showing a few signs of age. There were more white flecks in the thick black hair than before, faint lines creased the edges of the grey eyes and the corners of the grim lips. But he was still obviously trim and alert, moving as actively as ever. Even his well-known uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket remained the same. His concession to the early winter was a thin black topcoat, no hat or gloves.
He was being shown a remarkably cluttered living room in a small one-story house in Pennsylvania, only a few miles from the border. The couch and coffee table and two easy chairs were all hidden beneath stacks of delapidated old books, envelopes and folders full of clippings and assorted loose papers. A confusing jumble of knick-knacks and curios crammed wall shelves to bursting, the floor was packed with odd statuettes, antique weapons and ceremonial paraphenalia such as wooden masks and even an articulated skeleton of a large bat sitting on a pile of books.
Something in particular seemed to capture Bane's attention. On a round base, a slim cylinder of copper-colored burnished metal rose up to chest height, ending in a shallow empty bowl. The surface of the device was engraved with esoteric symbols. "Zhune," he grumbled. "Always a bad sign."
Moving away, Bane said "Here's where the body was found, I gather," as he bent over to examine an exposed area of the floor seven feet long and three feet wide. Not only was that spot completely uncluttered, the bare wood flooring shone with the sparkle of a surface well scrubbed. "I never met Russ Esposito personally, but I knew him by reputation."
"He was not a mere dabbler in the occult," Agent Reischl admitted. "We in the Mandate kept a bit of a watch on him because of all the weird items he keep bringing into the country. All legal, all signed for from various dealers in Europe but still..."
"Your agency has dealt with the Midnight War since its formation back in World War Two. And I've done work for them for most of my life." He turned those pale eyes coldly on the agent. "The Mandate has misled me a few times, set me up to be a fall guy more than once. I'll investigate if you guys seem to be pointing me at a threat to people but I don't trust you an inch."
Reischl held up both hands, palms forward. "Whoa, I'm only an office drone, Mr Bane. Mostly I rewrite paperwork and look up legal references. I don't set policy."
"I suppose," the Dire Wolf begrudged the man. "All right. Esposito was found dead here. Since a special cleaning company was brought in, there must have been some violence, right?"
"Yes. My supervisors decided to ask you in on this because of your well-known record. I know you're officially retired but..."
"Heh. My retirement doesn't seem to be too permanent. I still get drawn into Midnight War a few times each year. All right, what is it you're not eager to tell me?"
"Over here," Reischl led Bane to a short hallway barely narrow to admit one of them at a time. "This bathroom here. No bigger than a closet really. Esposito's body was found back there. Here, next to the sink, was most of the man's head."
That caught Bane up short. "MOST of it?"
"Afraid so. Pulled apart. The brain still hasn't been located."
II.
For twenty minutes, Bane peered and poked around without touching anything. His manner suggested he wanted to concentrate and the Mandate agent watched in silence. Finally, the Dire Wolf straightened, scowling even more than usual. "Dammit. I wish I had been able to get a good look while the body was still here. But, even so, I'm convinced this is really bad, Reischl. This death is only the first. I need to contact my sources and see who might be the next likely target."
"What else can you tell me?"
Bane swung around to fix an appraising glare on the man. At best, the grey eyes under those feral brows were unsettling. Now they were actively intimidating. Bane knew this and tried to soften his expression. "Not much that would make sense to you, I'm afraid. I think something dangerous has been awakened or released. I'm not sure what."
"What, like a curse? Like when archaeologists opened those tombs in Egypt and supposedly died mysteriously," Reischl asked without mockery.
"Yes. Like that." He pointed at the copper cylinder. "I strongly urge you to let me take that from the scene. It may be a defense, it may provide some clues. Anything from Zhune triggers my suspicions."
"I was told to give you every cooperation within reason," the Mandate agent said. "Esposito had no immediate family. His will has not been read by State lawyers yet, but I think I can authorize you to remove that thing."
"Good." The Dire Wolf fetched a white towel from the bathroom and used it to unscew the cylinder from its base for easier carrying. "The metal is cool. Its charge may have worn off. Even so, I'd rather not touch Zhune artifacts with my bare skin."
Arms folded, Reischl started to assert himself as he grew used to this man's intensity. "You keep using that word, 'Zhune?'"
"It's obscure. Zhune was thought to be one of the very earliest civilizations after the Darthan Age. Before Sumer, before Chater Kol in the Mideast." He cradled the metal segments and headed for the front door. "I might as well tell you all the unbelievable stuff and get it over with. The sages of Zhune discovered a sort of Lost Science that involved atomic theory. Some of their artifacts are found from time to time, and they always meant destruction and misery. Call it a curse, if you like."
Going ahead to get the door, Agent Reischl shook his head. "I've read a lot of ancient history. It's a hobby. I've never heard any of this."
"Most archaeologists dismiss it as wild conjecture. Just as well. The less people know of the Midnight War, the safer the world is. Poor old Russ Esposito wrote lots of articles about Zhune and absolutely no one would publish them."
Outside, Bane headed straight for his dark green Mustang and carefully secured the relic in its trunk. It was an unusually mild day for early December, sunny and comfortable with a high near fifty. Reischl gestured toward his own inconspicuous black Nissan nearby and said, "I can have someone pick up my car later."
"I didn't say you were working with me on this case." Bane could not quite disguise the hostility in his voice. "If you're familiar with my record, you should know it's not safe for outsiders to team up with me."
"I'm not exactly eager about it, Mr Bane," Reischl admitted. "I've never even drawn my sidearm in the field. But I have my orders."
Surprisingly, the Dire Wolf relented as he chirped open the car doors with his key fob. "Hell. I know the Mandate, you'll only have me followed by a two man team who'll get in the way at the worst time. Get in. You might as well call me Jeremy."
"Glad to hear it. My co-workers call me Charles, not Charlie or Chuck." He climbed into the passenger seat and tightened the belt across his chest. "Let me report to my office."
Heading up the short crushed shale driveway to the main road, Bane remained silent as he headed Northeast. It had been a long boring drive after leaving Manhattan at dawn. After he heard Reischl tell his supervisor the events of the past hour accurately, without any faint emphasis giving away hidden undermeanings, Bane relaxed slightly.
Between the Mandate and the FBI's Department 21 Black, he had been dragged into so many webs of deception and manipulation that he regarded the two organizarions as enemies that he had to work with under tense truces. After ten minutes of silence, the Dire Wolf opened up enough to say, "I'm going to tell you some things that may seem silly or completely impossible. I won't try to convince you of any of them. If you get deeper into the Midnight War and survive, you'll see for yourself."
"Fair enough," the agent said. "I have admit I'm not a man of action. Oh, I passed the standard training program but honestly I mostly do archive and legal work. I was assigned to this case because our New York office is understaffed."
Staying slightly over the speed limit, Bane watched other cars as if expecting one of them to try to ram him at any second. His life had burned suspicion deep into his behavior. "You said you've read my file. Any questions you feel like bringing up while we have a long drive ahead of us?"
"Um, well, to come right out with it, I wonder why not enough is known about you. Your parentage and early years, how you established the Kenneth Dred Foundation, basic information."
The Dire Wolf did not literally shrugged but his voice conveyed the response. "There's a lot I don't know about my past. My earliest memories aren't until I was ten or eleven, trying to survive on the street as a thief."
"Mr Bane--Jeremy. Sorry to say this, but doesn't that sound like something traumatized you at an early age?"
"Sure. I've concluded that. But I'm not interested in digging too deep to try and find out. I've got enough to keep my mind busy in the present." He swung around past a dawdling pick-up, accelerated sharply and only slowed to a reasonable speed when there was traffic ahead of him.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Charles."
The Mandate agent snorted. "I'm a boring dud. Really. Introverted all my life, never got anywhere close to getting married or starting a family. Been hiding behind books all my life. Today was as much excitement as I've ever known."
"Nothing wrong with doing what you like," Bane said. "How'd you choose the Mandate? It's not the most widely known organization."
