Predator

by Janice Gable Bashman

  She should have run to her dad’s side, cradled his head in her lap like he did for her after she’d had bad dreams as a child, smoothed his hair, and wiped the blood from his throat.

  She never had a chance to say goodbye.

  The tears eventually stopped, and she ceased shaking. Exhausted, she lay down, not bothering to clear a soft spot. The twigs beneath her head and the poking rock suited her. She welcomed the pain, the last thing she shared with her dad.

  Before long, she started to shiver from the drop in temperature. She sat up and rubbed her arms and legs to get warm. Where could she go? Every time she sought an answer, she came up blank.

  Bree picked her way back out of the woods. Faint moonlight guided her. Stopping at the tree line, she could see past a swing set and into a lit den where a man watched TV from a recliner, beer in hand. Continuing along the way, she passed house after house that revealed their occupants: a heavy-set woman leaning against the refrigerator eating ice cream straight out of the container, a dog curled up on a sofa, a man typing on a laptop at his kitchen table. People looking normal. Safe. How had her life, nestled among theirs, taken such a horrible turn?

  Before clearing the woods, Bree scanned the area, taking in everything. After a white pick-up with oversized tires sped down the street, she raced across the asphalt, hopped the curb, and jumped a fallen branch on the lawn. She felt her pocket to ensure the flash drive was still safely inside and continued on through the night like a wild animal on the hunt, careful and determined.

  A half hour later, Bree reached the field house behind Upper Press High School. The door was locked and so was the window. She grunted with frustration, wondering why this was happening to her. Why something couldn’t go right. Just one thing. Anything? Please?

  On hands and knees, she groped for a fist-sized rock. She stood three feet away from the window and wound up for the pitch. With all of her anger, she released the rock fast and hard. It crashed into the window, and the glass shattered, leaving a basketball-sized hole framed with jagged glass that would cut her to pieces if she tried to pass through it.

  Bree thought for a moment. If she smashed out the rest of the glass she could climb through the hole; it was better than nothing, and it wasn’t like anyone else was around to help her. Before she could change her mind, Bree pulled her shirt over her head; the cool air stung her skin, and she shivered. Two quick wraps around her hand and the shirt was secure. Now for the window.

  Before she could smash the glass, her cell rang. Bree glanced at the display, saw Liam’s number, and almost sank to her knees with relief.

  She slid open the cell and shot out her words like a rapid-fire machine gun. “Liam! I thought they got you. I thought you were—”

  “It’s not Liam.”

  Bree froze.

  That voice—it belonged to one of the super soldiers.

  Chapter Sixty

  “What did you do to Liam?”

  “He’s fine,” the man said. “For now. You have three hours to deliver the flash drive or he’ll die just like your father.”

  Images of her dad’s ripped throat, the look in his eyes, the blood dripping down his neck, his dead body on the floor…they came back with a vengeance and Bree couldn’t shake them. She closed her eyes, but that only made it worse; they played like a HD movie.

  So vivid.

  So real.

  Bree struggled to pull herself together. Her grief would have to wait. Liam needed her. But she had to stop the men somehow, prevent them from getting the research her dad had died trying to protect. How many others would die if these men succeeded? If she couldn’t stop them, his death would be for nothing. Her dad had never backed down when things got tough—and she wouldn’t either.

  She couldn’t.

  “I want to talk to Liam,” Bree said in a determined tone. “I won’t do anything until I’m sure he’s okay.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She could hear a noise, like someone moving a heavy wooden door, and then the phone was quiet for a long moment before Liam came on the line. “Bree. Don’t do—”

  A slap echoed through the phone. Liam’s cry sounded more like surprise than pain.

  “Leave him alone,” Bree yelled.

  “Remember—in three hours he’s dead. And you’re next.”

  “I don’t have the flash drive anymore.” She fingered the device in her pocket. “I hid it and I need some time to—”

  “Then get it.”

  “Fine.”

  “There’s a building at the far end of the Largemont industrial complex. You can’t miss it. Go around the back to the loading dock and you’ll see a sign over the door that says Yang’s. Make sure you bring the flash drive and come alone. If you don’t…well, you already know how it will end.” With that the phone cut off.

  Shivering as much from fear as from the cold, Bree shut off her cell, pocketed it, and put on her shirt. She leaned against the field house attempting to come up with a plan that would save Liam and keep the research out of their hands. She kept coming up short, no matter what scenario she ran through her head. She was no match for either soldier or lycanthrope.

  What do I do now?

  She staved off the panic and sorted it all through again.

  The answer hit her like a sledgehammer, fast and hard and full of power.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  The waiting was the hard part. Bree wanted to place the call right away, but she needed to find a new hiding place in case the men tracked her somehow. But where? It had to be somewhere with people. A safe place where they wouldn’t dare approach if she wasn’t alone. The only places open around the clock were 7-Elevens and Dunkin Donuts. Either one had plenty of foot traffic at this time of night, but the 7-Eleven was closer.

