Integration

by J. S. Frankel

  Ooze trundled over, computer in hand, and together they walked down the steps and found themselves inside a hangar. Sandstorm slithered down and remained an inert lump on the concrete. The rest of the place was empty, save for Stander and two people wearing lab coats.

  One of them was a woman—thirty-ish, slender, with brown hair pulled back into a bun. The other person was a man who appeared to be in his fifties, bespectacled, with a balding crown and a nervous manner. “Meet Dr. Johnson and Dr. Castle,” said Stander. “Castle’s the man in this combo. They’re going to examine you.”

  Examine? What was up with that? Instantly, the hair on the back of Paul’s neck started to rise. This sudden shift stank in more ways than one. “You never mentioned anything about a medical examination,” he said. “Do you want to tell us why?”

  “It’s very simple,” Castle replied in a high, reedy voice, his eyes constantly on the move. “We have to know what you are.” He threw a look at Ooze and Sandstorm. “I’d like to examine both of you as well.”

  Ooze waved off the suggestion and the water in his body began to swirl. If that was his way of showing anger, he was doing a good job of it. “How about no,” he said. “This is ten shades of wrong. I may be water, but I’m going to say no to this.”

  Sandstorm reared up and formed the shape of a middle finger. He then formed the message, I’m going to say no as well. Message delivered, he fell back to the ground and didn’t move.

  Angela’s face tightened. “We’re people. That’s all you have to know.”

  Stander stepped over and held up his hands. “We’re doing this merely as a precaution. We don’t want to examine Ooze or Sandstorm. We only need a blood sample from both of you. That, and scans of your bodies—nothing more.”

  Feeling more than a little betrayed, Paul looked at his girlfriend. She tossed him a glance which he interpreted as, It stinks, but let’s get it over with.

  They allowed themselves to be led into another room adjacent to the hangar. Paul followed, feeling more than a little put out and mightily displeased at how the armed forces were using them as test subjects. When he saw the body scanner, he felt his worst fears were about to come true. The Army wanted to find out all about them, their strengths and their weaknesses.

  It was a certainty they already knew. Peterson did. Months back, he’d used a number of weapons against them. They’d almost died in the onslaught, and the aftermath wasn’t much better.

  ‘We’ve had a lot of time to study your weaknesses!’ Those were the words he’d yelled just before his men had nailed Angela with an upgraded Taser. Electricity was her only weakness, and it temporarily took away her powers of flight and invulnerability. They’d shot Paul up with a type of poison that had almost killed him, and they’d melted CF, their zombie ally, with acid. Now, the army was about to find out even more secrets and no, he did not like it one bit.

  Still, he remained silent. Once inside a small lab, he allowed Dr. Castle to take a blood sample. Castle asked them to disrobe. Angela blushed and walked with Dr. Johnson behind a partition. Paul quickly changed into a white hospital gown. All the while, Castle’s face remained expressionless, yet his eyes never stopped moving. “So what’s next on the list?” asked Paul.

  “We need to take a body scan,” replied Castle, and pointed at the machine. “Lie down, and it will be over in a minute.”

  Paul did, getting angrier as the seconds ticked by. He heard an “ouch” from Angela behind the screen, but he said nothing and waited. Once done, Castle said, “We’ll have the results very soon,” as he fed the data into a computer. “We’ve got the latest equipment here.”

  Paul quickly got dressed and waited until Angela emerged, wearing the same type of robe as him. Wordlessly, she walked over to the scanner and lay down. Johnson operated the machine this time. Once done, she said, “You can get dressed.”

  Angela tossed off a grunt of displeasure and went behind the screen. She came out wearing her outfit and showed Paul her finger. It had a red mark, but it quickly faded, and her skin resumed its normal porcelain white color. “They used some kind of special needle on me.”

  “It’s a titanium-tipped electric needle,” Castle piped up, his eyes still glued to the computer. “Electricity, we heard, is the only thing that can injure you. The needle we use carries a charge that temporarily weakens you to the point where we can penetrate your skin.”