"Oh, I passed the Bar Exam but couldn't get into a partnership. I settled for a job as a clerk for the DOJ. At one point, someone from the Mandate liked my work and recruited me."
Abruptly, Bane changed the subject. "What do you think happened to Esposito's brain?"
"Damfino. Some pyscho with a cannibal fetish, a serial killer collecting body parts? It's not an area I know much about. My specialty was pretrial agreements."
The Dire Wolf had to slow as there was some sort of tie-up ahead. Looked like an accident He exhaled in annoyance at any delay. "Charles, listen. There are nonhuman predators stalking human beings. Like in the horror movies. It's okay with me if you're skeptical, but my guess is that some creature broke open that man's skull to eat the brains."
"I didn't want to give that idea too much thought," Reischl said in a low tone.
III.
Before they reached the state line, Bane pulled into a gas station to fuel up. His obsessive habit of checking tires and oil, then wiping the windows was as strong as ever. Over a long violent career, always being ready for pursuing or being pursued had meant life or death condition a few times. While Reischl went in to use the bathroom and get a coffee, the Dire Wolf made a quick call to one of his contacts who knew the most about Zhune. Instead of accepting rewards from people he rescued, Bane had instead asked them to keep their eyes open for possible supernatural activity. He had built up a wide connection of experts in various fields, all of whom were grateful for a chance to repay him.
Years had gone by but he still missed Bleak. That cranky old man either knew everything going on in the Midnight War or could point him to someone who did. And Bleak's impatient no-nonsense attitude had always been grounding. As Reischl emerged sipping a huge black coffee in a paper cup, Bane was just completing his call and clipping the Link back to his belt.
As they eased out into traffic again, the Dire Wolf reversed course at the green light and headed back the way from which they had been coming. Before the agent could ask, Bane said, "That was an observer of mine who's something of an expert on Zhune. She told me Esposito was working with a friend who had a similar interest."
"Hmmm, that's an interesting coincidence."
Bane took one hand from the wheel to rub his chin thoughtfully. "It's an obscure subject. Those three people might be the only ones in the metro area who have even heard of Zhune. Joanne gave me the name and address. A man named Bracken, John Bracken. She last heard of him staying in an apartment complex in Smytheton."
"We just passed through the town of Smytheton a few minutes ago," Reischl said. "What is the deal with this Zhune, anyway? Whyare their musty old relics more important than, I don't know, some broken pottery from Babylon or Assyria?"
"Again, this may sound outlandish. Believe it or not." Bane glanced over at his temporary partner. "The wise men of Zhune had discovered a scientific principle they called the ultimate secret of the universe. They could convert matter into energy and energy into matter. Some of their devices release a stream of pure atomic fire that vaporizes anything."
"Really? Why didn't they conquer the ancient world with it?"
Bane raised one eyebrow. "That's the biggest mystery. From what anyone has been able to find out, Zhune still collapsed overnight and vanished as a civilization. Plague, maybe? Earthquake? No one has any idea."
"This is all starting to freak me out," Reischl said. "You've got that doodad that you say came from Zhune in the trunk. And the expert on Zhune was found with his head ripped off and his brain missing. I'm getting the willies thinking about this."
"Good."
Pulling into the parking area of an eight-story beige brick building which formed an L containing hundreds of anonymous apartments, Bane swung his car around to back into a space. Again, this was one of many precautionary habits he had developed during his career. There had been times he needed to leap behind the wheel and peel out without taking a second to turn around. "You're armed right now?"
"Umm, yeah. Glock 17 in a holster under my armpit. I checked it out this morning."
"Make sure it's ready." Bane reached up his left jacket sleeve with his right hand and slid out a slim throwing knife without a hilt, merely a rounded handle. "Blade's warm. That's a bad sign."
"Oh, I've read about those in your file. Silver daggers, right? I don't know what I was expecting, they don't look scary."
"The silver was ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin," Bane said, carefully adjusting the weapon for instant use. "That makes them Ensalir, very potent against creatures of the night. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."
"I'm not laughing about any of it, Jeremy. Believe me. I feel like my hair is standing straight up and my chest is tight."
Bane studied the younger, less hardened man. "Charles. If I yell to get down, you throw yourself to the ground without stopping to think about it. If I yell to run, you take off as fast as you possibly can and don't stop until you're exhausted. Got it?"
"I'm starting to regret taking this assignment and nothing's even happened to us yet!"
"Act as if there's a huge mad dog in the area, growling, rabid maybe, and it might charge us any moment. Be THAT alert," the Dire Wolf said as he opened his door and got out."
IV.
They went through the lobby, past an open office door where a manager was disputing something with a security guard who seemed well past retirement age. Neither man glanced up as Bane and Reischl went straight to the two elevators which flanked a large potted plant. They entered and rose to the fourth floor without incident.
As the Mandate agent glanced at his watch and remarked it was getting late, Bane was standing behind him. The Dire Wolf deftly slipped a flat metal wafer no larger than a fingernail under the rear hem of the man's jacket, where its adhesive backing held it fast. Bane often did this secretly to people he had to deal with. The tracking disc emitted a signal that could be followed for more than one hundred miles. If it wasn't used within a few days, the Trom built circuitry would fall apart and be useless to anyone to trying to figure out what it had been.
Stepping out into a neat, presentable but unremarkable hallway with rows of identical doors, the Dire Wolf held up a hand to indicate they should pause. He reached under his sleeve again to find the silver dagger becoming uncomfortably warm. Bane touched a finger to his lips for silence and led Reischl around a corner and down a shorter hallway that ended with a pictuer window looking out at a bright clear sky.
The last apartment door to the left bore the brass numbers 422, with a round white bell above the doorknob. Still motioning for Reischl to stay back, the Dire Wolf edged up closer to that door, held still and slowed his breathing for a full minute before stealing quietly back to join the agent. When they were back around the bend in the hall, Bane whispered, "I enhanced my hearing. It's a Tel Shai trick. There is deep ragged breathing in that apartment from a single large living being."
"Wait, what?"
"I caught a little bit of a heartbeat, steady but slow. And there is a pungent odor from behind that door, like ammonia. This doesn't look good, Charles."
Reischl actually turned on his heel, "Maybe I'll wait in the lobby..." but a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and stopped him dead in mid-step.
"Stay behind me," was all Bane said as he returned to the door and pressed the bell three times.
"Go away..."
"This is Jeremy Bane, Mr Bracken. I'm a licensed investigator. We need to ask you a few questions, it won't take long."
"I'm infectious. I'm dangerous," rasped the voice. "Get away from that door."
"We'll take our chances." Bane took a flat metal device from his jacket pocket. Wiry filaments extruded into the keyhole, there was a sharp click and the lock unfastened so quickly it seemed as if Bane had merely opened it unopposed. He turned his gaze for a moment toward Reischl just as two moistly-gleaming hands seized him by the lapels and yanked him brutally off his feet into the dark apartment interior.
To give Charles Reischl credit, he immediately dove in following, the door slamming shut behind him. In a dim, stifling stuffy apartment, he saw a nearly naked man lift Bane overhead and slam him down to the floor with an impact that seemed as if it must have been fatal. But even as his shoulders crashed to the thin carpet, Bane brought his knees up to his chest and smashed both boot heels up in Bracken's face with a vicious crunching noise. The glistening man lost his grip. Up on his feet in an instant, the Dire Wolf swung sideways and drove a stiff left leg deeply into Bracken's stomach, doubling him up.
As the man stumbled back and fell to a seated position on the floor, Bane advanced with both clenched fists raised. "Bracken? John Bracken? What's wrong with you?"
"Bracken..is not here right now," came the rough-edged voice. Wearing only a loose pair of flannel pajama bottoms, the man slowly rising was well-muscled and solid, but his skin gleamed wetly as if coated with thin liquid shellac. His facial features were squashed down by this substance, his nose flattened out and his eye squeezed to slits. "You..speak to the Varcrow..."
