Dead Girls Club

By Crash Froelich

When Lesley Mann is assaulted and paralyzed by two Arabic-speaking ghuls, his savior is a supernatural fox, who appears in her human aspect, to heal him with the liver of a warlock. As a member of The Dead Girls Club and an operative of the FBI’s paranormal division, Sae has personal reasons for saving Les. But Les falls head over heels so fast that he’ll do anything Sae asks, including becoming a powerful werefox.

Together with Amalie, the essence of a warrior child in a formidable android body, Les and Sae commit to fighting a supernatural jihad. Along the way, Sae and Les become comically engrossed as lovers.

The laughter stops, however, when family becomes a target. Then Les must draw on every power, including one that comes with a cost, to protect those he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crash Froelich
• Release date: Jun 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301146871

Crash Froelich

I’m from Kansas City, both of them. My folks lived in Gladstone but the nearest Hospital was Providence, in Kansas.When I was two, we moved to Saint Joseph, Missouri and an apartment across the street from the Krug Park Lily Pond. I’ll be forever grateful to my parents because growing up in that place was magic. The magic lasted until I was in fourth grade, when the family, now including two younger siblings, moved into a split level ranch on the east side of town and the wilds of a partially developed area with woods, creeks, and construction all around.Exploring and baseball took the place of magic. Soon the wildness of the place became tame and well-ordered. So did I. High school was followed by a few frustrating years in college. Restlessness prompted me to join the Army. I traveled the world, drank deeply from the cultures of Germany and Korea, but the magic called to me in a weak voice and stirred me.I graduated with a Master of Science in Applied Mathematics from Missouri University of Science and Technology. Years in aerospace and defense contracting were fulfilling and rewarding, but the magic still whispered its siren song.Finally, after years of struggling, I set the magic free. Stories took shape, guided by characters crafted with care. Characters that live with me always, because they are my children.Children burst from my brain as Zeus gave birth to Athena. Now they live for you, dear reader. Enjoy with my compliments.

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Dead Girls Club

By Crash Froelich

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Crash Froelich

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

My gratitude to my workshop colleagues who generously gave me significant support: Kim Allison, Elizabeth Coley, Dave Crosby, Kit Davis, Elizabeth Hull, Michael Keyton, Ilan Lerman, L. K. Pinaire, and Sharon Ramirez. An appreciative shout-out to Jeanne Cavelos who considered my work worthy of an Editor’s Choice.

To Jeanne Haskin, who has been tireless in her encouragement.

Chapter One: Pain is Life

Despite the hours that had passed, Les could still hear his mother’s snide tone. He groaned at the memory of her raspy words. Well, I warned Wanda, Lesley. I told her never to drop off the kids without calling. She did it anyway. You let her walk all over you. She’s not going to pull that stuff on me.

Does God give us our families to test us?

And that was that. His first weekend with Bruce and Amanda in two months and Mom had blown it for him. He should’ve seen it coming. Mom and Wanda hated one another. A showdown was inevitable, but Mom didn’t have to ruin his weekend with the kids. It might take weeks to smooth over things with Wanda, after she started answering his calls. He didn’t have the money to hire a lawyer to enforce the visitation order. Besides, dragging her into court would just piss her off even more.

The string of glaring red taillights ahead grabbed his attention and Les slammed on the brakes. Coffee slopped out of his travel mug and onto the leg of his uniform trousers. Cursing, he set down the cup and splashed bottled water on the stain. Blotting with a rag snatched from the door pocket added motor oil to the mess.

Shit. Khaki uniforms for security supervisors when everyone else wears blues.

Les’ reserved parking space near the rear entrance was blocked by an ambulance. The vehicle rested on a jack, one set of dualies stacked behind it, and no sign of the EMTs. He found a space at the periphery of the civilian lot. Five hours remained until nine and the end of visiting hours for most of the wards. His shift saw more funny business than the others put together. Most of the nasty accidents occurred during the evening rush. That was followed by the evening freak show in the ER. The normal situations were punctuated by family fights, druggies sneaking around, unsupervised kids running all over the place and getting lost, and once a woman helping herself to a brand new baby boy from neonatal.

Granted, Charlottesville wasn’t Richmond or Virginia Beach. In spite of that, the Albemarle Regional Medical Center served a large rural area beyond the city limits. Sometimes medevacs flew in from West Virginia. ARMC’s trauma center took a backseat to none.

