Predator

by Janice Gable Bashman

  “And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I knew I’d never get to sleep if I didn’t check it out now.” She thought she had delivered the line smoothly considering she had only rehearsed it a few times on the way over with Liam.

  Charlie shook his head. “I’m the same way sometimes. I get something in my head and it won’t go away. Can’t eat, can’t sleep.” Charlie fingered the many keys hanging from his belt loop. “So what’s so important?”

  Forcing herself to make eye contact, Bree said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. Confidentiality in the lab and all. I hope you understand it’s nothing personal.”

  He cut her a quick smile. “Just sign in at the desk first.”

  Bree cringed. She’d forgotten about having to sign in. But it wasn’t like it mattered much anyway. Her dad wouldn’t even think to check the log book to see if she was there. Why would he? “Thanks Charlie.” Careful not to rush her steps, Bree crossed to the desk and scrawled her name, deliberately leaving off the date and time. If Charlie added it later, then whatever. “I shouldn’t be too long,” she said.

  “I go on rounds in twelve minutes, so if you finish up while I’m gone, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I won’t be long.” Bree turned and marched down the hall. When she reached the lab, she flipped on the light and headed straight through the room and into her dad’s office. She shut the door behind her, closed the blinds, and went to the safe. The first number combination she tried—her mom’s birthday, her own birthday, her dad’s birthday—failed. Next, she tried the months of their births and then her parent’s anniversary; they both failed. What else, she thought. Think. Think. The desk was covered with a mess of books and papers. The edge of a desk pad peeked out from under the laptop. She leaned in, lifted the corner of the pad, and saw some papers there. She withdrew them carefully, hoping her dad had written down the combination but knowing he wouldn’t leave something so important where anyone could find it. And she was right; they were just a bunch of old memos about recycling, ordering supplies, and taking time off.

  Frustrated, Bree plopped into her dad’s chair and the wheels, propelled by the momentum, rolled the chair backwards across the plastic floor mat and right into the low walnut cabinet behind his desk. A picture frame fell and smacked the wood; fortunately, the glass didn’t break. Bree lifted the frame and set it back into place. It was a photo of her the day she won her first science fair medal in third grade. Was that the combination to the safe?

  Bree crossed to the safe and punched in the date. The only reason she remembered it was because it was the day before her birthday and she got to go out for pizza and ice cream and to the movies two days in a row to celebrate. This time the lock disengaged. Bree grabbed the handle and swung open the safe.

  On the bottom sat two folders and her dad’s notebook. In the back corner was a set of keys. Bree removed the top folder and flipped through it—nothing but copies of reports her dad had sent to the government detailing his research. She skimmed through the reports but only found information she already knew, so she moved on to the second unlabeled folder.

  This folder was filled with her dad’s ramblings about his research and his ideas and thoughts about what could be done with it—raw data and drawings and notes scribbled every which way across pages and pages of paper. Toward the back, she found a detailed pencil drawing of a soldier, muscled and toned beyond belief with a raw and menacing look in his eyes. Across the top were the words “Super Soldiers—Genetically Enhanced Warriors of the Future.” In a small box in the lower left-hand corner was a list: “Powerful, inexhaustible, feared, dangerous, superhuman, incredible—uncontrollable??” A second box contained “Revise formula to keep from becoming savage. How???” Beneath that was an equation with a bunch of numbers and letters that at first Bree couldn’t make sense of.

  She released the breath she suddenly realized she was holding. So that’s it. She flipped shut the folder, tapped it against the desk to straighten the papers, and slid the folder back into the safe. After locking the safe, she raced out of the office and down the hall, slowed before turning the corner, and sauntered toward Charlie so she didn’t arouse his suspicion. “Goodnight Charlie. Thanks.”

  “Night.”

  Once Bree cleared the building, she slid into the car, yanked the seatbelt over her chest, and clicked it into place. “I need to get home. Right away. And you’ll never guess what I saw.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Sunderland Home, East Milmore, Virginia

  Bree burst into her dad’s bedroom, threw on the light, and marched straight to his bed. She would get the answers she wanted whether he liked it or not.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, still groggy from sleep.

  “You saw what happened to Louie. He turned into a murderer. And you want to do that to humans? To soldiers? Are you crazy? Why would you do something like that?”

  Her dad threw back the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Just take it easy, Bree. Where’s this coming from?”

  Bree planted her hands on her hips. “Are you denying that you’re using lycanthrope DNA to create super soldiers?”

  Her dad put on his glasses with care, as if they might focus his thoughts. “Look, you’re smart and independent and you have a good head on your shoulders,” he said. “But there are just some things you’re too young to understand. My work’s very important.”

  “Dangerous, you mean.”

  “Yes, it’s dangerous now, but—”

  “Mice have died. We’ve been threatened. And what if Troy were still alive? Would you test it on him? Risk his life? You have to quit. Tell them you’re not doing it anymore.”

  Her dad sighed. “I already did. As far as they’re concerned I’m finished, but I fear that won’t stop them from moving forward. They want this badly—now. But to slow them down, I only handed in part of my research.”

