Heir to the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  Sprinting up the hill, he closed in on a steel building with a red roof and white walls. Rather than kick down the front door, he pivoted and circled around the house. There was a chance, however remote, that he was wrong about the animal hospital, so he had to make sure something about the building was amiss before assaulting anyone inside.

  Skidding to a halt at the northwest corner of the building, he knocked his fist against the steel wall. The vibrations traveled through the structure, and when they bounced back, his mind analyzed the noise and painted a detailed blueprint.

  Tilting his head, he rounded the corner and stamped his feet against the ground. The artificial, fluid-filled auditory organs throughout his body trembled—detecting minute sonic variations. Something large and dense had been buried beneath the main building. It wasn’t part of the main structure, like a basement—it was separate; distinct. It was a hidden, underground room.

  Jarrod nodded to himself. He approached the back door and knocked it down with a swift kick. Then he rotated the light-refracting orbs in his armor, returning to inky black.

  A young woman with short hair and tattoos on her neck glanced at him then dropped the bowl of dog food she had been holding. Her eyes bulged, and she backed against a steel cage. “Who—who are you?” Her gaze remained locked on the intruder, and her hands searched blindly for a weapon.

  Jarrod crossed the room and gripped her face with one hand, squeezing with enough pressure to cause pain, but not enough to fracture any bones. He plucked a phone from her pocket, examined it, then crushed it into a pulp. “Are you with them? With Katharos?”

  She gripped his wrist and pulled, trying to free herself. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!”

  He took a deep breath, tasting the air, then released her. She fell to the floor, landing on her side. After massaging her face for a moment, she began crawling on her hands and knees. When she disappeared through the back door, Jarrod moved into the main room.

  Footsteps pounded on stairs, and a basement door opened. A middle-aged man in a white coat stepped into the light and said, “Julie? Is everything alright?”

  When he caught sight of Jarrod, his face stretched into a silent scream, and he ran for the door.

  Jarrod grabbed him before he could take two steps. He threw the man onto the laminate floor and pinned his shoulder down with an armored heel. “How about you? Are you with Katharos?”

  The man hesitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  It was a poorly-executed lie. Jarrod bent over and dug four clawed fingers into the man’s shoulder, dragging him toward the basement. The man in the lab coat screamed and fought back, but couldn’t free himself. His legs thumped down the stairs and scraped across the concrete basement floor. A moment later, he was airborne; he crashed into a medicine cabinet, shattering the glass doors.

  “Where did you ship the weapons?” Jarrod bellowed.

  The man winced and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. “I—I’m just a vet. I don’t know anything about—”

  Jarrod struck him in the jaw, and the impact threw him against the cabinet. He stepped past the man and grabbed a leather muzzle off a hook on the wall. With two quick movements, he pulled the muzzle apart and used the leather straps to fashion a pair of tourniquets. As he strapped the tourniquets to the man’s thighs and tightened them down, he said, “You’re going to tell me the truth. And the longer you wait, the more you’re going to suffer.”

  The man coughed, splattering the shattered glass with drops of red.

  “You see, if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to start removing the flesh from around your toes. And then your feet, your ankles, your calves, and your knees. The tourniquets will keep you from bleeding to death, but they won’t stop the pain. Part of me hopes you’ll start talking before things get ugly. That’s what my sister would want.”

  He leaned forward and traced a clawed finger around the man’s mouth. “Another part of me can’t help but think about all the children who are dying of cholera because of you. And that part…it wants to hear you scream.” With lightning speed, he seized the man’s foot. Then, sharpening the metamaterial around his left thumb into a blade, he made a careful incision in the man’s big toe, peeling tissue away from bone.

  The man bucked, curling into a ball and straightening out in fits of agony. He sucked in a deep breath, and his shrieks shook the close, musty air.

  17

  The SUV’s doors slammed shut, and Eugene limped toward the red and white building. The sound of dogs barking seeped through the steel walls, and Eugene cast a concerned glance at Yuri and Eli.

  The operatives nodded and drew their MP7’s, keeping the weapons close to their sides.

  Eugene opened the front door, and an electronic bell chimed. “Uh…hello?”

  There was no response, so he moved cautiously forward. There was no one behind the front desk, and a breeze was blowing in from the rear of the building. “Is anyone here?”

  “Gene, take a look at this,” Eli said.

  Sensing the worry in the operative’s voice, Eugene drew his own weapon and hurried to his side. Eli nodded at a rusty streak of dried blood on the floor, leading toward the basement.

  Eugene extended his MP7’s collapsible buttstock and tucked it into his shoulder then whispered, “Yuri, clear the main floor. Eli, take point. We’re going downstairs.”

  Eli nodded and began descending the steps heel-to-toe. The barrel of his MP7 swept back and forth, covering every inch of the stairwell. When he reached the basement, he darted into the open, scanning the left side of the room while Eugene scanned the right. After several seconds, he moved forward, clearing corners and checking behind furniture. When he reached the cabinet with the broken doors, he said, “Got a body here,” and continued his sweep.

