The Stone Scry Page 7

  Tom responded, unmoving, “Yes, but we were forced to take it. Our friends cannot see you, let them go.”

  “Friends?” Dozens of black arms rose from the water extending crooked fingers that dripped sulfuric smelling mud, seeking to grab Tom. He sensed intense rage but also hesitation. They snapped forward and backward, trying to decide whether to rip him to pieces.

  “These are not your friends, Tom Mason!” The clattering teeth twisted a smile and said, “Well, perhaps the sergeant. Indeed, the sergeant. Ask him if he is your friend, Tom Mason.”

  “Why—”

  “Ask him!”

  Tom turned around and asked, “James, uh, James?”

  “Dr. Mason, what the hell is happening?”

  “Are you my friend?” Tom’s eye went back into a spasm.

  James replied, “Dr. Mason…Tom…I see your eye is twitching. That’s not good. I don’t know what the preferred answer is, so let me be frank. You and I have run twenty-three missions. I didn’t like you at first, but by God, we’ve been through a lot together.” He looked around at his men, writhing in pain, their blood gushing into the world. “I may die here today not knowing who the enemy is or why it chose me. If I do, I die knowing it has been an honor to fight by your side and serve my country.”

  The creature rumbled, “Oh, how precious!”

  James reached his arms out seeking stability. “Did you guys feel an earthquake?”

  “Very well”—the fog rolled closer—“I’ll let him live. Perhaps a little while longer, anyway.”

  Lou uttered, “And the rest of us? What are your plans for us?”

  “The miserable creature behind me, Lou Frasier—not changed by the Wash, as you call it. Changed by something else. Twisted, morphed, into this monstrosity. Yet another abomination of man.”

  Its narrowing pupils aimed at Tom. He detected rising malcontent. The sensation tingled up the lateral lines in his forearms. Unintimidated, he remained steadfast in the face of death.

  “Oh, not yet Tom Mason. Not yet time for you to leave this plane. I have a letter to give you. Want to see it?” A wrangled arm stretched out from the black fog holding an envelope pricked between two hooked nails. “I took it from a dead tribe member. Shu Chen of the Divers.”

  Mentioning the Divers morphed Tom’s audacity into an insurgency. If this creature harmed his son, he would not prostrate and hope for mercy.

  “Oh, now don’t give me such a cantankerous look, Tom Mason. Shu Chen died not by my hand, tasty as he was.”

  A dingy, water-stained envelope floated through the air and dropped in Tom’s hands. He tore open the letter and read aloud, “Dear Dad. I’m reaching out because I really need your help.” His body convulsed and kneecaps seemed to disappear, sending him into the fetid drink.

  Tom sat cross-legged, ignoring icy water lapping up his chest and read further, “They retreated from Fayetteville...” He cleared his throat, fighting back tears, and read silently.

  Lou asked, “Sam? It’s your Sammy, Doc?”

  Tom audibly read the last words of the letter, “People are on edge. Love you and Mom, and miss you both.” Unable to hold back, he bawled. “Oh, God. Oh my God, my poor Sammy.”

  Lou shouted at the thing, “Is Sam ok? What have you done!”

  “He is fine, Lou Frasier, he is fine. For now, but for not much longer.”

  Tom’s drenched eyes begged the coy catlike eyes for answers as he asked, “Why are you giving me this?”

  “The dead creature behind me is a symptom. There is an imbalance in nature, the same ignorance that mutated the animal. I wish to strike a bargain, Tom Mason. You are the seller with something I want, and I am willing to pay. Not a sample, no. I am willing to pay more.”

  “You’re saying I have something causing the mutations?”

  “No, you have something to cure the mutations. Ready to trade?”

  “Yes, anything. Please, don’t hurt my boy.”

  “Wait, Doc!” Lou let go of James and dredged over to Tom while slapping away at the groping claws under restraint. Grasping a handful of Tom’s jacket, he pulled him on his feet and asked, “Wait a minute, you don’t want to do anything stupid now, right?”

  Tom ignored him, keeping his eyes locked in the fog—locked on those cat-like eyes. “I will do anything you ask, please don’t hurt my Sammy.”

