The Mirror Cracks (The Human-Hybrid Project Book 3)

by Farley Dunn

  “Your other arm, please.” Christian held out one of his pawlike hands, waiting patiently.

  “He didn’t hurt it. It was my shoulder—” Garik looked down, reached his hand to where he’d felt the knife, and pulled it away. There was blood, but he couldn’t find the wound. He looked at his other shoulder, and that was when he caught his arm. The red whelps from his fight with a mirror had long since faded, but he had distinctly felt the blade of Justin’s knife slice through his skin. He rubbed the skin with his thumb, and he could just see a white line, like that of an old scar, that quickly faded away.

  Garik looked at Christian, then at the men across the room. He remembered Jantzen’s caution: Don’t give away everything you can do. This was something new, and they didn’t know. He didn’t think they needed to, either.

  “Wrap it, Christian.” Garik turned to hide the arm from the other side of the room.

  “No need. Let me clean away—”

  “No. Now, Christian. Wrap it. You saw the wound. They did, too. Now, wrap it.”

  “Okay . . . oh, I see.” The big man pulled out a large swath of bandaging, and he began to bind Garik’s arm, covering everywhere the skin had been sliced.

  “Hurry. My shoulder, too. Here they come.” Garik glanced at the Colonel, still in earnest discussion with Rodheimer, but definitely headed his direction.

  “Here.” Christian cut a thick square of padding, added tape, and handed it to Garik. “Put that on your shoulder.”

  “It’s too clean. It won’t look real.” Garik handed it back.

  “How am I supposed to fix that?”

  Garik didn’t know. “Bloody it up, and fast!” He could hear the men talking, and they were discussing how fast they could expect Garik’s injuries to heal.

  “Why me?” Christian’s shoulders dropped, and it seemed his whole body deflated like an old balloon. He took the scissors, jabbed it into his palm, and pressed it to the outside of the bandage. After a moment, he smeared it around and handed it back to Garik.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” Garik pressed it to his shoulder just as Weston Rodheimer began to speak.

  “I’ve seen Justin in bloodlust before.” Rodheimer glanced to the shoulder, nodding at the blood, and he dropped his eyes to Garik’s arm. Garik held it against his chest, covering it with his other hand and trying to disguise the lack of blood. “Only one man’s been able to stop him before. Impressive, no, Dr. Jamie?”

  “But the other matter we discussed—” Brace dismissed Christian, his disappointment clear, and he shifted his eyes to Garik. “We must begin to see evidence of—”

  “Enough for now, Colonel.” Rodheimer held out a massive hand, with a palm almost apelike in its girth. “He anticipated an attack and thwarted it, even if he didn’t realize what he was doing. I’d say that’s proof enough, at least for now.”

  “Yes, Director, but I expect more.”

  “And I’m certain you will get it. Now, follow me,” and Rodheimer turned his attention from Garik, walking away as he broached a new subject.

  “Your robe, my liege.” Christian stood, and he bowed slightly, offering the boxing robe opened and ready for Garik’s arms. He had his injured hand wrapped with a large strip of bandaging tape.

  “I know what a liege is, and I’m not your superior—or your boss.” Garik backed into the robe anyway, trusting it to hide his pretend damage. He pushed his left, unbandaged arm through, and he let Christian drape the robe over his right shoulder, leaving the sleeve hanging loose. Christian tied the sash, leaving just Garik’s hand exposed.

  As they exited the gaming center, Garik thought about Joanie. Her DNA was mated with a jellyfish to enable longevity. Even eternal life. They had no real way to test it, other than killing her, and they hadn’t chosen to do that, thank the afterlife gods that be.

  He cringed to think how they might try to test his new skill, and every way he imagined was worse than the death it might bring.

  GARIK SAT atop the examining table with his shirt off and swung his feet back and forth, a double pendulum, each foot providing a counterbalance for the other. He pushed harder, bored, wishing he could get back to the part of the complex where he belonged.

  The door opened.

  “Mr., um, Garik, my boy.” Dr. Jimenez painted a wide smile on his face. “At least your legs work. How’s that arm and that shoulder?”

