Ghost-Ish- Lazarus Read online

  I don't think I had said a single word to any of the people in our makeshift community the first month or two, and just wanted to be left alone, as I felt a freak of nature, something that shouldn't be. And I was in a perpetual shock over my new existence. But once I caved and called Ferret in out of the cold, everyone started talking to me and treating me different. Like just then I had become one of them.

  And Ferret? I can't shut the teen up. I mean, oh my god! My castle for some duct tape! But, she's got me to open up and step out of my self-imposed exile. She's like the little annoying brat sister I never had. And I love her.

  Almost as if the thought of her conjured her out of teen hell, she popped her head in, smiling. I prompted the tawny blonde, “Finish your homework?”

  Just because she was homeless, didn't give her the excuse not to be educated. When I saw an old high school math textbook in her backpack, she shared that she had never graduated when I prompted. I told her that if she wanted to stay in my cardboard house, she had to do chores and I was going to tutor her to take the GED test.

  She... to my surprise, didn't even whine and try to argue. And she keeps the space as tidy as possible and attacks the homework I give her each day with the vigor of a starving woman. She's hungry for knowledge and it sort of hurt my missing heart that whatever landed her here, she didn't have the same opportunities as other girls her age.

  She could be put in a foster home and have all that, but for some reason, she chose this life, so whatever she is running from must scare the bloody hell out of her, and I'm not going to ask. If she decides it is something she wants to share, she will. Until then, I'll help her any way I can.

  She looked at me the way teens do, with patient exasperation. And passed me a paper, and I looked over her answers to the questions I had written. I smirked at one that she crossed out her wrong answer and wrote the correct response. I wonder who helped her. Probably Matt. The old double amputee Army Ranger was a softie. None of the others dared interfere with my lessons with her.

  I smirked at her. “Looking good. I think you're almost ready. You just need some more work in chemistry, and on prepositions, and I think you'll ace the exam.” She made a sour look at prepositions. I understood, English wasn't my strong suit either.

  I held a hand out, seeing the frustration on her face. I know she wanted to take the test now. But I knew that if she failed, she'd give up, like the world gave up on her. No way in hell I was letting that happen, so I was going to make sure she was over-prepared.

  She took my hand, and I hugged her. “Just a couple more lessons, ok stinker?”

  She nodded as she hugged back, starved for physical contact in her isolation.

  Then she mock whined, “Alright, Cam.”

  I held her at arm's length to look her up and down, is it possible that she has grown almost four inches since I first came here? Her head brushed the roof now, where I had to crouch a bit. She used to have half a head of clearance.

  I wondered if she realized that when she took the exam, she'd have to give her real name. I wondered if she'd trust me enough to know it before then.

  Everyone here just called her Ferret, because if you needed anything, she had a knack of ferreting it out. She traded that ability for whatever food or clothing she could in the group.

  I released her and then held up a finger. “Here. I got a little change today.” I pulled out a large stick of beef jerky in a plastic wrapper from a pocket. “You need protein.”

  I could see the Pavlovian response in her, as her entire bearing changed as she stared at it, almost salivating. She had that tiny, razor-sharp knife of hers out. I still don't know where she carries it, and she started to cut through the jerky, plastic and all, cutting it in half.

  I shook my head as I flopped down on my blankets and pulled out the latest scientific journal I was able to buy today too. I lied as I held up a halting hand, “I already had one. That one is yours.”

  She grinned at it then back at the entrance and her face changed to something serious. “Matt's disability check is late. Can I...?” She left it open. She treated me like I was her big sister and had to ask permission, that made me grin at her as I nodded once.

  Then just like that, she was gone, calling out “Thanks, Cam!”

  I've noticed that it is those who have nothing who are the most generous in this world. A person could be asking for help all day and have a thousand people walk past them and ignore them, but if anyone asks most homeless people for help, they will do whatever they can, no questions asked.

