Hybrid Zone Recognition

by C. E. Glines

  The high pitched growling suddenly resumed, but I still couldn’t spot the source. I was about to step away from the tree, when Michaels flew through the air in front of me. My head swiveled in time with his flight, witnessing his midair collision with something that was aiming for me.

  Michaels hit the creature, and they tumbled to the ground. As soon as they rolled to a stop, the fighting ensued at a pace that was almost too fast for me to follow. They twisted and turned around each other, seemingly not touching. Only, I knew they were by the snapshots of blood appearing at random intervals.

  The something was ugly. It looked like a cross between a rat and a hyena with big poofy fur covering its entire body. This was undoubtedly what they were calling a Furry. Its appearance was made even uglier by comparison with Michaels’.

  Michaels had not shifted his entire body, only the periphery elements. His long fingers were tipped with claws, and a quick profile of his face let me see that he was sporting cat like ears and very sharp teeth. He was intense, and wild, and fierce all at the same time.

  Adding to the surrealness of the scene playing before me were the big chunks of fur drifting slowly to the ground. They seemed out of place amidst the noise and the fighting.

  Every time the Furry broke free of Michaels, it headed my direction, enforcing my belief that its only goal was to get to me. But Michaels never let the Furry come within five feet of me before dragging it back into the fight. I briefly wondered if he was playing with the Furry. It would not be unlike a cat to play with its prey.

  At one point, I made eye contact with it. I immediately recognized that I’d seen them somewhere before, but I couldn’t place them. It was a disconcerting feeling.

  My eyes widened in surprise as the Furry suddenly released a high pitched howl and jumped straight up in the air. Before it had a chance to land, Michaels leapt and grasped the Furry’s neck between his jaws. The howling ceased immediately.

  Michaels landed, as only cats could, and the Furry’s body thudded heavily against the ground. Great drops of blood began to spatter on the dirt directly beneath the Furry’s neck. Playtime was over.

  When the Furry gave a few weak twitches, Michaels gave a quick jerk of his head, and I heard the sound as the Furry’s neck snapped. Now clearly dead, the Furry’s head lolled to one side, and Michaels let it go.

  Unstrapping a canteen from his waist, he poured water in and around his mouth as he cleaned his face. He poured more water over his hands, rinsing them as well.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him the entire time. He was just…whoa. In a good way.

  The Furry on the ground before him began to shift, and I succeeded in pulling my eyes away from Michaels. The figure of Hollins soon replaced the limp form of the Furry. Hollins was a Furry—used to be a Furry.

  It was easy now to understand that he worked for the Consortium, which definitely explained why he’d made no effort to contain the situation at the Agency. And, why he’d despised my arrival.

  The “oh” faded from my lips as I examined the events I had just witnessed. Total body shifting—amazing. This was science fiction come to life. The file had mentioned this but didn’t go into detail regarding the actual process or how significant the transformation was. After seeing it firsthand, I didn’t think words could have captured the wow factor of the transformation.

  My attention shifted back to Michaels as he came slowly to his feet. He was moving very carefully, like he was afraid he’d frighten me away. Watching his approach, I had to say, not likely.

  He wasn’t any less fierce close up, and now I could clearly see his very sharp teeth. He was still Michaels, but every feature of his face had shifted to varying degrees. I wasn’t afraid of him, but it wasn’t every day you met a real live Catman.

  I’d never seen a hybrid this advanced. Usually they had only one or two features of some other species, and they didn’t shift back and forth. He looked like a real live shape shifter. I wondered if he could take the shift further like Hollins and if it would be rude to ask?

  “We need to keep moving,” he said quietly. “I’ll lead, stay on my tail.”

  I cut my eyes to his backside. No tail. I looked back up to find him glaring at me with the upraised eyebrow. It worked even in cat form.

  “What?” I exclaimed. “You could have had a tail. You have the claws, and the teeth—” The one hand I’d managed to pry loose from the tree had taken on a life of its own, jabbing in the general direction of whatever feature I indicated. “—and the ears. Did I mention teeth already?”

  The eyebrow slowly descended, and he held out his steady hand to my wildly gesticulating one. I shut my gaping mouth and, careful to avoid the claws, slid my hand into his. Tugging gently, he led me from behind the tree.

  “What about Hollins?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder as we moved away.

  “Hollins made his choice.” His tone left no room for argument. Not like I was going to.

  We were soon joined by Pike and Juarez. Pike looked unhurt, but Juarez was sporting a gash across his forehead. It didn’t seem to slow him down though.

  I was moving pretty well myself. I must have been in shock. I couldn’t even feel my knees. As evidenced by the smile that stretched from ear to ear, I felt downright giddy.

  Michaels looked back over his shoulder at me and shook his head. But not even he could wipe this smile from my face. I had my very own Catman.

  As soon as we passed the part in the trees, we entered a large clearing. Parked at the far side was some sort of SUV slash cargo van vehicle. I closed one eye and cocked my head to the side, but it still looked the same.

  I probably shouldn’t have done that, because it resulted in me stumbling. Michaels didn’t miss a beat. He just scooped me up and continued towards the vehicle.

