The Forest Bull (19 page)

             
Wally and Risa had gone for a run before dinner, so I had Gyro as my sous chef. We prepared, admittedly with some sampling, an array of bread and olives, cheese, hummus, and basically every pickled item known to man. Peppers, artichokes, hearts of palm, and a sprinkling of capers lay on a large white platter that we could comfortably grab from in the center of the table. Our meals were often simple and informal, but that did not mean they were unsatisfying. I chilled wine and set the table family style, knowing that Marcus, and probably Suma, would be joining us, then opened a beer and took the beast into the yard for recreation. I sat at the dock while Gyro reinvestigated every single blade of Bermuda grass we had managed to keep alive in the backyard. His snorts were comical, and the sun was setting without fanfare as I fought the urge to doze in the light breeze. I rolled my shoulders to loosen them and stretched both legs and arms, getting ready for our dinner guests. I had a feeling that our meal would be memorable.

             
Suma joined us, along with Marcus, after picking him up at his hotel, and it made for a cheerful table as they traded war stories about the medical field, lawsuits, and the general decline of civilization. Now and then, it did us good to hear about less belligerent occupations and added an air of normalcy to our lives, at least for an hour or two. When the wine was gone and the plates were cleared, I asked Marcus if he had any training with weapons. His look confirmed my suspicions, so we all filed into the yard for an impromptu seminar on the finer points of knife fighting against ancient succubae that may or may not be wearing crinoline skirts. I really know very little about fashion among the moneyed immortals of New Orleans, but it seemed plausible.

             
“Stand light on your feet, okay?” I instructed Marcus, as Suma sat on the grass while Wally and Risa assisted me on posing his limbs properly. I hadn’t given him a knife for the same reason I wouldn’t strap a butcher knife to Gyro’s paw; he simply wasn’t ready for it and it was patently unsafe. We drank a lot of wine, too, which added to the general danger. although I had stopped at one glass, knowing that this lesson was going to occur.

             
“How does that feel?” I asked him, taking in his generally clumsy bearing.

             
“Okay. A bit stiff. Should I be moving around, or something, you know, lighter on my feet?” he asked, giving voice to a common mistake made by amateurs.

             
“No, stay still and breathing easy. Remember this: quiet mind, quiet feet. You want to be economical, not flying all over the place. All that does is make you unbalanced and at risk. Wally, reposition his legs and turn him a bit?” I asked her, as she moved to adjust his placing.

             
She placed her arms around his chest and turned him to face me in a side stance, narrowing his profile dramatically. I heard her inhale as she playfully nuzzled his neck. He reacted as expected, with wide eyes and a hint of a blush. Wally can do that to a man in an instant. It’s her trademark. Well, that and a few other things, but this was the one she used at the moment.

             
“What is that cologne, Marcus? It’s a panty-dropper.” She asked him in her most lascivious tone. “Risa, come smell this guy. Amazing.” She stepped aside as Risa leaned in and sniffed his neck appreciatively.

             
“Well? What is it, handsome? Risa flirted, outrageously. She was at her maximum wattage, gazing up at him with doe eyes and a soft smile. It was a killer look.

             
“It’s, well, it’s Armani. You like it that much, really? I’ll wear it more often now,” Marcus stammered, falling in love with his cologne choice just a bit more than he thought possible.

             
“Okay, dreamboat.” I laughed, “Turn back, position again, like we showed you. Now, I’ll extend my hand, blade backwards so you’re not hurt. Show me what your instincts are when I come forward, and we’ll see where your skills are at. . .” Marcus settled again, trying to remain serious in the face of such flattery. It was challenging even for me, and I live with the girls.

             
I balanced on my back foot slightly in a sixty to forty ratio, arm out slightly and my knife turned towards me. “Ready?” I asked him, and he smiled. Over his shoulder, Risa gave an imperceptible nod, and I lunged forward in a blazing strike as my wrist turned to plunge the blade in his heart, stopping only when my knuckles thumped against his breastbone with a muffled noise signaling the end of Marcus’ life as he knew it. Suma gasped. Risa and Wally stood, unmoving and imperturbable. Before his body could hit the patio, he began to sublimate like any immortal, old or new, and only Suma was surprised by the dainty motes of blue that scattered on the breeze as what had been Marcus, insurance actuary and toy of Delphine, vanished from the earth forever.

