Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two] (3 page)

Painfully getting erect, I shielded my face with a trembling hand and glanced skyward. There seemed to be a window missing on fifteen, but at this range it was impossible to tell. The sounds of warfare continued, so slipping on my sunglasses, I dialed for maximum computer enhancement. Yep, broken window on fifteen. Okay, now I had a goal.

"Call the police!” I shouted to the gathering crowd of onlookers, as I stumbled into the apartment building. Once I was out of view of the general public, I paused long enough in the lobby to drink a vial of healing potion. Instantly the pain diminished and the blood stopped running from the cuts on my head and neck. Ah, much better. Wish I could have done something for the officer splattered on the sidewalk, but no amount of magic could cure a wound like that. The man had been pulp.

As I headed for the elevator, a muffled explosion sounded somewhere and the fire alarm started to clang. Spinning about, I changed direction. Gotta take the stairs.

Sprinting up the steps, I shucked my sports jacket and loosened both of the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnums in my double shoulder holster. Damnation, I was armed to go to the movies, not indulge in serious battle! I only hoped the situation wasn't as bad as it sounded. The whole thing could be attributed to a gas stove explosion. Highly improbable, but feasible. Maybe it was only a Mafia execution, or a terrorist attack, something simple like that. Yeah, think positive.

Reaching fifteen, I eased open the exit door and scanned the hallway before entering. Go slow, keep low, that was my motto for the month. At the end of the hallway, there were two cursing police officers, reloading their Beretta 9mm automatics and not looking at all happy. Faintly, I heard snarls and moans of pain. Sounded worse than Saturday night at a cannibal brothel. Nasty.

Carefully stepping into view, I kept my hands splayed and at my sides. Nervous cops had a bad habit of shooting first and apologizing later at your funeral. Although they did send flowers.

"Move along, mack!” the young cop snarled, slamming a fresh clip into her automatic. “It ain't healthy to be around here."

"Hey, he's armed!” the other cop shouted in warning. Instantly, their guns swiveled to point at little ol’ me.

Stopping where I stood, I slowly reached into my jacket and withdrew my commission booklet. “FBI,” I announced calmly. “Special Federal agent Ed Alvarez. What's the situation, officers?"

They seemed disgruntled, but accepted my arrival. At least, their Beretta automatics were no longer directed towards my tender stomach. Thank goodness, hot lead was so hard to digest after a pepperoni burrito.

"We were responding to a domestic, on the fifteenth floor,” the woman reported quickly, jacking the slide on her weapon to chamber a round. “No response to our knock, we heard sounds of violence, announced our identity and kicked the door down."

The man shivered. “Some kind of animal was eating the tenants. Place resembled a slaughterhouse. We each pumped a full magazine into the beast before it even noticed we were there."

"Who went out the window?” I asked, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck start to rise.

"Harry,” the woman said. She was calmer now and a lot more angry. “The fool tried to Mace the thing."

Weird noises were coming from down the hallway. Snarling, growling and a crunching sound much too reminiscent of teeth on bones. This was not music to my ears. “What does it look like?"

"Big. Ugly. No hair."

Interesting, I briefly wondered if it was a bald werewolf, a squid-bear, or another of those giant mutant Chihuahuas again. We had been finding a lot of those lately. Must be the something in the water.

"Where is the animal now?” I asked, coming closer.

"Who knows?"

"I called for emergency back-up,” the man added. “But this is Chicago."

"With more crime than cops,” I finished for him. “How long?"

"They get here when they get here."

Damn. “My people can arrive in five minutes. You want help?"

"Buddy, we need help,” admitted the older and obviously wiser officer.

"Done.” Turning my back on the pair, I pressed the transmit switch on my wristwatch, a nifty little piece of Bureau equipment that could do everything but strap itself on your wrist, and Technical Services was working on that detail.

"Alert,” I whispered. “Possible homicidal supernatural at ***175 Wacker Drive. Definitely bulletproof. Call in the troops, gang, this could be a toughie."

"We're on the way,” a familiar voice replied.

"Don't stop for lunch, or it may be me."

"Gotcha, chief."

Tucking my badge into my belt so it would be on public display, I shrugged and both Magnums were in my hands. The Model 42 ultra-light in my left was loaded with rubber stun bullets. The heavy stainless steel Model 66 in my right held a scenario load of an armor-piercing military round, soft lead dum-dum, explosive mercury tip, silver bullet, phosphorus tracer, and a blessed wood bullet. Not much, but it would have to do.

