When We Were Still Human by Vaughn Foster (mobi reader android TXT) 📗

streets are running with blood. I have to admit, it’s a bit of a turn on.”

“Lovely.”

“You should’ve come with me. When was the last time you stepped down here?”

“Florida.”

“Don’t say it like that, you know I wanted to do that one. Besides, you weren’t even there for a full minute.”

“And even that was too long. Shouldn’t you be going?”

“Whatever. We’ll see you in twenty.”

Rain poured onto the empty streets of the city. The hellish frenzy of taxis, pedestrians, and bicycles was now a deafening calm. The roaring sounds of car horns and people yelling were now replaced by the steady crash of rain and the stomping of boots.

Having chased their suspect into the warded off division, the police had barricaded a two-block radius to ensure that nothing got in or out until they caught their man. A series of brutal killings with evidence of cannibalism had raged through New York City for almost a year, and it seemed that today, it would finally come to an end. The SWAT. teams flooded the streets, searching every building, car, and possible crevice where the culprit could be hiding.

Thunder crashed. In the dead air that followed, a shadowy figure darted from behind a truck before disappearing into an alleyway.

One of the platoon leaders, a sergeant named Don Costello, stopped in his tracks and ordered his division to follow. The men did as ordered, but no one could shake the feeling that they were being watched. Wherever they went, the sound of footsteps and splashing echoed from above.

“Sir, look up there,” one of the men yelled. A light shot to the rooftop above the alley’s entrance. A man clothed in black curiously glanced down at them. The rain plastered his t-shirt to his chest and dark dreadlocks veiled his face. His hands and half of his forearms were tightly wrapped in a dark material that formed a flexible gauntlet. In between the wrap and the edge of his sleeve was a series of twisting tattoos on olive brown skin.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!” the stranger shouted down. His voice was tinged with a strange accent. “She’s in a bit of a bad mood. Plus, she’s hungry.”

Costello was too focused to hear the warning tone in the man’s voice and turned to face his men.

“Cole, Peters, stay with him. Rest of you, with me! This alley is a dead end. Keep your guns cocked, and whatever you do, be ready.”

Costello carefully crept into the alley then held a hand back to stop his men. Despite years of training, he nearly dropped his weapon. It took everything not to scream out when the thing in front of them slowly turned around.

The culprit was a woman, perhaps early twenties. Her clothes were torn to shreds and marred with dirt. Tangled and matted black hair fell messily over half of her face. What alarmed him more than the suspect’s state of being, however, was that he had to question whether or not she was human.

Her skin was a pale, sickly grey. Fingernails like claws reflected their flashlights into the web of shadows that surrounded them. A low growl escaped her throat, and she turned her head to look each of them in the eye.

Costello tried to keep his voice from cracking. “You! Get on the ground, put your hands on your head!” She made no indication that she heard him, but instead continued to pace back and forth, snarling and baring pointed teeth.

“If she takes one step closer, fire!” Costello yelled back to his men.

She whipped her head in his direction and positioned herself to lunge.

“On my signal!” Costello screamed, ready to drop his hand.

“I think that’s quite enough excitement for one night.”

The men screamed as shadows shot from the ground and coiled around their bodies. Gunshots blazed through the air, but there was no enemy in sight. They were soon encased in the blackness like statues. The man with the dreadlocks appeared in front of Costello, the only one still mobile.

The assailant flicked his wrist, and Costello watched in horror as his own shadow ripped from the ground. In seconds, the shadow had wrapped itself around its former host until Costello was pinned on his knees. The man squatted in front of him and lifted his chin so they were eye to eye.

“The suspect escaped,” the man said calmly. “He was 5’9, Caucasian, short blonde hair, about 220 lbs. You and your men chased him down what you believed to be a dead end, but there was another alley. He dropped a wallet with his driver’s license. You’ll recognize the fake ID easily enough as Randolph Penn, a serial killer who escaped police custody ten years ago. His apartment is on the east side of town. There will be evidence of his… diet throughout the home. You will take your men and arrest him. When I release you, everyone, including yourself, will forget what was seen in this alley.”

Costello’s eyes glazed, and if not for the bindings, he would have teetered over.

“Randolph Penn… Serial killer… East side…”

“Perfect! Now, you kids run along!” With a snap, the shadows returned to the ground and walls.

“The suspect fled, but he dropped this!” Costello yelled, holding up a wallet that had appeared in his hand. A small voice in the back of his mind demanded where he had gotten the wallet—or any of the information that was swimming freely in his head—but he shut it down. There was no time for second guessing. “He’s probably heading back to his apartment right now. Davidson, call for backup; we’ll try to cut him off!”

And with that, Costello and his team were gone, oblivious to the man and creature standing in their wake.

“Now, what are we going to do with you, beautiful?” The man turned his