  Here was a teenage girl, borderline starving, going to give half of her food to someone else in need. God, I was proud of her. Just as much as my imaginary heart hurt for her situation.

  A few minutes later, she slipped back into the shelter and smiled at me as she slipped onto her shelf and started going over the notes I had scribbled for her for her lessons. She was determined to get her GED to make me proud.

  I looked up from where I was huddled against the wall reading my magazine when she said without looking. “You got hurt again.” I quickly looked down at myself. She pointed out as she read, “Your pant leg is torn.”

  What? Son of a bitch!

  I rummaged through my things for a needle and thread as she said offhandedly, “The Man was poking about. Asking weird questions. Like if any of us have seen anything in the sky, or on top of surrounding buildings.”

  I hesitated. That really 'was' odd. They normally avoid us unless they were investigating a crime, or hunting for the vigilante. What had their attention on the rooftops around here? I cocked my head at her, and she grinned behind her papers. I figured she knew more about it since she brought it up. We weren't much on small talk.

  I prompted patiently, “Aaaand?”

  She turned toward me, looking over her studies. “I heard on a radio on a loading dock when I was finding some socks for Harriet in the dumpsters in the fashion district, that there have been sightings of something in the sky at night.”

  She got even more animated as she said with hope, “Some say in the glimpses they caught of it, it looks vaguely like a woman with wings. The Angel is here, in New York!”

  I had to smile at the girl. “Those are just stories. There's no angel girl flying around San Francisco. It's someone's idea of a prank.” I tried to convince myself of my own words, but after what has happened to me, nothing seemed impossible to me now.

  I thought of all the rumors of the flying girl, in the San Francisco Bay area who is rumored to be helping people in need. But nobody can seem to get a good picture of her. One witness said her wings are immense, blocking out the sun when she spreads them.

  By all the laws of biology and physics, assuming she is an average of a hundred thirty pounds, she'd have to have a wingspan of around eighteen feet. They'd almost touch the ground even folded on her back. How could you hide something like that? Then again, if her bones are hollow like a bird's, she may weigh substantially less than that.

  But she wasn't the only one. There were also the other, disturbing rumors of dark demon-like women in Seattle and New Orleans flying around the cities, leaving corpses in their wake. But the police are playing it off as macabre pranks, as the coroners say the bodies had been dead months or years. They suspect medical students at the nearby university teaching morgues.

  There is a grainy picture of a woman in some sort of ceremonial raven costume in Seattle, where one of those so-called pranks occurred. I'm not so sure that it is just a costume anymore, what with Leucosia, and... me.

  Damn it, now I'm thinking about it all again.

  I noted it was getting darker as it was getting harder to read. At that thought, I heard the buzz of the streetlights in the area turning on. The milk jugs brightened a little.

  I had to explain to Ferret why I left the caps on the jugs and used them instead of clear plastic. By trapping air in the jug, it gave better insulating properties than just a piece of plastic
. Plus the white of the jug gave better light diffusion inside our little shelter. She seems to just absorb anything science related I can feed her.

  I looked up. “Want to go sit out with the others by the burn barrels for a bit?” She shook her head and just slipped under her blankets, then held a hand out to me. I pulled my magazine to my chest. “Wait until I'm done, brat.”

  She grinned and then twisted some hanging wires together to complete a circuit to the little solar powered garden lights I had jammed into the south side walls. I had disabled the lights outside, as I only needed the solar panels and rechargeable batteries in the little spikes. Then she plugged in her iPod, which I think was from her prior life and put her headphones on to listen to some disturbingly pop music.

  Grr... she was going to take two-thirds of our charge for tonight, recharging that power hungry device. Ok, I couldn't be mad at her. I grinned and switched on one of the little LED lights that had been removed from the garden lights. It wasn't much, but it was enough to read by when added to the streetlights.

