Chapter 17 as it appeared
Part 3: Evolution Bites
Authors: Gabby, PCat
Acknowledgment: Based on an idea by Ian, Extra input from BD, Kulko and Tarrok
Chapter 17: Doing the Legwork
Malton +66
There weren't many DHPD at Arthur's funeral. He hadn't exactly kept in contact with them. Joe looked over the crowd and was pleased to see that most of the surviving Delta officers who had served under Arthur had made it.
Danny sat down next to Joe in the soulless chapel where the service was being held. "He's getting full military honours. Ian pulled some strings," Danny said.
Ian hadn't been able to make it. Some crisis in Africa had called him away along with General Tarrok. Still it was nice to know he'd made the effort.
"Do you think Arthur would have wanted military honours?" asked Joe.
"He served for the resistance in Greenland. Saved Tarrok's life, and BD's."
"Still, he wanted to leave all that behind."
"He was a soldier," said Danny stubbornly. "He just maybe didn't realise it so much. He deserves to be honoured for what he did."
What he deserves, Joe thought privately to himself, is someone to find out what had happened. The crime had been spectacular and gruesome enough that you'd have thought half the law enforcement agencies in the state would be trying to claim jurisdiction, but none of them were. When Joe pressed the point people just shrugged. How else would you kill an immortal? they asked. It was probably just some jealous husband, they said. There was no glory right now in justice for immortals.
Standing by the graveside, Joe Scalia made a vow as he tossed a handful of earth into the hole. Someone was going to pay.
Malton +67
Cat was having a "supervision". As far as Gabby could make out this meant that Sam came round once a month when he and Vicky weren't doing something crazy in a civil war zone somewhere and the two of them spent the evening pouring over tablet screens while Gabby cooked up vast mounds of delicious snacks which they consumed without, apparently, even being aware they were there.
In theory Sam was supervising Cat as she did a PhD in Bio-electronics. As far as Gabby could tell this was some roundabout way to get government money to find out what had happened to Bryn.
"They always like this?" asked BD, from the doorway to the kitchen. He'd turned up out of the blue earlier in the day, saying he was in the country for a couple of weeks and wanting to know how the research was going.
Gabby looked out over the counter-top to the two heads bent low over some document or other. "Pretty much, yeah! Cat always makes me listen to a half hour `layman's terms' version afterwards. It's not much better."
BD grimaced. "Guess I'd better hold out for that then. You understand anything?"
"Not a lot. The company that was working on Bryn did a vanishing act, but Cat was able to use her ninja accountancy skills to find some kind of paper-trail and then she got Ian to pull a few strings and impound their records. Sam says they're incomplete but they've got some working theory going about how you can probe the nanites for responses and then reverse engineer the API."
"That's layman's terms is it?"
Gabby grinned, pleased to realise he'd obviously mastered some of the jargon already. "Errr... yeah... basically. Look have a beer, I'll take this batch of food out and then I'll try to explain better."
He watched as BD helped himself from the fridge. He pulled his custom cheesy nachos out of the oven and took them over to Cat and Sam. When he returned BD handed him a second beer. "OK Gabby, educate me."
"Cool! Right! The company that had Bryn fired radio signals at the nanites, recorded what happened and then worked out how to control them. Sam and Cat have some of their paperwork, though not as much as they'd like. They also have access to all Sam's old research and going back before that the Necrotech records which Sam also has copies of, or at least all the records anyone could find after Malton. I think their plan is to reproduce the experiments the company did, but in a way that's ethical."
"Ethical?"
"Well apparently it wasn't exactly novel to think up that experiment, it's just no one could figure a way to do it that didn't involve hideous risk to the subject - one of us basically. Cat's hoping to find enough in the records to design an experiment that won't be too dangerous. She says she's amazed really that Bryn was as functioning as she was. She and Sam suspect there were earlier experiments, but they can't find any records of them."
"And then she'll need a volunteer."
"That's another problem."
BD shrugged. "Anything to get Bryn back. I'm right there."