"Stay where you are," Bane replied, not visibly intimidated in the slightest. "Some sort of parasite, huh? Let Bracken out for a second."
"Why...?"
"He won't be going anywhere. I want to get some answers from him." The Dire Wolf tried to soften his stern tones. "You're not in any danger, Varcrow."
Surprisingly, the strange man fell to his knees as the glistening coat over his skin seemed to seep down into his pore and vanish. The crushed face straightened out. With a great gasping and choking, Bracken struggled to get up into a nearby chair.
"I better talk fast," the shivering man said, hugging himself with thin arms.
Snatching a blanket from the couch, Bane draped it over the man's shoulders and crouched down in front of him.
"I've heard of you," Bracken struggled to say. "Dire Wolf, right? I'm...interested in Zhune. Been studying it all my adult life. Me and Russ. We managed to buy a few scraps from collectors but this last piece still had a gralic charge in it."
Behind Bane, Reischl stepped further into the room with one hand on the grip of his sidearm, mouth open and eyes staring.
"We opened it. The Varcrow poured out and covered me. Arrgh, it's trying to come back out. No, no. Listen, Bane. You know our bodies contain thousands of probiotic micro-organisms, right?"
"Yes," the Dire Wolf said simply. "They help our digestive systems."
"Right, right. But the sages of ancient Zhune found another primordial symbiote deep in every mammal. Promordial liquid parasites coursing through our blood, our fluids, every cell. And Zhunites found a way to greatly increase the amount of these Varcrow. To bring them to the surface."
"Seems like that wasn't the best idea," Bane observed mildly. He unobtrusively brought a thick metal cartridge from an inner jacket pocket and extracted two needle-thin darts into one palm. "This Varcrow is conscious? Aware?"
"Yes. I guess it works on my level of intelligence. It's saturated through my brain, NO! No, don't!" The slime spread out from Bracken's nostrils and mouth, rushing out through the pores ofr his skin to sweep around his body.
Bane jabbed both darts into the sides of the victim's neck and held them there. After a single convulsive spasm, Bracken fell limply out of the chair and slumped to the carpet. Reaching back without looking away, the Dire Wolf said, "Handcuffs?" and was handed a pair.
After securing the unconscious man's wrists together behind his back, Bane dug a winter coat from the back of the couch and draped it over Bracken's unresponsive form.
"Those are your anesthetic darts, right?" asked the dazed Reischl. "How long will he stay out of it?"
"No way to tell," Bane replied, hauling the senseless man upright. "Two darts on a man this size, I'd normally say forty-five minutes. But with this Varcrow infestation, I don't know. Hand me that cap, will you?"
Tugging the NY Yankees cap down over Bracken's head, Bane started carrying the man toward the door with one arm up over across his back. He did this so effortlessly that it seemed clear he was considerably stronger than he looked. They made it to the elevator without encountering anyone.
"I'm going to make a distraction," Bane said. "Run through the lobby with your head down and go straight for my car. We have to be quick to minimize being identified."
V.
When the doors chimed open, the Dire Wolf casually lobbed a round metal sphere no larger than a cherry tomato over by the registration desk where the clerk was signing in a young couple. A sharp detonation cracked and an impenetrable cloud of black smoke rushed out to fill an area ten feet across. The smoke stank of a sharp vinegary odor that made the eyes tear up instantly.
Even before his distraction grenade went off, Bane was running full tilt toward the lobby door. He carried the limp body of John Bracken as if the man was weightless, and Agent Reischl was right behind him. Within a full second, they were out in the parking lot. An older man carrying an overnight bag hardly glanced at them, his attention claimed by the excited yelling from within the building.
As Reischl dove into the passenger seat, Bane threw Bracken's senseless form into the back and then jumped in behind the steering wheel and took off. He turned left at the exit against the red light as he saw no traffic in the way and swung around a few corners because slowing down between other vehicles. He turned off to a residential side road going in the same direction, where houses were spaced further and further apart as they went.
Sensing Agent Reischl goggling at him with mouth hanging down, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a rare dry smile. "That distraction grenade is harmless. The irritant is much weaker than tear gas, it's designed only to get people alarmed. And the smoke will wipe off with a wet sponge."
"Really? I..I didn't know what to think. It all happened so fast."
"I thought that was for the best," Bane said. "Take a look at our friend, will you?"
After a few more minutes, Reischl made an unhappy sound. "He's deep under. Pulse is strong but a little slow. Let me lift an eyelid.. wow, pupils like pinpoints. No sign of that goo on his skin."
"Let's hope the anesthertic holds for a while."
After ten minutes of zipping along a deserted back road with nothing but woods on either side, Reischl spoke up again. "Aren't you in pain? He threw you down hard enough to break bones."
"I'm used to a little roughhouse," Bane dismissed the thought.
"Umm. Let me know if I'm getting too personal. Your file mentioned something about enhanced healing. There was a list of incredible damage you took but bounced back from faster than the Mandate medical staff could explain?"
Bane took so long to reply that it seemed he had not heard the question. He was forbidden under oath to reveal the secret of Tagra. Tea made from the Tagra plant, grown only at Tel Shai, boosted the recuperative powers of its knights to where cracked bones or bruises healed almost visibly. Knights could endure exposure to hostile environments, survive poison or ignore pain to a degree beyond normal Human limits.
But he could not speak of this to anyone outside the Order. "You get used to some rough treatment," he conceded at last. "Like workers getting callused hands."
"Wow," Reischl breathed. "I have to admit I'm scared about what we have in the back seat, Jeremy. Doesn't it worry you?"
"I may not be showing it," the Dire Wolf responded, "But yes, I'm terrified."
Movement in the back seat alarmed them both. Reischl did not realize he had dropped his hand to his sidearm as he swiveled his head sharply around. "Looks like he's stirring. Barely."
"I'm pulling over here," Bane snapped. It was a hard-packed dirt road, with a sign nailed to a tree PRIVATE PROPERTY - NO TRESPASSING. The road wound deeper into the woods, with no buildings visible. The Dire Wolf swung his Mustang over as far as he could onto the dry cold ground and shut off the engine. "I don't have to tell you to be alert."
"He's already got my full attention," Reischl mumbled.
In the dimming light of afternoon, the Dire Wolf studied their prisoner. Bracken's breathing was deep and ragged, his skin was glistening in an unpleasant oily sheen. "The parasite's coming back out. Maybe you should get out of the car, Charles."
"No problem." The Mandate agent swung his door open and almost tumbled in his haste.
Bane touched his forearm and felt the silver daggers stinging hot. There was imminent danger here. "John Bracken, can you hear me?"
"You..." hissed a deep reply. "You are not like the other hosts."
"Never mind that now," Bane snapped as he closed his hand around the grip of his dagger, ready to draw. "I guess I'm speaking to the Varcrow now?"
For once, even the Dire Wolf was taken by surprise. In a rush like a wave rising up and crashing to the surf, a thin greasy liquid poured off the man in the back seat and engulfed the Dire Wolf. Everything looked bright red through that film. Bane's ears rang and he could not draw a breath. All his years of Kumundu training had not prepared him for this assault.
On pure instinct, the Dire Wolf slammed open the car door and flung himself out to the ground. He was suffocating as the Varcrow coated his face and sealed his nostrils. Hitting the ground with a dull thump, Bane whipped out both silver daggers and dragged their edges across his own body, sawing back and forth as if trying to slice himself open.
A high shriek shrilled for miles through the woods. Dimly, Bane realized he was up on his hands and knees, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs. He spat out bits of the vile fluid that had engulfed him. What was going on? Where was his enemy? It was taking forever to get his bearings.
What seemed like hours passed. Everything hurt. Bane had been nearly killed many times by everything from explosions to beatings to poisonous fumes, but he had seldom felt so bad. This pain was different, somehow. It was deeper.
He tried to speak, had to suffer through a coughing jag and finally croaked, "Reischl?" Bane pushed up to his feet and dropped right onto his back, unable to catch himself. Now he was actually worried. Even at his worst, he should have taken that fall better. "Reischl, are you there?"