  “Fine, Dr. Jamie.” He smiled and slowed his legs. He didn’t need Jimenez to be too concerned or too inquisitive. “Christian rewrapped it just before I came down. He says it’s healing perfectly.”

  “Okay. I don’t see any seepage, so that’s good. I didn’t see the cut on your arm when it happened, but I saw the one on your shoulder. I should look at that one. If the muscle was torn—”

  “I don’t feel anything.” Garik lifted his arm and rotated his shoulder in its socket. He definitely didn’t need the doctor removing the bandage to find no damage underneath at all. “Christian is great at this stuff. He’s taking good care of me. Thank you, Dr. Jamie, for letting him train me. My success is your success. Without you, I probably wouldn’t be here any longer.” He smiled brightly. Convincingly, he hoped.

  “At least let me check your range of motion.” Dr. Jimenez took Garik’s left wrist in one hand, his upper arm in the other, and forced the limb as hard and far as he dared. “That doesn’t hurt?”

  “Not at all, Dr. Jamie. Do you want to try the other arm, too?” Garik tried to keep anticipation on his face, a hopeful look that the doctor might find something wrong that needed fixed.

  “No, that’s fine.” Jimenez stepped back, pulled a tablet and stylus from a pocket, and marked several things. He glanced at Garik, motioned with the stylus, and said, “You may go. Tell Christian he has my approval.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Jamie. I sure will.” Garik hopped down, grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair, and began slipping it on as he backed out of the room. “Next week?”

  The doctor glanced at him, Garik already forgotten. “Sure, sure. Check with Leah.”

  “Right-o, Dr. Jamie.” Garik turned, let the door close behind him, and rubbed his left shoulder. The man was a monster. He had twisted his shoulder just to make it hurt.

  Still, this was about Christian, and for that, there was almost no pain that Garik wouldn’t endure.

  Now, however, Devon was waiting at the climbing wall. The man didn’t care about the bandage on his arm. He just wanted to climb.

  Well, that was perfect to Garik, because that’s exactly what he wanted, too.

  JOHN CARTER and Paolo Leveen showed up at the climbing wall while Garik and Devon Maye, the recreation and activities director, were in harnesses overhead.

  John, blond and fitter, if possible, than Devon, was wearing a climbing harness, and he called, “Devon, hey! Can anyone use this wall?”

  “Anyone who’s good enough.” Devon was alongside Garik. Garik was in a harness with a safety line attached. Devon held a remote control to the safety line’s overhead winch.

  Garik, despite his bandaged arm and shoulder, hadn’t needed it even one time.

  “That’s me, then.” John dropped an equipment bag from over his shoulder, letting it fall heavily to the floor. Far overhead, in the three windows that broached the next level up, giving a view to the military personnel housed on Level 1, several bored Airmen leaned on handrails that ran the length of the windows. One pointed, John waved, and the Airman waved back.

  “Friends, John?”

  “With everyone.” John called for Paolo to grab a safety, that he was going up first.

  Devon held out his remote, adjusted the winch to take up some of Garik’s slack, and moved to a new purchase on the wall. He called for the young man to try a new grip, perhaps one of the orange.

  “Orange?” Garik called. “You trust me, now?”

  “I trust the safety line.” Devon held out his hand, touched the remote, and the winch whined, pulling the safety line tight until Garik’s harness bit in
to his backside.

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.” Garik reached for an orange, and when he moved, the pressure on his harness eased.

  “You’ll make it, kiddo. You’ve got this.”

  “Right-o, Devon-o.” Garik grinned and gave him a thumbs up. That was a mistake, as his left hand began to slip, and only the safety line was there to break his fall.

  “I told you,” Devon scolded him. “No fancy moves with that injured shoulder. Now, hold on while I move you back to the wall.”

  The winch began to whine, and when he was close enough, Garik reached for a blue grip, only to have Devon call, “No, not the blue. I told you, that’s for when you get good.”

  Garik grinned and reached for orange.

  GARIK STOOD under the shower head in the changing rooms located near the climbing wall. He was glad to have his bandages off, and they sat on the seat just outside the shower beside his limited-access passkey.