  “My bargain is this: return to your little toy soldier fort and bring back Emelia Stone. Bring her to the Divers. Do this, and I will ensure your child lives. Consider me his…guardian angel.” It crept out a chuckle at the analogy. “Do this not, and dear little Sam Mason shall die.”

  “Emelia?” Tom tripped over the name. “She is in Raleigh?”

  “Bring her to the Divers. That is my request.”

  “I do not understand but will do as you ask.”

  “Good man. And Lou Frasier?” The cat-eyes twisted to latch hold of Lou’s. “You make sure you stay with Sam Mason, and he stays with her. Understand? If you do not stay close, your life will be forfeit.”

  “If the Doc agrees, then I do.” Lou looked at Tom, who nodded in approval. “I agree to your bargain, demon.”

  “I am not a demon!”

  A humongous claw circled out of the mist like a windmill blade and slammed into the murk.

  Tom held up his hand to Lou and asked the black fog, “Please, I must know, what are you?”

  “Mmmm.” The rumbling sound from the entity quaked the ground, causing Lou and Tom to sink ankle-deep in the muddy swamp bottom. “I was called Cuddles once. It was a nice name—miss it. Tell Jack Harr, Cuddles says hello.”

  Tom and Lou looked at each other confused.

  Tom asked, “Jack Harr? The Stone family housekeeper?”

  “The very one.” Cuddles licked its teeth. “Now, I believe my payment is in order.”

  “Payment?”

  “Yes, trading is still in session. I need you to bring Emelia Stone to the Divers, and you need protection. Clearly, I am not the mysterious evil in Fayetteville. Another like me, but not as nice, I think that. Which means I have work to do. I cannot help restore natural law on an empty stomach.”

  A rolling surge of terror boiled in Tom’s throat. “What do you mean? There is nothing natural about any of this. No law describes you—”

  Cuddles bellowed, “I am the law!”

  Stillness packed into the swamp. The water stopped lapping up Tom’s body.

  Time stood in a frostbitten silence, ready to snap until the clacking teeth spoke again, “Feeding me is in your best interests. Payment, Tom Mason, is due.”

  Shrill screams awoke the marsh. Tom turned to witness Chase, Chaves, Suki, and Needleman grabbed by hundreds of black and grey scaly arms, squeezing knife-sharp claws into the soldiers’ flesh.

  Lou leaped forward to tackle James. Wrapping his hand around the sergeant’s eyes, he struggled to hold him. “Don’t look, James, don’t look at it!”

  “Let go of me!” James kicked him off and scurried towards Suki. By the time he up-righted for a sprint, it was too late. Suki screamed out in horror, quartered by the ghoulish extensions of Cuddles.

  “Oh, tasty!” Cuddles emitted another yummy noise.

  James reached out beyond Suki to Chase, praying to anything that could spare her. Coiled innards, torn from her abdomen, sunk into the deepening red swamp water.

  “Mmmm, yummy, yummy.” The entity smacked its teeth in rapid clattering.

  A puppet with cut strings, James turned to watch Needleman shredded as if dragged over a cheese grater. Chaves was then ripped in half down the center.

  James collapsed, face encased in his hands and shrieking into his palms.

  “Oh, my! So succulent! Delicious meat of evil men, mmmm!”

  Tom, luminescent white, asked, “What do you mean, evil men, Cuddles?”

  “Jack Harr asked as well, I think that!” Cuddles snickered and answered, “Bland are the innocent do-gooders of the world, Tom Mason. A little salt required to
get them down. Those of evil deeds? Those with blood on their little human hands—oh, they are so tasty! So soft! So tender!”

  Cuddles chattered its teeth and again licked them with a rough, pink tongue. “My price has been met. I will be watching over you. Fulfill our bargain. Stone must join with Mason.”

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Commander Andy Ochoa sat behind a large, mahogany desk pressing his lips to folded hands. Tom Mason and Lou Frasier sat in rigid guest seats echoing memories of their flight to California, less cushioning. Ochoa’s eyes passed from one to the other under bushy brows showing strands of grey while Tom perused his mind in quiet amazement, though he did not need special powers to read Ochoa’s thoughts.

  Leaning back, Ochoa’s deep voice smashed the dense silence. “Sergeant James Laramie has asked for you two bad pennies to remain in his unit. I don’t like the idea, do you?”

