Technomancer (8 page)

The unfolding thing rotated a part of itself to look up at what had nudged it. To me, it now resembled a bulky worm made of lava rock, with a head section that rose up to regard me. The sensation of emanating heat grew ever more intense and its eyes met mine—eyes of blue flame on stalks of blackened, porous stone. It did not run from me, but instead straightened and slid forward very slowly. It stared at me with curiosity—or was that hunger?

I saw it clearly now, despite the fact it was not illuminated by a streetlamp or neighbor’s security light. The thing glowed faintly with the color of dying coals. The creature seemed weak, almost pitiful. I sensed it might have become aggressive in a moment of strength. But for now it only eyed me curiously and approached very slowly.

“You’re a crazy bastard, Draith,” said a voice. “Just like they said.”

My head jerked toward the voice. A man stood on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette and continued to watch me from a safe distance. His cigarette glowed orange, but the rest of him stood in shadow. I could tell from his voice and bearing he was a plainclothes cop.

I looked back toward the thing at my feet. It raised a stony appendage in my direction, moving lazily, tiredly. It reached toward my feet. I took a step backward. The thing stirred itself like a tired old man and rippled in weary pursuit.

The cop on the sidewalk chuckled around his cigarette. “It
still
wants to get you. Talk about dedication! Ninety percent dead and almost burnt out, but it
still
goes for you.”

I took another step back, then a third. The thing at my feet looked up at me reproachfully, but with exhausted determination, it squirmed its form closer. As it moved, I heard a faint sound like that of two bricks grinding against one another.

“What is it?” I asked the man on the sidewalk.

The man ignored my question. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to come back? I’ve endured long days on this stakeout. My back is sore from sitting in my car for so damned many hours. You owe me, Draith.”

“I take it you want to investigate this obvious case of arson?” I asked. Maybe Holly had been right and the cops weren’t going to be helpful.

“Ha,” said the cop. “Yeah, right. Come out of there, man. Nice and easy. Do you know I had no idea that thing was still alive? It must have smelled you or something and woke up again.”

“What put it to sleep?”

“The water from the fire hoses, I figure. It likes fire; cold seems to mess it up. But how the hell do I know? You’re the expert on freaky shit like this. Don’t you read your own blog? Get over here, Draith. You’re under arrest.”

I backed away from the thing, which still pursued me in relentless slow motion. I tried not to stumble in the ashes and debris. I didn’t want to turn my back on it, suspecting it might leap upon me in that moment. When I crossed onto the scorched yard, I turned toward the cop.

The cop had stepped closer while I retreated from the thing in the ashes. He pressed his car remote and the headlights flashed. I caught a glimpse of him then. He was a little taller than I was, with an athletic build, and I guessed him to be about forty. He wore a gray blazer over a yellow dress shirt. His gray slacks were as nondescript as the rest of his clothing, intended to make him blend into any crowd. His face had strong features, with a thick brow ridge and a large chin. His eyes and hair were dark.

“Come on,” he said, waving me toward his car. “Get in. I’m taking you downtown.”

“Let’s see your badge first,” I said. I took out my sunglasses and slipped them on. I figured I might need them. Then I reached into my pocket and touched my gun. That was a mistake.

“Here’s my badge,” he said, flashing a shield in his wallet. “Detective Jay McKesson, Las Vegas Metro. And here’s my gun.”

McKesson hit me in the face with his pistol. I went down to one knee. I’d been suckered, and a burst of anger boiled up inside me.

“I should leave you here,” the man said, standing over me. “That thing will come close eventually and burn you. One more freaky death for one more freak.”

“What was that for?” I asked, rubbing my cheekbone. It didn’t feel cracked, but it did feel numb.

“Making me wait. And because you’re armed and dangerous. Everyone says so. Just like that thing you summoned up to burn down your own house for the insurance money. You’re not going to collect, you know. Not on my watch.”

