Beep... beep went the tracker. The man holding it stopped and said something to Sharpova. He nodded and called his men back. Immediately, they ran back and huddled up. “What is it?” Harry asked.
“We have a signal. We are close,” the general said. “This is geared to monitoring power emanations above those of a telephone line or something similar. In these surroundings, there should be nothing more than that.”
He peered closely at the device. “If these readings are correct, then we are less than a kilometer away from the place. It will be underground.” He continued walking and his men stayed in a tight circle.
Underground, he would have to say that, thought Harry as he moved along. Battles—he’d fought the vast majority of them below the earth. He’d emerged victorious each time, but each time he grew more and more afraid that he wouldn’t return.
A second later, determination overrode fear. Anastasia was at home with the baby. He’d make it back. He had to.
“We are here,” Sharpova said after another fifteen minutes of tramping through the wasteland. “We are...”
He never got to finish, as a group of six transgenic bear-men and woman leaped out at the group. The specially trained soldiers got off three shots, but that was all. Soon, the ground was stained a deep crimson. It seemed their training had all been for naught.
Sharpova was the last to die. He pulled out his pistol and fired it until it was empty. He then threw it away and said something to the lead bear. A second later, the creature lashed out and tore open the general’s throat. Blood spurted out and Sharpova joined his men in death.
The bear leader turned to Harry. “Come with us. Our master waits.”
Shocked at the savagery he’d witnessed, but still set on finishing things, Harry marched ahead. “If you’re going to knock me out,” he said knowing full well what would happen, “do it now.”
Wish granted, as a second later he felt something metallic hit the back of his head. Then he saw the obligatory flashing lights and nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen: In the Lair of the Lost
Awakening with the usual sick stomach feeling, Harry sat up and looked around. This time he found himself in a cell, lying on a filthy cot. The floor was even filthier, and he wondered who’d been there.
Squelching the thought, he decided it didn’t matter. He was underground in the beast’s lair, and this was how it would end. He ached to hold his wife and daughter, but knew he could never succumb to his feelings. The monster was out there. It had to be defeated.
Getting off the cot, he stood up, tested his limbs and found them worthy, and tried the door. Surprisingly, it was open. Another iron door stood as the main entrance and when Harry tested it, it too, was unlocked. This couldn’t be so easy.
Outside in the corridor, he found a string of lights overhead, guiding him along. At the end of the corridor was yet another open door. Through it, steps carved into the earth led down to a large, crudely shaped chamber the size of an airplane hangar in which stood no less than fifty Genesis Chambers.
Numerous cement columns supported the ceiling, and a number of rusted metal and warped wooden braces propped up the walls. Brushing the dust from them, he saw that Cyrillic writing had been carved into the metal. This place was old, and perhaps it had been a storage site once. The late general had said arms and munitions had come from Moscow during the war, so maybe this was one of the places they’d used.
Making his way down as quietly as possible, he checked for signs of life, but found none. Surely there would be guards on duty? No such luck. For the briefest, insane moment, he had the idea of calling out “Hello” and a second later decided not to. No sense in inviting trouble.
He crept over to the nearest chamber, where the computer readout told him the DNA sequence as well as the future transgenic that would result. This was an upgraded model, as were the others, built larger to accommodate larger beings. The readout indicated a full-scale gestation was about to commence.
Another computer sat alone on a table in the center of the room. He checked it out, finding a set of equations and DNA sequences boldly showing on the screen. With a gasp of part horror and part fascination, Harry realized Allenby had perfected his method.
The method was nothing short of genius, and was what Harry had discovered not long before. By introducing a retro-viral agent combined with Istvan’s blood, it stopped the devolving process in the regular mutants and even reversed it. He’d checked it himself.
However, Allenby had taken it a step further. He’d refined the process to extend the lifespan of his creations in their transgenic forms and augmented their powers. They were now largely invulnerable to anything save concentrated fire or acid, and had powers only science-fiction writers dared to dream of. The downside was that they lost most of their intelligence.
“Controllable killers,” Harry muttered. “That’s just wonderful.”
“It’s more than wonderful,” a voice boomed out. “It’s miraculous.”
As he turned around, the figure of Allenby in his mutated glory emerged from a back room, flanked by two of his creations, both large and well-muscled mixes of horse and man. Modern-day centaurs, they had the powerful lower body of a horse and the overdeveloped human upper body of a steroid-using bodybuilder. Allenby really did have an imagination.
“I’m glad you approve,” Allenby said as he trundled over. Although he still wore his loincloth, while it hadn’t looked so out of place before, it did now. His body had broken down even more. Massive though his physique was, it had also begun to develop a number of bony protuberances on his elbows, wrists and knees.
When he walked, he dragged his left leg. “Yes, my body is breaking down, as you can see. You’ll be happy to know that I have finally found the answer you have been looking for.”
“I’m surprised you were smart enough to figure it out.”
Allenby let out a hoarse chuckle. “You’re forgetting one thing, Goldman. I was also a trained bio-geneticist. I’m your equal. In fact,” he swept his hands down his torso, “I’m your superior, and this research proves it. You know the secret. It was the little pig’s blood.”