  Eugene limped along behind him, stopping short at the man lying in the pile of broken glass. The man was covered with a Mylar emergency blanket, and his lab coat was drenched in blood. Eugene waited for Eli to give the all-clear then knelt and checked the man for a pulse. Feeling a dull throb against his fingers, he glanced up and said, “He’s alive. Get Yuri down here.”

  Eli nodded, jogged across the room, and ran upstairs. He returned a few moments later with Yuri in-tow.

  “Get the kit out of the truck,” Yuri said, holstering his weapon and pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves.

  Eugene took a step back and turned his attention toward the stairwell, his weapon at the low-ready.

  There was the sound of crinkling Mylar, then Yuri began swearing in his native tongue.

  “What is it?” Eugene asked.

  The medic pointed at the man’s legs. The toes and feet had been completely stripped of muscle and skin; the bones glistened in the dim light. Whoever or whatever had done the damage had stopped upon reaching the ankles.

  “Just…keep him alive,” Eugene said, swallowing the bile creeping into his throat.

  Yuri shivered and glanced over his shoulder. “What could have done this? Do you think one of the animals got loose?”

  “Nope.” Taking a step forward, he raised his voice, speaking just below a shout. “Jarrod, if you can hear me, get your glossy butt over here.”

  Across the room, next to the stairwell, a slate-gray cabinet swung away from the wall, revealing a hidden door. The door, which was bent in several places, creaked on its hinges, and Jarrod stepped out.

  Eugene glared at him. “West, Jarrod. You were supposed to go west.”

  “I work better on my own.” The human weapon pointed his thumb toward the damaged door. “I found the lab. And I know where to look for the bio-weapons.”

  Eugene hesitated for a long moment. “Aside from the fact that you disregarded my orders, you did good. But for the record…” He pointed at the man with the filleted feet. “That’s nasty.”

  Jarrod spun on his heel and waved for Eugene to follow. “I need to show you something.”

  The laboratory looked l
ike a hybrid of a submarine and a zoo from hell. The walkway at the center of the cylindrical structure was only wide enough for one person, and computers had been mounted to the glass walls at regular intervals. On the other side of the glass were creatures Eugene wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.

  Bats with human ears and long, prehensile tails struggled against each other, fighting for position in front of a slowly dripping water dispenser. Miniature pigs, no larger than cats, chewed on an indistinguishable corpse. As Eugene passed, one of the pigs snarled, revealing rows of reptilian teeth. Past the pig enclosure, a chimpanzee was pounding its face against the glass, leaving behind a wide smear of blood. Without exception, every animal in the lab was violently ill. Some scratched at oozing lesions covering their bodies, others lay dead in pools of vomit and excrement.

  Eugene tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Why…would they do this?”

  Jarrod pointed at a computer on the wall. “To speed up mutations in bacterial and viral pathogens. When sick animals are confined in close proximity, pathogens mutate at an accelerated rate. And genetically modified test subjects further enhance the process.”

  Eugene stared at the columns of data on the screen. “How did you get into their system?”

  “The man in the other room provided the password.”

  “Oh. Right.” Something thumped against the glass behind him, and Eugene tried to ignore it. “Do these files say anything about an upcoming attack?”

  Jarrod shook his head. “It’s all research. Nothing logistical.”

  The thumping grew louder. Eugene closed his eyes. “Is there a, uh, self-destruct mechanism? Katharos obviously wouldn’t want anyone to find out about this place.”

  “There is.” Jarrod cocked his head. “Do you want me to back up the data, first?”

  Eugene backed away, holding his stomach as he moved toward the door. “No. I wish I could trust our government with this information, but I can’t. Just burn it. Burn it all.” He tried not to look in the glass cages, but before he left the room, his gaze landed on a container of pink liquid. Suspended inside were over a dozen human infants—dead, and in different stages of prenatal development.

  He stumbled into the main basement and gasped for air then dropped to his hands and knees.

  “Are you okay?” Yuri asked, placing a hand on his back.

  Eugene clenched his fists and nodded, glancing at the man in the lab coat. Slowly, Eugene got to his feet, drew his MP7, and aimed it at the unconscious man.

  “Woah,” Yuri said, taking a step back. “What are you doing?”

  Eugene’s hand trembled, and the tip of his finger caressed the trigger. Thirty seconds passed before he exhaled and lowered the weapon. He turned away and marched toward the stairwell. “Bring him with. We’re leaving.”

  18

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The seven-bedroom cabin, with its high, timber ceiling and stone fireplace, was both palatial and intimate. Audrey Stokes set her luggage on an intricately woven rug then strode toward a pair of massive windows overlooking ten forested acres. She took a deep breath and exhaled, fogging the glass.

  Behind her, thirteen men and an elderly woman were unbuckling the latches on a cluster of molded plastic containers.

  A man with short black hair, white teeth, and high cheekbones glanced up and said, “This beats our last safehouse by a long shot. I didn’t know we had a place like this in Atlanta.”

  “We didn’t, Ingram. I acquired it this morning.” Audrey turned toward him and smiled. “The owners were a lovely couple. A bit reclusive, but kind enough to welcome a distressed woman into their home.”

  The man lifted a next-generation submachine gun out of the case and began screwing on a suppressor. “Where are they now?”

