Chapter 55
“It’s bad,” Phil said to Patton as they turned Sister Ellen onto her side. “Definitely kidney, maybe spleen, but I don’t think he got the aorta.” He was applying pressure to the entrance wound with his silver gloves. “I have to go get him, and you have to take care of this.”
Patton was looming over him, sweat spilling off his forehead. They both knew that he was now almost certainly infected. “Go, I’ll take care of her.” They shared the briefest moment of mutual respect when their eyes met. “Take this and kill that son of a bitch, because if he comes down here alive, I’m going to kill him.” Patton passed over his weapon, and Phil could feel the pure hatred in his soul.
Phil tried to push through the doors, but the crowbar was securely fixed to the handles. He looked back at Patton and the fallen nun, judged that they were safe, and then blew the doors in. They rebounded off the far wall fifty feet away.
* * *
Izhan heard the explosion of doors and was thankful for the brief respite from Rucker’s undivided attention. He had reached the roof, and the nun ran out into the dazzlingly bright afternoon sun. They both shaded their eyes and stumbled forward. The chillers were on, and he followed their loud mechanical strumming. He grabbed the hem of the nun’s skirt, and she lost her balance. Izhan dragged her across the stone and tar roof. She wouldn’t be much of a shield against Rucker, but against bullets, she would do fairly well.
They reached the condensers, and a large column of steam shot a hundred feet into the sky above them. He dropped to his knees, and Sister Janine tried to crawl away as he pulled out the remaining seven sheets of infected paper. He swatted at her, and she responded with a vicious kick. The heel of her shoe opened a large gash across his still-masked face. As he looked back at her, he found that she was stricken by her own savagery. He took the butt of the gun and hit her hard in the face. Her nose broke with a crack, and she spun around into the gravel.
Rucker was at the door as Izhan tore his first sheet and tossed the pieces into the steam column. They shot high into the air, as the mental wrestling match resumed. Izhan tore the second and third sheets, but before he could launch them, he was wheeled around and slammed against the metal wall of the chillers, the fragments of the infected paper inches from the rising column. He tried to release them, but Rucker now had full control.
Phil pinned him there. Small pieces of torn paper began to fall from the sky and collect at Izhan’s feet.
Voices and the noise of heavy footfalls started coming up from the stairwell, and Phil slammed the door shut without taking his eyes off Izhan. The isolation suit was both hot and unnecessary, so he slowly stripped it off. A tiny slip of paper fell out, and it was caught by a tiny breeze that wafted it towards the pile in front of Izhan.
“That’s better,” Phil said, after stepping out of the pants. “I would like a moment of your time, so why don’t you get comfortable as well?” The mask dropped off Ahmed’s face and fell into the neat pile at his feet. “I can feel that you want to hurt me; you want it very badly.” Phil stared at Izhan while the younger man struggled to free himself from the invisible force that held him. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite as strong. The depth of your hatred is truly impressive.”
“What do you know about hatred?” Ahmed sneered.
“Very little,” Phil admitted. Izhan could use the mental connection almost as well as Phil. “As you can see, I am capable of experiencing only a narrow range of emotions. The truth is that I can perceive your emotions much easier than my own.”
“You are an abomination in the eyes of God.”
“Are you trying to anger me?” Phil squatted down, using the chillers to shade him from the sun as he gently sorted through the life of Izhan Ahmed. He tried to resist, but he had no more luck freeing his mind than he did freeing his arms. “Where does all this hate come from?” Phil asked sincerely.
“Your Western society degenerates our faithful,,”
Phil silenced him. ”Yes, yes; our very existence offends the Almighty, and it is your duty to destroy us. It’s an excellent sound bite, but it’s all very trite and uninteresting.” Phil forced him to make eye contact. “You are an educated man, Izhan, and while lesser men may actually buy into that nonsense because they don’t know better, you do know better.”
The young man stared back at Phil, anger burning in his eyes.
“I really don’t want to hurt you, but I must know.”
“Why?” Ahmed asked defiantly and used every ounce of energy to close his mind.
“Honestly, I can’t tell you; I find your willingness to commit acts of extreme sacrifice and extreme violence compelling.”
“I’m not going to help you learn how to be human.” He spat back.
Phil stood up. “If that’s your decision.” Clumsily, just as Reisch had done to Phil, he reached into Izhan’s mind and sifted through every thought, emotion, and memory. The young man passed out almost immediately and with his loss of consciousness all resistance disappeared. For the first time in Phil’s life, he experienced the joys of childhood, the beauty of innocence, and the wonder of limitless potential. He felt the contentment of being a part of a family, of truly loving, and being loved by another in return. The fulfillment of being a part of something greater than one’s self.
He could relate to Reisch’s need to feed on the emotions of others; they were a powerful elixir, both intoxicating and revolting at the same time. The sensations and passions that defined Izhan Ahmed flowed into Phil, filling a void that until this moment, he didn’t know existed. Even the negative emotions, the pain and suffering, satisfied Phil’s sudden need. He pressed into the young man’s mind, trying to drain it faster; an alien desire to completely consume the life of Ahmed began to overwhelm Phil. The Monsters had finally gained control; it was this realization, and it could only have been this specific threat that stopped Phil from killing Izhan.
He broke the connection, and both Phil and an unconscious Ahmed fell to the gravel. He stared at the prostrate terrorist with his breath coming in gasps. He had come close to killing this man, and in the process, surrendering himself to his monsters. A fear as old as Phil rose in his chest; he imagined a small windowless room, and tall steel doors.
“What happened?” said a muffled voice.
Phil jumped in alarm at the unexpected appearance of the nun. Her face was covered in blood, and her nose was misshapen. She stood unsteadily and staggered towards Phil.
“Stop, Sister,” Phil ordered as he quickly climbed to his feet. The echoes of his greatest fear still resonated through his mind, and he staggered a little as he caught Sister Mary Francis a moment before she lost her balance. “He’s unconscious, “he said, supporting the nun with his arm.
“He shot Sister Ellen,” she started to cry and had to breathe in spasms because of her blood-clogged nose.
“I know,” he said, and both of them turned towards the roof’s metal door as the SWAT team behind it had started to use a battering ram. “Can you go and wait by the door, Sister? I just need a moment more with Mr. Ahmed.” Her head swiveled back to the fallen terrorist who was just beginning to stir, and then back to Phil. “Are you with the police?”
“No ma’am, but they’re with me,” he said cryptically. She stared a moment longer and hobbled across the roof. A helicopter buzzed overhead and Phil gently pushed it away; he still hadn’t finished with Ahmed.
“Did you get what you needed?” He was awake and still defiant. Phil had released him, and he quickly reached for the pieces of infected paper.