While he talked, I put my sunglasses back on and climbed slowly back up to my feet. I was surprised the sunglasses didn’t seem damaged.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he said.

McKesson kept his gun on me. He clicked on the cuffs, then spun me around to face him. “Not so tough in bracelets, are you, Draith? They never are.”

I didn’t answer. He holstered his gun and gave me a tight smile.

“Shades? You’re wearing shades at night? Are you trying to be cool?”

I still didn’t answer. Inside I was boiling, but I bided my time.

The creature made a sound then. This was something new. We both glanced toward it. The slug had crossed the border of what had once been the concrete slab foundation of my house. It had squirmed its way into the flowerbeds and then out onto the open lawn. At that point it had made a squeaking, bubbling hiss, a sound that was both unpleasant
and alien. Like hot coals dropped into a bucket of water, the hissing continued as it approached us with painful slowness. I thought perhaps the grasses it crawled over stung it. The greenery twisted and blackened at the creature’s approach and it left behind a trail of scorched earth.

When McKesson turned his attention back to me, he realized I’d freed myself. It had been easy. I just twisted my wrists and the cuffs fell apart. I was sure he was willing to go for me, but then he felt my .32 automatic under his chin and froze at the cold touch.

“Surprise,” I said.

McKesson eyed the cuffs that dangled from my wrists. The right bracelet hung open. With the sunglasses on, there had only been a rippling sensation of resistance that quickly gave way. It was as if the lock had turned to rubber. I’d hoped it would work that way, and it had.

“You don’t want to do this, Draith,” he said quietly.

“Do you always arrest people by pistol-whipping them?”

“Only murdering scum like you.”

I stared at him for a second. This was the first I’d heard I was a murderer. The scary part was, for all I knew he was right. I decided to bluff it through.

“Am I a suspect, then? In what murder?”

“You’re a perp in one case and a suspect in a dozen more,” he said. His eyes strayed toward the thing that still approached us with agonizing slowness. A crawling slug of hot, molten stone.

I pressed the short barrel of my .32 automatic into the flesh of his throat and took his gun out of his hand. I turned him around, but kept the two of us face-to-face. The stone slug was now behind him, still crawling across my lawn, leaving a blackened trail as it came. McKesson’s eyes widened, showing the glistening whites. He flicked his gaze this way
and that, breathing harder, but he couldn’t see the thing that crawled closer with infinite slowness behind him.

“You know what it’s going to do when it gets to you, don’t you?” I asked. “I have a feeling a man’s legs will broil nicely, from its point of view.”

“You won’t be able to control it if it gets to a source of fuel,” the detective said. “It’ll get you too.”

“What source of fuel?”

“My body fat.”

I peered at him, suspecting bullshit, but there was no hint of a lie there. I felt vaguely disgusted. I dared a glance over his shoulder. The thing had passed over its first plastic-headed sprinkler. A wisp of steam rose up. The slug made an unhappy, mewling sound. It slowed down a fraction more, probably from contacting a source of cold water. McKesson didn’t know that, though.

“What the hell is it doing?” he demanded.

“It’s eyeing your haunches and speeding up.”

“You’ve got my gun, just run for it. I’ll catch up to you later.”

“If I’m a killer, why shouldn’t I knock off one more?”

“You haven’t killed any cops yet. If you had, there would have been five of us waiting for you to show up out here.”

I glanced back behind him, faking a startled look. I pulled him forward by the shirt collar, keeping the gun under his chin. He stumbled forward.

“What?” he asked.

“It was just getting a little close. But I’m not done with you yet.”

McKesson was breathing harder and sweating now. “Ask me something then, asshole.”

“Ah, ah—I prefer Mr. Draith.”

“Yeah, OK,” he said, glaring. “Mr. Draith.”

My cheekbone was throbbing and I thought about making him call me sir. But I decided not to waste any more time.

“Hard, fast questions; hard, fast answers. Any bullshit and I push you a step back.”

