Millwood’s eyes opened. For an instant he didn’t know where he was, then it hit him. Smith was pressing the call button. Millwood straightened himself and punched the door release.
Serena was beginning to worry. She’d depressed the button several times and still no answer. She started to press it again when the air lock released and the door slid open. Serena cautiously stepped through the doorway, expecting an entire squad of soldiers to tackle her. Her fears were relieved when she glanced across the room and saw Millwood—with his back to her.
“Everything okay, Smith?” he said, clearing his throat, not bothering to turn.
How confident, she thought as she sidled closer.
“I said is everything…” said Millwood, as he turned toward Serena. His voice trailed off, a look of surprise on his face. He stared in disbelief at her.
Millwood’s astonishment quickly faded and he went for his weapon, his military training taking over.
Serena leapt the remaining distance between them, pinning the man against the control desk. He tried to raise his weapon, but Serena swatted it from his hand, drawing blood with her inch-long talons.
Fighting back, Millwood landed a right cross to her head that would have leveled a normal woman, but Serena was far from normal. She shrugged off the pain and retaliated, slashing him across the chest. Blood poured from the wounds in his chest and covered his shirt. Millwood tried to push her away and gain a moment to formulate an attack, but she caught him by the wrists and held them tight.
With his wrists bound, Millwood went down on one knee, letting Serena think she had won. Then, without warning, he leapt up and landed a vicious head butt to her chin, painfully snapping her mouth shut. Serena momentarily reeled from the blow, but didn’t relinquish her hold on his wrists. Instead, she wrenched his left arm until the elbow snapped.
Millwood howled in pain. Seeing only one way of silencing him, Serena went for his throat. Biting down hard, she got a spurt of blood in her mouth. The coppery taste initially repulsed her, then became sweet. The most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. Serena wanted to feast on him, leaving nothing but his dried bones. She was so overcome by the bloodlust, she almost missed him freeing his right arm and going for the alarm.
Serena bit down harder, puncturing the jugular. Millwood forgot about the alarm and made a feeble attempt to get away, but the strength had left him. He let out a short gasp and went limp. She let the body fall to the floor and gazed at his still form, marveling at her handiwork and breathing hard.
Her heart thundering, Serena quickly surveyed the room. The keys she had taken from Smith would no doubt open all the cells, but matching every key to the proper door would take awhile—time she didn’t have. The next shift started in ten minutes. She studied the control desk, searching for the button that would release all the doors. There were so many. Scanning the descriptions beside each switch, she found one marked ‘main air dump’. She held her breath and flipped the switch.
Behind her, the air locks in the security wing released. The doors to the cells were flung open and the prisoners tore down the corridor.
In seconds eleven hulking beasts were crowded in the control room with Serena.
Suddenly, the door that led to the rest of the facility slid open and the guards for the next shift entered. They never stood a chance.
When Kyle awoke, he found himself inside a small room. The Spartan I, with only the small bed he lay upon, a metal sink affixed to the wall, and a toilet in the corner were the telltale signs of a prison cell. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He was confused, his thoughts jumbled.
Ambient light came from a small opening in what looked to be a door, though no handle was visible. The beam illuminated the walls of the cell, which were covered in shiny metal plates.
Kyle threw back the blankets, crippling pain shooting through his body from the effort. He whimpered as the agony continued to mount. If this was the power Fielding spoke of, he could have it back. Finally the pain subsided and Kyle relaxed.
He lay there awhile, staring at the ceiling, wishing he’d never heard of Voss or his lunatic facility.
Kyle knew he couldn’t lie there forever, deciding to leave the bed. He steeled himself, getting ready for the forthcoming pain. However, when he sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed, he found that there was none. Something was happening to him. He could feel it.
When he stood, he felt considerably well, vibrant. His strength had returned tenfold.
He moved over to the door and peered through the opening. Outside, a corridor ran off in either direction. Across the hall he could see two more doors. He caught a brief glimmer of light inside one of the openings in the doors, then nothing. He must have imagined it.
A wave of dizziness forced Kyle to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. As his skin touched the shiny surface, it immediately began to burn. Roiling smoke poured from his palm and a sound like sizzling bacon filled the cell. Kyle yelped and jumped back from the wall. The excruciating pain was not localized to his hand either. It had leapt through his entire body, like an electric shock.
He shook his hand furiously, as though he could sling the pain to the floor. He brought his hand up and glanced at it in the meager light, trying to see the degree of damage. To his surprise the wound began to heal before his eyes. In moments the charred flesh was whole, as though it had never been injured.
Amazing, he thought. Complete regeneration. He had read somewhere that this phenomenon was only possible in certain species of reptiles, although scientists had been trying to duplicate it in humans for years. Now this was power. He wondered how much the regeneration process could heal. An arm? A leg? More? He vowed to test the extent of it in the future.
He turned his attention back to where he’d burned his hand. Was there some internal heat source behind the plating? Kyle brought his hand close to the spot, careful not to touch it. There didn’t appear to be any traces of heat. He leaned close and detected a peculiar smell. His eyes began to water and his sinuses ran. He crinkled his nose at the metallic odor as his stomach churned and hitched. Kyle couldn’t place the smell, but whatever it was, he seemed to be allergic to it.
