Capturing a Unicorn

by Eve Langlais

  “Hospitals can’t kick you out for no insurance.”

  “Can’t and don’t are two different things. It does happen, more than is perhaps admitted. And who can blame them? Why waste a bed on a dying woman whose only contribution to the world was not procreating?” Her words held a bitterness to them. She’d long ago decided to never have children. She wouldn’t subject a child to the upbringing she suffered.

  “How did Chimera find you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t really care. Suffice it to say, his lawyer showed up on my doorstep.” Which, at that time, was an alley near her last true residence. Manny, the shitty boyfriend, replaced her the moment he realized she wouldn’t be around much longer. “He told me I had a chance to live and it wouldn’t cost me a thing.”

  “Except your humanity.”

  At that she sneered. “Humanity never gave a damn about the men who thought they could use me. Humanity wasn’t there when I was coughing up blood, my belly a knot of pain from hunger and the cancer. But the Chimaeram Clinic was. They took away my pain by curing my cancer. For the first time in my life, I’m healthy. I didn’t even realize how much my fucked-up birth and upbringing hurt until all that pain was gone. And now you think you can stand there and tell me I made the wrong choice?” She shook her head. “I would make that same choice again and again. I would even do it if I grew a tail or turned into a damned unicorn with hooves and all.”

  “Unicorns are cute creatures, I’ll grant you that, but can you say the same of that leech thing upstairs? Or the tentacle monster in the basement?”

  “You call them monsters because they don’t look like you.”

  “I call them monsters because they tried to kill me.”

  “You kill.” Best not to think of the spots that sometimes preceded the scent of copper.

  “No, I don’t,” he huffed, trying to act indignant.

  “Really? Because I saw the traps you set. You eat meat.”

  “Small game, which isn’t the same—”

  “As what? You hunt to eat.”

  “I don’t hunt people, though.”

  “Neither are they. You keep saying the others are not human anymore, which means you’re just meat to them.” She smiled. Not a very nice smile, which was at odds with how she used to be. In that respect he was right. The treatment did change her. It made her able to speak out and stand up for herself.

  Ain’t no one putting me in a corner. Not anymore.

  “I can’t believe you just said that. That’s sick.” He fiddled with his phone, looking intently at the screen and tapping it.

  She frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Proving that even the most human appearing of you can’t be trusted.”

  “You were taping me?” she gasped.

  He at least had the grace to look sheepish. “You knew I came here looking for evidence.”

  “I didn’t give you permission to use my words. Or my face. Hand it over.”

  He shook his head and tucked it into his pocket. “I’m sorry, but I can’t keep you or this place a secret. The world has a right to know. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get the help you need. You’re not like the other monsters. We can save you.”

  “How dare you!” She sprang from her chair, every inch of her bristling. “Hand it over now.” She held out her hand.

  “No.” He backed away, and she stalked him.

  “I can’t let you leave with it.”

  Rather than reply, he gave her one last long stare and then bolted.

  Seriously?

  Did he not grasp she knew this place inside and out?

  The idiot ran for the elevator shaft, and she let him. With luck, he’d lose his grip and fall, taking care of the problem for her.

  Because he really didn’t want her catching up to him, not with the rage rising and the black spots dancing.

  That never ended well.

  At least for the person pissing her off. She might want to bring a rag to wipe her horn.

  Chapter Nine

  Oliver understood the moment he ran he put himself at a disadvantage. He didn’t know this place like Emma did, nor did he have monster strength.

  Good thing she is strong or you’d be dead.

  His damned conscience wouldn’t stop nagging him. It took issue with the fact he’d hurt her. Not physically, but he’d seen the betrayal in her expression as she realized their entire conversation was taped.

  It was an asshole thing to do, and quite honestly, the first three-quarters of the conversation almost destroyed his entire reason for making sure the monsters were destroyed. Then she called humans meat.

  Who the fuck did that?

  Monsters did. Which was why he bolted with the evidence rather than hand it over. She could threaten, but he didn’t think she would actually hurt him.

  He hit the opening for the elevator shaft and climbed through, casting a wary glance down. Knowing what lay below meant he couldn’t afford to slip. With the glow stick tucked between his teeth lighting his way, he began to climb, quickly reaching the fourth floor, making it almost to the second when he saw it, a sheet of black ooze creeping down.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He glanced down and saw the round oval of her face coming up behind him. Caught between a horn and a blood-sucking place.

  Luckily, he was also level with some kind of ventilation shaft. He wiggled into it, army-man crawling in the dusty space, his breath heaving hotly as he moved, wondering if he’d made a mistake. There was no room to turn around. No escape if something came at him from the front. No slowing down in case he was caught at the back.

  At a fork in the shaft, he went upward, not far, but enough that when he saw a grill, he kicked it out and spilled into a corridor on the third level. Surely that elevator wasn’t the only exit? He bolted for the far end of the hall, noticing the long line of windows looking into ancient labs. Labs he could oddly see. His step slowed as he realized some of the instruments glowed as if painted with phosphorescence.

  Or slimed by some new kind of monster.

