by Tom Bont
“Catalyst? Catalyst for what?” She struggled against the restraints.
“You shouldn’t feel any discomfort, but if you continue to resist, you might injure yourself.”
She knew he was right. The IV tube was too long to deter the injection. The fluid disappeared from the syringe and into her hand. As soon as the chilly liquid hit her vein, a strong sense of déjà vu struck her. Hard. Harder than in the church basement. This was it. The end. The two universes were touching right there in that room. She looked at Chris. The other drone had done the same thing to him.
“Please lay back onto the gurney, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Chris slowly stepped over and did as he was asked.
“Chris…” Angela whined.
“This is gonna work, right guys?” Chris asked. His voice shook.
“Of course, Mr. Hollingsworth,” the empty-handed drone said. He gently strapped Chris’s left arm down.
Chris looked at it. “Are the straps necessary?”
“Of course, they are, Mr. Hollingsworth,” the drone with the syringe said. “We’ve discussed this many times. The serum will wring changes from your body that could be violent. This is for your protection, as well as ours.”
“Chris!” Angela screamed. “Don’t let them do this to us!”
“Is what she’s saying true? About Earth?”
“Of course, Mr. Hollingsworth. But that won’t happen right away. It will take thousands of your years.”
“We’ll still be one though, right?”
“Of course, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“No,” she murmured. She peeked over to the doorman monitoring the security screen. It was studying her. She was certain the look on its face was one of victory. She glanced down at the monitor when it blanked out as a bright flash of light lit up the alley. When it cleared, the SWAT entry team stood ready with Artemis, Apollo, and Danny standing center and proud in front of them.
Relief washed through her, turning her stomach into quivering jelly. She worked hard to suppress a joyous giggle. She didn’t realize how alone she was until she saw them. She was even glad Apollo the Turd had shown up.
They immediately moved into action around the door and ran off the screen. A loud explosion blew the door and wall in the far corner to splinters. Dusty drywall powder clouded the area. Everyone in the room, including the two drones tending to Chris, looked up as the flash bangs bounced across the floor.
Angela closed her eyes and opened her mouth. It was the best defense against them.
Unfortunately, the room was too large to contain the compression blasts, and as one, every drone in the place ran to intercept the SWAT team as they stormed out of the cloud in single file. Arrows flew past them, skewering drones and doormen alike.
“Hang on, Chris! Help’s here!”
“Wait…what…how did they find us?” he screeched. “Are you lo-jacked?”
“Yes, I am, you little shit!” she screamed as she jerked at her restraints. As if to confirm that statement, her phone starting playing a muffled Disturbed ringtone from within her pants. “Now get me out of this!”
Chris scrambled to untie the single restraint holding him down. Knots flexed on the side of his face. “You don’t understand!” His neck muscles corded up. “I need this! I need to be perfect like you!”
“I’m not perfect, Chris! You’re fuckin’ stoned! Now let’s go home, dammit!”
“They don’t love me! They love you!” He stood up, unrestrained, his tennis shoes squeaking on the shiny floor. “But I’m going to change that!” He spun and ran towards the workstation nearest the closest flesh pod. He typed a few quick commands and turned to watch the pods as they swelled and pulsated. He pointed to one of the doormen on the other side of the room, and it shoved an electrical breaker closed. Lightning bolts shot across the room with loud crackles of discharge. He shined a dark, grinly face at her. “You’ll see!”
Angela looked past him. While a doorman shot acid webbing at her rescuers, two of the SWAT team fired on full-auto at it. The lightning bolts healed it, though.
She jerked at her cuffs and looked back at Chris. He flipped open the top of the small, metallic case and withdrew a syringe. Pus-yellow fluid sloshed in the tube. “I’m scared, Kis,” she said softly as he put the needle to his arm. “I won’t be able to catch you.”
As the point pressed into his skin next to the multitude of old needle scars and even newer scabs, he stopped and looked up at her. For a moment, a bare moment, he was that little boy standing on top of the TV, scared out of his mind but determined to get his prize. Then he shook his head, inserted the needle, and pushed the plunger down. He screamed in hellish agony and fell to his knees, the syringe still in his arm.
