The Caitlin Chronicles Boxed Set

by Michael Anderle

  He decided it was.

  “At the risk of not exactly liking the answer,” he ventured, keeping an eye trained on the other to gauge his response. “Why are you giving me a second chance? By all means and measures, I would have thought you’d have killed me by now.”

  Geralt took a moment to consider his answer. Kain suddenly felt tiny, an ant under the thumb of a Were who had everything that every Were in the world wanted. The ability to change at will—a body unaffected by the pains of the Madness. Looking at him now, he truly was a king in the sewers. He deserved the power and control he held over all the Weres.

  Not that it excused his prickish attitude towards the humans on the surface world, Kain reminded himself. Although a large part of him was jealous of the abilities Geralt had, he would never once envy the brute’s methods or intentions.

  The leader rose and began to pace around the room. He laced his fingers behind his back. “Did you know that there are some who consider the bear to be the king of all animals? Great beasts revered, respected, and prayed to in ancient civilizations?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he admitted.

  “It’s true. Ancient texts, drawings, and scriptures tell of their prowess. How the humans feared the bear as one of the kings of all beasts. Respected them enough to draw them as eternal constellations in the sky…”

  Geralt paused and chuckled to himself. “Fools. Humans didn’t even realize the bears they prayed to had nothing on us Weres. Sure, they had bulk and savagery, but not the cunning or intelligence you see before you today. Myself. Bryce. We’ve been given a gift, and the humans are too proud to bow down before us and respect us like they did the creatures of old.”

  He took a long breath as if fighting an unforgotten memory. “It’s such a shame to not know whether any bears survived the World’s Worst Day Ever, or if they’re still out there now, finding a way to survive. Perhaps I’ll never know.”

  “You could get a tank and find out,” Kain suggested. “Reboot one of the old vehicles and smash through the forest?”

  Geralt laughed. “That’s something I’ve always admired about you, Sudeikis. You’re quick-witted. You’ve got the gift of the gab. And you just don’t give a shit.”

  “Thanks?” he responded, still overly cautious. “Is there a reason you’re giving me a history lesson on bears? Or are you trying to inflate my ego?”

  They both laughed then. “The bear was once considered a god, just as I am the god of this pack. And with every god, there are their prophets. Those who will preach, respect, and entertain the gods, adding a little bit of fun and mirth to this shitheap of a situation.”

  Geralt wandered over to a small table where a stack of books and papers were piled. He picked up a sheet with scribbles and writing covering its surface. “For years, we’ve been stuck down here, Sudeikis. Years, and years, and years. All because the humans have guns, and all our pack has is a choice to make between animal or human. I need to breathe. I need to live on the surface and not cower in fear from those pricks huddled in the Broken City. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been up there? I’ve cowered down here through fear, Kain. Fear. Fear that, should I breathe the air and meet my end, it’ll be over for Weres. There’s no one to continue my legacy when I’m gone. No one with my drive.”

  Geralt’s eyes flashed as his anger grew. “I need to make more Weres with my gift. Do you know how hard it is to be one of two useful pricks in this damn hellhole? To be both blessed and cursed to have been in the right place at the right time and survived?”

  Kain’s heart began to thump. He had heard of Geralt and Bryce’s escape from the bunker after the Madness had descended. The simple fact was that whatever it was which had triggered the Madness, it hadn’t affected them due to their being far underground in a lead-lined container for weeks on end. But he had never heard the Alpha talk about it directly.

  “What’s holding you back? You’re tough. You could go up there for a pint and a smoke. After all, you still have Bryce who could continue your work if you did die,” Kain suggested.

  Geralt turned to Kain, contemplative now rather than angry. “Yes. You’re right. I do.” He wandered closer to Kain and towered over him. “But one isn’t enough. I need more.”

  Kain didn’t like where this was heading. “What are you asking of me?”

  Geralt grinned, and Kain saw that his teeth were razor-sharp, as if his whole body had changed back from the bear apart from his teeth.

