Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

The four Philadelphia Tactical Team officers wore black body armor and Nomex balaclavas. The element leader stood apart from the others by virtue of her icy blue eyes.

"Alpha team, this is Bravo, were in DeVos Hall and moving to the theater. No sign tango."

First static, then a reply via her tactical headset: "Roger that, Bravo. Were in the lobby. Heard something a minute ago. Nina, watch your back."

She moved her team around the bloody remains of the Animal Control Officer and into the Kimmel Theater: a funnel-like multi-media presentation area with stadium seating. Dormant movie screens mounted high on the outer walls behind and above the seats circled the room; a solitary spotlight illuminated the central area at the bottom of the theater, providing the only light inside the seemingly empty chamber.

"Night."

Each of the officers slipped on bulky night vision goggles. As they did, Nina could have sworn she heard a noise.

A gruntor something

They split into pairs and searched the descending rows of seats.

From her earpiece, a voice broadcast: "Bravo, were en route to your location. Well be coming in the upper doors, east side. E-T-A one minute."

"Copy, Alpha, but we might just have our-"

An object flew across the theater. She turned her head to follow the flight of that object but pointed her night goggles directly into the light at the center of the chamber. The night vision overloaded.

Nina cursed her stupidity and yanked off the goggles and balaclava, freeing wavy blond hair tied tight in a short ponytail.

On the floor inside the circle of light at the base of the theater lay the thrown object: a twisted, broken person wearing black body armor.

She turned to her right and scanned the rows of seats seeing only a shadow.

No, two shadows one taller and wider than the first.

With her goggles on again she caught a glimpse. The first shadow sported the elongated snout of a predator and flailed its prey-the second shadow-with all manner of nasty appendages. Still, the view through the night vision offered a grainy green silhouette, no real detail. She did not need more detail to understand that the big thing held the shredded remains of a policeman.

Nina raised her Mp5 and squeezed the trigger. Her partner followed suit.

The shadow jumped straight up, moving fast enough to dodge the deadly fire. Pursuing rounds sparked off the ceiling in a lightning storm while the thing scurried away on all fours upside downand disappeared on the far side of the central spotlight.

"What the hell was that?" Her partner-a big guy with an Italian accent-lost his composure.

Not Nina. She remained focused on the mission. Her mind analyzed and evaluated the situation, speedily formulating tactical options and counter-measures.

She spoke into her headset: "Tango! Tango! Listen, something is in here. Some kind a big animal or something. Ive got two men tits up."

"What? Is this some sort of-"

"Secure the theater from the outside!"

Her partner gasped, "Are you crazy? We need them in here backing us up!"

"Sal, we can handle this. Look, we have to shoot out the spotlight."

She grabbed Sal by the arm and hauled him up the stairs to the top ring of the theater. Once there Nina raised her weapon and fired at the light until it exploded in a flash of sparks. Those sparks flickered and faded, taking with them the lone obstruction to their night vision.

After a moment, she spied their quarry. The artificial illumination of the goggles revealed a distant, blurry shape hanging from the wall on the far side of the theater.

"Loading." Her weapon needed a fresh magazine.

It sensed the moment of vulnerability and-ignoring gravity-galloped sideways on the wall directly toward the two officers. Toward her.

"Its coming!"

Thirty yards.

"Merda!" Sal yelled. "Im jammed!"

Of course, she thought. This one is meant for meonly me

Nina calmly ejected the spent magazine.

Twenty yards.

Accelerating as it closed for the kill, the blob grew larger and better defined in the grainy image painted by the night vision. Nina saw pumping legs and glints of eyes locked on its next victim. Locked on her.

She yanked a full magazine from her ammo belt.

Ten yards.

She rammed the reload home with a satisfying sharp click.

The creature leapt from the wall as if it were a mountain lion pouncing from a cliff.

Its mouth openedrazor-like appendages reached

Nina pulled the trigger.

"Dick!"

A grating, painful voice-the voice of the Sales Manager-startled Rich from a daze.

"Dick!"

Shoes clickety-clacked across a quiet showroom.

Rich slid off his swivel chair and emerged from his cubicle.

"Yes, Mr. Munroe?"

Mr. Monroe, standing in front of one of the many "No Smoking" signs lining the walls of the auto mall, held half a cigar in one hand and pointed through a drifting cloud of smelly smoke at Rich with the other.

"Have you seen Bobby Weston? Have you?"

Rich had been stuck in his cubicle-an unproductive place, Mr. Munroe would certainly point out-for nearly an hour researching blue book values. Instead of explaining this, he simply told his boss, "No."

"Well theres a gal here to pick up a car Bobby sold her last week and we cant have her standing around with nothing to drive. For Christs sake, this car is paid for. Lets get her out the door already."

Of course, the rant served to remind that Bobby Weston had sold a car recently and Rich had not. Yet Richard did not need reminding after weeks of writing checks for flowers, rings, and wedding reception halls. The number next to the word balance in his checkbook descended dangerously closer to zero each day while his weekly draw played sourly on his boss nerves.

Mr. Munroe jammed the cigar into the corner of his mouth but did not suggest a course of action.

"What do you want me to do?" Rich suppressed a cough as he spoke.

Mr. Munroes face twisted, his saggy eyes bulged, and the top of his balding head grew red.

"What do I want you to do? Why I want you to go find this payingcustomers car keys and get her out of the showroom to make room for the next prospect. You know the one you might sell something to."

Rich sighed and maneuvered around Mr. Munroe. His own shoes clickety-clacked off the showroom floor. He rounded a Trailblazer and there stood the paying customer who needed hustling along.

As he approached the well-dressed young blond woman, he forced a phony smile. Her sweet but strong perfume pushed aside the lingering acrid scent of Mr. Munroes cigar.

"Wheres Bobby Weston? Im waiting for Bobby Weston."

Rich recognized this particular paying customer. His grin, fueled by familiarity, grew genuine. The woman, however, wore a frown. An impatient frown.

"Sheila? Sheila Evans?"

His knowing her name threw the impatient paying customer off balance.

"Yes?"

Rich thrust a thumb into his chest.

"Richard Stone-RichI mean, Dick Stone. We graduated from Lehman High together. You were a cheerleaderI was a on the football team."

Third string free safety he did not add.

"Oh."

"So," he pushed forward, "howya doing?"

"Very good, thank you. And you?"

"Not bad, getting married next month and-"

"Bobby sold me a red Corvette. He told me it would be ready."

"Corvette? Oh yes, nice car in fact-"

"Is my car ready? Ive got to meet my boyfriend at Milanos in twenty minutes."

Everyone knew Milanos restaurant plated fifty-dollar entrees and offered the best wine list in northeastern Pennsylvania.