  He sounded most enthusiastic. Angela’s grunt of response sounded less so.

  Since there was nothing else to do, Paul reentered the hangar with Angela at his side and found that a massive armored truck had been parked inside the room. Roughly forty feet long and half as wide, it resembled a cross between a garbage truck and a tank, and it exuded a look of power. An array of antenna sat in the middle of the roof, and the windows were shuttered. All in all, it seemed like a lethal kind of thing to drive.

  Six soldiers clad in khaki army fatigues stood at attention in front of the vehicle. They were the same men he’d seen at the warehouse the first time Stander had met with them. The colonel was talking to them, but their eyes were on Ooze. Once Paul and Angela made their presence known, they shifted their gazes and their formerly blank expressions changed to sneers. Paul caught the expressions, and his first thought was, Here we go again.

  Stander turned around. “I’ve already spoken to my superior, and he’s given me the go-ahead to use this. Meet Big Bertha,” he said with a touch of pride and tapped the side of the monstrous vehicle. “She carries the latest in GPS satellite linkups and communications, has bulletproof walls and shatterproof glass. Goes sixty miles an hour in seven seconds, can run for a day on a tank of gas and is fully loaded in terms of weaponry. It has a small lounge for when our men need to take a break. It also carries a fridge, some basic medical equipment and inside it there’s an injector gun and some of that synthetic blood you use, Angela.”

  “Just like home,” Ooze quipped.

  Stander pulled a sour face. “I doubt your home has a holding cell in it. Ours does and we’ll use it, just in case we run across any hostiles.”

  He continued to list the virtues of the tank-truck. Paul wondered if it was fireproof or acid-proof, but maintained his silence and waited calmly until all the introductions had been made. The men’s names were Hawkins, Moreau, Miller, Lincoln, Walton and Dawkins. Each of them nodded politely, but their eyes, as well as their sneers, gave them away.

  The sound of the door opening got everyone’s attention. Castle walked in, holding a chart in his hand, and he fairly shook with excitement. “What have you got?” asked Stander.

  “A lot,” the doctor answered. “These preliminary results are amazing. The young man is a hybrid, as the news reports have indicated. He’s human, but does carry some genes used by wolves. That explains his fur and, er, features. His cell structure has been altered and his immune system seems to be off the scale. As for his blood, I can’t begin to tell you the differences. I need more time to analyze it.

  “With regards to the young lady, our body scan indicates she’s essentially human. As she was created from a stem cell, that means she carries the same DNA found in everyone else, including reproductive capability.”

  Why the doctor saw fit to mention she could have a baby was anyone’s guess. Angela’s face turned a violent red, and she stared at the ground, her lips moving noiselessly. Silence ruled, and the doctor glanced around the room, as if only now aware of what he’d said. “At any rate, she’s more than healthy.

  “What I find most intriguing is how everything is set up. She has the same internal organ arrangement as anyone else, but her cellular matrix is something I’ve never seen before. I can’t explain it, but every cell seems to be geared toward regeneration and strength. It seems that she’s operating in overdrive. I’m at a loss to explain her powers—I’ve seen the newscasts—but she is human…and beyond that.” His body began to quake. �
��This is utterly fantastic!”

  By now, Angela’s face resembled a storm cloud. It wasn’t every day of the week when someone stripped a person’s essence down to the molecular level. “It was a privilege meeting you, young lady,” Castle said. “I hope to meet you again one day under, uh, somewhat more peaceful circumstances when I can do more research.”

  “I hope we don’t,” Angela answered and locked her cold blue eyes onto his. “If you ever try probing me again, guess where your probe will end up?”

  Shocked, Castle took a step back and started to sputter out a reply, but Stander intervened and said, “That will be all, doctor.”

  The doctor left, muttering about doing experiments in the name of science while Paul resisted the urge to shake his head at being seen as just another experiment. No one said a word, and he hoped everyone would view him as being one of the guys, but his thoughts of the people present sitting around a campfire toasting marshmallows changed when one of the men—Hawkins—coughed loudly and asked, “Sir, what are these, uh, civilians doing here? They’re freaks, like the ones we’re supposed to be hunting, ain’t they?”

