Betrayal: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 2)

by Blou Bryant

  Marylyn gasped and fell back into her chair, pulling him towards her. “My God,” she said.

  “God has nothing to do with it, this is all science,” he replied. With little else to do, and such a strange affliction, he’d thought a lot about religion over the past three years. “It’s a blank virus created by a machine and my particular genetic make-up allows me to be a host.”

  “You do this, and yet, somehow, you don’t believe?” In God, she meant.

  “Do you imagine that I want this, that this curse would make me a religious nut?”

  “We don’t always get what we want. God isn’t Santa Claus. Can’t be bitter at him for letting us live our lives, for good and for bad.”

  Wyatt shook his head, “If He doesn’t get involved, why believe?”

  “Because life is empty without something greater than yourself. Do you have something to believe in?”

  “No.”

  “And yet you do this. You live a miracle and yet you’re still bitter. I told you, son, go do something. Be something more than the boy in the basement.”

  Wyatt winced at that and released her hands. At this, Hannah came up and helped Marylyn to her feet. As they left, he reflected on his life.

  It’d been three years since he’d escaped. Joe or Jessica or whatever she was now, hadn’t held up her end of the bargain. The compound had been raided by police three weeks after the confrontation at the military base. It was only fair, he hadn’t really kept his end of the deal either, what with burning Joe alive and trying to kill Jessica.

  The raid was a bust. Sandra had everyone out by the time the police arrived. She’d received early warning and had closed down the compound and the bar. The Red Dogs had been on the run ever since, occupying whatever dump they could find, moving every month or two.

  He was one of them now, but not in his heart or soul. Most avoided being around him, his special talent, and his aloofness. There was something different to him that they sensed, something exciting and frightening at the same time. He was the guy who transformed people, the freaky science experiment. The rest of the Dogs were united in enjoying being on the run, in their desire to transform themselves. They altered their bodies and minds using technology, metal, ink, and genetics or whatever they could get their hands on.

  Once he was sure they were gone, Wyatt pulled the hood off his head, left the room and walked down the hallway to the former lunchroom. The large space was converted into a combination gym and meeting area.

  Rocky was waiting for him, fully equipped in protective gear. Wyatt was expected to put his all into the training and after three years of it, he was now an expert in several forms of hand to hand combat. Rocky needed the protection. “How’d it go?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “It passed,” he said, referring to the virus.

  “Good. Are you ready for me now, or do you need a night off?” asked the man. Rocky wore a grin that was dangerous in its own right. He was handsome, despite a nose that bent to one side and broken front teeth that had been only half fixed. The bruiser had been with the Dogs for years, starting as an enforcer and muscle. After years of faithful service, he was now the right-hand man of their leader, Sandra.

  Wyatt grinned right back at Rocky and, without a word, ran at him. As he got close, he spun away from a kick and grabbed at his arm, pulling it with him as he moved past. He twisted hard. As expected, Rocky spun with him, not giving him any leverage, and Wyatt lashed out with a punch to the neck, connecting solidly with the guard that Rocky wore.

  “Good,” said Rocky and stepped back. “You were aggressive, you took control, and you went for a key disabling point. Again,” he said and stepped forward, feinted at the head and delivered a solid blow to the side that connected hard. Rocky had altered himself, there were metal implants in his hands, wrists and forearms. His punches felt as if he wore brass knuckles.

  Wyatt fell to the floor and rolled away from a kick. Standing back up in a defensive posture, he nursed his side.

  “How about you put on your padding?” asked Rocky.

  Wyatt shook his head. “There isn’t padding in a real fight. Not that I’ll ever have one, the way you have me locked away.”

  “We do it for your own safety,” Rocky said as he moved forward with a flurry of punches and kicks.

  “Meh, you’ve trained me for three years. I’m ready for anything,” said Wyatt, countering each of the blows, but not landing any of his own.

  “Not a gun. And not for multiple fighters.”

  Wyatt feigned a roundhouse and when Rocky moved to counter him, dropped to the ground and swept his legs out, knocking his opponent to the ground. He quickly rolled over and got on top, his legs around Rocky’s neck. “Give,” he said.

