Wylde

by S. C. Mitchell

  Wylde huffed. “Gotta be. There’s no turning back now.”

  Another couple of hours and he’d be dropping over the estimated position of the Red Guard compound. He didn’t have the exact coordinates, but he knew the approximate location, and once on the ground he’d find the place, provided he landed in one piece.

  Maggie shot him a side-eye. “An’ if it doesn’t work?”

  “I’ll be splat on the frozen Siberian tundra, spending a couple uncomfortable hours healing back up . . . or I’ll be dead, in which case it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  And the author could go fuck up someone else’s life for a change.

  Wylde shook his head. “Nah, he wouldn’t make it that easy for me. I’ll be fine.”

  Maggie chuckled. “That author friend of yours?”

  “He’s really not what I would call a friend.”

  But this would work. Kayla and Heather themselves had designed the flight unit into his suit. Sure it was only a slightly-tested prototype, but it was their slightly-tested prototype. Wylde wasn’t worried on that count.

  Maggie patted his shoulder. “I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

  She headed toward the ladder that extended up to the cockpit.

  Joel, Kayla, and Chris followed him under the wing of the fighter jet. The door to the missile bay was open and ready for him.

  With a boost from Joel and Chris, Wylde wedged his hands and feet into the sides of the bay to keep him suspended. The door opened downward. In this craft, missiles weren’t shot out. They dropped down, then ignited to blast forward.

  Joel’s voice crackled in his earpiece as they closed the missile bay door on him, leaving him in complete darkness. “Com check.”

  “Loud and clear,” he answered.

  “Good. Remember, we’ll be here and ready if you need back-up. You just need to call us in. You do remember how to call, right?”

  His new suit included a connection to something Chris had called a comsat. Some kind of satellite system that would allow him to communicate almost anywhere in the world. The electronics were in a small pouch attached to his belt that connected to the built-in earpiece and microphone in his cowl by something called a Bluetooth.

  The technology baffled him, but he knew what buttons to press to get the thing to work.

  “I remember.” He felt like such an idiot sometimes. Like he’d missed the last ten years and the world had gone on without him.

  Well, he had spent most of that time in the woods with his wolf pack. Wonderful, uncomplicated years. Then Ghaim had come calling at his cabin door and everything had gone to shit.

  The next few hours would be cramped and cold. The missile that fit in here couldn’t have been much bigger than he. There wasn’t much extra room.

  And once Maggie had the plane in the air, the temperature in the compartment would drop dramatically. No need to heat a missile bay. Kayla had added a thermal layer under his new costume that she hoped would help. Time would tell.

  In any case, he was going after Dove, and that was all that mattered. And he had a team backing him up. A team of people. That was something new for him, though in its own way, Xi Force was like his pack. Each member did their job and made the whole stronger.

  In the future he would need to step up his game and be more a part of this team. He owed Xi Force that much.

  Maggie’s lilting tone resounded through his earpiece. “Ready for takeoff, Mr. Wylde?”

  He was more than ready. “Let’s do this.”

  ~ ~ ~

  By the time they’d reached the drop zone, Wylde could barely feel his feet or his fingers. Cold seeped into the compartment, wrapping around his body and making the missile bay feel like he was inside a freezer. His healing factor had prevented frostbite, but it didn’t stop the icy tingling that crept up his legs and arms.

  He’d been shivering constantly for the past half hour.

  “Dropping you in thirty seconds, Mr. Wylde.”

  It couldn’t come soon enough. “T-thanks, M-Maggie. I’m read-dy.”

  The door opened beneath him and he dropped. Thank goodness, he’d thought to open his glide webbing a few hours into the flight. His numb, frozen fingers would never have found the micro-switch.

  Clouds covered the firmament, deepening the night’s gloom. His stiff joints protested as he spread his arms and legs to catch the chill air in his sails. He scanned the dark landscape below for any sign of the last place he’d ever expect to be returning to.

  The Red Guard’s hidden headquarters and research lab.

  Completely unknown, even to people living within miles of the place, no one who stumbled upon the compound ever walked away. And to his knowledge, he was the only person to ever escape its confines.

  Luck, fate, or a whim of the author, it didn’t really matter. He’d gotten out, and never planned to return. “So, of course, he’s forcing me to come back.”

  The spidery web of waterways below had to be the Lena River, the one landmark he’d be able to find from this high up. But was he heading North or South? Without the moon or stars, it was hard to tell. He didn’t have the exact coordinates of the base, so he could still be miles off, but at least he was in the right area. Once he was on the ground and warmed up a bit, he’d figure out his next move.

  First things first. With so many trees below, finding a place to land without banging himself up too much presented a problem. The river was iced over in many places. Diving into the water would make for a softer landing, but getting trapped under the ice would be dangerous. Could his healing factor bring him back if he drowned? Best not to take that chance.

  A frozen bay in the river offered a solution. Hopefully the ice would be thick enough to support the weight of his landing.

