![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Skeeter"
10/6/2020
I.
On an unseasonably warm and muggy afternoon in early October, Timothy Limbo pulled up to the main entrance of the HealthAlliance Hospital. He was driving Foster's three year old Mazda CX-3 with its distinctive bright green paint job. A slightly built young man just below average height, Tim had a friendly, open face that people instinctively liked. His lank yellow hair hung down dangerously close to getting in his eyes.
The double doors hissed open and Foster hobbled out. A few years older than Timothy, a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier, Foster Whitcomb was wearing a black T-shirt and khaki shorts that revealed his left ankle was in a cast and his left knee bound with an Ace bandage. Gauze dressings covered most of his left forearm as well.
Out from behind the wheel in a rush, Tim handed Foster a wooden crutch and placed a comforting hand on his partner's uninjured shoulder. "They let you out kind of early, didn't they? I thought you'd be in there at least a day."
"Aw, it's not that bad, Tim. A hairline fracture in the ankle, some gouges and scrapes. They cleaned everything. I have to watch for signs of infection, though." As Tim opened the passenger door, Foster climbed in with a visible wince. "It'd be great to have your enhanced healing, Tim."
"I know, I know. The Teachers won't even consider it. I'm not even allowed to discuss it with you." Swinging around the front of the car, Timothy slid into the driver's seat again and started the engine. "I'll be honest, they don't approve of knights of Tel Shai having relationships with what they call civilians."
Struggling with the seat belt straps, Foster scoffed. "Think they'd feel different if I was a woman?"
"No. I don't think it matters. I mean, the Teachers ARE a hundred years old except for Cindy and Shaw, but they're open-minded. I've seen students of every ethnic group, including some I still can't figure out. The Order works on ability and character and potential. They don't care who or how you love."
"I suppose," Foster conceded. "Anyway. The doctors totally believed I slipped going down a hill and banged myself up on some rocks. Didn't ask any questions. No one but you knows what really happened."
Stopping at a light on Cedar Street, Tim snorted unhappily. "Silent Joe knows. He was almost within reach when you fell down that hill and I wasn't far behind him. That was a steep slope, Foster, and I couldn't see you from the road. I had to find out if you were okay."
"Are you annoyed about that?" Foster asked. "We were trying to locate Silent Josh for a week and you were just about to tackle him when I did somersaults down the hill. If I hadn't been there, you'd be turning Silent Josh over to the FBI's Department 21 Black."
Rolling forward again, Tim reached over to squeeze Foster's bruised hand very lightly. "I wasn't thinking that way. There was no decision to be made. Making sure you were all right was all that mattered. Department 21 Black is chasing Silent Josh now. Let them take over."
They were heading south along streets that started to show a gradual downward slope as they neared Esopus Creek. A few gorgeous old Episcopalm churches from the 1800s loomed up on either side. Tim asked, "Do we need to stop for anything? Groceries?"
"No, I'm all stocked up. My podcast has been turning a nice profit lately, Tim. I'm hinting at occult subjects that no one else knows about."
Timothy Limbo sounded more stern than he usually allowed his voice to express. "Oh no, Foster, don't give away secrets of the Midnight War. There's a reason it's forbidden knowledge. Let people tease themselves with silly things like astrology or palm reading or prophetic dreams. Those are safe. But I told you... Nothing in your podcast about the adjacent realms or the Seven Races. Nothing about gralic sorcery or what really comes out to stalk in the middle of the night."
Shifting his weight uneasily, Foster took a moment to answer. "I've been careful, Tim. Just hints and suggestions and little clues. Nothing that anyone could get in danger looking into. But after all, investigating the badlands is my life work. Even before we met, my WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES was the top podcast on the supernatural."
"I don't want to get into a fight," Tim answered. He pulled up against the curb near the ancient four story yellow brick building where Foster's apartment was. "You know. hon, have we thought about the inconvenience this place gives you? You're supposed to keep weight off that ankle AND the knee, but your building ha no elevator."
Unbuckling his seat belt, Foster rubbed a hand on the back of his partner's neck. "Heh, that's why the rent is so reasonable. Four flights of stairs and the building is at the bottom of a godawful hill no one can drive when it snows."
"True, true. But right now, I don't know if hiking up and down the stairs is in your best interest. And I can't stay here, I have to report back to headquarters tomorrow by three PM." He sighed with genuine exasperation. "KDF schedules are so whacky. We're mostly on duty from eleven at night until seven in the morning but one day a week we have monitor duty during the day. Our team is active overnight.:
"It's not called the Midnight War for nothing," Foster agreed. "I don't know if I've even mentioned it, Timothy Lucas Lambert, but I believe in what you do. The knights of Tel Shai, the members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation... you guys are needed. People don't realize what terrors of the darkness are kept away by your team."
"It's nice to hear that, buddy. I know my KDF schedule makes our getting together difficult but... You know what, let's get some drive-through fast food at Burger Hell."
Foster laughed and any tension between them evaporated. "Sounds good. I haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch. Some salt, grease and caffeine would hit the spot."
But as Tim turned the key in the ignition, a thin flat device on his belt beeped three times. He grumbled something incoherent and said, "I have to take this. Hello. Sable? What's up?"
As clear and rich as if she were sitting next to them, Sable's voice said, "Glad to reach you, Tim. I know it's your off day and you're with Foster, but something ominous is going on."
"And we're always on call," Tim answered without resentment. "Go ahead, captain."
"Something going on not twenty minutes from where your signal is," Sable continued. "You know the bicycle trail that runs to the uptown plaza. Some missing pets have been reported there the past few weeks and now a Human cadaver has been found. I'm told there's a puncture wound in the chest and the body is wrinkled from having most of its blood drained."
"I'm on my way," Tim replied. "I'll report as I go."
"One more thing," Sable's voice said. "I haven't been happy about Archie accompanying Megan on her 'Trom Girl Mysteries.' And Archie is a big bruiser who was in the Army and who can handle himself in a fight. I like Foster, he's a good person, but I don't want another civilian getting too deep into Midnight War. It's dangerous even for us. We should not be placing our friends and loved ones in harm's way."
"Understood, I'll keep him far back from any phenomena," Tim said and broke the connection. He turned to Foster and raised an eyebrow. "So my captain wants you to stay away from the monsters and murderers."
That made Foster laugh out loud. "Telling me NOT to do something guarantees I'll do it. Come on, buddy, let's look for a blood-sucker."
II.
Van Aken Street was in a neighborhood that did not make a great first impression. On the corner where Timothy parked was a Western Union store that advertised check cashing and EZ Loans. The stained, cracked sidewalks were decorated with enough litter to fill a garbage bag. As Tim watched, a grown man with a knapsack rolled by on a girl's bike complete with pink tassels on the handlebars.
"Crack Alley and Hooker Lane," Foster grumbled. "Most of the town is pretty decent. You've been to Forsythe Park. But I guess every city has its bad part."
"Oh, I've seen worse. Gary, Indiana for one. There, the cops tell you to roll through stop signs and keep going. This doesn't look too atrocious. There's two cop cars further up the block, they've got the red and blue lights on. One officer looks like he's keeping people well back."
Foster stuck his head out the passenger window and craned his head. "Hmm. You can glimpse the bicycle trail from here. See it? It's paved. It runs from midtown to the uptown shopping plaza, maybe five miles with lots of woods on either side. It's a nice jog, too, I used to walk it when the leaves turn color."
"I suppose I could identify myself to the cops," Tim grumbled. "I am a licensed Private Investigator in the city and state of New York, and the KDF is bonded as consultants to Department 21 Black. But local police aren't always impressed by those credentials."
A half dozen ragged men were being repeatedly told to disperse by a uniformed officer. They didn't exactly argue, they simply wandered off to the end of the block and then slowly drifted back to congregate again. The cop seemed more disinterested than annoyed by the crowd, as if swatting at flies that insisted on buzzing around him.
Timothy rolled down his window. "Time for my friendly ghosts to snoop." He held up his open hands and over each palm a whirling tornado of barely visible force materialized. Even someone staring right at the caspders in direct afternoon sunlight had difficulty seeing them.
"I've gotten to like your little apparitions," Foster said. "They're cute. Like hummingbirds."
Tim grinned. "I've tried to ask one of them to attach himself to you but they're not interested. I guess they bond to a single person." As the two whirlwinds spun out the open car window, Tim leaned back and closed his eyes.
"I'm going to tell you what I'm 'seeing' through my boys," he said. "When I'm ready to call them back, that's when you ask any questions or suggest I check something out. You're good at spotting things that are out of place."
"Thanks."