  When Bree arrived, bright lights lit up the store, and cars filled the small parking lot. She pushed inside the store—the bells jangling from the door announced her arrival—and strode past rows of candy and snack foods and a coffee station. She headed to the small bathroom in the back.

  Bree locked the door behind her. She powered up her cell. One bar—her battery was almost dead—and the line was full of static. She moved closer to the half window and climbed the toilet seat to improve the reception. Then she looked up Isabella’s number.

  After three rings, she got Isabella’s voice mail.

  Bree’s heart sank. Then she blurted out, “This is Bree. Bree Sunderland. I’m in big trouble, and I really need your help. The soldiers turned into lycanthropes. They murdered my dad, they’ve got Liam, and now they’re after me. They want my dad’s research. They said to meet them at Yang’s in the Largemont complex. They said they need to figure out how to control the men—the lycanthropes or soldiers or whatever they are. But I don’t trust them, and neither did my dad. He died to keep it from them. You gotta help me. The Benandanti transformed into lycanthropes at one time. You have to know how to stop them.”

  Bree looked at the phone with disbelief. What if Isabella didn’t get the message in time? What if she didn’t get it at all? Or what if she didn’t care? Tears flowed from Bree’s eyes, and she squatted on top of the toilet, phone in hand, shaking, not knowing what to do.

  Hopeless and with no one to help her.

  If she went to the police, they’d never believe her. And, although those men, those beasts, had said General Maberry had nothing to do with this, she didn’t trust them. Besides, she had no idea how to contact him even if she wanted to. And there was no time to figure it out.

  But if she didn’t do something, Liam was going to die.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  A rattle of the knob followed by a knock on the bathroom door startled Bree from her thoughts. She didn’t know how long she had been there, only that her legs were stiff. “Just a minute,” she said.

  Bree had never felt so alone. She turned on the faucet, let it run for a bit, and then splashed cold water across her face b
efore blotting it with a paper towel. A quick glance in the dirty mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes. Bree raked her fingers through her hair, pushed the stray tendrils behind her ears, and tried to look somewhat presentable, not that anyone cared. An overwhelming sense of dread made it feel like she breathed in wet cement, but she stuffed it back down. There was no time to deal with that now.

  “You almost done in there?” a male voice called.

  “I’ll be right out.” Bree opened the door, and a scrawny man waited for her with his hands on his hips.

  “Thanks,” he said with an accent.

  She pushed past him and wove through the merchandise displays looking for something to use as a weapon, but it had to be something small. She considered a plastic knife but figured a pen might be stronger. As soon as a man her dad’s age cleared out of the aisle, Bree grabbed a pen and hurried out of the store. She hated not paying for it, but Liam’s life was on the line. And although the pen wasn’t much, she could stab someone with it, which was better than nothing.

  “Excuse me,” a man said as he came up to her. “I’d like to discuss the item you have in your pocket. Please come with me back into the store.”

  Bree couldn’t believe her bad luck. Someone must have seen her lift the pen. How could she be so stupid? It had to be the security cameras; she hadn’t thought to check for them. “That’s okay, really.”

  “I’m sure we can clear this up in just a minute,” the man said.

  No way Bree was going back into the store. As soon as he saw the pen he’d call the police. That was the last thing she needed. All the cops had to do was check her ID and they’d take her home, and then they’d see her dad. Oh God. The thought of his bloody and lifeless body punched Bree in the gut, and she almost doubled over next to a trash can.

  Instead, she took off and didn’t look back, ran down the street past a shopping center, turned the corner, and kept going. She looked over her shoulder—thankfully he hadn’t chased her—and slowed to a walk.

  She had to figure out something—and do it fast. It was too late for her dad, but it wasn’t too late for her to save Liam. He was her family now.

  That’s when a second option hit her.

  Maybe she wouldn’t need Isabella after all.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Sunderland Home, East Milmore, Virginia

  It took Bree longer than she’d expected to make the trek home. First, she had to locate a safe place to hide the flash drive in case she was caught. It had to be someplace dry, somewhere no one would think to look. After rejecting a plastic playhouse and a trashcan, she settled on a deep hole in an oak tree in the backyard of 832 Timberlake Drive. If anything happened to her—if she didn’t make it back to recover the flash drive—at least no one else would find it.

  When Bree turned the corner onto her street, she spied a man watching her house from inside a dark-colored sedan parked across the street. She ducked behind a tree, pulse hammering, and pressed her back against the rough bark; it dug into her skin, but Bree didn’t dare move. She waited a minute, listening carefully and ready to bolt if the man got out of the car, but all she could hear were the crickets and the traffic on Welborn Street.

  After retracing her steps to the intersection, Bree cut behind the houses while keeping her eyes peeled for trouble. At her next-door neighbor’s house, she swung wide and scooted behind the tall hedge separating the neighbor’s backyard from the house behind it. Fifteen steps brought her as close as she could get to her house without being exposed, so she stopped and inched her head around the side of the hedge. On the right, near a cluster of azalea bushes, stood a man in dark clothes. His eyes were focused on the side of the house, but when they shifted toward her she popped her head back behind the bushes, trying to remain still to avoid drawing his attention. Now what? The back door wasn’t an option, and the only other way in was through the basement. She’d have to time her move right or they’d see her.

