The Creation Gene

Chapter Two - Dean

March 23, 2017

Dean

Smoke. He woke up to the smell of smoke. His throat burned and when he opened his bloodshot blue eyes, he blinked back tears. The thick fog of smoke he found himself in was choking him. He coughed and it made his throat ache worse than before. Water. He needed water. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. His car was in a ditch. He must have driven off the road when the explosion occurred...explosion? Damn, his head hurt. It almost felt like there was shrapnel embedded or something. This was worse than the knock he'd taken over in Pakistan when the missile landed not more than three feet from him.

He reached for the keys hanging in the ignition only to find them still in the on position. He hoped there was still a bit of juice in the old girl. The ignition turned over six times before he gave up. He must have been out for longer than he thought. There was no power whatsoever which meant the battery died. He'd been driving in the snow, so the headlights had been on. They must have stayed on when he crashed and drained the battery. Fishing his cell phone out of his back pocket, he tried calling 911. All he got was a message saying all lines were busy and to please try again. He tried several other numbers, but he couldn't reach anyone. He'd have to rough it into downtown. Well, hell, Dean old boy, he thought to himself, what kind of mess did you land yourself in this time?

Getting out of the car, he opened the trunk and pulled out his flashlight and his revolver. After four years in the marines, he felt naked without a gun, especially in situations like this where he had no idea what he was potentially walking into. He'd been headed to the police station to report for duty, but then he'd seen the light. The explosion was the last thing he remembered.

First things first. He pulled out his backpack and dug around for a bottle of water. The cold liquid eased the fire in his throat. The air had a bite to it. The early spring in Charlotte, North Carolina was supposed to be warm, but today, it was bitterly cold. He shrugged on his bomber jacket and then secured his pack before taking a good look around. He wasn't familiar with the city yet, so he'd been relying on GPS to lead him to the Charlotte Police Department.

The smoke was coming from the east, so he headed in that direction. Before the explosion, he'd just gotten off the ramp and had driven into the outskirts of the city, but he had no real idea where he was. Following the smoke seemed like the best idea. He tried his phone one more time before heading away from the car.

It was dark, but his watch was broken so he had no idea of what time it was. The night sky was bright and clear, though. A full moon lit his path and he could see well enough with the help of the flashlight. The absolute silence bothered him. There should be sirens wailing in the background. The fire must still be burning for the amount of smoke rising up into the sky, but he could hear no fire trucks or ambulances. There was an absence of sound, not even the normal sounds of a city playing in the background. Charlotte wasn't as big as New York or LA but it was big enough to warrant some kind of movement in and around the city. Yet he heard nothing. It was creepy quiet.

The longer Dean walked, the more nervous he became. He cut down a side street into a neighborhood and thought at least here he would find some signs of life. Even in the worst villages he'd gone to in Pakistan, there had been movement in the houses at night, something to signify life, but that was not the case here. There were no lights, no soft mumblings from people talking on their phones, no one hanging out on sidewalks. Hell, there wasn't even a dog barking at him as he trudged along. The silence pressed in on him, almost as choking as the smoke that permeated the air.

Just up ahead he saw a car, an old model Chevy by the looks of it, its driver's door open. The front end was smashed into the passenger's door of a brand new Dodge truck. The engines weren't running, but he picked up his pace just in case someone was hurt. He himself had only just come to.

He got a tingling sensation on the back of his neck and he slowed, his instincts screaming danger at him. Those instincts had saved him many times over the last four years and he wasn't about to stop listening to them now. He approached the accident more slowly, swinging his light in wide arcs as he approached, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Movement on his left had his light sweeping in that direction. Something darted between the shadows of two houses. Dean frowned and stared hard. A low mewling sound came from behind him and he whirled, his flashlight coming to rest on a figure about thirty feet away. The man was in the shadows and Dean could barely see him. He cocked his head at Dean and took a stumbling step forward. He staggered and then righted himself. He was either drunk or hurt.

"Are you okay?" Dean called out. "Do you need some help?"

The man stopped, cocked his head once more, and then started forward again, his gait faster now, but still stiff and disjointed. A low moan came from the car. The man halted and turned to look at the car. A woman fell out. She stood on shaky legs. The man lunged at her before she could take a step and literally sank his teeth into the flesh of her throat, ripping and tearing. Blood spurted from the open wound and the woman never once screamed. She flailed around until the man lifted his head.

"Jesus!" Dean whispered, shock holding him still. The flashlight he'd riveted on the man showed his face more clearly now that he was closer. His mouth was smeared in blood, like the painted lips of a circus clown gone wrong. Bits of flesh clung to the teeth he barred at Dean. The man hissed and took off at a stumbling run, headed straight for Dean. Without thinking, he raised his gun and fired three shots straight into the man's chest. The force of the bullets knocked the man off his feet. He didn't stay down. He got back up, and came at Dean again. Dean raised his gun higher and put one more round in the man's head. Blood spurted as he fell and stayed down this time.

Dean ran a shaky hand over his short cropped dirty blonde hair and forced himself to move forward, towards the bodies lying on the asphalt. He didn't want to, it was the very last thing he wanted to do. God knew, he'd seen some horrendous things overseas, tortures you couldn't even begin to describe, but nothing he'd ever witnessed prepared him for this. The man had latched onto the woman like a dog worrying a bone. He'd ripped her throat out with his teeth. What in the hell was going on?

The sound of his footsteps echoed loudly in the stillness. His gun was drawn and pointed down. He wouldn't be caught off guard. It took four bullets to take the man down and Dean didn't know if he was out for good or not. His flashlight showed pink bits on the ground and he knew it was brain matter. If the guy could survive that, he'd be a walking miracle. Dean stopped a few inches from him and let his light travel over the body. He looked to be about thirty or so and aside from the blood on his face and the holes in chest and head, he looked perfectly normal. A business man from the looks of the suit he wore. Why would he have gone all Hannibal Lector like that? It made no sense.

There was a loud banging to the right and he turned that way, his light falling on a metal trash can rolling into the street. He scanned the area behind and around it, but he saw nothing. The night sounded empty, but the longer he looked into the inky darkness, it didn't feel empty. There was something out there, watching him. He could feel it. Was it more of these...people...things? He wasn't quite sure what to call them. There was a shuffling sound a little farther up the street and he swung his light in that direction. Shadows moved in and out of the moonlight, darting here and there. More shuffling sounded to his left. Sluggish shuffling, just like the guy lying on the ground. Were there more of these things out here?

Dean shone his light slowly in a circle. He picked up figures all around him, slowly closing him in, circling him like a pack of wolves does their prey. He pulled the other two clips he had out of his backpack and shoved them in his pocket. Time to go.

A hand snaked out and grabbed his ankle. Dean's flashlight caught the grinning mouth of the woman he'd assumed was dead as he fell forward toward those sharp teeth. He aimed his gun for her head and the shot echoed in the night. Fingers slipped from his calf and he didn't waste one more minute.

He ran.