  “I’ve got a task for you, Sudeikis. I like you, but I need you to prove your worth.”

  He clicked his fingers, and the door opened. Bryce appeared, ducked beneath the doorway, and entered the room. “Sir?”

  “Bryce. I need you to take our friend here on your next mission.”

  The newcomer looked confused. “But…sir… I can handle it. The last mission was a-a…glitch. It won’t happen again.”

  “I believe that,” Geralt said. “Because Sudeikis is coming with you.” He turned to Kain. “Get your shit ready. You’ll accompany Bryce to the surface. Infiltrate the library. Reduce the humans’ numbers, and see if you can snag a few extra test subjects along the way.”

  Kain was momentarily lost for words. “And if I refuse?”

  Geralt leered, his grin spreading from cheek to cheek. “Oh, I think you know the answer to that one, my friend.”

  Unbeknownst to Kain and Bryce, it was as they left the room that the Alpha’s mind started ticking, considering Kain’s words about Geralt visiting the surface world. What’s holding you back?

  He pondered his own fears, considering what it might be like to see the surface again. It had been years, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ashdale Pond, Silver Creek Forest, Old Ontario

  Dylan could never have imagined that riding a horse would hurt his ass so much.

  Most of the beasts had been provided by Christy and Jamie who had found a herd of them while on their own missions of exploration north of Ashdale Pond, past the limits the old governor had set. They told Dylan of the rolling hills and greenery that grew beyond. Great fields of wild maze and rapeseed were littered with animals herded together in groups.

  Seizing the opportunity, Jamie had led the charge, rounding up enough horses to allow faster travel between towns. Now, Jamie and Christy rode up front. Dylan and Larry each had their own horses. Dylan was mounted on Shitallion—the only horse remaining in Silver Creek which Caitlin had saved and ridden after recruiting the Revolutionaries from New Leaf—with Stump clutching his waist tightly from behind.

  That hadn’t been his choice. The last thing he wanted was another man hugging his waist as they rocked and rolled with the horse’s movements.

  When they arrived at Ashdale, Dylan found himself smiling. He hadn’t spent much time there aside from the cleanup following the governor’s fires, but the town had a quaint, homely feel to it. Unfettered by fences and walls, Ashdale was the symbol of freedom. The town’s protection resided in the same alarm system which now dotted the newly-constructed road between towns—bells on large pillars, operated by rope.

  They rode through a town now at peace. People wandered to and fro, busy about their day. They made their way past houses which had been recently recovered and rebuilt and past markets and small stores and several public houses with swinging signs out front before they found their way to where Stump was leading them.

  The Cloak & Dagger looked as shabby as ever, a leaning, dilapidated building with smashed-out windows.

  Stump struggled to hop off Shitallion, turned the key in the lock, and allowed them all entry, catching Dylan’s expression as he took in the state of the tavern. “It may not be pretty, but it is home,” he said as they followed him in.

  He ushered them upstairs and into a room at the far end of the building. It was dark inside, but Dylan gasped when he saw the walls lined with shelves—walls choked with books. It almost seemed as though the shelves were fighting to spit them out, there were
so many.

  “Quite the collection,” Dylan marveled.

  “Knowledge is the key to the future,” their host responded simply. “Those who read acquire the tools for survival.”

  “You’ve read all of these? Every single one?” Alice looked impressed. It seemed the enigma that was Stump knew no bounds.

  The dwarf nodded, walked across the room, and grabbed a stool. He dragged it across the floor towards a shelf which the others could have easily reached, but it seemed he wasn’t particularly inclined to ask for help.

  After fingering several tomes, he found what he was looking for—an old leather journal with a cracked and faded cover. The text inside was faint and the pages were creased, annotated by words written in handwriting which was now barely legible.

  “Here,” he said, stopping at a dog-eared page he’d bookmarked.