“You used a retrovirus to differentiate the RNA’s role.” It came out as a statement and not a question. Harry was intelligent enough to realize Allenby would eventually come up with the answer. He did, however, have another question. “Where’s Istvan?”
Another guard walked over, an immensely fat version of Istvan, much taller, in the realm of six-three, with a totally porcine face yet with a human mouth. He was holding onto the squirming little man. “I haven’t eaten him yet, but he looks delicious.”
“Put him down.” Harry was in no position to order anyone to do anything, but seeing his friend manhandled and helpless, he couldn’t do otherwise.
“Do as he says,” Allenby commanded. “We still need him.”
The large pig-man dropped Istvan, and he scurried over to stand near a worktable. “You mean, you haven’t figured it out,” Harry stated.
A look of immense dissatisfaction flitted across Allenby’s face and he turned to study the computer. “No, I haven’t, but I will. Once I do, his life is of no consequence.”
While he’d been speaking, Istvan’s hand had found a piece of sharp metal. Picking it up with both hands, he wielded it as one would wield a sword and pointed it at Allenby. “You... you monsters, you are responsible. You are worse than animals. I will not let you use me again. If I die, you have nothing.”
“Stop,” Harry said, realizing his friend’s intent. There’d already been enough killing. He couldn’t allow this to happen to his friend, not now.
Positioning the blade at the base of his throat, Istvan shook his head, his eyes wild. “What will you do now?”
Oh God, don’t do it! Harry put out his hand, but Istvan waved him off. “Listen, we can work this out—”
“No, Harry, we cannot. I am sorry.” Istvan’s voice, though sad, filled with sudden determination. �
�I have lived long enough. I cannot let this continue.”
Allenby’s pig minion took a step closer, but Istvan, closing his eyes, swiftly reversed the course of the point and drove it into his chest. A gasp came from his lips, but from deep within him, he found the strength to plunge the makeshift blade in deeper. Blood poured from his mouth and he dropped to the ground without making another sound.
“No...”
Tears started from Harry’s eyes. “No,” was the only word he could summon as he stared at the lifeless body of his friend. He’d come all this way for nothing. Going over to Istvan’s side, he knelt by him, gently patting his shoulder and hoping he’d get up—but knew he never would.
“Pity,” said the large pig-man, breaking through the moment of silence. “He probably would have made a fine meal.”
“You...”
Harry couldn’t finish as he wasn’t able to comprehend why anyone would stoop to cannibalism. “You sick twist,” he finally managed to spit out.
Mr. Pig smiled. “So do something about it.”
A second later, Harry arose in a lightning fast motion, let loose a swipe, and tore out the thing’s throat. The pig cannibal wannabe toppled over, blood spewing from the space that had once been his neck. A spray of bright red dotted the air and dropped in a Rorschach-type pattern on the ground.
Allenby stared at the body and sighed. “He always was a pain. However, science marches on. Istvan was vital to my work, but not essential. I managed to glean enough knowledge from the study of his blood and have enough on hand. I learned how to store it so that the enzymes don’t break down.”
He pointed toward a small refrigerator at the far wall and a smile of triumph emerged. “I possess the secret, and I alone. After you, that is, but once I’m done, I’ll be the sole owner.”
Harry started forward, but Allenby produced a small pistol from the folds of his loincloth. “Uh-uh, don’t even think about it. I’ll kill you where you stand, and I’d rather not do that. Not yet, at any rate, for you still have more to see. Move to the door where I came out of.”
Without much choice but still raging over his friend’s demise, Harry moved ahead and walked through the open door. There, an immensely long corridor greeted him, a dim and gloomy place lit by a string of overhead lights. “Down the hallway,” Allenby said. “Once you get to the end, touch the wall.”
As they went along, Allenby filled him in on the history of this place. As Harry had suspected, it had been built as a storage site during the Second World War. “The Russians used it to house some of their small arms as well as a temporary hiding place. Doubtful the Nazis would have come to this godforsaken area, but there was that possibility, at least until Stalingrad.”
History lesson given, he expounded on the virtues of the room. “It may be old, but it has been constructed extremely well. It has stood the test of time, and it offers complete privacy. Grushenko, one of the scientists, mentioned this place still existed, so I moved in.”
Doing business with the enemy was enough to put Allenby in the slime category, but this... it proved him to be a traitor supreme. The most terrible thing was he’d gotten away with it. If not stopped, he’d get away with far worse.
They kept walking down the cold and silent corridor, but soon they reached the end. “Ah, here we are,” said Allenby with an immense sound of satisfaction. “Next to my laboratory, this is the place I’m most proud of. Do be so good as to touch the wall in front of you.”
A prod from the pistol in the small of his back jarred Harry, and doing as he’d been ordered to, he touched the wall. The rock slid aside, revealing a narrow corridor roughly twenty feet long. A door, heavy, made of steel perhaps, was open.
When he got a closer look, it turned out to be a jail cell. Small, roughly ten by ten feet square, the walls were lined with holes, probably for ventilation purposes. Heavy cloth covered the floor. A few holes in the ceiling hissed air, and a toilet and sink stood in one corner. No bed. A single light bulb burned in the ceiling and sent a stream of light around the cell.
