Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2

by Amy Cook

  “Flail Chest. What is that?” Harley asked, voice thick.

  “Flail Chest is where adjacent ribs are broken, in multiple places. This causes the bones to detach from the rest of the rib cage, leaving them to float below the rest of the bones. When the patient breathes, the bones move in opposite directions. The detached segments press inward on the lung, causing severe pain and reduced oxygen intake along with bruised lungs. The condition is often times a life-threatening one.”

  Pell watched curiously as Harley’s face paled, his fists clenching at his sides.

  “But she’s gonna be okay?” the Hybrid inquired once more, clearly needing to be assured. Interesting. Satisfied with what he saw of her hip, Dr. Brent put away the wand. He grabbed out his stethoscope to listen to the girl’s lungs, and checked the pulse at her wrist.

  “Provided we can keep her stabilized here, that we can warm her up and get her safely out of the grasp of hypothermia, I think she should be able to heal, in time; barring the introduction of infection, of course. My main concern lies in her lack of responsiveness. But that could simply be the body’s way of healing after such an ordeal. I believe you call it a Collapse.”

  Harley’s eyes widened. “She’s not like us,” he argued.

  “She’s not that different from you though, either, is she?” Dr. Brent studied Harley closely for a moment before nodding resolutely. “Monitor her for signs of worsening. I think she will recover just fine, with time and rest. There is not much else I can do for her, given my limited resources, and I assume the hospital is quite out of the question. So we will simply have to hope for the best.”

  Harley balked, again uneasy with the doctor’s carefree delivery of his knowledge of their kind. “What do you mean?”

  “Obviously you don’t like hospitals, or you would have taken her there instead of having a veterinarian come to the rescue. Or maybe you did, and they simply wouldn’t take her in, because of her association with your nature.” Dr. Brent nodded. “A foolish venture, that one. I often say stupid travels faster than the common cold.”

  Harley shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at the tattoo on the side of his neck.

  “Besides all that, you’re hardly my first Hybrid introductions,” Dr. Brent added, a mysterious twinkle in his eyes. Pell’s eyes widened.

  “You do this often?” Harley frowned suspiciously.

  “I know quite a bit about your kind, actually. Honestly, I’m a big fan. You are marvels among humankind. My knowledge has come from those of your kind that I have aided in the past. Don’t ask for names, I won’t give them. Patient confidentiality, remember?” He winked jauntily. “In return for my aid, I just asked for knowledge. I am curious by nature and I admit that I fancy myself a bit of a collector of knowledge, on the subject of Hybrids.” He shrugged, standing and stretching his muscles.

  “I must be going. I have a cow giving birth sometime tonight, and I like to be there, just in case. Besides, it’s a miraculous thing watching pure life being brought into this world.”

  Harley’s outstretched hand stopped the doctor in his tracks, and they all stared as Dr. Brent’s hand rose to meet Harley’s in a civilized handshake.

  “Thanks,” Harley stated simply. The doctor grinned broadly, tipping his hat before heading toward the stairs.

  “Pellerton, I trust you’ll remember your exercises from now on?”

  Pell nodded quickly. “Of course, Doctor Brent.”

  “Well then. Good night to all.” Dr. Brent offered one more nod before slipping out of the gym. The remainder of the group sat in a heavy silence for a long moment.

  “Well, then.” Pell rubbed his hands together with a loud clap that startled everyone. He smiled apologetically. “I must be getting back to Foundation.”

  Charleen nodded. “All three of you go. I’ll stay here with Amiel.”

  Harley’s frame stiffened, eyes stormy and dark in an instant. Cajun hunched forward slightly at Charleen’s side, ready to defend his mate, even against his brother.

  Pell’s thirst for observation and curiosities instantly sparked to life. The inner workings of Hybrid hierarchy was a truly fascinating subject to observe. Charleen was seen as the head of all Hybrids, as she was the first created, and it was from her DNA that the rest of the Hybrids came into being. All Hybrids deferred to her. Cajun and Harley were equal in their placement below Charleen, both seen as generals of different areas of the Hybrid army.

