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Revolution

Page 2

by J. S. Frankel


  The cat-girl, Lyudmila, had a boyfriend named Piotr, a hideous mix of rhino and boar. He’d laid a tremendous beating on Harry, almost killing him. Harry had managed to inject himself with a serum that altered his genes and started the transformation. Started... but not finished.

  That was where the Genesis Chamber came in. A cigar tube of life and transformation and possible death, it had turned him from a skinny eighteen year-old with nondescript features into something more than human, but less than cat. He’d retained his looks, but his body had become more muscular, he sported claws and now had gray fur with black spots and yellow eyes, the same as Anastasia.

  And here they were, and here she was with her arm around him. Blinking, he came back to the present. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he repeated.

  Anastasia got out of bed and flicked on the light. She wore a pair of pajamas and her body, lithe and beautiful, moved gracefully as she came back to the bed and sat down. “You had the dream again, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I did,” he admitted, feeling somewhat ashamed. “It was pretty intense.”

  Her eyes, large and expressive, gazed at him with concern. “You’ve been having those nightmares for what, a month?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

  “You know, we could always talk to Farrell,” she suggested. “He might have some more information on what you’re thinking.”

  Harry shook his head. The mention of Agent Miles Farrell, his handler at FBI headquarters in Manhattan, meant control. He was a good agent, stolid and workman-like and professional to the max, but he was also incapable of understanding what was involved here. Farrell happened to be the typical by-the-book guy and he needed to follow office protocol, even if it involved handling two transgenic cat people.

  “Farrell’s been searching for the past three months for others like us,” said Harry, shifting his body to lean against hers. “He hasn’t found anything. But I know there’s something out there. I can feel it. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”

  Anastasia offered a wise smile. “All the dreams you have, you become a cat. You don’t have the urge to go out and catch mice, do you?” she teased.

  The remark stung, but only a little. “No.”

  Laying a hand on his shoulder, she added in a voice most confident, “You’re not going to devolve. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  As the youngest expert in transgenic research in the world and probably the best at what he did, Harry knew all too well of the curse. Mixing animal genes with that of a human was one thing, but the main drawback was that the animal genes would soon overwhelm the human ones, force them to lie dormant and the subject would revert to its animal form. He and Anastasia had been spared that, largely due to his work in keeping the animal genes at bay. However, there were others out there, and no telling what state they were in or which side they were on in this fight.

  “You’re not going to devolve,” Anastasia repeated in an attempt to reassure him. “You’re not like Doug and Ivan.”

  “I know.”

  Harry had already met a few of the other enhanced people. Like Anastasia, they were the products of experimentation performed by Russian scientists over the past three or four years. Anastasia had been the first success, then Doug and then Ivan. Doug’s genes had been mixed with that of a dog. Ivan had been more bear than man. In fact, he was a monster that enjoyed killing more than anything, an almost unstoppable force of nature. He’d eventually died at Anastasia’s hands. She’d torn his throat out, thus ending the threat. Still, the memories lingered in Harry’s mind. He couldn’t forget and didn’t want to.

  “I miss Doug,” said Harry as the image of the little dog-man flashed through his mind. Doug had attacked Ivan, knowing that he wouldn’t survive. He’d marched forward, stalwart, unafraid, resigned to his fate, and he’d died a most brutal death.

  “I miss him, too,” Anastasia said in a soft voice. “We’ll never forget him.”

  They hadn’t, but life went on. Only three months earlier, two other transgenic monsters named Lyudmila and Piotr had appeared. In a violent battle, both had died, but not before mentioning something about thirty-five other enhanced individuals who’d escaped. The FBI in league with some European countries was in the process of trying to find them. So far, they’d had no luck.

  Harry sat lost in his memories until the touch of his girlfriend’s hand, covered in fur, soft and fine, brought him back to reality. “Listen,” said Anastasia, her voice low and sweet, “Farrell called me yesterday while you were in the shower. He’s coming by in the morning with supplies. We’ll talk to him then, okay?”