  Stander turned to face his man and snapped, “Shut your mouth, Hawkins. They’re on our side. Understand? They’re going to be spearheading the attack. Angela”—he waved his hand at her—“can fly at night, and from what I understand, her night vision rivals anything we have on hand. It might even be better.

  “The guy in the containment suit is smarter than any of the Ivy League professors out there, and Paul can smell different odors—differentiate them—and he’s just as fast and strong as three of you put together.”

  “Five,” Paul cut in and offered a guileless smile. “I’m just setting the record straight.”

  Hawkins snorted and rolled his head around on a neck that had to be twenty inches in circumference. “Boy, you don’t look like you could punch out an eleven-year-old girl.”

  “Try it.”

  From the way Hawkins spoke, it seemed as though he wanted to prove something. Military personnel always seemed to be in alpha male smack-down mode, and even though Paul knew this wasn’t the best time or place, he had to take a stand. “Try it,” he repeated. “You’ll lose, and I’ll make you look like an ass while doing it.”

  A challenge had been issued. For his part, Stander’s face remained impassive, and he glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes before you have to gear up. Does anyone want a demonstration?”

  “This won’t take a few minutes,” Angela put in with a little smile. “I’m betting on less than a minute.”

  “In your dreams, Vampira,” Hawkins snorted and rolled his shoulders.

  The other men roared as he moved forward. A mountain of a man, six-five and powerfully built, he had a tough, country boy face and a buzz haircut. After taking a stance a few feet away from Paul, he motioned with his hand. “Come and get it, boy. I won’t hurt you too much.”

  Angela whispered into Paul’s ear, “Take him.”

  With her words of encouragement, he felt he could whip anyone. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked out and extended his fangs. The move resulted in him showing off a cheeky smile, something cheerful as well as potential fatal. “Start any time.”

  Hawkins immediately recoiled. “Holy Christ, you’ve got fangs,” he said. “I… I don’t know about—”

  “I don’t bite.” Paul retracted his fangs. “See?” His manner then hardened. “So let’s do this, or are you too chicken to be beaten up by an eleven-year-old girl? And by the way, saying women are weak goes beyond the realm of stupid.” Tossing out a sarcastic reply surprised him. In his earlier days, he’d been shy almost to the point of being virtually invisible. However, shyness also carried with it the tag of weakness. This was no time to show weakness.

  The other Rangers let out a cry for blood. “He’s a punk! Kick his ass!”

  With a cry of rage, Hawkins launched a punch. Paul deftly stepped aside a full second before it connected. His reflexes were so fast that he saw the punch coming as if everything was happening in slow motion. The other man’s momentum carried him off balance, and he stumbled. “Try again,” he said.

  “Twenty seconds,” Angela called out in a bored voice.

  Hawkins grunted, righted his stance then launched another punch. After once more evading it, Paul—in a lightning-quick move—grabbed his upper arm in an arm-bar, twisted him down then rolled over while still hanging on. His momentum flipped the larger man and he landed on his back with a scream of pain.

  “You bastard,” Hawkins cried. “Let me go!”

  “Sure thing… Once you tap out,” Paul said, and he pushed upward on the man’s elbow while simultaneously pulling his forearm down. The move was designed to be a submission hold, and if applied hard enough, would snap the elbow joint. He pulled just hard enough to elicit another cry of pain. “Tap out,” he urged.

  “Screw you!”

  Not a wise thing to say. With his free hand, he grabbed Hawkins’ throat and started to squeeze. “Ready to give up—or should I keep humiliating you?”

  It seemed as though Hawkins got the message, as he yelled, “Yeah, yeah, I’m tapping,” and he touched the ground. The yell soon transitioned into a gurgle, and he frantically slapped concrete. “I give!”

  “That was”—Angela mimed looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist—“forty-two seconds. I win my bet.”