  Rocky tapped twice, knowing when he was in a no-win position. “Good.”

  Rocky got up first and offered his hand. Wyatt took it and was pulled effortlessly to his feet, but was bored with the fighting, and let his hands fall to his sides. “Rock, I gotta get out, do something other than the exact same thing every night.”

  “We’ll go out on Monday, like always.”

  “I’m sick of that. A drive in the country once a week isn’t a life.” He raised his hands, stepped forward and swung for Rocky’s head. The boredom was making him angry. The other man ducked easily.

  “We can’t fight The Cabal,” Rocky said. This was his term for the shadowy world-wide conspiracy that he—and a significant part of the internet—believed ruled the world. He stepped forward and his shin connected with Wyatt in the thigh, knocking him to the ground.

  “Enough with your crazy stuff,” Wyatt said and jumped to his feet. He moved aggressively forward, swinging left and right, getting pissed off. “I won’t rot to death in a musty old basement.” His punches missed and he left himself open for a shot to the face that knocked him back three steps.

  “Crazy?” said Rocky and landed another blow. “Crazy is believing the lies they feed you.”

  Wyatt swore, swung again and missed. This only made him angrier, and he ran in, flailing about and missing blow after blow.

  Rocky looked disappointed in him, whether in his attitude or his weak punches, it wasn’t clear. “The Cabal aside, this was your choice. Don’t act as if it wasn’t,” he said and punched through Wyatt’s guard again. “Angry doesn’t work, it makes you act stupid.”

  “Shut up,” Wyatt shouted, ignored a swing and lunged in for a choke hold. Rocky turned gracefully, grabbed one arm and pivoted to force Wyatt onto the ground. With a hard twist, he made Wyatt scream in pain.

  “Are you going to stay angry?” Rocky asked as Wyatt struggled. He pushed the arm higher, there was a light cracking sound as a joint popped. “When you settle down, let me know and I’ll let go.”

  Wyatt tried to roll out of the pin and aimed a couple blows at Rocky’s thigh. Both connected, but without leverage, neither was hard enough to move the other man. Wyatt let his breath out and put his head down on the mat. Rocky didn’t release him and the pain continued, but that was okay, it was more than okay. Pain was better than feeling nothing.

  Rocky gave up and didn’t wait for him to tap out, and with a sigh of disgust let him go. “That’s it for training tonight. If you want a real fight, you’re not getting it from me.”

  “Come on, man, I’m just getting into it,” Wyatt said and bounced up to his feet, fists at the ready.

  “No. Go to your room.”

  Like I’m a child, thought Wyatt and he stepped forward again, ready to lash out. This was a mistake; he wasn’t ready for the punch that Rocky threw at his chin. With blood flowing from his split lip, he fell to the ground.

  Rocky stalked out of the room. “When I say that’s it, that’s it. We’re done for the night.”

  Later he’d remember the blow, how he hadn’t seen it coming and wondered how much the man held back during most fights. It hadn’t even looked like Rocky had tried, it was that effortless.

  Chapter 2

  Wyatt wal
ked back to his bedroom after Rocky left him alone. They treated him like a little glass bauble, too fragile to let out alone. He’d spent three years like this, going from house to house, always kept indoors except for occasional excursions outside the city where he wouldn’t be recognized.

  He wiped the blood from his mouth as he walked and muttered to himself. “Wyatt go here. Wyatt go there. Wyatt, stay in the basement.” That’s it, he thought, I’m a grown man, I’m twenty-two and if I want to go out, I can.

  Once in his room, he put a chair against the door and stood on another to get to a window. It was small, but not so small he couldn’t crawl through it. Once out of the house, he gave a whoop to the sky, exalting in his freedom. He stood still for a moment and looked up at the few stars that strained to shine through the lights of the city. With a deep breath of fall air—no matter how rank—he jogged away from the abandoned schoolhouse, without a glance behind him.

