“Exactly,” agreed Elizabeth. “If you send wave after wave of men over a hill, they’d eventually run you down.”
“And if they were specialized, highly trained, they’d take on far greater numbers,” Rivers returned.
Elizabeth broke in, saying, “Imagine if they were both.”
“You mean to say, there might be more than we could know because, as Thompson so eloquently put it, they were fucking?” Rivers asked.
“I suppose so. Elite, killing machines that breed. It’s like a sci-fi movie,” she said.
“Guess we’re not the only ones in Khost having wargasms,” Rivers said.
Elizabeth giggled at this. She remained hidden, tight in Jeff’s arms, enjoying his embrace, fearing it would be the last time.
The pair drifted off to sleep, a sleep with no dreams, only nothingness.
82
The cave.
Another day of darkness for the creatures, another day of solitude within the cave.
Though the creatures felt something, knew something was coming—something quite different. And as the day passed, and evening neared, the creatures waited in great anxiety. This night they’d take great pleasure in succumbing to their urges, their instincts, their lust for death. This one time, the creature that once was Ahmed wouldn’t hold them back. He’d unleash their fury, he’d untie their wrath.
Ahmed stood just inside the tunnel entrance, the fading light making it easier to see. The creature’s eyes were accustomed to the dark, and he squinted as the remaining minutes of sunlight faded.
Darkness approached.
Ahmed scanned the valley, looking over the ridgelines, the perimeter walls of cliffs that imprisoned those that dwelt there. No movement, nothing of interest.
Ahmed’s eyes shifted, gazing to the ground below, scanning the valley floor. It was flat, vacant of life.
A few scattered shrubs, even less trees.
Rocks, sand, nothingness—the valley was empty.
The creature allowed his eyes to look farther, into the distance, at the village. From this vantage point, the village was but a speck. Ahmed could see little movement, but he knew they were there. Ahmed could feel them. He could smell them. He could nearly taste them.
The village sat in the dead center of the massive valley, isolated in a region of utter decay. No way in, no way out. The creatures didn’t allow such things, not in their territory.
Ahmed kept still, as if pondering something. He could feel their hearts beating, could hear their whispers, could see their shapes. The humans below couldn’t possibly know their nearing fate, and Ahmed couldn’t help but grin at the notion of their upcoming surprise.
Ahmed looked to the sky, seeing nothing but darkness. No birds overhead, no wind, no clouds to blot out the moon. Enough light to see, for the next few nights the moon would be bright in the sky.
Just enough for the humans to see their demise.
Ahmed looked back to the valley, the village. He watched as the dark shapes came and went, entering their barren homes, getting themselves ready for a peaceful night’s sleep.
In Khost, sleep was often better than reality, dreams and even nightmares better than living day to day.
Their refuge would come soon, and no matter if it was death or sleep that took them, it would be better than this.
There was no longer any livestock, hadn’t been for many years. They’d long since been snatched away. Even small animals hadn’t lasted long since the change, only reptiles and insects remained. They dared not scamper, dare not crawl. They remained motionless, what few there were, each life-form feeling this night would be different. They made themselves small, kept hidden away, and waited.
Ahmed looked to the village again. He stared deeply as if attempting to recall a time long ago. He remembered little of what once was a familiar place, a few scattered images mostly.
The village that once was Ahmed’s home was now foreign to him. There was no connection—that was lost long ago. There remained no humanity in these creatures, and they viewed the humans below as nothing of significance, until now.
The village was rubble now, two decades of decay. It consisted of run down rock homes, small buildings with makeshift roofs and open windows. Few had doors, most openings were covered with a drape of some sort. The roads were sand and pebbles, worn and hard to travel. Although extensive, the village was on the brink of being no more. Not from the creatures, but from the living conditions, the lack of updates, the deplorable conditions. It was a surprise the humans had lasted this long, but then again, that was a human trait that always stuck—the will to survive.
Ahmed remained crouched, lowering his front paw, scraping the surface of the warm sand. He dug his long nails deep into it, allowing sand to fill his grasp, then letting it fall out. Ahmed then extended his disfigured fingers, reaching out and allowing his nails to clickity-clack on a nearby rock. The sound was sharp, though not loud. Despite this, it was heard throughout the miles of cave. Ahmed clicked his nails, faster and faster. It was as if the creature were in ecstasy, which was indeed the case.
Ahmed closed his eyes, feeling their hearts, their breathing, their soft footsteps hundreds of meters away. He soaked it in, allowed himself to peer into their souls for a brief moment, allowing himself to overtake them. It was an easy feat, and Ahmed felt no sympathy, no remorse for what was about to happen.
Ahmed opened his eyes, blinking rapidly.
Four hundred and twelve, the creature thought.
Ahmed could sense the humans, and knew their numbers without seeing, without counting. Their presence was more of a feeling than anything, Ahmed’s awareness finding new heights. The creature was aware of all things alive in his domain, and more importantly, he could affect them adversely.
Soon now, the creature that once was Ahmed thought. He waited patiently, the last bit of sunlight fading gently away.
