The Bloodline Series Box Set

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The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 12

by Gabriella Messina


  Vincent set down his coffee cup and stood up. He moved to the window, looking out at the still-pounding rain. He took a deep breath and began:

  “Mengele’s reputation as an experimenter is well-known, to say the least. His major interest was in inheritable traits, genetics and the ability to manipulate genes as desired. Master race and all that. Twins, dwarves, the disabled, all subjected to horrible experiments in furtherance of his research. Awful as they were, most of Mengele’s research was at least theoretically based on medical and scientific facts of the time. But there were others that were not.

  “In 1944, Heinrich Himmler created Organization Werwolf. The idea was to bring together volunteers who would be trained into an elite force that could engage in guerilla warfare as the Allies were advancing toward Berlin. Most of the early recruits were pulled from the SS and Hitler Youth.

  “Himmler had promised his eager young recruits a ‘wunder weapon’, something that would win the war for them, defeat the Allies, decimate all against them. The members of Organization Werwolf thought it would be a tangible weapon, a gun or even something from the realm of science fiction. They never thought it would be the stuff of folk tales and nightmares.

  “Mengele and a small group of doctors and scientists at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Death Camp were working on the ‘wunder weapon’ and their experiments with it were proving less than successful. The subjects could not survive the physical changes.”

  Vincent paused for a moment before continuing: “But then... one did.”

  “Ivan.”

  Vincent turned to look at Sam. She was staring into her coffee cup, her slightly damp hair falling forward over her shoulders and forming a curtain that nearly hid her face. But Vincent could hear it in her voice, the strained sound that only comes when tears, sobs, are being fought off.

  The fight was successful and only moments later Sam carefully wiped at her eyes and stood up. “I need more coffee. Do you want more coffee?”

  Before Vincent could answer, Sam had grabbed his cup and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with two full cups. Vincent could smell that he was not the only one with whisky in his coffee now.

  Sam took a drink from her cup, shivering slightly as she swallowed, and the whisky burned down her throat. “Did Ivan... change?”

  Vincent nodded slowly: “Oh, yes. His body incorporated the virus into his DNA. He could control the virus, keep himself from changing. And in the end, your grandfather survived the change multiple times.” Vincent shrugged, took a drink of his coffee. “A few months afterward the camp was liberated by the Allies. Mengele and the others were scattered to the winds. And your grandfather disappeared without a trace.”

  “Without a trace,” Sam murmured. She looked up at Vincent, and a small furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “How did you find him?”

  Vincent swallowed a mouthful of coffee before answering. He blinked a few times quickly then looked at her. “Maybe... not without a trace, eh?” He watched Sam’s face as she took this in, processed it and accepted it.

  “This... specialness... that my grandfather has... I have it, too?”

  “Apparently.”

  “What about you? I mean, you’re a... a...”

  Vincent grinned, “Werewolf? Yeah. Not like Ivan, though. My body was able to assimilate the virus, so it didn’t kill me straight out. I can keep myself from changing, like your grandfather, but I can’t make myself change. And, of course, there’s the mercury allergy.”

  He took another drink of his coffee before continuing: “It seems to be some sort of anomaly, my compatibility. I’ve traveled a lot, seen more than my share of werewolves, but none with the ability to control their condition.”

  “Vincent? You’re not going to go all Kaiser Soze on me, are you?”

  Vincent looked at Sam. She looked very fragile and vulnerable sitting there curled up on the sofa. Vincent remembered how it felt to be in that position, like floating through space, grasping for something solid to hang on to, someone to trust. “Not a chance.”

  Sam stared at him for a moment then smiled broadly. “Good.” She uncurled herself from the sofa and walked past him toward the window. “The rain stopped.”

  Vincent drained the remains out of his coffee cup and set it down on the end table as he stood up. “I’d better go.”