  Oliver kept moving, his fast walk turning once more into a run, especially when he heard a clang behind him. He didn’t bother to look. Looking slowed a person down. Besides, he didn’t really want to know what chased him. An angry unicorn? An oil slick? Or something worse?

  And all I’ve got is a fork to stab it with.

  The far end of the hall appeared to be a solid wall of stone with a dead control panel beside it.

  “Dammit!” He kicked the dead end and felt something move. He stared at the stone façade and noticed a straight edge. A few of them, actually, forming a rectangle in the wall.

  He heaved and shoved and gaped as the wall moved, revealing a secret passage. He slid into a new hallway lined with doors, all of them shut and padlocked. The stench in this place unbelievable—and much like a plague hospital in a South American jungle he’d once visited for a story. He’d wager there was death behind those doors, but he didn’t have time to check. He ran to the far end, the door there giving at his push.

  He entered another abandoned lab and thought he’d hit a dead end until the glow stick he waved around showed a welcome sight. Grimy elevator doors, smaller ones, but they had to lead somewhere. His breath came in ragged gasps as he grabbed at the doors and tried to wedge them apart.

  Not even a tiny budge. He glanced around, convinced at any moment someone would jump in. The silence made every harsh breath too loud. A metal ruler left lying on a counter had just the right thickness to be wedged into the crack of the elevator doors. It broke before he’d managed to pry the doors an inch. An inch proved enough room to jam something bigger in the slit, the leg of a metal stool that made an awful noise—Wham. Wham—when he separated it from the seat by slamming it on the floor, his gaze still trained on the doors.

  Nothing came seeking the source of the noise, and with the broken leg, he heaved the doors wide enough to squeeze through and almost fall. He held on
with the tips of his fingers as a foot dangled in dead space. There was a ladder set within the shaft, and he began climbing it, his muscles screaming at him to take a break.

  His heart screaming at him he was going to die of a heart attack.

  But he kept going. Time enough to rest when he made it back to the surface.

  Somehow, he found the strength to climb and kept climbing even when he lost his grip on the glow stick. There was no going back. He kept going until his hands hit a blockage.

  “Shit,” he cursed. Now what? He glanced down, wondering if he should go down a level, pry open a new set of doors, but a sound from below decided him.

  He had to get out. He ran his hands over the debris. Parts of it seemed loose. He yanked at some drywall, and it went tumbling. He almost shouted a warning in case Emma still followed.

  I thought you wanted to get away from her.

  Away, yes, but he didn’t actually want to see her harmed.

  He kept pulling and tugging at the precarious rubble. Hope filled him when a sliver of light poked through. He yanked and pummeled some more at the wreckage. Cursed as dust silted into his eyes. He blinked through gritty tears and kept working at the pile until he was rewarded with more than a trickle of daylight. Shoving his shoulder into a chunk of concrete sent it sailing down, and the shaft illuminated.

  Something hissed, and the air filled with an obnoxious smell. A glance downward had Oliver gulping. The oil slick hung only a rung below his foot. It shriveled in the light, faint smoke rising from its skin.

  Much like a vampire, it fled the light of day, quickly oozing back down the ladder. One less thing to worry about. Oliver gladly went for the sunlight, wiggling through the hole he’d made, hoping he didn’t upset the ruins too much. He’d hate to go plummeting after making it this far.

  He eventually made it out and lay across a slanted hunk of concrete, breathing hard.

  I did it. Made it to the surface alive. With the evidence.

  “Give it.” Emma’s voice didn’t come from the hole he’d escaped but farther away.

  He sat up and glanced over the rubble. He was closer to the edge of it than expected, and Emma stood just beyond it, arms crossed, fully illuminated in the daylight. For a moment he was stunned.

  He’d noticed her as a woman before. Her petite frame shapely, her features quite lovely. Her horn quite noticeable. It was even more noticeable now, glittering as if covered in bling. And her eyes glowed like diamonds.

  “You know I can’t do that, Emma. But I promise I’ll get you help.” He pulled out his phone and began tapping, cursing as the weak signal threatened to cut out. He needed to get the video out there.

  “Bad.” A single word growled as if by a mouth that had forgotten how to form consonants.

  A glance over at Emma meant he saw her lower her horn and rub her foot on the ground.

  His eyes widened. “Emma, what are you doing?” Surely, she wasn’t about to charge him?

  She did, arms and legs pumping, her head down and the tip of it pointing the way.

  “Emma, no, you’ll hurt yourself,” he yelled.

  It didn’t slow her one bit. He winced in anticipation of the painful impact, when her body suddenly stopped running and arched. She let out a sound, “Aaah,” before crumpling to the ground.

  “Emma?” He stood and stared with incomprehension. Had she fainted?

  It was then the sound penetrated. An engine revved. He whirled on his slab and noticed figures jogging across the field, guns in their hands, and beyond them was a helicopter, black and unmarked, its rotors slowly moving, gaining power.

  Ah shit. The government had sent some goons. He glanced at his phone. The upload bar showed the video at sixty-three percent.

  “Arms where we can see them!” a big dude with a long duster shouted, leading the way with his weapon pointed out.

