Strain of Vengeance (Bixby Series Book 3)

by Michelle Bryan

  The room goes silent as the thing on the other side of the glass gives a couple of jerky flops on the table, like a fish out of water. It lifts an arm, and the claws on the end of the overly long fingers causes the scar on my back to twitch in pain. The memory of a similar claw creating that scar is still fresh.

  A tremor starts in its legs and seems to crawl up the gray-skinned body. Its eyes open, and the mouth stretches into an unheard howl. Anger? Pain? There’s no sound.

  “Why can’t we hear it?” I ask and Doc H startles.

  “Oh, dear. I forgot to turn on the two-way speakers to the room.” He flips a couple of switches on the table of panels, and a low-pitched shriek fills up the room.

  The sound chills me to my core. It sounds like a combination of a short roar or growl, combined with a huffing and snorting. Its agitation is obvious. It’s pissed off. It reminds me of a very angry lion.

  Suddenly, it leaps from the table and smashes itself against the glass, and not one person in the room fails to pee themselves a little. I’m positive of that. I’m frozen, unable to exhale as I stand inches from the glass, watching the terrifying thing. It doesn’t appear as emaciated anymore. It swells with anger and its obvious need to tear us apart. The sympathy I felt for it earlier disappears under my wave of fear.

  Even though it still has the eerily human eyes and face, there is no trace of humanity visible in its primal glare or shriek. It’s a killing machine. I can’t stop the shiver as its claws scrape down the glass with a jarring sound. It presses its mouth up against the glass, displaying the long teeth and leaving a disgusting trail of slime that drips slowly down the window.

  “Any time now, doc,” I hiss at Howarth. He tears his eyes from the monstrosity’s show of malevolence.

  “Yes. Of course.” He moves to the piece of equipment on the table that reminds me of a circuit board connected to a boxy shaped radio. “We will start at a barely audible spectrum and work our way up the frequency level. Hopefully, we will get the reaction we require. But this is an alien life form we’re dealing with. I have no idea how this will go.”

  The doc fiddles with a button on the box, and a low hum fills the room. More of a vibration, really. I find it quite unsettling, although the hybrid stops its antagonistic behavior and stares out at us.

  “This is 18Hz. This is the range I believe they communicate—”

  “Doc, we don’t need a play by play,” Luke interrupts. “Just find the damn frequency we need.”

  Howarth ducks his head and goes back to fiddling with the buttons. The hum progresses into a low tone, and the hybrid tilts its head, as if trying to figure out what we’re doing. I think doc’s found the “I’m interested” frequency.

  He increases the tone slowly. The sound rings in my ears, becoming damn annoying. The hybrid shows no reaction.

  “Fuck,” Gordo whines in my ear and I jump. I didn’t realize he was so near. “I don’t think it’s working.”

  I don’t answer, but the damn fear in my gut agrees with him. It’s not going to work.

  Doc H keeps going. The sound increases.

  Movement from the glass catches my attention and I look back. The hybrid is no longer staring at us. It’s pacing its enclosure like it, too, is irritated and affected by the sound.

  “Higher,” Kasina orders and Howarth complies.

  The hybrid shakes its head and increases its pace, practically leaping about its cell. The sound is almost unbearable now. I put my hands over my ears. I want to turn and run from the room. I’m not the only one since most of my crew have their ears covered, too.

  But none of us move. We’re too focused on the hybrid. It stops its stumbling, and in a very human-like move, places its hands over its ears just as I did earlier. It steps toward the glass and growls at doc H like it’s well aware he is causing its discomfort. The docs stare back in fascination.

  “Increase the decibels,” Kasina urges. Doc H adjusts his machine.

  The hybrid falls to its knees, wailing in pain. Black blood pools in the eyes staring daggers at us. It leaks out, carving crimson lines down over the gray flesh. The hybrid jerks, shaking its head like a colony of bees has taken up residence inside its skull. The palms covering its ears curl up as the claws start digging into the sides of its head like its physically trying to rip the pain out. Bits of torn skin and hair splatter the glass as its head shakes from side to side.