"All righty then. We're gliding along at head height. There they are. Four uniformed officers standing around a body on the ground. Looks like an ambulance approaching from the North. The bike trail is not open to auto traffic but I guess emergency vehicles get permission. Let's see. Oh, this poor guy is dead. Eyes wide open staring at the sun, skin all dry and wrinkled. He's wearing brown work shoes, black pants, a white button down shirt and a black suit jacket, all tattered and worn out. It's hard to judge because of his weathered condition but I'd say he was at least fifty. Short black curly hair. Eyes are dark brown. He hadn't shaved for three or four days before his death."
Timothy paused before continuing. "His shirt is torn open so it looks as if it was ripped open and the buttons scattered. On the left side of his chest is a round black hole, about as big as if it was made by a finger. Clean edges to the puncture. No blood at all."
Starting to comment, Foster caught himself in time. He didn't want to distract his partner.
"The cops are speaking very low, whispering in fact" Timothy added. "I can't make out the words. Getting my caspers closer would risk having them seen. The two EMTs are being quiet, too. They're lifting the body on one of those wheeled stretchers that raises to chest height, covering it with a sheet. Wait. One of them said something that annoyed a cop. The cop yelled something back." Timothy snapped his eyes open and turned to Foster. "He yelled 'I don't want to hear any more about the damn Skeeter!'"
III.
"Oh, I absolutely LOVE this!" laughed Foster. "My God, this will get more hits on YouTube than if Courtney McKenna dropped her blouse in a concert. Come on, Tim, I'm taking mental notes already."
For once, a stern edge came to Timothy's meek voice. "Hold it right there, Foster. You know Sable's orders. And KDF policy, AND my own misgivings. We've argued about this before. Suppose I let you air a story about the Darthim or about some serial killer like Quilt. They'd track you down easy enough. You don't want to be tortured to death over a three month period."
"Well...not if you put it that way...."
"Even one of the less fiendish bad guys like Cogitus won't want their secrets revealed to the public. He'd do some medical...experiments."
Foster gestured dramatically as if pleading in court. "But come on, Tim! This is my life work. My podcast THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES has a reputation for solid, no-specularing reporting. Here we've got missing pets, a corpse drained of blood and some monster called the Skeeter! I've got to cover it!"
"Aw, let's not fight. I hate that. Listen, Foster, here's a suggestion. When this case is wrapped up and I type my final report for the files, suppose I ask Sable to review it. She'll decide how much you can reveal, what names or addresses would have to be redacted, that sort of thing. I think I can talk her into letting you do a story on it after a few months have passed."
Foster sniffed.
"And no pouting. You're not a fourteen year old girl, Foster. Look, you know about the silk armor I wear under my clothes. Rifle bullets feel like a light tap and sword thrusts aren't even a poke with a finger. You've seen my enhanced healing in action. And you've seen me fight."
"True, true," Foster admitted. "That Kumundu is amazing stuff. It's like watching one of those kung fu movies on fast forward."
Tim eased up a little. "And you have none of these advantages, buddy. Look, I know it's not a matter of being brave or not. You've got all the nerve you'd ever need. But think about me. What do you think would happen to me if you got horribly killed and it was my fault? Do you think I'd ever get over it?"
In a rare public gesture, Foster leaned way over in his seat and put his arms around Tim's neck, hugging painfully hard. His voice almost cracked. "I wouldn't do that to you. I'll be careful."
"You still don't get it." Timothy patted his partner's back. "Honestly, Foster, you're incorrigible. I think your curiosity is turned up to Eleven and your common sense is down on Three. No matter what we agree, if something weird is going on, you'll walk right up to it."
At that moment when they were both getting emotional and their guard was down, a woman stuck her head in Tim's open window. "Wanna go for a ride?"
IV.
Timothy had never been so disgusted with himself. As a Tel Shai knight and a KDF member, he had many blood enemies who wouldn't hesitate to kill him in broad daylight on a crowded street. He was supposed to be constantly alert, always aware of his surroundings, always watching for ambushes. This woman could have easily jammed a pistol against his head and emptied a magazine before he knew it. He disengaged from Foster and glared up at her. "What?"
"You know, go for a ride?" she repeated. Despite being seriously underweight and lacking any make-up, the young woman was naturally good-looking with oblique green eyes and a soft snub nose. Her dark brown hair bordered on being frizzy, her light weight denim jacket and jeans were old but reasonably clean. "One of you can have fun or both, I don't mind."
"Oh. I get it," Foster said gently. "Sorry, we're not interested."
"Maybe just a couple dollars then? Honestly I haven't eaten since I don't know when. The stores all chase me out. I can't even find anything dumpster diving."
Surprising himself, Timothy sighed and smiled at her. "Tell you what, we're going to Burger Hell drive-through. Hop in, you can order a meal and eat with us."
"Really? Really? Oh my God, you won't regret this, I'll take good care of you guys."
As she climbed in the back, Tim eased out onto the street and turned left at the stop sign. "You don't have to do anything, we were going to grab a bite anyway. I'm Tim, this is Foster."
"My name's Maya, oh you two are so kind. I'm starving. You find out you don't really have any friends when you're down and out."
Behind the wheel, Timothy glanced over at his partner. "Maybe you know a little about the strange things going on. We saw three cops down on that bike trail and an ambulance took a body away."
"The Skeeter got him."
"The what?"
"Oh, nobody likes to talk about it," Maya said. "But there's SOMEthing in the area that's been killing dogs and cats. Two weeks ago, a woman named Kelsey was found dead in the woods up by the uptown plaza. And today it was Spanish Eddie. The Skeeter is getting bolder."
Foster craned his head to look back at her. "Some kind of wild animal?"
"I dunno what you'd call it," she answered. "Gives me big time creeps to even think about. What can kill a full grown German Shepherd and then drink its blood? Nothing natural, that's fer shure."
As they swung into the parking lot of the fast food franchise, there was a flurry of decisions before reaching the speaker box which took their orders. Maya asked for a fish sandwich with lots of Tartar sauce, some onion rings and a chocolate shake. Tim and Foster each got a double bacon cheeseburger, large fries and a cola. Then they asked Maya if she wanted anything else and she eagerly requested a hot apple pie section and a bag of six chocolate chip cookies.
Parking in a corner of the lot, all three of them dug in without much conversation for a few minutes. Maya nearly inhaled her food. As Tim eased up after his burger, he ventured to ask, "So, has anyone actually SEEN this Skeeter thing?"
"Nope. One or two people claim they've heard a high-pitched whining noise at night. Like a big old mosquito. But you can bet they didn't go look to see what was causing it!"
That made Timothy laugh. "Nothing in the papers or the local news about it?"
"Nope. Not a whisper. I'll tell you the truth, mister, when you're on the streets a while, you realize a LOT of horrible stuff goes on that doesn't get talked about."
"That's not enough Midnight War," Timothy scoffed. "Just drugs and crime and mere Human evil."
"I don't know what you mean by any Midnight War," said Maya, "But you guys have treated me decent and I appreciate it. Honestly, don't go near that neighborhood after the stores close. Not even the crack dealers and the hos are there any more. They've all moved up to Stuyvesant Avenue. Our lives are dangerous enough."
Turning in his seat, Foster gave the girl a sorrowful gaze. "If we gave you some cash and promised not to spend it on drugs, I don't suppose your promise would be binding?"
"Aw hell, mister, this is the life I'm leading. I'm not going to lie to you."
"That's honest enough," Tim observed. "You could easily swear up and down you'll just buy food and immediately run to get a hit. But I tell you what, Maya. We'll be poking around town for a while. Anytime you spot us in this damn Kelly green car, we'll take you for a hot meal. Deal?"
She gave both of them a puzzled look. "I'll still take care of you guys, if you want."
"No. Thanks anyway, we're focused on this Skeeter business. Where do you want to get dropped off?"
"I guess by the library on Monroe Street, I can use the bathroom there and see if Otis is anywhere around."
They went back up Broadway and swung off onto the side street where the public library sat. Maya gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before running off. As Timothy pulled back into traffic, he said, "We didn't learn too much."
"No," Foster agreed somberly. "But at least we gave her a few calories and a touch of human kindness. Not that I think it'll do any good."
Timothy said, "Oh, Foster. Drug use and urban crime and poverty are all problems too big for Tel Shai knights to tackle. We have our hands more than full with the Midnight War to be honest."
"I might volunteer work at a food pantry...."
"You got a heart big as a teddy bear's," Tim said. "That's the real reason I fell in love with you, did you know? It's because you care about right and wrong. Listen, don't you have a prescription to fill?"
"Yeah, a mild painkiller. You know the Walgreen's in the uptown plaza? I can fill it there and pick up a few items, okay?"
Timothy nodded. "And of course, that'll give us a look at the northern end of the bike trail where all the Skeeter events have taken place...."
V.
At twelve-thirty that night, Timothy Lambert was parked on a side street two blocks over from where they had watched the police investigate the body. He unfolded the brand new wheelchair that Foster had purchased that evening at the pharmacy opposite the hospital, where all sorts of medical gear was available. He lowered himself gingerly into the tough plastic seat and stowed the crutch in a sort of holster built into the chair for seemingly that very purpose.
