by Snell, D. L.
The Epsilon seemed more amused than anything else.
That thought triggered a rush of rage in Theta Rose, and the thin veneer of humanity boiled away. He snarled and spit, charging Kaiser, claws out and ready to rend and tear.
Kaiser leapt neatly to one side, landing on his hands and rolling back to his feet. He jumped backwards, spinning and kicking, landing a powerful blow to the small of Rose’s back. The Theta Dog lurched forward and, spurred by his own momentum and the added impetus of Kaiser’s foot, collided headfirst with one of the iron I-beams surrounding the sparring cage.
Blood covered Rose’s furry face in crimson sheets, blinding him even as his skin stitched itself together. He wiped the curtain of red away in time to see Kaiser pushing through the last stage of the Change.
A pair of emotions chased each other through Rose’s brain. The first, pride in having forced Kaiser further than either Kristos or Landis. The second, fear of the very same thing: fear of escalating the fight.
The spike of adrenaline bumped something in his system, and he threw himself headlong at Kaiser, more carefully than before. It worked against him. The Epsilon was faster in full Dog form, and when Rose pulled his punch, Kaiser was there and ready.
Sharp nails dug furrows up Rose’s chest, and he yelped when the talons hung up on his collarbone. Kaiser lifted up on the bone, pulling Rose onto his clawed toes. With his left foot, Kaiser kicked up, raking his lesser opponent along the inside of the left thigh.
Rose fought to get away, realizing his femoral artery had been cut. Even in full Change, there would be a moment where he would just keep losing blood, temporarily weakened until the artery healed.
Kaiser’s double hammer-fist came down on the side of Rose’s head, and the Dog fell.
Turning in place, Kaiser lifted his snout to the air and howled, clawing at the sky in triumph. In the stands, Donovan stood, clapping. Holly Randall, sitting beside him, looked up and cringed at the sheen in the neurotechnician’s eyes. The look was a cross between religious fervor and the glaze of a lunatic.
She realized what she had just been thinking and it struck her as horribly, horribly unfunny. So she laughed. Donovan looked down at her and she laughed harder, pointing at Kaiser. Nodding, Donovan clapped harder and shouted.
Holly’s laughter turned into yelling sobs, and no one noticed. Not even her.
’
One hour and several hormone boosters later, Kaiser sat cross-legged in the sparring cage, waiting for the final Theta Dog. Though the last opponent was smaller in stature, Hayte made up for his lack of size in determination and willpower. Kaiser respected that.
Hayte walked out to the sparring cage wearing only a loincloth and a bandana, moving in a short stutter-step, leaning forward and back as he chanted and beat a small drum with the flat of his hand. At the door of the cage, he stopped coming forward and instead skipped around in a circle. His chanting came to a crescendo, then halted altogether. He put the drum to the side and addressed Kaiser.
“I have made a Song to my ancestors. This one,” he said, holding his fist to his chest, “this one wears the shoes of the Monster Slayer.”
He stepped into the cage.
Kaiser slapped his thighs and stood. He towered over the native, even more so when the smaller man crouched in his curious stance. It was nothing like any of the Dogs had seen in training. A small twinge of fear fluttered in Kaiser’s belly.
This one. This will be the one.
Without words, Kaiser launched an attack, striking out with his right hand. Hayte weaved deftly back. Not far enough to change his balance, but far enough to avoid contact. His hands floated around his waist, half-fists that never stopped moving. Flat black eyes threw Kaiser’s stare back at him, reflected.
Hayte’s foot shuffled forward, and Kaiser ducked down. When he did, Hayte’s hand lashed out, the hard ridge of his palm chopping across the end of Kaiser’s chin.
Kaiser stumbled back a couple of steps. He blinked. “Not bad, chief. Kind of an east-meets-west thing you’ve got going there, huh?”
He leapt up, kicking out. Hayte fell back, rolling to his butt, then brought his hands up to catch the axe-kick that Kaiser brought down. The same karate chop struck the side of Kaiser’s knee, and then he was stumbling free of the native’s grasp.
