Die Trying

By Anthony Izzo

John Regal doesn't know what to make of the strange auras he sees around people. He's developed a knack for spotting bad people and stopping crimes as they're about to happen.

John soon discovers he's not the only one with strange abilities. A killer with ties to John also sees auras around his victims. 

As the link to the killer becomes clearer and John's strange ability intestifies, he will have to unravel the mystery of his new talents. Two competing government agencies want to make John a weapon. As he soon finds out, John is in danger from both the killer and those who want to study him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthony Izzo
• Release date: Sep 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386618003

Anthony Izzo

Anthony Izzo is the author of 17 thrillers. He enjoys writing tales of mayhem that include anything from zombies to psycho killers to murderous shapeshifters. Anthony was a judge for the Buffalo Dreams screenplay competition. He recently had a story appear in the "SNAFU: Future Warfare" anthology. When not writing, he enjoys playing loud guitar, reading crime novels, and giving craft beers a good home. He makes his home in Western New York and features Buffalo prominently in his work.

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All rights reserved. No portion of this book or transmission may be reproduced without written permission from the author. All characters are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, is coincidental.

Also by Anthony Izzo

Cruel Winter

Evil Harvest

The Dark Ones

No Escape

No Man’s Land

The Hollow

Forgotten

Beat the Devil

Infected (The Dead Land Trilogy, Book One)

Wildfire (The Dead Land Trilogy, Book Two)

Outbreak (The Dead Land Trilogy, Book Three)

Where the Dead Go

Storm Rising (The Gray Men Trilogy, Book One)

Darkness Coming (The Gray Men Trilogy, Book Two)

World on Fire (The Gray Men Trilogy, Book Three)

Kingdom of The Dead

The Damage Factory

Chapter One

John Regal left the house with a sense of dread that afternoon. As he drove from his home in a quiet suburb of Buffalo past downtown, he couldn’t shake the feeling. Twice he considered pulling his truck off the 190 expressway and turning around, but he chalked his feelings up to paranoia.

He was going to pick the kids up and take them to a winter carnival down at Canalside. They’d have ice skating, a snowman building contest, and other activities for the kids. He didn’t particularly relish standing outside in twenty-degree weather, but his kids were looking forward to it, and he was looking forward to seeing them. More than looking forward; his chest ached a little at missing them.

He drove past the city, rode for a half hour, and ended up in the northern suburbs.

Mandy had taken up with a neurosurgeon practiced out of UB Medicine. He had an estate out in Clarence, the family having a ton of money.

John pulled through the open gates, a brick wall surrounding the property. It was a couple hundred acres. The doctor had stables, tennis courts, and a damned polo field.

Who the hell played polo?

Again that feeling of dread came, something heavy and leaden in his belly. Maybe he should take the kids to a movie instead. He didn’t really know why he felt this way.

He parked out in front of the mansion and went to the door. Banged the massive knocker against the oak. Mandy answered.

You’re a little late, she said.

It’s five after, John said.

Still late.

How are you?

Fine, she said. Roger’s taking us to the family’s cabin in the Adirondacks over Christmas break.

By cabin, you mean gigantic log home.

Don’t be snarky.

Just being honest. It was supposed to be my turn with them at Christmas.

Can you let us do this? I’ll give you February break with them.

John was reluctant to agree, but the girls would have fun up there. Okay.

Thanks John. They’re looking forward to it.

Dad!

He spotted Mara, his thirteen-year-old, barreling down the wide hallway that led into the mansion. She slipped past Mandy and stepped outside, throwing her arms around John. He hugged her back. Damn he missed this.

She had on her winter coat and hat, accompanied by fingerless gloves. The fingerless gloves were no doubt so she could text. Frostbite be damned.

Carly, eight, came out next. Like her sister, she hugged John and he kissed the top of her head. She wore a puffy coat, hat, and mittens.

Bags, ladies? John said.

Mandy reached over and grabbed two backpacks. Handed them to the girls. They slung them on their shoulders.

All right. To the truck with you, John said.

They girls kissed Mandy and took off for John’s truck.

I’ll drop them off tomorrow night, he said.

Have fun. And John?

Yeah?

Thanks again. For Christmas. I mean it.

Anything for my girls, he said, and headed for the truck.

THEY PARKED IN A LOT near the Naval Park, where two ships and a submarine were moored in the harbor. The ships were floating museums. In the warm weather, people flocked down here to take tours of the decommissioned ships.

The trio made their way to Canalside, where a crowd had gathered around the ice rink. Groups of kids packed snow and built snowmen.

Carly said, I want a snow cone.

Are you serious? You’re going to freeze your insides, John said.

She’s retarded, Mara said.

Easy, John said. Not nice.

