To Chrístopher Moore.
Because, you know, monsters and stuff …
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
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About the Author
From Dr. Catalyst’s Files
Preview
Copyright
IT HAD COME TO THIS.
Dr. Catalyst piloted the boat silently through the Aerojet Canal outside of Florida City. It was nearing midnight, and the sky was full of rain clouds. He was moving through the water on low power with no lights. Though capture was unlikely, he was still a wanted fugitive and took every precaution.
His advance planning and well-reasoned strategies had led him to this moment. A few weeks ago, his latest efforts at combating the invasive species infesting South Florida had been thwarted again by Emmet Doyle and Calvin Geaux. Dr. Catalyst glanced down at his mangled right hand, something else he had Emmet and Calvin to thank for. In the Everglades, Emmet had induced a Pterogator to attack him, and its bite had nearly severed his arm. Now he had lost access to his Pterogators and Muraecudas. And not only that, Emmet’s stupid dog had bitten him. Repeatedly. He was tired, aching, and angry.
Dr. Catalyst was through with subtlety. He was finished with taking a measured approach. Those in power did not see the value of his methods. Man had introduced vile, destructive creatures into the fragile ecosystem and the only way to heal it was to create a new level of predators to eliminate them. All he was asking was to be left alone to save the environment.
The boat slowed to a stop, floating gently in the middle of the canal. A few weeks ago, he had come to this very spot to kidnap Emmet Doyle’s dog, Apollo. The Doyle home backed up to the canal and was close to the Everglades. Remembering that night made his bitten calf muscle ache, reminding him of his failure.
On the boat’s rear deck was a large Plexiglas construct, roughly the size of a phone booth. Small holes were drilled in the sides to allow in oxygen for the creatures inside. Dr. Catalyst put on a helmet with a clear plastic face shield. He was wearing thick gloves and canvas coveralls. As he approached the container, the animals within it flapped leathery wings and a chittering rose from inside.
He placed his gloved hands on the clear plastic, and the captured creatures swarmed at them, thumping against the side. Loud screeching sounds replaced the chittering. Dr. Catalyst could make out one of the creatures in the din, flapping wings with long, pointed claws at their end. Its face was a horror of small, sharp teeth and huge, dark eyes, plus a pair of insectlike antennae. The creature’s wings tucked in as it stretched toward him, revealing not four spindly limbs, but six. There were hundreds just like it in the container. They were small in size, but very belligerent. Each one weighed only a few ounces, and their wingspans were less than a foot long when fully extended. A swarming, squirming, buzzing mass of hungry terror.
Unbelievably hungry.
Once again he had combined two separate species. Each was aggressive in its own right. The vampire bat was a nocturnal hunter that required drinking over 60 percent of its body weight in mammalian blood each night in order to survive. The baldfaced hornet was among the most aggressive members of the yellow-jacket family. They could bite as well as sting, and protected their nests with the utmost ferocity. With his revolutionary gene-splicing, growth hormones, and his technique for recombining DNA from divergent species, Dr. Catalyst had created the ideal invasive species.
Yes.
An invasive species.
He was releasing his own nonnative animals into South Florida. His Pterogators and Muraecudas had served a specific purpose: to rid the Everglades and the ocean of snakes and lionfish.
But his newest creations — he was going to call them Blood Jackets — were here for only one reason: to create havoc.
If no one would willingly accept his methods, he would show them the negative impact of an invasive species firsthand. And before long his latest creations would find sustenance from the most prevalent warm-blooded mammals in Florida.
Humans.
Dr. Catalyst stepped inside the cabin of the boat. He had rigged a cable release, attached to a pulley system, which allowed the creatures to be set free from inside, where it was safe. Still, he wore the helmet and thick coveralls as a precaution.
Taking a breath, he pushed a lever forward, and through a hole drilled in the cabin wall, the cable pulled open the top of the cage. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a rush of wings and loud piercing squeals, they exploded into the night sky. Dozens of the creatures threw themselves at the cabin window, then more followed, trying to reach him through the glass. Their savageness caused Dr. Catalyst to draw back from the sight of them. Unable to breach the cabin, they finally gave up and flew upward, joining hundreds of their brethren in the sky.
From here they would spread out and begin nesting. Colonies would form and they would terrorize the population of Florida City.
They would own the night.
THE THING ABOUT DOGS IS THEY EAT A LOT, SLEEP A LOT, and if they were Apollo — with a sense of smell and hearing he considered superior to every living creature, including other dogs — they were sometimes obsessive about needing to go outside. Ever since he was taken captive by Dr. Catalyst, Apollo woke up several times a night, wanting to investigate the backyard. It was as if he had a score to settle with his onetime captor.
It was almost midnight, according to the clock on the bedroom desk. Apollo was standing on Emmet’s chest, licking his face and making a soft growling sound. Emmet tried rolling over and burying himself with pillows and blankets. No use. Apollo dug through and found Emmet’s face again, where he went to work licking and yipping quietly. Either he had to go, or he’d heard something outside that needed investigation. And Emmet would get no rest until Apollo was sure the backyard was secure.
