Hybrid

by Ballan, Greg

  “No,” Shanda disagreed. “That's what makes him Erik. He always fights, no matter what the odds are. He was fighting for his daughter, and nothing would have prevented him from doing that.”

  Alissa placed her hand next to his temple and closed her eyes. “He is getting stronger, but there is still much more healing that needs to be done. The elixir will lose potency within the next three to four hours. It should be able to repair most of the life-threatening ailments that he suffered within that time. The staff will do the rest. When he awakens, his thoughts will be of his daughter, he will be panicked and irrational,” she whispered, looking up at Shanda.

  “You must tell him what you have seen, let him touch your mind, show him what I have shown you. He will believe you without question, he would have doubts if this came from me. He must take the staff willingly. It cannot be forced upon him. If the staff senses any reluctance, it will reject him. You must convince him that what we say is the truth. He trusts you more than anyone. If you tell him what I've shared with you, there's no doubt he'll accept it.”

  “I'll do what I can,” Shanda promised as she stroked Erik's hair. “There's hope for you after all,” she whispered as she caressed his cheek.

  “Come on.” Alissa gestured toward a small couch. “We should both rest. The real battle will begin soon enough.”

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  * * *

  Chapter 14

  The Pendelton House

  Richard Pendelton sat with his wife and two police officers. They had been given an exhaustive briefing as to the efforts and actions being undertaken to rescue their daughter and the other abducted children.

  Margaret had graciously opened up her home to the other parents, offering the spacious dwelling as a sort of command post for the town officials and the families that were affected by the latest abductions. This made it easier for the authorities to make only one briefing and update to all the families together, and allowed the parents to draw strength and comfort from each other.

  Richard had been remarkably calm when Margaret broke the news to him of Brianna's abduction. Part of him was glad that Erik Knight would no longer be a thorn in his side, and he partly regretted the expiration of such a formidable foil. His best people could not keep a tail on him for more than five minutes, and deep down he had a healthy respect for the once powerful investigator. Knight was now in a coma and, from what he had been told, scant hours away from death.

  “At least you went out in a blaze of glory,” he mumbled to himself. “You'll be remembered as something of a hero, or at least be made a martyr,” he added ironically. Richard lightly touched his wife's hand. “I'll be right back.”

  He stood and walked into his spacious study. He carefully closed the door behind him and locked it. Everything was falling apart around him; he'd been the direct cause of multiple deaths, injuries, and now the abduction of four more children, including his stepdaughter. How many more, he wondered, were going to wind up paying for his company's mistakes, his personal errors in judgment. How much was it worth to keep things secret?

  He stared long and hard at the telephone, knowing if he were going to activate his final scheme, things had to be put into place now. His operatives were standing by, awaiting his word. At his command the gunship would launch, fully armed, to the excavation sight, and blast it and, Heaven only knew how many, innocent soldiers to Kingdom Come.

  Richard went to the small bar across from his desk and poured himself a scotch. He drained the glass with one swallow and filled it again, emptying the amber liquid. The scotch burned as it traveled down his throat and sent a warm feeling throughout his stomach. He walked back over to his desk and sat himself in his over-sized leather seat.

  He picked up the Nextel phone laying there and dialed the secure two-way frequency. “Is all in the ready?” he whispered into the phone.

  “Roger! Go on your mark,” the voice replied.

  Richard picked up the phone and carried it with him over to the open bottle. He drained a third of the bottle, this time not bothering with the glass. He closed his eyes as the liquor numbed his senses. He looked down at the Nextel and keyed the transmitter. “Go.”

  “Roger, we are go for execution,” the voice over the radio replied.

  Richard sat back down at his desk and tossed the Nextel on the desktop. He had just condemned four innocent children, including his stepdaughter, to death. They were more loose ends that needed to be cut in order to assure the company's safety.

  Richard reached inside his coat pocket and took a blast of breath spray to cover the alcohol on his breath. He walked out to await the news and observe the upcoming events with his wife and the other parents. He headed back down the lavish foyer and sat next to his wife. Margaret took his hand and leaned against him for support.

  “It's okay, we'll get her back,” he whispered. “We'll get them all back.”

  The authorities were executing a full-scale assault on Hopedale Mountain. Over two hundred National Guard troops were, at this moment, converging on the desolate mountainside. Three air support helicopters would be flying cover for the troops. The troops would have heavy weapons and artillery to be used in blasting the creatures into oblivion. They now knew what they were up against, there would be no more surprise attacks and no more casualties. The authorities were determined to rid themselves of these things once and for all.

  What had disturbed the authorities the most was the fact that these creatures deliberately attacked and abducted children. The attack they used required planning, and planning represented sentience and intelligence. Also, the deliberate thrashing they gave Erik Knight indicated a type of vindictiveness found only in thinking, aware beings. Wild creatures would withdraw from an aggressive confrontation. From the reports the authorities had reviewed from the surviving teachers, one of the creatures fought with Knight and finally maneuvered him into a situation where the man could be eliminated. These were not simply wild creatures acting on instinct, but sentient thinking creatures that seemed completely malevolent. This made them far more dangerous and a far greater threat to the populace.