  “It’s okay. I’m not one of them,” Oliver announced and added, “I’m human.” He began jumping from slab to leaning slab, hands up, one clutching his phone. Here was to hoping his acrobatics to get off the rubble didn’t disconnect his signal.

  “Stop moving and state your name,” barked the dark-haired fellow, taking a stance while a golden-haired man with empty hands and a dark-skinned woman with two guns flanked him.

  He froze. “Name is Oliver Taylor. I’m—” He paused as his mind sought for a quick answer that didn’t involve the truth. “On vacation.”

  “Here?” queried the leader of the group.

  “I like hiking. In mountains. You find really cool shit.” He kept his hands raised and didn’t dare look at his phone.

  “What’s he got in his hand?” The woman had noticed, damn it.

  “Fuck he’s got a phone,” muttered the blond fellow whose hair tufted Wolverine style.

  “You better not be calling for backup,” grumbled the duster fellow. “Idiot. Drop the phone.”

  He could only hope the video made it. The cell hit the ground face down, hiding the screen. “I feel like I should mention that my travel plans are well known—”

  “Doubtful,” muttered the woman.

  “—and that it’s not like this place is a secret.”

  “Actually, it is. Which means someone opened their mouth and told you its location.” The dark-haired fellow glowered.

  “Does this mean we can’t just kill him and dump his body?” The woman’s cold, flat stare was scarier than the guns she held. He’d have to remember that when he wrote this chapter for the book. If he lived long enough to type it.

  “Hold on. You can’t kill me. People will notice.”

  “And? It’s not like they’ll know what happened.”

  The leader had a point.

  “Who are you? Government? Company boys? Mercs?”

  “How about none of the above? Now shut it for a minute while I talk to my team.” The leader kept his eyes on Oliver but addressed his companions. “Jayda, check on Emma. Luke, circle around the ruins and see if you can detect anyone else.”

  “Are you looking for more of the monsters?” Oliver asked, taking a chance and doing one final leap to the ground.

  The man’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t shoot. “You seen any?”

  No point in hiding them. Especially given the danger they posed. “There’s some giant octopus in the lake. And a vampire oil patch that moves around inside. Other than that, no one but Emma.” He shrugged. “But I’ve only been here like two days. For all I know there could be lots more.”

  “Who else knows you’re here?”

  Tricky question because, technically, no one did, but replying that way might see him buried in the ruins. “My family. I’ve been texting them and sending videos of my travels.”

  “Sure, you have. You came here alone.” More a statement than query. The guy smirked. “Hiking for pleasure my ass. What do you know about the Chimaeram Clinic?”

  Oliver countered with, “What do you know?” More than ever he was thinking this group might be military special ops.

  “You seriously think you can ask questions? Jesus, you’ve got balls. And I don’t have time for this shit. You’re coming with us.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think so. I know my rights. You can’t detain me.”

  “Aw, isn’t that cute. He thinks he has rights,” said by a sarcastic Jayda, who had Emma slung across her shoulders and was headed toward the helicopter.

  The sight had Oliver blurting out, “Where are you taking her?”

  Jayda whirled and walked backwards so she could toss him a smirk. “Bringing her somewhere safer than here.”

  “Are you going to kill her?”

  “Would it matter?” Jayda asked, pausing for his reply.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” groaned the dark-haired one. “I thought we were here looking for survivors.”

  “And looks like we found the most viable ones. The main tracks leading in and out from the ruins belong to her,” announced Luke, jogging up to join them. “Second fresh
er set also enter. His, I’ll bet.” The fellow got a tad too close for Oliver’s comfort and gave a big sniff.

  Which was weird enough, but the green glow in the guy’s eyes?

  Oliver’s stomach sank. “You’re not working for the government, are you?”

  Before Oliver could fully grasp and enjoy the shit he’d managed to fall in, the grim-faced fellow raised his gun and shot him. The last thing Oliver saw was the guy’s grin.

  “No. We’re the monsters you’re looking for.”

  Chapter Ten

  Emma woke in a bed. Not her bed in the clinic, she might add. The bleach in the sheets tickled her nose. And was that…? She smelled bacon!

  Which wasn’t something she usually ate, not since her change, but she recognized the scent of it. Her eyelids popped open, and she stared at the ceiling overhead. Watermarked popcorn texture with a sprinkler that had been painted over a few times. She sat up and stared around at the ugly room in consternation.

  It looked like a motel last decorated in the eighties or nineties with bold floral patterns and heavy dark wooden furniture with a television so fat it was a wonder the dresser it sat on didn’t collapse. The floor was scuffed wooden planks, the varnish long stripped. The walls were made of cheap fake panels no better than cardboard, papered to look like wood. One of her step-daddies had fixed the basement with it. Then put holes in it when he got drunk.

  There were no holes here yet but sconces attached to the wall with smoked glass shades. Currently unlit and yet the room was bright enough to see due to the curtains that didn’t quite fit the window they were stretched across.

  No one else in the room, but she could hear the low murmur of voices. Where were they coming from?

  Another sweep of the space showed a door partially ajar. It appeared to be where the bacon smell and voices wafted from. Emma slipped out of bed and noticed she currently wore a tracksuit. Clean and pink.