Just then, a scream of raw terror echoed along the hall and the three of us charged with guns drawn. Monster or not, no cop could ignore a cry for help.

Inside the apartment was a mess, with torn clothing everywhere, furniture smashed, television smoking, carpet ripped, papers scattered and amid the fresh destruction stood the beast. It was no Chihuahua.

Vaguely resembling a hairless lion, the muscular animal must have weighed four hundred pounds easy. It had mottled, diseased-looking skin, long saber tooth tusks, prehensile claws, charnel house breath and a real bad attitude.

But according to my sunglasses, the creature possessed no Kirlian aura. None. That was impossible! Incredible! Everything living had an aura; white for good, black for evil, green for magic, and a million shades in between. Maybe this monster was off the visible spectrum with an ultra-violet, or infrared aura. For one brief moment I debated trying to capture the thing alive for the lab crew. Then it turned and I saw a foot and slipper sticking out of its drooling snout. So much for capture. Lumpy the Lion died here and now. Eat a civilian in my town and you went down for the count. Fast and hard. End of discussion.

"Aim for the head!” I cried, targeting the chest in an attempt to hit the heart. I forced myself to keep the instructions plain. No coded battle phrases. These were street cops, not federal secret agents.

Our four guns sounded louder than four hundred as we banged away in the small room. The muscular animal jerked with each pounding round, but no blood showed and the damage was minimal.

As the cops withdrew behind the wall to quickly reload, Lumpy bounded forward, so I tossed in my only grenade and then joined the officers. In the future, I really should go shopping with more than just the bare essentials. However, bazookas simply ruined the lines of a good sports jacket.

A thunderous explosion shook the floor, flame and debris blasting out the doorway. Without waiting for the chaos to settle, I dashed back inside to continue the fight but found only bits of the Bozo Boojum strewn about. Contemptuously, I snapped my fingers at the dead monster. Ha! Lumpy hadn't been so tough. I had in-laws who used grenades to dust the furniture. It really kept their place clean, but sure was really hard on the doilies.

But even as the smoke thinned, the bloody pieces started slithering towards each other as the monster began to re-assemble. I felt my lunch pack its bags for a quick vacation as I watched the reverse dissection. Uh-oh. Total cellular unification. Every tiny piece of its body was a separate living organism. I could be here for a year trying to chill this boojum!

Then again, maybe not. Moving fast, I grabbed a foreleg, sprinted into the kitchenette, stuffed it into the microwave and turned the dial to high. The results were interesting. Wrapping my handkerchief around what resembled a brain, I dropped the pulsating gray cauliflower-like mass into the sink and flicked on the garbage disposal. Ah, instant lobotomy. Just add water.

In a spray of electrical sparks, the microwave shorted out and the door swung aside as the limb flopped towards freedom. Then the rumbling garbage disposal jammed to a halt and an undulating brain plopped out of the sink and started rolling across the floor. Holy Hannah! This thing was harder to stop than a Congressional pay raise!

Dumbfounded at the sight, the police officers could only watch from the doorway. This type of fighting was totally out of their experience, almost beyond comprehension. Each probably thought they were hallucinating, or dreaming. That was the standard reaction. But the cops were still here and that showed guts. If we survived this mess, the Bureau could have a couple of prime recruits.

Rummaging under the sink, I found a can of drain cleaner and liberally sprinkled the acidic lye over anything that seemed healthy. Sizzling and dissolving under the chemical onslaught, the stubborn supernatural relentlessly continued to piece itself back together.

Tossing aside the can, I grabbed another limb and started to heave it out the window, but stopped. Not everybody in Chicago would be wearing protective armor and the next poor slob to get glass rained on them would die. Damn, damn, damn! Think, Alvarez, think!

I had never fought a true unkillable before, only read the Bureau manual on the subject. Unfortunately, I had just exhausted the usually helpful handbook. Time to be brilliant. Ah ... er...

"Oven?” the young cop suggested.

With a grin, I slapped her on the arm. “Yes!"

As I wrestled with the struggling forearm, the woman turned the gas oven on and opened the door. Claws ripped at my chest, exposing the armor under what had been my favorite shirt, so slamming the leg against the tiled wall a few times to try and stun it, I barely managed to force the adamantine limb into the waiting stove. The cop slammed the metal door shut, while I grabbed the refrigerator and pushed it in front of the oven.

