Softly Zephyr, Oh Come Softly Chapter 7 by Maggie Finson

Hines was watching the security vids of Zephyr's escape. Again. What he saw still caused a chill to run up and down his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stir.

She was so fast the vids had to be slowed down considerably just for the observer to see what she had done. Oh, it had been obvious that she was deadly. She had, after all, killed four very well trained, military black ops security people in less time than it took to say that. Her grace, and the accuracy of her attacks in the slow motion vids was akin to a hunting cat striking, but Hines seriously doubted that any cat, wild or domesticated, would be able to keep up with her. The spectacle held it's own beauty with the precision and speed of her killing blows, which made it even more frightening.

“Something like that on the loose in the general population would be more than disastrous.” He breathed while watching the footage again and shuddering. “Regular law enforcement or even military would have very little chance of stopping her.”

Even more frightening, the vids showed clearly that she had taken shots from the security team's weapons. And hadn't even slowed down when that happened.

“Taggert,” Hines whispered. “you'd better find her soon. Something like that running around loose is more than bears thinking about.”

He grinned at the last message he'd received from that pompous idiot, Hines.

Zephyr hadn't shown herself, or even killed that anyone knew of after the disaster at the facility. She was being very careful if she was feeding, and if she wasn't she would be drastically weakened. Which was fine with him.

“You have no idea, you damn fool.” Taggert thought while he smirked. “But I'll be sure to show you once I finish this and get back there.” He thought of how much fun it would be to show the pompous ass a real monster, just before he killed the man. Anticipation sent a thrill all the way through him as he imagined the scene.

He scanned the people around him and let out a sigh. Still no sign of the bitch. Or of that turncoat, Stewart. But he'd find them.

The thing was, that every human he saw looked like food, and he had to consciously stop himself from salivating when he watched them. It was daylight and there were a lot of people around, so he quelled the impulse to take a few of them and feed. That impulse would have truly worried the man that he had been, even as ruthless and cruel as that one was. Taking prey in broad daylight was something he knew would lead to trouble. He soothed himself with another thought. Stewart would make a fine meal once his team found him.

The people he saw were almost pathetic. The lost, the hopeless, the unwanted, all milling about in one part of town. Something odd he noticed though, was that the people he was watching and at times interacting with, didn't strike him as hopeless discards of society. Oh, sure, there were some of those, but as he honestly thought about it, someone could see much the same thing in places that were a lot better off.

But the unity he was seeing was almost humbling. Family groups, friends, acquaintances, all worked together in one way or another, watching out for each other, comforting the ones who needed it, closing ranks to help those who needed the help. It was something he hadn't seen since he'd left home and went to college.

Oh, there were some bad ones there. But the majority, the ones willing to help others survive outnumbered and usually did their best to ignore those who tried preying on the others, or joined ranks and ran them off.

A person he didn't know warned him about one of those. “Hey, that guy you were just talking to?”

“Yeah? What about him?” Stewart questioned.

“Not telling you how to live your life, dude.” The woman, in clothing that was nearly a bunch of rags that had been knotted together to just cover her shrugged. “But he's bad news. Listen to him and invite him in, he'll take everything you got and if you protest he'll just kill you. The bastard would kill someone for a few quarters. Just wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

“Newbies don't tend to last long around here unless they make the right kind of friends.” She answered then grimaced. “And I don't mean the takers like that one. Whatever he offered you, it was a lie. Just trying to help.”

“Why?” Stewart felt like some skipping CD or a tape with one word on it.

“Cause we help each other 'round here.” She answered simply. “Bad enough we got to deal with the other shit all the time. Just walkin' inta it is more than anyone deserves.”

“Thanks.” Stewart was genuinely thankful, and touched by her concern.

“Life can be shitty enough 'round here.” She responded with a little smile. “Get to know some people and they can help. Lots of good 'uns here if you just look 'round.”

“I will.” He nodded.

“Name's Meg.” She answered with a hint of a smile. “Live in an old wharehouse down the street. “Bout six blocks. Come say hi and introduce yerself, get ta know some people.

“I will, thanks.” He answered, then added. “I'm Stewart.”

“Good ta meet ya, Stew.” She used a version of his name that he had always disliked, but coming from her it wasn't so bad. “Come on over some time, meet some folks, be safer fer ya in the long run.”

“I will, thanks.” He nodded then looked up. “But how will I know which place is right?”

“Hard ta miss, man.” She laughed. “Jest watch fer the place with folk goin in an out.”

“Okay.” He laughed, probably the first time he had in what felt like ages. “I will. Thanks again.”