  Tom sat quietly knowing the question was rhetorical. Lou, less political by nature, barked, “You can’t push us around, Andy. If Jonathon Stone wants us to collect samples and continue our work, you take your gripes to him.”

  “Let me make something transparent, Frasier.” He leaned back readied for the executive version of Mortal Combat’s “Finish Him.” “I hate your rotting guts. I would prefer to drag your stupid ass outside and finish you off in a knife fight. You know what I would do?”

  Lou’s lips trembled.

  Do not scan his mind, Tom thought. Let it go.

  “I would cut off your ear, then the other. I would hack off your nose and lips. I would watch the feelings of self-loathing and disgust permeate your soul. When despair consumed you, I would carve my name in your fucking forehead as a reminder, avenging all the patriotic souls who perished under your watch.”

  “Proving you’re consistent in taking no credit for a long string of stupid decisions,” Lou shot back.

  The commander slammed his dense hands on the desk knocking office paraphernalia to the floor. “Say it again.”

  “What, you’re in incompetent rat-faced horse’s ass?”

  Ochoa stood up. “I think we will chat outside. Bring a big fucking knife, Frasier.”

  Lou lunged towards him, stopped short by Tom latching on his belt strap. “I don’t need a fucking knife to carve my name in your fat head, you bombastic piece of shit. I can order a sewer rat to gnaw my name on it on for me.”

  A rapping on the door doused their flames, and a sudden calm drugged the commander into a relaxed state. A young voice asked, “Can I come in?”

  Ochoa sat in compliance to the calming stupor penetrating the door. “Yes, of course,” he responded, tilting a polite hand.

  Tom could not restrain himself, laughing loud enough to start hacking.

  Emelia Stone stepped into the office. Her childlike long, curly hair and pretty clothes replaced by her adult blond-streaked bob and professional power-dress. The beautiful, compelling woman smirked at Tom and, still carrying an inquisitive, precocious voice, asked him, “Why are you laughing?”

  “You have grown powerful, Emelia,” he said and smiled. “Quite impressive.”

  “We each have our impressive powers, Dr. Mason.”

  “When are you going to start calling me Tom?” His smile stretched like a cartoon character. She was the shining light in the darkness of the Stone family. A humanist, her first reaction never faltered from protecting the sick or defenseless. A good thing, Tom said to himself, because her wrath matched her generosity.

  Another voice following in behind her carried an undertone of ruthlessness, saying, “Perhaps now would be the appropriate time for my daughter to call you Tom.” Tall, dapper Jonathon Stone entered the room. Emelia’s perpetual light restrained his trailing darkness. His presence erased Tom’s cartoonish smile.

  “Papa”—Emelia tilted her head and lowered her eyes—“let’s keep things professional, do you mind?”

  “Today things are going to change, Mel. Tom, Lou, follow me.”

  After they left, Commander Ochoa blinked and shook his head.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  As the four navigated through the Fort Dix laboratory maze, Jonathon continued, “You two need to know something. I’m sure you will have questions, but for now, just listen. Over the last year, more tribes have been culminating to replace abandoned cities and townships. A classic example, the Phillips family has now claimed all the Outer Banks. Others include the Danvers controlling Mount Olive, and the Red Hill Gang took Sanford. They’ve renamed it Red Hill, obviously.”

  While Jonathon spoke, he swiped his card through restricted areas and passed armed guard stations. The further inward they strolled, the more layers of body armor wrapped around guards carrying rifles increasing in size. “We needed to start assessing these tribes,” he said, projecting his voice so those nearby could hear. “Make some allies. Since Mel received her degree in psychiatry, the obvious plan was to have her meet and observe them. Find out which ones would play and which wouldn’t.”

  Fully geared Biosafety Level 4 scientists looking like astronauts aspirated pipettes from vials depicting skull and radiation decals, while dozens of cameras watched overhead. Head’s up displays positioned along the hallway allowed senior-level staff to run virtual programs and access real-time data. They passed rooms labeled “3D Printing” and “3D Visualization.”

  “I heard you were in Raleigh, Mel,” Tom said as they passed the high-security labs.

  “Very few people knew this,” Jonathon said and straightened his tie. “I didn’t think you probed minds, Dr. Mason, leaving such dirty work to the Stone family.”

