Bloody September by Stewart Wieck

Author:Stewart Wieck
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Sagas, Fiction
ISBN: 9781588468536
Publisher: Psi
Published: 2003-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

Friday, 20 August 1999, 11:32 PM Smithsonian Building (a.k.a. “The Castle”), National Mall

Washington, D.C.

The cries and whines had continued for the last two nights, but Sascha barely heard the five different voices. She only searched for the one that had piqued her interest earlier, the sixth. Sascha sat on an office chair, studying the large puddle of flesh squirming and staining the thin-carpeted floor. This pink, quivering mass—deflated arms and legs flopping helplessly, faces stretched flat, organs pulsing and beating beneath layered blankets of skin—consisted of five mortals and one Cainite. Sascha had spent much of the previous night doing little but plucking their bones from their bodies (save for their skulls) to rob them of mobility, connecting their autonomic systems and fusing organs together to service the whole. This anatomical medley shouldn’t have survived the night, but now that they shared the same circulatory system, the Cainite intruder turned all that mortal blood into his own, thus making the pitiful assemblage into warped ghouls and keeping them alive at the point of death. Now, when one person thought to lift an arm or cry out in horror, the message split through the different junctures to everyone. All the arms flailed and all the voices spoke. With all six fighting to be heard and saved, it produced a stuttering, hiccupping chorus of voices and spasmodic movement.

In this misery, however, there was no joy for Sascha. There was only analysis and understanding. She wanted to know more about the intruder, but the Cainite’s voice seemed lost in the shuffle. He didn’t appear strong enough to pull himself free of the mental quagmire of five thoughts colliding with his own, shouting to be heard. More the pity, for Sascha appreciated individuals of singular will, perhaps more so than solving existence’s small mysteries. The intruder was either willful or ignorant to attack someone of Sascha’s ability, but the drive was present. This small test in torture would separate the chaff from the wheat, and determine the intruder’s true strengths and capacities.

Unfortunately, this had so far netted Sascha nothing for her troubles. Sascha stood. This experiment was at an end. Yorgim, standing guard in the corner of the room, sensed his mistress’s displeasure, and bounced eagerly from foot to foot. Yorgim knew Sascha would allow him to feast on the wretched collection, and was now waiting for the word.

“You may indulge yourself,” Sascha told Yorgim. Yorgim came close to giggling, and advanced.

“Please,” the chorus of voices moaned in unison. They sounded like a choir of bees, their voices lacking in intonation or emphasis. It was a byproduct of the collapse of most of the air pockets in their body. Their voices barely carried through the empty space.

Sascha studied the mass, twelve eyelids blinking in unison, all staring back at her. There was no dissent, no struggle for control. “Please?” Sascha asked.

“Don’t leave us… me, me,” the voices corrected themselves, fighting for identity. “Don’t leave me here. When you aren’t looking, your beast,” all twelve eyes darted in Yorgim’s direction, “your beast bites us.

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