“Welcome to the Containment Room,” Allenby said. “This is my version of hell. It was designed to survive the impact of a ten-megaton bomb and is made from the strongest steel alloy on the market. It’s capable of containing the most powerful transgenic around.”
Taking a guess, Harry said, “That would be you?” He eyed Allenby openly, noting the mutation in progress. “At the rate you’re going, you’re going to need a hospital, not a jail cell.”
Allenby let out a harsh laugh. “I admire your spirit, Goldman, but you misunderstand. This place is for you if you don’t help me. You’re strong, but there’s no way to break out. If I can’t do it, there’s no way you can. It’s practically impregnable. A time-lock is on the door. Once it starts, there’s no stopping it. It can be set to anywhere from a day to ninety-nine years. The only way out is through the door, and if a god such as I can’t break through...”
He didn’t finish, but then again he didn’t have to. The threat was real and a chill went down Harry’s spine. This man meant to imprison him for all eternity. “Is that all it does?”
“No, I’ve added other improvements, should you wish to try them.”
He didn’t go into detail over what said improvements entailed, but it wasn’t necessary. “So how do you eat, or is that part of the punishment?”
Another laugh came from Allenby. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry. See the vents up there?” He gestured with the pistol. “Twice a day, food drops through. It’s a synthetic substance I dreamed up a few months ago. I have a supply that will last approximately fifty years, so you won’t go hungry, unless—”
“Unless I help you, is that it?”
Allenby gave a rather toothy smile... although one of his teeth fell out from swollen gums. “You always did have a quick mind, Goldman.”
“It’s not quick enough.” The moment called for defiance. “You’ll break down soon enough. I’ll rot before I help you.”
The smile faded. “As you wish, but I thought you’d be smarter.”
In a quick rush, Allenby smashed him inside the room. The door swung closed and an audible click sounded. “I’ve set the timer for a day,” he called out. “I’ll drop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
The sound of his footsteps gradually faded. Harry tried to open the door, but it was too solidly made, and after throwing a few hard punches, he couldn’t even dent the metal. Frustrated and tired, he sat down against one of the walls. It was soft enough, and he had some free time in order to break out, or at least try. He thought about using the light in some fashion, perhaps disabling the lock, but when he reached up to touch it, he got a nasty shock that hurled him into one of the walls.
“That wasn’t too smart,” he muttered after he got up and rubbed the sore places on his body.
Feeling his way along the back wall, he probed for any opening, any imperfection, and found none. All of the walls had been built the same way—perfect. He had to hand it to Allenby. Not only was this monster a first-class maniac, he also happened to be a first-class engineer, or he’d hired first-class engineers to do his bidding.
A soft wind sprang up from the vents and ruffled his fur. The wind quickly increased to a gale, and the wind, now coming from all sides, buffeted him from wall to wall. Harry tried to find some traction, something to hang onto, and made for the sink, but the wind kept slamming him around and a few seconds later, he hit one of the walls and knew no more.
Waking up untold minutes or hours later, sore to the bone and bruised, he sat up and assessed his condition. The wind had stopped and a plastic square sat next to him. Lunch, he thought. Or maybe it was dinner... he’d lost all sense of how much time had elapsed.
He picked it up and sniffed it—it smelled something like rotten eggs combined with seaweed. A voice came in from an overhead hidden speaker. “I hope you enjoyed your windstorm. Enjoy your dinner.”
The voice abruptly cut out. “Screw you
,” Harry said, and checked out the cube. It tasted vile, and he recognized another smell—rats. This thing, this Allenby, had made synthetic food from rats? Harry immediately ran to the sink and heaved out bile and bits of food and other things he hadn’t remembered eating. Stomach empty and aching, he lay down on the floor and waited until the pain stopped.
Speaker... the voice had come from a speaker, and if he could somehow unhinge a panel...
Then he remembered the shock he’d gotten from the light and reasoned Allenby had somehow wired every place in the room. Just to satisfy his own curiosity, he got up on the edge of the sink and gently touched the ceiling.
Sure enough, he received another shock, this one heavier than before. “No getting out that way.” He lay down in order to think about his options and perhaps get some sleep.
No such luck, as the wind suddenly sprang up again. This time, he grimly hung onto the sink as long as possible, but in the end the gale force proved to be too much. A person could fight against the elements for only so long, and finally the tremendous force of the wind caught him and whipped him like a kite caught in the grip of a tornado. His head banged against something hard, and milliseconds before passing out, he thought he heard the monster laugh.
Chapter Fifteen: “It Ends Here!”
Dreams... in dreams visions came, some of them pleasant and others, not.
It was Harry’s wedding day. On a glorious summer morning, going to City Hall in downtown Manhattan, accompanied by Anastasia and Agent Farrell, they stood on the steps, speaking to a number of reporters. “Is it legal for you to get married?” asked someone from a local cable news channel.
“Our lawyer has told us it is legal,” Harry answered. “We’re both American citizens, we both have passports, and we both want to get married. It’s that simple.”
Reunion Page 19