  Wyatt had been a track star as a teenager, one of an elite few who competed in the decathlon, ten events over two days that tested the ability to run, jump and throw. More than anything, it was what he missed most in his basement prisons. Hours a day on treadmills, using weights and fighting with Rocky were nothing like hard pavement beneath his feet. He ran for twenty minutes without any goal.

  When his breath came quicker, and he felt his legs tightening, he slowed to a walk. It was less likely to attract attention, not that there were many police in this area anymore. Cameras were the main police presence, but still, someone or some computer surveillance system might flag someone running in a hoodie.

  As he walked, the neighborhood shifted from abandoned middle class to occupied lower class. He saw a few people out, even at this late hour. There was a man walking his dog and a pair of young lovers strolling hand in hand. Nothing to worry about, he thought, and relaxed.

  Wyatt needed a goal, a destination, given that he had all night before he should get back. He turned west. He might as well explore Detroit; he’d never spent any time outside in the city. Perhaps he could steal onto the back of a bus, if he found a main line with the double length ones, the driver wouldn’t notice or care. Forty minutes later, he still hadn’t found a one, but didn’t mind, he was just happy to be out.

  The houses now were mostly brick bungalows with small, tightly clipped lawns. Only a few had lights on, people already soundly asleep. As Wyatt walked across the street from one block to another, he noticed someone do the same, one road to his left. He stopped and watched as the person kept walking, not looking at all in his direction.

  A few blocks later, he was startled when he saw the same person was still even with him, although he’d slowed down. Wyatt stopped again and looked around. Behind him, perhaps a block and a half, were two men, one on each side of the street. It wasn’t paranoid if they were out to get you, Hannah liked to joke.

  Wyatt started walking again, not wanting them to know they’d been spotted. He decided that he’d take the next right and run once he was out of sight. Slowly, he picked up the pace as much as he could without being obvious, desperate to reach the next block. He had no phone, and his friends didn’t know where he was. Even if he found a phone, he knew no numbers to call. He’d never needed any.

  Three houses before the next side street, he glimpsed a flash of light from behind a hedge at the corner. Wyatt took a deep breath and kept walking.

  Five more steps, three deep breaths and he’d go right. Let’s see if they can keep up, he thought.

  Three more steps, two breaths and break right. There was a house with a short fence that he could hurdle without trouble. The backyard looked awfully dark, but he’d have to risk it.

  One more step, one more breath.

  Wyatt pushed off his left rear leg and bolted. It was five long strides to cross the road, he counted as he ran. He didn’t bother looking to the left or right, and didn’t need to. He heard them yell out behind him. They were already running for him.

  He almost fell when one foot came down on a planter hidden by the darkness, but he stumbled forward, regained his stride and leapt the fence. Once his foot hit soft grass, he sped up, and raced across the backyard, leaping two garden flamingoes as he went.

  His eyes had adjusted to the dark already and he saw a high wooden fence looming ahead of him. Wyatt didn’t break stride, and jumped when he was at least ten feet from it. One foot hit the boards, and he shoved himself higher. His fingers just barely grasped the top and he pulled himself over and threw himself into the next yard.

  As he landed, he looked back and saw two figures climbing over the shorter fence behind him. He was out of the yard and well out front when he heard them struggling over it. Wyatt turned right and darted down the tree-lined sidewalk, risking a glance back as he reached the intersection. There wasn’t anybody behind him yet, so he turned to the right again, doubling back to the street he’d just left.

  At the next corner, he should have stopped and looked, but his body surged with adrenaline and he was in full flight mode. As he crossed the street, there were yells to both his left and right. How many people did they have out looking for him? he wondered. This had been a mistake; he had underestimated how determined Jessica was to find him. He kept running. Returning to the house would put everyone at risk. His only hope was to outpace his pursuers.

  The guy to his right was too close and ran like a demon. If Wyatt hadn’t already run for a half an hour earlier, he might have outpaced him, but his legs were already tired. Fine, he thought, as he heard the man close in on him. Time to apply the self-defense training Rocky had given him. Krav Maga was the most recent course, and it preached aggression. Don’t wait, attack.

