The Legion forces staggered to either wall, some remaining behind the crate piles to give their comrades cover. The maneuver was hazardous, and enemy fire felled a few of the soldiers as they attempted the move.
“Get up, Cyrus,” said Elysia, helping Cyrus to his feet. “We can’t stay out in the open like this. We need to get you to a medic.”
The kresnik wordlessly let her lead him between the crate piles toward the left wall, hoping to sneak back behind friendly forces.
The beast continued its rampage, tearing the vampire forces apart en masse, leaving piles of body parts and pools of blood in its wake.
The vampire soldiers turned away from the Legion, focusing their fire on the beast.
The creature dropped a partially eaten body from its mouth, swatting at the bullets as though they were gnats. It turned and bolted toward the tunnel, the shots painful due to its lack of armor, lumber, and bodies flying as it made its escape.
The enemy force lay decimated. More than half of their soldiers were now either dead or wounded.
“Stay against the walls!” The commander ordered, blending in with the rest of them. “Just let it go out the tunnel! We can deal with it later!”
The beast quickly closed the space, charging through the rounded door into the tunnel. It left wrecked vehicles and twisted metal frames in its wake as it ran for the outside.
Elysia kept Cyrus moving along the left wall, leading him behind the soldiers that stood there, still locked in combat with the vampiric forces.
“You got ‘em on the run now!” yelled another unseen commander, his voice fuzzy as it proceeded from the Legion soldiers’ helmets. “High Commander Witchburn wants this place cleared of vamps!”
“You heard him!” yelled the officer from before. “Just got to take care of a few more of them, and this place is ours!”
“Almost there,” said Elysia. She took Cyrus past the truck he had arrived in, now wrecked and turned over on its side.
An influx of newly arrived black-clad Legion forces swarmed past them as they made their way through the tunnel door, the soldiers called in from guard duty outside.
Cyrus groaned, still clutching his stub, the skin blackened but no longer steaming, the pain extraordinary.
“Medic!” Elysia removed her hood. “We need a medic!”
A handful of soldiers stayed behind as their comrades moved on, surrounding Cyrus and Elysia.
“Let’s go over to the tunnel wall,” said one of them.
Elysia led Cyrus away from the circle of soldiers and through the Legion’s line of vehicles, the medic who gave the order following beside them.
“Go back to your assignments!” The medic waved her companions away. “I know it looks bad, but we really won’t be needing your help!”
“I’ll have him sit down against the wall.” The medic turned to Elysia. “The flesh looks to be completely cauterized, so blood loss should be minimal. Since he’s been taken out of the fight, I’ll hit him with a sedative. Keep him asleep until something more can be done.”
Elysia released Cyrus, allowing him to sit against the wall.
The medic pulled a vial from the pack at her waist, assembling the syringe as she knelt beside him. “OK, here we go,” she said, jamming the needle into Cyrus’s neck administering the medication.
“That’s it!” The commander was so loud that his voice rang down the tunnel. “We got ‘em! It’s time to break into assault groups and clear out the place!”
Cyrus barely heard his cries, the light giving way to darkness as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Chapter XXXI
Fall Prey
Ding!
The elevator rang, the doors sliding open to reveal a dark, hulking shape. The thing lumbered through the open doorway, lugging its human-shaped burden along behind. It held onto the man with a vice-grip, a pale, clawed hand wrapped around his ankles, the back of the man’s head dragging the floor.
Driscoll groaned, unprepared for the change in terrain. His head no longer slid over the smooth tile in the elevator, the floor becoming hard, stony ground. Stuffy, cool, and dank, he felt the atmosphere change dramatically as the doors opened. Though Driscoll could not see through the black bag pulled over his face, he knew they had entered a cave.
“Ow! Watch it!” the corporal protested, his head striking a rock. “You’ll crack my skull on these rocks!”
