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A note to the reader: Book 1 of the Variance Series will consist of 22 Issues. This installment marks the third-to-last Issue before "Book 2: The Others" arrives. As always, please enjoy...
The United Center
Chicago, IL
Four months after The Rise
Enrique was dying. That much was clear. His skin had turned an ashen white and his hands trembled in shock. He would go in and out of consciousness, and, even when lucid, could only say through chattering breaths how cold he was.
“You sure you can do this? It’s not going to be easy,” Martin said to Captain Blake, leading him back to the school’s entrance.
“Doc, I reckon we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t thrive in situations involving high probabilities of death and little chance of success,” Captain Blake said.
Martin nodded. He turned toward Annie, but only an empty hallway met his eyes. “Where’s Annie?”
“I…I don’t know. She was here a minute ago.”
“Well she’s not here now.”
“I can see that, Martin.”
“Did either of you see where she went?”
They shrugged.
Martin gnawed on his lower lip. He was tense, and the others could sense every ounce of it. “Get out to the bus and pull it around back,” he said, his words echoing their usual notes of calm. “We’ll drive it to the north entrance and hope no sniper bullets clip us in the process. Lara, I need you to take Enrique to the south exit and wait for Captain Blake.”
“What are you gonna do?” she asked.
“I’m gonna go find Annie. If I’m not to the bus in five minutes, just go, I’ll find some other way to the stadium.”
“We’re not leaving you,” Lara insisted.
“Yes. You are.”
“But—“
“This isn’t a discussion!” And that was the end of it.
“Roger that, Doc,” Captain Blake said. “See you guys on the other side.” He threw the front door open spilling in a small amount of dying light. Martin and Lara barely had time to shield their eyes before the door shut and the latch caught. There was the faint sound of a single sniper bullet ricocheting off the crumbling brick, but then silence followed.
All was calm.
“What happened?” Lara asked. “Did they get him?”
“I don’t know.”
Calm.
And then they heard the comforting roar of the bus’s engine cough.
Relief.
“Get Enrique up and help him to the back, I’ll meet you there!” Martin disappeared down the hall before Lara had a chance to respond.
Along the school’s east corridor, adjacent to the gym, Annie Walker found herself standing in front of a glass display case. Half a dozen basketball trophies, along with the photos of their respective teams, rested proudly inside. Fine layers of dust collected along the chrome coatings, but, otherwise, seemed to be in decent condition. In the corner of the case there was a small bronze trophy, lined with cheap, poorly stained plywood. A meager gold-plated basketball rested on its dusty top. Engraved in the base was:
KYLE WALKER – MOST VALUABLE PLAYER
Behind the trophy was a picture of a young boy, thirteen or fourteen at most. He had a messy mop of dirty blonde hair and his blue eyes popped against the bright red jersey. He wasn’t smiling; he stared intently at the camera like so many athletes do: looking serious, tough. But the eyes wouldn’t lie. This was a happy boy, full of life.
Annie drew her fingers across the display, her greasy hands smudging the immaculate glass. The edges of her eyes took turns dropping tears like a metronome of sorrow.
“Annie?”
Annie turned and saw Martin standing at one end of the hallway.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You shouldn’t go off alone.”
“I…” she began, but her attention returned to the photo before a set of words could satisfy his inquiry.
“What is it?” he said.
“My son…” she said pointing to the picture. “My son went here. It was only for a year. Before…before his father took him.” Her voice dropped. She sighed heavily. “This was his school. I had forgotten. I don’t know how or why, but…I just did. But then we got inside, and like some miracle, here he is. Like some sick, cruel miracle!” Her words pierced the silent hallways. “God damn it!”
Annie snatched up the garbage bin next to the display case and threw it into the glass. The shards erupted into the air in a cacophony of clings and clangs.
Martin hadn’t jumped, as if half-expecting it. Annie’s breathing was deep, but controlled. She reached into the case and ripped down the picture of her son in one, aggravated motion. She held it thoughtfully in her hands, stroking the edges as though it had the fragility of a newborn.
“I wasn’t able to grab any pictures of him when…when it happened.”
Martin nodded.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off like that. That was foolish.”
“We should go,” was all he said.
Annie nodded in agreement, but didn’t move. “It’s just that—“
The double doors behind her exploded open. Running toward them in a surge of violent lust were fifty Variants. Behind the Variants, hanging in the night sky, was a freshly painted yellow moon. Night had come and so had the Variants.
Martin grabbed Annie’s wrist and yanked her in the other direction. They rounded a corner in time to see a second herd of Variants running toward them. They were cornered. The Variants had executed their plan marvelously. Clever devils.
“Go back!” Martin veered her to the left and they crashed through a set of double doors into the gymnasium. Annie lost her balance and she slid to the floor. Her head snapped around and she saw him throw his shoulder into doors, slamming them shut. Before it latched, she saw a Variant’s arm thrust through the narrow opening, just above the lock; its wild fingers straining to grab any piece of Martin. He threw his weight against the door and the arm snapped, producing the most horrendous sound of crunching bone and twisting cartilage. The Variant screamed and hissed as its arm bent in a horrid direction. The veins turned a pale blue, pounding and pulsating. The Variant managed to pull the arm from the opening and Martin latched the door. The Variants pounded the other side of the door. The hinges squeaked ominously.
Annie got to her feet. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“How are we going to—?”
“I don’t know!”
There was an exit on the other side of the gym, but that only led back out to the street, where they would surely become sniper bait. They could wait and try their hands at the Variants, but there would be too many of them.
The noise outside intensified as the number of Variants grew. Martin and Annie were trapped, and the door would not hold for long.
* * *
On the south end of the school, Lara was making her way toward the exit, Enrique’s arm slung over her neck. Apart from a stifled groan or two, Enrique was mercifully silent. They had not heard Annie’s tantrum near the display case. They had not heard the Variants inside the school. For all they knew, everything was going according to plan. Oh, how terribly wrong they were.
Lara kicked open the exit and they were met by a ripple of crisp, night air. Propped against the night sky Lara saw Captain Blake leaning against the side of the bus, his pipe lit, smoke pouring from his nose. “Taking a break?” she asked, her question coming out in little heaves as she steadied her weight against Enrique’s.
Captain Blake smiled and a cloud of smoke escaped out his nostrils. He bit down on the end of the pipe, sauntered over, and helped Lara carry Enrique onto the bus.
Captain Blake checked his watch. “It’s been seven minutes.”
“He’ll be here.”
“Doc told us to leave.”
“I don’t care what he said; we’re staying.”
They waited another agonizing minute, but still no Martin or Annie. Lara pulled away from Captain Blake and headed for the entrance. He caught hold of her wrist. “Sweetheart, if something’s wrong—like some Variants clawed their way in—the last thing I reckon we do is go traipsing back in there like a couple’a wanderin’ cattle.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“If the Doc and his lil’ girlfriend won’t come to us, then we’ll go to him in style.” He took a long drag and tapped the side of his pipe against the rusty, yellow school bus.
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