A wild pounding started immediately from inside the oven, but the boojum stayed put. However, the smell coming from the exhaust vent was bad enough to peel the paint off a battleship; the fumes were reminiscent of sweaty gym socks, old cat litter and rancid hair tonic with just a hint of automobile transmission fluid. Whew! This thing could give a sick skunk an inferiority complex.

With a tremendous crash, the refrigerator toppled over and the smoking forearm bounded out of the oven.

"What the hell is this thing?” the older cop demanded, his automatic barking steadily as he tracked the legless runaway. “Some kind of organic robot?"

As good a lie as any. “Yes,” I panted, thumbing reloads into my own weapon. “It escaped from Fort Sheridan early this morning."

"But that was closed years ago?"

Was it? “Just a cover story to hide the secret government lab."

"Son of a bitch!” the woman cursed, hacking at the brain with a meat cleaver. Arcing around her, the two pieces just moved faster.

Going into the living room, I yanked a cord from the wall and began tying grisly monster chucks to doorknobs and bathroom fixtures. About halfway complete, the living jigsaw puzzle flipped and flopped in a feeble attack, but couldn't regroup for the moment.

The man poured a box of rat poison into a gaping section of the creature's intestines, but the deadly food only seemed to accelerate the healing process. A reverse metabolism? Damn, I had already drunk my only vial of Healing potion.

And this was getting serious. If Lumpy reformed before help arrived, we stood about as much chance of staying in one piece, as it presently did of not. Electricity? Nyah, it was only house voltage, couldn't kill a dog. Set the place on fire? No good, too risky, might murder hundreds of innocents. If only we had some fast setting cement, we could dump it in the lake. My mind began rifling through six years of fighting every damn thing on Earth, trying to find a solution.

"Hey, what's going on, officers?” a man asked, leading a group of people standing by the open door. Some teenager in a bathrobe was there with a goddamn Toshiba video recorder. Sweet Jesus! This was just what I needed, civilians with a camera.

"Run!” I bellowed, stepping between them and the boojum. Ripping off my watch, I clicked on the self-destruct sequence. That should buy me enough time to get them to safety.

But then multiple hands yanked the bystanders away and in charged four people I knew well: a beautiful oriental woman in silk pajamas carrying a short double-barreled gun, a plump man in a sweat suit lugging a four foot long M60 machine gun, a trim, muscular woman holding a sword whose blade shimmered with rainbows, and a tall pale man in bikini swim trunks holding a silver staff.

Grinning, I clicked off the self-destruct. Yahoo! The cavalry had arrived, and not a bit too soon.

Leveling his silver magic wand, Raul Horta gestured and a shimmering lattice of golden bars appeared in the air. Cops and civilians were rudely shoved into the hallway, the camera smashing against the jamb, then the door slammed shut, bolted, locked and the couch slid in front.

"Roach Motel!” I ordered, pointing at Lumpy.

In a series of musical twangs, the cords snapped and the monster slapped together finishing its regeneration. Standing rampant, the misshapen beast roared like some primordial nightmare from Hell! God almighty, what awful breath.

You want it alive
? Jessica asked in my mind. Even the telepathic broadcast of my wife carried a faint trace of her Chinese accent.
Wouldn't a Bate's Motel be more appropriate?

Of course, I want it dead. But he's an unkillable
, I thought.
Capture is our only chance. Tell the gang
.

Done
.

They frowned, but obeyed. Thank goodness for trained professionals, and high explosives.

Ramming the end of his staff into the stained carpet, Raul ran past the monster dragging the wand behind him and forming a shining line on the floor. The boojum started after him in a bound. Her sword flashing, Mindy Jennings chopped off a pointed cat ear. Howling in pain, the creature turned for her and Raul dashed by again. Confused, the beast headed for the smashed window. But working the bolt on his ungainly machine gun, George Renault put a stuttering stream of high velocity lead slugs into Lumpy forcing the creature to remain where it was. Only a blur, Raul angled by a third and fourth time. Wisely deciding it was time to leave, the hairless feline began clawing at the floor and Mindy chopped off a paw. Spitting in unbridled fury, the beast crouched low, preparing to leap and Jessica gave it both barrels of her taser stun pistol. Twin hooked barbs small as a matchhead, buried themselves in the boojum's rump and trailing the hooks were hair thin wires connected to a powerful accumulator in the handle. As the barbs made contact, 12,000 volts automatically shunted into the beast. More than enough hard electrical current to stun a Republican on election night. Lumpy toppled over as both rear legs went momentarily numb.