  The authorities were still baffled as to why the things chose children, though deep down, they didn't want to know. They could only imagine what horrors the children were undergoing at this very moment.

  * * * *

  Brianna awoke to darkness, finding brief solace in a small nap. She was only aware of the three other children around her. They had all been crying intermittently over the past several hours. She didn't know how long they had been captive, her young body only knew sheer terror, as occasionally they spotted an ominous shape moving within the darkness, or heard the occasional growl of the large cat creature that had carried them here. The children were huddled together, trying to find some comfort in each other's company

  “Brianna?” a voice whispered in the darkness.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “Where are we?” the voice asked.

  “How should I know? We must be underground though, it's awfully cold,” she answered as her body shivered.

  “Do you think your dad will find us?” another voice asked.

  “I don't know,” she whispered. “I hope so.”

  “I'm scared,” a young girl whispered as she huddled closer to Brianna.

  “We're all scared,” Brianna and another boy replied.

  “Shh, something's coming!” the boy whispered in a voice thick with fear.

  * * * *

  The Seelak advanced on the group of young children, its enhanced vision picking them out easily in the darkness. It took special notice of Brianna; it knew that this young primate was an offspring of the hybrid it recently killed. It could sense the Esper within her very makeup. It would savor the life force of this child the best.

  The creature ignored the shrieks of terror as it approached the children, savoring their fear like one would enjoy a fine meal. It grasped Brianna by the scruff of her neck and held the young g
irl in midair. It delighted as she screamed in absolute terror. The other children tried to flee, but stumbled over each other in the darkness. They wound up curling up into little balls, tucking their knees into their chins and crying loudly in abject terror.

  It casually tossed the hybrid offspring aside and gathered another, each fragment of emotion strengthening it further. It carried off this victim to its companion. The large felenoid played with the child like a cat would play with a mouse—pawing at the boy, letting him fumble around freely in the darkness for a brief moment, then swatting with just enough force to knock him over, but not cause serious injury. The felenoid played with its victim for almost ten minutes before if carried it back to where the others were huddled. The felenoid then disappeared into the darkness.

  Brianna had been crying nonstop for fifteen minutes; her jeans were soaked when her bladder emptied from fright. The other child who had been taunted by the feline creature fared no better. All the children had lost control of their bladders and bowels at some point. They were not bothered by the discomfort or smell; little by little, they were each going into shock.

  “Daddy, where are you?” Brianna mumbled over and over as she rocked herself back and forth.

  The other children mumbled the same mantra, praying that their parents would show up and take them away from this nightmare.

  Brianna heard footsteps crunching on the floor toward them. She knew something was coming again. “Daddy!” she screamed. “Daddy, please come get me, I wanna go home!”

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  * * *

  Chapter 15

  Saturday morning, 5:30 a.m.

  Corporal Novacs leaned against the bumper of the ten-wheel transport, sipping his second cup of coffee while the Lieutenant droned on incessantly. He hated this part of any mission. The beginning—too much talk of planning and contingencies, the administrative things officers enjoyed doing, not the non-coms. If every officer had their way, there would be forms in triplicate for simply going to the bathroom.

  He looked over at his sergeant; the man gave him a brief roll of his eyes, to which Novacs grinned quickly. He knew that the sergeant felt the same way.

  The Sergeant was in his late fifties, with silvery gray hair and eyes to match. He was one of the few men which everyone in Fox Company had the deepest respect. It wasn't the respect born of fear, but a respect developed from a man who was not afraid of getting his hands dirty with the troops. The Sergeant never shied away from any task, and would never order one of his men to do something that he would not or had not done himself.

  After what seemed like hours, the Lieutenant completed his briefing and walked off with the local politicians. The enlisted men, some 200 fully armed combat soldiers, gathered around the Sergeant. There would be no daydreaming during this ops briefing; the Sergeant was quick, blunt, and to the point.

  “Okay, soldiers, we have an unusual job to do. We're hunting some sort of creatures that have already killed several police, military, and civilian population. The one man who seemed to know the most about these things is in intensive care right now, probably already dead, from what we were told of his condition,” he began solemnly. “These things have taken four children. We're going to take them back. Is that clear, soldiers?”

  “Clear, Sergeant!” came the unified response of nearly 200 voices.

  “These bastards can pop in and out like some kind of ghosts, so everyone needs to watch everybody else's ass. We're going to divide into groups of ten men and all converge into the mountain at different points. Two men on each team, the point and the rear, will be issued IR gear and Starlight lenses in case we get caught in the darkness. They'll tell you where and when to shoot; I suggest you follow their advice closely.

  “Our objective will be to cover designated swatches of ground until we converge at the uppermost point. We've got a hell of a lot of wooded ground to cover, some of it probably hasn't seen the footprint of a man in hundreds of years. It will take us most of the day to get to our designated target area. It's my belief that we'll encounter our adversaries long before we even get close to our mission objective. Everyone, I want radio checks every ten minutes.” He paused, staring at the map of Hopedale Mountain taped to the hood of their truck. Several convergence points were highlighted, along with the areas of creature activity.