  Pike sprinted ahead of us and opened the door situated in the center of the vehicle. It opened vertically and revealed a set of seats facing each other.

  Michaels gently sat me down in what was technically the third row of seats and climbed into the seat opposite me. He unbuckled a first aid kit from the ceiling and began pulling out supplies. His claws didn’t seem to hamper him at all.

  I watched as he located a pair of scissors and started cutting my pants off right above the knees. Now I was going to have on pin striped knickers with high heeled boots. I snickered at my new get up.

  He briefly looked up at me and frowned before returning to his task.

  I snickered again at his expression. Maybe the blood loss was making me giddy. Or it could be the concussion. Or possibly the low blood sugar. Breakfast was a long time ago.

  Apparently, not long enough. The contents of my stomach rolled at the first glimpse of the damage to my knees. I automatically grasped the armrests and quickly looked up and away. The pain that seared through my hands reminded me of my additional injuries and only added to the waves of nausea now washing over me.

  Releasing my hold on the armrests, I closed my eyes and pressed my head into the back of the chair. Small quick breaths were all I could manage.

  “Take this,” Michaels said, holding an alcohol wipe beneath my nose.

  I took it from his hand and pressed it to my nose. It helped keep the nausea at bay, but not so much with the hundred little cuts on my fingers that were burning like fire at the contact with the alcohol.

  As the nausea faded, I slowly opened my eyes. “Thanks,” I uttered feebly and then closed them again.

  He grunted and kept on working.

  My boots were the next to go. I heard the clunk of them hitting what was hopefully the floor and not a trashcan.

  “Can you save them, Doc?” I pleaded. I didn’t know if they were worth saving anymore, but I really liked those boots. We’d been through so much together in such a short time. The tunnel, the shaft, my first ever confrontation with a total shape shifting hybrid. They didn’t even hurt my feet. They were the best boots I’d ever owned.

  “I don’t think I’ll have to
amputate,” he said seriously.

  I popped my eyes open again. “I meant the boots,” I said as forcibly as I could. He was not performing any kind of amputation on me.

  He looked up at me, his wide grin letting me know he’d been teasing.

  “Your bedside manner is lousy,” I complained, relaxing against the seat.

  He leaned slightly forward. With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he countered, “Considering you are not in a bed and have therefore not been a party to my bedside manner, the veracity of your statement is highly questionable.”

  Whatever. I was not going to discuss his prowess bedside or otherwise. But I couldn’t help smiling at his obvious implication. Realizing I was still staring into his eyes, I deliberately shifted my focus to my knees.

  It wasn’t so bad once most of the blood was gone. But some of the cuts looked deep. Was that my kneecap? My happy feeling suddenly fled, leaving me queasy once more. I looked away quickly, focusing anywhere but my knees.

  The vehicle looked state of the art, equipped like something out of a spy movie. At the front of the vehicle, I spotted Olivia. She was in the driver’s seat but turned around facing me with her attention on Juarez. She winked a hello at me when I caught her eye.

  “Not yet,” Juarez hollered.

  I hadn’t heard her ask a question, but I guessed she had. I looked at Juarez seated to my left. The desk surrounding him had multiple screens and keyboards. He must be command central.

  “Are we clear yet?” Olivia called back to Juarez.

  He tapped a few more keys and yelled, “Just like we planned it.”

  This was how they planned it? Someone needed a demotion.

  “Will do,” she said and spun to face the front. “Everyone strap in. We’re in for a bumpy ride,” she warned.

  Great. What use did I have for a smooth, quiet ride that might actually allow me to recover a little? Honestly, why would I want to do that to myself? Recover, only to be thrust into some other untenable situation. My inner rant was terminated by the sudden vibration in my seat as she started the vehicle. This was not going to play well with my already perturbed stomach.

  I closed my eyes, but then opened them again as a rhythmic whining started overhead. I watched as the seatbelt automatically descended to within reach. Clumsily, I fidgeted with the clasp until Michaels reached across and fastened it for me.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, closing my eyes again. My voice sounded weak, even to me.

  The constant spinning of the vehicle was not helping either. Focusing all my energy on my breathing, I tried to draw measured breaths in and out. After a moment, in which at no time did the vehicle stop spinning, I felt compelled to voice my protest.

  “Olivia, I would greatly appreciate it, if you would stop driving in circles.”

  My solemn request was met with her less than sympathetic chuckling. She wouldn’t think it was so funny when I hit her with my projectile vomiting.

  “Don’t worry,” said Juarez dismissively. “Olivia’s a great driver.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I should know,” he said suggestively, revealing the true nature of their relationship.

  “Juarez,” growled Olivia from the front.

  Juarez lifted his eyebrows momentarily as if caught and then ducked his head, feigning remorse. But his wink indicated he had no such feeling.

  I chuckled softly at Olivia’s discomfort. Glancing at Michaels, I saw that he was smiling, too.

  Feeling the vehicle lurch forward, I opened my eyes but kept them averted from Michaels’ workings on my knees. We were in the woods now, and Pike was in the passenger seat next to Olivia. I hadn’t seen him get in or noticed when the door was shut. I must have dozed off for a minute.

  “Any sign of pursuit?” I asked Juarez.