Les breathed deeply of the early autumn cool as he strode toward the central facility. A few shaggy islands of cumulus drifted through deep blue. All around the hilltop sanctuary the forest of hickory and oak stood as a green bulwark, tall and proud, not yet wearing the colors that heralded winter’s sleep. A family of hawks gracefully turned through the pure air, on vigil for the careless squirrel or rabbit made frantic by shortened days.

From force of habit, Les headed to a side entrance. The memory of the cute volunteer working reception, with whom he’d chatted a week ago, changed his direction. She had to be ten years his junior. After eighteen months of dying on the vine Les had no aversion to easy.

The scene at reception disappointed. There was no telling with volunteers. Schedule had no meaning. He smiled at the grannies working the information desk and changed direction toward the security office. The man posted in the lobby, Anthony Cantorelli, waved to catch Les’ eye.

What’s up, Tony?

Tony jerked his thumb in the direction of the central atrium. The shop steward is waiting for you in the office.

What’s he want?

Rolling his eyes, Tony leaned close to whisper. He’s trying to catch you coming in early. Says you’re setting a bad example by coming early and staying late. It raises management’s expectations or some crap like that. I gave him a load about schedule changes and he blew me off. Says you’re working outside scope and wouldn’t say how. You know how that prick is.

Les quashed a flare of anger. Well, just screw me blue. As if we haven’t had enough going on this week with the warlock in the cardiac ward. That old bastard had the nurses spooked but good. Must’ve had a dozen calls between oh-dark-thirty and dawn the last three days. Now this turd is looking to give me a pain?

Tony chuckled. That witch dude won’t be any more trouble. He pulled a croaker around noon.

No shit? Oh, well. At least he won’t be raising hell tonight. That’s good for me.

Look, Les, Tony put a hand on Les’ shoulder, why don’t you hang out in the observation room for a while? Give that guy a chance to get bored and leave before you go on shift. Hell, he’ll probably think you’re coming in late. That ought to give him a stiffy.

Les nodded and low-fived Tony in passing. Observation, the CCTV monitoring room, was a long way from the security office and, as far as Les knew, in a location unknown to the steward. He carded his way into the room, which was lit only by the wall of monitor screens arrayed in a 120-degree arc and extending from desk-height to ceiling. The first shift supervisor, Todd, sat at the control console.

Hey, Les. Early again, huh?

Not by much. Fucking union. Why do they care?

Contracts, negotiating positions, pay raises. Bullshit like that.

Whatever. So much for conscientiousness. From now on, I’ll dog it like everybody else.

Todd swiveled his chair to face Les. What’s that supposed to mean, dickhead?

Don’t get your panties in a wad. I know better than to make waves.

After a few seconds of staring at Les, Todd swung back to the monitors. Good. Use a little impulse control. Enthusiasm that doesn’t help anyone, hurts everyone.

Les’ face was aflame. Yeah, yeah, I get it. You all have lives and I don’t. I’ll start looking for a hobby.

A girlfriend would be better.

He resisted the urge to punch Todd in the back of his head.

You know, Todd looked at his watch, you’re even earlier than usual.

Rubbing his eyes, Les sighed. Couldn’t help it. Shit storm between my ex and Mom. Didn’t get two minutes of sleep this morning. Figured, what the hell…

Todd shook his head. Good thinking. Damn it, Les, why don’t you try to catch a few zees?

Les’ irritation leaked away, deflating him like a punctured tire. Who’ll cover for me? I’m a man short tonight.

Shahin volunteered for an extra shift. He’s been at the ER station today. I’ll tell him to come up after dinner break. Okay?

Nodding absently, Les glanced at the monitors. Something odd yet familiar caught his eye. Those panel vans are still in the east lot? What’s up with that?

Huh? Todd reached for the camera controls and stopped it from panning. Oh, those. Yeah, I saw the note in your report. Didn’t find out until this afternoon. Technical team testing and calibrating imaging equipment. All of it. MRI, CATs, x-rays. Don’t know the deal with that. Maybe somebody’s suing. Anyway, Admin said they’ll be around for a couple of days. Looks like they’re working around the clock.

That so? Funny. Didn’t see anyone around last night. The vans were parked just as they are now.

Oh? There aren’t any cameras in Radiology.

Right. Still, didn’t see anyone in the halls or outside, either.