Darkness came swiftly.
83
The years had passed, over two decades worth, and the villagers understood they’d have to rely only on what crops they could grow, what little plant life they could eat. Times were tough in Khost. They were even tougher in this valley.
There were a few winters, when it got really desperate, that the people ate one another. It was rare, but it happened. Many of the villagers starved, many more died of poor health.
And some were simply taken.
Strangely, the creatures didn’t seem to need to eat. Not flesh, not plants, at least. The villagers were only menaced with if they ventured too far, if they tried to escape. Otherwise, they remained unmolested. Still, it was an odd thing—what did the creatures of the cave eat?
The compound had advanced their cell structure. Normally, cells constantly multiply, constantly rebuild. These once humans no longer needed nutrients, for every cell that died or weakened, there were ten healthy ones to replace it. It was if the creatures fed off their own bodies, eaters of themselves. Yet none died of starvation.
Regardless, there were occasions when one did die. At first, these were the ones that couldn’t handle the alteration to their DNA. The compound had mutated them too rapidly. For others, the compound advanced them into a state of primal frenzy, causing them to act savagely.
Hence how they killed the Soviet Spetsnaz. Hence how they had killed other intruders over the years.
But the ones hit hardest by the chemical tore into others, the weaker ones, the ones who had not yet changed. This caused a slaughter of absolute depravity, a metamorphosis of insanity and pure animal instincts advanced them to a state of eternal carnage. Had it not been for the original team of Spetsnaz who dared enter, the creatures might have eventually killed one another off. But the intruders changed things, caused them to bond for a common cause.
It also caused them to fall back under the ranks of one.
Regardless of everything, the creatures lusted for blood, for death, every waking moment. They had long since killed the majority of animal life in the val
ley. They had long since picked off most of the reptiles too—those that had not morphed with them, that is.
They had even ventured out, sought out blood in neighboring lands. Their sole longing was to kill every living thing they came into contact with. And had it not been for the threat of Ahmed, his wrath, they would have slaughtered the villagers long ago. But Ahmed kept them in line. He had control, and few dared challenge him.
*
It happened last night, the night before their release. The creatures felt Ahmed would allow them out, allow them to kill, and some grew impatient. Second and third generations of these creatures were coming of age, strong and brutal—a worthy challenge. One tried. Tried to challenge the leader.
Ahmed put the creature down quick. He tore the white-skinned monstrosity apart, ripping his throat wide open, beating him down with giant fists.
It was over before it started. Ahmed had barked, screamed out as he beat his chest, taunting and hoping and challenging all.
No other dared.
Satisfied, the creature that was Ahmed allowed them to feed on the fallen body.
It calmed them some.
Looking down now, Ahmed clicked his teeth. He grunted under his breath, his mouth opening, stretching ear to ear. Wider and wider, his thick skin began to rip, tearing like Velcro. Rows of shark-like teeth filled Ahmed’s mouth, some falling out as he grinded them. He was in obvious pleasure, a euphoric feeling overtaking the creature. A feeling like never before.
Still hunched over, Ahmed began to bounce on all fours, ape-like, a giant monster that had grown nearly a foot taller over the past twenty-six years. Now just under seven feet tall, Ahmed’s head was deformed, elongated. The bone grew underneath, hardening and pressing and causing constant pain. He would pick at his skin, attempting to pull away at what throbbed inside him, as did others. The skin was thick, though, and healed quickly.
Ahmed’s hands still resembled hands, but his feet were twisted and mangled, appearing more like those of a cloven beast. He stood on two legs primarily, something he shared with only his generation. The others, they preferred it less and less, a de-evolution in stature if you will. Perhaps the creatures were becoming less human, less advanced. Or were these new features beneficial to their survival?
Ahmed’s muscles were solid, his arms had grown longer, disproportionate to the rest of his body, much like his head. Most of the creatures looked the same, their arms dangling past their knees when on two feet, reaching far when on all fours.
Ahmed’s skin had reddened. Permanent scars from the blistering covered his entire body.
The first generation, the original survivors, shared this trait as well. In fact, nearly all of them appeared similar in most ways. Some suffered more deformities, but for the most part, the original test subjects looked the same.
Standing there, hunched over in the pale moonlight, Ahmed was a sight of horror. His appearance would cause even the most heroic warrior to tremble in fear.
Ahmed chattered his teeth, foam gathering at the corners of his enlarged mouth. His eyes were slanted, blinking down, but from an angle. The eyelids weren’t long enough, and even while asleep, Ahmed looked awake. His eyes, which once were a deep brown hue, lacked pigment. Ahmed’s eyes were white, as if rolled back into his head.
He stared, vacant and empty, at the village below.
The time was soon.
Ahmed placed his right paw on a nearby boulder, ceasing his erratic movement for a moment. Instead, he relaxed, halting all motion, touching the rock intently. Ahmed could feel the pulse. He felt the thump; it was their hearts beating, their blood pumping through their veins.