  Paul let go then got to his feet, not even breathing hard. His opponent lay on the ground, swearing and crying, and the other soldiers looked on with disbelief. He eyed the rest of the men and sized them up one by one. No one wanted to meet his gaze. “Anyone else feel like playing? How about taking on my girlfriend? She’s tougher than I am, and she’d probably beat my record.”

  Point made, Stander watched the action with a grin on his face and clapped his hands at the conclusion. “I approve of this training!” He stared at the blubbering hulk on the ground. “Hawkins, get on your feet, you slob.”

  After his man did so, Stander ordered, “All right, everyone, gear up! We’re going to go over the plan and get things straight before moving out. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

  Ten minutes later, the men were ready, decked out in full battle gear, carrying machine guns, pistols and stun grenades. They wore light-brown camouflage uniforms and helmets, along with intercom devices. Hawkins was last to line up, massaging his throat, and he glared at Paul before taking his place. “The plan is simple,” Stander informed them, as he spread out a map on a table inside Big Bertha.

  All the soldiers surrounded the table, staring at the map intently. Ooze busied himself by looking at the control systems, as if familiarizing himself with their functions. He then set up his computer and began to type something in, all the while remaining silent while Paul and Angela listened in.

  “Intel says some creatures were spotted here yesterday,” Stander continued and stabbed his forefinger at a spot on the map. “They killed a farmer, tore his throat right out, then went on a spree and burned down his house, along with killing his family. The authorities were alerted by someone who saw the smoke, and eventually they contacted us.”

  “Question, sir,” one of the men said. It was Miller, a swarthy-faced and thick-bodied individual with a large scar over his right eye. “How do we know the hostiles are still here?”

  “Observers say they saw some other…beings…enter the area just a couple of hours ago,” Stander said. “Maybe they’re there and maybe not, but our plan is to go in and sweep the area in teams of two. We find the opposition, and we take them down.

  “Angela, you’ll be our eyes and ears up top. The sand guy—”

  “His name is Sandstorm,” Angela interrupted.

  Stander nodded. “Sorry about that, Sandstorm it is. He’ll also do surveillance on the ground. Your friend Ooze has kindly given us your intercom wavelength signal,
so we’ll all keep in touch that way. He’ll be here with me in Big Bertha, keeping tabs on you.”

  “And where do I fit in?” asked Paul, eyeing the map. The field was immense. “This is a pretty big area you’re sweeping.”

  A sigh came from Stander. “I know. That will limit us, but I figure with Angela calling out some of the plays from above and you running on the ground below, we can compensate. According to Ooze, you can go around eighty or ninety miles an hour at top speed.”

  “I’m calling BS,” said Miller. “Even cheetahs don’t run that fast.”

  Stander eyed his man as a lab scientist would eye a virus. “You’ve already seen how he can fight. I’m willing to believe he can run as fast as the reports say he does. So that’s how it stands unless you have any better ideas.”

  No answer came, so looking at his watch, he added, “It’s now seventeen-hundred hours and getting dark. Hawkins, you’re at the wheel. Let’s move out.”

  Five o’clock, Paul mused. Night fell early here, but as Big Bertha got underway, he glanced out of the window and saw the first stars begin to appear in the sky. It was clear out, a good night for hunting. He only hoped that he and his new teammates wouldn’t be among the hunted.

  At five-forty, they arrived at their destination. Omaha’s fields were justifiably famous. Ordinarily they’d hold a bountiful harvest of corn and wheat and other grains. However, this being winter, the tall stalks drooped and their leaves had been blackened and torn by an early frost. An eerie silence pervaded the entire area. No whisper of air sounded, and the temperature was bone-chillingly cold.

  Drops in temperature didn’t bother Paul. With a hyper-charged metabolic rate and fur, he could withstand the cold better than most and his outfit, such as it was, consisted only of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Angela wore her leather outfit and cape, and Ooze remained in his containment suit. Sandstorm sat at Paul’s feet, an unmoving lump.

  The men had already gone ahead in tag teams, crisscrossing the area and talking in hushed tones to each other every few seconds via their com-links. “It’s time,” Stander said. “Good hunting to us all.” He clambered inside the truck then slammed the door.