Slowly, keeping his gaze pinned to Kaiser, Hayte came to his feet. He took a deep breath, and again began to circle in that curious, crouching stance.
Kaiser circled with him, hobbling. The pain eased slowly, and he grimaced. If not for his Dog physiology, he would have had a bad wheel for the foreseeable future. As it was, his system was having a hard time keeping up. He had grown stronger, but not strong enough.
Not yet.
The Epsilon’s right elbow shot out, sweeping past Hayte’s face as the native swayed out of the way. The elbow swung back, and as the native moved again, Kaiser’s left hand darted after him, landing a thudding blow to Hayte’s midsection. Air exploded out of the Theta’s mouth, and he took a step back.
Never blinking.
Kaiser feinted again, but pain erupted in his left foot as Hayte’s hard heel came down on his instep. The bigger Dog hopped back, only to find himself up against the new I-beam. Hayte’s leaping knee caught Kaiser in the solar plexus, followed by a forearm across his temple.
Fighting the blackness, Kaiser threw himself away from the cage, snarling and grunting. Hayte turned and stalked after him. The eerie stillness emanating from the native made the flutter of fear that Kaiser had felt earlier now spread its wings. A tic appeared at the corner of his eye. He’d been right to respect Hayte.
Yes, he will be the one.
Kaiser threw a looping punch, one that Hayte sidestepped, slipping around the bigger Dog as smoothly as a shadow. His arm snaked under Kaiser’s, a foot in the back of his knee, and the Epsilon found himself suddenly kneeling in front of Hayte, trapped in a half nelson.
Hayte caught his other hand to lock in the hold, and then leaned down to look into Kaiser’s face.
“I’ve always known, Kaiser. You were never a man who became a wolf. The procedure... it only brought out the real you.”
Kaiser began to laugh, and a spark of alarm flashed across the native’s eyes. It was too late. Kaiser’s snout had already begun to grow, and he leaned his neck back, the pliant cartilage and bones ready for the Change, allowing greater flexibility. Teeth snapped on Hayte’s gut, and Kaiser dug in.
Hayte let go, beating down on the crown of Kaiser’s head, but, again, it was too late: the Change had started, and the Epsilon had a good hold on him.
Head thrown back, Hayte tried to change too, but Kaiser’s growing snout and elongated teeth took a firmer hold on his midsection, and all Hayte could think of was pain.
Kaiser stood, lifting Hayte into the air by his stomach. He reached up and gripped the sides of the native’s head, then let go with his teeth. Grunting and growling laughter, the fully-formed Dog twisted and pulled until Hayte’s neck popped free from his body.
The stands went quiet. Donovan threw his drink over the cage and started cheering. The rest of the island staff clapped, but more than one face was streaked with tears.
The beaten Theta Dogs all lowered their heads.
Kaiser had won. He’d beaten them.
All of them.
Donovan stood and yelled at the security guard. “Open it. Open it, already! I want to congratulate my new Alpha!”
The guard extended a shaking hand and unlocked the gate. Donovan ran over and yanked the door open. He approached Kaiser, arms open, singing praises.
“Beautiful! Magnificent! Oh my God, I have never seen such a display in my life!” Donovan turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! I give to you, your new Alpha!”
He began to clap, but a growl from behind him stopped him cold. Crazy, but it felt as if Crispin’s eye were ogling his back.
“Alpha?” Kaiser grunted, darkly amused. Then he roared. “I am the Omega!”
Kaiser brought Donovan down hard across his knee. A sharp crack rang out, and the seats began to empty as everyone went running. Pointing a clawed hand, Kaiser beckoned the watching Theta and Sigma Dogs.
“Change.”
Obliging their new Alpha and Master, their new Omega, the Dogs put themselves through it again, their bodies reconfiguring in painful, unnatural ways, bones and cartilage popping, muscles and connective tissues stretching, tearing, then healing. One of them vomited from the pressure on his stomach.