"This is a LOT of money down the drain just so you can go where you have no business going...." Timothy grumbled. "I don't know which of us is more stubborn."
Settling into place, Foster gripped the wheels and rolled forward a few inches. "Tim, odds are great you yourself are going to be needing this wheelchair more than once. You know the times I've seen you chewed up, beaten half to death, frozen and drowned and poisoned..."
"Heh. You made your point, buddy."
"That one night I sat up and watched as five bullets worked their way out of your chest. GodDAMN. They made little popping noises as they came loose and fell on the floor. And the holes sealed up in an hour or an hour and a half."
Stepping back to study the street warily, Timothy Limbo finally conceded. "Yeah, it's kind of a rough career I'm in. If not for my enhanced healing, I'd be taking the big sleep in the cemetery where my parents are buried."
"AND you're wearing that flexible armor under your clothes AND you've got a dozen teeny little weapons hidden on you. The anesthetic dart gun. Those flash-bang grenades, the tear gas, that wicked looking survival knife with the serrated blade in your boot. I couldn't be safer if I had a squad of Marines around me."
Tim watched a long car with opaque windows rush by, booming bass thumping in its path. "I'm still not happy. I could get you a gun, Foster, a LCP small enough to fit in your pocket."
"No guns. I hate 'em. I told you what happened to my Aunt Lou. Anyway, my hands would be shaking so bad I'd blow off my own foot."
After a long pause, Tim said, "I could knock you with a dart. You'd sleep for an hour in the car and I'd know you'd be safe."
"And you know I'd wake up incredibly pissed off and never talk to you again. Come on, Tim, we accept each other the way we are. Let's get down on the trail and do some Skeeter-hunting."
With a metal handrail on either side, a wide concrete ramp led down from street level to the bike trail. A raised ridge in the middle prevented cars from attempted to go down it. Timothy eased his partner down to the paved path, then snapped on his pencil flashlight. Its beam at first was only a searingly bright white thread, but he adjusted it to a wider and less intense light.
"Where do you guys even get gadgets like that?" asked Foster.
"They're custom made for the KDF and pretty expensive. The lens is bulletproof acrylic, the battery can be recharged by twisting the grip and there's a spare bulb inside the hollow handle. They're fairly reliable."
"I wish my phone was as foolproof," Foster snorted. He began rolling forward by turning the wheels with his hands, and Timothy stayed close behind him. In the uncertain light from the lamppost behind them, Foster caught a glimpse of three of the caspers whirling up into the darkness. That was comforting. Whatever those little apparitions could see, Timothy could see. It was like having three silent owls whipping through the darkness, looking for trouble.
At their slow cautious pace, it seemed to take forever before they emerged at the far end of the huge Hannaford parking lot. Neither felt the need for a bathroom break, so they simply turned around and started heading back down the trail. Foster and Tim were comfortable with long silences. One mile back toward midtown, the little whirlwinds became visibly agitated and seemed reluctant to wander too far away. They circled closer and closer around Timothy like nervous puppies staying close to their master.
Timothy drew the gas-powered dart gun and clicked off both safeties. From the thick trees ahead of them came a shrill high buzzing.
V.
Foster jammed both hands deep in the pockets of his jacket and took a deep breath, but said nothing. Interposing himself between the whining noise and his partner, Timothy Limbo raised his dart gun up his right cheek and took a few slow steps forward. Nothing rustled in the bushes, he couldn't spot the slightest movement...
A long thin shape rushed forward from between the trees, too swift to evade. Even Tim's honed reflexes couldn't react in time. Something hard and sharp as a needle sliced along the outer edge of Tim's neck, barely missing penetrating his throat. Tim slapped his free hand against the wound and fired off a half dozen of the anesthetic darts without making contact.
Landing on thin bent legs, the dark figure wheeled around to confront Foster. On the Skeeter's back, huge translucent wings beat rapidly. The grotesque head extended its vicious proboscis like a fencer thrusting with an epee....
And the monster reeled wildly as two clouds of vile poisonous fumes hissed directly into its face. The Skeeter spun completely around and fell with a thud to the paved bike trail. Not even knowing for sure that the threat was over, Foster heaved up out of his wheelchair next to where Tim had dropped to one knee with his hand pressing against the ghastly neck wound. Seeing his partner had dropped the dart gun and was awkwardly trying to reach with his free hand into an inner jacket pocket, Foster quickly took over and pulled out two large gauze pads.
He knew that Tim's jackets had a dozen hidden pockets and slits to various tools and weapons, and he had seen these pads before. In an instant, he had ripped off the sterile paper covering, and as Tim lowered his hand, Foster pressed the adhesive gauze to the dreadful looking gash. Only a little blood seeped through.
"Jeez, Tim, don't try to talk!" Foster said.
Timothy pointed toward the bizarre creature sprawled on the bike path not ten feet away from them. Maybe five feet long with a narrow cylindrical body covered by a tough exoskeleton, the Skeeter did indeed resemble either a humanoid mosquito or some unlikely hybrid. The gauzy wings were crumpled. The grotesque head with its deadly pointed proboscis was sagging as the monster tried unsuccessfully to rise. From the trembling body came a thin reedy wheezing.
"Hah! I was ready for him!" said Foster. "In the pharmacy, I bought two cans of Raid flying insect killer and I let him have both at the same time. I think that stuff would stop a charging bison, you know?"
Getting up to his feet, Timothy did not sway or seem unsteady. He had retrieved his dart gun and was holding it at the ready. With his free hand, he clapped Foster on one shoulder in gratitude.
"I don't think that Skeeter is going to trouble right now," Foster said. "It's you I'm worried about. I mean I know you heal faster than normal but still, I'm going to insist we head to the ER right this minute...!"
Amazingly, Tim spoke. "I'll be all right. It's just a stinging now. The bleeding has stopped. Thanks for getting the pad in place, that was a big help."
"I don't believe it, I just don't believe it. Tim, there's a HOLE right through your neck! You're lucky to be alive."
Tim straightened up and exhaled deeply. "Whew. Don't I know it. An inch to the side and that critter would have given me a tracheotomy. Foster, sit down, you're not supposed to put any weight on that ankle."
"Oh. I forgot. That was an exciting couple of minute." With Tim helping to support him, Foster hopped back to settle in the wheel chair. "Look at that monster. What the hell? Some artificially grown organism from a top secret government lab, you think? Or a lone survivor of a prehistoric species?"
Suddenly weary, Tim said, "Nothing scientific, I'm afraid. This is the Midnight War."
As they watched, the dark form convulsed, shuddered and shrank down to become the pale naked body of homeless Maya.
VI.
As the woman raised her head and stared wildly around in obvious confusion, Tim fired a single needle-thin dart into her back. Maya sagged back down to the ground and began to breathe much more easily.
"At her size, I'd say she'll be out for maybe an hour and twenty minutes. I don't know what triggers the transformation. If it's a conscious shift, at least she'll be harmless for right now."
Foster was switching his bulging-eyed stare from Tim to Maya and back again. "A shape-shifter? Like a werewolf or a Skinwalker?"
"Seems like it, buddy. This is something new. Wolves, bats, bears, tigers, even foxes are common enough transformations. But a giant mosquito.. Never heard of such a thing." He gingerly touched the gauze pad on his neck and noticed for the first time his hand and jacket sleeve were covered with still wet blood. "We'd better get moving."
Foster finally cracked and raised his voice. "Get moving WHERE? What are we going to do with a naked crackhead who turns into a killer mosquito?! You may find it hard to believe, but I've never been in a situation like this before!"
"I think first item on our agenda is to get her covered up, Foster. I have to fold up my own jacket to hide my blood, so it looks as if you will have to be gallant."
"Oh. Oh, okay." Leaning forward, he wrestled out of his corduroy jacket and handed it over. Having made a bundle of his own blood-soaked jacket, Tim managed to get Maya into Foster's garment and found it was big enough to cover her down to mid-thighs. "Good news is her pulse is strong. Okay, you're going to have to keep her in your lap. There you go. Put her head against your shoulder, don't let it flop back."
"Of all the things I thought I'd be doing tonight..."
That made Tim give a short laugh. "Aw, she's kind of cute. Lots of men wouldn't mind holding her that way. Anyway. I'll push the chair so we make good time. So far we haven't seen anybody because the usual derelicts are too scared of the Skeeter to be out here."
On the way back toward midtown where they had left Foster's car, Timothy sent a pair of his caspers ahead to scout around. The little manifestations kept whirling back with an all-clear. Soon they stopped at the bottom of the concrete ramp leading up to street level. It had gotten quite chilly by that time and that combined with dread of the Skeeter to make passers-by few and far between.