“Shut up, blood bag!” The vampire growled, letting Driscoll’s legs fall to the ground. He tore into the sides of the corporal’s already ruined body armor with deadly claws, hoisting him up to remove the black bag from his face. “One more word out of you, and I’ll tear your head clean off!” The beast snarled, drawing Driscoll in close, revealing its visage in the darkness.
The thing was grotesque, the similarities between the creature and the typical vampire stopping at the pale skin. This creature was a beast, its ears large and pointy like a bat’s, its jaw jutting outward like a bulldog’s, prominently displaying its bottom fangs and teeth. The eyes were worst of all, the irises bloody red, full of hostility and void of mercy. The vampire called himself Bloodbath, a testament both to his capacity for violence and lack of intelligence.
Bloodbath stared into his quarry’s eyes in an almost desperate attempt at intimidation.
Driscoll returned his gaze with a blank stare. He had traveled with the vampire for several days, continually pushed and dragged around, Bloodbath’s numerous unfulfilled threats quickly desensitizing him.
“Yes, but then you will have nothing to give The Master,” said Driscoll, confidently. “Then you can say goodbye to that promotion. Can you even get out of here alive without me? I wonder.”
The vampire roared, trying to force his silence yet again.
“Maybe a breath mint?”
Bloodbath muffled Driscoll’s words as he shoved the bag back over his head, the vampire pulling the drawstring tight.
“Walk!” Bloodbath commanded, planting Driscoll on his feet and pushing him forward.
The corporal fell, just catching himself before his head hit the ground.
“Probably not a good idea,” said Driscoll, on all fours as he struggled to stand back up. “Not walking for a couple days will do that to you. Help if I could see.”
Bloodbath growled and yanked Driscoll up off the ground, violently slinging him over his shoulder.
Driscoll remained silent despite his rough handling, not wanting to press his luck further.
Burden secure, Bloodbath descended deeper into the cave, the loose, stony ground crunching underneath his clawed, shoeless feet. His pace increased significantly as Driscoll’s words weighed on the vampire’s fear of his master.
Bloodbath continued on his trek for only a moment before a single figure became visible in the distance. The surrounding darkness and the black cloak and wrappings it wore concealed its identity.
The dark form stood in the space between a small table and throne, both made of shining black stone. While the table was plain and simple, the throne was ornate. The black obsidian displayed intricate carvings of bats, snakes, and skulls with deep red rubies set in the top of its high backrest.
Bloodbath’s step slackened as he stood to meet the figure.
“Ah, Bloodbath is it?” The figure had a woman’s voice, sickly-sweet yet menacing as it echoed through the dark cavern. She was dressed all in black, wearing both a robe and a cloak, her hands, arms, and feet wrapped in black linens, her face obscured in the darkness.
“Yes, Master.” Bloodbath bowed to the figure, nearly dropping Driscoll when he dipped down and rose back up again.
“I’ve been told you have a present for me.” The woman took a blood-filled goblet from the black stone table and drank. “It had better be a good one for your sake! I despise being disturbed while in my throne room.”
“Master, I bring you something most appeasing!” Bloodbath proclaimed. He yanked Driscoll from his shoulder and stood him up, spinning him around to face
the figure. “I present you with this blood bag!” He pulled the bag off Driscoll’s head with a flourish, the soldier frowning, finding the need for the dramatic unnecessary.
Eyes having no time to adjust, Driscoll squinted through the darkness to view The Master. He saw very little of her in the darkness, her face masked by a black cloth and her head covered by her dark hood. Only the bottom portion of her visage was visible, revealing bone-white skin and full, red lips.
“Oh, a man,” The Master’s sarcasm was undeniable. “Do you mean to mock me, Bloodbath? I’m perfectly capable of procuring my own snacks.”
“This one is from the Legion.” Bloodbath sounded worried, fearful of The Master’s judgment. “His mind is weak! He can be turned to our cause!”
“Hey…” Driscoll started, his protests met with a sharp slap to the back of the head.
“Hmm… Yes, I can see the insignia.” The Master mused, placing her goblet back down on the stone table.