Not getting an answer, Bane drew as many deep breaths as he could, clearing his head, summoning determination that had never failed him before. The car door was within reach, so he grabbed the handle and yanked himself up to lean on it. Why was he so weak? Has this Varcrow filled him with some sort of venom his system couldn't handle? But by now, the Tagra in his body should have neutralized that.
Then he understood. The Tagra had been sucked out of his system. He could feel the bite of the winter air for the first time in years. His lower back stabbed with pain that had not been there before, his chest ached from the violent coughing. For forty years, his tissues had been saturated so throughly with Tagra that he took instant healing for granted. He was back to Human normal.
Plopping down in the driver's seat, facing outward, Bane worked on catching his breath. It was his basic stubbornness that kept him from being discouraged or afraid. His reaction to any setback was to look for a solution. The pain hadn't eased up, but so what? He was a knight of Tel Shai. He was the Dire Wolf. It would take more than this to stop him. Even without his healing property, Bane's body was finely honed and trained, all lean muscle and bone. He was still in better shape than most Olympic hopefuls.
Reischl was gone. Obviously, the Varcrow had possessed him and run off. Bane didn't know why the monster hadn't stayed in his own body but had fled to a different host. Worry about that later. Then he remembered something. Bane dug into a narrow slit in the inner left lapel of his jacket and fumbled out a tiny plastic bag. Inside were two small green lozenges. He managed to get them into his mouth without dropping them, chewed and swallowed.
Normally, he did not carry these on him but when going through his cabinets the other day, he had thought it a good idea to boil some Tagra and then solidify it into some tablets with regular grocery store gelatin. This had been his own idea and he had always been inordinately pleased with himself for preparing for any emergency.
In a minute, the sharp agony muted down to a dull discomfort. His head felt clearer. He still was not back up to his normal levels but at least he felt he could walk without having to use a stick for support. Bane exhaled and started to swing his legs around inside the car but then remembered Bracken in the rear seat.
It was not much of a surprise to find a dessicated, shrunken mummy that seemed to be tattered papier-mache stretched over thin sticks. The man's eyeballs were pure white, as was his wrinkled skin. All the fluid had been drawn from his every cell to feed the Vorcrow. Bane climbed out again, voicing a grunt at the movement he had never made before. Was this what getting old felt like for normal Humans? Was all the trauma he had put his body through catching up to him, now that the Tagra had been removed?
Concentrate, he told himself as sternly as he would tell anyone else. Focus. From the trunk, he unfolded a heavy duty plastic lawn bag and brought it around. He drew on the black latex gloves and spent an unhappy few minutes loading the remains into the bag. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the fragile body from breaking up and soon the seperate arms and legs and head were bundled up with the bloodless torso. He might as well close the bag airtight he thought as he fastened down in the Mustang's trunk with the other specialized gear he always carried.
All the little twinges in his shoulders and neck annoyed him more than the real pain in his lower back. Never good-natured at the best of times, Bane was sour enough to have frightened anyone who might have seen the cold glare in his eyes. He did have a flicker of self-awareness that maybe the Tagra healing had made him a little bit spoiled compared to what most people went through but he immediately snapped back to situation at hand.
Getting in behind the wheel and starting the engine, Bane at least was detached enough to be glad he had stuck the keys in his pants pocket and that the Varcrow in Reischl's body had not thought to steal his Mustang. This was going to be tough enough with trying to limp after his enemy on foot. Taking the Link from its clip on his belt, Bane pulled up the tracking screen. Over a map of the immediate area was a green grid, with a simple bright blip blinking on and off near the top. Judging by scale, the monster had not gotten more than a mile away while Bane had been pulling himself together.
The Link's magnetic tab held it onto a slot on the dashboard where Bane could see it while still keeping attention on the road. Time to wrap this up. As he backed up and swung around back onto the country road, still another distressing thought could not be kept from his worries. Could he get that Varcrow out without killing Reischl? Or were the unwilling hosts of these Zhune monsters doomed as soon as their bodies were compromised/ He had felt comfortable working with Charles Reischl, had started to like the rather mild agent and the thought that the man might be already good as dead brought Bane's spirits down even further.
VII.
For whatever reason, the possessed Mandate agent had started walking away from the main road, deeper along the dirt trail. Bane followed slowly, keeping an eye on the tracker screen. The effects of the Tagra tablets had not begun to wore off. He felt stiff and achy, but he could function. Still another worry fought to the surface of Bane's consciousness. He suspected the edge was gone from his fighting ability. Even with decades of practice and muscle memory, that extra burst of superhuman speed didn't feel like it was there to be summoned. Since childhood, he had always been able to evade a thrown punch and connect with his own intercepting blow while the bigger opponent was exposed. Now he couldn't count on that either.
Maybe he should simply start shooting as soon as he got a line on Reischl. There were five bullets in the chamber of his long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver and he felt his accuracy was still reliable. Surely the Varcrow would have to vacate a dying host body. But then what? He'd be faced with that sentient blob of liquid streaming right at him again.
As he saw the man illuminated in his headlights twenty feet away, the answer came to the Dire Wolf. He stopped his car and stepped out, wheeling around to fling open the trunk.
"Get out of my head! Go straight to Hell and burn there!" Reischl was screaming. The Mandate agent pounded himself on the chest with both fists and reeled from side to side. Then, horribly a different voice spoke from his mouth, "It is too late for you..."
Walking toward the struggling figure, wincing at an unexpected sharp twinge in his left knee, Bane was placing some weight on a canvas bundle five feet long. He yelled, "Hey! Over here, you parasite."
The spastic movements of a body being fought over by two intelligences made Reischl swing around too fast and drop to one knee. That slurring unhuman voice said, "Go.. Go away. We can not use you."
"I think you did enough damage to me as it is!" the Dire Wolf growled. He ripped off the canvas wrapping and thrust the long coppery cylinder of the Zhune artifact to tap its open cap against Reischl's chest. The long suffering man heaved up completely off the ground, giving a banshee howl that must have been heard for miles through the woods. In the glare from the headlights, Bane saw that gush of oily liquid get sucked into the hollow tubing with a gurgle. As the last bit entered, he screwed the cap tightly shut until his fingers ached with the effort.
Immediately, the underlying sensation of doom lifted from the chill air. It was an immense relief. Before doing anything else, the Dire Wolf pulled the canvas around the Zhune artifact again, this time leaving one of his silver daggers tied into the knot. If anything could help imprison such a monster, the Eldar-bladed blade might.
He was out of breath and he could feel his heart thumping dangerously fast in the chest. Was he going to remain in this weakened state from now on? But there was no time to worry about that now. Bane lowered the bundle to one side and knelt over Charles Reischl. The Mandate agent was breathing, there was a pulse, but the man looked thirty years old. The skin on his face and hands was wrinkled like an apple left too long in the sun, and it was leathery dry to the touch.
Bane hustled as best he could to secure the Zhune artifact back in his trunk, then tried to move Reischl toward the door. Earlier that day, he would have been able to easily fling the man over one shoulder and run up a flight of stairs that way. Now it took real effort to even drag the unresisting form with a hand under each armpit. Eventually, he had his new partner strapped in and he himself fell in behind the wheel of the still-running Mustang.
"I feel terrible," Reischl moaned. "Jeremy? What's going on?"
"Right now, we're getting you to a hospital," Bane replied. "You're more dehydrated than anyone I've ever seen. You need a saline IV and probably some potassium."
"Okay. But what about that monster?" came a weak reply.
"Hopefully, he's staying back in that relic for good. Let him sit in there for another twelve thousand years." Swinging back out on the main road, Bane hit the gas hard.
1/21/2021
"The Unwilling Hosts"
12/3/2020
I.
"All the gore has been cleaned up by a professional service," said Mandate agent Charles Reischl as he led Jeremy Bane into the living room. "After the police CSI boys were done and my agency had already documented everything, this outside company comes in and scrubs away everything." A good-sized slightly stocky man in his forties, Reischl was bland and unmemorable with dark hair and regular features that would be hard to describe in detail. His face bordered on pudgy with a hint of a double chin.