  “In the back yard.” She glided toward him, swaying her hips as she went. “It was adorable—the way they held onto each other while the poison melted their bodies from the inside out.”

  “You’re sick. You know that, right?”

  She kicked up one heel then tapped his nose with her index finger. “And you’re a sucker for dangerous women.” Taking a step back, she held his hand and led him toward the master bedroom. “Come on, we need to talk. In private.”

  Audrey traced a fingernail along the hard lines of Ingram’s back, admiring the scratch marks she had left behind. His face was in the pillow, and his steady breathing suggested that he was close to dozing off.

  “You’ve done an amazing job, leading the field agents in this region.” She leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “Lukas speaks very highly of you.”

  He nodded and let out an appreciative grunt.

  “Some of the other men are even speculating that he has given you access to some of his most important projects.”

  Ingram stretched, rolled onto his back, and pulled Audrey close. “After the cataclysm, there were a lot of duty stations left unmanned. I studied biology in college, so he trusts me with the sensitive equipment. At least, more than the others.”

  “Don’t be modest. You’re part of his inner circle; everyone knows it. Has he talked to you about his phage-thingy?”

  “Phage Distributor. And yes.” Ingram smiled. “He talks about it like it’s his firstborn child.”

  Audrey feigned irritation. “I know. And he’s so smug about it. Like he has this wonderful toy that no one else is allowed to play with.”

  Ingram let out a hearty chuckle and shook his head.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “What you said—that no one else is allowed to play with it. I’ve talked to him about the security measures, and how I think they’re a bad idea. But he won’t listen.”

  Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Security measures?”

  “Yeah. Lukas is paranoid to the extreme. He doesn’t want anyone making decisions about his baby but him. So, once the distributors were finalized, he programmed them with a code that only he knows. If anyone else tries to set them off without his permission, the canisters will flood with a toxin and destroy the phages inside.” Ingram shrugged. “It’s a terrible idea because if Lukas ever gets captured, no one else will be able to deploy the weapons. They’ll be useless heaps of scrap.”

  Audrey’s mind raced. Her worst fears had been confirmed—Lukas did have an ace up his sleeve. All this time, she thought she had been in control. But Lukas had been holding out on her, hoarding access to the most powerful weapon in the Katharos arsenal. “That’s…that’s terrible. The weapon we need to change the world is being controlled by one man?”

  Ingram nodded.

  She shook her head. “That’s unacceptable. Are you sure there’s no way to bypass the security?”

  “Not that I know of. It’s high-tech equipment, light years beyond anything I’m used to.”

  “I see…” She thought for a moment. “And the phages can’t be released manually?”

  “No. They’re kept inside the distributors at all times. And all of our other scientists are dead, so Lukas is the only one authorized to handle them.” He watched her for a moment, noting her crestfallen expression. “But…the prototypes don’t have any safeguards.”

  Her face brightened. “Really?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you know where one is?”

  He grinned and nodded at the door. “There’s one in the living room. But, before you get your hopes up, you should know the design isn’t nearly as effective as the Phage Distributor. This one is a bacterial delivery system; the results are the same, but it can only be spread through bodily fluid contact. It’s only a little more contagious than HIV.”

  Her shoulders slumped. A weapon with such low infection rates was useless to her. After all, HIV had been spreading for years, and it had failed to curtail rampant human population growth. She glanced at Ingram and gave him a coy smile. “You’ve been very helpful. And don’t worry about Lukas—he’ll give up the code sooner or later. I’ll mak
e sure of it.”

  19

  September 30th

  Marietta, Georgia

  Jarrod slid from shadow to shadow in the pre-dawn light, moving closer to the innocuous home within a gated community. Ducking behind a holly bush, he placed his hand against the exterior wall. He keyed up a small radio that Eugene had insisted he wear. “The safehouse is deserted.”

  “Roger,” Eugene said. “Moving in.”

  “Negative.” Jarrod paused and took a deep breath, just to be sure. “They’ve booby-trapped the house with TNT and Tannerite. Stand by.”

  Jarrod studied the surrounding homes to make sure no one was watching then launched himself upward. He grasped the edge of the roof with a clawed hand and hauled himself up. Exposed by gray twilight, he rendered himself invisible—except for the radio headset he wore, which seemed to float on the air. Crossing the rooftop, he knelt beside a skylight. With his index finger sharpened to a razor’s edge, he cut into the shatter-resistant glass, tracing the edges until it fell away. It dropped to the floor fifteen feet below with a crash.

  “Jeeze, Jarrod. You trying to wake the whole neighborhood?”

  The burly human weapon dropped into the house and tapped his headset. “We won’t be here long. This place has been empty for hours. Can you find out if there was a high-res satellite overhead between eighteen hundred and eighteen-thirty last night?”

  “Yeah. Just give me a second.”

  Jarrod scanned the barren room and strode toward the front door. There was a small pile of explosives in the center of the foyer with tripwires screwed into the door. Silverware, nails, and small rocks had been stacked on the explosives. It was a makeshift claymore—crude, but effective. Jarrod studied the wiring for a moment then severed a cord leading to the detonator. “Front door is clear, but watch your step.”