by Eve Langlais
Given what happened to the last batch of information he’d gathered, this time he didn’t plan to wait to spread the information. He’d brought along a satellite phone, which meant a signal—a weak one—even this far from civilization. He’d be live streaming his findings. Tweeting out images. Showing the world the secrets that someone was determined to bury.
With the internet as his witness, this time there would be no hiding it. Once it hit the web, the evidence would live forever!
Phone in hand, Oliver backtracked across the field and began his live stream. “Hey, everybody.” A simple address given his channel currently had no followers. “I’m here in the valley of monsters.” A name he’d coined, which he hoped would draw attention. “The place where Adrian Chimera and his compatriot, Aloysius Cerberus, used to have their lab.” He didn’t call them doctors. It seemed wrong to give them that kind of lofty title. “As you can see, they chose a gorgeous but very out-of-the-way place to conduct their work.” He walked through the devastated forest, making sure he panned wide to give the audience a good view.
“You can’t reach this place by road. It’s helicopter or hiking only. And not an easy hike, I should add. You have to go through dangerous terrain. Which made it easier to hide what they were doing for so long.” He pivoted to show the mountains behind him and the devastation.
“You can see some kind of fire ripped through here. Intentional? Possibly. Especially given what happened to the clinic itself.” Pivoting again, he made sure to focus on the rubble of the building, the heap unmistakably manmade. “They tried to destroy the evidence of what they did. But I’m here to expose the truth. To show you why we must prevent this from happening again. Why we must stop the monsters that already roam among us. The fate of the world depends on it.”
Ending the live stream, Oliver tucked the phone in his pocket and eyeballed the ruins. He wondered if it would be stable enough for him to enter. He’d brought only limited spelunking equipment. Hopefully enough for him to descend into the remains of the clinic and get some truly epic photos. A body or two would truly be a coup. Especially if they were only partially human.
Speaking of pics… He glanced at the sky and the sun almost fully set, the last of its rays, streaks of pink and orange along the far horizon. The perfect time of day to get some truly magnificent and artistic shots. After all, every scandal needed beauty to bring out the starkness of the ugly acts.
Oliver whipped out his camera—a must-have despite the premium space it took in his pack—and fiddled a moment with the lens before he began snapping a multitude of shots.
Click. Click. He whirled side to side, aiming up, down, trying to get as many angles as possible. The sun sank past the ridgeline, and darkness descended, but that was fine. He had more than enough battery left in his laptop—thanks to the solar charger.
He tossed the camera in his tent and spent the next hour eating and typing some notes. Not much yet to talk about. People wouldn’t be interested in the uninteresting hike. The truly meaty part of his quest would happen tomorrow. Still, he documented the journey, because while his main goal might be exposing the truth—and putting a stop to it—the book itself needed some kind of build-up to the main event.
Yawning, his body tired after several hard days of exertion, Oliver crawled into his tent, his sleeping bag providing welcome warmth given how sharply the temperature still dropped at night. Of course, having decided to go to bed, he couldn’t sleep. Hence why he reached over, grabbed his camera, and transferred the images to his laptop. He began going through the shots, discarding the shit ones, storing the maybes in a folder.
He saw it just before the end. A strangeness that had him pinching his screen to zoom. The enlarged image made even less sense.
Oliver saw a girl.
Or so it seemed. Her features were delicate, eyes huge. She appeared to be peering at him from behind the hump of the destroyed clinic, her face barely visible in the growing shadows.
He swiped to the next picture. Too blurry. The next, there she was again with her big elfin eyes, the glow of them almost purple.
And projecting from her forehead…a fucking horn.
Chapter Two
Emma ducked out of sight before the male could see her. At least she stood downwind, far enough away he couldn’t scent her. But she could smell him. It was what drew her from her hiding place. A scent that didn’t belong and roused her curiosity—along with fear.
He was the first non-patient she’d seen since the crash, and he came armed—with a camera!
He took pictures of the rubble. She understood the act, just like she grasped it was a bad thing. Unlike some of the others who’d crashed with her, Emma’s mind remained sharp. When they’d recovered from the wrecked helicopter—most of them at any rate—they ran off together. Safety in numbers, unless those you travelled with got hungry. She still remembered when Janice snapped. Barry never stood a chance and almost didn’t recover.
But Janice wasn’t alone in reverting to a more primal state. Some of the others on the chopper had allowed themselves to devolve in their quest for survival.
Not Emma. She kept herself alert and wouldn’t give in to the darkness lurking within, which was why she recognized the danger the man posed.
Rather than confront him, she escaped into the rubble of the clinic, not needing any light to guide her steps. She knew every broken inch intimately. This had been her home since she’d stumbled back to it at the start of winter. This would be her home forever.
If she could get rid of the intruder. Before she made it to her hidey-hole, she stopped. Chewed her lower lip as logic hammered at her fear.
Running away wouldn’t solve her problem. What if he’d seen her? Or took more pictures, of things no one should see? Then more people would come. With guns. And cages. They would want to examine her. There would be pain involved. Tears. Blood—lots of blood and scrubbing involved.