  “It’s the military. It won’t take them long to replicate your work—maybe only days.”

  “Yes, but there’s something they don’t know about. I’ve already figured out what caused the mice to go on a murderous rampage.” He paused, as if reconfiguring formulas. “I think I can prevent it. I’m going to continue the research on my own.”

  “Dad, no.”

  “I know how to create the super soldiers I envisioned. I just need to test it on a new group of mice to be sure.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away again, as if his touch had scalded her.

  “We were supposed to use the DNA to fix the wound repair serum, not create super soldiers.”

  “That’s where I got the idea.”

  “But you’re taking it to the extreme.”

  “I’m on to something big here, Bree, and it could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Even if this new formula works on the mice, how do you know it’ll work on humans? Our DNA is different. What if it makes them murderers anyway? You won’t know until it’s too late.”

  “Come on, Bree. Do you know what this means? Other fathers won’t lose their sons—”

  “It’s too dangerous.” Bree’s face hardened. “I won’t be a part of it. I’m not helping you, and there’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Yang’s Warehouse, Hilwater, Virginia

  Seven soldiers stood before Hewitt and Webb while Parker readied the virus for injection.

  “It’s time to make history,” Hewitt said. He tried to read their faces, as Maberry always could. But it was harder than he thought. He couldn’t tell if what he saw was excitement, nervousness, or flat-out fear. “We’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time and now it’s here. One shot. That’s all it takes for you to become the best. The biggest. The strongest. Raw animal power combined with human intellect and the training yo
u’ve received will make each of you into the fighting machines you were destined to become.”

  “Hooah,” the men bellowed.

  Hewitt glanced over at Parker. “Alright then. Let’s do this. Graham, you’re up.”

  Graham stepped next to Parker and rolled up his sleeve. Parker swabbed his skin with alcohol and plunged the needle into his arm.

  It took only two minutes to inject the remaining men.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Skycrest College, Walnut City, Virginia

  Bree walked hesitantly to the door. Each second, each step, brought her closer to the help she needed.

  Or to disaster.

  College students in t-shirts and shorts brushed past her, laughing and smiling.

  Bree took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and knocked.

  “It’s open,” a woman called.

  Inside, sunlight streamed through two large windows behind a desk that took up the center of the room. To the left of the door, two women sat in wooden chairs, bottles of iced tea on the small table between them.

  A gray Siberian Husky rose from the corner. The dog walked to the edge of the desk and watched Bree with soulful eyes.

  “Hi,” Bree said to the women. “I’m looking for Isabella.”

  “What can I do for you?” said the woman on the left. She wore a white flowing skirt with a blue top and sat with her feet stretched out in front of her.

  “My name’s Bree, Bree Sunderland.” Bree cast her eyes to the dog.

  “He won’t hurt you,” Isabella said. She turned to the dog. “Sit, Lobo.”

  Lobo padded over to Isabella and sat by her feet with his face resting on his front paws, eyes still fixed on Bree.

  Bree thought he was beautiful. He had a soft face anyone could love. She pulled her attention from his fluffy fur and refocused on the intent of her visit. “I was researching a summer assignment for school, and I came across this article about the Benandanti. It mentioned that you’re a Benandanti scholar, and when I realized you didn’t work too far from me, I thought maybe you could help. There’s not much out there about the Benandanti, and I really want to get an A on this project.” Bree dropped her gaze, hoping Isabella hadn’t seen through her lie.

  Lobo’s eyes were almost shut, hypnotized by his owner’s long strokes. Bree saw a glint of light from Isabella’s hand; she caught her breath when she realized why. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything after all. Maybe she should just turn and leave.

  On Isabella’s hand was the same ring Kelsi had worn.

  Wait a minute, Bree thought. That meant that Isabella was a Benandanti too.

  Uncertain of her safety, Bree backed up a few steps.

  The woman next to Isabella said, “I’m Erin. Speak what’s on your mind.”

  Bree resisted the urge to edge closer to the door. “I’ve seen that ring before.”

  “Oh really?” Isabella said. “Where?”

  “A woman named Kelsi in Ireland wore one just like it. And so did a woman I saw outside the lab. You’re all Benandanti.”

  Isabella moved her hand protectively to the ring.

  It was that simple gesture that made Bree realize the Benandanti weren’t a threat. She said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it before, but I do now. All you wanted was to protect the Benandanti DNA. You knew what would happen if it got into the wrong hands.”

  “If you read the Benandanti lore,” Isabella said, “you know that my ancestors have fought to the death, when they had to, to protect their own. Unfortunately, some people hear the word lycanthrope and immediately think of a beast that slaughters just because it can. Even our own men began to act that way. So many of our sisters moved away for a more peaceful life. And Kelsi was only trying to protect that way of life when she attempted to steal the hand. If people discovered we were still alive, like you have, there are many who would do anything to kill us—out of fear, out of hate, or just because we are different, even though we haven’t harmed anyone in many, many years.”

  Bree sat across from the women.