"Makes it easier for the friends and family, I know," Bane replied quietly. "Having to get rid of blood and bone fragments of someone you knew isn't something most people can handle." At sixty-three, the Dire Wolf was still only showing a few signs of age. There were more white flecks in the thick black hair than before, faint lines creased the edges of the grey eyes and the corners of the grim lips. But he was still obviously trim and alert, moving as actively as ever. Even his well-known uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket remained the same. His concession to the early winter was a thin black topcoat, no hat or gloves.
He was being shown a remarkably cluttered living room in a small one-story house in Pennsylvania, only a few miles from the border. The couch and coffee table and two easy chairs were all hidden beneath stacks of delapidated old books, envelopes and folders full of clippings and assorted loose papers. A confusing jumble of knick-knacks and curios crammed wall shelves to bursting, the floor was packed with odd statuettes, antique weapons and ceremonial paraphenalia such as wooden masks and even an articulated skeleton of a large bat sitting on a pile of books.
Something in particular seemed to capture Bane's attention. On a round base, a slim cylinder of copper-colored burnished metal rose up to chest height, ending in a shallow empty bowl. The surface of the device was engraved with esoteric symbols. "Zhune," he grumbled. "Always a bad sign."
Moving away, Bane said "Here's where the body was found, I gather," as he bent over to examine an exposed area of the floor seven feet long and three feet wide. Not only was that spot completely uncluttered, the bare wood flooring shone with the sparkle of a surface well scrubbed. "I never met Russ Esposito personally, but I knew him by reputation."
"He was not a mere dabbler in the occult," Agent Reischl admitted. "We in the Mandate kept a bit of a watch on him because of all the weird items he keep bringing into the country. All legal, all signed for from various dealers in Europe but still..."
"Your agency has dealt with the Midnight War since its formation back in World War Two. And I've done work for them for most of my life." He turned those pale eyes coldly on the agent. "The Mandate has misled me a few times, set me up to be a fall guy more than once. I'll investigate if you guys seem to be pointing me at a threat to people but I don't trust you an inch."
Reischl held up both hands, palms forward. "Whoa, I'm only an office drone, Mr Bane. Mostly I rewrite paperwork and look up legal references. I don't set policy."
"I suppose," the Dire Wolf begrudged the man. "All right. Esposito was found dead here. Since a special cleaning company was brought in, there must have been some violence, right?"
"Yes. My supervisors decided to ask you in on this because of your well-known record. I know you're officially retired but..."
"Heh. My retirement doesn't seem to be too permanent. I still get drawn into Midnight War a few times each year. All right, what is it you're not eager to tell me?"
"Over here," Reischl led Bane to a short hallway barely narrow to admit one of them at a time. "This bathroom here. No bigger than a closet really. Esposito's body was found back there. Here, next to the sink, was most of the man's head."
That caught Bane up short. "MOST of it?"
"Afraid so. Pulled apart. The brain still hasn't been located."
II.
For twenty minutes, Bane peered and poked around without touching anything. His manner suggested he wanted to concentrate and the Mandate agent watched in silence. Finally, the Dire Wolf straightened, scowling even more than usual. "Dammit. I wish I had been able to get a good look while the body was still here. But, even so, I'm convinced this is really bad, Reischl. This death is only the first. I need to contact my sources and see who might be the next likely target."
"What else can you tell me?"
Bane swung around to fix an appraising glare on the man. At best, the grey eyes under those feral brows were unsettling. Now they were actively intimidating. Bane knew this and tried to soften his expression. "Not much that would make sense to you, I'm afraid. I think something dangerous has been awakened or released. I'm not sure what."
"What, like a curse? Like when archaeologists opened those tombs in Egypt and supposedly died mysteriously," Reischl asked without mockery.
"Yes. Like that." He pointed at the copper cylinder. "I strongly urge you to let me take that from the scene. It may be a defense, it may provide some clues. Anything from Zhune triggers my suspicions."
"I was told to give you every cooperation within reason," the Mandate agent said. "Esposito had no immediate family. His will has not been read by State lawyers yet, but I think I can authorize you to remove that thing."
"Good." The Dire Wolf fetched a white towel from the bathroom and used it to unscew the cylinder from its base for easier carrying. "The metal is cool. Its charge may have worn off. Even so, I'd rather not touch Zhune artifacts with my bare skin."
Arms folded, Reischl started to assert himself as he grew used to this man's intensity. "You keep using that word, 'Zhune?'"
"It's obscure. Zhune was thought to be one of the very earliest civilizations after the Darthan Age. Before Sumer, before Chater Kol in the Mideast." He cradled the metal segments and headed for the front door. "I might as well tell you all the unbelievable stuff and get it over with. The sages of Zhune discovered a sort of Lost Science that involved atomic theory. Some of their artifacts are found from time to time, and they always meant destruction and misery. Call it a curse, if you like."
Going ahead to get the door, Agent Reischl shook his head. "I've read a lot of ancient history. It's a hobby. I've never heard any of this."
"Most archaeologists dismiss it as wild conjecture. Just as well. The less people know of the Midnight War, the safer the world is. Poor old Russ Esposito wrote lots of articles about Zhune and absolutely no one would publish them."
Outside, Bane headed straight for his dark green Mustang and carefully secured the relic in its trunk. It was an unusually mild day for early December, sunny and comfortable with a high near fifty. Reischl gestured toward his own inconspicuous black Nissan nearby and said, "I can have someone pick up my car later."
"I didn't say you were working with me on this case." Bane could not quite disguise the hostility in his voice. "If you're familiar with my record, you should know it's not safe for outsiders to team up with me."
"I'm not exactly eager about it, Mr Bane," Reischl admitted. "I've never even drawn my sidearm in the field. But I have my orders."
Surprisingly, the Dire Wolf relented as he chirped open the car doors with his key fob. "Hell. I know the Mandate, you'll only have me followed by a two man team who'll get in the way at the worst time. Get in. You might as well call me Jeremy."
"Glad to hear it. My co-workers call me Charles, not Charlie or Chuck." He climbed into the passenger seat and tightened the belt across his chest. "Let me report to my office."
Heading up the short crushed shale driveway to the main road, Bane remained silent as he headed Northeast. It had been a long boring drive after leaving Manhattan at dawn. After he heard Reischl tell his supervisor the events of the past hour accurately, without any faint emphasis giving away hidden undermeanings, Bane relaxed slightly.
Between the Mandate and the FBI's Department 21 Black, he had been dragged into so many webs of deception and manipulation that he regarded the two organizarions as enemies that he had to work with under tense truces. After ten minutes of silence, the Dire Wolf opened up enough to say, "I'm going to tell you some things that may seem silly or completely impossible. I won't try to convince you of any of them. If you get deeper into the Midnight War and survive, you'll see for yourself."
"Fair enough," the agent said. "I have admit I'm not a man of action. Oh, I passed the standard training program but honestly I mostly do archive and legal work. I was assigned to this case because our New York office is understaffed."
Staying slightly over the speed limit, Bane watched other cars as if expecting one of them to try to ram him at any second. His life had burned suspicion deep into his behavior. "You said you've read my file. Any questions you feel like bringing up while we have a long drive ahead of us?"
"Um, well, to come right out with it, I wonder why not enough is known about you. Your parentage and early years, how you established the Kenneth Dred Foundation, basic information."
The Dire Wolf did not literally shrugged but his voice conveyed the response. "There's a lot I don't know about my past. My earliest memories aren't until I was ten or eleven, trying to survive on the street as a thief."
"Mr Bane--Jeremy. Sorry to say this, but doesn't that sound like something traumatized you at an early age?"
"Sure. I've concluded that. But I'm not interested in digging too deep to try and find out. I've got enough to keep my mind busy in the present." He swung around past a dawdling pick-up, accelerated sharply and only slowed to a reasonable speed when there was traffic ahead of him.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Charles."