"Okay. I'm going to have to be quick with this." Timothy lifted the limp form of Maya in his arms, checked with his friendly ghosts again and sprinted up the ramp to slid the unconscious woman into the car's back seat. The ease with which he performed this deed revealed the surprising strength in his rather unimposing body. Six years of rigourous Kumundu discipline had made him more fit than most Olympic-level athletes. Closing the door, he raced back down and pushed Foster in the wheelchair up to street level more easily than most people could have walked up the ramp by themselves.
Getting himself settled in the front passenger seat, Foster asked, "What are we going to do about the wheelchair, Tim?"
"Um. It folds up pretty well. There. I've got it so it's resting a little bit on our guest. She won't notice, she's in a deep dreamless slumber. Whew, that's a relief. I was worried about a cop car rolling by."
Foster snorted. "You all bloody and us with a naked drugged woman on our hands. Yeah, that would take some fast talking to get out of."
Starting up the engine, Timothy carefully eased out into the street and turned left to head South. "We still have to be careful, of course. We won't take the Thruway, we'll go down Route 32 and get to the city that way."
"Wait, we're going to Manhattan? Tonight?!"
Timothy nodded and gave his partner a rueful glance. "Afraid so. Maybe you can grab a nap on the way, this has been a busy day and it's not over yet."
"I'm still confused. What about Maya? You know, the druggie who turns into a killer mosquito? What are we going to do with her?"
Tim did not answer right away. "She's going to be a real problem."
VII.
Despite having been in a relationship with Tim for over a year, Foster had never seen even the outside of the KDF headquarters, let alone been admitted. He knew it was a ten-story granite building on East 38th Street, and that a half dozen members lived there. He had caught brief mentions of a vast library, some advanced labs, a full medical ward room and a floor with Nautilus machines and sparring mats. Once Tim had let slip that their stealthcopter CORBY was somehow hangared on the top floor. But the possibility of a visit had never come up.
It was still before dawn when they went into an alley on Lexington, made a sharp turn through a rising steel shutter and parked in a tiny underground garage only big enough for Foster's car and for a dark Toyota Matrix already there. Tim apologized that the building was not handicapped accessible, they had to leave the wheelchair behind. Tim carried the revived but groggy Maya up concrete steps and down a long narrow corridor while Foster followed with his crutch. By now close to physical and emotional exhaustion, Foster asked to stop and rest for a moment on a bench near the power generator, water heater and air filtration units. Then, finally, they emerged from the rear of a walk-in closet to the front hall of the Kenneth Dred Foundation base.
The walls were lined with bookcases broken by benches and chairs at intervals. Past the wide staircase leading up, the open door of an office could be seen and standing framed in its light was Lauren Sable Reilley. Captain of the team of Tel Shai knights and chair of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, Sable was a handsome woman in her early forties, trim and professional looking in a dark blue pantsuit with a cream-colored silk blouse. Her straight black hair was brushed back from a high forehead and two dark eyes took in every detail of the three people entering the front hall with a sharpness no normal Human could match.
Before Tim could speak, Sable was striding toward them. "In the medical ward," she ordered with quiet authority. "Put her down on the first bed." As Timothy complied, Sable tugged a pair of blue latex gloves from a box on the wall. She hardly seemed to glance at the two men before saying, "Tim, that wound on your neck has closed up but you need to change the dressing. Foster, please have a seat in that chair by the door. Your vitals are good but you are very tired. Try to stay awake a little longer."
Foster was impressed but not entirely surprised. He knew that Sable's gift was enhanced perception beyond what normal humans were capable of. She could snatch a moth out of the air in a dark room, she could see with microscopic acuity or with telescopic range, she could smell the degree of adrenalin in a person's perspiration. Standing at the side of the regulation hospital bed, Sable did not hookm up the monitors. They would have gotten in her way.
"This woman is recovering from one of our darts. She is still groggy but will be able to speak soon. She has had a serious crack habit for at least four months. She is thirty pounds under her normal weight. Her blood pressure is low and her heartbeat irregular. Her menstrual cycle has stopped." Sable frowned and glanced over at Timothy. "There is considerable gralic energy coursing in her body. I think she's a shape-shifter."
Over by the stainless steel sink, Tim had scrubbed his hands and neck to get the dried blood off. A white line down the side of his throat was all that showed where he had been wounded a few hours earlier. As he pressed a fresh gauze pad to the site, he said, "Yes, captain. She's the Skeeter. Foster and I both witnessed her transformation."
Sable stared down at Maya, who was stirring and moving slightly. "She has been poisoned. A pesticide. Nearly a lethal dose, if she had taken it in her Human form, she'd be dead now."
"That was me, Ms Reilly," Foster said. "I had some Raid. Tim was already injured and I was defending myself."
For the first time, Sable's stern manner eased ever so slightly. She did not smile but her voice lightened. "You prepared for the confrontation? Good thinking, Foster. Some of the pesticide is clinging to you. You should rinse off your hair in the sink and scrub your hands and face."
Maya coughed explosively and went into a few minutes of wheezing. During this time, Sable quickly pulled up two leather straps from either side of the bed and restrained the woman's wrists. "Try to breathe slowly and deeply," she advised.
"Have I been arrested? Is this jail? What are you going to do to me?" demanded Maya in sudden panic. She was still wearing only Foster's jacket, which had fallen open to reveal her emaciated body fully. "Are you cops? What's going on here?"
"We are not the police," Sable answered, stepping back. "Relax. Right now, you are as safe as you would be anywhere in this world and certainly much better off than you would have been back on the street. Can you assume your other form at will?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Maya yelled. "Who ARE you people? You're the two men who bought me lunch. Where are we? Is this a hospital?"
Sable had snapped off the latex gloves and stood with arms folded across her chest. Tim came over to stand next to her. "You have overdosed more than once recently. There is some heart damage. Your skin has a grey tinge. I do not think you will survive another crisis."
"Oh, is this Rehab? Am I in a clinic?"
From a cabinet on the wall, Sable took out a thin cotton hospital gown that tied at the shoulders and back. Without explanation, she lifted Maya up from the waist and fastened the garment on her. Sable's calm assurance made Maya accept this without protest.
"We can arrange for you to go through Detox tonight. It will be incredibly painful but you will get through it. And we can send you to a facility in Middletown for two months of Rehab." Sable paused. "But that will not solve the bigger problem."
Maya snapped her gaze over to where Tim was staring sadly at her. "I remember now. You saw me. You saw me as that... Thing, and I attacked you."
"So you can't control the change?" Tim asked.
"No. No. God, I wish I could. I don't know what's happening to me, I started having blackouts and waking up without my clothes. I'd wake up all bloated and nauseous. I thought it was the drugs."
"It WAS the drugs in a way," Sable said. "They triggered your latent gralic ability. You probably never would have turned into the Skeeter otherwise. Maya, my team is not law enforcement. We answer to the ethics of Tel Shai. The Skeeter has killed at least two people but I don't see how you can be held accountable for them."
"Are.. you gonna let me go, then? I swear I'll go through Rehab and never use again, I swear to God I'll be good."
"That's a problem, too. You might relapse. Addicts do. And instead of ruining only your own life, you might become a monster that kills innocent people. I don't think we can condone taking that risk."
"Oh, then kill me then!" Maya shrieked. "Get it over with! I don't want to live like this, just kill me!"
"We can't do that, either," Sable said. "But I think there may be a solution. The Teachers of our Order have the deepest and most learned minds in the Midnight War. We will take you to them. Now. And if they agree, they will heal you as far as you may be healed. But they will not release you until they are satisfied you are safe."
Maya blinked back tears and her voice broke. "But... Oh, even if I AM a prisoner, it can't be worse than the way I'm living. My family won't miss me. The people on the street aren't my friends, they steal from me and lie all the time. Do it. Take me to this Tel Shai place, whatever it is."
Sable made her voice comforting. "It's the right choice, Maya. At the very worst, you'll be living in a peaceful village near the Order, tending vegetable gardens or weaving clothes or otherwise being useful. Who knows? You may not want to come back to this fallen world."
Standing by his team leader, Timothy said, "You'll need me to activate the Eldanar travel crystal, captain. Going to Tel Shai isn't easy, it takes two minds. But maybe I'll remain here to stay with Foster while you go to the Order."
"Yes." Sable fixed a wry smile on their guest. "You know our rules, Tim. No visitors above the ground floor. There's a very comfortable couch in our rec room. Foster, you're going to fall asleep in a few minutes no matter what, so you might as well have Tim show you to the rec room before he helps me gate to Tel Shai. But," and here she raised an imperative finger, "None of what happened today is ever going to be mentioned on your podcast!"
2/21/2024
10/6/2020
I.
On an unseasonably warm and muggy afternoon in early October, Timothy Limbo pulled up to the main entrance of the HealthAlliance Hospital. He was driving Foster's three year old Mazda CX-3 with its distinctive bright green paint job. A slightly built young man just below average height, Tim had a friendly, open face that people instinctively liked. His lank yellow hair hung down dangerously close to getting in his eyes.