Gabby nodded. Cat knew BD would volunteer. It was another reason she was being so cautious. He saw BD glance over his shoulder. "You know they've eaten those nachos already?"
"Doesn't surprise me," said Gabby. "Apparently science is hungry work." He pulled another packet out of the cupboards.
"Let me help," said BD. "I guess it's the least I can do."
Gabby was pleased. It looked like BD had forgiven him for hitching up with Cat.
"Hi Joe, long time no see." Gabby grinned at Bio's face on the media screen. "Cat! It's Bio," he called.
"Gabby, I'm glad I got hold of you. Have you heard about Marty?"
"No, what about him?"
Cat had come up behind Gabby and caught hold of his hand. "What about Marty?"
"Dead. I'm sorry Cat. I thought the news would have already reached you, otherwise I wouldn't have sprung this on you."
"Marty? Fuck," Gabby sighed, nuzzling against Cat's hand as he thought. Given the amount of effort necessary to take out an immortal, this was worrying. In fact, Gabby could count the DHPD that had died since Malton on his fingers.
"What happened?" asked Cat.
"I'm not sure. It was in Florida. I'm going to go over there tomorrow and have a look, but preliminary reports suggest it is the same deal as Arthur."
Gabby made a face. "Nasty."
"We need to do something," said Joe.
"Why us?" Gabby replied, looking up at Cat and frowning.
"Ian's stint as global president not-withstanding, immortals are persona non-grata right now."
"It's not so bad here in Europe."
"Maybe not, but the DHPD are being murdered out here in the US and no one gives a damn."
"What about Ian?"
"He's doing his best, but he's too busy."
"What can we do?" interrupted Cat.
"I need funds."
Gabby scowled. "I sold everything to fund the resistance. I'm hardly rolling in it. I'm still rebuilding the career."
"We can manage," said Cat. "What do you need?"
"Uh uh!" said Gabby. "No way! If he wants to spend my money, then I want to be a part of this."
"Hey guys. I think introductions are irrelevant. You guys are some of the best out there, you probably know each other by reputation. I'm ... I'm ten-time-winner of Cosmopolitan's most-fuckable award," Gabby finished, shooting his flirty look at the women around the table, more out of habit than real interest. He was satisfied to notice a couple of them blushing and looking away, smiling. This reaffirmed Gabby's high impression of himself.
Joe frowned at him. "Let's get down to business. Something has been attacking ex-DHPD officers recently. It's killed two of them. We know it's hideously deformed, hard to kill, and has it in for us. Presume it's immortal, probably ex-Malton."
"Someone with a grudge against you guys?" Gabby squinted at the crib sheet Joe had given him. The man was ex-FBI.
"Good idea," said Joe. "I've been thinking along those lines myself. We'll need someone to take a look at the records from Malton - who got out, who's an immortal."
Gabby nodded. "Yup. How about some of you police types check on recent violent crime - look at the bizarre shit - the officers have had their livers taken. Work out if there's any reasoning behind that, any reference to it on the media-sphere."
"I already cross-checked all the police databases, Gabby. No liver-thief serial killers out there that we know of. However I think we have two more incidents to add to the list. There was a recent attack on myself and, going back a couple of years, an odd attack on General Tarrok, just after the election, that was never properly accounted for."
Gabby's scowl deepened. He hated being comedy sidekick.
Gabby had been a Delta once. In theory that made him one of the best-placed in the DHPD to understand detective work. Except in the real world, you couldn't shoot people that got in your way, and torture was never an option. One that made him feel slightly guilty after his experiences with Simon. Mostly, therefore, he found himself tagging along in Joe's wake, watching the real policeman do his work.
He could have left it to Biohazard, but he'd got interested now and he was beginning to feel as irritated as Joe was about the air of indifference surrounding any crime against immortals. Besides, he told himself, it was another thing for him to put on his CV, which was geared more towards being impressive than actual job-hunting. Gabby had realised a few decades back that asking Jim for CV advice probably wasn't the best idea. He hadn't touched the personal statement Jim had written him, out of respect. It wasn't like he had ever needed to submit it to a potential employer. He wasn't employable anyway, he'd been told, too high a risk of sexual harassment suits.
