Nocturn City 3 - Second Skin by Caitlin Kittredge

Author:Caitlin Kittredge
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2009-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Before I could make good on my quest for knowledge, my beeper began buzzing angrily. I saw the scramble code on the screen. “Can you drop me at the plaza instead, Bryson?”

“Thought you were on leave,” he said.

My arm still felt like something large and starving was chewing on it, but I wasn’t bleeding anymore. That was a victory. “I still have to report in if I get a call.” That wasn’t true at all, but I was making a habit out of lying to everyone, so I figured Bryson was feeling left out. If Tac-3 ran into more of those things . . . well, that wasn’t worth thinking about.

“No one else,” I muttered as Bryson made an illegal left turn into the plaza parking lot.

“Say what, Wilder?”

No one else dies when I could have stopped it.

“Nothing. Get going, David. Keep her safe.”

He dropped me a salute and gunned the Taurus out of the lot. I went inside, trying to ignore the various hot points of pain all over me.

Cleolinda raised her eyebrows at me as I ran past. “It’s hitting in there, girl. Whole damn city’s gone crazy.”

Captain Delahunt was pacing back and forth while Eckstrom, Batista, Allen, and Fitzy traded looks. I tapped Javier on the shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Hostage situation,” he said. “Over by River Road. Something damn weird is going on, lemme tell you.”

Delahunt finally spotted me. “Didn’t I send you home for a few weeks, Wilder?”

“I got the code, sir,” I said. “I showed up.”

“Good, because we’re shorthanded,” he said. “Naturally, I assume any injuries that might result from active duty won’t be claimed as workers’ comp?”

Delahunt was one of those bullnecked ex-military types who thought health insurance and personal days were for weaker specimens. He was one of Mac’s poker buddies, though, and I’d never seen him be anything but decent.

“No, sir. Absolutely not.”

“Good.” He flicked the remote on the display set up at the far end of our situation room, and a sound file began to play.

“Nine-one-one emergency, how may I assist you?”

“Oh gods, they’re coming in!” The scream overloaded the speakers and feedback hissed.

“Sir,” the operator’s voice hitched. “What is your location?”

“It’s inside . . . it’s eating me . . .” The screaming became wordless, and Delahunt cut off the file.

“That was an hour ago. Seventy-one River Road, on the far side of Garden Hill. Officers on the scene report at least two subjects inside the house, plus the hostage.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s go to work.”

“That tape was some freaky shit,” Fitzpatrick said after we’d loaded into the van. The reassuring press of my tactical gear was somewhat mitigated by the slow swirling nausea my arm was causing, but I held it together.

“PCP,” said Allen. “You know all the hopheads go back into the old part of the cemetery and shoot up. Serves those assholes on River Road right for building their mansions so damn close to a boneyard.”

I thought about the things in the morgue. PCPADDLED junkies seemed like a treat by comparison, but I wasn’t convinced that was what we were getting into.

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