             
“How did you know?” Suma asked me, blanched and shaken.

             
“He smelled like Sandrine, but not a perfect match. Close enough for me. He must have begun to turn from fucking Delphine every night, not even knowing he was being recreated in her image. It was a matter of time until he began to kill on his own, probably starting with his ex-wife and moving on from there. I asked the girls to confirm it, and, once they did with their little bit of theater, it was time for him to go.”

             
Suma shook her head sadly, her gaze lingering on the empty clothes that Marcus had worn. Risa snatched them up and began walking towards the trash cans on the side of the house; while Wally casually asked us all if we were ready for another bottle of wine. It was business as usual. But, I sensed that Suma was receiving an education in casual death that she could do without if it were her choice.

             
Being around us, it wasn’t. With a steadying hand, I helped her to her feet and led her inside, where she could shake off the adrenaline in a more civilized setting than the scraggly Bermuda grass of our backyard.

             
“Why don’t you stay over? No funny stuff, I promise.” I beamed at her, conscious of her mental state. “But you can rest here, and, in the morning, you can head over to the Butterfly for a normal, death-free lunch.”

             
“That sounds like just what I ordered.” she replied gamely. Her good humor was returning, and we had wine to drink, so we joined Wally and Risa inside and gave Marcus no further thought. It was as if he had never been born, which was just one of the sad details that immortals brought to bear on innocents, day in and day out.

             
I stayed true to my word. Suma’s virtue remained unsullied, at least by my hand. After coffee and some lounging in which we were miraculously alone, Suma asked me a question that caught me off guard as I was rummaging breakfast for us.

             
“When you were in the Army, did you think about what would happen afterwards? If you killed someone or did things that you thought you would have to answer for later? Like sins?” She was looking past me as she spoke.

             
It troubled me that she knew that detail of my life, as I couldn’t remember telling her, but she had spoken to the girls at length.  The topic may have come up. I certainly didn’t hide my time overseas.

             
“I didn’t think about it. I was hot and tired, hungry most of the time. Thirsty. miserable. I learned to despise the uncertainty of violence but relied on my team like they were family. The oldest in my squad was only twenty-six. Three of us were married, some had kids. We were all homesick. I would’ve strangled someone for a cheeseburger that didn’t taste like dust. I was the loner among us, but that didn’t mean I was an outsider. On the contrary, I was accepted. I always volunteered for shit duties because I knew that I could do the job. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t an exemplary soldier; I just sort of glided through things. Even combat. It was always a little easier for me. But, even though I was a bit different, my team always included me, accepted me. We were forged together. Some of us become men, a few of us died. I’m sure some went nuts. Or are going nuts, slowly. Every time I used my weapon, I did so in the interest of my team, never from raw anger. I was, like I said, floating. . .” I paused to hand Suma a wedge of orange. She took it and inhaled the scent with appreciation.

             
“I’ll never get tired of that smell. Like the sun.” she said, nibbling. Around her bites, she asked “But you didn’t think about sin? About whether or not there would be some cost for doing what you were doing?” It was a fair question.

             
“Are you really asking me if I believe in God?” I countered.. “Because the answer has to be yes.”

             
I think that surprised her. She looked expectantly at me for details, finishing her orange.

             
“It just seems logical to me, that’s all,” I explained. “I don’t know about heaven. I don’t think that there is a hell; at least not like some of us portray it. There are no lakes of fire or beasts and ice and darkness. All of those things are here, now, with us every day, so it doesn’t make sense to create a place to hold what is already a part of our daily lives. There is fire, endless fire from wars that we make. The cold of loneliness. Beasts that we hunt and kill, or the worst among humanity. Those people are beasts, at least to me. I see what they are capable of, up close and personal, and it’s nauseating. And I believe in counterweights. After seeing what we have seen, here, in the dark and sometimes in the light, well, I just think that there has to be something, someone, holding onto the other side of the rope  and stopping all of us here from sliding down some shithole to be lost forever. And I think that God doesn’t really care what I’m doing, as long as I’m helping to hold the rope, instead of stepping on the heads of everyone who is circling the drain around a long, cold fall into the permanent darkness.”