He glanced through the slit in the door again. Strange odors emanated from the hallway. Though not unpleasant, they were like nothing he’d ever smelled before. With only his sense of smell, he was able to determine that there were eleven other occupants in the cells, one being a female. Her scent was the most appealing—she was in heat. In heat? How the hell did he know that? Apparently he had the olfactory of a champion bloodhound.
He continued to marvel at his newfound powers, when he heard a metallic buzz, then a door opening.
Someone was coming down the hall.
From the right, a soldier came into view. The man carried a flashlight and shone the beam over the slit to Kyle’s cell as he walked by. The splash of light hit Kyle in the eyes and forced him to squint and step back from the door. Cold fury rose in Kyle, he wanted nothing more than to kill the man, to tear off his hands and shove them up his ass. Kyle fought the rage and moved close to the door again when the soldier passed out of sight.
He heard a name being called.
“Serena?”
He didn’t recognize the name, but Kyle was sure it belonged to the female farther down the hall. The soldier called to her again, this time receiving an answer. The voice was sweet and lyrical, but with a certain amount of sadness. Kyle felt a tremor in his loins. He envisioned himself mounting the female, tearing at her with hands that were not his own, and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.
Again he fought to control the violent flashes that ran rampant in his mind. The cell disappeared, replaced by a black void, a starless never-ending night. His foothold on reality was slipping. He could feel himself drifting away.
No! He thought.
The void was gone. He was back in his cell.
Kyle’s pulse was racing, his breathing erratic. He felt as
though he was going to pass out. He drew in long cleansing breaths. Eventually his breathing became normal and he relaxed.
Kyle noticed that the soldier and the female were engaged in a conversation. He listened as she lured the man close, promising pleasures she had no intentions of following through on, then attacked and killed him.
When the smell of blood reached his cell, everything became blurry. Kyle could no longer fight the beast within. He glanced at his hands, but they couldn’t be his. Each finger was twice its normal size, with ugly black talons protruding from the ends. New hair sprouted on his arms and hands as he watched.
The last thing he remembered was the cell door swinging open.
CHAPTER THREE
“But the guidelines in the text were very distinct, Doctor. Any deviation from the formula would result in the problems you’ve described,” said Silverman. The professor and Voss had been at odds from the outset of the meeting.
After Silverman overcame his initial shock, Thorpe and Voss had taken turns explaining the scope of the project. For a while the professor listened without comment, then, after Voss began describing the final stages of the process, Silverman took a more active role. He clearly did not approve of Dr. Voss’s methods and was very candid when he made a statement in that regard.
Every comment Voss made, Silverman was there with a retort, debasing his decisions as though he’d prepared for the discussion in advance. The level of information the professor had retained from transcribing the text astounded Thorpe.
Thorpe watched as Silverman effectively put Voss on the defensive. He’d never seen the egotistical doctor flustered by anyone, not even the head of the National Security Agency. Voss was always cool under pressure, pompous to his peers, and abusive with his subordinates. Thorpe would have paid to be in the meeting.
Clearly laboring to remain calm, Voss said, “Professor, I can understand your point of view, being an academic. But I am a scientist and thrive on discovery. Sometimes I must apply a technique that doesn’t follow a guideline.”
“Then you are a fool,” said Silverman flatly.
The professor’s statement shocked Alex, but, glancing at Voss, he could see an even more profound effect. In five words, Silverman had reduced Philip Voss to a sputtering, incomprehensible idiot.
“I…You…We…” Voss stammered.
Alex suppressed a smile.
Voss went silent. After he regained his composure, he spoke. The words were measured and cold. “Professor, I am quite sure we could find any number of qualified anthropologists who would trade places with you.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to leave the project. I was trying to make a point,” said Silverman. He paused a second, then said, “Look, Phil…”
Alex cringed when the professor addressed the doctor by his first name. Voss seemed to recoil as though struck in the face by Silverman. Alex knew Voss abhorred familiarity, it implied that you considered yourself an equal—no one was so bold.
“…the text was created to benefit mankind by healing his body as well as his soul. Not to construct freaks on the whim of a megalomaniac.”
Thorpe watched as Voss’s face turned a deep shade of red, almost purple. He started to say something, then stopped.
Satisfied, Silverman sat back in his chair and relaxed. He glanced over at Thorpe. “What do you think, Doctor?”
Kyle had to be dreaming. In it, he was swept along a corridor surrounded by strange creatures. He felt a kinship with the beasts, a powerful sense of belonging he had never thought himself capable of with anyone or thing. To run with these creatures, this pack, filled a void in him that he’d never known existed, until now. He thought he could not feel more at one with the group, then they rounded a bend in the corridor.
A lone sentry sat at a desk, his back to them. The creatures rushed forward, catching the guard unawares. They tore at his body with tooth and claw. Kyle actively participated and reveled in the bloodshed—and the feeding. The beasts went into a frenzy, fighting over the carcass. Kyle snapped at one of his brethren to gain a small morsel of the kill. As the coppery taste filled his mouth, he suddenly felt the urge to howl, but for some reason he knew this was not the time.