  I swallow the bile in the back of my throat. I want to look away, but I can’t. Like the docs, I’m utterly fascinated with the thing’s morbid dance. Is this damn idea actually working?

  Finally, the creature emits a wail that resonates through my bones before crumpling to the floor. We wait, but it doesn’t get back up.

  “Is it dead?” Gordo whispers. All of us move as one toward the glass window. I brace myself, expecting any moment for it to jump back up and make us all shit our pants. I peer over the ledge. The creature lays on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding its torn ears. I study it closely. Its chest moves up and down. Slight, but there’s motion. Incapacitated, but still alive.

  Doc H clears his throat. “Well. That worked a little better than anticipated.”

  “No shit, doc,” I say. “How the hell did a sound do that?” I point to the pathetic creature behind the glass.

  Doc H turns off his transmitter. “To be honest, I have no idea. They communicate at such a low frequency; audible ability at that high of a level shouldn’t even be possible. But again, I’ll reiterate, they are an alien life form. God only knows what bits and pieces of other life form DNA its picked up in its voyage through the universe. Their heightened auditory sense played to our advantage here. Just don’t ask me to explain it.”

  “Who the hell cares how it works.” Luke’s words carry excitement. “It works. Do you realize what this means? We actually may have found a way to defeat these bastards once and for all. After all these years.”

  Luke’s right. The implication finally starts to settle in and excitement buzzes in my gut. We can take them down. All of them at once. A whole horde without having to battle them. Well, those within range.

  “What’s the range on that machine of yours, doc?” I ask.

  He looks at his circuit board of bits and pieces. “Not sure. Will depend on what we can use to transmit it. It will have to be made portable. Just need a battery and tweeters basically.” He glances to Barclay. “Do we have anything like that on hand?”

  Barclay nods. “I’m sure we can salvage the audio equipment in the basement. I’ll get right on that, doc.” He hoists his gun and heads toward the door of the isolation room. “But first things first. Let me put that poor bastard out of its misery.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The vineyard housing the hive spreads out below us— an unassuming, massive warehouse with a rusted tin roof and its painted silo, just like Sam told us. If we have any doubts about this not being the right place, they are put to rest by what occupies the fields. Instead of budding grapes, the grounds are packed tight with leeches. So fucking many. Hundreds. Just standing there. Waiting. For us, no doubt.

  We observe from our position upwind of the vineyard in the tree line high above the horde. I swing my binoculars side to side, hoping against hope to see some sign of Sam and Amy. To see some sign that they’re still alive, but all I see are those damned leeches. Rows upon rows. I’m not gonna lie, the sight scares me shitless.

  “Ten o’clock,” Luke whispers over my shoulder, and I turn my sight to the left. The taste of copper fills my mouth as I bite my tongue in the same spot as the last time, stifling the groan of fear in the back of my throat. A golf cart sits haphazardly against a tree, tilted so much two tires lift off the ground. One of the research lab’s golf carts.

  Did Sam crash it there, or did it get pushed from the gaggle of bodies pressing up against it? And if it was Sam and Amy who left it there, how the hell did they make it through this horde alive? Are they inside the building? Or laying underneath the hundreds
of leeches in the fields, sucked dry and lifeless?

  “Fuck.” I pull my binoculars away, not able to look at the sight of the cart anymore. I glance back over my shoulder at the dirt road behind us where Kip’s truck idles with the frequency generator and speakers set up in the back and ready to go. The sight of it is very underwhelming. It looks like some mad scientist simply threw together a bunch of wires and pieces of equipment and hoped for the best. Hard to believe it’s supposed to be our answer to ending this war.

  “Are we doing this thing or not?” I whisper to Luke. He drops his own binoculars and glances over at me.

  “Cool your jets. We only get one shot at this. We need to do it right.” He turns his attention to Lewis and Barclay. “We need to get as close to the warehouse as we can. Once the leeches get wind of us, they’ll come right at us, bringing them within range of the frequency. We don’t have to worry about the fields of foot soldiers. But anything inside is most likely stationary, so we need to make sure the frequency is close enough to take them out as well. Barclay and his men will cut a path through the leeches as best they can, but can we make it to the warehouse?”