  Things in our little shanty community rolled to a halt when darkness fell, and most of the people burrowed in for the night, partially because of the darkness and partially because we all wanted to avoid the very different city New York became at night. It was all about entertainment and partying, and that's when people got more hostile toward the homeless, when they ignored us during the day.

  Some of us sat by the burn barrels to warm up until we got tired and made our way to our makeshift shelters. But me? I don't get tired anymore. I stayed awake for over a week once just to see if I could. I don't really sleep, but if I close my eyes and hold still and just sort of let myself become part of the background noise of the city, I can slip into a pseudo-sleep, where my mind drifts and I lose track of time. I can tune out like that for hours, though I can remember every second of it.

  I finished the magazine and looked up to see Ferret was asleep. She used up so much energy on so little to eat, she was always out in minutes when she laid down. I reached over and took her iPod from her hand and switched it off, but left it to charge so she would have music tomorrow.

  I slipped her headphones off and stroked her head. This was no life for a young girl. I slid her headphones onto the tiny cubby she had fashioned for her things at the head of the shelf she slept on and paused. On the back of the iPod, I noted it had that laser-etched personalization on the back that Apple offers on its products. Eliza? Was that her real name?

  I tucked it away and then sat back, listening to the world, then shut off the LED light.

  Chapter 2 – Beautiful Creature

  I couldn't slip into my fugue state, I was too antsy. So I slipped out and stood to stretch as I looked around. The steady thrumming and clanking of a subway train passing on the tracks above were simply background noise to me now. And sort of reassuring. The world still spun on no matter how static I felt. The city was alive.

  It only took a couple days for me to get used to the clacking sound.

  The silent buildings around us weren't part of the second life the city took on after dark, so the skyline beyond looked like a magical wonderland of twinkling lights that stretched to the sky. The smells of the city drifted on the cool breeze, tainted by the smell of acrid smoke from the burn barrels and the smell of unwashed people.

  We all tried to get to the shelters at least a couple times a week, but that didn't mean we could get in to use the showers or eat in the soup line. All the shelters are overwhelmed by the rising numbers of homeless people in the city.

  You could listen to the disconnect the authorities have with the realities on the street. In their imaginary bubble, they talk of unemployment rates at a record low. No, unemployment rates of people who own or rent homes maybe, since they are the ones they poll, but nobody talks to the people who don't have a place to live. Our numbers are swelling as all the poorer neighborhoods experience gentrification. It is almost stupid that you can't even rent a small studio for under twelve hundred or so a month now.

  It is a quick path from unemployed to living on the street. Like usually a month or two, since most of the poor don't have anything that resembles savings to handle a rough patch.

  I walked over to Matt and Gomez by the closest burn barrel. The big man in his wheelchair was silhouetted in the firelight. I just nodded at the two then narrowed my eyes when Gomez offered a bottle to me. He shrugged and offered the alcohol to Matt who just held up a hand. For the most part, the bulk of the people in our community avoided the quick warmth that alcohol promised.

  Then Matt held up half of the jerky that Ferret gave him. The man hadn't eaten it all. He was as bad as... Eliza. They were always helping others at a cost to their own health. Gomez accepted it and tore off a bite before returning it. Then Matt offered it to me? I shook my head and held out my hands to the heat of the fire.

  He put the jerky back in the pocket of his army jacket and then we officially acknowledged each other. “Cam.”

  I inclined my head. “Matt.” Then to the other man, “Gomez.” The Hispanic man just nodded.

  I had to chuckle. “My, aren't we a chatty bunch?”

  Matt nodded and held a hand up as he listened intently. I stilled and listened too. I heard the city, cars, trains, even voices on the breeze. His eyes tracked from one building to another and he pointed, “There it is again.”

  It? It what?

  Before I could ask he said, “It's been canvassing the area systematically for the last couple hours. From rooftop to rooftop.”

  My eyes snapped back to the buildings as I scanned. He said it, not them. Was it not a person he was sensing?