So he spent his spare time trawling through the mediasphere, compiling databases and spreadsheets, and generally trying to keep up with Joe and his crack team of detectives or just Joe once the money ran out, which it did surprisingly quickly. Cat was most proud of him when she saw his collection.
After several weeks of searching, they ended up with three possible names.
Phil McAvity - had once been a DHPD officer, until he turned round and blew half of a canteen away, leading to a month-long Delta hunt. Eventually, he had exiled himself. The police database said he was in North Dakota although Gabby wasn't clear why the police database would know, but it at least put him on the right continent.
DCC - had slept with Bulldog for a while. Gabby maintained that this was why she turned round and formed an insurgent group in West Becktown, but the others assured him there was some motivation behind it. Last seen in Buenos Aires. In fact it was Gabby who had found her. Not that it had been difficult. She'd given him her address fifty years previously and it seemed she was still in the same place. Not the right continent but close enough that travel to the southern US wouldn't have been prohibitively expensive.
Moloch - had somehow managed to survive all the years since Malton. Both Gabby and Joe felt he was a bit of a long shot. The Gore Corp had never been that concerned about the DHPD and he appeared to be the only member of the group to have got out of Malton. The others were all in the ranks of the incurable and had presumably been incinerated during the Brankin presidency. Still there were persistent rumours that Moloch was based in Miami which made him worth checking out.
Then there was a longer and more random list of people who had at one time or another made a nuisance of themselves, but never really escalated their enmity to persistent killing. They were scattered around the world and, given the cost of air travel, neither Joe nor Gabby thought they were likely suspects.
"I'm beginning to wish more of our enemies had made it out of Malton alive," muttered Gabby. "I can't say I think any of these are likely candidates."
Joe shrugged. "Check everything. That way you won't miss any vital details."
"That's easy for you to say, you don't have a world tour starting next week. I don't have time for this."
"So, where were you when I called?"
"Mmmm, that was last week?"
"Yeah, I wanted to get you on board this crisis team."
"Ah, sorry mate," Sam said apologetically, "Vick!"
"Yes, Sammy?" Vicky popped her head out of her bedroom.
"Where were we last week?"
"Delivering aid to the hurricane victims in Cuba."
"Ah, yeah."
"You two really have death wishes, don't you?"
"Coming from the guy who shacked up with BD's sister?"
"Hello Phil!" Joe said darkly as he ducked into the shady bar from the bright sunlight outside.
Phil McAvity glanced at him and then back at his drink. "Who are you?" he asked in a thick Irish accent.
"Officer Scalia, Santa Teresa PD, formerly DHPD." The large man glanced his way and shrugged. Then surprisingly quickly he slipped off the stool and darted towards the exit. Joe snatched at his throat and slammed him against the wall. The bartender yelled out. Joe waved him away, flashing his police badge. He was glad Gabby was back in the UK, organising his tour. It would have become a circus by now if he'd been here.
"Someone has been attacking my friends. An Immortal. Do you know anything about it?" Joe asked Phil.
"No! I've been here since Brankin's government fell! Jesus! I can show you my papers if you want!"
Joe released Phil.
"Papers?"
"Prison release!"
"Your file didn't mentioning anything about jail. Convince me you're not lying."
"I killed one of Brankin's policeman who was slapping a single mother about. Broke his scrawny neck," McAvity said calmly. "The happy clappy new world government couldn't make up its mind about that. Not as spectacular as Beijing, or as high-minded as a lot of the rest of the resistance stuff and, of course, Ian never likes it when policemen get killed. So I got the same `wipe the slate' clean as everyone else, just with a few extra conditions attached."
"Those conditions being?"
"Parole, papers, check in regularly. I imagine you know the drill."
"All too well. You could have been anywhere between visits to your parole officer."
"Ask around. Do some detecting. I'm in this bar every day. The bartender will vouch for that."
Joe looked up and caught the bartender's eye. The man gave a brief nod. Joe sighed. He'd double-check Phil's story but right now it looked like a bust.
