The Broken Ones (Book 1) Read online

  The officer smiled at this, his eyes holding the humor, but the smile only made the large monster on his lips dance even further and instead of laughing at the humor of it, Brian found he started to cry again. The officer nodded to him, but respectfully kept his distance.

  “I have to pat you down,” he told Brian.

  Brian nodded through his tears, but raised his arms to allow for the search. Officer Kims patted him down, and finding nothing, he stepped back and said, “I have to cuff you now.” Brian could see that the officer’s eyes were filled with sorrow.

  Brian nodded again, but as Officer Kim put on the cuffs, he found himself asking, “Am I the bad guy?”

  There was a long moment of silence before Officer Kim said from behind him, “I don’t know, son.”

  Brian nodded again, and allowed himself to be lead away past throngs of onlookers who refused to meet his gaze. After a while, he just lowered his head, and continued to cry. The way they took him was through the same doors he had entered the bank, though now they were a shattered front. The car was still there, though thankfully the bodies were removed and covered up with sheets. As he was escorted by Officer Kims to the waiting police cruiser, he noticed a plain clothes cop standing just beyond the throng of chaos. A tall dark skinned man with his badge hanging from his shirt pocket. Something about the way the man stared at him sent chills up Brian's spine. After a few moments of staring, the police officer shook his head as if to clear his thought. Brian wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the police officer mouth a couple of curse words. Brian assumed they were at him and for the damage he had caused. There, in that moment, he knew he was no hero.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beeping plunged through the darkness and grabbed a hold of Julian, dragging him like a body from the depths to consciousness. The beep was steady, several of them before he heard what sounded like a wheezing noise. More beeping and then a wheeze. After a while, it dawned on him that he listened to the sound of his own life. The beep of a heart monitor keeping pace with his heartbeat, which meant the wheeze must have been his own labored breath. God, what has been done to me?

  The scent of floors floated over him, followed by a soft touch on his cheek. He couldn't make out the words, but someone spoke. Some with the voice like an angel, filled with concern. Julian tried to speak, but all that escaped him sounded like a sort of wheezing groan.

  "Don't try to speak,” the voice of the angel told him. "Conserve your energy. Can you feel my hand on yours?" He could. "Squeeze it if you can hear me." He tried to squeeze, but it was hard for him to be sure his hands received the message. "Good. Good. Sleep some more. Father Holland is here, and he's going to look after you." The smell of flowers grew stronger, and the angel's voice remained close to his ear. "He says he still isn't a hundred percent sure you aren't an alien." Then she offered him a soft giggle that he could feel make his mouth twitch to a smile. "There you go." He could feel her hand on his face again, then it was gone.

  "Angel," he tried to say, but what came out of his mouth sounded less like that then he was happy with.

  "What did he say?" The angel asked.

  "He said ‘angel’,” the kind of voice from the church said. He assumed it was Father Holland. "That would make sense, come to think of it. Aliens don't tend to crash land in churches."

  The angel was close to him again, the smell of flowers strong. "Fair enough, Angel. You catch some sleep and let Father Holland regale you with his tales of chasing mythical creatures." Then he felt lips upon his forehead. From there, warmth spread out, crossing over his head like a soothing wave. "Be back soon, Angel."

  "I will have you know that they are not mythical. They are spoken of in the Bible."

  A soft laugh, "Sure thing, Father Holland. You just make sure if he starts having any issues, you get me in here. Understood?"

  "Clear as stained glass."

  "Uh huh. Don't you get him riled up now, ya hear me?"

  "Didn't hear you. Speak into my good ear."

  "I am not falling for that again, you old rascal." And then she was gone.

  Julian lay there, listening to the beep and the occasional wheeze that he knew was him. Each time he heard it, he felt pain lace across his chest. He heard the scraping of a chair, and then smelled strong aftershave.

  "She gave you a heavy painkiller, my boy. You are already boarding the train for Lala Land. I just wanted you to know before your train leaves the station that your family is safe. The police are still trying to piece it together. How you saved them, then ended up hundreds of miles away. The world’s gone mad with stuff like this, so I have my hunch, but I think I can say that I know all you are worried about is your family. They are safe, and your step-father is hanging out in a hospital room much like this one. So, don't you worry about them. You work on healing so you can get back to them."

  Julian tried to give his thanks, but whatever noise left him sounded more like a cow getting gut punched.

  "Huh. You sound more like an alien than an angel, my boy." And then he heard Father Holland settle back into his chair. "Your people come back to pick you up, whatever they might be, you let them know that old Father Holland was good to you. No, probes or holy smiting, you hear me?"

  Julian laughed, but just as Father Holland had warned him, the darkness reached back up and snatched him back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was a rest stop, somewhere just west of the city, along an interstate that Golem couldn’t have given the number to if he tried. All he knew is that it was the only rest stop within the range of his powers to create his creature from the dirt. He was to this spot several times, testing his abilities, trying to refine his skills. Before the incident at the mall, he wanted to have his creation look more human like, and to perhaps allow it to take better damage. Tonight though, he wasn’t concerned with testing his skills. He had risen here with the sole intent of making sure his help in the upcoming plan would have the manpower it needed. Or woman power as it would turn out.