  Harry forced out a smile. “Yeah, we’ll talk. Let’s go back to bed.”

  Anastasia got up and padded over to the wall. A flick of her finger doused the lights and her yellow eyes shone in the darkness. Harry lay back and felt the warmth of his girlfriend next to him. Her hand came up to touch his face. “I have to tell you something,” she said in a drowsy voice.

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  She turned over then and soon he heard her quiet, rhythmical breathing. A smile crossed his face and he put his arm around her waist. A faint purr came from her—then silence. Love was fine, but the feeling of uncertainty remained, and he lay awake until the early hours of the morning.

  Awakening at the crack of dawn, Harry slipped out of bed. Anastasia was still asleep, so he decided to do the shower-and-shave thing, with the emphasis on shaving. It was a daily ordeal, heavier than what most men had to go through, and he really didn’t care for it.

  Inside the bathroom, he observed his physique in the full-length mirror. An image of a young man with gray hair and black spots all over his body, fur on his face, whiskers, and yellow eyes greeted him.

  The fur on his body had been there since going through the Genesis Chamber, but the facial growth hadn’t started until recently. Late genes kicking in, he thought as he ran his hand around his face. “It’s not easy being furry,” he muttered as he took a disposable razor—one of seven—and after running some hot water over it, started to carefully shave his forehead.

  Once that razor got clogged up, he tossed it away and used another. This was his ritual every morning as his fur and genetics resisted change. The hair always grew back, a slow but steady advance, so by noon it appeared as if he had a five o’clock shadow.

  Shaving chores over, he entered the shower, rinsed off and after shaking the excess water from his body, used a blow dryer to style. Towels didn’t really cut it. Job over, he padded outside and went to the closet where he got dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

  “I hear something,” Anastasia called out while he finished dressing. “It sounds like Farrell’s car.”

  Harry walked over to the window, noted the time on the clock—ten-thirty—and saw the banged up Ford that their contact always drove. He opened the door and called out, “Yeah, he’s here. Let’s greet the man in black.”

  Farrell got out of his car and jogged over to the cabin with a couple of plastic bags in his hands. “And to what do we owe this visit?” asked Anastasia as she came to the door. Her voice sounded like ice cubes rattling in a glass. “You called us up. Today’s Tuesday. You usually come by on Wednesday to deliver the groceries.”

  Apparently, Farrell was immune to her iciness. When she’d turned up in New York, memory impaired, feral and wary, he’d considered her a spy. Not true at all. She’d always been loyal, but he occasionally questioned her patriotism.

  With a polite nod, he handed over the bags to her. “I have to coordinate with my men up here,” he said, gesturing to the forest. “It’s a pretty big spread up here, and there’s a lot of space for someone to hide.”

  Anastasia’s icy demeanor evaporated and she let out a giggle. “Yeah, I know. You’ve got two men.”

  “Budget cuts,” said Farrell with a slight shrug. “We do what we can.”

  Anastasia continued to g
iggle. “Harry and I go for runs at night and we see your men either sleeping on the job or looking the wrong way. And they’ve got night vision goggles, too.”

  Farrell’s face became a deep red, which soon turned purple with rage. If he was angry, though, his expression didn’t show it. His voice, though, betrayed his feelings, as it came out low with a hint of danger in it. “I’ll have a word with them about the patrols,” he said. “Excuse me.”

  He stalked off and thirty seconds later, the sound of shouting and expletives echoed over to their position. “I guess we’ll have to be more careful when we go out at night,” Anastasia remarked as she hefted the bags and sniffed the contents. A look of satisfaction spread across her face. “Hey, he brought a couple of filet steaks this time. I think grilling is on the menu tonight.”

  Inside the kitchen, she started to put the groceries away and a few seconds later, Farrell walked in. “I had a word with my men,” he announced. “And I apologize for that.”