“Angela!” a voice called from across the room. Lightning and rapid-fire machine guns deafened her, but the sound of her name wormed through the explosions. To her left. Danny was tearing his clothes off. She looked back at Chris. Hair sprouted from his arms.
She struggled against the shackles, and her right arm popped loose. “Hurry, Danny!”
Schlorping from her left. One pod down. Three to go. SWAT must have been briefed on hers and Danny’s last encounter. They were shooting the pods and ignoring the doormen. They were also falling like flies cocooned in spider webbing. Webbing coated in battery acid.
The world turned blue as one of the lightning bolts struck her metal gurney. She’d never been kicked by a mule, but when her chest constricted, she figured she had. She slammed back against the gurney. Her tongue was thick. Copper pennies. Yuck!
She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but her training on tasers kicked in. She laid back. Heather’s voice said, “Enjoy the ride, sister. Don’t force it. Let it happen.” Heather, the drug coach. Ah, college.
A howl broke her taser trip.
She was familiar with Danny’s howl. This was not his. She flopped her head to the side. Chris squatted on all fours. Muscles ripped through his shirt and jeans. His tennis shoes split along their soles.
Oh, no! “Dannah!” she yelled with a taser-thick tongue. “Dannah! Danny!”
A growl on her left. She flopped her head again. Danny stood above her. He slashed at her restraints, and an electrical bolt shot from the gurney to his hand. It knocked him down.
She forced her way through the effects of her electroshock therapy. She reached over and unstrapped her left arm.
Chris stood up and stretched. He was a Hulk version of Danny. Overdeveloped muscles bulged. Two feet taller. No forehead to speak of. Low eyebrow ridges. Shorter snout. Two rows of fangs. And three times as pissed.
She sat up. Keeping one eye on Chris-Monster, she made a quick tactical appraisal. More SWAT lay on the floor. Two more pods destroyed. Two doormen guarded the last one while drones rushed the machine guns.
Chris-Monster turned his head and stared at her. Insanity burned in his eyes. This was not Chris. This was not a Frenator. And it was not strapped to the gurney.
Danny growled and stood up.
Chris-Monster took one giant step towards her. Claws out. Snout snarling. Slaver dripping.
Muscles pulled and corded along her arms and legs as she frantically strained and struggled against the restraints holding her legs.
Danny’s claws dug into the linoleum. He took off like a shot, putting himself between the twins. If Chris-Monster managed to scratch her, to transfer that fucked up pseudo-lupus virus….
Angela’s FBI analysis training took over again; her mind sped up, slowing the events around her, giving her time to evaluate all threats. She scrutinized Chris-Monster. He was a beast, raw savagery, half again larger than Danny, ruthless in his single-minded pursuit of infecting her. She compared that with what she knew of Danny. He too was a beast, but there was a modicum of civilization there. This was not the time to be civil. Danny was not going to win this dogfight. And he was the only thing between her and her brother. Only one thing could save her. Save Chris. Hell, save planet Earth if you believed that s
hit.
“Danny!” she yelled. “Scratch me!”
Danny leaped towards the monster facing him and swung his claws. He alternated between right and left, right and left. The monster’s chest opened up into deep furrows.
The smell of wet dog and blood reached her.
Chris-Monster screamed in pain and anger. He twisted to the side and unwound, clobbering Danny in the head, sending him across the room to land next to Angela’s gurney.
“Danny! Do it! Do it now!”
Danny crawled to his feet and met Angela’s gaze with glassy eyes. He looked down at his claws, the claws they both knew he had to use on her. Then a deep, rumbling roar came from behind him followed by an outstretched claw. It raked her partner across the back. His sadness turned to pain. He fell forwards on her. Chris-Monster grabbed him by the neck and pulled him away as one would pick up a rag doll. Chris-Monster’s gaze never left Angela.
“Now, Danny!”