Sitting up, Emmet rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Apollo sat back on his haunches, pleased that Emmet now understood what was required of him. He ran his hand over Apollo’s ears and scratched gently. Next to food of nearly any kind, this was the dog’s most favorite thing. Emmet felt Apollo’s collar, making sure it was securely attached, and checking the special dog-license medallion attached to it.
After Dr. Catalyst kidnapped Apollo, Dr. Geaux had gone to the FBI and obtained a unique fob for Apollo’s license. It looked like a regular dog license, but it contained a special chip in it that would allow them to track Apollo, were he to be captured again.
“I don’t suppose I could talk you out of this, could I?” Emmet whispered. Apollo cocked his head and gave a quiet yip.
“Couldn’t you at least bark loud enough to wake up Dad? Then he could take you outside,” Emmet grumbled. “Come on.”
He stood up, stretched, and stumbled groggily for his bedroom door. Outside he heard thunder rumble off in the distance. A storm must be coming. The wind was making a weird noise on the roof of the house. It sounded like — Emmet wasn’t sure at first — like a humming, buzzing sound. Or maybe it was flapping. Could be the shingles were loose or something. He was too tired to pay much attention. Apollo ran ahead of him to the back door and scratched at it eagerly.
; “Hold your horses,” Emmet groused. “You shouldn’t drink so much water before you go to bed. I’ve got school tomorrow, you know. I need my beauty rest.”
There was a brand-new alarm-system pad next to the door. Emmet entered the code and it beeped as it was deactivated. When he opened the door, Apollo catapulted through it and rushed across the small stone patio to the grass, nose down, sniffing the ground like a bloodhound. Emmet often wondered what it must be like to have the millions of scents in the world pulling you in a different direction every few seconds.
Ever since Dr. Catalyst had snatched Apollo, Emmet stood in the doorway and watched over him while he was outside. He still had nightmares and horrible flashbacks of Apollo tumbling into the tank full of Muraecudas. He was determined that the madman would never get his hands on Apollo again, so the little black mutt got a wingman whenever he had to visit the backyard.
Apollo sniffed his way along the ground to the first of the three cypress trees that grew in the yard. Emmet watched him through hooded eyes, still groggy with sleep. The wind picked up, and off to the west the sky brightened as fingers of lightning reached out of the clouds. Over the breeze, he heard that weird buzzing, flapping sound above his head again. For a moment he thought it sounded like bird wings. I need sleep, Emmet thought. Hurry up, Apollo.
Now the dog was sniffing hard at the base of the tree. He went up on his hind legs, his forepaws planted against the trunk of the tree. Emmet groaned. He hoped it wasn’t a raccoon. He could be out here all night. He flipped on the outdoor lights.
“Apollo, come,” he said. Apollo ignored the command.
And barked. Loudly.
“Apollo,” Emmet hissed. “Quiet! Come on, let’s go!”
Apollo was unmoved.
Emmet left the doorway, the screen door slamming behind him, and trotted to the tree. Apollo darted away.
“Oh, come on!” Emmet complained. The strange noise grew louder now that he was outside in the yard. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something dark fly low across the ground, from the tree toward the roof of the house. It must have been a bird. Nothing drove Apollo nuts like birds.
While he was chasing Apollo, another bird flew from the tree to the roof, and Apollo pursued it. When Emmet turned around to follow his dog, he suddenly saw that the roof of their house was covered with birds. They were flapping their wings and hopping about, and the bizarre chittering sound was coming from them. Florida had hundreds of bird species. Nighttime was a symphony of animal noises, from birds to frogs to alligators bellowing in the canal behind their house. But he had yet to hear the call of this one. To Emmet it sounded almost like bees in a hive. Maybe it was some kind of seasonal migration no one had bothered to warn him about.
As he trailed Apollo toward the house, the sound changed from a low-pitched hum to a high screech. Emmet skidded to a stop in the yard. Apollo was in a barking frenzy. Now that he was close enough to see the roof clearly in the light, Emmet froze in fear.
These were not birds roosting on the rooftop of their house.
They were bats.
A whole lot of bats. Hundreds of them. And as Emmet shouted in alarm, they rose as one into the night sky, wings flapping with a furious and impossible speed, a horrible shriek rising over the noise of the wind. Terrified, Emmet wanted to run but was rooted in place.
“Dad! Dad! Hurry!” he shouted as loud as he could.
The bats circled briefly in the air above him. Then, like something out of the most frightening horror movie he had ever seen, they turned in flight.
And they dived directly toward him.
“DAD! HELP! DAD!” EMMET YELLED, BUT HIS SHOUTS were quelled by the horrific sound of flapping leathery wings and the screech of hundreds of bats flying at him. The air around him was full of teeth and fur and noise. One minute he was ten yards away from the back door of his house, and the next he couldn’t see through the mass of writhing creatures. He had no idea in which direction he would find safety.
Apollo howled and charged toward Emmet, snapping and growling as the bats attacked his master. Finally catching sight of the back-door lights, Emmet was able to orient himself, but it was impossible for him to take even a single step against the onslaught.