  Lewis shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

  “Remember what Doc H said.” Barclay’s gaze flickers around to all of us. “The tone may not be as effective out here in the open. The leeches may not succumb as easily as the one enclosed in the room. Be prepared to have to fight stragglers.”

  I touch the rifle hanging on my back and then the knife on my hip. A little reassurance.

  “Okay, then. I guess we’re doing this thing.” Luke sighs. “Our goal is simple, folks. Take out the super mind, rescue Amy and whoever else may be alive in there, and make it back out in one piece. We can do it.”

  “What about Sam?” Gordo asks the question blazing in my head. “What about him?”

  “If we take out the super mind, we rescue Sam as well,” I answer firmly, trying to convince myself along with the others.

  I feel Luke’s hard gaze on me.

  “Bix, you need to be prepared for the possibility that we may need to take him down—”

  “We take out the super mind, Sam will be fine,” I repeat.

  “You believe whatever you gotta believe,” Dom throws at me as he double checks the magazine on his rifle.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I demand.

  “It means if that motherfucker even blinks my way, I’m shooting. And I really hope he blinks. Problem solved, just sayin’.”

  “Then I put a bullet through your skull next.” My response is cold enough to freeze water. “Just sayin’.”

  “Save your anger for the leeches.” Luke shuts us down before we get out of hand. “We have no idea what we’re walking into, or how Sam will react. Maybe Bix is right. Maybe Sam will be fine once the head honcho is taken out. We play it by ear. But we gotta work together, understood?”

  I bite back the angry words on my tongue. Luke’s right. I duck my head in agreement.

  “I’ll play nice if Dom agrees to,” I say. The cockroach tilts two fingers Luke’s way in a smartass salute at Luke’s questioning glare.

  The big man sighs in resignation. “I’ll be glad when this is fucking over, and I don’t have to lead you assholes anymore. Let’s go.”

  I take a couple of steps toward the truck.

  “Guys wait.” Gordo’s voice stops us. All eyes fall on the kid. He smiles halfheartedly and rubs a hand over his neck. “I know this is gonna sound corny, but I want you all to know I’m proud to be a member of unit four. You guys have been my family for the past two years. Sometimes a better family than my own blood relatives.” He jerks a thumb at Mike.

  Mike’s grin is bittersweet. “Hey, whatever, ass-wipe.”

  Gordon ignores his brother’s comment. “I just want you all to know how much I care about you, and no matter how this turns out here today, I’m proud of you all.”

  “Oh, geez,” Dom growls. “That makes this hopeless situation so much better knowing you’re proud of me. Gives me something to live for.”

  Gordo flushes at Dom’s patronizing words. “I just wanted you to know how I felt, Dom. There’s really no need to be such a dick all the time.”

  I fall in step with the kid. “You want to know the reason Dom’s a dick all the time, Gordo? Cause he’s a dick. Through and through. He can’t help himself. In fact, I think Dick’s even his middle name.”

  “And his first and last,” Badger joins in. “I think dick was even his first word.”

  “Hahaha, real funny. Why don’t you bite mine, asshole.” Dom grabs his junk and shakes it at Badger who reciprocates with a look of pure disgust.

  Robyn brushes by us, shaking her head, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re all a bag of dicks. I should have stayed with my old crew—”

  She trails off as the realization sets in that most of her old crew died at the Grand. A wave of pity washes over me, followed by anger. I don’t want to feel pity for her. She’ll stab me in the back at the first opportunity. But the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  “Well, I, for one, am damn glad you were with us. You saved our asses more times than we can count.”

  I don’t know who looks more incredulous. Robyn or Badger. Badger is the first to speak.

  “That’s it. We’re all dying today. Bix said something nice to Robyn. Spooky. As. Hell.”

  Even as Badger makes light of the situation, Robyn’s dubious look turns into a smile. A real smile, not that fake one she spouts all the time.

  “Thanks, Bixby.”