The double doors hissed open and Foster hobbled out. A few years older than Timothy, a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier, Foster Whitcomb was wearing a black T-shirt and khaki shorts that revealed his left ankle was in a cast and his left knee bound with an Ace bandage. Gauze dressings covered most of his left forearm as well.
Out from behind the wheel in a rush, Tim handed Foster a wooden crutch and placed a comforting hand on his partner's uninjured shoulder. "They let you out kind of early, didn't they? I thought you'd be in there at least a day."
"Aw, it's not that bad, Tim. A hairline fracture in the ankle, some gouges and scrapes. They cleaned everything. I have to watch for signs of infection, though." As Tim opened the passenger door, Foster climbed in with a visible wince. "It'd be great to have your enhanced healing, Tim."
"I know, I know. The Teachers won't even consider it. I'm not even allowed to discuss it with you." Swinging around the front of the car, Timothy slid into the driver's seat again and started the engine. "I'll be honest, they don't approve of knights of Tel Shai having relationships with what they call civilians."
Struggling with the seat belt straps, Foster scoffed. "Think they'd feel different if I was a woman?"
"No. I don't think it matters. I mean, the Teachers ARE a hundred years old except for Cindy and Shaw, but they're open-minded. I've seen students of every ethnic group, including some I still can't figure out. The Order works on ability and character and potential. They don't care who or how you love."
"I suppose," Foster conceded. "Anyway. The doctors totally believed I slipped going down a hill and banged myself up on some rocks. Didn't ask any questions. No one but you knows what really happened."
Stopping at a light on Cedar Street, Tim snorted unhappily. "Silent Joe knows. He was almost within reach when you fell down that hill and I wasn't far behind him. That was a steep slope, Foster, and I couldn't see you from the road. I had to find out if you were okay."
"Are you annoyed about that?" Foster asked. "We were trying to locate Silent Josh for a week and you were just about to tackle him when I did somersaults down the hill. If I hadn't been there, you'd be turning Silent Josh over to the FBI's Department 21 Black."
Rolling forward again, Tim reached over to squeeze Foster's bruised hand very lightly. "I wasn't thinking that way. There was no decision to be made. Making sure you were all right was all that mattered. Department 21 Black is chasing Silent Josh now. Let them take over."
They were heading south along streets that started to show a gradual downward slope as they neared Esopus Creek. A few gorgeous old Episcopalm churches from the 1800s loomed up on either side. Tim asked, "Do we need to stop for anything? Groceries?"
"No, I'm all stocked up. My podcast has been turning a nice profit lately, Tim. I'm hinting at occult subjects that no one else knows about."
Timothy Limbo sounded more stern than he usually allowed his voice to express. "Oh no, Foster, don't give away secrets of the Midnight War. There's a reason it's forbidden knowledge. Let people tease themselves with silly things like astrology or palm reading or prophetic dreams. Those are safe. But I told you... Nothing in your podcast about the adjacent realms or the Seven Races. Nothing about gralic sorcery or what really comes out to stalk in the middle of the night."
Shifting his weight uneasily, Foster took a moment to answer. "I've been careful, Tim. Just hints and suggestions and little clues. Nothing that anyone could get in danger looking into. But after all, investigating the badlands is my life work. Even before we met, my WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES was the top podcast on the supernatural."
"I don't want to get into a fight," Tim answered. He pulled up against the curb near the ancient four story yellow brick building where Foster's apartment was. "You know. hon, have we thought about the inconvenience this place gives you? You're supposed to keep weight off that ankle AND the knee, but your building ha no elevator."
Unbuckling his seat belt, Foster rubbed a hand on the back of his partner's neck. "Heh, that's why the rent is so reasonable. Four flights of stairs and the building is at the bottom of a godawful hill no one can drive when it snows."
"True, true. But right now, I don't know if hiking up and down the stairs is in your best interest. And I can't stay here, I have to report back to headquarters tomorrow by three PM." He sighed with genuine exasperation. "KDF schedules are so whacky. We're mostly on duty from eleven at night until seven in the morning but one day a week we have monitor duty during the day. Our team is active overnight.:
"It's not called the Midnight War for nothing," Foster agreed. "I don't know if I've even mentioned it, Timothy Lucas Lambert, but I believe in what you do. The knights of Tel Shai, the members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation... you guys are needed. People don't realize what terrors of the darkness are kept away by your team."
"It's nice to hear that, buddy. I know my KDF schedule makes our getting together difficult but... You know what, let's get some drive-through fast food at Burger Hell."
Foster laughed and any tension between them evaporated. "Sounds good. I haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch. Some salt, grease and caffeine would hit the spot."
But as Tim turned the key in the ignition, a thin flat device on his belt beeped three times. He grumbled something incoherent and said, "I have to take this. Hello. Sable? What's up?"
As clear and rich as if she were sitting next to them, Sable's voice said, "Glad to reach you, Tim. I know it's your off day and you're with Foster, but something ominous is going on."
"And we're always on call," Tim answered without resentment. "Go ahead, captain."
"Something going on not twenty minutes from where your signal is," Sable continued. "You know the bicycle trail that runs to the uptown plaza. Some missing pets have been reported there the past few weeks and now a Human cadaver has been found. I'm told there's a puncture wound in the chest and the body is wrinkled from having most of its blood drained."
"I'm on my way," Tim replied. "I'll report as I go."
"One more thing," Sable's voice said. "I haven't been happy about Archie accompanying Megan on her 'Trom Girl Mysteries.' And Archie is a big bruiser who was in the Army and who can handle himself in a fight. I like Foster, he's a good person, but I don't want another civilian getting too deep into Midnight War. It's dangerous even for us. We should not be placing our friends and loved ones in harm's way."
"Understood, I'll keep him far back from any phenomena," Tim said and broke the connection. He turned to Foster and raised an eyebrow. "So my captain wants you to stay away from the monsters and murderers."
That made Foster laugh out loud. "Telling me NOT to do something guarantees I'll do it. Come on, buddy, let's look for a blood-sucker."
II.
Van Aken Street was in a neighborhood that did not make a great first impression. On the corner where Timothy parked was a Western Union store that advertised check cashing and EZ Loans. The stained, cracked sidewalks were decorated with enough litter to fill a garbage bag. As Tim watched, a grown man with a knapsack rolled by on a girl's bike complete with pink tassels on the handlebars.
"Crack Alley and Hooker Lane," Foster grumbled. "Most of the town is pretty decent. You've been to Forsythe Park. But I guess every city has its bad part."
"Oh, I've seen worse. Gary, Indiana for one. There, the cops tell you to roll through stop signs and keep going. This doesn't look too atrocious. There's two cop cars further up the block, they've got the red and blue lights on. One officer looks like he's keeping people well back."
Foster stuck his head out the passenger window and craned his head. "Hmm. You can glimpse the bicycle trail from here. See it? It's paved. It runs from midtown to the uptown shopping plaza, maybe five miles with lots of woods on either side. It's a nice jog, too, I used to walk it when the leaves turn color."
"I suppose I could identify myself to the cops," Tim grumbled. "I am a licensed Private Investigator in the city and state of New York, and the KDF is bonded as consultants to Department 21 Black. But local police aren't always impressed by those credentials."
A half dozen ragged men were being repeatedly told to disperse by a uniformed officer. They didn't exactly argue, they simply wandered off to the end of the block and then slowly drifted back to congregate again. The cop seemed more disinterested than annoyed by the crowd, as if swatting at flies that insisted on buzzing around him.
Timothy rolled down his window. "Time for my friendly ghosts to snoop." He held up his open hands and over each palm a whirling tornado of barely visible force materialized. Even someone staring right at the caspders in direct afternoon sunlight had difficulty seeing them.
"I've gotten to like your little apparitions," Foster said. "They're cute. Like hummingbirds."
Tim grinned. "I've tried to ask one of them to attach himself to you but they're not interested. I guess they bond to a single person." As the two whirlwinds spun out the open car window, Tim leaned back and closed his eyes.
"I'm going to tell you what I'm 'seeing' through my boys," he said. "When I'm ready to call them back, that's when you ask any questions or suggest I check something out. You're good at spotting things that are out of place."
"Thanks."
"All righty then. We're gliding along at head height. There they are. Four uniformed officers standing around a body on the ground. Looks like an ambulance approaching from the North. The bike trail is not open to auto traffic but I guess emergency vehicles get permission. Let's see. Oh, this poor guy is dead. Eyes wide open staring at the sun, skin all dry and wrinkled. He's wearing brown work shoes, black pants, a white button down shirt and a black suit jacket, all tattered and worn out. It's hard to judge because of his weathered condition but I'd say he was at least fifty. Short black curly hair. Eyes are dark brown. He hadn't shaved for three or four days before his death."