As Chris-Monster yanked her partner away, claws raked down her left shoulder to her breast and her stomach.
Angela screams as fire roars through her scratches. It spreads out from them. It covers her whole body. Every strand of hair turns into a white-hot icepick and jabs her skin. Her clothes rub her raw. The gunfire pounds her skull. The hum of the electronics makes her teeth ache. Man-smells—fear, anger, determination—make her stomach growl with hunger.
A smell. Woman. Strong woman. Shooting arrows. Angela loves her. Would do anything for her.
And the smell of her brother, Chris. Strong. Lupus strong. It’s not right, though. Not natural.
He’s fighting Danny. Why are they fighting? That’s right! Chris did something bad. That’s why. What was it? Fuzzy. She only knows she needs to punish him. He’s always getting in trouble. Pissing the pack off.
She tries to get up. Her feet are tied down.
She howls in anger.
She jerks at the leather straps.
She slashes at them, and they come apart.
Panting, she jumps up. Her clothes still rub her. They burn. She rips them, shreds them, lets them fall to the floor…
…and rushes Chris. She has to punish him.
Danny. Bleeding. Still fighting. Falling.
Chris stands two heads taller than her. She rushes in, slash after slash. She backs up. Crouches. Danny shambles to Chris’s other side. Instinct. Bracket the prey.
She wipes her snout. Blood lands on her tongue. Her brain turns to a buzzing fire. Her nipples tingle. Other places do too. Love, lust, addiction. She needs more. She licks her claws. The muscles in her arms, her legs, her back, warm and relax. She quivers.
The fire doesn’t bother her any longer.
Chris rushes Angela, snarling. Almost catches her off-guard. She pounces the same time Danny does. He lands on Chris’s back. Danny buries his fangs in Chris’s neck. Chris roars in agony.
Angela veers left. Chris swings his hand at her. She catches his wrist in between her own fangs. She slashes out with her right hand and rakes her talons across his stomach. He shakes his arm, tries to shake her off. She flops. Her neck hurts. Instinct tells her not to let go. She bites harder.
She reaches out with both hands and grabs a double handful of spine and ribs. Chris screeches even louder and slashes at her with his free hand. Danny’s arms wrap around Chris’s chest and the same arm Angela is chewing into. He’s trying to hold on too. His claws dig into Chris’s chest and plow deep furrows. Ribs pop out.
The smell of blood overwhelms her. She will do anything to have it.
Chris drops to his knees. His free arm slashing. First at Angela. Next at Danny. He gives a final, bubbly growl and drops face-first to the floor.
Angela scrambles to the side. Her throat is scratchy. Vision blurred. Cold. She feels sad but doesn’t know why. She skitters up and pokes Chris. Her brother. He’s dead. She wails until stars dot her vision.
She stands and licks the blood from her talons. The blood on her tongue is hot. The heat spreads through her body. She’s not cold any longer.
Heartbeats slam her ears. Prey across the room. The pounding gunfire is coming from them. She rushes them. “You hurt my ears!” she growls and dashes for them.
“No! Let them be!” Danny growls at her.
A shiver runs down her spine. Her ears fall to the sides. She needs the control. She wants to be told what to do. She drops to the floor and stares up at Danny.
He blinks and sprints across the room. There is a creature. Not human. Not tasty. She knows. Danny smells of anger and desperation. She follows him. They must kill the not-human.
It doesn’t run from them. It doesn’t smell like food. Its smell burns her nose when she concentrates on it. She sneezes as she and Danny both leap at the not-human. Bullets tear into its flesh as they bury their claws in its guts. Its hand slaps a big, black button on the control console. Bolts of lightning erupt from the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and the machinery, striking her, Danny, and the not-human. She loses control of her muscles. The light gets brighter and then fades to black.
She falls to the floor, but she knows she did something good. And she knows she did something bad. She can’t tell the difference, though.