  “They are all around us,” he said without concern. At the look of alarm on my face, he explained, “They won’t find us in this vehicle.”

  “Super shielding impenetrable to even the most advanced sensors?” I jokingly asked.

  “Something like that,” he snorted.

  I gasped and looked down again as Michaels set fire to my knees. I thought for sure I’d see him cauterizing my wounds, but he was only cleaning them for real now. That knowledge didn’t make them burn any less. I gave him credit for moving quickly from one task to the next without hesitation, but I was deducting points for the burning.

  “You’ve done this before,” I said through clenched teeth. “The medic bit, I mean.” I could have been referring to all of the other things we’d just been through. He didn’t look like a novice there, either.

  “A time or two,” he said without looking up. “Some of these will require sutures, but I prefer not to sew while moving.”

  “I prefer not to be in need of sewing,” I retorted.

  “You and me both,” he agreed.

  Hmmm, sweet relief. Whatever kind of gel he was putting on now must have had some numbing medication in it. I sighed audibly as the pain edged off. Looking down, I watched as he held one large gauze pad firmly against my knee and then began securing it with adhesive wrap. The circular motion his hands were making with the wrap were too much for my stomach, and I looked out the front window instead.

  Olivia was cutting a path through what was little more than a game trail. Tree branches were roughly slapping the vehicle on all sides as we passed, but no one seemed worried, and I was too tired to worry for them.

  “Where are we going?” I asked Michaels.

  “Safe House,” he answered as he wrapped the other knee. “It will take a while, especially the way we are going. When I finish, you should get some rest.”

  “Sure,” I replied, though I didn’t think I would be able to with all the jerking and noise.

  “What is your name?” I asked suddenly, causing him to look at me with the frown on his face again. “It’s my mission for today,” I elaborated. “I know your last name is Michaels. Assuming that is your real name.”

  “It’s Adam.”

  “Adam Michaels?”

  He nodded.

  “Mission accomplished.” A quick smile played on his lips, and I slowly closed my eyes. “So tell me, Adam Michaels, what you could possibly do to top this first date.”

  “It’s our second, actually,” he corrected.

  I opened one eye and squinted at him.

  “Our first was your detainment roughly two days ago.”

  Had it been two days already? Seemed more like a month.

  “Macy.”

  Someone was jiggling my chin. It was very annoying.

  “Macy.”

  This time I identified the offender’s voice. It was Michaels.

  “Macy, open your eyes.”

  He was so bossy. I figured I had better do what he said before he moved on to something more drastic than jiggling my chin.

  I opened my eyes and was greeted by his glowing green ones about an inch from my face. Startled, I jerked backwards, and my head ricocheted off the back of my chair right into his forehead.

  “Ow-wa!” I said angrily, making it a two syllable word.

  He leaned back slightly while eyeing me sternly, as if this was my fault.

  I returned his glare, softly rubbing my forehead with my newly bandaged hands. When did that happen?

  “That is not how you wake someone up,” I said sharply. I did not need another knot to go with the pair I already had.

  “Duly noted,” he said in clipped tones.

  I tried to continue returning his glare, but my eyes were so heavy, and I closed them again.

  “Macy, I need to take your jacket off.”

  Couldn’t he just let me sleep? “Kay,” I slurred, leaning forward.

  I felt him maneuver the jacket from my shoulders and begin to pull my arms out of the sleeves. That was all I knew until the fire wash was applied to my arms. My eyes flew open, and I felt a rush of nausea.

  “I think I’m gonna hurl,” I warned him.

  He held th
e bag in front of my face just in time. He also managed to pull my hair out of the way. How I could have anything in my stomach to throw up was amazing to me. I hadn’t eaten in a long time. My head hurt too much to do the math.

  “All done?” he asked, amusement ringing in his voice.

  I held out the barf bag as my response.

  Slowly, I leaned back into my chair. The nausea seemed to have dissipated with the emptying of my stomach.

  “Why are you always amused at my discomfort?” I asked crankily.

  “I am not amused at your discomfort,” he said, letting go of my hair, which had long ago abandoned the bun and was now flowing wild and free. “However, the way in which you enact your discomfort makes you a very entertaining creature. I don’t think I have had a single dull moment with you.” He disposed of the barf bag and sat back down.

  “Look who’s talking, Catman. You’re the one who looks like a hero in some paranormal romance novel.”

  Laughter echoed around the cabin from everyone but him. He simply stared at me with the raised eyebrow and then proceeded with the form of torture he called bandaging my wounds.

  A few minutes passed, in which I endured my torture like a good soldier, before he inquired about my status again.

  “Are you still dizzy or nauseous?”

  “No, just really tired, and there’s some serious pounding going on in my head. Do I have a concussion?”

  “Probable. More concerning, however, is the blood loss. We were discussing the pros and cons of a blood transfusion.”

  They were? I missed that discussion. And had I lost that much blood? Blood loss would certainly explain why I was so tired and foggy brained.

  “What was the consensus?” I asked.

  “Three to one in favor of the transfusion.”

  I wondered who was against it. “Am I in danger of dying?”

  “Possibly. But I am not a medical doctor.”