Unnatural Selection

by Tim Lebbon

  "Liz ... "

  The first dog was within leaping distance. Hellboy's pistol clicked empty. Hicks fired again, his own peashooter having little effect.

  Liz screamed.

  The dogs eyes reflected the fire that leaped from Liz's hands, mouth, and eyes. The hound launched itself from the deck, aimed at the open door of the helicopter, but it never made contact. The fire batted it aside, swarming across its foam-speckled face and burrowing into its fur. The stink of burning hair and flesh quickly permeated the inside of the Lynx, even as the second black dog barreled into the first, sending it rolling across the deck, claws screeching up curls of torn metal.

  The burning dog's howl was like the whole day screaming in pain. It streaked back across the deck, leaving oily smoke in its wake. Flames slithered across its skin. It struck one of the open hold doors with a meaty thud, rolled onto its back, and fell out of sight into the bowels of the ship.

  Hellboy had taken the opportunity to reload. He jumped from the chopper, stood with his legs braced, and fired at the other three dogs, one bullet each. He saw one take out a dog's eye, wasn't sure what happened to the other shots, and then the second hound pounced.

  It stood as tall as him. Its mouth was the width of his head. Each tooth was the length of his pistol's barrel, and the eyes were featureless black pits, no soul there, no hope, only a pledge of pain and a promise of death. As it came at him, claws reaching, mouth wide open, bloody saliva streaking back from its teeth, Hellboy swung his right fist to connect with its snout.

  The dog's howl turned into a whimper as it struck the deck and rolled onto its side.

  "Play dead!" Hellboy shouted. He leaped after the black dog, fist crashing down onto one of its back legs. He felt the bone crumble. The dog howled, jerking its head back and gnashing its jaws at him. He pulled back, and the dogs teeth snapped shut an inch from his hand, its fleshy lips smacking around his arm. Hellboy stood and brushed the sticky mess of saliva and blood from his skin.

  The dog tried to stand. Its leg crumpled, so it dragged itself forward instead, jaws working at the air as if it were chewing its way to Hellboy. He backed away slowly, teasing the dog, until the angle was right for Hicks to fill its head with lead.

  Six rounds sent the monster back to the Memory.

  "Two down," Hellboy said, and then Liz shouted, Hicks gasped, and the two remaining dogs landed on Hellboy's back.

  He was forced to the deck, smashing his face into the salty metal. They knocked the breath from him, the impact dulled his senses, and if the dogs hadn't chosen that moment to snap at each other — fighting over their share of dinner, Hellboy guessed — things might have ended up much worse. As it was, their bickering gave him a precious few seconds to gather himself, tense his muscles, and push upward from the deck. One dog tumbled away toward the helicopter, the other stayed right there on his back, its claws curling through his coat and piercing his skin, scraping against bone, its slavering jaws closing on the back of his neck and grinding together. His own warm blood mixed with the disgusting flow of saliva and foam down his back.

  "No you don't," Hellboy whispered. He rolled, pushing hard from the ship's deck and flipping his head around. The stumps of his horns struck the dogs bloody teeth and knocked one out, its shards pattering down onto Hellboy's face. The dog reared up on its hind legs, shaking its head at the sky, and for a second Hellboy could not help but be impressed at the brute strength of the thing.

  But it was an old legend, a memory, not something that belonged here in the fading sunlight of what could be a very bad day.

  "Hicks?" Hellboy said, inviting the pilot to put the thing down. There was no response. He glanced at the helicopter and discovered what had happened to the fourth dog.

  It was buried face-first in the Lynx, back legs scrambling to push its body further inside, and suddenly there was screaming, blood spurted, somebody shouted in agony, and Hellboy tried to stand.

  The dog fell back down on him, the jagged remnants of its shattered tooth connecting squarely with his face. Hellboy shouted, punched upward with both hands, but the dog had been driven into a rage. It seemed immune to pain. The harder he thumped it, the more it raked at his chest and throat with its front legs and the more it bit at his face. Hellboy shifted his head from side to side. That prevented the dog from gaining good purchase, but it meant that its teeth slashed his face, left to right and up and down.