  It had taken him some time since the nightmare of his creature making itself out of the burial dirt to come to grips with the idea that while it had just been a dream, what was said within it was not wrong. He was faced with a choice, and now he worked toward that end. He had started sleeping less, fearing that in his sleep he would conjure the creation and it would truly walk in the house and out him before his family for the villain he was. He couldn't risk that. He wasn't even sure that it was a dream. Dread filled his heart every time he thought to call the cemetery to see if Officer Ortiz's grave was tampered with during the night. He had even tried picking the phone up once, but had set it back down after listening to the dial tone for several minutes. He wasn't sure he could handle finding out that he had desecrated the grave.

  He rose in the rest stop much like you would see in any zombie movie of old. First a hand of dirt would rise from the ground, followed by the arm, dragging the whole of his creation from the ground, often, leaving a gaping hole, much like a grave-like hole when he formed. He had chosen a path back behind the rest stop, away from where the normal visitors traveled in the daylight, and wouldn’t dare creep into with the darkness. He himself found the place to be creepy and reminiscent of far too many horror movie scenes. Trees closed in on all sides, concealing the small meadow from the road, though the loud roar of semis blasting past was a constant backdrop.

  He had wandered his creation out to the actual building once, intent on trying to see if he could solidify the fists of the creation enough to have him blast through the wall of the brick structure. He remembered that night well because he had stumbled upon a sign that listed this location as a point on the Trail of Tears. He had no idea at the time what that meant, but there in the dark, with only him and the hum of sixteen wheels on highway, he found himself mesmerized by the sign. Later, he would discover that it was the marker of the terrible journey of death for the Native Americans. A banishment from their homes that left too many of them in graves along th
e roadway. It reminded him of the stories his father had told him about what happened to their families in Germany.

  Deep down, Drew felt he could relate, after the horror that was beset upon his people. In that dark, with just the weakened light shining on the sign, he found it ominous. He decided that night that this place would remain unharmed by him. It had somehow become a sort of childhood Mecca for him. Whenever he started to get nervous about something, he would go and have his creation stand at the edge of the tree line and stare at the sign. He couldn’t understand it, but it seemed to soothe him.

  Tonight though, he remained out of sight of the building or its sign. He waited in the dark for what felt like forever. When he came close to calling it a night, figuring he was stood up, a plump woman hustled down the trail, making a beeline for him. After a moment, she stood before him, her brown hair neat in some sort of old bonnet.

  “Golem?” she whispered. She was squat, covered with folds of fat, though her face did hold a nice charm to it. It was the twinkle in her eye that made him cautious. Something about it reminded him of Miss Fire, and it helped to remind him why he was here.

  Golem stood there without making a sound. In his mind, he going over a thousand different insults to this woman’s intelligence. The fight for supremacy with the rebuttal lasted so long, that the woman seemed to think the silence was his answer.

  She laughed, and stepped even closer, smelling of what Golem assumed was cat litter and baby powder. An odd smell that made his stomach turn.

  “That was rather silly of me. Doubt there is two of you running around.” She seemed to find that even funnier and gave a loud cackle. Her mannerisms reminded him of an old witch from the televisions shows, though she herself was not hideous like the shows often portrayed them.

  Golem, having decided that silence would be his best avenue for this person opted to remain silent, but after about a minute of her chuckling to herself, he decided to speak. “I thought there would be at least two of you.” He narrowed the gaps that were his eyes, wondering if tonight they glowed red or not. “Henchwomen as a name seems to imply multiple.”

  The woman cackled again and nodded, her white bonnet dancing on her head like a crazed handkerchief. “You aren’t wrong there. No, no you aren’t.” She stepped back, toying with her bonnet, untying it and letting it fall to the ground. “Now, this will be a little disturbing,” she admitted.

  Golem stood motionless, an easy feat for him, and watched. So far, he was not impressed with this woman. He had found her in the secret net, a series of sites that existed apart from the internet and only reachable by a series of anonymous sub-domains. It was impossible to trace where messages came from, the site priding itself on that. It was said that you could order anything from drugs to hit men on the web without fear of being caught. He had opted to try and hire the latter.

  Soon, she rid herself of the hair tie keeping her hair in place. Then she dropped a backpack that Golem hadn’t even noticed she was carrying. She began to disrobe. First she removed her shirt, revealing a bland white bra that Golem had seen on many a grandmother in the comedy shows that played on that fact. Her breasts were huge, but her stomach was too, so it wasn’t what he would consider a pleasant sight. Though, the truth of it, he wasn’t going to say anything, he remained interested to say the least. Then the bra came off, and Golem stood there dumbfounded. He watched in silence as the stretch pants fell away, revealing more cliché granny panties. The socks came off, and then the panties. She stood before him, nude as he had ever seen any woman, and while he couldn’t say she was attractive, she had an interesting look.

  “Getting an eyeful?” she asked, raising a brow.

  “Should I turn away?” Golem asked, dumbfounded.