  Sam grabbed the cup up off the end table and disappeared into the kitchen. “Your things are still wet. You can sleep here.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” Vincent walked toward the front door, grabbing his duster from the coatrack nearby and shaking it lightly. Droplets of water sprinkled down, dampening the carpet below.

  He busied himself putting the wet coat on as he continued: “People like us, Sam... It’s better for everyone if we’re alone. When you care about people, you let down your guard, you get careless. Then they get hurt.”

  Sam rinsed out the cups and placed them in the sink. “I realize most guys are three steps ahead when it comes to statements like that, but I didn’t mean sleep in my bed.” Not that I’d say no by any means, but...

  The silence that followed made Sam wonder if Vincent had already left. Sam dried her hands, tossed the dish towel on the counter. “Vincent?”

  “Yeah?”

  Sam walked back to the doorway. Vincent was still standing in the entryway, his coat on, ready to go... but not leaving.

  His head bowed; his shoulders hunched forward. It was almost as if the question she was about to ask him, all that it implied, was already there in the air, that he knew it was coming, expected it, dreaded it.

  “Who infected you? How did it happen?”

  Vincent sighed with resignation. “I was with my family, we were camping. They came in the night, don’t know how many. I remember listening, not being able to move as my family died around me, as I was dying. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital in Dublin, without a mark on me. That was ten years ago.”

  “That’s a long time to be alone.” She was closer than she had been, barely a few feet away from him.

  He could smell the traces of perfume still left on her skin, the shampoo she’d used on her hair, the pheromones. They were getting stronger again, probably in response to the alcohol she drank.

  Vincent cleared his throat, trying to breathe through his mouth. “Like I said, it’s better. We are the only line of defense against the big bad wolf.”

  “Vincent, we are the big bad wolf.” She folded her arms, hugging herself tightly as she continued: “Friday night... It’s my turn. And there’s nothing I can do... To stop it. What does it feel like?”

  She’s not going to let me leave. She’s going to keep talking, keep me talking until I cave in and stay. And then, then we will have a real problem...

  Vincent sighed. “Difficult to describe. The pain, the euphoria... Indescribable. And even though you know it’s coming, it just hits you. No warning, it just happens.”

  “What if there are people around?”

  Vincent made his move, opening the door as he replied. “Hope they run.” He exited quickly, the door clicking closed behind him.

  “That’s reassuring, thank you.” Sam looked at the door for a long moment, then turned and walked back into the living room. She sat down on the sofa again, pulling the afghan around her and huddling into a tight ball.

  16

  THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17th

  BEGINNING WITH THE Fuhrer’s own shepherds, we collected samples from a variety of dogs from every country, mostly large breeds, and working dogs noted for their loyalty and penchant for aggression. Once collected and cataloged, sampling spread outside domesticated lines. We sampled the DNA of a variety of wild dog-like animals... wily jackals... the brawny and brutal hyena... wild African dogs. Most importantly, we pursued wolves, especially the Gray Wolf.

  DNA from the Canis lupus species was sampled from around the world, all showing a consistency not only in their genetics but also in the behaviors of the animals themselves. Con
sistency is, of course, the key to any genetic engineering. The goal was to produce animals that were pack-oriented and trainable, with keen instincts and intelligence.

  Of course, for the designed purpose, strength and size were also crucial. While the Gray Wolf is by far the largest of the dog-like animals, we also searched for unusually large-sized specimens, both domestic and wild. We collected many impressive animals possessing both massive overall size in the entire body, including all of their internal organs and tissues.

  The final piece of the puzzle was taken from the past... the ancient past... from a prehistoric creature dubbed the Dire Wolf. A massive wolf-like creature that roamed North America. It was especially difficult to find usable DNA remnants, both due to the length of time as well as the manner of death for many of the animals, i.e. suffocation in the tar pits of La Brea, Los Angeles, California. Remnants were found, however, and samples collected.