“No problem, dude.” She shrugged. “We spot a newbie, we try an help is all. Place is bad enough with friends, it's deadly when ya are alone.”

“I'll look you up tomorrow.” He promised.

“I'll tell tha watchers ta expect ya.” She nodded. “Bye.”

And she was gone as quickly as she'd appeared.

“How did she do that?” He wondered aloud to himself.

But what she'd told him made sense.

I was just walking around, watching people, letting myself feel like I was at least half human.

I was wearing sweats, ragged like everything else around here, a hoodie to hide my hair, gloves, and the heavy makeup and sunglasses that hopefully allowed me to look like just another person in this place.

I was hunting, and I didn't want the people I was hunting to know that.

This bastard, whoever he was, violated my territory as if it meant nothing.

He was going to die for that effrontery.

I just had to find him, then figure out how to do that. But I would.

Predators do NOT like competition.

And as much as I was trying to hold on to my humanity, I was a predator.

And some asshole was killing in places that are MINE.

That would NOT pass.

I was going to kill him or die trying.

Doing that might get me some answers I really needed to have, too. Or I would get to stop worrying about all of this.

But a confrontation was near.

Truthfully, at the time, I didn't really care which outcome came to pass. Except for my friends. Yeah, I needed to win in this upcoming confrontation because of them.

But I really needed to know my adversary, my enemy, before I could even start to plan for that. Going into a fight blind was just asking to get your ass kicked. Angry as I was about the intrusion, and somehow knowing that he was one of the people hunting me from that place, I held it all in, pushed it aside, and concentrated on finding the information I needed.

I might have to lose a fight with, him, without dying, to learn what I wanted. That wasn't a pleasant prospect. On the other hand he'd shown nothing that indicated stealth, which I had found I was good at. Maybe I could survive a first encounter with him.

But I knew it was going to hurt. I'd do it, though. The bastard was hunting in my territory.

I'd find him.

What would happen after that? Who knew?

But he was the invader and I had to, just had to, defend my territory.

After a night of agonizing, and reaching the conclusion that remaining alone would not be good for either his physical or mental health, he was back on the streets and walking in the direction Meg had shown him the day before.

Meg had been right about finding the place. From the outside it looked just like all the other run down, falling apart warehouses in this part of the district. But there was a nearly constant trickle of people going in and out of the place.

He walked to the entrance and was stopped by two very large, and surprisingly fit men. One of them looked him over as if searching for weapons and asked. “What do you want?”

“My name is Stewart.” He answered with as much calm as he could manage. “I met Meg yesterday and she invited me, said she'd tell you guys, if you're the watchers.”

“We are.” The second one answered while still looking him over. “Meg described you and told us to watch for ya. Go on in, you'll probably find her in the kitchens right now.”

“One thing.” The first one put a large hand on his shoulder. “Cause trouble and getting thrown out would be the best option you'd get. Got me?”

“No intention of causing trouble here.” Stewart said as he was allowed to enter.

Inside, the warehouse had a warmer feel than out on the street just outside the door. Not just physically from the numerous fires burning in fifty gallon drums, but the atmosphere. He understood almost immediately that this was a community who worked together and protected themselves well enough to be secure.

These people didn't have the furtive look that a lot of the street people he'd seen had. They walked with straight backs, or as straight as they could get and weren't constantly scanning the area for either threats or opportunity. He noted that some of them, men and women, were watching things very alertly and appeared more than ready to defend the others and what they considered their home. He didn't see any easily apparent weapons but was familiar enough with security details to know those people had them and were willing to use them.

Finding the area that had some crude grills and improvised fire pits with pots, skillets, and kettles over them, he rightly decided that was the kitchen area and moved in that direction to find Meg. While thinking that this place would be a lot more secure than his run down apartment.

I had taken on the responsibility of protecting the people in this enclave once I'd realized they just accepted me and to my shock, trusted me. Given what I was now, that trust meant a lot to me and I had promised myself I would never violate it no matter how hungry I got. There were plenty of low lifes out there that worked as an adequate menu when the beef and pork blood wasn't enough. And I was careful when I fed on the street, making sure there were no bodies to raise questions. The rats around here were as hungry as everyone else.

Someone new caught my eye as I watched things from the seclusion of a small cubbyhole that still allowed me to see most of the warehouse. I got out of my comfortable seated position and walked out into the enclave proper to get a better look. Something about this newcomer roused feelings and memories I had thought were forever lost to me.

“Zeph?” One of the other watchers asked as I froze. “You okay? Is there trouble here?”

