Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

  “Is he insane?”

  Sallinger trembled so hard, he knocked his glasses off his nose trying to adjust them. He wheezed, on the verge of tears, and his distress sent Sigma Nine into wailing fits. Sallinger froze, staring at the child. “She knows,” he said. “She can sense them. We can use her to get out.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Leslie twisted to keep Sigma Nine away from him, but her gaze was fixed on the screen and all of those people nervously looking over their shoulders.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re going to die if we don’t get out.”

  Leslie circled around Sallinger to get to the screen. Her thumbprint would be enough to signal distress in the lab. “You’re panicking over nothing. The guards will take care of this.” They were highly trained mercenaries, paid well for their service, and their response time was usually less than seventy seconds. Of course they could handle this. She was certain of it. They’d come and escort the three of them to safety.

  But Sallinger shook his head. “They’re all dead! Fully grown converts are not like the children, Gerome. They feed and they breed, and they’re unstoppable when the urge hits them. It’s like a hive mind effect. The Fukushima ones were starved, and their frenzy riled up the converts here. The den is overrun!”

  No. That couldn’t be. He was in hysterics. When he calmed down, he’d realize how crazy that sounded. A small army of guards, dead? No way. She’d show him.

  Adjusting Sigma Nine in her hold, Leslie typed one-handed, looking for a duty roster. Everyone on active shift could be reached directly in an emergency through a tracker in their radio unit. She called them with her digital page, one after the other, but no one answered. Throat suddenly dry, Leslie shook her head and tried again. One by one, the signals disappeared as if deactivated. Either every one of those radios had gotten smashed, or someone—something—had damaged the main controls in the lower level server hive. She couldn’t call out. No one was coming. They were on their own.

  Apprehensive and irritated by the red lighting, Leslie backed away from the screen. “What about the others?”

  Sallinger hesitated.

  “What!”

  He jerked his chin toward the screen just as the last group disappeared from the shots. “They’re already evacuating. The researchers and orderlies are gone, along with whatever children they had with them at the time. The rest they left for dead.”

  Leslie’s knees buckled and hit the floor so hard, the impact jolted through to the top of her head. Sigma Nine clutched her, whole body shaking with sobs.

  “Listen to me,” Sallinger said. “There’s an escape hatch at the end of the corridor. We can make it. If we can get to the surface before they detonate the charges, we’ll be fine. We just have to get there. Give me the child.”

  None of his words had penetrated Leslie’s haze of fear, but when he reached for Sigma Nine, something snapped. Why did he want her so badly? “No.” She moved out of the way. “I’ll take her.”

  Though he looked ready to throttle her, he somehow pulled himself together and nodded. “Very well. But you must calm her down. They will hear us.”

  A flicker of movement on the screen caught her eye, but she refused to look. “Give me a minute.”

  Removing herself to one corner, Leslie rocked Sigma Nine, crooned to her. “Easy, sweetheart. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Hurry up,” Sallinger hissed, nervously watching out the window.

  Leslie hummed and rubbed the girl’s back until her sobs eased. “That’s my girl. That’s my brave girl. Now, we’re going to play a game, okay? I want you to close your eyes, and stay as quiet as you can. We’re going to pretend we’re hiding from monsters.”

  “Will they hurt me?”

  Sallinger gasped. “Move it!”

  Leslie glared at him. “No, baby. No one’s going to hurt you again, I promise. Are you ready?”

  Sigma Nine sniffled and nodded against her shoulder.

  “Good girl. On three, okay? One…”

  She signaled for Sallinger to open the door. He did it slowly, peeking out to make sure the path was clear.

  “Two…”

  Silence out in the hall—no hum of artificial lights, no pitter-patter of rushing feet, not even alarm sirens. Just total, dead silence. And that terrified her. They were truly all on their own. Gritting her teeth, Leslie walked when Sallinger beckoned, and stepped out of the room.