  He angled around, coming in from the middle of the river toward the shore line. Kicking out to slow his momentum, his feet hit the ice. A loud pop rumbled through the ice as crack lines extended from his point of impact.

  Shit.

  But the ice held.

  Okay.

  Still, his boots couldn’t find any purchase on the slick surface, and his momentum carried him forward toward the tree-lined shore at a faster pace than he would have preferred. He threw himself flat, hoping more surface area would slow him faster.

  The slick surface popped and cracked as he landed on his stomach. Water leaked through the fissures.

  Shit.

  But it held.

  Okay.

  But even prone he barely reduced his momentum as he slid toward the thickly forested shoreline.

  Wylde hit hard enough to send him tumbling into the trees and underbrush.

  Shit.

  He tumbled and bumped, his numb fingers refusing to close on any of the branches that came within grasping distance until a stout tree trunk stopped his momentum.

  The impact was hard, breaking a branch and driving the splintered stump into his gut.

  “Ouch.”

  His head whirled as he pushed himself back, sliding the branch from his abdomen. Blood flowed freely from the wound in a crimson river down his legs. Panting, he struggled to stay conscious as he fell to the ground.

  I am not giving the author an easy hook so he can end the chapter.

  But he couldn’t keep it together. Stars danced in his eyes. His mind reeled as everything faded to black.

  Bastard.

  Chapter 8

  The laboratory contained everything a geneticist could dream of possessing. The latest equipment, rare test samples, and abundant gene sequences. Even freaky insects from some prehistoric era encased in amber.

  Jurassic Park, eat your heart out.

  Dove moved through the workspace, her hands reaching out to touch expensive genetic tools she never thou
ght she’d be in the same room with, much less encouraged to use.

  Still, this was the carrot. Somewhere there was most certainly a stick to go with it. If only she knew what they wanted. Why she was here.

  She’d been told to look around. Play, if she felt like it. “Relax, you are in no danger,” Randy had said as he closed the door and locked her in.

  But to what end. Was she being recruited? And by whom? They had one hell of a way of going about it. Food arrived through a small sliding panel in the wall. An attached bedroom was nicely furnished and offered an elegant bathroom. A true gilded cage.

  She had no doubt she was being observed. She was the test subject here. Like a rat in a maze. Which way would she turn next?

  “A nap?” No she wasn’t tired. She’d just lay on the bed and worry.

  And she’d never been good at doing nothing.

  She picked up a piece of amber and gazed at the insect within. Could she really clone a dinosaur from this?

  Her dad had always preached be practical. His research had been solid but rarely newsworthy. He’d kept himself within strictly set boundaries. It was John that had given her thoughts the wings they needed to soar into flights of fantasy. Their interaction as children opened her mind to the wonders of imagination and play.

  She startled at the click and woosh of the door opening behind her.

  “Dove Locklear. So good to see you once again.” The voice so familiar, though she hadn’t heard it in over fifteen years.

  A chill coursed through her gut as she turned to confront John’s father. “Dr. Wylde.”

  William Wylde hadn’t changed much. He looked like a slightly older version of John. His hair shorter, and the gray streaks were probably natural as opposed to John’s genetic mutation. Handsome, charismatic, the man had fooled so many people. The televangelist of science, they’d called him.

  The biggest difference between the two was their eyes. John’s were golden and canine. William’s were a cold, calculating gray.

  “We don’t have to be enemies.” Dr. Wylde launched into what was probably a carefully crafted sermon. She’d have to watch herself.

  “That depends on whether you’re the one responsible for kidnapping me, doesn’t it?”

  His smile reflected warmth, but she knew it was only a mirage.

  “What do you think of the lab? I picked out the equipment myself. Top of the line, modern centrifuge and thermal cycler. And you are going to love that BioPhotonic scanner.”

  She needed to break him out of his speech. Like the snake oil salesmen of old, William Wylde would try to lure her in with his sweet talk. “Cut the crap. What do you want?”

  He huffed. “I thought that was obvious. I want you. Your work. Your father’s work. I’ve hit a few roadblocks that I am sure you can get me through. And you will cooperate or . . . else.”

  He let the last word hang like a gallows’ noose.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunlight streaked through the evergreen boughs above. Wylde blinked, then squinted against the brightness.

  Shit. Daylight.

  He’d been out quite a few hours.

  His fingers searched his stomach, where the broken tree branch had skewered him.

  Healed. Even the fabric of his new costume had mended itself. Kayla’s Mutalon formula ran through the fabric and through his bloodstream. Was he the only person alive that could benefit from the formula’s amazing healing powers?

  Kayla had refused to even test human application. It was Ghaim that had stolen the formula and kidnapped him for testing. Something in his body chemistry, the genetic altering, made him immune to the toxic effects of the Mutalon in his system. In anyone else, the formula was toxic.

  Which begged the question: Was he human?

  He’d spent the last ten years living as a wolf, yet he knew he wasn’t one. He remembered flashes of being fully human as a child. He knew how to act like a man, but was he really human anymore?

  Ponder later, I need to move.

