Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

That dirty bitch . Zou wanted Bryan so bad she’d instantly framed him for the murder of two men. Every cop in the city would be gunning for him. His brief moment of believing Amy Zou was doing the right thing? Bryan had been a fool, and now everyone was paying the price for it.

He closed his eyes, tried to manage the pain radiating through his body. The coat had stopped the shotgun slugs, but like Adam had warned, it didn’t stop all of the kinetic energy. Bryan’s back throbbed. His right arm hurt almost as bad as his left. He tried to store up the pain, file it away — he’d return it with interest when he got his hands on Rex Deprovdechuk.

Bryan’s phone buzzed. A text — the message made his chest lock up.

ROBIN HUDSON: SOMEONE IS IN MY APARTMENT. CAME IN ON FIRE ESCAPE. PLEASE HURRY!

He started to dial her number, then stopped. She’d texted, not called, which meant she didn’t want to make any noise. What if he called and she didn’t have her phone on vibrate?

“Adam, how long?”

“Five minutes,” the younger Jessup called back.

Bryan texted:

HANG TIGHT, I’M ALMOST THERE.

Alder finished prepping. Now Bryan recognized the device: a power stapler.

Bryan turned his head, offering up his torn cheek, and let Alder get to work.

Dog Fight

Robin hissed through clenched teeth.

“Max, put it down .”

Big Max held an aluminum baseball bat in his big left hand. In his right hand, he held a thick leash attached to the thick collar surrounding his pit bull’s thick neck. Every muscle in Billy’s taut body seemed to vibrate — he’d picked up on his master’s agitation and was ready to follow Max into any fight.

At least the dogs had kept quiet.

“Robin, come on,” Max said in a hissing whisper. “You’re a cop, you can’t let these assholes break into your place.”

“I’m just a medical examiner. Please , this isn’t some meth-head. These people are really dangerous.”

Max’s muscles twitched just like his dog’s. He wanted to mix it up in the worst possible way. He tensed for a second, then sighed. “Fine. You’re right. I hope Bryan gets here quick.”

Robin nodded. Bryan would be there any second.

She had one arm around Emma, trying to keep her baby on the couch. She felt Emma suddenly stiffen. The dog started to growl. Emma stared at Max’s front door, the one that led out into the hallway. A ridge of fur stood up on her back like a furry black fin.

Billy started growling too. He leaned toward the door.

Then Robin smelled it. Coming from the door, from out in the hall, faint but unmistakable …

… the smell of urine.

Robin reached into her purse and pulled out her gun. She held the subcompact .380 in her right hand, Emma’s collar in her left. Someone was out there. One of Marie’s Children? The Zed-chromosome people?

Max looped Billy’s leash around a heavy wooden chair. Two big steps took Max to the front door.

She tried to say Max! but no words would come out.

He held the baseball bat in both hands as he leaned forward to look out the peephole.

The door smashed inward, knocking Max to the floor.

Through the door stepped a man covered in a rancid, blue-and-green-striped blanket. He had a huge head. The forehead alone was two feet wide and misshapen by lumpy, gnarled skin. Beady black eyes beneath that forehead stared right though her.

he’s one of them he’s got the Zed chromosome he’s going to kill me

Dogs barking, the sound of a wooden chair scraping across the floor an inch at a time.

In his right hand, the intruder held a boxy weapon that had a long magazine sticking out of the handle. He glanced down at his left hand — it held a piece of paper. He looked at the paper, then back up at her. He stuffed the paper somewhere inside the blanket, then he smiled.

Shoot him shoot him shoot him echoed in her head, but she couldn’t move.

The big-head walked into the apartment, stepping over Max, reaching, grabbing, iron-hard fingers suddenly digging into her shoulders.

A flash of white and black. Emma’s teeth locked down on the man’s thick thigh. The dog shook her head like a wild thing, putting all of her weight and muscle into it, yanking even as blood sprayed across her snarling muzzle.

The man’s beady eyes widened in surprise and pain. He let go of Robin and swung the butt of his weapon hard into Emma’s face. She flew across the room, yelping.

Robin raised her pistol and fired three times before she even registered the motion. The big-headed man flinched away, covering his face with his arms.

A flash of metal arcing through the air and a ringing thonk . The big-headed man crumpled forward, hands moving from his face to the back of his head. Behind him stood Max, baseball bat in hand.

Billy kept lurching at his leash and barking madly, trying to pull free as the chair holding him back scooted a little closer.

A sound of clinking metal, then a crack of electricity. Max contorted so hard his head snapped back. The bat flew out of his hand. He dropped to the ground.

Behind him stood a raven-haired woman — a stunning, strange image. She held a chain in each hand, one set of links on the floor in front of her, another set trailing behind. Robin registered knee-high boots, vinyl pants and a cut-off Raiders sweatshirt that revealed a slim stomach. A brown cape — no, not a cape , it was another dirty blanket — hung from her neck. Billy lurched again, dragging the chair closer.

Robin raised her weapon to fire, but the woman flicked a wrist. Robin didn’t see the chain move, just felt an electric zing in her hand that made her jerk away, throw herself back against the couch. Her hand and arm felt like they were on fire.

The gun was gone.

The black-haired woman smiled and walked forward.

The big-headed man stood up, rubbing the back of his head.

The woman looked at him and laughed. “He did a number on you.”

“Shut up,” the big-headed man said. “I’ll fix him.”

He reached down and grabbed Max, who had curled into a fetal position. He flipped Max onto his back, grabbed Max’s wrists and held them to the ground. Max opened his eyes and saw what was over him. He struggled, but from the first second it was clear his strength was no match.

Billy roared like a demon. The chair squeaked against the wood floor.

The big man raised his big head, leaning back until his neck muscles popped out like flesh-covered cables. Robin leaned forward to push off the couch and stop the man, but the black-haired woman snap-kicked — the boot smashed into Robin’s mouth, driving her back into the couch again.

The world wavered. Robin’s body felt numb and unresponsive, but she could still see.

The man slammed his big head forward in a lethal blur. Max’s face vanished in a crunching splash of red and gray, like someone had hit a watermelon with a bowling ball.

Robin knew she was screaming, but she wasn’t controlling it, it was someone else, someone still there because she wasn’t really there, couldn’t be there, couldn’t have just seen Max die like that.

A final screech of wood accompanied the sound of a chair hitting the floor.

Billy the pit bull lunged, locked his massive jaws on the back of big-head’s neck. The man let out a scream that sounded like it belonged to a little girl. He fell facedown in the gore of Max’s blood and brains, flailing at the back of his head and neck.

John Smith was as afraid as he’d ever been. He thought he might puke at any moment. He had to force himself to watch the road ahead and not look up at the windows of the passing buildings.