The guy was shabby as everyone else, looking worn and frightened. But I remembered a much better dressed person in a white lab coat watching me endure more tortures than I really care to think about. I didn't know his name but I remembered his face even with the beard, unkempt hair and ragged, dirty clothing.

Pristine white rooms. Chains. Restraining chairs. More pain than anything, anyone should be expected to go through. More memories flooded my befuddled mind and more pieces of my past fell into place. Experiments, they called them. I called them pure torture meant to find just how much punishment I could take and for how long. Along with the time it took me to heal from their damned 'experiments'.

Worse, I knew there were others going through what I had who hadn't escaped the hell hole I'd been a prisoner in. The flood of memories came close to overwhelming me. Hard learned discipline pushed that away and I only shook my head and swayed for a moment or two.

“Zeph?” Silas, another of our security people asked again. Carefully because I had been so volatile during the first month or so I'd been here.

“I'm fine, Silas.” I managed to answer while still looking at the man who had awakened all that.

“Who is he?” I had never learned the names of my tormentors and even though I really wanted to savage the man here and now, I knew doing that would do more harm than good in this safe haven.

The guy reeked of fear. But not because of me, he hadn't seen me yet and thanks to the help I'd gotten I didn't look like the unfortunate creature he had helped torture. No the fear I smelled on him was from something else and if he was hiding here I decided it had to do with his employers.

I watched him, to see if he was here as a hunter or was hunted. His responses to interaction with others here wasn't one of a spy or scout. The man was genuinely frightened of something and it wasn't me.

I had just decided to follow him when he caught sight of me. I had the hoodie on with my hair covered and the makeup and sunglasses, so he couldn't have recognized me instantly. Or so I hoped.

He didn't stay here, I knew that. So I would follow and find where he was hiding. After that? I didn't know, but killing was at the top of the list. once I'd gotten the information I wanted from him.

He was walking towards the kitchen area when someone caught his attention. She was tall, with a shape that would attract any man's attention even if it was shrouded in the ragged and often bulky clothing common to this area. But it was way she moved that really attracted attention. She was like a sated hunting cat walking through a herd of deer. The 'deer' weren't exactly afraid of her, but they did tend to move away a bit wherever she walked.

And who wore sunglasses inside when it was dim enough in the place that it was hard to see into some corners?

When she turned to look at him, a wisp of thick snow white hair escaped from her hood.

She gave no indication that she recognized him, but the chill ran from his tailbone to his neck. Even disguised he knew the person he was looking at was Zephyr.

Stewart ruthlessly pushed the terror he was feeling down. Hoping the creature hadn't recognized him, he watched the people cooking and didn't see Meg among them. That gave him the excuse to head back towards the doors to outside without seeming to run.

Once he got outside he breathed a long sigh of relief and took time to get his breathing under control. What he hadn't noticed was the lithe, pantherish graceful form that had so frightened him gliding across the warehouse floor to follow him.

I followed him carefully, never showing myself whenever he looked back or around, which told me he had become somewhat streetwise. I still followed, but at times moved ahead when it was clear he only had one direction to go. So I wasn't always behind him.

One thing that kept me from just killing him was that he had information I badly wanted. Like just who or what was killing indiscriminately in my territory and leaving the bodies to be found. Whoever it was had to come from the same place I did. The man had information I needed. And he was definitely running scared from something that wasn't me. He knew something. More than one thing that I needed to know.

As I followed I committed his scent to mind. I'd pulled the hood off and put my sunglasses in a pocket while the sun went down. Shadows were my friends and I could hide in them easily after sundown in spite of my pale skin and hair. Besides, when I did confront him, I wanted him have no doubt regarding who was standing in front of him.

He'd made it back to his own safe haven without seeing anything to indicate he had been followed. Not that the idea helped much. As he entered the run down apartment building he failed to notice the shadows in the street shift as one approached the building.

Once in his apartment, with the door triple locked and braced, he took time to breath a sigh of relief.

A sudden breeze caught his attention. He knew he'd shut and locked all the windows before he left so he turned towards the source of the breeze.

She was there. Standing in his apartment in front of an open window in all her pale, white haired glory, or terror.

“Hello.” She gave him a smile that showed far to much pointed canine teeth and looked at him as she was observing some disgusting specimen in biology class.

“You know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question. “I remember you, too.”

His bowels threatened to let loose as he stared, transfixed like a mouse being stalked by a snake. “Yes.”

“Good.” She widened that frightening, terrifying smile. “Now, give me one good reason for not killing you right now.”