  Isabella smiled. “So what is it that you want? Because we both know you’re not here about a school assignment.”

  “No. I need your help.” A strange feeling twisted Bree’s stomach, and bile seared her throat. What she was about to say sounded so implausible. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it and…whatever.”

  “Go on,” Isabella said.

  “My dad used the lycanthrope DNA on mice.” Bree bravely awaited a reaction. Receiving none, she went on. “They grew strong but became unpredictable and murderous. Then I found out the government’s involved. They want to use the DNA to create super soldiers.” This story, which had such an impact on Bree that she felt the need to pace or do something, anything, to get rid of the nervous energy shooting through her body, had a curious lack of effect on her listeners. “Well?” she said. “Can you help me stop them?”

  As though she had all the time in the world, Isabella rose from her chair. She was taller than Bree had imagined: five-foot-nine, maybe five ten. Lobo jumped up with his tail wagging and his head craned toward Isabella in expectation. Isabella reached into her pocket and gave Lobo a bone. He bit through it with a loud crunch.

  Bree suddenly felt self-conscious, as if Isabella could see right through her skin and into her soul. As if she knew her. “Will you help me? Please.”

  It seemed to take Isabella a long time to answer, and when she did each word came slowly as if she’d given it great thought. “I understand more than you think about the situation you’re in, but events beyond our control are already in motion.” Her voice was soft and somewhat detached.

  “But what about the super soldiers?” Bree heard desperation in her voice.

  “We warned you not to use the DNA. But you didn’t listen.”

  Isabella stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have class.”

  Bree’s heart flew into panic mode. “Can’t you do something? This is my dad! He’s my only—”

  “If only you hadn’t disturbed the bog. Two of our own have already been injured.” Isabella nodded toward Erin. “I understand your need to protect your father. Our allegiance lies with protecting the Benandanti.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Yang’s Warehouse, Hilwater, Virginia

  From the observation room of the warehouse, with Webb and Parker by his side, Hewitt eyed two of the soldiers they had injected with the lycanthrope DNA three days earlier. They were now huge hairy beasts—lycanthropes as tall as two men with the strength of the Incredible Hulk. Immense muscles. Long, sharp teeth. Claws that could rip a man apart with the slightest swipe. Hewitt had pitted Graham against Taft to see what they could do. What had begun as an engagement in known combat techniques had soon devolved into an animalistic brawl.

  Graham pounced on Taft’s back, and Taft thrashed until he flung Graham across the room and against the wall. That didn’t stop Graham; it only angered him more. Graham raced across the large room in four strides, his legs propelling him like powerful engines. Just as Graham reached Taft’s side, Taft took a lightning quick step to his left and thrust his forearm into Graham’s throat.

  The move only slowed Graham for a few seconds. He raced right past Taft, hit the wall with a flying leap, and used his momentum to propel himself faster and harder at Taft, who failed to move out of the way in time. Graham landed on Taft and grabbed him from behind. Digging his claws into Graham’s paws, Taft forced Graham back against the wall and smashed him repeatedly in an attempt to get him to release his grip.

  The power the lycanthrope soldiers possessed was greater than anything Hewitt had ever seen. But the excitement that coursed through his body soon became panic. Hewitt turned to Parker. “They’re ready to rip each other apart. How do we stop them?”

  Parker grabbed an air horn from a cabinet at the back of the room and then threw open the small window. “Cover your ears.” He slapped a
palm against his left ear and depressed the button on the air horn. The horn blared and stopped the fight for a split second. Then the lycanthropes were at it again.

  “Why didn’t it work?” Hewitt asked.

  Parker shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the first time I had to use it. I thought it would work—if I had to use it—but they’ve never behaved like this before.”

  Within seconds, the other five test subjects raced into the room. The instant they saw the fight, they transformed.

  No doubt about it—these soldiers were now lycanthropes.

  The fight was fast and furious—pure animal instinct coupled with enough human intelligence to allow them to instantly assess the situation and respond.

  The lycanthropes fought so quickly and were so close together, Hewitt found it difficult to tell one from the other. Sharp teeth clamped, hoping for contact. Claws swiped. Arms and legs and bodies battled for control.

  A body flew across the room and skidded to the wall. The paws twitched. Then the head lolled toward the observation window, and the lycanthrope’s big eyes stared, lifeless. A few seconds later, the lycanthrope transformed back into human form, except for a huge nearly severed paw that dangled from his arm by a thread of flesh.

  Hewitt looked into the dead soldier’s eyes. He thought of the soldier’s family, his sacrifice, all that he had given to his country. This was not what he’d wanted for his men. Not what he had expected. Hewitt keyed the mic in desperation and barked, “Stand down. Now. I mean it.”

  The lycanthrope soldiers froze at the sound of his voice. Then Graham shoved Taft, who retreated to the opposite side of the room to lick his wound.

  Parker sighed with relief. “I thought for sure they were all going to kill each other.”

  “Fortunately we only lost one man,” Hewitt said. “But that’s one too many.”

  Webb nodded. “At least they’re still capable of responding to commands after they’ve transformed.”