  “Have you found anything?” asked Harry. He sat at his workstation, performing computer simulations on DNA transposition. The program he’d installed was running. Whether the computer was on or off didn’t matter. He’d know the results in roughly two days, so he closed the lid.

  “No,” Farrell said and scratched his head in what had to be a gesture of frustration. “We know there are roughly thirty-five transgenics in and around Eastern Europe. We learned that from our Russian friends. They’ve had numerous sightings lately, not only in their country, but in other former Bloc countries, and each one has been more definitive than the last.”

  “How bad are they?”

  “Bad,” Farrell affirmed with a sigh. “We’ve had reports of people being savaged, bitten up and torn apart. The police there are publicly treating it as attacks by wild animals. That hasn’t stopped the local media from sounding a warning note.

  “They also had a number of kidnappings in the same time period. Mostly young people, but some older ones as well and the police are checking that as well.”

  Kidnappings... Harry didn’t want to think about the reason why, but the answer knifed into his head anyway. Anastasia’s gaze met his and she gave a faint nod. Clearly, she was thinking the same thing. Whoever was kidnapping these people needed subjects. “I’m going to go out on a limb here,” began Anastasia, cleaning her claws with a rag, “and say that the kidnappings and murders were linked.”

  Farrell eyed them both and finally nodded. “My guess is that they are. We’re crosschecking our references. We’ve coordinated our efforts with the Russians, the Serbians and the Hungarians. Those three countries have had the most sightings and killings.”

  “How many so far?” asked Harry, half-afraid to hear the numbers.

  In a far from surprising move, Farrell pulled a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket, carefully unfolded it and proceeded to read out the facts. “Fifty-eight so far from Hungary, mostly random citizens,” he said. “Russia has had over a hundred and Serbia around thirty. These are known incidents. There may be others that have gone unreported. Like I said, we’re still crosschecking the data with our allies.” Facts given, he refolded the paper and tucked it away in his pocket.

  “Do you trust them?” asked Anastasia, with a note of wariness in her voice. “I don’t.”

  Farrell offered a grunt, which sounded like he was admitting defeat. “I don’t have much of a choice. Part of the deal we made was to share information. So far, they’ve given us possible locations and sightings. We’ve been checking them out. I’ve had to share a couple of tips with the Russians and the Hungarians. As for Serbia, no, not yet, and none of them has asked for any scientific information from us.”

  “But they want it,” Anastasia said, pointing out the obvious.

  Another nod came from Farrell. “They do, but right now it’s locked up in my office and in your head,” he said, pointing at Harry. “And that’s where it will stay.”

  He looked down at his wristwatch. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  The door closed softly behind him. After raising her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture, Anastasia helped finish putting the groceries away and they sat down to watch television.

  “Do you really want to watch the shows?” she asked after the fifth car in two minutes blew up on some cheapie sci-fi movie. They sat with their arms around each other, nuzzling noses and sharing kisses until she broke off the clinch and popped the question.

  Her voice carried a note of suggestiveness. Light and playful, it made him think of some rather impure ideas. It was a little early for fun, but why not? “What did you have in mind?” he asked as he got up and headed to the bedroom.

  A hiss stopped him in his tracks and he turned to see a sour look appear on Anastasia’s face. “We can do that later,” she said and flicked her tail at the door. “What do we do every morning?”

  Harry knew that he should have seen this coming and inwardly, he let out a groan. “Combat training.”

  She ran into the other room and came back a minute later wearing a pair of yellow hip-hugging shorts and a yellow tube top. Her tail whipped around her, and this time her frown had segued into a grin. Taking his hand, she pulled him outside into the bright sunshine and said, “Your session is underway. Hit me, claws out and don’t hold back.”

