by Greg Ballan
HYBRID
Greg Ballan
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Hybrid
Hadrosaur Productions
Smashwords Edition
Second Edition: June 2021
First date of publication: November 2008
hadrosaur.com
Copyright © 2008 Greg Ballan
Cover Copyright © 2021 Laura Givens
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be distributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
To my son, Thomas.
This book would never have come to be without your encouragement and honest critique. You're the best friend a writer could have.
Acknowledgements
A special thank you to my cousin, Lieutenant Colonel Chris Ross, and every other serviceman and woman who has sacrificed so much over the past several years for our freedom and safety. Chris, you are truly an American hero.
Prologue
Douglas Gillespie hated the fact that he had been stuck up here in the middle of nowhere for nearly six weeks. He cursed loudly as he swatted at a swarm of annoying horseflies buzzing incessantly around his head. Doug dreamed of a 5-Star Boston restaurant, cold champagne, and attractive companionship. Spending time in this hillside forest digging an illegal mining tunnel was not his idea of a good time.
If the environmentalists or the state government discovered this little enterprise, they would be jailed, and their corporation would be facing a lawsuit of bankrupting proportions. His attention left the annoying insects when his radio beeped.
"Go ahead." He lazily keyed the mike on his radio.
"We found something, something fantastic!" the voice screamed through his receiver. "You'd better get down here."
"What do you mean 'something'? Details, man!" Gillespie continued to swat at one extremely persistent horsefly.
"We don't know! You're the expert here, so you get off your ass and get in here!" the voice answered with hostility.
* * *
Michael Gibson had been digging preliminary mining tunnels for twenty-five years. He had dug for D'Biers Consolidated in South Africa, Exxon, and several other large companies. This dig was supposed to be a cakewalk. But ever since a whisper-silent helicopter dropped him into this area four weeks ago, he knew something was not kosher with this particular operation.
There were no access roads leading up to their site, so a helicopter dropped everything in the dead of night. The choppers never had any running lights, and never made any noise. The wind from the wash of their rotors was the only evidence of their presence. Gibson knew that these were not standard cargo birds either. He had heard noisy Bell copters, and loud, clanky Huey cargo carriers. These birds were different, even their rotors were near-whisper silent.
But since the tunnel collapse during the Exxon job, he hadn't been able to find any work. Gibson knew that he wasn't to blame for the accident; he had warned the petroleum company that tunneling under water was dangerous and unpredictable. When the roof of the tunnel collapsed, millions of gallons of seawater rushed in to swallow a small fortune in equipment and dozens of lives. Exxon blamed him. He blamed the company for ignoring his warnings. The end result was that no one would hire him with that accident hanging over his head.
This job was a blessing for him, in addition to being well paying. If he could bring this tunnel in on time and on budget, he'd be set for life.
He stared nervously at the small chamber they had blindly stumbled into. They had tunneled down into the mountainside nearly one thousand feet at a forty-five-degree angle, and then gone parallel about another two hundred feet, when they broke into a small chamber roughly forty feet in diameter. The walls of this chamber were polished mirror bright and covered with strange engravings. At the far end of the chamber, directly blocking the progress of their tunnel, was a large metallic doorway with two huge gargoyle-like stone sentinels at either side. When Gibson looked at the figures, he felt his flesh crawl with a deep ice-cold chill.
"All right, Gibson, what's so all-fire? Oh my God, what the hell is this?" Gillespie stared at the chamber with awe.
"You tell me," Gibson remarked
"I don't know. I'm a geologist, not an archeologist."
"Who do you think did this?" Gibson continued, peppering Gillespie with another question.
"Elvis." He looked at Gibson with a pained expression. "How in the hell would I know. Have you tried opening the door?"
"It won't budge," Gibson replied. "We took a sounding of the door. It's at least a foot thick; the chamber behind it goes on beyond the range of our meter. Oh, and the metal in the door registers like nothing we know of. The spectrometer is giving us readings I've never seen before. Whatever it is, it's more sophisticated than titanium or any other steel alloy we're used to. Whatever culture made this chamber and whatever is beyond was fairly advanced. I'd say we stop what we're doing and get some qualified archeologists and scientists in here. This find could be priceless. Hell, it probably is priceless."
"That would be nice, but implausible," Gillespie replied, knowing that this operation was strictly secret and strictly illegal. "Blast it or bore through it. I don't care. Just get us through."
"Are you crazy?" Gibson shouted. "We don't know what's behind this door. We don't even know if we can blow through it safely."