Then the seven Dogs entered the cage to stand with their new leader. His excitement spread to them, infectious, a thing that had only ever happened with McLoughlin; their shoulders began to heave up and down in time with his. They snapped at each other and paced.
Kaiser barked. He pointed again, this time at the prone and still very much alive form of Donovan.
“Feast,” he said.
And they did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
KEN SAT ON THE ROOFTOP, looking down at the mass of shuffling humanity below and popping plastic wrapping bubbles. As far as pastimes went, it would never beat baseball, but it was something to do. Though they hadn’t been there for that long, he already liked the shop better than North Regional. The tools and workbench made him feel more at home, and the accommodations above the shop were set up for people living, not people working, like back at the offices.
“I can’t believe you’re still up here,” Kelly said from behind him. “How much of that bubble wrap do you have left, mister?”
He half-turned to look over his shoulder. “What are you offering for it?”
She laughed. “Oh, ho. So that’s what it’s come to. The death of romance at the end of the world.”
Ken patted the ledge next to him, and she sat down.
“Sorry about before,” she said. “I just feel bad. Mac just got here, and he does so much. Nobody asked him for anything.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s all right. Shitty times all around, right? How’s it going downstairs?”
Kelly snorted. “Julius is still running around, setting things up and keeping everyone else out. I don’t get what he’s doing, but he seems to have a plan.”
Tearing his piece of bubble wrap in half, Ken gave her the good part.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hate these things. We’re not going anywhere for a little while. I don’t see why Julius doesn’t turn off the noisemaker.”
It was Ken’s turn to laugh. “The old man has his eccentricities. He told me he couldn’t sleep without the sound now. Did everybody get something to eat?”
“Everybody that wanted something. People are taking this hard. First the pastor, and now Mac looks so sick.”
Ken rolled up the bubble wrap and twisted it with both hands, setting off a string of rapid-fire pops. “I’ll be back. I think I’m going to give Julius a hand. Will you be here for a while?”
Kelly stood, handing the plastic back. “No. I have some stuff to do too. Mac asked me to put lampblack on all our metal stuff. And there’s quite a bit of metal stuff. He’s down there now, all pale, with your .44 in the vise.”
Raising his eyebrows, Ken stood with her. “Well then, I guess I’d better get down there.”
Julius was sitting on a stool, rolling an open jar over and over in his hands.
“Is that gasoline?” Ken asked.
“It is. And over there is a pile of nails soaking in it.” Julius eyed the jar. “Hand me some, will you? About two dozen. No, don’t count them out.”
He held the jar out, and Ken dropped the nails into its mouth. “What is this?”
Julius set the jar on the bench and picked up a white plastic bottle. “Hold on. Don’t want to try to do this while I’m talking.” He poured a dark-purple powder into a plastic cup and put a cap on it. He put the cup into the bottle with the nails and screwed the lid on tight.
“What is that?”
“Low-income nail bomb,” Mac said from the other side of the workshop. His head, freshly shaved at sunup, already looked like a crew cut instead. He looked bigger, too. More heavily muscled. “Man’s been making things that go boom all morning. Without mistakes. I’m starting to think he wasn’t going to just let this place default to the bank.” His words were pleasant enough, but he sounded brusque, almost rude.
Lips twisted in a stiff smile, Julius put the small jar with a dozen others just like it. On the shelf above them sat a pile of gleaming CO2 cartridges. “I’ve always wanted to go down swinging. Maybe I’ve seen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid too many times.”
“They didn’t know they were going down,” Mac said. Then he clapped his hands. “Ken. Come look at this.” He pulled the .44 out of the vise. “Try that.”
Ken took hold of the gun. “It’s lighter.”
Mac shook his head. “It’s more balanced. I’ve seen how you hold it, so I adjusted the grips. The trigger pull is better, too.”
Looking up at Mac, Ken smiled. “Thanks. Let’s just hope I don’t need to pull the trigger that much, yeah?”
“This is it,” Julius said. “All the party favors are put together. Thermite’s ready, torches are tested.”