  They’d been doing this every day for the last six weeks. Harry had improved, but he’d never been able to beat her. As for his claws, he didn’t have to concentrate on extending them anymore. They came out at will. A good three inches long, they were sharp and almost as strong as steel. He feinted, slashed at her shoulder and then felt himself yanked off his feet by her tail. One of the drawbacks of his enhancement was no tail. Anastasia sometimes referred to him as a Manx cat, which did not amuse him at all.

  He hit the ground hard and his head banged painfully into the dirt. “Get up and try it again,” she commanded.

  Smile now gone, she made a motion for him to try slashing her and Harry obliged. This time he hit the ground face first. With a grunt that meant I’m getting my butt kicked, he got to his feet. “You’re not going to take it easy today, are you?”

  Anastasia shook her head. “If we have to go up against something bigger than we are, you’ll thank me later on.”

  “How about I say thank you now and we watch television?”

  Her face got a businesslike look to it, lips compressed and eyes narrowed. With a slight clicking sound, her claws came out. “Get ready.”

  Harry sighed and settled into a fighting stance. Regenerative powers or not, it was going to be a long morning.

  That night they went for a run, observed the agents looking the wrong way—as usual—and skirted their position on silent, padded feet. It was a total joy for them to be as one with nature. To smell the grass that grew near them, share the space with the other denizens of the forest and share a kiss under the moonlight seemed to be the most romantic thing in existence.

  They got back to the cabin just after eleven, breathless and happy from their sojourn. A knock came at the door. When they opened up, one of the FBI agents flashed his badge.

  A tall and spindly man, he told Harry that the perimeter was quiet and that he and the other agent were patrolling diligently. “I’m glad to see the law is helping us,” Harry said and after the agent left, he shut the door and saw his girlfriend wearing a smile a mile wide.

  “You’re pretty bad,” giggled Anastasia, while holding a book in one hand and caressing his face with the other.

  “I try not to be,” answered Harry while returning the caress. He suddenly stopped and cleared his throat. “Anastasia,” he began.

  “Yeah, what is it?”

  Stammering out his question, he felt the blood rush to his face and wondered if cats could blush. “Uh, since we’ve been living together, and since you like me...”

  Another giggle came from her. “I think our relationship is more than just liking each other,” she replied.
“What are you trying to say?”

  Crunch time came and he stammered out his proposal. “Would you... er, will... do you want to get married?”

  Her eyes grew round. “Harry, get serious.”

  He touched her shoulder and then moved his hand up to stroke the fine fur around her face. “I am serious.”

  Anastasia blinked. “Wow, this is... heavy,” she said. “Or it’s unexpected, or something.” She stared at him. “How long have you been thinking of this?”

  “About a month,” he answered. “I mean, I know we’re both young, but since there are just the two of us... no one else like us... I’m into you and all that...” He stopped speaking when he saw the smile playing around her lips. “You’re not interested?”

  Immediately, her smile disappeared. In a moment of what appeared to be a lack of self-confidence, her hands shook as they came up to smooth the hair around her face and head. Her voice, normally so strong and direct, sounded confused and indecisive. It reminded him of a little child being told by its mother that they could have chocolate or vanilla ice cream for dessert, but not both.

  “Harry,” she whispered and leaned her head into his chest. “I’m into you too, you know that, right? It’s just that...”

  “It’s just what?”

  Anastasia looked up at him and bit her lip. “It’s just that... what we are... what people will think, all of that. But you know that I love you, right?”

  Immediately, he cursed himself for tossing this in her lap all of a sudden. It was only natural that she was worried about what others would think. He was as well, but he’d never met anyone like her before and didn’t want to see anyone else. Still... she had a point. Maybe he was rushing things. He hugged her to him. “Okay, I’m sorry if I put too much pressure on you...”

  With a sudden shove, Anastasia pushed him back. “It’s not that.”

  Oh, he had pushed too hard. “Listen, if you want to talk about it more—”

  “Harry, stop it, okay?” she interrupted. “I hear something.” Her voice had gone very quiet.

 

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