  Rolling to his side he pushed himself up.

  Dense coniferous forest confronted him. The frozen bay lay behind. Crows cawed from the branches of the lofty trees. The resiny tang of pine hung in the air over the scent of blood. His blood. On the broken branch in front of him and in the fabric of his costume.

  It self-mended but didn’t self-clean. Could Kayla make a suit that repaired and cleaned itself?

  Didn’t matter.

  What did matter was finding the Red Guard Headquarters and rescuing Dove.

  Something irritated his back at the beltline. Had a splinter from the branch remained in his back after it mended?

  No, that couldn’t be it. The few times he’d had slivers, his healing factor had expelled them within seconds while mending him.

  He removed his belt and the irritation stopped.

  “Oh, shit.”

  The wire dangling from the smashed utility pouch did not bode well. The pouch held the electronics for his satcom connection.

  He tapped his earpiece. “Hello? Anybody there?”

  Of course not.

  He was on his own.

  Well, he’d planned on coming alone. It would have been nice to have some backup to call in, but could they have come anyway? Dropping into Russian airspace had been dangerous enough for him. Joel and Chris might have made the drop with the protection of their cyborg enhancements.

  Kayla?

  Probably not. But she’d try if she thought he was in trouble, so maybe this was for the best.

  They’d worry, no doubt, but he’d just have to find Dove and get out as soon as possible.

  Spore and marking scents told him there was a sizable wolf pack in the area. That could be trouble or a blessing depending on how things went down when he found them or when they found him.

  Wolves in this part of the world were different, more savage, tougher than North American wolves. He’d only had a few encounters with the breed during his escape ten years ago. It all depended on if the pack alpha accepted him as a wolf.

  But the wolves would also be his best option for finding the Red Guard compound. They’d know the area and the places where humans were. Gaining their aid most likely required a confrontation in any case.

  Drawing in all the smells of the forest, Wylde sifted through each odor, ignoring everything that wasn’t wolf. The pack was ranging, hunting in the woods, but one scent dominated the air. On all fours, he bounded toward the aroma that screamed alpha.

  He’d take his case right to the boss and deal with whatever happened.

  If they eat me, will my body regenerate? How far could he push his healing factor? Probably not that far. In any case he hoped to avoid finding out.

  The alpha was marking new territory for his expanding pack. Any lone wolf in the region would be challenged. The wolf would have to leave the pack’s new territory, join the pack, or fight the alpha for leadership.

  Any human would be attacked by the entire pack for food.

  Wylde stripped off his uniform. Clothing would identify him as human. Naked and on all fours at least offered a semblance of his wolf nature. He hoped it would be enough.

  Wolves relied more on smell than sight, and Wylde’s genetic makeup gave him the proper scent. Enough, at least, to cause any wolf to question its eyesight.

  The trail left by the alpha was easy to track. His testosterone-laced scent dominated the forest aromas. Wylde simply had to follow his nose.

  He smiled when a howl echoed from ahead. The alpha had picked up his scent.

  Wylde howled a challenge in response. To gain the wolves’ aid, he’d need to fight the alpha for control of the pack. But he’d only get that chance if he could convince them he was a wolf.

  Movement in the underbrush t
old him the pack was closing in, circling him. Wylde chose a clearing in the forest for his encounter, letting the wolves surround him. He stood his ground as fanged snouts emerged from the woods around him.

  I challenge the pack alpha, he snarled.

  You challenge me. The alpha was huge, even by Siberian wolf standards. He entered the clearing and the ring of wolves closed around him and Wylde.

  His thick tawny fur was tinged with gray and white. Bright golden eyes hinted at an intellect beyond most wolves. He cocked his head. You are human.

  Wylde snarled. I am wolf.

  The next few seconds would determine whether he’d be challenging the Alpha or torn apart by the pack. In either case, Wylde would need to fight.

  His body tensed. Adrenaline pumped. He snarled, baring his teeth.

  The alpha sniffed, then snorted. We will see.

  Fangs open and ready to bite, the wolf leapt.

  Wylde met him head on. Batting with his hands and raking with his fingernails, looking for any opening to sink his teeth into a vital spot. He resisted the urge to grasp, a human trait that had no place in an alpha wolf challenge. Yes, he didn’t have the extended canines of a wolf, but he’d learned to use his human teeth to their best advantage.

  A claw tore through the skin of his upper arm as Wylde clamped his jaws on the wolf’s shoulder. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. He raked his fingernails across its hind quarters, all the while keeping his teeth embedded in the sinewy muscle.

  With a sharp whine, the alpha shook and rolled, disengaging and pulling back.

  Round one to Wylde, but this was far from over.

  You look like a man, but fight like a wolf. The alpha bowed his head slightly, giving Wylde respect as he circled, looking for his next opening.

  A noble creature, Wylde began to regret the confrontation. He hated the thought he might have to kill this animal.

  But there’d been no other option. He needed to find the Red Guard headquarters as quickly as possible. He needed to find Dove. This was his best, possibly his only, option.