When nothing remained of the guard but a small pile of bones, they moved on.
Sam Johnson turned his back to the wall-mounted mirror in his room. The large, red welts on his posterior pleased him. He had not cried out once while imposing his sentence and for that he was proud. He glanced at the riding crop displayed prominently on the wall above his bed and contemplated another two blows to make it an even dozen. Maybe later, he thought.
Johnson pulled on a tee shirt, feeling the burn of the fabric against his self-inflicted injuries. It comforted him. He could get through the night now. As he flipped the switch on the coffee maker, the door behind him opened. A young face poked through the opening. It was his aide, Gary Roundtree.
“Major, the Colonel sent me to get you.”
Johnson glared at the young man. “What did I tell you about coming in here?”
Roundtree looked at the floor, not wanting to meet the Major’s stare.
“To knock first, sir,” he said sheepishly.
“So, you do have ears. In the future I expect my orders to be followed, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does the colonel want?”
“The status report on the security detail.”
“Tell him I’ll have it within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roundtree still looked at the floor as though undecided what to do next.
“That’s it, soldier!” Johnson barked.
With a start, Roundtree jumped back from the door, closing it as he did.
Johnson turned back to the coffee and watched as the black liquid filled the pot. He was surprised when the door behind him opened again—without a knock.
Turning as he spoke, Johnson said, “You’re in deep shit, mis…” Johnson’s words trailed off as he saw that the culprit was not Roundtree, but a black misshapen creature. In his last moments of life, before his masochistic flame was extinguished forever, the Major experienced more pain than he would have inflicted on himself in a thousand lifetimes.
I’m dying, Millwood thought as he lay on the floor. He could already feel the coolness seeping into his body. Shadows appeared at the edge of his vision and slowly closed out the light. He shifted his body and was met by searing pain. The darkness closed in a little. If I can just reach the alarm. Shifting again, pushing back the blackness, Millwood brought his good arm up to the edge of the desk. His breathing was ragged, his chest tight. The darkness called to him. "Sleep John, it’s okay, you’re tired, I understand." Millwood lay back and let the icy arms close around him and for a moment it was comforting. Then, he thought of the creatures and struggled back.
“No…” He didn’t recognize the raspy voice, but it brought him back. He tried again, this time his hand reached over the side of the desk. His fingers probed for the right button. Millwood felt his strength fading. With what little remained, he found the round knob. He hit it. A blaring siren immediately answered.
John Millwood lay back in the thick pool of blood and finally rested.
Voss and Silverman were still locked in their battle of wills when the sirens started wailing. His current statement forgotten, Dr. Voss turned toward the office window and glanced to steel doors that led to the security wing and the barracks for its detail.
Suddenly, the phone on the desk rang, startling everyone in the office. Voss snatched the receiver from its carriage. “Voss! What! Well, seal the doors!”
A loud boom reverberated through the lab.
Then another, the windows of the office shaking with each report.
Alex followed Voss’s gaze to the security doors. Sharp ridges appeared in their steel surface with each successive blow. The doors were under attack.
The facility’s computer repeated a predetermined message. “Level
Five Security Breach—Repeat—Level Five Security Breach. All Personnel Report to A Secured Area.”
Panic erupted in the lab.
Thorpe reached beneath his coat and withdrew his pistol. Silverman glanced at him, “What’s level five?”
Keeping his eyes on the door, Thorpe replied, “Dire converts.”
Noticing Thorpe’s gun, Silverman said, “Aren’t you going to use tranquilizers?”
Thorpe turned and made eye contact, then said, “You don’t use tranquilizers on Dires.” With that he grabbed the professor by the arm and pulled him to the back of the office. He pressed a small button on the wall and a panel slid open, revealing a secret room. Thorpe pushed Silverman into the small chamber and said, “Stay there. No matter what you hear.” Then closed the door.
Still on the phone, Voss was screaming at whoever was on the other end. “Get a retrieval squad down here, now!” Then the lights went out and his voice trailed off. He groped in the darkness at his desk. Finding the drawer, he withdrew his revolver.
Alex crouched in the doorway, watching as the panic in the lab turned to utter chaos. In the darkness, the technicians' white lab coats looked like warring ghosts scrambling about. The assault on the doors abruptly halted and a preternatural quiet settled over the lab. Even the technicians paused and listened. The hair on the nape of Alex’s neck stood on end and his mouth went dry. He almost wished the attack on the door to continue.
Suddenly another blow landed. A titanic blast that seemed to shake the entire mountain. The security door buckled and gave way, accompanied by the peal of tortured metal. Fleet, dark figures raced through the opening, pouring over the frenzied technicians. The screams were deafening.
Alex felt the primal urges begin to rise in him, the craving to kill almost too much for him to resist. He felt a ripple run down his forearm, as the transformation threatened to take hold. Hardening his resolve, he quickly left the doorway and moved into the lab. Needing to keep his mind focused to stave off the burning need.
Dire Symbiosis Page 5