Yeah. I’m not retarded.

Stop it. Both of you. How about some hot chocolate? I’m sure they have that.

I want whipped cream, Carly said.

Sounds good, Mara said.

They made their way to a stand advertising hot chocolate. As John took his wallet out, he spotted a man in a long trench coat. He had a dirty gray scarf around his neck. He was leaning against a lamp pole and smoking. Muttering to himself. His hands shook.

The coat was buttoned up. He shifted, threw the cigarette down. He struck John as odd. His demeanor wasn’t the strangest thing. A greasy black aura surrounded him. It radiated from him like a dark heat shimmer.

John rubbed his eyes, not sure what he was seeing. The aura remained around the man.

Dad, you’re staring, Mara said.

Do you see anything around that guy? A black aura?

What’s an aura? Carly said.

Um. No. You okay Dad? Mara said.

Fine. Just having some headaches lately. Visual stuff with them. Maybe a migraine. Let’s have some chocolate.

What’s an aura? Carly repeated.

It’s like a glow around people. Never mind. Let’s get that hot chocolate.

Chapter Two

John was holding Carly’s hot chocolate while the girls built a snowman. Mara had finished her drink within a minute or so of purchase.

Mara’s fingertips were growing pink. He worried about her getting frostbite with those silly fingerless gloves. How’s the hands?

Fine Dad. You worry too much.

How’s it look? His name’s Harold, Carly said.

They had the bottom and center segments done. Carly had placed buttons provided by those running the contest on the snowman’s belly.

Very Frosty-like, John said. Nice work.

As the girls continued working, John glanced at the ice rink, where dozens of skaters circled the rink. He spotted the guy in the trench coat standing at the edge of the rink.

The man watched the skaters, head bobbing, following as each of them passed.

The man still had the black aura around him.

That feeling of dread trickled down John’s back. He turned and watched the girls. He was about to suggest they move on when Mara said, My hands are cold. Can we go to the truck?

Me too. Cold, Carly said.

He was relieved. That guy was bad news. You guys want some lunch? Your pick.

Sure. Can we go to Pearl Street? Mara said. Just want to warm up.

You got it, John said.

He felt like he needed to watch the weird guy for a moment longer. Something about him John didn’t like. And what was John seeing around the man? The aura disturbed him more than anything else.

John dug the car keys out and handed them to Mara. Take your sister to the truck. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I want to see something.

Okay. See ya, Mara said.

See ya, Carly added.

The girls headed off for the truck. John turned his attention to the man. He was unbuttoning his coat.

Reaching inside.

A pretty brunette in a heavy sweater, jeans, and high boots passed by the man. His gaze followed her.

John spotted the rifle, something sleek and black, maybe an AR-15.

He broke into a run.

Chapter Three

The guy took out the AR-15 and turned toward the ice rink. The brunette woman glanced at him, seemed to realize what was happening, and began running in John’s direction.

John brushed past her. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got there, but he had to stop the bastard.

The guy was standing above the ice rink. The rink itself was built lower in the ground so spectators could look down and view the action. A railing had been built to keep people from falling into the rink.

None of the skaters had taken notice of him.

The shooter raised the rifle and fired. Someone screamed.

John reached the guy, gave him a shove, mashing him into the railing.

On the ice, a man had been hit. Blood pooled on the ice and now skaters rushed to get away. The crowd murmured. A woman in a pink jacket and matching hat shrieked.

The guy turned toward John, who grabbed the gun barrel, pushing it upwards. Still the man had that nasty aura around him. He was muttering something to himself.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the brunette taking her phone out and dialing, presumably calling the cops. Hopefully.

John again pushed the guy back towards the railing, gave him a shove, and he released the gun, tumbling over the railing and falling five feet to the ice.

John was left holding the rifle, and he set it down.

On the ice, skaters were herded toward the openings in the boards where people entered and exited.

The guy was getting to his feet. He looked up at John and grinned, teeth crooked and yellow. He reached into his coat and brought out a boxy semiautomatic pistol.

Shit, he has a back-up gun.

John hurdled the rail, hit the ice, and skidded, landing on his ass.

The guy took aim and shot a man in a puffy coat. The man’s brains spattered onto the boards. People rushed through the opening, some of them slipping on the ice, a mass of bodies piling up to get through the door.

John scrambled to his feet, got his footing. The guy was aiming into the pile of bodies. John got some traction, zeroed in, and plowed into the guy, knocking him to the ice and rolling off of him.

The guy was still muttering stuff under his breath.

Shit. Those fuckers. They’ll pay. Goddamn this world. Following me. Paranoid rantings.

The shooter was on his feet. The ice had cleared and people were running from the rink, all of them wobbling in skates. A few solitary skaters were sitting and inexplicably trying to remove their skates.