Todd turned back to Les. What trouble could come from a couple of nerds in lab coats? Hey, did you hear about the old freak in Cardio?

Yeah, Tony told me. Glad that one’s gone.

Yes and no. The body’s on a slab in the meat locker.

Les dragged a straight chair against a wall, into the darkness behind the bank of screens. Really? What the hell for?

Dunno. Rumor has it that no funeral parlor will take him. The black magic thing. I also heard he’s a distant relative of Sissy Spacek, another well-known devil worshipper. Todd laughed.

I heard that one, too. Hard to believe that stupid witchcraft malarkey has such legs.

Todd smiled. I grew up here. Been hearing it all my life. Giving Goth kids an excuse to do weird shit on Hallowe’en is about all it’s worth.

Roger that. Les sat and tipped the chair against the wall. Thanks for covering. A catnap ought to do me.

No sweat. Sorry about your problems with Wanda. Tough deal.

Yeah, it sucks. Les closed his eyes. The worst part is fighting over the kids.

Todd grunted his agreement but didn’t elaborate. Soon the drone of cooling fans lulled Les to sleep.

***

A melody, which sounded like a snake charmer’s recorder accompanied by a crate of cymbals tumbling down a staircase, woke Les. He blinked and saw Shahin answering his cell. The man’s deep bass voice made music of his native language. He turned toward Les and waved a greeting without interrupting his conversation, which ended after a few seconds.

Hey, Les. Feeling better?

Yeah, rough morning. What’s the situation?

Twenty-hundred hours and nothing too unusual. Shahin hesitated, then continued. Three guys came into the ER lobby about an hour ago. They were speaking Arabic. When they saw me, they ducked back outside. I was the only security down there, so I couldn’t follow. Besides, acting stupid isn’t probable cause.

Arabic? What did they say?

Shahin rolled his eyes. I was born in Iran, Les. I speak Persian and Pashto, not Arabic.

Then how do you know they spoke Arabic?

I’m a little familiar. You know, the same way you recognize French even though you don’t speak it. I can say ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘hello,’ goodbye,’ and ‘What’s your name, beautiful?’ that’s about it.

Shahin never embellished his dry humor with the goofy expressions most people made to confirm their use of comedy.

I suppose the chances of a terrorist incident are pretty low. Les stretched off the remains of his sleepiness and stood in front of the monitors. A silent alarm blinked red on the console. What’s that?

Hmm. Looks like the service door on the south side. Shahin slewed a camera on the corner of the building nearest the door and zoomed. Two men with duffle bags watched a third with a crowbar prying at the secure entry. Hey, those are the guys that were acting nutty in the ER lobby.

I’m going down. Les put a hand on Shahin’s shoulder. Call for backup. God only knows what we have on our hands. Be sure to tell the bulls it could be terrorist activity.

Charging into the corridor, Les ran toward the far end and the south stairwell. He leapt several steps at a time, using the handrail to swing around turns. Six floors down, he reached the entrance to the subterranean maintenance levels. He breathed deeply for a moment, to quiet himself, and pressed an ear against the blank door. The low frequency rumblings of machines were all he heard. As slowly as he could, Les cracked the door. The south service door opened into this tunnel. Bad lighting and gray painted cinderblocks. Plenty of dark spots and side tunnels. No terrorists. He stepped inside and gently shut the door behind him. Besides the usual smells of damp and dust, something else plucked at his memory.

What is that? Mimosa?

One of the shadows far down the tunnel moved, vibrating so fast it became a blur. Then the thing rushed toward him. Les couldn’t believe how fast it moved. Nothing he knew could cover so much distance so quickly. He tried to dodge it. The shadow was upon him before he moved a muscle. A powerful tug snapped back his head and pulled his feet from the ground. The rush of air told Les he flew. Then he slammed face first into a wall and fell to the ground, limp as a dishrag. Impact drove the air out of his lungs. Pain like he’d never known radiated from every inch of his body. Before a single tear was shed, merciful oblivion smothered him.

***

Les awakened to the taste of his own blood. He flinched and agony electrified every nerve in his body. Cold, wet concrete rasped the side of his face and the backs of his hands. Every shallow breath caused a twinge in his right side. Hot needles made a pincushion of his back.

So, this is what it’s like to get hit by a truck? No, this isn’t pavement. Where am I?