Ken whistled. “And the boat?”
“The boats are good to go,” Mac said. “Good thing you remembered where the military convoy went down. The .50 cal is mounted and ready to go. Plenty of ammo.”
“Thanks, Mac. Since you’re all done, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. Um, never mind.”
Ken walked away, feeling Mac’s eyes on his back and cursing himself for his stupid choice of words. He went upstairs and stopped in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn’t even eaten yet. There was some macaroni and cheese left on the stove, so he grabbed a bowl and spoon and dug in.
As he ate, he was vaguely aware of voices from other parts of the living quarters. They got closer, and he wished he’d taken his bowl to the roof to eat. Conversation hadn’t been his thing lately.
“Here he is now,” Kelly said. “Ken, this is Teddy. He’ll be driving the decoy boat.”
Ken looked up into a tired set of eyes sunken into a narrow face. “Sit down.”
Teddy sat, his thin wrists banging the table as he did. Ken winced, but the pale-faced man hadn’t seemed to register the pain. “What kind of—”
“Before we talk about the plan,” Ken said, “I have to ask, are you sure you want to do this? The boat is going to draw a lot of fire, and will probably get sunk. No one can guarantee you’ll make it out of the drink alive.”
Teddy laughed, and it was turning into a dry, rattling cough that shook his thin chest. “I might be all right with that. Unless you think there’s a plucky HMO that’s hiding out somewhere in the city, I don’t think I have much time left.”
“Drowning—”
“Save it,” Teddy said. “I’m not going to drown. I’ve decided, and I talked to Julius about some preparations already. I’m not coming here to ask you. I’m telling you.”
Ken picked his spoon back up. “Thank you. I think.”
“Now. What kind of timetable are we looking at here? I’ve got places to be and people to look forward to.”
’
Later, Ken was back on the roof and feeling deflated. On the one hand, having someone volunteer to drive the decoy boat was great. Really, really great. He hadn’t felt like handing out a death sentence. On the other hand, the reality of the situation came home again. He wished Jorge were there. Lightening the situation. Even if it was with a fart joke.
He smiled. Jorge. Even at his worst, he’d always been able to make Ken laugh.
He stared out over the sea of dead, thinking. It had been, what, three months before the outbreak? He wasn’t even sure about the date anymore, but that sounded right. He and Jorge had been late, incredibly late to work because of Jorge’s screwball antics...
“Come on,
it’ll only be a couple of minutes,” Jorge had said. “In and out, boom. On the way to work. What could go wrong?”
Ken sighed and pulled the truck into the minimart’s parking lot.
“That’s the spirit,” Jorge said. “I’ll keep ’em in the cooler, and we’ll have brewskis two seconds after we knock off. Set the weekend off right. Isn’t that a plan?”
“It’s a plan. Go get the beer already.”
Jorge unbuckled and hopped out of the truck.
“And no cheap shit!” Ken yelled after him. Jorge answered with a middle finger over his head.
Not a minute after Jorge went into the store, he was followed by two other men; a young black man in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and an older Latino in a three-quarter-length denim jacket.
Feeling like a racist, Ken shut off the truck and went inside, too.
He went straight to the back and grabbed Jorge’s elbow. “Come on. Get your beer already.”
“What the hell, man?”
Ken dragged him to the front.
“Let’s go.”
Shaking his head, Jorge paid his bill and they left the store. “What was that about?”
Ken shrugged, walking them to the side. “I don’t know. I just got a bad feeling about those guys that went in after you.”
“Bro,” Jorge said.
“I’m sorry. They looked...”
“Brown?”
“Shifty, I was going to say.” Ken slapped Jorge’s shoulder. “You know me better than that.”
“Yassuh, bwana,” Jorge said.
“Hey! You take that shit back.”
Jorge put the six-pack down. “Make me, Grand Wizard.”
Ken put his hands up.
“Ah, that’s how it is, maricon. Bad enough I got to put up with the racist attitudes of the fat cats we build shit for, now you too?”
“I’m not—”