John got to his knees. The shooter leveled the gun at John. He cursed himself for not going with the girls, but he’d felt compelled to stop this guy.

You’re dirty, just like them, the guy said.

The snowball caught the guy in the side of the face. Tore open his cheek. A piece of ice the size of a baseball clinked to the rink’s surface. The shooter grabbed his face and John took the opportunity to lunge and take him to the ground, the two of them twisting. He pinned the guy to the ice, twisted his arms behind his back.

He craned his neck and looked up at the railing. The attractive brunette was standing there.

Good throw, John said.

You’re welcome.

In the distance, sirens wailed.

The shooter was on his belly, and John pinned him to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back.

You dirty pig, let me go, the guy said through clenched teeth.

Not a chance. You’re done for today, my friend.

After the police patted him down, ID’d him, and made sure John wasn’t with the shooter, they let the girls come over and join John. They had stopped and come back on their way to the car when they’d heard shots. The two of them had been worried about John.

He was standing near a patrol car giving his account to a uniformed officer. As he was finishing up by telling the officer how the woman hit the guy with a snowball, he saw her approach.

This guy’s a hero, she said.

The young cop said, Ma’am, if you don’t mind.

She helped. She hit the guy with an ice ball. John.

Allie, she said.

You were involved? the cop said.

I guess you could say that.

I’ll need to get a statement from you. Please wait over there.

Allie stepped aside and waited near the trunk of the car.

John glanced over at the ice rink. EMTs had hauled off the two victims. Crime scene guys and detectives were out on the rink collecting shell casings and bagging the guns for evidence.

Okay, the cop said. Did you girls see anything?

Mara said, We were on our way to the car.

Yeah. Dad already tackled the bad guy when we got here, Carly added.

He’s a brave guy. Bunch of people have said that. Hang around. The detectives are going to want to talk with you, the cop said.

The cop turned his attention to Allie and began asking her questions.

As the police had wrestled the shooter into the back of a patrol car, he’d still had that dark glow around him. John definitely wasn’t seeing things.

Dad? Mara said.

Yeah?

Did you know that guy was going to do something bad?

I did. I don’t know how, but I did.

You saved a lot of people, Mara said.

Yeah, like Captain America or something, Carly added.

Yeah, John said. All I need is my shield.

You the hero?

John turned and saw a large bald man standing there. Wore a leather coat, unzipped. A blue silk tie and blue dress shirt. Khakis. Smelled like Brut aftershave. His detective’s shield was clipped to his belt.

I guess.

Detective Hurley, the man said. I know you told the officer your story, but I’d like to hear it again.

My girls are cold. Can we go inside?

Hello ladies, Hurley said, giving them a broad wave. They can sit in my car. It’s that one. He pointed to a dark blue Crown Vic.

Go ahead girls, get out of the cold, John said.

C’mon, Mara said, taking Carly’s hand.

Carly tore her hand away. I don’t need your help.

Don’t be a butthole, Mara said.

Girls. To the car, John said.

The two of them obeyed, heading to the detective’s car and getting in the back seat.

Kids, huh? Hurley said. He took out a small pad with a pen clipped to it. Now let’s run through what happened.

Chapter Four

Someone had been around the cabin again, as Ed Grommel had figured. There were some big footprints near his woodpile, which was stacked between two trees behind the cabin. Last weekend he’d spotted someone off in the woods. By the time he’d grabbed his Remington twelve gauge and gone to investigate, the person was gone.

That guy was going to get filled with buckshot if he came back.

I’ll bury him out here, whoever he is. Coming on my property like that.

He looked around the woodpile for more evidence. The footprints went off into the woods. He was freezing his ass off out here, and the shotgun was in the cabin.

He decided to go back in by the fire, sip some Maker’s Mark, and forget about the trespasser. If the shithead came back, Ed would be ready.

His boots crunched the snow as he walked back to the cabin. It had been in the family since 1906, when his great grandfather and uncle had built it as a one-room hunting cabin. Over the years, the family had put on two additions, and it served as a summer getaway for his kids and grandkids. Sometimes they got fifteen or twenty people staying here, if the cousins showed up as well.

Ed had come up to relax. Sandy had gone to visit her sister in Cleveland for the weekend. He planned to sip some whiskey, smoke a cigar or two, and read the latest Jack Reacher book. That Reacher was a tough mother. Ed liked his style.

He took off his boots and Carhartt coat, went inside, and stood by the fire, rubbing his hands. The Remington was in a gun cabinet, along with a Winchester deer rifle.

Ed had no idea why someone would come poking around up here. Not that it scared him. He’d served in the Gulf War, been