Timothy paused before continuing. "His shirt is torn open so it looks as if it was ripped open and the buttons scattered. On the left side of his chest is a round black hole, about as big as if it was made by a finger. Clean edges to the puncture. No blood at all."
Starting to comment, Foster caught himself in time. He didn't want to distract his partner.
"The cops are speaking very low, whispering in fact" Timothy added. "I can't make out the words. Getting my caspers closer would risk having them seen. The two EMTs are being quiet, too. They're lifting the body on one of those wheeled stretchers that raises to chest height, covering it with a sheet. Wait. One of them said something that annoyed a cop. The cop yelled something back." Timothy snapped his eyes open and turned to Foster. "He yelled 'I don't want to hear any more about the damn Skeeter!'"
III.
"Oh, I absolutely LOVE this!" laughed Foster. "My God, this will get more hits on YouTube than if Courtney McKenna dropped her blouse in a concert. Come on, Tim, I'm taking mental notes already."
For once, a stern edge came to Timothy's meek voice. "Hold it right there, Foster. You know Sable's orders. And KDF policy, AND my own misgivings. We've argued about this before. Suppose I let you air a story about the Darthim or about some serial killer like Quilt. They'd track you down easy enough. You don't want to be tortured to death over a three month period."
"Well...not if you put it that way...."
"Even one of the less fiendish bad guys like Cogitus won't want their secrets revealed to the public. He'd do some medical...experiments."
Foster gestured dramatically as if pleading in court. "But come on, Tim! This is my life work. My podcast THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES has a reputation for solid, no-specularing reporting. Here we've got missing pets, a corpse drained of blood and some monster called the Skeeter! I've got to cover it!"
"Aw, let's not fight. I hate that. Listen, Foster, here's a suggestion. When this case is wrapped up and I type my final report for the files, suppose I ask Sable to review it. She'll decide how much you can reveal, what names or addresses would have to be redacted, that sort of thing. I think I can talk her into letting you do a story on it after a few months have passed."
Foster sniffed.
"And no pouting. You're not a fourteen year old girl, Foster. Look, you know about the silk armor I wear under my clothes. Rifle bullets feel like a light tap and sword thrusts aren't even a poke with a finger. You've seen my enhanced healing in action. And you've seen me fight."
"True, true," Foster admitted. "That Kumundu is amazing stuff. It's like watching one of those kung fu movies on fast forward."
Tim eased up a little. "And you have none of these advantages, buddy. Look, I know it's not a matter of being brave or not. You've got all the nerve you'd ever need. But think about me. What do you think would happen to me if you got horribly killed and it was my fault? Do you think I'd ever get over it?"
In a rare public gesture, Foster leaned way over in his seat and put his arms around Tim's neck, hugging painfully hard. His voice almost cracked. "I wouldn't do that to you. I'll be careful."
"You still don't get it." Timothy patted his partner's back. "Honestly, Foster, you're incorrigible. I think your curiosity is turned up to Eleven and your common sense is down on Three. No matter what we agree, if something weird is going on, you'll walk right up to it."
At that moment when they were both getting emotional and their guard was down, a woman stuck her head in Tim's open window. "Wanna go for a ride?"
IV.
Timothy had never been so disgusted with himself. As a Tel Shai knight and a KDF member, he had many blood enemies who wouldn't hesitate to kill him in broad daylight on a crowded street. He was supposed to be constantly alert, always aware of his surroundings, always watching for ambushes. This woman could have easily jammed a pistol against his head and emptied a magazine before he knew it. He disengaged from Foster and glared up at her. "What?"
"You know, go for a ride?" she repeated. Despite being seriously underweight and lacking any make-up, the young woman was naturally good-looking with oblique green eyes and a soft snub nose. Her dark brown hair bordered on being frizzy, her light weight denim jacket and jeans were old but reasonably clean. "One of you can have fun or both, I don't mind."
"Oh. I get it," Foster said gently. "Sorry, we're not interested."
"Maybe just a couple dollars then? Honestly I haven't eaten since I don't know when. The stores all chase me out. I can't even find anything dumpster diving."
Surprising himself, Timothy sighed and smiled at her. "Tell you what, we're going to Burger Hell drive-through. Hop in, you can order a meal and eat with us."
"Really? Really? Oh my God, you won't regret this, I'll take good care of you guys."
As she climbed in the back, Tim eased out onto the street and turned left at the stop sign. "You don't have to do anything, we were going to grab a bite anyway. I'm Tim, this is Foster."
"My name's Maya, oh you two are so kind. I'm starving. You find out you don't really have any friends when you're down and out."
Behind the wheel, Timothy glanced over at his partner. "Maybe you know a little about the strange things going on. We saw three cops down on that bike trail and an ambulance took a body away."
"The Skeeter got him."
"The what?"
"Oh, nobody likes to talk about it," Maya said. "But there's SOMEthing in the area that's been killing dogs and cats. Two weeks ago, a woman named Kelsey was found dead in the woods up by the uptown plaza. And today it was Spanish Eddie. The Skeeter is getting bolder."
Foster craned his head to look back at her. "Some kind of wild animal?"
"I dunno what you'd call it," she answered. "Gives me big time creeps to even think about. What can kill a full grown German Shepherd and then drink its blood? Nothing natural, that's fer shure."
As they swung into the parking lot of the fast food franchise, there was a flurry of decisions before reaching the speaker box which took their orders. Maya asked for a fish sandwich with lots of Tartar sauce, some onion rings and a chocolate shake. Tim and Foster each got a double bacon cheeseburger, large fries and a cola. Then they asked Maya if she wanted anything else and she eagerly requested a hot apple pie section and a bag of six chocolate chip cookies.
Parking in a corner of the lot, all three of them dug in without much conversation for a few minutes. Maya nearly inhaled her food. As Tim eased up after his burger, he ventured to ask, "So, has anyone actually SEEN this Skeeter thing?"
"Nope. One or two people claim they've heard a high-pitched whining noise at night. Like a big old mosquito. But you can bet they didn't go look to see what was causing it!"
That made Timothy laugh. "Nothing in the papers or the local news about it?"
"Nope. Not a whisper. I'll tell you the truth, mister, when you're on the streets a while, you realize a LOT of horrible stuff goes on that doesn't get talked about."
"That's not enough Midnight War," Timothy scoffed. "Just drugs and crime and mere Human evil."
"I don't know what you mean by any Midnight War," said Maya, "But you guys have treated me decent and I appreciate it. Honestly, don't go near that neighborhood after the stores close. Not even the crack dealers and the hos are there any more. They've all moved up to Stuyvesant Avenue. Our lives are dangerous enough."
Turning in his seat, Foster gave the girl a sorrowful gaze. "If we gave you some cash and promised not to spend it on drugs, I don't suppose your promise would be binding?"
"Aw hell, mister, this is the life I'm leading. I'm not going to lie to you."
"That's honest enough," Tim observed. "You could easily swear up and down you'll just buy food and immediately run to get a hit. But I tell you what, Maya. We'll be poking around town for a while. Anytime you spot us in this damn Kelly green car, we'll take you for a hot meal. Deal?"
She gave both of them a puzzled look. "I'll still take care of you guys, if you want."
"No. Thanks anyway, we're focused on this Skeeter business. Where do you want to get dropped off?"
"I guess by the library on Monroe Street, I can use the bathroom there and see if Otis is anywhere around."
They went back up Broadway and swung off onto the side street where the public library sat. Maya gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before running off. As Timothy pulled back into traffic, he said, "We didn't learn too much."
"No," Foster agreed somberly. "But at least we gave her a few calories and a touch of human kindness. Not that I think it'll do any good."
Timothy said, "Oh, Foster. Drug use and urban crime and poverty are all problems too big for Tel Shai knights to tackle. We have our hands more than full with the Midnight War to be honest."
"I might volunteer work at a food pantry...."
"You got a heart big as a teddy bear's," Tim said. "That's the real reason I fell in love with you, did you know? It's because you care about right and wrong. Listen, don't you have a prescription to fill?"
"Yeah, a mild painkiller. You know the Walgreen's in the uptown plaza? I can fill it there and pick up a few items, okay?"
Timothy nodded. "And of course, that'll give us a look at the northern end of the bike trail where all the Skeeter events have taken place...."
V.
At twelve-thirty that night, Timothy Lambert was parked on a side street two blocks over from where they had watched the police investigate the body. He unfolded the brand new wheelchair that Foster had purchased that evening at the pharmacy opposite the hospital, where all sorts of medical gear was available. He lowered himself gingerly into the tough plastic seat and stowed the crutch in a sort of holster built into the chair for seemingly that very purpose.
"This is a LOT of money down the drain just so you can go where you have no business going...." Timothy grumbled. "I don't know which of us is more stubborn."