  Hellboy felt around for his pistol, but it had fallen somewhere beyond his reach.

  "Liz!" he shouted, but the screams from the helicopter told him she had more than enough on her plate. Fight fire with fire, he thought. He waited until the dog reared up again, then he raised his head and buried his teeth in the hound's throat.

  The dog howled. Hellboy shook his head, ripping into its skin, tasting the meat of it on his tongue. It was awful, the tang of raw meat, the trickle of blood down his throat ... so basic and animalistic. He hated it, but he knew that this could be his last chance to gain the upper hand. He knew also that something very bad was happening in the helicopter, because the screaming had suddenly ceased.

  He bit harder, shoving his whole head forward into the yawning wound in the dog's throat, and then he felt the rich gush of a major artery opening under his teeth.

  The dog's howl turned to a whine, and Hellboy shoved it up and away. It flipped onto its back and landed with a thump that shook the deck, legs pawing at the air, head falling to the side as if keen to observe the pool of blood already spreading beneath it.

  "Stay," Hellboy said. He spat, looked at the helicopter. The last dog was fully inside now, head turned to the right, chewing at something as Liz's flames began eating into it from behind. And there she was, crushed against the inside of the Lynx by the monster's huge body, eyes blazing and hands melting their way into the black dogs flanks. It seemed not to notice. Its head was out of sight, but Hellboy could see the swaths of blood that had splashed the inside of the pilot's cabin, and something in there was throwing red shadows as it thrashed.

  He grabbed at one of the dogs rear legs and pulled. Nothing happened.

  "Hellboy!" Liz said. When she spoke she breathed fire. "Jims gone. He's just gone. It bit him in half."

  "Hicks?"

  Liz glanced toward the cabin then back at Hellboy, eyes aflame. She pursed her lips and battered harder at the dog, each impact scorching its skin and spreading more fire through its fur. It started to whine beneath the terrible chewing sounds. "I can see bits of him," she said.

  "Crap! Liz, can you get out?"

  "My legs are crushed against the fuselage."

  Hellboy grabbed the dogs leg again, pulled it straight, and brought his fist down, crushing the bone. The leg went to jelly in his hands and flopped down. The dog squealed. It rocked the helicopter as it struggled to back up. Hellboy hauled on the broken leg and shifted the things body, just enough so that Liz could free herself and climb out. She was grimacing, hands dripping flames like lengths of colorful cloth. She crawled over the hound's body, and wherever she touched, its fur burst alight. The stink was terrible.

  Liz tumbled to the deck, looking around at the twitching remains of the other two black dogs, and turned back to the helicopter. "Poor Jim," she said. "Poor Hicks."

  "That's no way to go," Hellboy said. He held Liz's arm, and they retreated. A few more seconds, and the dog would work itself free of the chopper. Hellboy had no desire to see its bloody head decorated with the remains of his ghost-hunting friend and the helicopter pilot. "Fry it."

  Liz breathed in deeply, but she did not need to prepare for long. Fire expanded out from her, igniting both the dog and the Lynx.

  "Come on!" Hellboy grabbed Liz, and they ran along the deck, heading toward the imposing bridge superstructure at the other end of the massive ship. They passed the open hold door, glanced inside, saw nothing. Hellboy could smell the stench of animals, but he could also sense that the ship was all but empty. The things that had once called this place home were now
laying siege to the Anderson Hotel in the London Docklands. There would almost certainly be more guards like the four black dogs, but now he felt energized by the fight and ready to move on. His skin was ruptured and leaking. His fist ached with the need to connect again. His blood was up.

  "What now?" Liz said.

  "Now we find that bastard Blake and kill him," Hellboy said.

  "He could be anywhere. This ship is the size of a city!"

  "He'll be close to where we saw that car dropped in. That was brought here for a reason. Trouble is — "

  The helicopter exploded behind them, casting a huge ball of flame and smoke skyward. Debris scattered across the deck, metal clanging on metal, and a chunk of smoldering flesh thudded down twenty feet away. Hellboy did not look to see what color it was.