"You're supposed to be one of the best in the business; that's why you're here. We're not here for some relic dig. We're here to do a job. The company doesn't care about artifacts. It cares about profits and share value; and may I remind you that our percentages are at stake if we can't do this job on time. If someone was kind enough to tunnel for us, so be it. Our orders are to get this tunnel dug and get things prepped for the second phase of the operation."
Gibson shook his head. "Fine, you're paying the bills, but I'm on the record saying that this is a bonehead maneuver. If we blast, we risk bringing the whole hilltop down on ourselves. I'm not going to be standing here while tons of dirt and rock land on my head. This section of the mountain is already geologically unstable. We knew that going into this. That's why you hired me. If this tunnel collapses, where will the corporation's precious profits be then?"
"Then drill or cut or burn through. We'll get you whatever equipment you need," Gillespie responded.
Gibson thought for a moment. "I have an idea." He turned and headed out of the dark tunnel.
Gillespie watched him briefly as he vanished up the narrow corridor. He spun his head, studying the fearsome stone statues one last time before hurrying after the contractor.
* * *
Twenty-four hours had transpired since the team entered the strange chamber. Gibson and his work crew had emerged from the tunnel and not ventured back down since the initial discovery. Gibson had requeste
d a very specific large piece of equipment from an associate, and 'The Company' was having it flown in this evening.
Gibson's men were all whispering about the eerie feel the chamber had, and how reluctant they were to proceed any further. Gibson had to admit to himself that he too was nervous about violating the chamber without understanding what they were getting into. The massive stone gargoyles looked ominous and seemed to shriek of an unknown danger.
A large silent helicopter lowered a bulky crate from its winch. Five of his crew attacked the crate like busy worker ants once it touched the ground. The work party, followed by a curious Gillespie, ventured back into the tunnel and set up the formidable-looking device in front of the large door inside the tunnel chamber.
"What is that thing?" Gillespie asked, staring at the large device.
"This, my friend, is an argon laser," Gibson answered, patting the large emitter node. "It's one of three that have been developed for mining purposes, a by-product of the arms race of the 1990s. No explosions, no vibrations, we'll just burn clean through. I don't care what kind of metal that thing's made of, this puppy will more-than-do the job," he added. "Are we all about ready?" He placed protective goggles over his head.
All of the men stood behind the large laser platform, each one holding their breath in anticipation, anxiety, and fear.
"Fire in the hole," Gibson said as he activated the device.
A brilliant beam of reddish white impacted with the heavy door. Gillespie could smell something burning and saw the door glow with radiant heat. The weapon hummed with power as the generator increased its rhythm to accommodate the energy drain. Gibson knew the beam was having some slight effect, but wasn't cutting as effectively as he had anticipated. With trepidation, he increased the beam's intensity. The weapon chirped an octave higher. The door glowed brighter, and the circle of red molten heat increased in diameter another foot.
"We don't seem to be getting through," he shouted above the louder chirping.
"Can you increase the beam's intensity any more?" Gillespie asked.
Gibson nodded and increased the power to the unit by another twenty percent. "That's all she's got!" he shouted above the weapon's harmonic whine. "Any more and we'll fry the circuits for sure."
The laser beam was nearly blinding now, even behind the dark protective goggles. The additional power had done the job. A large section of the door literally fell away in a molten pool of metal. Gibson quickly shut the machine down and activated the liquid nitrogen cooling units.
"We'll give it some time to cool before we go in," Gibson said. "We don't need anyone getting fried by that molten slag."
* * *
Deep within the chamber, something stirred. It had been sleeping for over one-hundred centuries. A flash of light and some strange noises had disturbed its near-eternal slumber. The entity stretched itself slowly, flexing each claw, testing each muscle. It dug its claws into the rock and left four long scratch marks in the metal and granite wall. It slowly opened its eyes, which were a fluorescent blood-red and glowed like two fiery embers. The creature stood and unfurled its long serpent-like tail, whipping the tensile appendage back and forth.
It walked over to another creature next to it and affectionately stroked the large creature's hide. The second beast growled softly and moved a massive paw that was easily the size of a dinner platter. The first creature grinned, revealing large reptilian teeth.
Slowly, it made its way toward the opening, its senses alert for whatever freed it from its eternal prison. It hadn't fed for nearly ninety centuries. Those that were buried with it had been drained eons ago. Their dried remains still littered the cavern floor. It needed to feed. It smelled traces of food out beyond the opening. It relished the thought of hunting again after so long.
It approached the opening and caught the scent of primates. This was not the prey it had expected, but at this point, anything would do to satisfy its raging hunger. The primates were busily scrambling around the outside of its chamber, so it was able to step into the outer chamber unnoticed. It needed to feed. One of the primates turned, saw it and screamed. Then they all turned. It felt the waves of fear, and immediately consumed them, relishing the primitive emotions as a man in the desert would relish a canteen of cool water.