I have to go back.
The very idea made her heart stutter, and her mouth dried to the point her tongue got stuck. The spots she dreaded danced before her eyes. She shook her head to dispel them lest they consume her.
I will not let panic win. A mantra she repeated over and over until calmness settled over her again. With that serenity came the ability to creep back through the ruins of her home until she reached the top level, the one just below the worst of the rubble.
Pausing, she listened. Listened for a good long while. When living in the wild, those who lived longest didn’t rush in.
Emma took her time, listening to the soughing of wind through the cracks of debris. The chirps of bugs just emerging to embrace a crisp spring night. When a long moment passed without a sound, she crept higher, pausing to peek from the rubble. Rather than the usual darkness coating the valley, she saw a few spots of light by the old helicopter pad.
He’d made a camp, which implied he came prepared. Possibly planned to stick around for a while. Unless she made things unpleasant for him.
Slowly. Quietly. Carefully. She crept closer.
Closer.
The dying embers of his fire drew her like a moth to the flame, the heat welcome. She hadn’t dared light too many of them in the ruins, not just because of the carbon dioxide and smoke. There were things that lived in there with Emma. Things best left alone.
The intruder had not left anything outside. Not even his pack. Especially not his camera. She eyed the tent he’d erected, the flap zipped closed, and yet she could see a hint of light coming from the seams, a subtle glow through fabric.
What crap luck. He had all his electronics in there with him.
She edged nearer, her skin prickling, letting her know she wasn’t the only pair of eyes watching. For the most part, the predators in this place left her alone. After all, in many respects, she was just like them.
In others, she wasn’t. For one, she didn’t have the urge to kill and chew on raw flesh. Not long after the cure began to work, she’d made the choice to become
a vegetarian, which made the passing winter hard. Good thing she’d managed to scavenge some leftover supplies in the clinic. Despite the utter destruction above, there was much below ground that the explosion hadn’t touched. It meant she found canned foods, bottled beverages, even a massive bag of rice that slowly dwindled.
With summer coming, she’d soon be able to forage for fresher items. Never mind she had no idea what she’d find to eat. It wasn’t as if there were orchards or gardens around. But that kind of thinking led to panic, which led to…yeah. Best not dwell on that right now.
Only paces from the tent, she froze as she heard a rustle from within. She heard the zzzz of the zipper being lowered a second before she moved. Emma ducked behind the tent, her heart pounding so loud he’d surely hear.
He stumbled from the tent, grumbling something about, “Shouldn’t have drank the last of my canteen.”
He went off a way, staggering right to the edge of the helicopter pad before stopping to relieve himself. Knowing she had limited time, Emma popped her head into his tent, saw the camera sitting inside, and snatched it. She’d just managed to hide herself behind his tent again, clutching the camera, doing her best not to hyperventilate, when he stumbled back to his bed.
Zzzzz. The zipper shut him in, and she almost sighed in relief. Best not get complacent too quickly. She wasn’t safe yet.
Camera tucked close, she almost ran back to the rubble. However, haste led to mistakes. She needed to always be aware lest she be caught by surprise. While nothing confronted her, noises taunted her, eyes watched, and she didn’t feel safe again until she was in her hidey-hole.
Only then did she raise the camera, ready to smash it to pieces, destroying whatever images it held. She paused with her hand raised.
Moments later, she scrolled through pictures. Scenery for the most part but occasional selfie shots of a man. A handsome man with the beginnings of a beard and an earnest face.
Seeing him—another living, breathing person—brought a pang. How long since she’d talked to someone?
Months.
Even longer since she’d been involved romantically, mostly because she had problems getting close to men. Her broken childhood made it hard to trust. Was it any wonder that she grabbed tight to the first guy who showed her kindness? Only it turned out to be a sham. The first time he tried to pimp her out, she ran. But it happened again. Not always with the pimping but the wrong choices. The wrong men who seemed to think it was okay to hit when they were frustrated. Who thought a girlfriend shouldn’t have the word “no” in her vocabulary. By her late twenties, she gave up.
No more relationships. Rather than looking for love, she started to love herself. Put herself and her needs first. Cleaned up her act. Her life started to get better, so wouldn’t you know, she got sick. Really sick to the point she was told she would die.
The irony almost made her walk into traffic. Why fight anymore? Some people obviously weren’t destined for a happy life.
She had just about given up when a miracle happened. Someone offered her a second chance, and it wouldn’t cost her a penny. She didn’t have to spread her legs. She, Emma Kylie Baker, was offered an opportunity to live. She didn’t blink or balk at the rules and contracts surrounding it.
For the first time in her life, she won. But she didn’t let herself fall back into her old patterns. Even once Dr. Chimera cured her, she chose to stick to her vow and not get involved. Not for lack of opportunity. The guards at the clinic did occasionally flirt. One of the female nurses did, too. But Emma never let it go any further. Didn’t want to. She’d been happy to live in her little bubble. Warm and fed, stress free for once in her life.
Her life now was kind of similar in that respect. Quiet. With no one to harass her or make demands.