  Months of hybridizing and cloning ensued, often with questionable and unexpected results. Many specimens were aborted or born dead, while others had to be euthanized as humanely as possible shortly after birth. Of course, samples were collected, and proper documentation of the specimen’s health, appearance and behavior was made before they were euthanized. All the information collected was extremely useful when we advanced to the following stages.

  Then, success! A creature of massive proportions, at least half a size larger than the largest Gray Wolf, with the bite of a hyena and the intelligence and trainability of the Fuhrer’s beloved shepherds. Several healthier specimens survived production and, eventually, entered training. However, during training some faults in behavior and temperament were detected, including an apparent appreciation for violence itself, something evidenced in the brutality of their attacks on both live prey and trainers. The specimens had to be removed from the camp itself and placed in containment.

  Jack Hudson sat back in his chair, grabbed the coffee cup nearby and took a sip. Naturally, it was as cold as ice. He’d been up here all night, not an unusual practice for him, but the research had become more intense since he learned about her.

  He glanced down at the tape recorder on the desk. The small handheld taunted him, forcing him to look at the piles of medical charts that he hadn’t reviewed, forcing him to think of the many notes he hadn’t made. Of course, rounds were in a few hours. He needed time. He needed sleep. He needed –

  “Coffee?”

  For a moment, Hudson froze, surveying the paperwork spread out before him. At the very least, it was unusual. In some eyes, this would be more than cause to get his privileges revoked. Especially the contents of the black binder in his hands right now. He closed the binder before turning slowly toward the doorway and the source of the voice.

  Diane Weber entered the room, depositing a steaming cup of coffee on the desk in front of him before pulling over a stool and sitting down. “Relax, Jack. Everyone thinks you’re asleep up here.”

  Hudson smirked, reached for the coffee eagerly. “I think they may figure that lie out as the circles under my eyes darken.” He took a careful sip of the hot beverage and wished for a moment that it was cold; at least he could get it into his system more quickly. Perhaps he should just drink it down; the burn unit was at the end of the hall...

  Weber smiled in response. It was a different smile than the kind he usually got, tighter, almost formal. “Do you have anything for me?”

  Hudson felt himself tensing more than he thought his weary body was capable of. They were looking for the results, for the answers. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have them, he had plenty of answers. He just didn’t have any about her. “DNA analysis of the last five subjects to come through the ER shows the virus beginning to stabilize. The refinement is nearly complete.”

  Weber continued to smile as she perched on the edge of the desk. She leaned back slightly, crossing one long, toned leg over the other. “How soon?”

  “It could be as soon as the end of the week.”

  “Could be?”

  Hudson rifled through the folders and paperwork on the desk as he answered. “DNA replication and cellular mitosis run on their own schedule, Diane. As soon as refinement is complete... and consistent... expansion of recruitment may begin.” He pulled out a slim blue folder, glanced at it briefly, and then handed it to Weber. “That is the transmission study. Injection continues to be the best means. The safest, the most efficient, and the most consistently successful.”

  Weber skimmed through the paperwork in the folder, page by page, stopping occasionally to read through a page more thoroughly. Finally, she closed the folder and looked up at Hudson. “Very impressive, Jack. They will be quite pleased.” Weber unwound her legs and stood. “I noticed there is nothing in here about Sam Karolyi.”

  Hudson looked up at her. She wasn’t smiling at all now. He took another gulp of coffee before replying. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we don’t even know what we are really dealing with yet.”

  “Bullshit!” Hudson flinched. Diane Weber was a bit of a legend, not only in hospital circles but in... other... circles as well. Always cool, calm and collected, she did possess an intense and explosive temper that was seen only in rare glimpses. This was most definitely one of those moments. “You focused in on this girl the minute you knew about her grandfather, knew who she was. And when I brought you her DNA and you knew she was infected... You are obsessed, Jack, and there is no room in this operation for personal obsessions. That girl is no different than I am, or John, or any other anomaly who encounters and supports the virus. Some people can support it, it just happens, we may never understand why.”

