Legacy of the Wolf

Nina

Sam regained consciousness for the second time on cold concrete.

Her view was sideways, looking at old wooden steps—four treads with a handrail leading to a small landing. From there a longer set of wooden stairs ascended past the low ceiling and out of sight, presumably up to a door. There was a kerosene lantern on the landing, casting a weak glow onto the gray masonry walls. The air was thick with mold, dust and mildew. Somewhere, water dripped. Further above, heavy rainfall measured a steady beat.

"Get up," Nina said from behind her.

Pain flared in Sam's chin where she had been hit the second time. Rotating, forcing her stiff, cold muscles to obey, Sam worked her way to a sitting position and looked at Nina.

For some reason Sam couldn't fathom, the young woman was naked; dirty and pale, her rain-slicked black hair stuck to her head. The skinny thing was shivering. A pile of clothes, including tennis shoes and socks, lay off to one side at the base of bare wooden shelves.

What held Sam's attention most urgently, however, was the gun—Sam's Glock—in Nina's right hand, its barrel aimed jerkily at Sam's chest.

"I said get up," Nina repeated. Her voice was hoarse, like she was getting over a cold.

Sam held up a placating hand, palm out, and maneuvered to a standing position. "You wanted to talk, so let's—"

"Shut up!" Nina spat. "It's because of you, all of this... I tried to tell him you're not worth it but he won't let go."

"Who? Who are you talking about?" Sam asked. "The man they call the Eclipse Killer? The one I asked you about befo—"

"Stupid! Stupid, stupid... the man in the church, it's why the killers come to us. You! You're why..."

Nina lifted the shaky barrel from Sam's chest to her head. Perspiration had appeared on the woman's face and chest. Goose pimples raised on her arms. Sam gauged the distance between them, calculating her chances of rushing her captor and wrestling the gun from her hand before Nina could squeeze off a shot. The distance was longer than she would have liked, but if going hands-on was her only chance, she'd take it.

Cocking her head as if gazing at the unseen night sky, Nina said "Not long now. You'll see... see the truth. I'll fix everything. For all of us. And then maybe just go. Go where the killers won't find—"

Just then Nina doubled over and stumbled backward, spewing a thick stream of bile onto the concrete floor. Sam darted forward but Nina raised the Glock in a blur of speed, pressing the barrel against Sam's forehead, pushing her back onto her heels, stepping barefoot into her own vomit, shoving until Sam's Achilles' hit the bottom wooden step.

Nina backed up, reached into her mouth with her left hand and rooted around. A second later she pulled out a tooth and tossed it to the floor.

What the hell is wrong with her? Some kind of disease?

"Don't worry," Nina said in a strained voice. "Not going to shoot you. Don't... need to." She leaned her head forward and spit out two more teeth. A long stream of bloody saliva dangled from her mouth.

"Here," Nina said. Her eyes were drooping slightly as she tossed the gun onto the concrete floor at Sam's feet.

Clearly Nina was mentally unstable... but Sam wasn't about to question this turn of fortune. She bent down, never taking her eyes off of the woman, and picked up the gun.

"Shoot me," Nina said. Her voice was raspy, thick, slurred from the missing teeth. And lower in pitch than it had been just a few seconds ago. She grimaced and bent over, clutching at her stomach.