“I am rarely presented with Legion soldiers. Most of them simply don’t make it through transit.” She looked at Driscoll through her cloth. “I can’t imagine why,” she said, revealing a pair of fangs.
She walked toward them, her steps soft but assertive as she strode over the cave’s rough floor. The Master circled Driscoll, pushing Bloodbath to the side to better view him, regarding the Legion soldier as though she were a spider and he was a fly.
“I won’t tell you a thing!” Driscoll suddenly lost his composure, sweat gathering on his forehead. “You should just kill me now. I’ll never talk!”
“Legion soldiers…” The Master sighed, her voice cold. “Always thinking they are so incorruptible.” She stroked the side of his face with her hand, revealing her sharp, uncovered claws.
They were painted red, though not from polish.
“You will be broken,” The Master whispered in his ear.
* * *
Cyrus blinked, awoken by the unforgivingly bright lights glaring down upon him. The effects of whatever sedative they gave him began to wear off. He was in a pure white room again, strapped down flat on a cold metal table, a thin hospital gown the only barrier between his skin and the open air. He stirred as the beeping of the machines helped him to come out of his fog. His right arm felt strangely numb.
Cyrus looked down at his side, the absence of his limb causing him to flinch only a little, his outburst prevented by the drug’s effects.
“Hey, where’s my arm?” he tried to ask, but he couldn’t speak in his current state. Frustrated, he gazed upward, realizing people stood over him.
“Well, doctor, what do you plan on doing with him now?” asked Elysia. She remained off to Cyrus’s left, appearing to be an angel under the lights. She spoke to Dr. Shen, who stood on the opposite side.
“Mr. Blackthorn is salvageable,” said Dr. Shen, sure of his words.
It was difficult for Cyrus to see his expression through the light’s glare.
“As important as it is, it’s still just a limb,” Shen continued. “We will have the Robotics Department make a prosthesis. I would have liked to have at least attempted a replantation, but, unfortunately, given the severity of the damage to the limb, such a procedure would not be successful.”
“But, doesn’t he have a higher regenerative capacity?” Elysia asked, the gravity of the doctor’s answer going unregistered.
“His regenerative capabilities are enormous, but they still have their limits.” Shen shook his head. “No mammal, kresnik, vampire or otherwise, has the ability to completely regenerate a limb.”
The double doors on the right side of the room swung open, causing Elysia and the doctor to look up. A black-suited, middle-aged man walked into the room, his hair dark, his skin bronzed by an artificial tan. He stood off to the side, out of Cyrus’s line of vision.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Dolore,” said Dr. Shen, the tone of his voice revealing he was not excited to see the man. “What brings you down here to grace us with your presence?”
“Hello, doctor,” said Mr. Dolore, his voice severe. “I am here to discuss the future of your test subject.”
“I would suspect as much.” Dr. Shen’s careful smile showed his unease. “I would never take you as one prone to visit purely for a social call.”
“I was told the test subject had his right arm amputated during battle and in such a way that it cannot be reattached.” Dolore ignored the doctor’s slight.
“That is correct.”
“It’s just my opinion, but I believe euthanasia is the best way to go.” The black-suited man’s tone was emotionless and cold.
“Euthanasia?” Dr. Shen instantly lost his composure, his eyes wide. “Are you insane? What about all the money we have invested in him? The board would have our heads! He has only lost an arm.”
Elysia remained silent, not wanting to speak out of turn, though great concern and worry were plastered all over her youthful face.
“Well, excuse me, Dr. Shen.” Mr. Dolore placed a hand on his chest, looking as though he was the one who had been offended. “We’re dealing with much more than just the loss of a limb. You know the only reason he had it sliced off in the first place was because he goes totally berserk when in the presence of vampires. He’s just too difficult to control.”
“But, you know how long it takes to create, test, and train just one kresnik!” Dr. Shen continued his tirade. “Months of work and preparation just thrown away! Not to mention everything we’ve put him through. Tests and trials he wasn’t even ready for. Aren’t you even at all concerned about the money we have invested?”