  “Three,” she whispered.

  The race was on. Leslie focused on the ceiling hatch some thirty yards away. She headed straight for a wall ladder leading up to it, heart pounding, and Sigma Nine sitting heavy in her arms.

  Of course, Sallinger noticed her readjust her hold. “Let me take her,” he offered. “I can carry her more easily.”

  Leslie shook her head and quickened her step. Almost at the ladder. Shuffling noises from the other end of the corridor made her look back. “Oh, no…”

  Two converts, an adult and a child, lumbered toward them. They looked marginally human, with patchy hair and thin bodies corded with lean muscle. But their long limbs ended in clawed fingers, and they had fangs instead of teeth. Because of their cold-blooded nature, their skin held a grayish tinge, but this condition didn’t seem to affect their metabolisms in any significant way, acting as a cloaking mechanism only. Matching body temperature to their surroundings made them invisible to heat sensors and infrared cameras.

  Monsters. Boogeymen out of nightmares. Mindless, ravening beasts.

  And they were coming closer.

  “Climb!” Sallinger shouted.

  “Hold on to me,” Leslie told Sigma Nine, and then she climbed.

  The converts stopped and sniffed the air. Although their hearing was impaired and their eyesight compromised by the flashing emergency lights, their sense of smell remained unequaled. The moment it scented prey, the adult convert tossed its head back and screeched.

  Several others answered from a distance.

  Then it ran forward.

  “Climb! Climb!” Sallinger shrieked.

  Leslie climbed as fast as she could, arms burning with strain, Sallinger right on her heels. But they could only go so far before Leslie had to stop to open the latch. Sallinger clambered on top of her as high up as he could manage.

  It wasn’t far enough.

  He screamed as the adult convert sank its claws into his leg and dragged him down to the floor.

  “Keep your eyes closed, Sinna.” Leslie trembled, vision blurry with tears, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off her target as she touched the thumbprint pad to activate the latch mechanism. Don’t look down. Don’t look down! “Just hold on, baby girl,” she whispered as monsters tore into Sallinger below. The sounds he made…

  Please, God, get me out of here.

  The heavy escape hatch slid open, and she moved, climbing higher to reach the pad on the other side. Don’t look down. Just a few more rungs. Almost there. Don’t look down…

  Got it!

  The three-inch metal hatch slid closed, sealing off all sight and sound.

  Leslie pressed her forehead against the ladder, too shaken to keep going. They were still thirteen stories below the Chernobyl disaster site. To this day, few came to these parts for fear of radiation poisoning. Just as with Fukushima, it had been the perfect hiding place, with all contingencies accounted for.

  Except for the crazy Japanese.

  If Sallinger had been right, then somewhere on the surface, a researcher had his twitchy finger on a detonator that would entomb this place forever. Leslie had to get moving or she and Sigma Nine would be buried right along with it.

  “Gerry?”

  “It’s okay, Sinna, we’re safe. You can open your eyes now.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “That’s because it’s dark.” Leslie looked up. Twelve stories above, a small green light marked the exit—her north star. “I’m going to get us out of here,” s
he swore. “We’ll get out, and catch a plane to San Francisco. We can go check out the sea lions at Pier 39, would you like that?”

  Sinna nodded.

  “Good. Now just hold on.”

  Keeping her eyes on that little green light, Leslie reached up for the next rung.

  Interim

  Start Recording…

  I thought we’d left it behind. I really believed it would all be over.

  I was so very wrong.

  My name is Dr. Leslie Gerome. I am recording this because someone out there should know what really happened, how the world really came to an end. And it wasn’t with a bang or a whimper. It happened with the splicing of a single cell. Man tried to become God, and Nature bucked under his command, striking out with unimaginable fury.