Settling into place, Foster gripped the wheels and rolled forward a few inches. "Tim, odds are great you yourself are going to be needing this wheelchair more than once. You know the times I've seen you chewed up, beaten half to death, frozen and drowned and poisoned..."
"Heh. You made your point, buddy."
"That one night I sat up and watched as five bullets worked their way out of your chest. GodDAMN. They made little popping noises as they came loose and fell on the floor. And the holes sealed up in an hour or an hour and a half."
Stepping back to study the street warily, Timothy Limbo finally conceded. "Yeah, it's kind of a rough career I'm in. If not for my enhanced healing, I'd be taking the big sleep in the cemetery where my parents are buried."
"AND you're wearing that flexible armor under your clothes AND you've got a dozen teeny little weapons hidden on you. The anesthetic dart gun. Those flash-bang grenades, the tear gas, that wicked looking survival knife with the serrated blade in your boot. I couldn't be safer if I had a squad of Marines around me."
Tim watched a long car with opaque windows rush by, booming bass thumping in its path. "I'm still not happy. I could get you a gun, Foster, a LCP small enough to fit in your pocket."
"No guns. I hate 'em. I told you what happened to my Aunt Lou. Anyway, my hands would be shaking so bad I'd blow off my own foot."
After a long pause, Tim said, "I could knock you with a dart. You'd sleep for an hour in the car and I'd know you'd be safe."
"And you know I'd wake up incredibly pissed off and never talk to you again. Come on, Tim, we accept each other the way we are. Let's get down on the trail and do some Skeeter-hunting."
With a metal handrail on either side, a wide concrete ramp led down from street level to the bike trail. A raised ridge in the middle prevented cars from attempted to go down it. Timothy eased his partner down to the paved path, then snapped on his pencil flashlight. Its beam at first was only a searingly bright white thread, but he adjusted it to a wider and less intense light.
"Where do you guys even get gadgets like that?" asked Foster.
"They're custom made for the KDF and pretty expensive. The lens is bulletproof acrylic, the battery can be recharged by twisting the grip and there's a spare bulb inside the hollow handle. They're fairly reliable."
"I wish my phone was as foolproof," Foster snorted. He began rolling forward by turning the wheels with his hands, and Timothy stayed close behind him. In the uncertain light from the lamppost behind them, Foster caught a glimpse of three of the caspers whirling up into the darkness. That was comforting. Whatever those little apparitions could see, Timothy could see. It was like having three silent owls whipping through the darkness, looking for trouble.
At their slow cautious pace, it seemed to take forever before they emerged at the far end of the huge Hannaford parking lot. Neither felt the need for a bathroom break, so they simply turned around and started heading back down the trail. Foster and Tim were comfortable with long silences. One mile back toward midtown, the little whirlwinds became visibly agitated and seemed reluctant to wander too far away. They circled closer and closer around Timothy like nervous puppies staying close to their master.
Timothy drew the gas-powered dart gun and clicked off both safeties. From the thick trees ahead of them came a shrill high buzzing.
V.
Foster jammed both hands deep in the pockets of his jacket and took a deep breath, but said nothing. Interposing himself between the whining noise and his partner, Timothy Limbo raised his dart gun up his right cheek and took a few slow steps forward. Nothing rustled in the bushes, he couldn't spot the slightest movement...
A long thin shape rushed forward from between the trees, too swift to evade. Even Tim's honed reflexes couldn't react in time. Something hard and sharp as a needle sliced along the outer edge of Tim's neck, barely missing penetrating his throat. Tim slapped his free hand against the wound and fired off a half dozen of the anesthetic darts without making contact.
Landing on thin bent legs, the dark figure wheeled around to confront Foster. On the Skeeter's back, huge translucent wings beat rapidly. The grotesque head extended its vicious proboscis like a fencer thrusting with an epee....
And the monster reeled wildly as two clouds of vile poisonous fumes hissed directly into its face. The Skeeter spun completely around and fell with a thud to the paved bike trail. Not even knowing for sure that the threat was over, Foster heaved up out of his wheelchair next to where Tim had dropped to one knee with his hand pressing against the ghastly neck wound. Seeing his partner had dropped the dart gun and was awkwardly trying to reach with his free hand into an inner jacket pocket, Foster quickly took over and pulled out two large gauze pads.
He knew that Tim's jackets had a dozen hidden pockets and slits to various tools and weapons, and he had seen these pads before. In an instant, he had ripped off the sterile paper covering, and as Tim lowered his hand, Foster pressed the adhesive gauze to the dreadful looking gash. Only a little blood seeped through.
"Jeez, Tim, don't try to talk!" Foster said.
Timothy pointed toward the bizarre creature sprawled on the bike path not ten feet away from them. Maybe five feet long with a narrow cylindrical body covered by a tough exoskeleton, the Skeeter did indeed resemble either a humanoid mosquito or some unlikely hybrid. The gauzy wings were crumpled. The grotesque head with its deadly pointed proboscis was sagging as the monster tried unsuccessfully to rise. From the trembling body came a thin reedy wheezing.
"Hah! I was ready for him!" said Foster. "In the pharmacy, I bought two cans of Raid flying insect killer and I let him have both at the same time. I think that stuff would stop a charging bison, you know?"
Getting up to his feet, Timothy did not sway or seem unsteady. He had retrieved his dart gun and was holding it at the ready. With his free hand, he clapped Foster on one shoulder in gratitude.
"I don't think that Skeeter is going to trouble right now," Foster said. "It's you I'm worried about. I mean I know you heal faster than normal but still, I'm going to insist we head to the ER right this minute...!"
Amazingly, Tim spoke. "I'll be all right. It's just a stinging now. The bleeding has stopped. Thanks for getting the pad in place, that was a big help."
"I don't believe it, I just don't believe it. Tim, there's a HOLE right through your neck! You're lucky to be alive."
Tim straightened up and exhaled deeply. "Whew. Don't I know it. An inch to the side and that critter would have given me a tracheotomy. Foster, sit down, you're not supposed to put any weight on that ankle."
"Oh. I forgot. That was an exciting couple of minute." With Tim helping to support him, Foster hopped back to settle in the wheel chair. "Look at that monster. What the hell? Some artificially grown organism from a top secret government lab, you think? Or a lone survivor of a prehistoric species?"
Suddenly weary, Tim said, "Nothing scientific, I'm afraid. This is the Midnight War."
As they watched, the dark form convulsed, shuddered and shrank down to become the pale naked body of homeless Maya.
VI.
As the woman raised her head and stared wildly around in obvious confusion, Tim fired a single needle-thin dart into her back. Maya sagged back down to the ground and began to breathe much more easily.
"At her size, I'd say she'll be out for maybe an hour and twenty minutes. I don't know what triggers the transformation. If it's a conscious shift, at least she'll be harmless for right now."
Foster was switching his bulging-eyed stare from Tim to Maya and back again. "A shape-shifter? Like a werewolf or a Skinwalker?"
"Seems like it, buddy. This is something new. Wolves, bats, bears, tigers, even foxes are common enough transformations. But a giant mosquito.. Never heard of such a thing." He gingerly touched the gauze pad on his neck and noticed for the first time his hand and jacket sleeve were covered with still wet blood. "We'd better get moving."
Foster finally cracked and raised his voice. "Get moving WHERE? What are we going to do with a naked crackhead who turns into a killer mosquito?! You may find it hard to believe, but I've never been in a situation like this before!"
"I think first item on our agenda is to get her covered up, Foster. I have to fold up my own jacket to hide my blood, so it looks as if you will have to be gallant."
"Oh. Oh, okay." Leaning forward, he wrestled out of his corduroy jacket and handed it over. Having made a bundle of his own blood-soaked jacket, Tim managed to get Maya into Foster's garment and found it was big enough to cover her down to mid-thighs. "Good news is her pulse is strong. Okay, you're going to have to keep her in your lap. There you go. Put her head against your shoulder, don't let it flop back."
"Of all the things I thought I'd be doing tonight..."
That made Tim give a short laugh. "Aw, she's kind of cute. Lots of men wouldn't mind holding her that way. Anyway. I'll push the chair so we make good time. So far we haven't seen anybody because the usual derelicts are too scared of the Skeeter to be out here."
On the way back toward midtown where they had left Foster's car, Timothy sent a pair of his caspers ahead to scout around. The little manifestations kept whirling back with an all-clear. Soon they stopped at the bottom of the concrete ramp leading up to street level. It had gotten quite chilly by that time and that combined with dread of the Skeeter to make passers-by few and far between.
"Okay. I'm going to have to be quick with this." Timothy lifted the limp form of Maya in his arms, checked with his friendly ghosts again and sprinted up the ramp to slid the unconscious woman into the car's back seat. The ease with which he performed this deed revealed the surprising strength in his rather unimposing body. Six years of rigourous Kumundu discipline had made him more fit than most Olympic-level athletes. Closing the door, he raced back down and pushed Foster in the wheelchair up to street level more easily than most people could have walked up the ramp by themselves.