Dozens of the monstrosities lurked behind the creature that was Ahmed. They remained in the shadows, crowded and looking out, sniffing the air. They could sense Ahmed’s angst. They, too, could feel the villagers. These creatures, they knew why they were here. They felt that primal urge, the urge that drove them beyond all else, overtake them. The creatures could hardly control themselves.
The creatures snarled.
They grunted.
They frothed and foamed.
The beasts scratched at their chests, ripping out chunks of flesh with their long claws.
They loved the pain.
They swarmed, the creatures nearly piled atop one another, the motion of a single wave of churning death. Waiting. Hoping.
Ahmed remained calm, though. He continued to wait, to test their patience. He felt, for some reason, patience would be needed soon. He waited and waited, the motion of swirling wrath behind him growing into a fury. Ahmed allowed his mind to wander, to think of things not known to this planet, to explore the cosmos, to understand more than any man was capable of.
He snapped back, glaring down to the village. Ahmed’s feelings were overpowering, and more important, shifting—becoming pure rage. Ahmed had known of the intruders presence, was curious even. But the moment they entered the cave, it was over for the humans.
But how? Ahmed had wondered. How did these humans know where they were?
But the answer came as quickly as the question, and Ahmed knew it was a villager who had pointed out their location, who had sent the outsiders into their lair.
This enraged Ahmed. That lost connection came back, though it was brief. He remembered them, remembered the village, the streets, the people. He had been one of them. He had fought for them. Now, he felt utter betrayal. He held them all responsible.
They had no clue what wrath was coming their way.
Finally, it was time.
“Grak-la,” Ahmed spoke, the sound guttural.
The dozen warriors, once faithful Mujahideen warriors and now something different, pulled near.
They were near frenzied now.
They beat their chests.
They panted, jumping up and down, snarling and shoving one another.
“Grak-a-la,” Ahmed commanded.
Dozens of the creatures poured out of the cave’s entrance. Dozens more followed.
All in all, ninety adult males stood in a semi-circle outside the cave. They had calmed, and did not dare obstruct Ahmed’s view.
More time passed, Ahmed silent. Perhaps testing their patience, perhaps pondering something, they did not know. But finally, the creature that was Ahmed spoke.
“Jin-ta. Jin-ta-la,” Ahmed ordered.
Take half. No more, no less.
The creatures scoured down the cliff in a frenzy, sprinting toward the village with Ahmed watching on.
84
They bound from the hills, running like raging maniacs. Some strode on two legs, bounding from rock and down the trail. Others raced on all fours, like animals, ravenous creatures of the night.
The group hit the valley floor at full sprint, a mere few hundred meters from their catch.
They crossed the open land, the darkness covering their charge, their screams echoing in the still night.
They chomped and frothed.
The grinded their teeth, their sharp claws digging into the desert sand.
The roar was like a fast approaching storm. The few who were still outside actually looked up, seeing only clear skies. By the time the mob entered the village, they had no time to prepare.
As if it would have helped.
The creatures, the mutations of wrath, shot from the shadows, ran up dirt paths, jumped from building to building.
They kicked open doors, leapt through open windows.
They stole the silence of the night, their grunts, their groans of ecstasy shadowed by the sounds of screams.
Men, women.
Children.
They slashed, they bit.
Some used blunt objects, others merely beat their prey to death.
Some began feasting, while others tugged, ripping bodies apart.
A handful dragged them away screaming, being pulled along the desert floor, toward the cave.
They took half. No more, no less.
They didn’t dare cross what once
was Ahmed, who stood at the cave’s entrance, many of the others standing behind—watching the carnage and enjoying every bit of it.
85
The rap at the door woke Reynolds from his slumber. He had slept maybe two or three hours at best. The Marine rose, greeting a woman at his door with groggy eyes. He instantly recognized the woman. It was Viki, one of the techs working for Elizabeth.
A few words were exchanged, a hollow look on the young girl’s face. Reynolds shut the door, hurrying. He slipped on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, running out the door, hurrying down the hallway and into the command center.
“What happened?” Reynolds blurted as he strode in.
Elizabeth turned, her dark hair in a pony tail, her face gentle, yet the stress obvious. She shooed Michael and Viki away.
“Colonel, how quickly can the team be ready?” Elizabeth asked.
“Why? What happened?” Reynolds asked.
“How long?” Elizabeth asked, her tone firm.
“We discussed a week . . .”
“We don’t have that much time,” she replied.
“A few days, maybe,” Reynolds replied. He was hesitant. There was still much to do.
“Let’s make it a few hours,” Elizabeth said, boldly.
“Say what?” Reynolds was wide eyed now. “Tell me what happened.”
“We have a problem. I received a call from Langley. The Russians . . .” Elizabeth paused a moment, thinking to the phone call. The dry, mechanical voice on the other end. The man’s words to her.
“The Russians? What’s the deal?” Reynolds asked, confused.
“They’re frantic. Somehow they caught word before we did. They want this mission escalated, and so does Langley. They want us to go in—right now!”
“What do you mean?”
“Colonel, the Russians are holding something back. That is, until just now. They caught it before we did, and within minutes were on the line with Langley. That means there’s trouble. They’ve never been so—”
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