  Dylan moved closer, picked up the book, and read the words. It appeared to be a diary entry.

  “What is it?” Christy asked, craning around Jamie’s shoulder. “What does it say?”

  Dylan read it aloud.

  They say hope is a fleeting thing. A winged beast which flutters by like an insect on the wind. Take the chance to grab it. You’ve only got one. Before you know it, it’s gone. Another blink to leave behind in the shadow of a memory.

  That is how I feel.

  Deflated. Cursed. Trapped with the knowledge of the problem with no quicker method to a solution. The Mad are here to stay, by the looks of things. And still, my experimentation has led to nothing more than failure.

  The secret is in the nanocytes, of that I am sure. The tiny vessels of alien life surging within my blood. Within all blood, it seems. The very same poison which created the vampire and which spills the ink from this pen is the same curse which has scourged the lands and trapped me in this self-made prison.

  I will not quit.

  Today, I have captured a Mad of my own. Or, rather, a newly infected victim of the plague. To chance stepping outside my door and discovering the poor bastard on my doorstep—can you believe it? A bite mark on his arm. A dead Mad behind him. It’s almost as though the Matriarch herself is delivering me the tools to progress.

  If she’s listening, or able to read this, thank you, Queen Bitch. Thank you from the bottom of this worn-out heart.

  The victim is young. Approx 21 summers. He has some fight in him, but nothing which can out-power me. He is now safe in the basement, chained to my testing table. My latest concoction works its way through his system as I harness every ounce of medicine and science I can to attempt to fix him.

  Will it hurt him?

  I don’t rightly care.

  If I fail, he’s as dead as a doornail anyway. If I succeed, well, he can thank me later.

  “That bitch sounds like a riot,” Larry said.

  “How do you know it’s a woman?” Christy argued.

  “Fair point,” Larry replied. “Keep reading.”

  Dylan flipped the page and continued. “It’s a new entry.”

  Twelve hours on and my remedy seems to be having an effect. In all my research, I have deduced that the incubation period for the Madness to take full effect can last from anywhere between several hours to several days. However, after recent observations of the test patient, the telltale signs seem to be slowing. The boils and sores which had been appearing at an alarming rate have slowed to an almost standstill.

  I can’t rightly believe it, but I will not make assumptions without further proof. I can’t let the vampire in me overcome the scientist. I will continue observations and let the data speak for itself.

  “It goes on like this, more and more tests on a poor bastard chained to a table while this whack-job watches,” Dylan said.

  “I can’t remember the last time anyone chained me to a table and experimented.” Christy smirked.

  “Well, that can be changed,” Jamie replied.

  “Jesus, you two. Keep it in your pants when you’re in company,” Larry said, creasing his face in disgust.

  “Stump? Who is this person?” Dylan said, flicking quickly through the pages now. “There are stats in here. Sketches. Reports. Recipes. Where did you find this?”

  Stump flicked to the final few pages where the entries began to thin to mere sentences. On the final page was a signature which read, Helena Millican, MD.

  “Helena Millican?” Dylan said. “Does that ring a bell with anyone?”

  The others shook their heads.

  “Stump?”

  “A previous guest. She came late one night and left before sunrise. I didn’t think anything of it. We get strange folk in here, but not many from abroad. I didn’t ask questions, which seemed to please her. When I checked her room in the morning, she was gone. This was left behind.”

  “Deliberately?” Larry asked.

  Stump shrugged. “Hard to say.”

  Dylan fell into thought as he played with the pages, catching snippets of words here and there— Nanocytes…the cure…degeneration of Kurtherian virus.

  “Did Helena say where she was heading?” he asked, closing the book and tucking it under the crook of his arm.

  The dwarf shook his head. “No.”

  Dylan’s mind raced. In his hands, he held proof of actual progress of the nullification of the Mad, the recipe book Stump had used himself to slow the effects of the Madness on the governor. It might not exactly be a cure, but it was certainly a step in the right direction. Any progress was still progress, after all.