“Ask then, dammit.”

“What the hell is that thing that’s about to crawl up your calf?” I asked. “How can a rock move?”

“Do I look like a frigging scientist? It’s just a living piece of flaming rock. Some call it a lava slug.”

“Are they always this slow?”

“Only when firemen accidentally spray them with hoses.”

“How do you know so much?” I asked. “Do you keep them for pets?”

“Not me.”

“You just burn down houses by planting them?”

“Not me either,” he said, his teeth clenched.

“Who, then?”

Detective McKesson shrugged. “People. The Community.”

I recalled Dr. Meng using that term.
The Community.
“Give me a name, a place.”

“You know a couple of names already.”

I pulled him suddenly toward me again, forcing him to take two stumbling steps toward the sidewalk. He came with me, alarmed.

“Oops,” I said.

“What?” he asked quickly.

“It almost got you,” I lied. The creature was still a good distance away. It was definitely going slower now that it traveled over cool grass and earth rather than the ashes of my house. “How about you and me getting into your car and getting out of here?”

“You’re letting me take you in? Good choice, Draith. You might get a plea out of this.”

“No, Jay,” I said, “I’m going to let you keep answering questions in a different environment. I’m keeping both the guns.”

McKesson tried again to look through the back of his head. I had to give him credit: if it had been physically possible, he would have managed it right then.

“Kidnapping?” he asked. “Maybe you
were
innocent, but you are stacking up real felonies right now.”

“You burned my house down by putting some kind of alien rock in it and then waited until I got home, at which point you smashed me in the face,” I said. “Can you understand why I’m not in a trusting mood?”

McKesson stared at me and read my eyes. I stared back flatly.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll drive. I can’t stand another second with that thing behind me.”

We climbed into his car and drove off together. He didn’t snap on the lights until we’d reached the corner.

“Where are you driving?” I asked. I still had the pistol out, but it was resting in my lap now. I kept my hand on the grip and my finger on the trigger. Occasionally, I caught his eyes flashing down to look at it, then away again.

“There’s a place I know where we can talk,” McKesson said.

“Your station or a coffee shop?”

“A twenty-four-hour place with good pie.”

“All right.”

The detective relaxed a fraction. Maybe he thought we had some kind of bond going.

“You going to put that thing away?” he asked me.

“No,” I said. “Not yet. I’ve got plenty of questions. Such as what murder you suspect me of having committed.”

“Good idea,” he said brightly. His mood and demeanor shifted. “Let’s assume for the moment you are innocent. We can help each other out.”

I glanced at him. “How?”

“Let’s pool what we know. How did Tony’s murder go down?”

I shook my head. “I really only know what I heard from an eyewitness. I was in the passenger seat, we crashed, and he apparently choked to death in a freak accident.”

“Ha!” McKesson exclaimed. “Come on. You were there. You know what happened to him.”

I eyed him. “I can’t remember the accident. I was hauled off to the hospital too, remember?”

“Useless.” McKesson sighed, shaking his head and rubbing his chin. “Totally useless. I got more out of the whore who found you on the sidewalk.”

I looked at McKesson suddenly, deciding I didn’t like him much. Clearly he was talking about Holly. Was he the one she was afraid of now? I frowned, increasingly annoyed. “What about this exchange of info? What happened to my house? What happened to Tony? What do
you
know?”

McKesson shrugged disinterestedly. “Not enough. Tony Montoro was a small-time thief who ran a strip joint to launder his money. He died mysteriously on the night of the twenty-seventh with a gut full of sand.”

“Sand? You mean like actual sand?”

“Yeah, sand. We live in a desert, you know. His gut was full of sand. His lungs too. He suffocated, exploding with the stuff.”

I nodded. That matched with Holly’s story. It was freakish indeed. What a way to go. I wondered how long you would remain conscious. A minute? Longer? I wasn’t sure.