Chapter 23
Two enormous tusks, of crystal rather than ivory, burst from the ruins of Irvin’s jaws, followed by a horrible tentacle-like appendage. His skin sloughs away, revealing ruddy hide underneath.
Within moments, Irvin is gone, replaced by a thing of madness, of tusks and tentacles and quivering, gelatinous flesh.
And I’m almost certain the shell shock has finally overtaken my mind, that I need an asylum, except George is screaming as the thing engulfs his hand, his forearm, drawing him into it.
Adrian pulls out his gun and fires into the monster that once was a man, bullets splattering ineffectively into its shuddering body.
The remaining guard breaks and tries to run for it, but the thing swings its head at the movement, crystal tusks catching him in the abdomen.
The tentacle between the tusks wraps around his body, dragging him inexorably onto the tusks, until they emerge out of his back.
Cleo grabs the dagger and slashes at the creature, but she might as well be trying to stab Jell-O. It turns on her, but the body of the dying man stuck on its tusks strikes her first, throwing her to the floor.
My mind races, the world coming into the same terrible focus as it did on the battlefield. Knives and guns are useless here. I’m going to have to improvise.
I grab the rum bottle from the table and splash the remainder of its contents over the creature. It screams in response—perhaps its skin is sensitive in some way—and tries to lunge at me, but the body lodged on its tusks hampers it again.
Adrian realizes what I’m doing. “Stand back,” he yells, and throws his cigarette onto the alcohol-slick hide.
I’d hoped only to scorch the thing—its gelatinous flesh seemed too wet to burn well—but it goes up like tinder. George yanks his arm free as its mewling screams fill the air, along with a nauseating stench.
We almost died in a burning building not an hour ago—I’m not about to go through that again. Snatching up the rug, I fling it atop the flailing monstrosity, trying to smother the flames.
Adrian takes his coat off and beats at the fire with it. A few moments later, Cleo joins us with a fire extinguisher, and the stream of foam makes quick work of the remaining flames.
Silence falls, and we all stare at the monstrous ruin that had once been a human being. I feel as though the world has slipped sideways, as though I might fall off and go spinning forever through a vast cosmos I once foolishly thought I understood.
“H-How?” Cleo manages to gasp. “I don’t…I don’t…”
George groans and staggers to an empty chair. Blood pours from his hand and forearm, which appear to have been gnawed on. Adrian swears and hurries to him.
I gaze down at the burned thing and the dead man still skewered on its tusks. Am I going into shock? I might be.
Have I just betrayed my commitment to pacifism, or does it not count because the creature wasn’t human anymore?
Adrian’s voice cuts through my fog. “George needs a hospital.”
Cleo blinks slowly. “Right…of course.” She shakes herself. “I have a car. I can drive him. You two go to my apartment—the key is in the desk.”
While Adrian goes to the desk to fish out the key, Cleo helps George not to the door we came in through, but to the back of the room. A section of brick doesn’t quite match the rest; she does something to the wall I can’t see, and a hidden door swings open.
“Convenient,” Adrian says, pocketing the key. I glance in his direction, then away when my eyes catch on the greasy remains of the creature that used to be Irvin. The entire room reeks with a smell almost, but not quite, like that of burned human flesh. My eyes itch and water from the smoke.
“Don’t want to upset the customers, now do we?” Cleo asks, pulling the hidden door open. “Not to mention, I like to have a back way out in case the prohees come calling. Now help me with George, will you?”
The flight of stairs behind the secret door is incredibly steep and narrow, lit only by a single bulb at the top. Poor George gasps every time his arm bumps against the rough brick. When we reach the bottom, Cleo pushes open another door, letting in a wave of steam and the aroma of frying fish.
We emerge into the kitchen of the restaurant on the first floor. My stomach growls painfully at the delicious scents—we haven’t eaten since breakfast on the train. The staff studiously ignore us as we make our way to a rear exit that leads to a small courtyard behind the tall buildings.
Cleo turns to her brother. “I’ve got it from here. Take Lenox to 110th, then…”
As she gives him directions to her apartment, I pause to look back up at the building we’ve just exited.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the burned thing that used to be a man.
If the others hadn’t seen it as well, I’d assume I’ve completely lost touch with reality.
That I need an asylum, because such things can’t possibly exist.
But they do. And I can apparently cause a snowstorm or douse a fire at will.
“Sterling?” Adrian touches my arm, and I startle. “Sorry,” he says, stepping back.
“No, I was just lost in thought.” I don’t want him to believe I’m averse to his touch, for reasons I’m certainly not going to examine right now.
We go one way, and Cleo and George another. I hope he’s all right. I seem to be borne along on a wave of destruction and death, and I can only pray to soon wash up on a safer shore.