  “Little late for that,” she huffed, but Golem suspected she wasn’t upset. “You are welcome to watch the next part as it is a neat trick.” Then, she knelt down, bent knees, body resting on her legs, arms folding over her legs. It was one of those poses he had seen in some weird ballet where the woman had pretended to be a flower. Or at least he thought she was pretending to be a flower. Those dances never made sense to him. Then, the woman let out a small groan of pain.

  The woman before her began to shake a tiny bit, swaying as much as shivering. From his angle, all Golem could see what the arch of her back and the bones of her spine pushing against the taut skin of her back. Chest to knees, her ample breasts were hidden and his angle afforded little view of her backside. A blessing in his mind.

  The shivering was replaced by outright spasming, her body jolting with each ragged breath she expelled. Ripples in the skin danced outward from her spine, running the full length of the exposed skin. A ridge formed along her shoulder blades, sweeping up her neck and then across her hairline. Like a chasm opening in the woman's skin, the ridge grew like a wide maw along her body, until he realized the each side of the ridge was almost a mirror copy.

  From the body of the crouching woman, another body of a woman rose, stretching up, then expanding outward like an eagle taking flight. Gelatin skin wriggled as if a thousand worms gestated in anger just under the translucent skin. Pale color returned to the new skin, and the body started forming strong lines that converged into pieces of anatomy. Breasts plumped out at the same time a jaw descended from the blob that he assumed would be her head. The monstrosity stretched wide its abnormal jaw and then blinked open eyes filled with a milky substance. Veins snaked their way across the milky skin, like lightening shown frame by frame. Blue and red laced across until the smooth skin gave a final ripple that turned into goosebumps. From those goosebumps sprouted hair, and from those raised bits of flesh, color seeped in like coffee overflowing a cup. In a matter of maybe a minute, the one woman had divided into two, one crouching and the other standing as if to hug the sky. Both were less obese than the original and came close to being a moderate size.

  Now, Golem was hard pressed not to say that both of them were visually stunning. The two of them looked like average women, still nude, but otherwise enticing, even for a boy his age. Maybe for a boy his age.

  It was the one he considered the clone that spoke. He considered her the clone as she was the one to form before his eyes, while the other had remained motionless for the most part. The clone moved for the discarded backpack. “It is a matter of mass. We cannot gain or lose mass in the process. Each time we divide, we become equal halves of the whole.” She began to root around in the bag before pulling out some jogging shorts and a tank top. She continued to speak as she dressed, “The problem also comes that we share the mental capacity as well. The one you met before we divided is twice as smart as me and…” she gestured at her still naked crouching twin.

  The twin took the cue, and repeated the process, this time coming up with two things that did not resemble a woman at all. Creatures that looked more like zombies than beautiful women stood before him. Sunken cheeks, darkened eyes and mouths opened as they breathed in labored breaths. He half-expected one of them to demand his brains and start chasing him across the open field. They were humanoid, but beyond that they resembled rough sketches of women.

  The original clone spoke, “As you can see, the two here are barely more than walking corpses. Great if you need tasks done that only require simple directions, and not a lot of strength. You need that, you get four of us. You need thinking soldiers, you get two or you mix and match. We get paid the same. Half of the score.”

  Golem laughed at the last part. “Please put those,” he pointed at the motionless zombies “together, and get it, her, whatever dressed.”

  The clone gave an impish laugh and nodded at the two zombie-ish clones, who moved to hug each other. Again the skin rippled until a plumper, more appealing version stood before him, one hand seductively on her hip. The process in reverse happened quicker and less disturbing than that for the original divide. There were no translucent moments or snaking veins. Just a moment of liquidness and they were one.

  “You sure you want me
to get dressed,” she giggled.

  Golem replied, “Your call,” as he didn’t care. They were both beautiful, even in their normal forms. The fact that there were two of them, one dressed and the other not, like an erotic before and after picture didn't help. At home, Drew felt the familiar stirring, but repressed any desire to illustrate this with his creation. He was not that juvenile. Plus, he was sure that this was just a head game the women were playing. Or was it woman? Did they think like a hive mind?

  The second clone laughed and nodded at the original clone, “Yeah, it’s a kid,” she announced getting herself dressed.

  “What did you say?” Golem growled.

  It was the original clone that spoke, “You're obviously a kid,” she said matter of fact. “Any grown man would jump at the chance of having two women who are basically twins.”

  At this, Golem got angry. He stepped forward, glaring at the original clone with his hollow eyes. Sure, they were right, but for the wrong reason. "You can't be serious. After that display, you think any man would want to get with you? A minute ago, you looked like a jellyfish with tits, and then this one," he jerked a finger at Clone Two, "looked like two crackwhores after a night full of tricks. Before all that, you were a chunky fat woman who wandered between a crazy cat lady and a cackling witch cliché. So, your amazing theory rests on the idea that I either have no standards, are hard pressed for sex on my own, or by some giant leap of the imagination, that this parlor trick was enough to make me forget why I hired you in the first place. Do you remember what I hired you for?"