“Hey! Ho! How ‘bout a BJ? At least it’ll get you out of the rain!”
The owner of that voice laughed as his car sped away, splashing through a pool of water in the street, sending water spraying over the sidewalk ahead of me. Such lewd offers regularly came my way. Working at a so-called Gentleman’s Club tended to put a certain image on you. I didn’t really care since I ignored all such offers, but it didn’t stop them from trying.
Still, it heralded a sour night ahead. The sound of rain outside my window usually made it easy for me to fall asleep, but for the past two weeks my dreams have been nothing but nightmares. Nightmares like the ones that drove me to leave France two years ago and come to the United States. I’ve tried to stay awake–to sleep only during the day–but never have I seen the dawn without someone at my side. Walking the streets at night is a dangerous pastime, if the police don’t try to pick you up for prostitution, johns are. And if it isn’t johns, then some gang member out to prove himself will make you his target. It’s no wonder the streets of the city are abandoned at night.
There’s another reason, too. Me. At least, I think it’s me. My nightmares are full of violence and death. In the morning when I wake up, naked, not always in my bed. I hear talk of another half-eaten animal found in the Yards, Chattanooga’s abandoned inner-city rail yard that the city never fully reclaimed. The Yards almost looked like a preserve, overgrown with young trees and tall, wild grasses hiding all the old track and rotting ties. Only the active rails passing through the city and less busy tracks leading off to the few remaining downtown industries stood even somewhat clear. The few railcars remaining stood covered with gang markings and graffiti, not one closed or undamaged. This was the Beast’s hunting ground.
Me? The Beast? Because one night, while I was trying to hold off my nightmares, two street thugs tried to accost me. I tried to escape them–I tried to run–but they were too close. I fought them hard enough that I almost broke free before one of them hit me on the back of the head. As I passed out, great claws on my fingers raked across one tough’s chest, leaving a streaming, bloody trail in his flesh despite the thick, leather jacket he wore. The next morning found me lying in an empty warehouse, untouched but for the red smears on my hands and the taste of blood in my mouth. I managed to reach to my hotel room without anyone seeing me. That day, the Yards saw more activity by the Police and so-called ‘concerned citizens’ than they had seen in years. Strangely, while the Police searched for the killer beast, I slept well, dreaming of the happy life I’d shared with Roger almost a year ago. Three months I spent, helping him as he cared for children orphaned by the violence still ongoing, even now, after the Bloody Years begun by an alien battle fought in our skies almost forty years before.
Aside from the three months spent with Roger, my stay in Chattanooga was the longest since leaving my home in the Provence region of France, near the Côte d’Azur. Something about this city felt… right. I don’t know why. I couldn’t stay, though; the Beast wouldn’t let me. I lived as a gypsy. Only when I traveled–only when I was on the move could I leave the Beast behind, but not for long. Always I fled the Beast. I couldn’t escape it; it followed me everywhere.
I can’t take it any more. I have to do something. Ever more the river, so close, invited me to make that final escape. The old steel bridge, once used by cars and trucks, now a monument to an age of industry and preserved despite its nearly two hundred years, stood high over the river, promising that final ending where even the Beast could not follow.
No! Not that! But what?
My memory sought another way–some form of escape that would yet let me live. A man…, always a man… I could see him in my mind’s eye. Tall. Strong. Handsome. A uniform… Deputy? Of course! Carl! I ducked into the shelter of the doorway to the bingo parlor, about a block from my hotel. The dim bulb overhead gave me enough light to see as I dug through my tiny purse. Ah! I still have it–his card. Carl Royden, Deputy, The Federal Office for Research and Control of the Enhanced. FORCE. Beneath his name and just above the comm address he’d handwritten a note: Code 99-Toni. If I ever needed him, he said, all I had to do was call FORCE with his name and give them that code. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he’d come to me as quickly as his aircar could carry him. If I called him now, I could be in his arms by daybreak!
Suddenly the world didn’t seem so frightening any more. I’d made up my mind and I felt good about it. Putting the card back into my purse, I ignored the rain and walked quickly towards the hotel. This was right–Carl would help me. All I had to do was get to the comm. Half a block to go, just cross this alley and two buildings down.
I could take a shortcut through the alley and go in the back door–nobody would notice.
What? Stop! I don’t want to go that way! No! What’s happening? I’m practically running down the alley when all I want to do is get back to my hotel! This isn’t my nightmare, either–this is worse! I can’t stop. I felt the Beast trying to rise, but something suppressed it. There, in the shadows. A truck of some sort. It looked like a delivery van. The side door was open and I could barely make out a figure in the darkness. A hand reached out to pull me into the van.
“Got her. Let’s go!” Another hand presses a cloth against my nose and mouth as I try to struggle… fading…