The Mandate agent snorted. "I'm a boring dud. Really. Introverted all my life, never got anywhere close to getting married or starting a family. Been hiding behind books all my life. Today was as much excitement as I've ever known."
"Nothing wrong with doing what you like," Bane said. "How'd you choose the Mandate? It's not the most widely known organization."
"Oh, I passed the Bar Exam but couldn't get into a partnership. I settled for a job as a clerk for the DOJ. At one point, someone from the Mandate liked my work and recruited me."
Abruptly, Bane changed the subject. "What do you think happened to Esposito's brain?"
"Damfino. Some pyscho with a cannibal fetish, a serial killer collecting body parts? It's not an area I know much about. My specialty was pretrial agreements."
The Dire Wolf had to slow as there was some sort of tie-up ahead. Looked like an accident He exhaled in annoyance at any delay. "Charles, listen. There are nonhuman predators stalking human beings. Like in the horror movies. It's okay with me if you're skeptical, but my guess is that some creature broke open that man's skull to eat the brains."
"I didn't want to give that idea too much thought," Reischl said in a low tone.
III.
Before they reached the state line, Bane pulled into a gas station to fuel up. His obsessive habit of checking tires and oil, then wiping the windows was as strong as ever. Over a long violent career, always being ready for pursuing or being pursued had meant life or death condition a few times. While Reischl went in to use the bathroom and get a coffee, the Dire Wolf made a quick call to one of his contacts who knew the most about Zhune. Instead of accepting rewards from people he rescued, Bane had instead asked them to keep their eyes open for possible supernatural activity. He had built up a wide connection of experts in various fields, all of whom were grateful for a chance to repay him.
Years had gone by but he still missed Bleak. That cranky old man either knew everything going on in the Midnight War or could point him to someone who did. And Bleak's impatient no-nonsense attitude had always been grounding. As Reischl emerged sipping a huge black coffee in a paper cup, Bane was just completing his call and clipping the Link back to his belt.
As they eased out into traffic again, the Dire Wolf reversed course at the green light and headed back the way from which they had been coming. Before the agent could ask, Bane said, "That was an observer of mine who's something of an expert on Zhune. She told me Esposito was working with a friend who had a similar interest."
"Hmmm, that's an interesting coincidence."
Bane took one hand from the wheel to rub his chin thoughtfully. "It's an obscure subject. Those three people might be the only ones in the metro area who have even heard of Zhune. Joanne gave me the name and address. A man named Bracken, John Bracken. She last heard of him staying in an apartment complex in Smytheton."
"We just passed through the town of Smytheton a few minutes ago," Reischl said. "What is the deal with this Zhune, anyway? Whyare their musty old relics more important than, I don't know, some broken pottery from Babylon or Assyria?"
"Again, this may sound outlandish. Believe it or not." Bane glanced over at his temporary partner. "The wise men of Zhune had discovered a scientific principle they called the ultimate secret of the universe. They could convert matter into energy and energy into matter. Some of their devices release a stream of pure atomic fire that vaporizes anything."
"Really? Why didn't they conquer the ancient world with it?"
Bane raised one eyebrow. "That's the biggest mystery. From what anyone has been able to find out, Zhune still collapsed overnight and vanished as a civilization. Plague, maybe? Earthquake? No one has any idea."
"This is all starting to freak me out," Reischl said. "You've got that doodad that you say came from Zhune in the trunk. And the expert on Zhune was found with his head ripped off and his brain missing. I'm getting the willies thinking about this."
"Good."
Pulling into the parking area of an eight-story beige brick building which formed an L containing hundreds of anonymous apartments, Bane swung his car around to back into a space. Again, this was one of many precautionary habits he had developed during his career. There had been times he needed to leap behind the wheel and peel out without taking a second to turn around. "You're armed right now?"
"Umm, yeah. Glock 17 in a holster under my armpit. I checked it out this morning."
"Make sure it's ready." Bane reached up his left jacket sleeve with his right hand and slid out a slim throwing knife without a hilt, merely a rounded handle. "Blade's warm. That's a bad sign."
"Oh, I've read about those in your file. Silver daggers, right? I don't know what I was expecting, they don't look scary."
"The silver was ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin," Bane said, carefully adjusting the weapon for instant use. "That makes them Ensalir, very potent against creatures of the night. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."
"I'm not laughing about any of it, Jeremy. Believe me. I feel like my hair is standing straight up and my chest is tight."
Bane studied the younger, less hardened man. "Charles. If I yell to get down, you throw yourself to the ground without stopping to think about it. If I yell to run, you take off as fast as you possibly can and don't stop until you're exhausted. Got it?"
"I'm starting to regret taking this assignment and nothing's even happened to us yet!"
"Act as if there's a huge mad dog in the area, growling, rabid maybe, and it might charge us any moment. Be THAT alert," the Dire Wolf said as he opened his door and got out."
IV.
They went through the lobby, past an open office door where a manager was disputing something with a security guard who seemed well past retirement age. Neither man glanced up as Bane and Reischl went straight to the two elevators which flanked a large potted plant. They entered and rose to the fourth floor without incident.
As the Mandate agent glanced at his watch and remarked it was getting late, Bane was standing behind him. The Dire Wolf deftly slipped a flat metal wafer no larger than a fingernail under the rear hem of the man's jacket, where its adhesive backing held it fast. Bane often did this secretly to people he had to deal with. The tracking disc emitted a signal that could be followed for more than one hundred miles. If it wasn't used within a few days, the Trom built circuitry would fall apart and be useless to anyone to trying to figure out what it had been.
Stepping out into a neat, presentable but unremarkable hallway with rows of identical doors, the Dire Wolf held up a hand to indicate they should pause. He reached under his sleeve again to find the silver dagger becoming uncomfortably warm. Bane touched a finger to his lips for silence and led Reischl around a corner and down a shorter hallway that ended with a pictuer window looking out at a bright clear sky.
The last apartment door to the left bore the brass numbers 422, with a round white bell above the doorknob. Still motioning for Reischl to stay back, the Dire Wolf edged up closer to that door, held still and slowed his breathing for a full minute before stealing quietly back to join the agent. When they were back around the bend in the hall, Bane whispered, "I enhanced my hearing. It's a Tel Shai trick. There is deep ragged breathing in that apartment from a single large living being."
"Wait, what?"
"I caught a little bit of a heartbeat, steady but slow. And there is a pungent odor from behind that door, like ammonia. This doesn't look good, Charles."
Reischl actually turned on his heel, "Maybe I'll wait in the lobby..." but a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and stopped him dead in mid-step.
"Stay behind me," was all Bane said as he returned to the door and pressed the bell three times.
"Go away..."
"This is Jeremy Bane, Mr Bracken. I'm a licensed investigator. We need to ask you a few questions, it won't take long."
"I'm infectious. I'm dangerous," rasped the voice. "Get away from that door."
"We'll take our chances." Bane took a flat metal device from his jacket pocket. Wiry filaments extruded into the keyhole, there was a sharp click and the lock unfastened so quickly it seemed as if Bane had merely opened it unopposed. He turned his gaze for a moment toward Reischl just as two moistly-gleaming hands seized him by the lapels and yanked him brutally off his feet into the dark apartment interior.
To give Charles Reischl credit, he immediately dove in following, the door slamming shut behind him. In a dim, stifling stuffy apartment, he saw a nearly naked man lift Bane overhead and slam him down to the floor with an impact that seemed as if it must have been fatal. But even as his shoulders crashed to the thin carpet, Bane brought his knees up to his chest and smashed both boot heels up in Bracken's face with a vicious crunching noise. The glistening man lost his grip. Up on his feet in an instant, the Dire Wolf swung sideways and drove a stiff left leg deeply into Bracken's stomach, doubling him up.
As the man stumbled back and fell to a seated position on the floor, Bane advanced with both clenched fists raised. "Bracken? John Bracken? What's wrong with you?"