  Hudson shook his head. “You’re wrong, Diane. I know that she is the key. I am not obsessed with her; I’m obsessed, if you will, with what she can tell us, what we can learn. I am not finished with her yet. Just give me a bit more time, Diane. A few days?”

  Weber was silent for what felt like an eternity. Hudson watched her, could almost see the thought processes going on within playing out across her face; a twitch there, a softening here, the tension and fury ebbing away.

  Finally, Weber nodded slowly as she answered, “Fine.” She started to leave but stopped, her hand on the door handle. “You know, Jack, this isn’t a great experiment... you’re not Mengele. Try to remember that, will you?” Without waiting for a reply, Weber exited, the door clicking closed behind her.

  Hudson turned back to the desk, and his coffee. His glanced at his watch, then at the clock on the wall. Oh, yes, he remembered all right. Every damned bloody day. This would all be a hell of a lot easier if he had even a tenth of that man’s genius for genetics. Hudson sighed, drained his coffee cup and turned back to the black binder, opening it with reverence.

  Analysis of mitochondrial heredity, in reference to the ‘Fuhrer Wolf’, as well as preliminary analysis of the implications of mitochondrial heredity in regard to the Birkenau Hybrid, the result of the blending of the genetic profiles of a ‘Fuhrer Wolf’ with that of a Human...

  A result commonly known as the ‘Werwolf.’

  17

  RIGHT-SIDE IN, BEND the sleeve... Left-side in, bend the sleeve... Bottom third up... Top third down... Done. Sam watched Ivan lay the freshly folded shirt beside him on the bed, then reach for another shirt and begin the same folding process. His every move was deliberate, methodical, and infinitely careful. Sam supposed it came, in part, from his time in the camps... When your life is out of control, you try to control the things that you can.

  Sam sighed quietly and shifted her weight in the chair. She liked wing-back chairs... The way they bent around on the sides, so you had a nice soft place to rest your head. It wasn’t helping now, though. Sam shifted her weight again, resting her head on her hand, her fingertips slowly rubbing her temple. The headache had started again. Stress, to be sure. This whole week was really turning out to be a major suck-fest. She really wished she had her menthol patches right now.

  “It will be good t
o get out of this hospital.” Ivan deposited another folded shirt in the pile beside him and reached for his overnight bag.

  “Grampy, you’re not in any condition to leave. You need to stay here—”

  “Samantha. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed. Please.” Ivan looked down at his hands, his fingers fiddling with the zipper on the overnight bag.

  Sam rubbed her head roughly, then stood up and headed for the door. “I’m going to see if I can find a nurse or someone. Get the paperwork done, okay?”

  Ivan smiled, the twinkle in his eye glimmering for a few seconds, and he nodded. Sam saw him return to his packing before she exited the room.

  He was dying. She knew it. He knew it, too... that’s why he wanted to go home. All that shit about sleeping in his own bed... Sam stopped by the stairwell doors and leaned back against the wall. The tears that filled her eyes threatened to spill over.

  She heard the stairwell door open next to her, followed moments later by a smooth, accented voice: “Are you all right?”

  Sam caught the briefest look at the speaker’s face before she buried her face in her hands, succumbing to the wave of emotions surging through her. No, Dr. Hudson... No, I’m decidedly not all right. Her shoulders quaked as she began to sob.

  Hudson stood awkwardly for a moment before he reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. The shaking stilled a bit though her tears continued to fall. “Samantha? Can I help?”

  Sam’s crying stilled to almost nothing and she looked up, the recent tears staining her cheeks. She took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled, looking at his face as if she was taking his measure, trying to determine his motivation for trying to help her. She sniffed, a quick inhalation before she answered him: “My grandfather... wants to go... home.”

  Hudson nodded slowly. “That’s understandable. Anyone would want to be in their own home, especially under the circumstances.” He paused for a moment. “He would be safer at home.”

 

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