  “Your family, Jonathon. Let’s say a whisper in the mist told me she would be here. I was hoping we could catch up later, Mel. Maybe, swap notes on our findings.”

  “I would like that, Tom.”

  As Jonathon continued leading them down the halls droning on, Tom rested hands in his pockets and felt a mushy grain of rice. Pulling it out, he examined the dead mosquito pinched between his fingers. Jonathon’s voice faded away as he scrutinized the arthropod’s features, and a deep, reverberating yummy sound rocked his senses. “Cuddles?”

  Jonathon stopped and looked at Tom’s hand. “What, a dead mosquito? Was that your pet? I didn’t know you brought your work outside the lab.”

  “Did you say, Cuddles?” Lou asked and cleared his throat.

  Tom handed the tiny corpse to Lou. “Take this to the lab. Run it through the high-throughput sequencer and align the contigs using algorithm NCABI-1510. Check if there is a match.”

  Lou cupped his hands to receive the small dead creature. “Well Doc, it’s an aegypti strain.” He looked as if he had stepped into his own grave, and repeated what they heard two days before, “Changed by something else.”

  Jonathon Stone sneered, “Probably from your rearing facility.”

  “No, it’s from the swamp,” Emelia corrected.

  She cocked her head for a closer look, but Lou withdrew his hands and slipped it into a small baggy.

  “Let’s talk about it.” Jonathon beckoned to keep moving. He led Emelia and Tom onward through the Navy laboratory complex, not looking back as he spoke to them. “We needed an expert to document and study the tribes. While you guys played in the lab, Mel traveled in the network to do research.”

  Characteristic of the Stone Family. The more they disclosed, the more they wanted in return. Jonathon Stone was building up to something big. Tom knew this was coming, dreading it. He looked down at the lines in his forearms and tugged his coat sleeves out to hide them.

  “So, Mel interviewed them,” Jonathon went on. “Most were willing to comply, but a couple told her to shove it. James Laramie’s team got involved.”

  Emelia smiled at Tom, but this time, he did not smile back.

  “They ran checks along water trade weigh points”—Jonathon studied Tom while he spoke—“tribes causing problems, well, they were removed.”

  Tom muttered, “I understand now what Cuddles meant.”

 
; “Come again?” asked Jonathon.

  “The entity we faced, Cuddles. It…it consumed the stomper unit. It said their bad deeds made their meat tasty.”

  “A demon? Andy did not mention that. He told me an animal killed the stompers.”

  “He would not be able to understand James’ debriefing, Jonathon.”

  “Perhaps. Demons are such fickle beings,” Jonathon remarked.

  “No, not a demon,” Tom emphasized. “It was very specific.”

  Picturing the soldiers torn apart, he remembered feeling the anguish in James, helpless to stop the invisible aggressor. His overwhelming despair projected back onto Tom and marked him, like awakening to a tattoo he regretted. “And merciless,” he punctuated.

  Emelia gave Jonathon a perplexing look, and Jonathon’s blithe expression churned Tom’s harrow to wrath. There was no way a Stone would understand such horror.

  “They are also not fickle things,” Tom said, “James will never be the same. I cannot imagine what he feels now after watching his friends ripped apart one by one. In his eyes, torn to pieces by some invisible, unexplainable force. I felt the man’s mind snap, Stone.” He struggled to keep his anger from wrapping himself in a chrysalis. What could emerge scared him. Searching a happier focal point, he found Emelia’s steel-blue eyes. “So, the team was wiping out tribes not willing to play along? Great. The rumors my son heard were true.”

  She started to respond, “What—”

  “Oh yes,” Jonathon jumped in, saying, “very true. How many hostiles do you want knocking at Sam’s door, Tom?”

  Tom hmphed and drove his hands into pockets as they passed through a sturdy metal double door. On the other side was nothing short of paradise. Fountains abutted plush couches. Walls held fixtures interspersed between monitors, works of art, and thick mirrors. A long, ornate dinner table rested at one end, and at the other, Jonathon’s expansive desk. Beyond, bulletproof windows provided a quiet view of manicured gardens, muting Carolina’s stormy outdoors.

  “Have a seat,” Jonathon said and motioned to ultra-padded, oversized office chairs placed before the executive desk.

  Tom lost his political senses. “Cut the crap, Jonathon. What do you want?”