"Looks like it's lucky for you then," said Joe.
"Oh yes! Lady luck just loves me." The sarcasm in Phil's voice was biting.
"Beats the Hills," Joe said over his shoulder as he left.
"Not for all of us."
Joe turned up the collar of his coat and headed back to his hotel. Gabby was going to try and visit DCC on the South American leg of his tour, meanwhile Joe needed to find Moloch.
Malton +68
"Kate Clark, right?" the woman asked, peering around the door. She had narrow eyes, dripping with mascara, and her dark hair was swept across her face in a dramatic fringe. Cat sighed inwardly. Now she understood why Gabby had asked her to meet DCC for him. He hadn't quite explained what his issue was with her, but it was something to do with an incident at a reunion. As DCC let Cat into the flat, Cat glanced over her figure. It was beyond any doubt. Gabby had slept with her.
"Officially, it's Kate Brankin. Or Kate Mallows. But yeah, I prefer Clark." Cat wasn't sure why she had mentioned Mallows - it wasn't even true. But she felt the need to mark her territory soon.
"So, Gabby bottled the meeting, did he?"
"Kind of."
"Idiot, did he really think I would pounce on him as soon as he arrived?"
"If I know Gabby, he either expected you to cut his throat, or... yeah. Did he tell you what he wanted to talk about though?"
"Yeah, but I didn't know anything."
"So why am I here?"
"I wanted to see if Gabby would come. Seems a shame that he should tour South America and not drop by. Would have been fun to torture him a bit."
"Let's exchange numbers. I'll try and lure him to you, if you let me watch the carnage."
"Deal."
Purple Cat stared anxiously at herself in the mirror. She'd bought the lace up bodice a year or so back and stashed it away for an emergency which, in her opinion, this was. She had considered the leather trousers Gabby had once bought her but, whatever Gabby's illusions, she knew she didn't have the figure to pull them off so she'd gone for plain black slacks. The low cut bodice with its extensive boning and padding, on the other hand, did quite remarkable things to her shape. Her breasts were pushed together and upwards and her waist pinched in. She had a purple lacey silk top on underneath the bodice which just peaked out around the edges. It was a little see-through but she didn't feel that would be problem. She didn't have time to do anything about her hair and she'd stuck to minimal make up. She sighed. She looked good, but not great. She would just have to hope it would do. It was fifteen minutes since Gabby had left with a vague promise to be back later. If she left it any longer he'd have moved on from the hotel bar.
She nearly bolted when she got downstairs. Gabby, it appeared, had already scored and, Cat had to admit, the woman was stunning. She'd obviously come in from the beach and was wearing a black one-piece swimsuit that accentuated her toned figure. A figure that clearly required no boning to provide definition. A colourful sarong was tied at her hip and a shapely leg was revealed each time she moved. Long, elegantly styled, brown hair framed a heart-shaped face with long-lashed eyes and full red lips. Gabby was seated on a bar stool, his back to the bar, one arm laid casually behind the woman, not quite holding her waist but close. She stood next to him, leaning in, smiling and laughing. Cat seriously considered heading back upstairs, packing, and flying back to Africa and BD because she couldn't compete with that. On the other hand, she'd known this day was coming. This time she was going to stand and fight before she ran away.
She was half way across the room before he spotted her. She saw the look of alarm flit across his face but she also saw the way his gaze swept over her from head to foot with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She'd never really encountered Gabby when he was on the prowl but she could see why women fell for him. She wondered if he'd classified her as "definite", "possible" or "last resort". He watched her approach until she stood right next to him, panting a little, which, judging from the way his eyes strayed to her chest, was working well with the bodice. It was at this point she realised she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. She was dimly aware that the woman on the other side of him was giving her the evil eye.
Gabby's eyes strayed up to her face and they stared at each other a moment. Seventy years of friendship, ten years on the run together, six years sharing a home and two sharing a bed could pack a lot into a glance. Then he carefully withdrew his arm from where it lay along the bar, near the other woman's waist. "Sorry Carla," he said, "I seem to have got a better offer."