"Bracken..is not here right now," came the rough-edged voice. Wearing only a loose pair of flannel pajama bottoms, the man slowly rising was well-muscled and solid, but his skin gleamed wetly as if coated with thin liquid shellac. His facial features were squashed down by this substance, his nose flattened out and his eye squeezed to slits. "You..speak to the Varcrow..."
"Stay where you are," Bane replied, not visibly intimidated in the slightest. "Some sort of parasite, huh? Let Bracken out for a second."
"Why...?"
"He won't be going anywhere. I want to get some answers from him." The Dire Wolf tried to soften his stern tones. "You're not in any danger, Varcrow."
Surprisingly, the strange man fell to his knees as the glistening coat over his skin seemed to seep down into his pore and vanish. The crushed face straightened out. With a great gasping and choking, Bracken struggled to get up into a nearby chair.
"I better talk fast," the shivering man said, hugging himself with thin arms.
Snatching a blanket from the couch, Bane draped it over the man's shoulders and crouched down in front of him.
"I've heard of you," Bracken struggled to say. "Dire Wolf, right? I'm...interested in Zhune. Been studying it all my adult life. Me and Russ. We managed to buy a few scraps from collectors but this last piece still had a gralic charge in it."
Behind Bane, Reischl stepped further into the room with one hand on the grip of his sidearm, mouth open and eyes staring.
"We opened it. The Varcrow poured out and covered me. Arrgh, it's trying to come back out. No, no. Listen, Bane. You know our bodies contain thousands of probiotic micro-organisms, right?"
"Yes," the Dire Wolf said simply. "They help our digestive systems."
"Right, right. But the sages of ancient Zhune found another primordial symbiote deep in every mammal. Promordial liquid parasites coursing through our blood, our fluids, every cell. And Zhunites found a way to greatly increase the amount of these Varcrow. To bring them to the surface."
"Seems like that wasn't the best idea," Bane observed mildly. He unobtrusively brought a thick metal cartridge from an inner jacket pocket and extracted two needle-thin darts into one palm. "This Varcrow is conscious? Aware?"
"Yes. I guess it works on my level of intelligence. It's saturated through my brain, NO! No, don't!" The slime spread out from Bracken's nostrils and mouth, rushing out through the pores ofr his skin to sweep around his body.
Bane jabbed both darts into the sides of the victim's neck and held them there. After a single convulsive spasm, Bracken fell limply out of the chair and slumped to the carpet. Reaching back without looking away, the Dire Wolf said, "Handcuffs?" and was handed a pair.
After securing the unconscious man's wrists together behind his back, Bane dug a winter coat from the back of the couch and draped it over Bracken's unresponsive form.
"Those are your anesthetic darts, right?" asked the dazed Reischl. "How long will he stay out of it?"
"No way to tell," Bane replied, hauling the senseless man upright. "Two darts on a man this size, I'd normally say forty-five minutes. But with this Varcrow infestation, I don't know. Hand me that cap, will you?"
Tugging the NY Yankees cap down over Bracken's head, Bane started carrying the man toward the door with one arm up over across his back. He did this so effortlessly that it seemed clear he was considerably stronger than he looked. They made it to the elevator without encountering anyone.
"I'm going to make a distraction," Bane said. "Run through the lobby with your head down and go straight for my car. We have to be quick to minimize being identified."
V.
When the doors chimed open, the Dire Wolf casually lobbed a round metal sphere no larger than a cherry tomato over by the registration desk where the clerk was signing in a young couple. A sharp detonation cracked and an impenetrable cloud of black smoke rushed out to fill an area ten feet across. The smoke stank of a sharp vinegary odor that made the eyes tear up instantly.
Even before his distraction grenade went off, Bane was running full tilt toward the lobby door. He carried the limp body of John Bracken as if the man was weightless, and Agent Reischl was right behind him. Within a full second, they were out in the parking lot. An older man carrying an overnight bag hardly glanced at them, his attention claimed by the excited yelling from within the building.
As Reischl dove into the passenger seat, Bane threw Bracken's senseless form into the back and then jumped in behind the steering wheel and took off. He turned left at the exit against the red light as he saw no traffic in the way and swung around a few corners because slowing down between other vehicles. He turned off to a residential side road going in the same direction, where houses were spaced further and further apart as they went.
Sensing Agent Reischl goggling at him with mouth hanging down, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a rare dry smile. "That distraction grenade is harmless. The irritant is much weaker than tear gas, it's designed only to get people alarmed. And the smoke will wipe off with a wet sponge."
"Really? I..I didn't know what to think. It all happened so fast."
"I thought that was for the best," Bane said. "Take a look at our friend, will you?"
After a few more minutes, Reischl made an unhappy sound. "He's deep under. Pulse is strong but a little slow. Let me lift an eyelid.. wow, pupils like pinpoints. No sign of that goo on his skin."
"Let's hope the anesthertic holds for a while."
After ten minutes of zipping along a deserted back road with nothing but woods on either side, Reischl spoke up again. "Aren't you in pain? He threw you down hard enough to break bones."
"I'm used to a little roughhouse," Bane dismissed the thought.
"Umm. Let me know if I'm getting too personal. Your file mentioned something about enhanced healing. There was a list of incredible damage you took but bounced back from faster than the Mandate medical staff could explain?"
Bane took so long to reply that it seemed he had not heard the question. He was forbidden under oath to reveal the secret of Tagra. Tea made from the Tagra plant, grown only at Tel Shai, boosted the recuperative powers of its knights to where cracked bones or bruises healed almost visibly. Knights could endure exposure to hostile environments, survive poison or ignore pain to a degree beyond normal Human limits.
But he could not speak of this to anyone outside the Order. "You get used to some rough treatment," he conceded at last. "Like workers getting callused hands."
"Wow," Reischl breathed. "I have to admit I'm scared about what we have in the back seat, Jeremy. Doesn't it worry you?"
"I may not be showing it," the Dire Wolf responded, "But yes, I'm terrified."
Movement in the back seat alarmed them both. Reischl did not realize he had dropped his hand to his sidearm as he swiveled his head sharply around. "Looks like he's stirring. Barely."
"I'm pulling over here," Bane snapped. It was a hard-packed dirt road, with a sign nailed to a tree PRIVATE PROPERTY - NO TRESPASSING. The road wound deeper into the woods, with no buildings visible. The Dire Wolf swung his Mustang over as far as he could onto the dry cold ground and shut off the engine. "I don't have to tell you to be alert."
"He's already got my full attention," Reischl mumbled.
In the dimming light of afternoon, the Dire Wolf studied their prisoner. Bracken's breathing was deep and ragged, his skin was glistening in an unpleasant oily sheen. "The parasite's coming back out. Maybe you should get out of the car, Charles."
"No problem." The Mandate agent swung his door open and almost tumbled in his haste.
Bane touched his forearm and felt the silver daggers stinging hot. There was imminent danger here. "John Bracken, can you hear me?"
"You..." hissed a deep reply. "You are not like the other hosts."
"Never mind that now," Bane snapped as he closed his hand around the grip of his dagger, ready to draw. "I guess I'm speaking to the Varcrow now?"
For once, even the Dire Wolf was taken by surprise. In a rush like a wave rising up and crashing to the surf, a thin greasy liquid poured off the man in the back seat and engulfed the Dire Wolf. Everything looked bright red through that film. Bane's ears rang and he could not draw a breath. All his years of Kumundu training had not prepared him for this assault.
On pure instinct, the Dire Wolf slammed open the car door and flung himself out to the ground. He was suffocating as the Varcrow coated his face and sealed his nostrils. Hitting the ground with a dull thump, Bane whipped out both silver daggers and dragged their edges across his own body, sawing back and forth as if trying to slice himself open.
A high shriek shrilled for miles through the woods. Dimly, Bane realized he was up on his hands and knees, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs. He spat out bits of the vile fluid that had engulfed him. What was going on? Where was his enemy? It was taking forever to get his bearings.
What seemed like hours passed. Everything hurt. Bane had been nearly killed many times by everything from explosions to beatings to poisonous fumes, but he had seldom felt so bad. This pain was different, somehow. It was deeper.