             
I sliced another wedge of the orange, perfect and simple. So different from all of the rest of what was becoming a very complicated life.

             
“Are you going to the Butterfly today?”  I asked her, handing her the next section of her orange.

Reaching out, she nodded
and said, “I want to eat lunch with my sister and feel normal for ten seconds, not like--
merde
!”- She cursed abruptly in accented French when the orange slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. “Sorry. Clumsy!” she said, abashed at her minor outcry.

             
“You cuss like a sailor, but not in English?” I asked her, bending down to wipe the floor with a towel. I didn’t want her to see my face at that moment. I had heard that same curse, once before. At the beach. With Senya.

             
“I do,” she admitted, sheepish. “My grandfather taught me the best cursing was in French. It has more vibrancy when you’re being dirty, don’t you think?” she laughed, as she described the potency of lurid cussing in her second tongue.

             
“That it does,” I agreed with a forced smile. “I hope you enjoy lunch with Boon. It’s important to have family. People you can rely on.” I told her all this with a pasty grin, knowing that her simple little outburst had revealed who the Baron’s informant was and how little I knew about Cazimir, Elizabeth, and everything.

             
When Suma left, I hurried to Risa’s room to find her quietly reading on her laptop. Before I could say anything, she waved me over and pointedly turned the screen for me to see. On it hovered an email from Hayseed, with the simple message
Let’s talk, all four of us, video, noon. Most important
. This was highly unusual for him or for any other members of our thin community, but, without any discussion, I told her, “I’ll go get Wally up and alert. I’ve got ninety minutes, which gives me one to spare.”

With that, I went to wake the
beast and Gyro, who was doubtless sharing her bed in all his furry glory.

             
We assembled in the kitchen, just as we had done the first time we spoke to Cazimir. Wally understood the gravity of the call, so she was ready, reasonably dressed, and had made some overture at grooming. It was a start. I decided that now was as good as any to drop the bombshell that Suma was a turncoat who was feeding information to the Baron.

             
“Before Hayseed comes on, since we’re here, I found out who is working for the Baron.” I started, grabbing the girls’ undivided attention.

             
“Who?” they blurted in unison.

“How do you know?” Risa continued, while Wally’s wheels began to turn, processing this information.

              “Well, it’s Suma.” I said, expecting the worst. I was right.

             
“Bullshit. Seriously? How- wha--but she’s
family
!” Wally spat, incensed. Risa glowered, already looking for angles.

             
“Explain,” Risa said simply.

I gathered myself, looking quickly at the clock. We had three minutes. Not my best application of Army logistics, but what the hell.

              “Senya. Remember her?” I asked, and, when the girls motioned that they did, continued. “The night I met her. At the beach, we were in the alcove of that turquoise hotel next to Vince’s; that’s where I offed her. Before we were in the clinches, I heard a woman’s footsteps following us, then dropping her keys and swearing in French, but it wasn’t some tourist who spoke the language naturally, it was accented. At the time, I didn’t know how, but as of this morning, I do. It’s a Thai accent, and the voice was Suma.”

             
Before there were questions, I pressed on. “I handed her an orange, and she dropped it. She cursed in French. Her grandfather was from Marseilles, and he taught her the language. It was her that night. I know it. Same tone, same accent, same everything.”

             
Risa asked, “Does she know you know?”

             
I shook my head. “No, I looked down, away, whatever I had to. I know I was shocked as shit, but I hid it. She suspects nothing. The questions are why? To what end? How the hell did the Baron find her?”

             
“Does she know Elizabeth? That’s what I want to know. Because, if she leads that woman to her own family, then she is compromised beyond saving.” Risa assessed Suma’s level of depravity in sad tones.

             
Before we could continue, the laptop pinged, and it was time for our chat with Hayseed. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew I was sick of lies.

             
“I hope he isn’t full of shit. I don’t know if I can take any more lying and still be anything close to reasonable.” I groused, voicing what we all felt.

             
The man who appeared on the screen looked like anything but a liar. He was in his late fifties and had the bearing of a steady Midwesterner. He had cheerful green eyes over a long nose with salt and pepper hair cut short, but not quite military regulation short. He smiled easily at us and dipped his head in acknowledgement of our image.