  John and Paolo were in their own showers, the reason they had “happened” to show up at the climbing wall at the same time as Devon and Garik. No one could be allowed to hear their plans to break Christian out of the research facility, and this was the only place they could be together without raising suspicion.

  John was already out when Garik emerged into the common area around the sinks. He carried his bandages, wanting to wait as long as possible before reattaching them.

  “A real fall?” John adjusted his belt with a grin, looking up just long enough to wink.

  “It kept Devon’s attention, didn’t it?” Garik slipped his shirt on and kicked his towel near the used towel bin. He sat on a bench to put on his shoes.

  They both looked up to see Paolo watching them, already in the room without them noticing.

  “You, there, and you, Garik. So, what are our plans to get Christian out? It’s been a month. We’re running out of time.”

  Garik looked from Paolo to John and back to Paolo. He was still in training, and Christian was his trainer. They had plenty of time to plan a way out for Christian, didn’t they?

  Or was there something he didn’t know?

  ― 3 ―

  BEFORE THEY could work out a rescue plan for Christian, Garik was summoned to the research center’s main office block on Level 1. Van Hermoso accompanied him, not quite a guard, but never letting Garik out of his sight. The office block was tucked out of the way behind the main elevator shaft connecting the underground complex of dungeon-like spaces directly to the mall, the lobby, and the upper floors of Corona Tower—and off-limits to program participants of the hybridized sort.

  So, the reason behind Garik’s visit? He knew it must be big—meaning bad for him—if they wanted him here. He had only visited once, and that was with Jantzen Hefferly, the number two man on campus. Van pulled out his passkey when they reached the office block, inserted it by a door, and it required his hand, also. He pressed it to the panel, a red light scanned the vein patterns under his skin, and the panel turned green, saying, “Accepted, Van Hermoso. Please retrieve your passkey and enter within thirty seconds.”

  Garik hesitated to follow.

  Van jerked his head to suggest they continue moving, asking, “What is it? Shoot, I’m listening.”

  “What have I done wrong?” There was no sense in asking if he had done anything wrong. There was always another rule to break, one they hadn’t shared with him yet.

  “Maybe nothing.” Van chuckled, not in a mean way, but not being friendly, either. “Then, maybe something. They don’t tell me everything, and I don’t want them to.”

  “So, you’re glad I’m me and you’re you.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Van stopped before one door out of many. “We’re here. I’m told I won’t be escorting you back, but I will see you later. I am your occupational therapist. You are still working on an occupation, I trust.”

  “Sure, Van, just waiting to see what I can do.” He tried to be pleasant, but the sign on the door had dropped a rock in his stomach. IT Oversight and Security Specialist. Computers, information, Internet searches, remote cameras, and . . . listening in to secret conversations, like those that involved getting Christian out of Corona Tower while still alive.

  Why had he ever thought the changing rooms were any different than any other thing about this place? Everything was suspect. Everyone and everything. Van likely wouldn’t see him later, unless he decided to visit Level 5 and search the cages of mewling and pathetic creatures that were no longer of any use in the human-hybrid project’s DNA-enhancement program.

  “If you need me, I’m here for you.”

  “I appreciate that, Van. Maybe I should go in.” And get this over with. He imagined how it might go: What? You thought we were helping Christian escape? No sirs, I am a good wolf, er, boy, and the worst thing I do when you guys aren’t watching over my shoulder is howl at the moon. Am I making fun of you? No sirs, I would never do that . . . sheesh, it was as bad as lying to Dr. Jimenez and watching the man eat up every word.

  “That’s a good attitude.” Van opened the door, and when Garik stepped through, he moved back and let the door close.

  The room was disorganized, the space of someone who couldn’t focus enough to finish one thing before moving on to another. From a side door, a man, as thin as the tie he wore, stepped inside, bumped an open filing cabinet drawer, and barely kept from spilling the coffee in his hands.

  “Oh, hot,” he said, touching a dripping finger to his mouth to suck off the excess. “Sorry. Welcome, Mr. Shayk. Come in, come in. Our first time to meet, yes, our very first.”