It rushed toward the closest man and caught him in a grip of iron around his throat. The flesh thing struggled and shrieked with fear. It savored each wave of terror, like a connoisseur appreciating an excellent vintage of wine. The man fainted in its grasp, providing it no more food. It casually crushed the primate's throat and tossed it aside, looking for its next victim.
* * *
Gibson's mind shrieked with terror as he heard the sickening crunch of bone. The god-forsaken thing had just killed one of his men and tossed him like a plaything. Gibson tried to reactivate the laser, but it was still in cool-down. He reached over for a pick and heard another scream. Gibson grabbed his makeshift weapon and charged the monster. He swung the pick with all his strength. His blow landed true upon the thing's massive shoulder, but simply bounced off in a shower of sparks.
Gibson felt something run him through, and he looked down, realizing the creature had just impaled him with its tail. He paused, staring at the creature's appendage in disbelief. He felt no pain when it pulled its tail free, just the taste of his own blood building up in the back of his mouth. He felt his lungs fill with blood, and tried to adjust his breathing shallower so he wouldn't cough.
"Oh, shit," he whispered as blood poured from his mouth. Gibson fell face-first into the stone floor, his eyes locked open in a dead man's gaze.
* * *
The creature quickly killed everyone else in the party and slowly made its way out into the world, a world that it hadn't seen nor walked upon in over ten thousand years. Its priority now was to continue feeding. The primates it had just killed could not satisfy its needs. It no longer felt starved, but it needed a purer form of fear. Fear was what it needed to survive. These men had that emotion, but neither strong enough nor pure enough to satisfy it or the other creature left behind.
Its primary job was to find food for itself and for the other. Its secondary goal was to destroy those who had imprisoned it and its kindred. The two creatures would gather sparse nourishment from these primates, and then, together, they would hunt down the race of non-primate beings it only knew as Espers.
Chapter 1
The Lexus SUV looked out of place among the more common automobiles as it pulled into Madame's Restaurant. A man in a suit stepped out of the car cautiously before he opened the passenger door. A short, stocky, elderly man slowly climbed down from the passenger compartment and gratefully took the cane the suited man offered. Both men approached the entrance to the restaurant and quietly entered the establishment.
A young woman in a waitress outfit approached them immediately. "Party of two?" she asked between chews of her gum.
The old man looked quickly around the immediate area, scanning booths and tables, obviously looking for someone in particular. "We're supposed to be meeting someone here: Tall, about six-foot plus, very long dark hair, blue eyes, medium build." He hoped she could place his associate on such a vague description.
"Right this way, Mr. Denton; he's expecting you." The waitress turned and proceeded to a back hallway.
Denton raised an eyebrow toward his companion and proceeded to follow the young woman. The hallway was narrow, barely wide enough for the two men to walk side by side. The hallway ended, emptying into a room the size of a master bedroom. The room was modestly decorated with certificates and a criminal justice diploma. There was a large computer suite at one corner of the small room that was sputtering paper from an ink-jet printer.
Denton quickly scanned the room. A series of personal photographs occupied a place of prominence on a small desk. He recognized his associate in a picture, and assumed the woman and child in the photograph were of some personal significance. Denton knew that people in his associate's lin
e of work rarely had many personal affiliations. He knew that was a blatant stereotype, but it was a judgment he validated from thirty years of experience. Spooks with wives and family were seldom worth the money they charged. Denton focused on the imposing figure that sat behind a large, out of place dining table. If this man had such affiliations, he was the exception.
The man had long jet-black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The white V-neck T-shirt did little to hide a well-developed upper torso, and powerfully developed arms. Denton judged his associate spent a great deal of time doing some kind of serious physical training. His build was not what would be associated with a body builder by any means. He lacked the sheer massive size that weight lifters possessed. His body seemed to be the build of an athlete – lean and muscular, but without the excessive bulk that could hinder mobility.
The man studied some reports intently, his eyes riveted on whatever the page said. Denton's eyes immediately fell upon the shoulder holster that held two auto pistols and four spare clips. Denton knew this was a formidable man.
Denton continued his scrutiny of the man as he sat behind the dining table with papers and photographs spread haphazardly in front of him. The man looked up and stood to meet his guests.
"Martin, come in, have a seat." He gestured to the table covered with papers and pictures. The man in the suit stood quietly by the entryway, his face expressionless as he assumed a guard position.
"How did we make out?" Denton asked anxiously as he took a seat.
