The Apocalypse Script (5 page)

“
Because you offer so few
answers.”

The girl seemed to assess the man
before finally leaning forward and saying, “If you call Lilian you
will give away my location. I followed you here because I wanted to
know who you are and why you are meeting with her. You’re obviously
not
Maqtu.
”

Shaking his head, the man said, “What is
Maqtu?’”

“
Our enemy.”

Ben squinted at her. “Enemy? Is
this some kind of gang thing? Something to do with
drugs?”

The girl laughed bitterly and
looked away. “Kind of a gang thing, yes.”

That topic was clearly a dead-end,
so he asked, “Where do you live?”

A flash of unhappiness. “Nowhere.
Not for a while, anyway. I…I travel a lot. I just got back from
Europe.”

“
I see,” he
replied, and assessed the situation. Fiela was a Punk or Goth or
whatever who was involved in some kind of gang
activity.
Maqtu
definitely sounded like a gang name. The girl had delusions
that she was a bodyguard but was in fact homeless and paranoid to
the point that she thought her enemies had tapped Lilian’s phones.
She had apparently stalked Ben since he left his new client’s
mansion.

Yet, Fiela had spoken an Akkadian
word - Akkadian had not been spoken for several thousand years -
and knew Lilian, which implied the girl was highly educated and
probably came from a wealthy family. She also had a trace accent
and had just returned from overseas.

A rich girl-gone-bad who was the
daughter of an immigrant business mogul, he guessed. Daddy’s
probably looking for her at this very moment.

He said, “Let’s have some coffee
and talk this over, Fiela. I’m buying. What would you
like?”

“
Truly?” she asked, her eyes
lighting up.

Truly?
“Sure. How do you like it?”

“
Black, please.” She studied her
fingernails. “Maybe something to eat, too?”

“
No problem. I’ll be right
back.”

Ben retrieved the photographs from
the table and fell in line in at the counter. While pretending to
study the illuminated menu above, he withdrew Lilian’s business
card and keyed in the number by touch, the phone still in his
pocket. He then retrieved and surreptitiously placed a Bluetooth
earpiece behind one ear.

After only one ring, a man
answered. The servant. “Yes?”

“
Mr. Fetch, this is Ben Mitchell.
I need to speak to Lilian, please.”

A minute later Lilian said, “Hello, Ben?”

“
Hi, Lilian. Hey, look, sorry to
bother you, but a girl named Fiela has chased me down and she says
that she is-”

“
Wait,
” the woman said sharply.
“Don’t say anything more. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Turn your
phone off.”

“
What?”

“
Ben, please trust me. Turn your
phone off. I’ll explain later.”

“
Okay, listen, I’m at-” but she
was gone.

Turn your phone off?
What was that about? Knowing she would have to
call him back for directions, he made a point of
not
turning the phone
off. He ordered two coffees and a piece of cake and returned to the
table.

“
Thank you,” Fiela said. She
attacked the cake as if she hadn’t eaten all day.

Maybe she hadn’t, the man thought.
“No problem.”

Her mouth full, the girl said,
“Why did Lilian give you those photos? The ones in your
bag?”

“
I’m a researcher. She has some
questions about them.”

“
What kind of
questions?”

Ben said, “I don’t think I can
discuss that with you, Fiela. Not until I can establish your
relationship with Lilian.”

“
We grew up together.”

“
Oh? Are you sisters?”

“
In a way. That is what we call
one another.”

She seemed about to say something
else but looked out the window adjacent to their booth and focused
on a distant flickering of blue lights. Returning her eyes to Ben,
she said, “You didn’t call Lilian, did you?”

“
No, of course not. Why? What’s
wrong?”

Fiela stared at the flashing
lights, which were definitely coming toward them. Paranoia,
wondered Ben, or fear? Maybe she’s on the run from the
law.

“
You
did
call her,” the girl said with finality.

With an abruptness that startled
Ben, the girl jumped out of the booth and darted out the nearest
exit and into the darkness. Against his better judgment, he
followed, chasing her down an alley into the dimly lit parking lot
of a motel behind the coffee shop. She sprinted toward a mop bucket
that was positioned outside one of the rooms.

“
What are you doing?” Ben yelled,
walking toward her.

“
You called Lilian,” Fiela yelled
back. She jerked the mop out of the bucket. “They know!”

“
Who?”

“
The Maqtu, or
maybe
Moros
.” Placing the mop’s head on the sidewalk, she lifted a boot
and brought it crashing down on the lower end of the handle,
shattering it. She spun the remainder, now a pole arm with a
splintered end, from one hand to another, moving back towards
Ben.

“
Whoa,” he said, not liking where
this was going. “Put the stick down, Fiela.”

“
Do you have a gun?” she asked in
an annoyed tone.

“
With me? No.”

“
Then I’m not putting the stick
down.”

Suddenly the parking lot was
bathed in flashing blue light. Ben turned to see a police cruiser
pulling silently into the parking lot.

“
Fiela, are you in some kind of
trouble?” Ben asked, but she was no longer there.

The police car came to a stop and
a spotlight on driver’s side clicked on, blinding Ben. “SIR,”
boomed a man’s voice over the cruiser’s speaker, “PUT YOUR HANDS IN
THE AIR WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM.”

Me
, Ben
wondered?
Not the deranged
girl?

He raised his hands into the air.
“I’m unarmed,” he yelled.

There was a sudden movement to his
left. It was Fiela moving fast - incredibly fast. Absurdly, she
appeared to be charging the police car with the broken mop handle.
The spotlight jerked away from Ben as its operator tried to hone in
on the girl. It was an impossible task given Fiela’s speed and how
she weaved and ducked in ways that seemed somehow both random and
purposeful.