It should have been paradise, yet, of late, she’d been feeling blue. Seeing the man tonight, it finally hit her why.
She, who hated socializing and had issues with trust, missed people. Found herself craving real conversation. Longing for the human contact of another.
In her clinic days, the doctors who came to check on her progress always spent a moment chatting. The nurses who took her vitals provided idle chatter and gossip. The television, while it was one-sided, also provided contact with people.
Now? All Emma had was the wind in the trees and the eyes that watched her. Eyes belonging to bodies that had long since lost their ability to discourse in anything other than grunts and howls. A few couldn’t even manage that anymore.
Sometimes she wondered what set her apart from them.
Sometimes she wished she could be just as mindless.
Instead, she was alone and finally tired of the solitude, which might be why she fell asleep with her hand resting on the face of the man smiling into the screen of the camera.
Chapter Three
The sunshine lighting the inside of his tent woke him early the next morning. After taking care of business, Oliver started a fire and, while it got going, rummaged in his tent for his camera.
“Where the fuck is it? I know I put it right there,” Oliver exclaimed aloud, glaring at the empty corner. Except now it was missing. Nothing else had vanished, though.
“She took it!” There was no doubt in his mind that the strange woman he’d seen in the images he’d taken must have stolen it. The question was, did she steal it purposely, knowing what it could do? Or was it more of a magpie impulse?
Having studied many of the Chimera projects picked up and placed under observation, he knew most of them were driven by primal impulse. Interview attempts failed because they lacked basic communication skills and possessed only rudimentary cognition. The true measure of how far they’d fallen showed in their less-than-stellar hygiene. Even when given the opportunity to bathe, most chose to remain in their own filth.
Because monsters don’t take baths. Not an insult but the simple truth. The exception being Cerberus. He was probably the only known example of a Chimera project who took care of himself. And Oliver had to wonder how long it would last.
He remembered their last interview. The doctor’s behavior grew more and more erratic.
“Have you ever wondered why vampires drink blood straight from the vein?” Cerberus asked, rather than reply when asked what creature he’d mixed his DNA with.
“No.”
“People have argued that they do it because they must feed from only the fresh stuff. Which is nonsense. The same nutrients exist whether it’s sucked from a donor or a bag.”
Realizing Cerberus wouldn’t get back on track until they followed the train of thought, Oliver said, “So why do most legends have them drinking from the neck?”
“Because it’s fun,” said Cerberus, his lips stretching in a wide grin, the canines on each side definitely more pronounced than normal.
The more sanity slipped from Cerberus, the more his differences became pronounced. His horns grew, as did a tail, and recently they’d seen a hump across his shoulder blades that they predicted would turn into wings.
Which led Oliver to wonder, did the lack of mental acuity bring out the monster? Or was it the other way around?
Not that it mattered. Once he showed the world that the Chimera Secrets—as he’d dubbed them and which would probably be the title of his book—were a sham, they would put an end to this sick science. An end to the pharmaceutical company that sought to exploit the perverse.
“All right, horn girl, you might have stolen my camera, but I still have my phone,” Oliver muttered as he plugged it into the solar charger and exited the tent to place it in the sun. His laptop joined it. While they gobbled up the sun’s rays and turned them into energy, he prepped breakfast. The ring of stones he set the night before provided a containment area for the load of branches and dry grass he dumped on the hungry flames. Smoke billowed for a moment, before the fire truly got going. He grabbed his pot—and a gun—before he headed for the lake.
With his fatigue the night before, he’d avoided the la
rge body of water. Despite his disbelief and mockery of Cerberus‘s silly warning, he did remain wary of it and had no plans to go for a swim.
The morning air proved crisp and fresh, only the faint whiff of smoke from his fire marring it. No sound other than the occasional insect. Nor had he spotted anything living since the bird he’d seen sitting atop the water when he arrived the day before, which seemed odd in a valley this verdant. Could be the fire had spooked them out of the area. After all, burned foliage didn’t provide much forage, but that was only true for part of the valley. Could it be the faint whiff of smoke kept them from coming near?
Or they know something I don’t.
As for the face in the pictures? Probably a trick of a tired mind and shadows. Chances were a second look at them in the light of day would have shown him imagining things.
Nobody lived here.
Kneeling on the shore of the lake, Oliver admired the clarity of the water as he dipped his hand in it. No surprise it was shockingly cold, reinforcing his theory that it was fed from melting snow of the icy caps crowning the mountains. He wondered how deep it went. He could see the pebbled bottom here at the edge, but farther out, it got murky. Usually a sign of great depth.
He filled his pot but, before heading back to his camp, took a moment to scoop some water and wash his face. It chilled the skin but refreshed at the same time. It had been days since he’d properly bathed, which was why he set his pot on the fire to boil and returned to the lake’s edge with a cloth and a bio-friendly bar of soap. Laying his gun down first, he stripped to his boxers, conscious of the fact someone—she—might be watching. At least he had nothing to be ashamed of. He kept himself fit despite his age, nearing forty. And his recent months of working inside hadn’t managed to make him soft.