Carla's lips pouted with disdain and the look she gave Cat was hardly charitable. Then she quirked one elegant eyebrow. "Mutton dressed as lamb?"
Gabby slipped an arm protectively round Cat's waist and drew her close. "I think she's stunning," he said.
Carla pouted once more then turned on her heel and left. Gabby placed his hands on Cat's waist and moved her round so she stood in front of him, between his knees.
"It's not what it looked like," he said.
Cat couldn't help smiling. "Come off it Gabby. I spent four years in the next room to you and Vicky. I recognise the signs that you're about to go and check out the local talent."
His gaze strayed back to the bodice and the rather impressive cleavage it had bestowed upon her. "Well I must say, your approach to the problem is novel."
Cat kissed him. His hands strayed around the bodice.
"Mmmmm," he said. "Front lacing? Do I get to unwrap you?"
"If you're good."
"And the definition of good would be?"
"You can look at other women but I'm the only one that gets into your bed."
"And if I'm bad?"
"I'll put on my comfy cardigan and console myself with chocolates."
"You'll get fat."
"Not much incentive to stay thin if you're fucking other women."
"So basically, if I sleep around you'll get fat and wear cardigans."
"Yes."
"But if I look but don't touch, you'll stay slim and wear things like this."
"Do we have a deal?"
"I'll do my best." Gabby kissed her back. "Sealed with a kiss. Now do I get to unwrap you?"
"I guess you do."
Gabby looked thoughtfully at her and then turned his attention to the barman, waving a large note. "I want a bottle of your best champagne and two glasses," he said.
Cat raised her eyebrows.
"Hey!" he said, "just because you're my definite for the evening, doesn't mean I'm giving up on the whole seduction routine."
"In breaking news, the civil unrest in Madagascar has broken out into full-scale revolution. Marxist revolutionaries have seized the local government offices, and it is said they now control most of the island's infrastructure. Public consultation is being organised by the Marxists, though it is not clear what this entails at this date. No news has emerged, except for a few minutes of footage from civilians in the zone."
Cat stopped listening and turned to Vicky.
"Gabby will be pleased. He's been ranting about that lot for weeks."
"Where is he?"
"On the next leg of the tour. Africa, I think."
"You sure?" Vicky said, her voice even, but her eyes concerned. She had spent long enough chasing after Gabby to be wary of his 'trips'.
"Oh yeah, he's decided to send me his schedule and well, we made a deal in South America. I'm fairly sure he'll stick to it, for a while at least. Look, here it is... Madagascar."
"Fuck, you think he's OK? Turn it up!" Vicky urged. The amateur footage was shaky, but modern cameras meant it was astonishing quality - the two women used to be surprised when films started looking this good. Amongst the mass of bodies pressing down the road towards the camera, a pale face stood out. Neither of them could tell for sure, but there was a shock of brown hair cascading around his face, and a battered leather jacket they were both sure they had seen tossed about the flat fairly frequently.
"What the fuck is he thinking? That's treason!"
Government forces opened fire. The pale face disappeared into the crowd.
"Did he get hit? Gabby!" Cat demanded helplessly.
A key turned in the door, and it flew open. Gabby tumbled in, looking like he hadn't done much sleeping, or anything since the footage had been taken.
"Gabby!"
"Alright? You ladies got any bandages in here? And some Jackie D?"
"Gabby!"
"Yes, it's me. We've established this, I think." Gabby dropped his jacket to the floor, revealing a white shirt that had turned brown with blood, and was being stained with a new coat of red as Gabby staggered to the liquor cabinet.
"You're hurt!"
"Indeed. Dressing got dislodged on the last leg of the flight."
"How did you get back so fast? We saw you... there!"
"That footage is days old," Gabby said dismissively, "The People's Union of Madagascar has been declared with about 80% votes in favour. The rest have been given plane tickets out. It's a fact. The World Government has its first Marxist state."
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Gabby. You're in big trouble."
Gabby pouted.
"I was being -"
"Che Guevara. We know. I'll get a dressing sorted. Cat, you bathe the wound."