  I whispered, “Is this some sort of special forces shit? I don't see anything.”

  He shook his head and whispered, “I know when eyes are on me. Always have since I was deployed. I can catch the fluttering of wind and a dark shape in my peripheral. It's stealthy, but it seems to be circling in on us.”

  It again? We were being hunted? I voiced that in a whisper. “We're being hunted?”

  He shook his head and pointed at me. “It was doing a grid pattern when you were away, but since you came home, it has started circling in smaller and smaller circles.”

  What? Something was out there hunting... me? Could whatever he saw somehow sense my... situation? Was I pulling danger to our shanty-ville?

  He suddenly grinned and shrugged. “Or I could be seeing things. PTSD and all that shit.”

  I didn't feel any better, because his glib words held no truth. He saw something, and whatever it was had a trained soldier on edge.

  He turned his chair toward the city, then after a few seconds he looked over at me and smiled. “You going to let Ferret take the test yet? She's whining to everyone.”

  I chuckled, glad for the change of topic. I nodded and supplied, “Just about. I want her to be armed with as much knowledge as she can have. She deserves better than this.” I moved my hands around, indicating our makeshift shelters, including the men and me in the gesture.

  He smiled and nodded. “You got that momma bear intensity about you. She looks up to you and your space aged box there.”

  I snorted. Space aged?

  Matt stiffened, and a moment later I heard a fluttering in the air, a dark shape seemed to land on the tracks above us about fifty yards down, and the figure leapt without slowing and seemed to glide to a nearby rooftop before bounding off.

  I was in motion, there really was something out there. Whatever it was, it wasn't human, and it wasn't exactly flying... it more appeared to be gliding like a flying squirrel. If it was truly hunting me, I wasn't about to endanger the people here. I dashed past my shelter as Matt called after me and I grabbed my Louisville Slugger leaning beside the entry. The reassuring weight of the old school hickory wood in my hands instead of the lighter ash that the modern players preferred.

  I dashed for the building I saw the creature land on. This was the Bronx, we didn't w
ait for the fight to come to us. Why was I smiling? Damn it, I thought I had gotten over all the anger over what happened to me in the accident. But I could feel my need to lay some hurt down on someone or something.

  It is pretty disheartening when you think you are above something, just to find you aren't as enlightened as you had hoped you were. I guess that's part of the human condition. Which is a little laughable as I wasn't even sure if I were human anymore.

  I poured on the speed and dashed into the alley between buildings to see if I could catch up with whatever it was, or lead it away from my people. I saw a dark shape leap over a hundred feet from a rooftop down the block, across the entire street to land on the roof of a warehouse.

  It ran along the roof. So it was bipedal, and it looked as if it did have some sort of shadowy wings when it passed over a streetlight, but they were on its sides, where arms should be, not its back. So my flying squirrel analog was more apt than I thought. It was humanoid.

  I didn't have to slow and sprinted across the street and through the next alley. It had already crossed the next street by the time I got there. Damn, the thing was inhumanly fast! I almost got hit as I dashed in front of a car. It's brakes squealed, and I dove into the air and slid across its hood as it honked at me.

  Damn it. Whatever it was had paused to look back at the commotion. It knew I was following now. I waved off the car and darted into the next alley. This alley had bollards at the end like I had led the Lazarus assholes into. And parked in a shadow of a dumpster, was a motorcycle. I hesitated before continuing on as I looked at the roofline.

  Something felt off. Shit! I dove and rolled across the alley floor as the fluttering swooping down toward me registered in my brain. As I rolled along, needle-sharp claws sparked on the pavement, again and again, each strike barely missing.

  I rolled onto a knee and brought up my bat between my hands, deflecting a black feathered claw attached to a winglike arm. I spun on my knee, swinging my bat in a violent sweep to try to take its legs out from under it, but it was fast, taking a gliding hop backward with the hiss I heard some birds of prey make.