Drills. Yeah. Drills. That’s it. Drilling my head. They’re turning me into Frankenstein’s Monster. To hell with the Bride shit. Even God screwed up the first time. That’s why he made woman. We’re perfect. Except for that stinking chocolate addiction. And Italian food. Damn, I love Italian food. I love its smell, the meat, the pasta. The medicine. Medicine? Lots of it. And blood and guts and chlorine. And cowboys.
Angela fluttered her eyelids a couple of times, and when the light didn’t scorch her brain, she left them open. She tried to raise her hand to wipe the hair out of her face, but both arms were tied down. Tightly. Legs, too. She shook her hair out of her face instead and looked around.
Wow. What a dream.
She expected a laboratory, not the inside of an ambulance. An IV tube dangled from her left hand, neatly taped. She pulled against her restraints again.
“Hello?”
Danny opened the back doors of the ambulance and stuck his head in. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “What’s going on?” She lifted an arm and rattled the straps.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he crawled up inside and sat down next to her. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” she said. “Now let me out of these!”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Give me a few minutes first, okay, partner?” The look on his face told her she needed to shut up and listen.
Damn, he smells good. Wild. Woah, slow down, girl!
She nodded her head. “I remember waking up in a doorman lab, tied to a metal gurney.” She relaxed for a few minutes. “Chris was there. And a bunch of doormen.” Then…“Oh, crap! He wanted to turn me into one of those weird-ass werewolves!” Memories flooded her brain. Danny raking his claws across her shoulder. She tried to reach up and pull the gown from her shoulder.
“Here,” Danny said. “Let me.” He lifted the fabric and looked off to the side, giving her a bit of privacy.
There on her shoulder and down across her breast, four scars told her the nightmare flooding her mind had been real. She let her head drop back to the pillow. Her stomach rolled, and her heart beat in her chest like a baseball bat on a 55-gallon barrel. Monster! She looked around, seeking a way to escape. Not enough air. “I have to get out of here! I can’t breathe!”
Danny scooted towards her and talked in level tones. “Angela, I need you to take slow, deep breaths. You know about lupis. There’s no need to be scared. But you do have to realize that you are one now.”
She gently pulled on her restraints. “Can you…” Her lips were dry. “Can you let me out of here?” The inside of the ambulance was stifling. “I have to get out!”
“No, Angela. What you have to do is take control.” Danny ran his hand over her forehead. “If you don’t, you’ll change. Yo
u’ll break out of here and kill a bunch of people. And if you’re lucky, real lucky, you might survive another day. Because once the word gets out that a lupa has gone on a feeding spree, the Fectors will come for you.”
She raised her head and looked out the back of the ambulance. Green fields. Blue sky. She tried the restraints again.
I want to run! To hunt! Danny’s blood tickled her nose.
She forced herself to take steady breaths, to lick her lips. “You call that a pep talk?”
He smiled at her. “That’s good,” he said after a few moments. “That’s real good.” When she’d finally got her breathing under control, he said, “Most people either pass out or perform a renovatio when they find out. I guess being around a werewolf kinda prepped you.”
“I don’t know why I was surprised. I asked you to do it.”
“True. But knowing it and understanding it are two different things.” He reached down and pressed the up button on her gurney to lift her into a sitting position.
“Did we win?” she asked.
“It depends on what you call winning,” he said. “We lost 12 SWAT, seven injured. Two Task Force agents, Brad and one from Chicago. Arnold Verstat. Kent’s lost a leg. That acid webbing burned it off clean right above the knee. He might lose an eye. Don’t know yet.”
“Any bad guys left?”
“No. Six doormen dead. Untold numbers of drones have died all around the world too. Seems they were all connected somehow to something in the lab. Their brains melted right inside their skulls.”
She stared out the back of the ambulance.
He leaned back. “And I’m no longer lupus.”
She snapped her head around. “What?” She blinked a few times. “I thought there wasn’t a cure.”
“Me, too.” His eyes softened, and he closed his mouth.
“Oh, hell, Danny. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how humans go through life with their senses dulled like this.”
“You get used to it,” she said.
He smiled. “I want you to remember that when you start going through sensory storms. You will come out the other si—”