"Oh, a welcome fit for a hero! I like."
"Just move. We'll have to remove that shirt."
"I was counting on it."
"Cat, you're clucking."
"I am not clucking. I'm looking for that tray, you know the one with the padded bottom so you can eat off your lap."
"You are clucking. I don't need a tray."
"Need to get fuel inside you, help the nanites."
"Cat, it takes more than a bullet to kill me and you've already stuffed me with more food than the nanites and I combined can cope with. Sweetheart, I don't keep you around because I want a mother."
"But..."
"But nothing. I don't want a tray. I want you, here, now."
Cat made an exasperated noise but came over and sat in his lap anyway. "I can't believe you were so irresponsible."
Gabby slipped his arms round her waist. "Don't you think I was just a teensy bit dashing and heroic?"
"Darling, I always think you are dashing and heroic. You don't need to go starting revolutions to convince me of that."
"You could fool me. I don't think you've ever mentioned finding me dashing or heroic."
"Well I wouldn't want you to get a big head. But why do you think I keep you around, eh?"
"According to BD it's because you have lousy taste in men and are in need of another course of therapy."
"I think you are kind, gentle and loving, still as much of an idealist at 90 as you were at 19. You are an incredibly talented musician. You make a mean Chilli Con Carne. You make me laugh. You've always been there when I needed you. And you are handsome, dashing and terribly, terribly heroic."
"BD's right. You are completely certifiable."
"Christ!" Joe exclaimed in surprise, drawing back in horror as the hand slapped down on his shoulder. He was wandering around a marina, bored, and waiting for Lord Moloch.
"Officer Scalia! Long time, no see!"
"Last time we met, Moloch, you fucking killed me!" Joe hated meeting criminals, even when they were only criminals in a very technical and far off sense. He looked around for Gabby and spotted him some way off. Gabby made an apologetic gesture - he had been the look-out. Joe sighed inwardly and tried not to think uncharitable thoughts about amateurs.
"Water under the bridge, old chap! And that's Lord, remember."
"Yeah. Whatever. Listen, your highness. Something has been stealing DHPD livers. Have you heard anything?"
"Oh yes. I've seen the news reports. Seven foot tall?" Joe nodded. "Resistant to bullets? Leaves the corpse intact except for the liver?"
"Yes! How many other monsters are there? What do you know about them?"
"Fuck all!" Lord Moloch said happily.
"But you said you could help me?"
"Oh yes. Do you want to buy a computer? I stole this one from a laboratory. State-of-the-art."
Joe frowned. This conversation struck him as being distinctly odd and Moloch was far from the suave, assured and manipulative character he remembered. The computer was at least twenty years old.
"What laboratory?" Joe asked.
"Where they held me and the other incurables. They did things to us," Moloch said quietly, and for a moment, the manic glint left his eye, to be replaced by something almost hollow.
"Other incurables!" Joe's blood ran cold. Could Cat's wild suppositions be correct? "I've never heard anything about this?"
Moloch shrugged. "I escaped. Many Gore Corp gave their lives to let me do so."
"Where was this?"
"I don't know, do I? Do I look like an encyclopedia to you? Honestly." Moloch turned on his heel and walked off as if he had forgotten something. Joe considered following him but his instincts told him he had learned all he was going to.
"Did you learn anything?" asked Gabby, bouncing up.
"I'm not sure. Either Moloch is a much better actor than I remember or something has scrambled his brains and changed his behaviour. If what he said was true... I think we need to make a new suspect list."
"Oh fuck! Again? Really?"
Gabby and Joe were drinking beer in Joe's favourite bar in Santa Teresa. They had adjourned back to California to plan their next step. As an added bonus that Joe could patch in to the police networks there.
"Right! Suppose Moloch wasn't just mad and someone did experiment on lots of incurables," said Gabby still trying to separate the truth from the lies and the delusions.
"Figures, after all someone experimented on Bryn."
"Yeah, and Cat's always been puzzled how they got it right first time. Now we know they didn't."
Joe nodded. "So we're looking for some kind of reject from the experimentation."