Getting himself settled in the front passenger seat, Foster asked, "What are we going to do about the wheelchair, Tim?"
"Um. It folds up pretty well. There. I've got it so it's resting a little bit on our guest. She won't notice, she's in a deep dreamless slumber. Whew, that's a relief. I was worried about a cop car rolling by."
Foster snorted. "You all bloody and us with a naked drugged woman on our hands. Yeah, that would take some fast talking to get out of."
Starting up the engine, Timothy carefully eased out into the street and turned left to head South. "We still have to be careful, of course. We won't take the Thruway, we'll go down Route 32 and get to the city that way."
"Wait, we're going to Manhattan? Tonight?!"
Timothy nodded and gave his partner a rueful glance. "Afraid so. Maybe you can grab a nap on the way, this has been a busy day and it's not over yet."
"I'm still confused. What about Maya? You know, the druggie who turns into a killer mosquito? What are we going to do with her?"
Tim did not answer right away. "She's going to be a real problem."
VII.
Despite having been in a relationship with Tim for over a year, Foster had never seen even the outside of the KDF headquarters, let alone been admitted. He knew it was a ten-story granite building on East 38th Street, and that a half dozen members lived there. He had caught brief mentions of a vast library, some advanced labs, a full medical ward room and a floor with Nautilus machines and sparring mats. Once Tim had let slip that their stealthcopter CORBY was somehow hangared on the top floor. But the possibility of a visit had never come up.
It was still before dawn when they went into an alley on Lexington, made a sharp turn through a rising steel shutter and parked in a tiny underground garage only big enough for Foster's car and for a dark Toyota Matrix already there. Tim apologized that the building was not handicapped accessible, they had to leave the wheelchair behind. Tim carried the revived but groggy Maya up concrete steps and down a long narrow corridor while Foster followed with his crutch. By now close to physical and emotional exhaustion, Foster asked to stop and rest for a moment on a bench near the power generator, water heater and air filtration units. Then, finally, they emerged from the rear of a walk-in closet to the front hall of the Kenneth Dred Foundation base.
The walls were lined with bookcases broken by benches and chairs at intervals. Past the wide staircase leading up, the open door of an office could be seen and standing framed in its light was Lauren Sable Reilley. Captain of the team of Tel Shai knights and chair of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, Sable was a handsome woman in her early forties, trim and professional looking in a dark blue pantsuit with a cream-colored silk blouse. Her straight black hair was brushed back from a high forehead and two dark eyes took in every detail of the three people entering the front hall with a sharpness no normal Human could match.
Before Tim could speak, Sable was striding toward them. "In the medical ward," she ordered with quiet authority. "Put her down on the first bed." As Timothy complied, Sable tugged a pair of blue latex gloves from a box on the wall. She hardly seemed to glance at the two men before saying, "Tim, that wound on your neck has closed up but you need to change the dressing. Foster, please have a seat in that chair by the door. Your vitals are good but you are very tired. Try to stay awake a little longer."
Foster was impressed but not entirely surprised. He knew that Sable's gift was enhanced perception beyond what normal humans were capable of. She could snatch a moth out of the air in a dark room, she could see with microscopic acuity or with telescopic range, she could smell the degree of adrenalin in a person's perspiration. Standing at the side of the regulation hospital bed, Sable did not hookm up the monitors. They would have gotten in her way.
"This woman is recovering from one of our darts. She is still groggy but will be able to speak soon. She has had a serious crack habit for at least four months. She is thirty pounds under her normal weight. Her blood pressure is low and her heartbeat irregular. Her menstrual cycle has stopped." Sable frowned and glanced over at Timothy. "There is considerable gralic energy coursing in her body. I think she's a shape-shifter."
Over by the stainless steel sink, Tim had scrubbed his hands and neck to get the dried blood off. A white line down the side of his throat was all that showed where he had been wounded a few hours earlier. As he pressed a fresh gauze pad to the site, he said, "Yes, captain. She's the Skeeter. Foster and I both witnessed her transformation."
Sable stared down at Maya, who was stirring and moving slightly. "She has been poisoned. A pesticide. Nearly a lethal dose, if she had taken it in her Human form, she'd be dead now."
"That was me, Ms Reilly," Foster said. "I had some Raid. Tim was already injured and I was defending myself."
For the first time, Sable's stern manner eased ever so slightly. She did not smile but her voice lightened. "You prepared for the confrontation? Good thinking, Foster. Some of the pesticide is clinging to you. You should rinse off your hair in the sink and scrub your hands and face."
Maya coughed explosively and went into a few minutes of wheezing. During this time, Sable quickly pulled up two leather straps from either side of the bed and restrained the woman's wrists. "Try to breathe slowly and deeply," she advised.
"Have I been arrested? Is this jail? What are you going to do to me?" demanded Maya in sudden panic. She was still wearing only Foster's jacket, which had fallen open to reveal her emaciated body fully. "Are you cops? What's going on here?"
"We are not the police," Sable answered, stepping back. "Relax. Right now, you are as safe as you would be anywhere in this world and certainly much better off than you would have been back on the street. Can you assume your other form at will?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Maya yelled. "Who ARE you people? You're the two men who bought me lunch. Where are we? Is this a hospital?"
Sable had snapped off the latex gloves and stood with arms folded across her chest. Tim came over to stand next to her. "You have overdosed more than once recently. There is some heart damage. Your skin has a grey tinge. I do not think you will survive another crisis."
"Oh, is this Rehab? Am I in a clinic?"
From a cabinet on the wall, Sable took out a thin cotton hospital gown that tied at the shoulders and back. Without explanation, she lifted Maya up from the waist and fastened the garment on her. Sable's calm assurance made Maya accept this without protest.
"We can arrange for you to go through Detox tonight. It will be incredibly painful but you will get through it. And we can send you to a facility in Middletown for two months of Rehab." Sable paused. "But that will not solve the bigger problem."
Maya snapped her gaze over to where Tim was staring sadly at her. "I remember now. You saw me. You saw me as that... Thing, and I attacked you."
"So you can't control the change?" Tim asked.
"No. No. God, I wish I could. I don't know what's happening to me, I started having blackouts and waking up without my clothes. I'd wake up all bloated and nauseous. I thought it was the drugs."
"It WAS the drugs in a way," Sable said. "They triggered your latent gralic ability. You probably never would have turned into the Skeeter otherwise. Maya, my team is not law enforcement. We answer to the ethics of Tel Shai. The Skeeter has killed at least two people but I don't see how you can be held accountable for them."
"Are.. you gonna let me go, then? I swear I'll go through Rehab and never use again, I swear to God I'll be good."
"That's a problem, too. You might relapse. Addicts do. And instead of ruining only your own life, you might become a monster that kills innocent people. I don't think we can condone taking that risk."
"Oh, then kill me then!" Maya shrieked. "Get it over with! I don't want to live like this, just kill me!"
"We can't do that, either," Sable said. "But I think there may be a solution. The Teachers of our Order have the deepest and most learned minds in the Midnight War. We will take you to them. Now. And if they agree, they will heal you as far as you may be healed. But they will not release you until they are satisfied you are safe."
Maya blinked back tears and her voice broke. "But... Oh, even if I AM a prisoner, it can't be worse than the way I'm living. My family won't miss me. The people on the street aren't my friends, they steal from me and lie all the time. Do it. Take me to this Tel Shai place, whatever it is."
Sable made her voice comforting. "It's the right choice, Maya. At the very worst, you'll be living in a peaceful village near the Order, tending vegetable gardens or weaving clothes or otherwise being useful. Who knows? You may not want to come back to this fallen world."
Standing by his team leader, Timothy said, "You'll need me to activate the Eldanar travel crystal, captain. Going to Tel Shai isn't easy, it takes two minds. But maybe I'll remain here to stay with Foster while you go to the Order."
"Yes." Sable fixed a wry smile on their guest. "You know our rules, Tim. No visitors above the ground floor. There's a very comfortable couch in our rec room. Foster, you're going to fall asleep in a few minutes no matter what, so you might as well have Tim show you to the rec room before he helps me gate to Tel Shai. But," and here she raised an imperative finger, "None of what happened today is ever going to be mentioned on your podcast!"
2/21/2024
no subject
Date: 2024-02-22 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-22 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-25 07:45 pm (UTC)Good to hear from you, Full_Metal_Ox! My Heavens, we've known each other for quite a few years. I just found the manual for my ancient WebTV unit I used back around 1997 or so for the very first DR HERMES REVIEWS. It's like remembering how to set up two VCRs to make dubs of VHS tapes from the video store.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-26 12:48 am (UTC)https://old-world-bird.tumblr.com/post/675574953782001664/what-if-vampires-are-like-mosquitoes-and-only-the