“Yeah, probably no way around the monetary waste, substantial though it was.” Dolore was unaffected by the doctor’s rare display of empathy. “The government wants more anyway. Our profits will be huge once we come through with more product, much more than enough to cover this loss.”
“I was granted full control over this project.” Dr. Shen spoke through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t matter what you think or want. If I say we will continue the project with this particular specimen, then that is precisely what we will do.”
“Yeah, I think the board will see it differently.” Dolore’s jaw tightened. “Previous decisions can always be overridden. As CEO, I won’t press them toward euthanasia, but I won’t keep them from it either.”
Dr. Shen tensed, angered by the man’s words. His skin was now bright red, making him look like a stick of dynamite about to explode, too agitated to speak.
Cyrus moaned, stirred by Dolore’s words, the mellowing effects of the sedative subsiding. He had a few things to say to the man.
Seeing Cyrus’s distress, Elysia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“We can always try a clone, maybe even several at once, each of them with all four limbs,” said Dolore. “You’ll be able to control their development from the very beginning. We’ll prevent a lot of problems that way. No more test subjects taken off the street who may not even survive the initial procedure.”
“It always takes time for the board to come to any kind of decision.” Dr. Shen’s rage faded due to the thought. “Until then, I will retain control over the project. Mr. Blackthorn will remain alive so long as I have the final say.”
“What’s the deal, Shen?” Mr. Dolore’s eyes were hostile yet full of inquiry. ”Why are you so protective of this particular test subject? Now is not the time to suddenly grow a conscience.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Dr. Ingram as she burst through the double doors. She walked around Cyrus’s bed to stand beside Elysia. “I rushed over here as soon as I heard. Shen, you can still move on with the project using Cyrus as the test specimen.”
“How nice of you to join us, Dr. Ingram,” said Shen. The tension in his voice decreased due to her arrival, though his face remained red and taut.
“I believe you may have been poorly informed,” said Dolore, unconvinced. “The project absolutely cannot continue with the current test subject. His injuries are simply too extensi
ve.”
“Come on, Dolore, he’s only missing an arm.” Dr. Ingram blew him off. “We’ll give him a prosthesis. Not just any prosthesis either. We’ll give him one made of programmable matter.”
“But how can that work?” asked Elysia. A mixture of confusion and hope filled her eyes.
“Cyrus will need to undergo osseointegration for permanent attachment of the prosthesis,” said Ingram. “First, titanium bolts will be inserted into what remains of the ulna and radius. It normally takes a substantial amount of time for the bone to heal and adhere to the bolts in the typical human patient. Since Cyrus is a kresnik, I think the healing process would only take a few days at most. After that, abutments will be attached to the bolts. So far that’s all standard procedure for direct bone attachment of a prosthesis.”
Ingram paused to make sure they all still followed her.
Dolore had a smug look on his face, his doubt about the whole process unmistakable.
Dr. Shen and Elysia remained intently focused on Dr. Ingram, ready for her to move on.
“The prosthesis will then be attached to the abutments,” Ingram continued. “The prosthesis itself will be made up of most of the usual parts found in a myoelectric prosthetic, complete with controller, the necessary shock absorbers, etc.”
“What about the nanobots?” Dolore interrupted, his interest suddenly spiking. “The technology will need to be new and dynamic to keep the project going.”
“I was coming to that,” said Dr. Ingram. “The mass of nanobots, i.e., the programmable matter, will float around the end of the controller, or rather the controller will float within the mass. We will inject him with nanobotic biosensors targeted to specific areas in his brain. Once there, these nanobots will interface with Cyrus directly, relaying the electrical impulses created in his brain to the nanobots making up his prosthesis, essentially allowing him to control them with his mind. When he thinks to tighten the remainder of the muscles in his forearm, the mass will become solid and rigid, whereas when he relaxes, it will become less so.”
Fall Prey: The Hunt Page 44