Marcus Pelegrimas - Blood Blade

“Of course. We’re the Midwestern Ectological Group. Branch 40. Did you need another branch?”

“An ecological group?”

“Ectological,” the operator clarified. “As in spirits and other nonphysical entities.”

“Is ‘ectological’ even a word?” Cole asked.

“If you want to report a manifestation, get to it. The only reason I haven’t hung up on you is because you’re calling from one of our satellite lines. Come to think of it, whose phone is this? Did Walter put you up to this? Goddamn it, he did, didn’t he? Or did you steal this phone? Oh man, you’d be wise to drop it and run right now.”

Still looking at the card, Cole said, “I have a number to give you.”

“Go ahead.”

He rattled off the digits that were printed on the card beneath the phone number. At first he could hear the operator grumbling something about sending Walter a scathing e-mail. But before Cole was halfway through the numbers, the operator was scrambling frantically enough to knock something over on his end of the connection.

“Holy crap,” he said. “That’s a…you’re…”

Hearing the panic and frustration in his voice did Cole a bit of good. It seemed misery truly did love company. “Do you need me to repeat that number?” he asked.

“Hold on a second.”

A series of clicks was followed by a few short bursts of static. Meanwhile, Cole felt his stomach flop again as he thought he’d been disconnected. When the operator’s voice came back, it wasn’t as clear as it had been before, but there was more than enough intensity in it to make up the difference.

“I’m really sorry about all of that before,” he said. “I had to secure the line. Could you give me that number one more time?”

Cole repeated the digits. This time he even included the dashes that were written between a few of them. When he was done, he could hear the unmistakable clacking of fingers on a keyboard.

“Are you still there?” Cole asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Just looking up your ident code.”

“Ident code?”

“Yeah,” the operator replied. “It’s short for identity code.”

“Clever. Who are you?”

Unlike the last time he’d asked questions, the operator responded as if he actually had some interest in helping, rather than just tolerating him. “We’re the Midwest Ectological Group. We cover reports of paranormal activity throughout the U.S. and Canada. Maybe you heard of us?”

“Nope.”

“We’ve been on television a few times. Well, cable television. Are you one of those…you know?”

Guessing it was easier to lie than try to figure out the proper response, Cole said, “Yeah. I’m one of those,” and hoped for the best.

“Perfect! This is great! I’ve never actually caught one of these calls before. According to this code, this phone belongs to Gerald Keeler? Oh…you said…”

“Yeah. Gerald’s dead.”

The silence on the other end of the connection was almost thick enough to seep through the device in Cole’s hand. The words that broke it were meek and genuinely regretful. “Right. You mentioned that. What about…Brad Books?”

“Brad too,” Cole replied somberly.

“Jeez, I’m really sorry to hear that,” the operator replied.

Despite the awkward situation, Cole was grateful just to hear someone else’s voice. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Judging by the silence on the phone, the operator wasn’t used to hearing that question. “I’m Stu.”

“Hey, Stu. My name’s Cole Warnecki.”

“Oh…uh…you’re not supposed to use last names on these calls.”

“Really? Why?” Cole asked.

“I don’t know. That’s one of the rules you guys use.”

“Fine. Gerald gave me this phone and this number so I could get in touch with a woman named Paige. She’s supposed to be in Chicago.”

There were more clicks and clacks as Stu’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “That would be Paige…well…yeah. I’ve got a Paige listed in Gerald’s file and she’s in Chicago.”

“I need to talk to her. Actually, I need to see her. The only problem is I’m kind of a long ways from an airport or anything.”

“I know. The phone has a GPS in it and I’ve got your rough position on my screen right now.”

“Nice,” Cole said as he closed his eyes and pictured himself as a brightly colored dot on the display screen of the global positioning system that had recently been installed in Jason’s company car. As much as Cole got lost, he still hadn’t gotten high enough on the Digital Dreamers ladder to warrant such a fancy expense. “You guys have any way to get me out of here before I get ripped to pieces?”

“Oh sweet! You mean you’re on site with one of those creatures?”

“Sure. Maybe I can snap a few pictures for you before I get eaten,” Cole growled. “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do to get out of here? Gerald was pretty adamant that I don’t wait for the cops.”

“Yeah, that would be way too messy,” Stu chimed in. “There’s someone in the area that should be able to meet you somewhere within a mile or two of your location. Up for a walk?”

Cole didn’t answer right away because he was distracted by the sound of what might or might not have been distant thunder. When the sound died away, he whispered, “I’m up for a run. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“I’ve already sent word to one of Gerald’s contacts in that area. Head due south until you meet up with a paved highway that’s running from northeast to southwest.”

“Hold on a second. I’m a city boy. We don’t come equipped with compasses.”

“You don’t have a compass on you?” Stu asked.

“Just a minute.” Without waiting for confirmation, Cole set the phone down and started rooting through Gerald’s bag. Sure enough, he found a survival knife complete with a compass in the handle. Just what every boy wanted for Christmas. Picking up the phone, he announced, “Found one.”

“Good. Head south until you hit that highway. It shouldn’t be more than two or three miles.”

“Two or three miles?”

“Yeah,” Stu replied. “Maybe four. No more than five, though. I can’t get an exact fix on your position.”

“Never mind. I’m on my way.”

“Do you need them to bring anything?”

“A division of Marines and a tank would be nice,” Cole replied.

Stu chuckled and capped it off with a snort. “I mean like a medical kit or food or anything.”

Checking the phone’s screen, Cole saw that there was still plenty of life in the batteries. Apparently, Gerald was one of those rare, mythical breeds of men who had a thousand dollar phone and didn’t have it surgically connected to his ear long enough to wear the charge down.

“What’s the matter?” Stu asked intently. “You sound hurt.”

“Not hurt,” Cole gasped as he zipped up the bag, then hefted it over his shoulder and started running. “Just moving faster than I have for months. I really need to start going back to the gym again.”

“You’re pretty high up and it must be cold there. Let’s see…yep. I just checked the weather in your area.”

“And?”

“It’s cold,” Stu reported.

Now it was Cole’s turn to laugh. With his legs churning through the snow and his feet already tingling within his boots, he didn’t exactly have breath to spare. It did, however, feel good to take action rather than just try and piece together what was going on. “What about Paige?” Cole asked. “I still need to get ahold of her.”

“I can try to connect you if you don’t mind holding.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do right now. If it sounds like I’m dying, just ignore it.”