  "Trouble is, we've lost our element of surprise."

  "And our ride home," Liz said.

  They paused and looked back at the flaming aircraft. "I always treat these as one-way deals," Hellboy said. "That way, getting home is a bonus."

  As they turned back to the hold doors they had been aiming for, the rukh rose up, turned its giant head, and stared right at them.

  Hellboy sighed. "Next."

  * * *

  Even in the depths of the New Ark, walking pathways so close to the Memory that she could feel its infinite draw, Abby felt the weight of the moon pressing down upon her. The hairs on the back of her neck were constantly on end, her jaws and teeth ached, the bones of her back seemed to be constantly shifting as if readying themselves for their change. Her hunger was up, a raging dryness at the back of her throat and a hollowness in her stomach. Blood flowed hot in her veins. She could see around corners and hear through walls, and Abby knew she had very little time left.

  If she were to kill Blake, it would have to be within the next couple of hours. After that she would change, he would see, and Blake would claim his victory by killing her at last.

  I wish I'd finished him instead of just running away, she thought for the thousandth time.

  Lost, she suddenly felt found. She was taking action to deepen her new life, not sitting back and letting her friends at BPRD do it for her. Abe had been her angel — he still was — but now, here, she was carving her own future from the potential of the present, not letting others guide her through it. Through these corridors that all looked the same, through the huge rooms where birthing vats now hung cracked and dry and unused, through the stalls and rooms and tanks where other creations from the Memory had spent their new lives waiting to fulfill Blake's desires — all of these places in darkness, all unseen — Abby ran, searching for the one door she knew she would recognize. She listened for the Voice that would welcome her back like an old friend. The one aspect from her time here that she enjoyed remembering was her conversations with the Voice and her growing realization that he was imprisoned, a conjuring that Blake had lived to regret long ago.

  Now, Abby hoped he would regret it some more. The Voice must have a body, and the body must have a desire to be free. She would give it that freedom. In return, all she would ask for was help.

  She rounded a corner in the corridor, skidded to a stop, and stared at the thing facing her.

  It blinked. Snorted. Stamped one cloven hoof, shook its head, the ring in its nose swinging. Its furry head seemed too huge for its body, but it was muscled and wiry, and its naked man's torso was sheened with sweat.

  "You know the maze of this place," she whispered. "Tell me the way to the Voice." She wondered why the minotaur had not joined in with Blake's attack and thought that maybe it preferred to remain within this labyrinth. Perhaps it liked being lost. She looked into its eyes and saw little to recognize there — no empathy, no understanding. She hoped it could hear the animal power in her voice, projected out from the change that even now was starting within her.

  The minotaur roared at her, breath steaming in the cool atmosphere, and then it turned and ran. There was no way she could keep up — it disappeared too quickly — but she heard its hoof steps echoing back at her for several moments.

  Abby went down another flight of steps to a lower level. The stink of animal was richer down here, as was the smell of stagnant water and old oil. She felt closer than ever to the junction between worlds. She did not believe that the sun could be shining thirty feet above her, could not comprehend the nearness of the ocean just a few wall thicknesses away. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the Memory lurking just beyond her outstretched fingers, its cool emptiness drawing her closer, closer ... and in that emptiness the memory of that old dead thing, the sleeping god so ancient and awful that Blake had left it behind.

  Abby's eyes snapped open, and she looked around, seeing only rusting metal and the familiar haunt of shadows. "That thing didn't help me," she said, but she knew that was a lie. "That thing has no part in my being here." But that was untrue, and she could almost hear its appalling chuckle in her mind as she ran on.

  At last, she found somewhere she recognized. The corridor was like a hundred others, but the door spacing was right, a scratch along one wall, the way light from an unguarded bulb spread itself across the decaying metal. She paused and walked on, experiencing a chill of deja vu as she trailed her fingers along one wall.