"Yeah!" Gabby sighed. "I've made a list, but we had a lot more incurable enemies than we did living ones and since they were all officially allowed to die years ago I have no idea how we're supposed to track them."
Joe frowned and pulled the list over, scanning through the names. "Let me run these through the Police databases. Maybe we'll get some kind of match up on descriptions. I don't suppose anyone kept fingerprints and DNA samples for them all did they? Ours are still on the system."
"Fuck me! Really! How did that happen."
"We were all tagged when we left Malton as a safety precaution for something or other. Since then no one has ever prepared to deal with the political fall out of taking us out. There is enough random paranoia about immortals as it is. People are reassured to think we're all on a database."
"That's fucking outrageous. Soon as we get this sorted, I'm going to get onto Ian about it."
Joe rolled his eyes. "You do that Gabby. In the meantime, make yourself useful and fetch us more drinks while this thing runs."
When Gabby returned to the table Joe was frowning.
"What is it?" asked Gabby.
"I think I have a suspect. Turns out the incurable database was still accessible, but it's not one of the standard ones we check if there's a crime, since they're all supposed to be dead and before that they were all on ice. It's in a historical database set. It was used for cold cases a little just after Malton closed down and I guess they never cleared it out of the system."
"Figures, so?"
"Well I ran our names against it, pulled the relevant files and then ran them against more recent unsolved cases."
"And?"
Joe turned his tablet round so Gabby could see. It showed a map with a cluster of red dots all around it.
"What am I looking at? Where's that?"
"New Mexico, round a bunch of old mine workings. Local petty thief believed to be hiding out in the mines, but the police have never managed to find anyone there when they've looked and the crimes haven't been serious enough to warrant a proper search."
"And it matches with one of the incurables right?"
"Right."
Joe Scalia hit a button on the screen and a name flashed up.
FOX MOLDERING.
Gabby pushed shells into his shotgun, the springy click echoing against the tunnel walls. It wasn't quite a sewer. From what he had understood, it was a disused army base underground, linked to train tunnels or something. It was there. It was empty. It was dark. It was cold. And, from what Gabby had gathered listening to Joe chat to the locals, Fox Moldering was down here.
Joe was gathering reinforcements but Gabby was fed up of being side-kick and doing things Joe's way. He figured this was an in and out job. He'd have it all wrapped up and sorted while Joe was still pussy-footing around.
Gabby pumped the barrel. He was going hunting.
Blood poured from his shoulder. Fox used guns as well as teeth, it appeared. Gabby staggered back down the tunnel, clutching his shoulder with one hand, and sweeping the space ahead of him with his shotgun. The flashlight strapped to the barrel was flickering, but Gabby would occasionally catch glimpses of a hulking figure approaching him. He had misjudged this operation horribly. He should have waited for back-up.
Moldering lurched out of the darkness, a sudden flicker of light from Gabby's torch illuminating horrendously morphed teeth and a crazed expression. Gabby squeezed the trigger, and the shell tore him backwards a few paces, blood exploding outwards and lashing into Gabby's eyes. Cursing, Gabby stumbled over a pipe on the ground, rubbing his eyes desperately. He could hear Moldering's lurching footsteps again. His eyes opened. The torch flickered on. Moldering barrelled into him, despite the deep wound Gabby's shotgun blast had torn in his chest. The two of them slammed into the ground, writhing about and wrestling with each other. Gabby knew he was at a disadvantage - he was six foot tall, and on the skinny side. Fox Moldering was a seven foot wall of muscle and mutated limbs. Moldering slammed his head into the tunnel floor. Everything went dark.
Gabby came to. He was still on the floor. His shirt had been torn open. He felt a pressure on his stomach. His head was still spinning, and for a moment, he thought he was back at home, on the rug in front of the fire, with Cat. Then a claw pushed through his skin, and he realised where he was.
He screamed as the claws tore a hole in his belly. Fox Moldering leaned down, his inhuman eyes greedy as they eyed the prize. His jaws open revealing jagged pointed teeth and then he bit down into Gabby's liver.