He tried to speak, had to suffer through a coughing jag and finally croaked, "Reischl?" Bane pushed up to his feet and dropped right onto his back, unable to catch himself. Now he was actually worried. Even at his worst, he should have taken that fall better. "Reischl, are you there?"
Not getting an answer, Bane drew as many deep breaths as he could, clearing his head, summoning determination that had never failed him before. The car door was within reach, so he grabbed the handle and yanked himself up to lean on it. Why was he so weak? Has this Varcrow filled him with some sort of venom his system couldn't handle? But by now, the Tagra in his body should have neutralized that.
Then he understood. The Tagra had been sucked out of his system. He could feel the bite of the winter air for the first time in years. His lower back stabbed with pain that had not been there before, his chest ached from the violent coughing. For forty years, his tissues had been saturated so throughly with Tagra that he took instant healing for granted. He was back to Human normal.
Plopping down in the driver's seat, facing outward, Bane worked on catching his breath. It was his basic stubbornness that kept him from being discouraged or afraid. His reaction to any setback was to look for a solution. The pain hadn't eased up, but so what? He was a knight of Tel Shai. He was the Dire Wolf. It would take more than this to stop him. Even without his healing property, Bane's body was finely honed and trained, all lean muscle and bone. He was still in better shape than most Olympic hopefuls.
Reischl was gone. Obviously, the Varcrow had possessed him and run off. Bane didn't know why the monster hadn't stayed in his own body but had fled to a different host. Worry about that later. Then he remembered something. Bane dug into a narrow slit in the inner left lapel of his jacket and fumbled out a tiny plastic bag. Inside were two small green lozenges. He managed to get them into his mouth without dropping them, chewed and swallowed.
Normally, he did not carry these on him but when going through his cabinets the other day, he had thought it a good idea to boil some Tagra and then solidify it into some tablets with regular grocery store gelatin. This had been his own idea and he had always been inordinately pleased with himself for preparing for any emergency.
In a minute, the sharp agony muted down to a dull discomfort. His head felt clearer. He still was not back up to his normal levels but at least he felt he could walk without having to use a stick for support. Bane exhaled and started to swing his legs around inside the car but then remembered Bracken in the rear seat.
It was not much of a surprise to find a dessicated, shrunken mummy that seemed to be tattered papier-mache stretched over thin sticks. The man's eyeballs were pure white, as was his wrinkled skin. All the fluid had been drawn from his every cell to feed the Vorcrow. Bane climbed out again, voicing a grunt at the movement he had never made before. Was this what getting old felt like for normal Humans? Was all the trauma he had put his body through catching up to him, now that the Tagra had been removed?
Concentrate, he told himself as sternly as he would tell anyone else. Focus. From the trunk, he unfolded a heavy duty plastic lawn bag and brought it around. He drew on the black latex gloves and spent an unhappy few minutes loading the remains into the bag. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the fragile body from breaking up and soon the seperate arms and legs and head were bundled up with the bloodless torso. He might as well close the bag airtight he thought as he fastened down in the Mustang's trunk with the other specialized gear he always carried.
All the little twinges in his shoulders and neck annoyed him more than the real pain in his lower back. Never good-natured at the best of times, Bane was sour enough to have frightened anyone who might have seen the cold glare in his eyes. He did have a flicker of self-awareness that maybe the Tagra healing had made him a little bit spoiled compared to what most people went through but he immediately snapped back to situation at hand.
Getting in behind the wheel and starting the engine, Bane at least was detached enough to be glad he had stuck the keys in his pants pocket and that the Varcrow in Reischl's body had not thought to steal his Mustang. This was going to be tough enough with trying to limp after his enemy on foot. Taking the Link from its clip on his belt, Bane pulled up the tracking screen. Over a map of the immediate area was a green grid, with a simple bright blip blinking on and off near the top. Judging by scale, the monster had not gotten more than a mile away while Bane had been pulling himself together.
The Link's magnetic tab held it onto a slot on the dashboard where Bane could see it while still keeping attention on the road. Time to wrap this up. As he backed up and swung around back onto the country road, still another distressing thought could not be kept from his worries. Could he get that Varcrow out without killing Reischl? Or were the unwilling hosts of these Zhune monsters doomed as soon as their bodies were compromised/ He had felt comfortable working with Charles Reischl, had started to like the rather mild agent and the thought that the man might be already good as dead brought Bane's spirits down even further.
VII.
For whatever reason, the possessed Mandate agent had started walking away from the main road, deeper along the dirt trail. Bane followed slowly, keeping an eye on the tracker screen. The effects of the Tagra tablets had not begun to wore off. He felt stiff and achy, but he could function. Still another worry fought to the surface of Bane's consciousness. He suspected the edge was gone from his fighting ability. Even with decades of practice and muscle memory, that extra burst of superhuman speed didn't feel like it was there to be summoned. Since childhood, he had always been able to evade a thrown punch and connect with his own intercepting blow while the bigger opponent was exposed. Now he couldn't count on that either.
Maybe he should simply start shooting as soon as he got a line on Reischl. There were five bullets in the chamber of his long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver and he felt his accuracy was still reliable. Surely the Varcrow would have to vacate a dying host body. But then what? He'd be faced with that sentient blob of liquid streaming right at him again.
As he saw the man illuminated in his headlights twenty feet away, the answer came to the Dire Wolf. He stopped his car and stepped out, wheeling around to fling open the trunk.
"Get out of my head! Go straight to Hell and burn there!" Reischl was screaming. The Mandate agent pounded himself on the chest with both fists and reeled from side to side. Then, horribly a different voice spoke from his mouth, "It is too late for you..."
Walking toward the struggling figure, wincing at an unexpected sharp twinge in his left knee, Bane was placing some weight on a canvas bundle five feet long. He yelled, "Hey! Over here, you parasite."
The spastic movements of a body being fought over by two intelligences made Reischl swing around too fast and drop to one knee. That slurring unhuman voice said, "Go.. Go away. We can not use you."
"I think you did enough damage to me as it is!" the Dire Wolf growled. He ripped off the canvas wrapping and thrust the long coppery cylinder of the Zhune artifact to tap its open cap against Reischl's chest. The long suffering man heaved up completely off the ground, giving a banshee howl that must have been heard for miles through the woods. In the glare from the headlights, Bane saw that gush of oily liquid get sucked into the hollow tubing with a gurgle. As the last bit entered, he screwed the cap tightly shut until his fingers ached with the effort.
Immediately, the underlying sensation of doom lifted from the chill air. It was an immense relief. Before doing anything else, the Dire Wolf pulled the canvas around the Zhune artifact again, this time leaving one of his silver daggers tied into the knot. If anything could help imprison such a monster, the Eldar-bladed blade might.
He was out of breath and he could feel his heart thumping dangerously fast in the chest. Was he going to remain in this weakened state from now on? But there was no time to worry about that now. Bane lowered the bundle to one side and knelt over Charles Reischl. The Mandate agent was breathing, there was a pulse, but the man looked thirty years old. The skin on his face and hands was wrinkled like an apple left too long in the sun, and it was leathery dry to the touch.
Bane hustled as best he could to secure the Zhune artifact back in his trunk, then tried to move Reischl toward the door. Earlier that day, he would have been able to easily fling the man over one shoulder and run up a flight of stairs that way. Now it took real effort to even drag the unresisting form with a hand under each armpit. Eventually, he had his new partner strapped in and he himself fell in behind the wheel of the still-running Mustang.
"I feel terrible," Reischl moaned. "Jeremy? What's going on?"
"Right now, we're getting you to a hospital," Bane replied. "You're more dehydrated than anyone I've ever seen. You need a saline IV and probably some potassium."
"Okay. But what about that monster?" came a weak reply.
"Hopefully, he's staying back in that relic for good. Let him sit in there for another twelve thousand years." Swinging back out on the main road, Bane hit the gas hard.
1/21/2021