  I don’t get time to reply. Barclay barks a command. “Okay people, nobody’s dying today. And enough with the high school drama. Move out. Those things are going to spot us sooner or later, and I, for one, want to be prepared.”

  I’m glad for his reprimand. It covers my embarrassment at my moment of weakness. We all move toward the truck.

  Lewis and Robyn climb into the cab. Her job is to protect him while he drives. The rest of us pull ourselves up into the truck bed, making our way around Doc H’s equipment and the two ultrasonic speakers mounted to the sides. Barclay and his guys lay claim to the front of the truck, the huge-ass weapons resting atop the cab and ready to blow us a way through the leech field below. I take position along the left speaker, Badger on one side of me, and Gordo on the other. Barclay slams his hand against the roof of the cab, giving the signal to move out, and the truck lurches forward. I wipe the sweat from my lip as I give Gordo a reassuring grin, trying to ease some of the panic I see in his face. This is it.

  As we approach, we can tell the moment they become aware. Agitation replaces their calm and quiet shuffling. Hundreds of heads swivel our way. Noses lift in the air; our scent arouses their interest. Their hunger. Within seconds, a chorus of gurgling inundates the air, so loud it drowns out the truck’s engine. The hair on my arms stands straight up. I always hated that fucking sound, but it seems so much more sinister now knowing they’re communicating our arrival.

  Geysers of blood mist the air as the worms tear their way from the hosts’ throats, snapping anxiously. Eager to tear at our flesh.

  Moving in unison, the horde breaks into a run toward us like an avalanche. One huge fucking carnivorous welcoming committee. Only they aren’t prepared for the hostess gift we’re bringing.

  “Turn it on,” Barclay shouts at Luke over the shrieks and gurgling. Luke shoves the tiny pieces of cotton in his ears, and we all follow suit. He flips the switch on the generator. The two giant speakers crackle to life and despite the cotton, my ears are still assaulted by the shrill tone. I wince but don’t take my eyes off the damn leeches. I don’t want to miss a minute of their reaction.

  They cover the fields impressively fast. As soon as they are in range, Barclay and his men start firing at those directly in our path, bringing them down. I pull my rifle to my shoulder. Any time now.

  Like a wave, they spread out and start circling the truck. Fuck. Why aren’t they falling?r />
  Suddenly as they pull abreast of the truck, the leeches halt their mad dash, causing the ones in the back to practically bowl them over. They stop moving as the hunger frenzy appears to be replaced by confusion. Then pain. A wailing fills the air, and they drop to the ground like dead birds falling out of the sky. Those on the ground writhe in pain, their agony tearing their attention away from us.

  I see Badger mouth the words, “Fuck, yeah!” as he fist pumps the air, and I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. It’s working. It’s fucking working.

  The truck plows through the sea of fallen bodies, bucking as it barrels over the bastards unlucky enough to fall under the massive wheels. Jets of black blood and guts squirt out across the fallen leeches, painting them in gore.

  Take that, you bastards!

  I don’t dare call it a victory yet, though. While most fall before they hit the truck, some are stubborn enough to make it past the frequency. They slam against the truck with a mixture of confusion and agony, trying to put a stop to the cause of their pain. We take them out easily enough. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.

  Luke catches my eye and points to the back of the truck. I soon see what he’s pointing at. The wave of divided leeches unites back together at the back of the truck, and unlike the sides where the creatures fall almost instantly, the ones at the back are somehow managing to stay on their feet. Maybe the frequency is lessened when not pointed directly at them? Whatever the case, I leave my position between Badger and Gordo and join Luke and Mike at the tailgate, assaulting the bastards trailing us. Each single torn face burns in my brain as I shoot, afraid that the next one will be a face I know.

  We crawl our way toward the metal-roofed warehouse. I lose track of how many times I shoot. How many magazines I slam into my rifle. How many defunct humans I take down. I think of it more as putting them out of their misery. My mind goes as numb as the rest of my body. I block the field of blood and death from my mind’s eye, focusing more on Amy and Sam. I need to do this for them.