  Bree waited in the shadows until the goon out back started to take a leak. Then she scooted around to the side of her house and dashed to the basement door. She pressed her back against the cement siding and listened for a sign that one of the goons had noticed her. Thanks to the evergreens flanking the door, she couldn’t see either of them, which meant they couldn’t see her either.

  Bree listened for another minute and then pried the hidden key from beneath the fake rock. One more quick check and she unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  It was cold in the basement, as cold as death.

  Bree started to shake. Don’t fall apart now, she thought. For Liam. Just take it systematically. One step at a time. She drew in a deep breath, forced herself to take another, and then another until she cleared her mind and focused.

  Eyes now adjusted to the dark, Bree crept upstairs and across the den, crouching low in case the goon out back happened to look toward the house. She took the three steps up to the kitchen and grabbed a gray hoodie she had thrown over the back of a chair. What if the extra car key wasn’t there? What if she had left it up in her room again instead of putting it away in the drawer? There was no way she was going past the office to get to the stairs.

  Not with her dad in there.

  Bree held her breath, opened the drawer, and sighed with relief when she spied the plastic shamrock keychain. One swipe and the keys were in her hand. Two rolls of quarters in the corner of the drawer caught her eye, and she grabbed them too. Now to find out what was on the flash drive. But she’d need a computer, and those men probably took the computers from the house to see if there was any information on them.

  She’d have to go to the lab. But first she had to get the car out of garage and past the goon out front. And that wasn’t going to be easy. The garage door was loud and slow.

  Bree snuck back through the den to the garage. She felt for something with heft—this wrench would do. She’d only have one shot. If she made one mistake, if the noise wasn’t loud enough, or if she turned the steering wheel too hard or too fast and lost control, that would be the end.

  Before she could change her mind, Bree ran back into the kitchen and hurled the wrench through the large bay window. The glass shattered and sent shards flying. She raced to the living room to see if the goon out front had left his car to investigate, but the toppled evergreen was still blocking the window. Either way, she had to leave now, or they’d trap her in the house.

  Bree dashed to the garage and slid behind the wheel of the Maxima. She cranked the ignition and simultaneously pressed the garage door opener, keeping her eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror. She gunned the engine the instant the car could clear the rising door, raced down the driveway in reverse, and floored it. Both goons sprinted toward her from the side of the house as she pulled away. At the corner, she turned onto Wexley, and the car fishtailed a bit before she could straighten out. A quick check in the mirror told her no one was following, but it wouldn’t take them long. If she could just make one more block she’d be good.

  An SUV backing out of a driveway narrowly missed Bree; she swerved to avoid hitting it but didn’t let up on the gas. She took the next corner onto Gunther, made a sharp left onto a dirt road, and pulled behind an abandoned barn. Sure enough, less than a minute later, the dark sedan soared past. Feeling slightly better, she retraced her route to the road, made a quick U-turn, and headed toward Timberlake Drive to retrieve the flash drive.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Delcore Institute, Rivershire, Virginia

  Bree watched the lab from a distance. The only car in the lot was Charlie’s, which was odd. His shift should be over. Yet it was a stroke of luck—another guard would have questioned any excuse she gave, but Charlie…he’d let her in no problem.

  After waiting a while to ensure the goons didn’t show up, Bree parked behind the building. She crept down the path leading to the front door with her stomach churning like a witches’ brew. If she couldn’t find what she was looking fo
r on the flash drive, it would be impossible to save Liam. It has to be there, she thought. It just has to. She looked through the window—Charlie wasn’t at his desk. She glanced at her watch and waited for him to return from his rounds. Six minutes passed and he still didn’t show. He should be back by now. Where was he?

  Bree tried the handle—it moved freely. Not good. She shouldn’t have come here. She hoped that the only thing wrong was the automatic locking mechanism.

  Bree scooted inside and eased the door closed. She listened carefully, just in case, but didn’t hear anything. Then she made her way to the end of the hall. When she turned the corner, she stopped short, stifling a scream. Charlie was on the floor. Blood from a hole in his chest stained his white button-down shirt. She raced to his side and placed her fingertips to his neck, praying she’d find a pulse, but his skin was cool and there was no movement beneath her fingers, not even a flutter. Bree pressed her ear to his chest, careful to avoid the copper-scented blood. She heard nothing. She then dared to look into his lifeless and unmoving eyes.

  With her hand clamped over her mouth, Bree shot to her feet and backed away from Charlie. Who had done this? The military? The Benandanti? And was the person still here? Bree pressed her back against the wall, throat dry and heart throbbing, and listened for the slightest noise while scanning the hall for any signs of movement. But whoever did this was long gone. He wouldn’t have stuck around. And if he had, she would have already had a bullet through her head.