Peering through the lashes of his left eye, Les saw cinderblocks and fluorescent lights. The maintenance tunnel under the hospital.

The terrorists must’ve done this to me.

Footsteps approached, so he played possum.

They stopped near. Two voices spoke in a language he didn’t understand. The unseen pair came closer. One voice spoke loudly and clearly in slightly accented English.

I know you’re not dead, meat bag.

A burst of angry jabbering immediately ensued. The same voice hissed, Okay, okay, and then addressed Les. I know you’re not dead, infidel. Give my message of jihad to those who will come. This attack is an act of retribution for the countless lives taken by the Crusaders in Muslim lands. Allahu Aqbar. The righteous shall prevail.

More incomprehensible chatter faded down the corridor as they left.

Where in hell is Shahin? Backup should’ve been here by now.

When Les tried to lift his head, a sumo wrestler in cleats stomped on his neck. Attempting to move his arms resulted in the same torture. Numbness crept over Les, disconnecting his limbs from his body. He wept.

I’m paralyzed? God, please, no. I don’t want to live if I can’t feed myself or wipe my own ass. Maybe a bomb will take care of that problem for me.

A heavy door slammed and he could no longer hear the terrorists. All that remained were the occasional bursts of static from his radio, the incessant dull roar of the ventilation system, and sixty Hertz hum from the lights. Les strained to remember what happened to put him in such a state. He’d left Shahin in the office with orders to call for support, rushed to the basement, entered through the south stairwell, and then -- what? He remembered flying and a rough landing.

Something touched his shoulder, gently, tentatively. A small hand brushed across his back to move to his cheek. A shadow fell on his eyelid.

Les? Can you hear me? A feminine voice with an accent. Japanese? He’s alive. I can’t tell if he’s conscious.

He opened his left eye and saw a girl of about twenty, an Oriental with angular features and long hair pulled into a ponytail. A faint dusting of freckles crossed her tiny nose, which was two inches from his. She seemed to be sniffing, trying to get a scent off him. Les tried to speak. Pain caused an incoherent croak.

He’s conscious, but seriously fucked up.

Another face appeared. Not very specific, Sae. The new girl, a Caucasian with a pixie cut, wore a flak jacket over a black uniform blouse. The letters PWAT were stenciled in white on her armor. She put an ear to his back, tested his pulse, and quickly ran her hands over his back and neck. A couple of cervical vertebrae broken. Maybe a few ribs as well. Permanent impairment, nothing fatal. We should leave him and get on with it.

Sae smirked. Hear that, Les? Don’t move. Amalie says you’re seriously fucked up. We’ll get you help in a bit. Right now, we have to take care of the scumbags who did this to you.

Both stared at him for a few seconds. Sae’s eyes twinkled. Les couldn’t tell if she was angry or happy. Amalie never blinked and her expression didn’t change. Her gaze creeped him out. They looked at one another and then were gone. He heard the faint sound of running footfalls

What the hell is going on? Shahin calls for backup and gets the Girl Scouts? If I’m not hallucinating, we’re doomed.

Sae spoke in a low voice. Ready? On three. One, two, three!

Les heard the hollow boom of metal doors slamming into cinder block walls. Sae laughed and yelled, Hello, assholes. You’ve eaten your last corpse. A brilliant flash illuminated the tunnel for a second. Something, no, several somethings, wailed their rage. The sound made every hair on Les’ body stand erect. Then came the deafening staccato of automatic weapons fire, the snarling of a wild beast, and screaming. So much screaming. And then there was quiet.

A light and rapid clicking came near, like a dog trotting on concrete. It stopped out of his sight and Les was forced to close his eye against another blaze of light. After a moment of silence, Sae spoke.

Les, you’re going to spend the rest of your life as a useless douche bag, unless I do something about it. You’re paralyzed. A cripple for life. Pissing and crapping through tubes, slowly atrophying to death. You understand, don’t you?

Despite tingling numbness, he felt her small fingers slide between his.

I can fix you, but you might not like the result. Believe me, there are things in this world far worse than paralysis and death. So tell me, Les, do you want to be whole again? You’ll be a freak, like Amalie and I are. Even so, you’ll be alive and standing on your own two feet. If you agree, move your hand.

He cried tears of joy. It took all his strength. Les managed to squeeze Sae’s hand.