             
“I’ll never feel like I’ve kept up with technology. Just when I think I’m current, something becomes commonplace from the science fiction I read as a kid. I’m Lyle Caldwell. Hayseed, by another name,” he introduced himself to us with a nod and waited politely for a reply.

             
I made our introductions. “I’m Ring Hardigan. This is Risa Wexler.” She smiled and said hello. “And Waleska Schmidt, or Wally, which will fit her once you see how she eats.” Wally punched my arm and smiled brilliantly at the screen.

Lyle was captivated
, even across the miles, which was not lost on Risa, who sighed under her breath.

“I handle most of our actual up-close-and-
personal interaction with the immortals. Risa and Wally take care of anything that requires human persuasion, information, logistics, and things like that. And we live together, too, so feel free to say whatever you want. We have no secrets, although we will keep whatever information you discuss today completely private.”

             
That seemed to please Lyle, who folded and unfolded his big, capable looking hands on the table in front of him once before he spoke.

             
“I have my target cornered. Twelve years of work. I’ll finish it tonight.” Lyle said in a neutral tone. I recognized it as someone who faces the end of their life’s work and cannot see beyond that second. It’s a form of mourning, and it was all over his broad, honest face.

             
Wally asked for details about the creature, giving voice to our collective morbid curiosity.

             
“There
were
two humans working in congress with the female” he began, “but, as of this morning, only one.” He grimaced in memory of the kill. It must have been an entirely different kind of shock to kill a human, or someone who was nearly so. “She’s holed up in the subcellar of an abandoned dairy barn, and her remaining partner is injured. I’m letting him bleed out. He’s got some skill as a fighter, and the location is just close enough to a populated area that a gun is out of the question for dealing with him. For her, a knife--just like you’ve learned, Ring--a knife is what is needed to do the job right.” He stopped, drank from a bottle of water, and continued. “Tonight, I’ll take her. She’ll be very hungry, a bit weak. I’ve harried her for a week straight, no meals, and no rest. She’s ripe. That doesn’t mean it’s a sure thing, so we need to talk first, to make certain that what I’m doing is right,” he concluded with a questioning look at all of us in turn.

             
“Right about killing her? What is she, anyway? A ghoul? Right?” I asked.

             
“Oh, you’re right about what she is, Ring. She isn’t human, not even close. Her story is, well, I don’t know if it’s unusual among their kind. She’s living a long, slow burn towards complete depravity. In point of fact, she’s there now, but her human partners--Helpers, as you named them so aptly--well, they point her like a weapon and follow her, east to west, west to east. With each mile and season, she descends a little further towards complete animalism, to a point where, eventually, even the Helpers cannot reach or communicate with her.”

             
“Is she from that area?” Wally asked, trying to establish a relationship between origin and habit.

             
“Yes and no,” Lyle said thoughtfully. “Yes, she is from here. But not from our time. Or rather, not from the time of European settlers.”

             
I whistled inward. Risa and Wally both looked shocked.
Another old one
. They were popping up in our lives more regularly know. I can’t say it was a trend I was comfortable with.

             
“How old, exactly?” I asked. The answer was worrisome.

             
“Pre-Columbus. Maybe Neolithic. I don’t know. I took a sample, if you can call a finger a sample, of her DNA to the local college and had them test it, as a discreet favor to me. She’s something other than what we would call modern American, maybe Clovis. That isn’t the only evidence I’ve had examined as I’ve tried to pin down her identity.  I got close, very close, about three years ago, caught a good look at her feeding, and saw a tattoo on her shoulder. It was grey, a hint of blue, very old. I think it was supposed to be antlers over a moon. It looked primitive and very personal, like something from a cave wall. It was simple but beautiful, quite different from the rest of her. She’s a complete horror. Ropy, thin muscles and slate skin, streaked with someone’s blood and viscera. Not big on hygiene” he joked. “She has teeth, if you can call them that. A mouthful. Sharp. Long nails, not pointed, but more like a mole. Or a badger. They’re formidable. She’s strong, can leap like a flea. Long, long black hair, a sodden, greasy mess--it hangs between her shoulder blades like a filthy rope. She’s nude, always, although her Helpers have covered her in rough cured furs at times. I think it reminds her of her human life. Maybe they used it to pacify her when they were on the move.”