  Running, panting, sweating, a certain aim in mind, the smell of shit wafting from some lower level, heat emanating from the wall to her right, and a voice, the Voice, calling her on with whispers that started as a tickle somewhere deep in her imagination.

  "I'm here," she said, drawing close to a door that looked as though it had never, ever been opened.

  "Have you returned with a name?" the Voice asked. It was gruff from lack of use.

  "Abby."

  "Abby ... " The Voice faded away into a smile. "Abby, you escape and choose to return. If only there was time to sit and listen to your reasons."

  "There's never been time," Abby said. "Blake has always been mad. You have to help me. There's one thing I have to do before ... before ... "

  "Ahh, the change is coming," the Voice said. Abby wondered whether the humor had always been there, just below its words, and whether she could only recognize it now after so long in the real world.

  "It won't be long," she said. "Blake endangers the world."

  "The world has done little for me."

  "But Blake has kept you locked away forever!"

  "Forever? That's a long time, Abby. I've been here for less than the space between heartbeats. And yet ... further heartbeats I crave."

  "Does that mean you'll help me?"

  "Open my door, Abby. It's barred to me, but you ... you might be able to break the wards."

  "First tell me your name," Abby said. "You were Voice, and you were a friend to me, and now I need a name."

  "Call me Leh."

  "Leh. A good name. Old."

  "You have no idea."

  "Stand back, Leh. I'm feeling strong. And this feels so right."

  Abby braced herself against the wall opposite the door, levered herself forward with one foot, and drove her shoulder against the metal. Something sparkled in the sealed space between door and frame — static, electricity, something blinking out with the stench of singed hair. She shoved at the door again, growling, feeling the energy rising up in her and powering her muscles. Blood dripped from her mouth as larger teeth began to break through. The fine downy hairs on the backs of her hands grew darker, thicker. Her perception of things grew wider, and looking up she could see her way through metal, the dark blue sky already revealing the ghost of the full moon.

  Abby growled louder, shoved the door again, and felt it give beneath her. She tumbled into the room. Hands fell on her shoulders, cold and wet and devoid of life, and something breathed a word into her face.

  "Abby," it said.

  And Abby thought, Oh shit, Abe, what have I done?

  * * *

  The rukh had lowered its head back into the hold, leaving Liz and Hellboy staring after it in confusion. One
second they were expecting the thing to attack, the next it had turned away, seemingly unconcerned, and dipped back down where it had dropped the car.

  The ship moved gently beneath them, smoke from the burning helicopter drifted along the deck, and seagulls buzzed around the bridge structure at the stern.

  "So?" Liz said.

  Hellboy shrugged. The wounds on his face were terrible, and Liz had to look away. They would heal, she knew, but for now they were not something she wanted to see. Not on the face of a friend, and not so soon after seeing Jim and Hicks taken apart by that dog.

  "Well — "

  Liz's satellite phone rang, startling both of them. She grabbed it from her pocket and answered. "Abe!"

  "Hey, Liz. You guys OK? I tried calling Hellboy, but I got nothing."

  "I think a dog ate his phone," Liz said.

  "Right. Listen, I'm in London, I was following Abby, and her car was taken away — "

  "By a giant bird," Liz finished for him. A lot suddenly became very clear. Hellboy raised his eyebrows, and she nodded at him. "Carried off by a rukh," Liz said. "It brought her to Blake's ship, the New Ark."

  "How'd you know all that?"

  "Were here right now."

  "How are things?"

  "About average."

  "Oh." Abe's voice crackled. "Liz, will you find her for me? Look after her? I think she's got where she was going anyway, but I'm not sure why she's there."

  "I'll do my best, Abe. But HB and I have a lot on our plate right now. And ... " She looked skyward at the deep blue of the fading afternoon. She could feel the touch of the setting sun on the back of her neck.

  "I know," Abe said. "It may have happened already."

  "Abe, the attacks started on the conference," Liz said. "We passed it in a chopper, and it wasn't looking good."

  "Doesn't look good from here either. I reached the Docklands five minutes ago, and I don't think I'll be going much farther."