  “Okay,” Garik said, confused. The man didn’t sound like he was being accused of espionage and collusion to aid and abet the escape of the one of the Tower’s hybridized subjects. Three large computer screens hung from the wall, each one with multiple views, eyes overseeing everything that happened in the room and likely anywhere else the man wanted to look. “So, why am I here?”

  “We will get to that. Let me introduce myself. Jeffrey Howard. You may have noticed the sign on the door.” Jeffrey looked for a place to set his coffee, moved a book to make room, and offered Garik his hand.

  Garik sighed. If I must. All the hand shaking. They had kidnapped him, but he took the hand. He squeezed harder than he should, causing Jeffrey to massage his hand afterward. For you, Marisa, Garik thought, her absence a hollow space in his chest.

  “Do you know Andrew?” Jeffrey asked, lifting a pair of glasses from the disarray on his desk.

  “Should I?”

  “No, no, I don’t suppose so. I just thought I would ask. Oh, his last name is Miner. Any bells, now?” Howard lifted his eyebrows hopefully.

  “Still nothing.” Garik shrugged. Uncertainty and frustration were eating at his patience and manners. Another minute, and he would have no polite responses left. “You sent for me. Is there something I should know?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes. A seat, yes—” The man looked around and realized there was nowhere for Garik to sit. “—how about we use the conference room? Andrew will be arriving shortly, yes, shortly. Do you mind waiting?”

  He didn’t see that he had a choice.

  ANDREW MINER was a barrel of a man coming down the corridor. Jeffrey and Garik turned a corner, startling him, and a box in his hand nearly went to the floor. A stack of papers did.

  “Safe!” Andrew held the box up, and it seemed Jeffrey breathed a sigh of relief as he scrambled to gather up the papers. Inside the conference room, the box went on the table as though in a place of honor. Andrew introduced himself. “Andrew Miner, Financial Analyst and Fund Coordinator. You give me your funds and I coordinate them.” He smiled broadly as though he enjoyed the tagline.

  “I don’t have any funds, sorry,” Garik said, now convinced they were having a stupid contest.

  Andrew smiled, “That’s a good one,” and he announced, “You, young man, are receiving an upgrade.”

  Garik looked from man to man. Upgrade, like, from wolf boy to werewolf boy? L
evel up! Open the box to receive your reward. Upgrade your brain and receive amazing gifts. Infinite lives. Super strength . . . none of this made sense.

  “You did tell him, Jeffrey?” Andrew looked at skinny Jeffrey.

  “I, um, did I tell you, Mr. Shayk?”

  “Garik.” He closed his eyes to focus and keep his anger under control before looking up, thinking, my mind, my way, anger does no good. “My father is Mr. Shayk. And no, you haven’t told me anything.”

  “Yes, I seem to remember, using your given name was in my notes. So sorry. The Director wishes you to have an upgraded passkey.”

  Garik’s world shifted, and he couldn’t keep a smile from his face. He was one step closer to Houdini time, seeing Marisa, telling her about her sister, Marina, that he’d found her; and visiting the skate park with Muhammad, Ibn, and Hayat; giving his aunt a hug; and maybe even going up to see Mrs. Waggoner to find out how her plants were doing—

  “Your new apartment will have—”

  “What? I’m moving, too?” He tried to think how that would affect his escape plans, its distance to the main elevator . . . any changes could be vital to his plans.

  “One thing before we let you go. I have,” Andrew stood and rummaged through the box, “your new computer and something else you might enjoy.” He lifted out a gaming console. “For your very own.”

  Jeffrey said, almost hesitatingly, “I have written, um, am writing, you see, because it is in beta phase, a new, um—”

  “Stop, Jeffrey.” Andrew leaned in to Garik. “Will you test Jeffrey’s new video game? You are, well, more—” and he whispered, “—more normal than many of our residents. He would appreciate your normal opinion.”

  And give me a reason to gather with my friends. Garik smiled. “Certainly.”

  Andrew grinned, nodding his success at Jeffrey. He attempted to button his jacket, but it refused to meet around his waist.