The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 8: Galveston (Parts 12 and 13 of 13)

The phantom pain in R.J.'s side flared with a sharpness he hadn't felt in years. The bullet wound used to act up, usually in the middle of the night, waking him from his sleep. It throbbed as though the hunk of lead was still in there, grinding between his first and second rib. His doctor had told him it was all in his mind and when pushed, said in a humoring way that maybe the scar tissue was causing some irritation. It had been a dull, wincing pain just above the spot where his elbow rested.

Now, it felt like flesh of his lower chest had just been seared open by the slug from Aikman's gun all over again.

Maybe the sound had invoked the memory. It was the last thing R.J. heard before he lost consciousness on that fateful day in the Observation Center. As he bled out, Amy had howled. She was howling now. Not that he really heard it. There was too much clatter to pick out the howl with his ears. No, it was something that vibrated the marrow in his bones, crawled along the hair follicles that stood on end, and turned his insides into wet clay.

He had spent many days and night in his office building up a tolerance for the effect of her howl, but that was a long time ago.

Had Amy turned? Could he blame her with all the soldiers who flooded the shore? Even in wolf form could she survive against so many? Could they survive against her?

Nikki crouched next to him, her hands clasped over her head. She looked like she was cowering from an anticipated blow. The howl ended and her body remained clenched up but her facial features loosened from their tight scrunch. As the muscles relaxed, she looked like she was going to cry.

"It's okay. It's going to be alright," he said, wrapping an arm around her.

They were alone on the boat. Wiley and Emily were gone. He glanced down the dock. There was mayhem as the soldiers bolted. In the canal, a long black Zodiac had crashed into post wedging itself between it and the retaining wall. The four men clad from head to foot in black struggled to free it. One gave up and dove into the water swimming for the open sea. The other three soon followed.

It was as though they were being controlled by a hive brain, each individual following the same imperative. On water or land, each was trying to get away as quickly as possible, heedless of their own safety or common sense. Men ran past idling vehicles, choosing to scramble across the terrain instead.

"What's happening?" Nikki asked. "What the hell is happening?"

R.J.'s mouth was dry as flint and couldn't form words. What could he tell her that would make an ounce of sense anyway?

They were safe with the government in retreat. But for how long? From his own experience and the limited tests they'd performed in The Music Box, the effects of the howl were temporary. It would wear off and then they would come back.

Amy could always howl again and send them away once more. Or perhaps a snarling, bloodthirsty lycanthrope built for the sole act of killing would make them keep their distance. Maybe they'd choose to avoid the bloodbath waiting for them.

He imagined her standing, back arched, fur bristling, panting saliva through the maw of razor sharp teeth. Part of him wanted to go out there to her, even with the danger. It was still Amy. He had told her he'd keep her safe.

Nikki struggled to her feet using his arm to steady herself. If he went after Amy he'd have to leave Nikki here. He couldn't take her with him, not with the lycanthrope loose.

He couldn't save both.

R.J. looked over to the corpse. Bill's body lay by the helm. The top of his head pointed toward him, thin salt and pepper hair showed glimpses of a pink sun baked scalp. He was supposed to be enjoying retirement, finally free from a cubical, taking tourists fishing in the hot sun. Max had told R.J. it was his fault for involving him.