  Wyatt turned onto the grass out front of a little red brick house, stopped and planted his feet. As the man got close, he rushed forward at him. He saw the man pull a gun from his jacket, but he hadn’t expected Wyatt to turn and wasn’t ready as a shoulder connected directly with his midsection. He flew back like a wide receiver who didn’t see a hit coming, turning over once in the air. His weapon landed on the street.

  Without hesitation, Wyatt got up, ignored the pain from the collision and ran to the man, delivering a rain of blows at key points. It took only seconds.

  “Freeze,” said a voice behind him. The second runner was faster than expected. “Hands in the air.”

  “Or what, you’ll shoot?” asked Wyatt. He turned around. In the faint light, he saw the man’s eyes, red flecked and wide.

  “Yes?” said the other man hesitantly.

  “No, you won’t. I’m wanted alive, not dead.”

  The man tilted his head and paused. “Freeze,” he repeated, his voice rising at the end. He wasn’t sure. Wyatt looked him over. He wasn’t a cop. He’d have said it if he was. So he was a private eye or hired muscle paid by Jessica or her minions.

  “I’m going to run now.”

  “I have a gun.”

  “I can see that. I’m still going to run.” Wyatt considered attacking, but he was too far back. Running away would force the guy to choose.

  “I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

  Wyatt considered that. “Here’s the thing. If you take me in, I’m dead. You, however, aren’t allowed to kill me. So, I’ll take the risk that you’ll shoot me in the leg. Are you willing to take the risk that you’ll pierce something important and that I’ll die?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “That’s above your pay grade. Tell you what, I’m the guy who’s going to run now. You decide what you…” Wyatt paused.

  “What?” asked the guy, curious and confused.

  Wyatt had noticed a faint shimmer behind the man. A shimmer that moved and was getting closer. “You know what? You’ve convinced me. I’ll surrender to you.”

  This confused his opponent even more, he looked left and right. He lifted a hand up to his mouth. “I’ve got him, I’m at the corner of…”

  The shimmer was right behind the man now. “Get the gun,” said Wyatt. “I’ll
take him out.”

  “What?” said the man and looked around again.

  Wyatt wasn’t talking to him, however, and didn’t reply. The shimmer was a friend, Timo. He was behind the man, but for some reason, he wasn’t taking action. Wyatt decided that he couldn’t wait. When the gun momentarily wavered and was pointed away from him, he took three quick steps forward. With two quick moves, he grabbed the gun and pushed it up with his left hand while simultaneously slamming the man’s wrist sideways with his right hand. The gun went flying as bones snapped.

  Before the man responded, he was hit hard in the windpipe and went down, gasping for air. One blow to the side of his head and he was unconscious.

  “Thanks,” said Wyatt.

  The shimmer in the air wavered, and a figure appeared. As expected it was Timo, a bio-altered Red Dog. He wasn’t smiling. He glanced at the gun at Wyatt’s feet and then up and down the street. “There are more, we need to move, quick.”

  “I know, there are at least two.”

  “Lots more than that, and likely others on their way. Follow me,” Timo said and started running.

  Wyatt hesitated, bent down and searched the man on the ground. In his jacket pocket he found a phone and a wallet. He took both, pulled a bud out of the man’s ear, placed it in his own and ran after his friend. “Where are we going?” he asked as he caught up.

  “I’ve got Ira and Ari on my phone,” Timo said, keeping pace, and tapped his ear. “They’re ahead of us.”

  All the new Altereds were out tonight. “Hey, I thought we couldn’t use phones,” he said, and at that, remembered to activate the one he’d taken.

  With a single tap on the ear-bud, he connected to his pursuers line and heard, “Teams one and two, keep west. Team three, come in.” Teams, he thought, that’s not good.

  Wyatt slowed at the sound of Timo panting behind him. Bio-Altered didn’t mean healthy or fit. His DNA had been changed in a freak accident in one of the Dog’s labs. Soon after he recovered, he developed twin abilities. He could see in the infrared spectrum and he had the unique ability to change his appearance, and the texture of his skin, allowing him to fade into any background like a chameleon.