When she was a few feet from the
front of the cruiser, the girl launched herself into the air,
landing with a loud thud in a crouched position on the hood. The
spotlight no longer blinding him, Ben could see the startled
expressions of the two policemen sitting inside.

Fiela did not idle. Keeping one
leg tucked up under her and extending the other out, she spun until
the boot on her extended leg slammed into the spotlight, destroying
it. Before the vehicle’s occupants could react, she leapt to the
roof of the cruiser, the backs of the heels of her boots landing
just above the windshield. She stood upright, her back to Ben, and
became as still as a statue.

The passenger door of the police
cruiser opened. An officer stepped out, gun in hand, looking
upward. He said, “Ma’am, drop the-” and that was all, because at
that moment Fiela thrust the broken mop handle violently downward,
ramming the splintered end into the man’s face.

The man’s scream was horrific, as
was the geyser of blood. The officer collapsed to the ground.
Inhuman gargles erupted from his throat as he writhed on the
asphalt. Fiela spun the pole arm and leapt from the roof, landing
in a crouch on the fallen man’s chest. The pole arm blurred and the
officer was silenced. Fiela went flat, rolled,
disappeared.

For an awkwardly long time,
nothing else happened. The policeman remaining in the car was
clearly at a loss as to what to do. He couldn’t see Fiela and after
what had just happened to his partner he was understandably
hesitant to open his own door. He had his pistol out and was
holding it upright above one shoulder but it was useless inside the
vehicle and he had no target outside of it.

With no other options, he put the
cruiser into reverse and rolled slowly back toward the entrance of
the parking lot. As he did Fiela was revealed. She had been beneath
the car. When it was no longer above her, she calmly rose to her
feet, aimed the fallen man’s gun and sent six bullets into the
cruiser’s windshield. On the fifth shot the glass above the
steering wheel shattered and on the sixth the shattered glass
turned crimson.

The cruiser stopped.

Fiela was walking toward Ben, the
dead cop’s gun in one hand and mop handle in the other. “Yes,” she
said sarcastically as she neared him, “I am in ‘some kind of
trouble.’”

Ben watched the gun in her hand
out of the corner of one eye as he said, “Calm down, Fiela. Think
about what you’re doing.”

She surveyed her surroundings as
she wiped the sweat, blood and dirt from her forehead with her
jacket sleeve. “I can’t stay here. Others will be coming for
me.”

Ben took a gamble and slowly
placed his hands on her shoulders. Looking her in the eye he said
in a controlled voice, “Fiela, you need to turn yourself in. You
killed two men. Two
policemen
.”

“
They were going to kill me if I
didn’t,” she objected petulantly. “Maybe you, too.”

“
No, they weren’t. That’s not what
policemen do. Look, you’ve obviously got some great connections.
Lilian, for one. I’m sure she or your family can get you whatever
kind of help you need. Medical, legal, anything. But running is not
the answer.”

Fiela gave him a reproving look that unexpectedly
became a flash of astonishment. Her face lit up in an inexplicable
smile. “It’s you! I think I know who you are! You’re the one my
uncle told me about!”

“
Your uncle?”

“
Ridley!”

Ben gaped at her. “You’re Ridley’s
niece?”

“
Yeah,” she said
happily while looking him over. “Wow.
Well done, uncle!
” Her face fell as
she saw that motel guests were assembling outside their rooms and
gawking at them. “Sorry in advance,” she mumbled.

“
For what?”

There was a blur as something
moved toward his face. The word ‘mop’ popped into his brain just as
the handle thwacked the right side of his head. Stars danced in
front of his eyes. The excruciating pain arrived a millisecond
later, when he was down on one knee.

Fiela crouched next to him and whispered,
“Sorry!”

She stood, performed an elegant
spin, and struck him again with the broken end of the mop handle,
this time on his left cheek. He felt the flesh rip open.

Ben refused to scream. Dazed, he
tried to stand, wobbled, and tried again.

“
Ouch!” Fiela said on his behalf,
wincing. “I forgot the end was splintered. Please, stay down!
People are watching.”

At some level he knew staying down
was exactly what he should do, but it wasn’t in his nature. Fiela
had sucker punched him and the rage growing inside him was
overshadowing his common sense. On his third attempt, Ben made it
to his feet, staggering like a drunken sailor.

“
Damn it,” he grumbled but he
didn’t know where his assailant was anymore. She was, it turned
out, behind him, and she struck him behind his right knee, sending
him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Cursing, he tried again
to stand but his right leg was ignoring all orders.

It didn’t matter. He could already
hear Fiela’s footsteps fading into the distance.

Ben pulled himself upright against
the front tire of a nearby car. Warm blood trickled down his cheek
and onto his neck. He fumbled inside his pants pockets until he
located his phone, which he withdrew and held a few inches from his
nose. The glowing screen told him he had called Lilian only eleven
minutes before.

“
Are you okay, buddy?”

A squat, plump man in a bowling
shirt was crouching beside him. His nametag identified him
as
Manager.

“
Mmph,” replied Ben, using a
finger to check his teeth.

“
Here,” the motel manager said,
holding out a towel. “You got a nasty cut on your jaw there. You’ll
probably need stitches.”

“
Yeah,” said Ben. All his teeth
appeared to be where he’d left them the night before.

“
I hear more police comin’,” said
the manager.

Ben heard the sirens, too. “Help
me up,” he grunted, and the manager put an arm around him and
lifted until he was perched precariously on the car’s fender. The
researcher saw that many of the motel’s occupants were using their
phones to take pictures of the devastation. He was appalled to see
that a few of the adults had actually brought their children with
them.
Look at the dead policemen, kids!
Isn’t that interesting?