  “There's something up there, somewhere, and I intend to find it within the next two days. You all have your assignments. Those teams accessing the woods via the lake, get to your boats. Land teams, organize your equipment and let's hit the woods. These children have been gone for almost an entire day. I want them back before nightfall. Are we clear on this, people?”

  “Yes, sir,” the 200 voices replied in unison.

  The soldiers broke into their smaller units and began deploying into the parklands. Those squads that were crossing the nearly two-mile-wide Hopedale Lake by motor boat would have a significant lead on the other teams that were ground-bound. The military entrance into the woodlands looked like a massive ground assault. In all the town history of Hopedale, such an event had never occurred.

  The Town Fathers and several local legislators from the district were on hand to monitor the proceedings. The senior military knew that the politicians were only there for the face time in the press, serving their own political self-interests. They had no real interest in offering any leadership to the community nor comfort for the families affected by the current tragedies. The Major in charge of the operation was reluctant to give too many details to them, or be anywhere near their presence unless it was absolutely necessary. He stood in the shadows as each politician gave interviews to radio and television persona that were covering the operation. He smirked to himself as each politician lied blatantly as to their involvement with mission planning and coordination.

  “Typical low-brow politicians,” he mumbled to the Captain who was next to him. “They aren't even qualified to pump gas, let alone represent people. Why do we keep electing jackasses into public office?”

  “Probably because only an incompetent jackass would want the job,” the Captain whispered.

  The Major looked over at him and suddenly burst out laughing. “A point well spoken, Mr. Anderson.” He slapped the man on his shoulder. “C'mon, let's get a cup of coffee; it's going to be a long day.”

  * * * *

  Corporal Novacs paused briefly, swatting at a swarm of persistent gnats that buzzed around his head like a floating black cloud. His team had been hiking toward the outer trail markers for almost an hour.

  “I think these things like the repellent,” he swore as he continued waving the insects away.

  He took a brief look at his topographic map to get a quick lay of the land. The land inside the parklands was relatively easy hiking—several well-beaten paths in ever-expanding circular patterns around the large lake. However, the outlying woodlands were a much different story. The altitude lines on his map ran in several crazy directions and very close together beyond the park. This was a clear indication that he would be doing some fairly heavy incline hiking later on in the day as they left the outskirts of the park. Novacs reported his observations to the team leader who was busy radioing their position and location to the base coordinators at the roadside command and control center.

  “There's no way in hell we can cover sixty-plus square miles of woodlands in one search,” Novacs grumbled to the Private walking next to him. “Let alone one day.”

  “Hey, man,” the Private replied, “I just work here.” The soldier paused then asked a question that was probably on everyone's mind. “Hey, Novie, what d'ya think is really out here, man?”

  Novacs shook his head. “I really don't know, Sparks, you know as much as me on this one, bro'. We seem to be hired on as exterminators for some really big-ass roaches or something. Just keep your eyes open, though. The Sergeant thinks we'll see these buggers as soon as we leave the parklands. Based on this map, and at our present rate of terrain cover, that
should be in about fifteen minutes.”

  * * * *

  Saturday afternoon, 1:00 p.m.

  The traffic in the Critical Care Unit had been exceptionally heavy during the night and deep into the morning hours. Something was happening to a patient that defied medical science. Several doctors and surgeons had been called in to study the phenomenon, but no one had been able to come up with a satisfactory explanation as to what was happening inside the body of Erik Knight.

  “This is impossible!” the doctor swore as he checked his patient's vital signs again.

  Erik Knight's body seemed remarkably different than when he was wheeled into the Critical Care Unit. The multitude of deep lacerations and bruises were nearly invisible, leaving behind surgical staples embedded in healthy tissue. The deep flesh tears upon his torso were little more than light pink scars that were hardly noticeable against his flesh tones. It was almost as if someone had performed complete cosmetic surgery on his frontal facial structure. Where there once was a shattered mass of broken cartilage now resided a totally reconstructed nose and nasal passages.

  Erik's unconscious body had been wheeled to x-ray when his monitoring equipment had registered increased vital signs throughout the night and early-morning hours. Doctors watched in amazement as his once battered and broken body was mysteriously mending itself.

  “I don't know where to begin,” the doctor said as he addressed Shanda and Alissa. “His bones are totally knitted, his heart's been beating on its own for nearly four hours, and his ribs seem to have moved back into place on their own,” he recited in total disbelief. “And not only that, his lungs look like they've never ever been cut. We can't even find any lingering scar tissue that would indicate that there was any trauma to the area, or in any vitals area.” The doctor paused and glared down at his notebook.

  “His vitals are all different now; his heart is beating stronger and his tissues and skeletal structure seem to be thicker, stronger even. The bone mass readings we just took have to be wrong; nobody has a bone density this hard. It's almost as if his skeleton were made of iron, not bone. This is the most bizarre thing I've ever come across.”