“Emmet!” Dr. Doyle’s voice cut through the pandemonium. “Hold on, son!”
All Emmet could think to do was fall to the ground. Landing on his hands and knees, he grabbed Apollo and pulled him beneath his chest. The dog was not happy to be taken out of the fight, and tried to wiggle his way free. Emmet couldn’t tell if he was being stung or bitten, but sharp pricks of pain stabbed at his arms and neck.
He felt something suddenly grip his arm and lift him to his feet. Emmet just hoped it was his dad, and not a giant bat that was going to carry him off into the night.
“Come on!” his dad shouted. He was viciously swinging a broom through the air with his other hand, swatting the creatures out of the sky. Emmet held tightly to the struggling Apollo as his father guided them through the swirling horde.
Emmet felt funny. His skin hurt and stung all around his neck, face, and arms. He felt himself stumbling and tightened his grip on his dad’s arm as they crashed through the screen door into the kitchen, landing in a heap on the floor. Dr. Doyle clambered to his feet, still swinging the broom at the two bats that had followed them into the kitchen through the broken screen.
Emmet wanted to stand up, but he felt dizzy and a little nauseous. He wondered if the bites contained some kind of venom. When he looked at his hands and arms, he saw they were bleeding and swollen. He tried rising from the floor, but Apollo was jumping and barking at a couple of the bats that were circling the kitchen. The noise of the whirring, biting mass of chaos had made him woozy and disoriented.
Dr. Doyle slammed the back door shut, and there were several thumps against the wooden barrier.
“Hey, buddy!” his dad said. “Can you stand up?”
Emmet wanted to answer him, but his tongue felt thick and goofy. It didn’t seem to want to work right. He wanted to say, “I think so,” but it came out, “My sheep slow.” Emmet’s head flopped back onto the floor, and it hurt. His whole body throbbed with pain.
Lying on his back, he could see two of the creatures perched on the kitchen light fixture. Apollo barked furiously at them. Emmet felt his father lifting him up and carrying him into the front room of their house. His eyes felt strange, and he was having trouble seeing, like they might be swollen shut or something.
“Hang on, buddy,” his dad said, laying him on the sofa. “Come on, Apollo!”
Apollo jumped up on the couch and started licking Emmet’s face. It tickled, but Emmet couldn’t say anything to get him to stop. His dad slammed the door shut, closing them off from the kitchen. Behind him, two loud thumps issued out as the creatures smacked against it.
The last thing Emmet remembered was his father’s voice.
“Hello? 9-1-1? We need an ambulance! Hurry!”
IT TOOK SEVERAL HOURS IN ALL, BUT DR. CATALYST released four more containers of his Blood Jackets into the wild at various locations around Florida City. He suspected there were now at least two thousand free in the night sky. It would be difficult to determine what impact they might have on the ecosystem, but at this point he no longer cared. These creatures were voracious feeders and would be difficult to catch. They would occupy the time and resources of those who pursued him, leaving him free to continue his gallant struggle.
The animals swarmed through the darkening sky. Their first instinct would be to find a place to nest and grow the colony. Once they found a secure home in which to spend the daylight hours, with access to a freshwater source, hunting would begin. The resulting terror would overtake the city, and he would finally be free to complete his work.
Dr. Catalyst watched the last group fly off into the darkness from the safety of the boat’s cabin. They were a magnificent species. It had been a much bigger scientific challenge creating these hybrids. The species th
at he crossed to breed his Pterogators and Muraecudas shared common evolutionary and genetic ancestors. Vampire bats and baldfaced hornets were from two entirely different classes: mammal and insect. Despite this, there were similarities in their behavior. Bat colonies and hornet hives were alike in that each member had different roles and duties. Vampire bats shared blood with colony members to sustain their numbers. Hornets were highly protective of their nest and the queen. Regardless of how difficult it was, Dr. Catalyst was so brilliant that he had made it work.
Now it was time to watch them in action.
The first colony released that night found a home in the steeple of a church not far from the Florida City downtown area. The vented structure was high above the building and offered easy access in and out. It was also near several residential areas, which would offer plenty of food sources.
Two of the colonies found refuge in deserted warehouses in an abandoned industrial park on the outskirts of Florida City. In truth, they were located too close to each other, and would soon begin fighting over territory. One of them would eventually drive the other out, forcing the refugees to find a new home. But for the first night, each building gave them shelter from the coming storm.
The fourth batch first stopped to rest on the roof of the Doyle home but, after terrorizing the Doyle family, moved on. They flew through the night behaving almost like a living cloud. Their screeching became louder and more frequent until it eventually sounded like a constant wail. Dogs barked at the sound, cats scurried for cover beneath porches and picnic tables, and people who happened to be outside at that late hour looked up, wondering what could be causing such a ruckus.
On and on they flew, occasionally pausing to rest in trees or on rooftops, but unable to find a suitable roost. The wind was getting stronger, and the first drops of rain were falling from the clouds when a single member of the colony returned to the rooftop where the others rested. Screeching, the lone Blood Jacket gave a signal to the others, who rose into the sky and followed.
Out for Blood Page 1