  They never buried Chernobyl den as I’d hoped. I think I died ten times over on the climb up to the surface, expecting the walls to start caving in on me at any second. But they never did. No one ever came looking for it, or for me and Sinna. They probably thought the converts were too stupid to make it out, that they’d starve to death down there. Maybe they were right. Maybe the monsters we created thirteen stories below a nuclear wasteland did eventually die there.

  Those they extracted did not.

  Whoever finds this, please believe what I’m about to tell you. There’s no such thing as an inert—no middle ground for the creatures we engineered. The DNA grafts might be dormant, but sooner or later, one way or another, they always activate. That’s why Fukushima den imploded; they never realized how many potential converts they housed together.

  The inerts who converted outside the dens are fully viable and capable of reproduction. It has now been three years since the dens shut down, and in that time, world governments have tried in vain to bury the story with mindless entertainment for the masses. But there’s no hiding it anymore.

  Last night, I found an online video of a female convert giving birth and promptly devouring her own young. Conspiracy theories estimate that converts, or “Grays” as they’re called, are reproducing at an increasing rate. Outside of stable laboratory conditions, they can develop three times faster than a human and, although they show each other the same ravenous savagery they display toward prey, they do mate, and they do breed.

  End Recording.

  Start Recording…

  September fifteenth, twenty-twenty, four NE.

  I watch Sinna growing beautifully every day. She’s my hope that we must have done something right. The dens may have unleashed a terrible plague on the world, but we’ve also created beings so much more than human. The Wolfen are still out there somewhere, walking among us, hiding in plain sight.

  I think of Alpha Seven and Beta Twelve often. Are they still alive? Who’s taking care of them? They’re not that much older than Sinna, but they’re strong, and they’re smart, and they have each other.

  Martial Law has failed against the Grays. Cities are becoming overrun with them and people are fleeing for the hills, but I doubt they’ll find safety there. Sinna and I have stayed in San Francisco too long, and now that they’ve destroyed every bridge to the mainland, there’s no chance of leaving. So we hide.

  Sinna has tested negative for regenerative capabilities three times under real life conditions. That’s enough for me. I think… I think as long as I keep her inside, away from them…I can keep her safe.

  End Recording.

  Start Recording…

  Hellooooooo. Is this thing on? Gerry, how does this work? Testing. One, two. And a-one, two, three, four.

  End Recording.

  Start Recording…

  Tomorrow is Sinna’s eighteenth birthday. She’s so excited, it breaks my heart. I asked her what she wanted for her present. She answered, “To go outside.” Cabin fever has been our faithful companion for a long time now, and with each day, I see yearning in Sinna’s eyes. She wants to go out there, to see the world, such as it might be, and I don’t think the silver cuff I found for her will impress her much by comparison.

  Four years ago, San Francisco was one of the last few strongholds left in the United States. The city has since lost contact with the outside world. With the bridges gone, the peninsula is effectively cut off from the mainland on three sides. They’ve erected barricades fifteen stories high wherever the southern perimeter was compromised, and against outside Grays, the protections are quite effective. But there are still those inside the city itself. They’re growing smarter, bolder. They’ve learned when and how humans hunt them; they hide so well, even the keenest eyes can’t spot them. And when they come out again, their wrath is terrifying.

  The war’s at a stalemate. Humans are holding their own for the moment, but it’s only a matter of time before Grays overwhelm us. I fear that day’s not long in coming…

  End Recording.

  Start Recording…

  Sniffle… Cough.

  Umm…

  Sniffle.

  This is Sinna. Uh, the date is… Hell, I don’t know. Thirteen New Era? Not that anyone gives a crap anymore.

  Silence.

  Gerry’s dead—sob—I di—I didn’t know! We were out looking for food, and she told me to stay close, but I saw this…stupid, useless lava lamp in a window, and I thought I was so smart. I’d just go out for a second, check it out, and be right back. But then a pack of Grays came out of the old reservoir. I hid inside, but I couldn’t warn her. She ran back to our house, but…

  Moan…

  God, she screamed so much.