She leaned into his view and Les could see blood dripping from her chin. Sae held a piece of raw meat, lobed and smooth. The smell of it nearly made him gag. She tore off a hunk with her teeth and stuffed it into his mouth.

Swallow it, Les. Swallow it and become whole again.

The taste was beyond disgusting, the texture both rubbery and grainy. He did it. He swallowed the nasty mess.

More, Les. More will make you stronger and bind you closer to us. I’ll help you.

Sae ripped another chunk of the stuff, growling as she did. Then she put her mouth to his and used her tongue to push the disgusting morsel between his teeth. The vileness of it made tears flow. He swallowed again and again and again. Until exhaustion overcame him and left him gasping.

She moved out of sight. Les could hear animal noises as she devoured what remained. Then Amalie spoke, the sound of her voice growing louder as she walked toward him.

Ghuls are the most repulsive creatures anywhere. Oh, dear Lord, Foxy Loxy. Are you eating what I think you’re eating?

Sae’s laugh was guttural, hoarse. You bet I am. Those assholes knew the power it contains and so do I. Now they’re little pieces and Les and I are feeling the yummy goodness.

Seriously, Sae. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.

Sae made sucking and smacking sounds, then contentedly sighed. I sure did. What sense is there in wasting a perfectly good man when he can be saved with the proper nourishment?

Saved? Saved for what?

Sae’s fingers ran through his hair. Les moaned from the pleasure of it.

Hear that? It’s already working. By tomorrow he’ll be as good as new. Who knows? We might all go bowling this weekend.

Damn it, Sae, you’ve created a situation. We have no idea what Les will become. What if he must be destroyed? Are you going to take responsibility?

Don’t be such a pill. It’s not my fault you have no use for him, Dolly. I get lonely and the suits won’t let me near a normal man. Anyway, if he becomes a monster, I’ll rip off his head. Sae snapped her fingers. Just like that. Don’t worry about it. If this doesn’t work out, no harm and no loss. We can bury him in the backyard next to Mr. Pickles.

Rip off my head? Monster? As feeling returned to Les’ fingers and toes, he wondered how long it would be before he could run like hell from this nightmare.

In the meantime, why don’t you fetch the Sanitation Squad to take out the garbage? I saw a sink in the morgue. I’ll clean up and then keep company with Les until we take him home.

Take me home? We’re in a hospital. Why move me?

You’re so bossy, Foxy Loxy. And don’t call them the Sanitation Squad. You know they hate that.

Sae giggled. Only when they’re beyond the range of my influence. She patted Les’ arm. Be back in a minute, big fella. Don’t go anywhere.

A radio squelched and then Amalie keyed a mike. It’s over. We have a man down and he’s coming with us. Sae contaminated him. Bring a gurney, neck brace and a back board.

What kind of operation is this? Two women working alone and the rest of the team are on scene but not directly involved in the assault? They’re not even in the building?

I’m sure you’re confused about what’s happened here, Les. Look at things this way: if Sae hadn’t taken a shine to you, I might’ve put a bullet through your brain to spare you from a short, miserable and useless existence. Now, you might survive and have a new career with our team. Granted, you won’t be a human being any longer.

Hey, don’t get him all worked up. Sae knelt where he could see her and stroked his face. Her hand smelt of antiseptic. She wore a long-sleeved bodysuit with PWAT printed across the chest, and that was all. No gear, not even shoes. Everything’s going to be fine. No need to talk about the future. Let’s get him back on his feet first.

When did you get so maternal?

Sae stuck out her tongue at Amalie, then returned to smiling and caressing his cheek. Anxiety slowly drained out of him. The sweetness of her touch blotted out his pain.

The stairwell door banged open and the sounds of many feet and men’s voices approached.

Sae motioned someone nearer. Broken neck here. He needs to be immobilized for a few hours, until he heals. She stood and stepped back.

Strong hands carefully fitted him with a neck brace. Next, he was gently rolled onto a rigid support and Velcro straps secured it to his back. The medics lifted him onto a gurney and applied more straps. Les tried to open his right eye and couldn’t.

Wait a minute, guys. Sae came close and whispered in his ear. Don’t worry. You’re going to recover completely. I’ll take good care of you, Les. I promise. She squeezed his hand and nodded to the men attending to him.

Two men dressed in SWAT-type uniforms rolled him away. Both watched him as if he would sprout another head at any moment.