  And what with the ever-increasing reports of the Madness in Silver Creek, now would be a good time for progress.

  As they rode back home on their horses, Dylan leaned across to Larry. “We need to get batching this shit, and fast,” he said. “I don’t know exactly how people keep falling sick at Silver Creek, but if we can slow this shit down enough to control the spread, we at least have some hope here.”

  He furrowed his brow, thinking about Caitlin for a moment and wondering what she’d think if she returned home to find Silver Creek overrun with Mad.

  The Sewers, The Broken City, Old Ontario

  Kain was exhausted, and his night hadn’t even started yet.

  “I forgot how amazing that was,” he said as he rose from Cynthia’s bed and hunted for his clothes.

  “You always did have a memory like a sieve.” She beamed, looking radiant in the glow of the candlelight. “Though it wasn’t your best. I’d give it a six.”

  “Out of ten?” Kain gasped.

  “Out of 100.” She winked, rose from the bed, her naked body open to the air. She found her way to Kain and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “I’m just playing. You know you always know how to press my buttons.”

  “It’s a gift I seem to have.”

  He pulled his clothes on, then turned and took a moment to soak in her form. It had always been a sweet arrangement for the Were. Somehow, he and Cynthia had always found a way to fall into each other’s bed, but there had never been any level of expectation between them for anything more. Close on nearly twenty years his senior, she valued her own space and only wanted her needs satisfied. Everything else was off the table, and that was just the way Kain liked it.

  “You will be careful tonight?” she asked after a moment.

  “I don’t believe I have much of a choice,” he responded. “With Bryce at my side, I should be fine. Unless he decides to turn on me, that is. A huge fucking bear versus a tiny Were afraid to turn into a wolf? I think I know who my money is on.”

  Cynthia giggled. “Bryce may be Geralt’s number two, but don’t let that mislead you as to where his heart lies. I’m telling you, find out what you can from him. Get back into his heart. He’s one of the good guys, I can feel it. And, if we can get Bryce on our side, we’re halfway towards a rebellion as it is. Think of the information we could get from Geralt’s right-hand man.”

  “No pressure, then.” Kain winked.

  He slipped out the door and navigated his way through the t
unnels. The sounds of children playing came faintly to his listening ears. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the playful barks of the cubs. He closed his eyes and imagined the feeling he’d get when they were all freed.

  He found Bryce not too far from Geralt’s chambers.

  “Dude!” Kain exclaimed. “You could have at least put some clothes on. Nobody wants to see your cauliflower dong.”

  Bryce looked sheepishly at his parts. “Cauliflower? More like a radiant aubergine nestled finely between two peaches.”

  “Quite the poet, aren’t we?” he responded with a smirk.

  “Shut up, wolf. You know how this works. Last thing I want is a trail of clothes the humans can follow back here when I transform.”

  Bryce led the way, his form almost swallowing the tunnel. Each step seemed magnified as they walked silently onwards until they eventually came to the hidden doorway.

  Without preamble, Bryce fit the key in the lock, pushed the doorway aside, allowed Kain through, then sealed the entrance. When the lock clicked, he sniffed the air. “Eurgh,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

  “What?” Kain sniffed the air tentatively. He was met with a concoction of smells which seemed to blend and combine in his nostrils into one unidentifiable scent.

  “You really have been a human for too long if you can’t smell that,” Bryce said. “Oh well, I’m sure you’ll recognize it soon enough.”

  After a short while, they found themselves in the house’s basement. Bryce growled again as the scent seemed to irritate his nose but made his way up the stairs and into the open air without hesitation. The minute he reached the surface, he closed his eyes and transformed.

  Kain watched with silent admiration as his body warped and grew and hairs sprouted and covered his body. His face elongated into the powerful jaw of the black Werebear he had been gifted with.

  “Dude, that’s so not fair,” Kain murmured.