  Soft crying… Sniffle.

  Anyway, she’s gone now. I can’t stay here anymore, it’s not safe. The Grays marked this area; they’ll definitely come back. I only came in for a minute to get my stuff. There’s a group of survivors holing up in the church. I heard them when they passed by the other day. If I give them all the food I have, they might let me stay there for a while.

  So pathetic. Everything I ever had in this life: a few cans of tuna, a stupid bracelet, and an ancient voice recorder that’s about to run out of—

  End Recording.

  1: Sinna

  16 NE (New Era)

  There it went. The last can of beans. They were officially out of food, and as far as anyone could tell, their little ragtag group was all that was left of the once-thriving city of San Francisco.

  Sinna licked her spoon clean, refusing to waste a single molecule of nourishment. She felt like hell, but then, they all did. Most of them hadn’t stepped foot out of the underground rectory in so long, they couldn’t remember what the outside looked like anymore.

  Nate, their leader by virtue of his assault rifle, sometimes scouted for food with David and Connor, but over the last few weeks, they’d returned with nothing. Sinna suspected Nate and his seconds-in-command ate whatever they found before they came back inside, but she had no evidence to support that. All of them looked a small hop, skip, and a jump into the grave.

  Night was coming on, depriving them of what little light filtered in through the handful of ventilation holes torn into the ceiling and the outside walls. Sinna drummed her spoon against her up-drawn knee, debating what to do with it. Highly unlikely they’d ever again find food she could eat with utensils, but she was reluctant to just toss it away.

  Nate tapped his foot against a crate, and his hand on the weapon in his lap. Something was eating at him—no pun intended. When he shoved to his feet and started pacing, Sinna flinched. His camo uniform was covered with dirt and dust, but his boots were in surprisingly good shape. She envied him that. Her own had been pilfered off of a half-eaten corpse and were a size too small for what she considered to be her abnormally gigantic feet. Two months of wearing them had accomplished nothing but bloody blisters on her heels and her big toe wearing a hole through the inside lining.

  “This is it,” Nate said.

  By the door, David and Connor sat up a little straighter. They weren’t soldiers like Nate. David used to be a school teacher, and refused to touch anything more lethal than
a baseball bat. Connor, a former butcher, liked to arm himself with knives and cleavers. He was slightly more heavyset than the rest of them, which made him the logical choice for defensive brute force. He’d lost his cleaver a few months back, but a number of his steak knives were still in pretty good shape. He’d even found a decent-sized rock to hone them on. For him, this was as good as it was going to get.

  David and Connor didn’t exactly get along with each other, but both followed Nate with the mindless obedience of lost sheep. One day, he’d lead them to slaughter. Perhaps not intentionally, but Sinna knew it would happen, and when it did, they’d obey without question.

  “What’s it?” Sinna asked, since no one else seemed inclined.

  With a huff, Nate paced another circuit, then took a knee in the middle of the room. A longish lock of dirty brown hair fell over his eye. He might as well have been posing for a fashion shot. He had the bone structure for it, and those dark, mysterious eyes beneath a pair of sweeping eyebrows with one set slightly higher than the other in a sometimes quizzical, sometimes menacing way. Hard times had lent his features a sharp quality, just short of starved. He had that whole renegade soldier thing going on. The look suited him.

  Nate swept his gaze over them, like a general about to go to battle. It made Sinna nervous. “We always said we’d stay only as long as we had a safe shelter and food to eat. We all agreed that a quick death out there was better than starving down here.”

  Sinna frowned. She could hear David gulp while Connor rearranged himself on the stoop.

  In the back corner, Amy clutched her son, Matt, even tighter. A sixteen-year-old miracle child, born with the turn of ages. The only reason he’d survived this long was because his mother refused to let him out of her sight. Amy was desperately devoted to Matt; he was her reason for living. If anyone would stand up to Nate on this crazy idea, she would, surely.