  At times, the three of them worked together seamlessly. Other times, Charleen even seemed to take a backseat to their wishes, if it fit well enough to her liking. But times like now, there was contention. Those below her in command did not always feel as though her commands were in the best interest of themselves, and they rose up in defiance. Harley wasn’t outright challenging the woman, simply standing his ground and letting her know he disapproved. Had he been challenging, things would have gotten swiftly ugly. As it was, Charleen held up a hand to stay Cajun, then stepped forward, her posture strong and regal. Despite the fact that Harley towered over the woman, she managed to somehow appear the tallest, the aura of power she was born with radiating outward.

  “You will go back to Foundation, Harley. You will check in and behave as you must. I will stay here with Amiel until your return.”

  Harley clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to bow beneath her command. Her eyes hardened.

  “I understand your connection with the girl is deep, and I promise you that she will come to no harm so long as I am standing watch. However, this is not open for discussion. You will go and do as you are instructed, or your entire farce will be uncovered. Foundation allows you the freedoms you enjoy because you have earned them through your loyalty. If you flout their rules often enough, you will give them reason to believe that your loyalty is waning, and they will act accordingly. They will punish you — and her.”

  She nodded toward Amiel’s prone form on the couch, and like the melting of a glacier, Harley’s shoulders lowered, his tense muscles relaxing. It was clear he still didn’t like leaving his charge’s side in her vulnerable moments. But he understood the dangers involved if he didn’t, and he understood that the command Charleen gave was just.

  “Ripper!” Cajun grunted, his grin coming back to full force. “We’ll travel together, then.”

  The ride back to Foundation was tense, a thick silence in the air. Pell tapped his fingers on his legs, quietly bouncing up and down in his seat in his efforts to weather the silence. He wasn’t good at silence. They finally reached Pell’s car where he’d parked it two miles away from Foundation. They tried to enter and exit separately, in an effort to avoid links between their friendships. If Foundation knew that Pell hung out with the Hybrids as often as he did, they would surely pack him up and send him elsewhere. At the least. He didn’t want to think about the other options they would pursue if they found out about his connection with them.

  Pell hopped out of Cajun’s car and drove himself the rest of the way to Foundation, knowing Cajun and his brother would hold back until he’d been there for at least ten minutes. The two-mile drive was filled with his loudly singing every obnoxious song he could think of in an effort to release some of the pent-up energy he’d been holding back in that stony silent SUV. The guard at the gate rolled his eyes and ushered him through the gates, and Pell spent the next twenty minutes going about his usual activities at Foundation. He was reviewing slides on his projector when he heard the knock on his door. Opening it wide, he found Cajun and a grumpy Harley on the other side.

  Chapter 14

  Harley

  “Come on in.” Pell waved them inward, and Cajun immediately followed. Harley, however, hovered at the door.

  “Ain’t so sure I wanna see what ya got goin’ on in that dark room of yours,” he admitted gruffly. Cajun cleared his throat, saving Pell from finding something to say in reply.

  “We need to talk about that, Harley. Get your lumpy arse in here.”

  “Only thing lumpy ’round
here is your head,” Harley grumbled, grudgingly walking into the room. Despite his trepidation, his eyes landed on the slides of some sort of medical crap on the projector screen. He grunted, but didn’t say a word. Cajun cleared his throat again, slapping Harley on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about your bird, mate. She’ll be right.”

  Harley nodded stiffly, eyes shifting toward the door in a way that showed his restless urge to return to the girl in question. Cajun opened his mouth then, releasing a heavy sigh filled with confession.

  “Oh, and I lied about Pell having a thing for old-lady porn. He’s actually just helping out of the goodness of his heart. G’day then!” Cajun turned on his heel and quickly ran out of the room, leaving Harley and Pell to stare at the slammed door behind his retreating form. Harley’s mind ran over what Cajun had just confessed, measuring its merits. Harley had known Cajun was lying to him about something the day he told Harley about Pell’s dirty secret. He just hadn’t known which part.

  Oddly enough, he’d never considered the old-lady stuff to be the lie. He’d assumed that Cajun was hiding something else about his connection with the guy, the amount of things he held over his head and how he pulled the strings. Cajun’s confession tonight, however, hadn’t held an ounce of deceit. It would seem he owed the dweeb a lease on a second chance. That fact didn’t grate on his nerves as much as he thought it should, which meant he must have some sort of respect for the nerd, on some level. When he turned back to look at Pell, he found the guy wasn’t actually grinning like a doofus, for once.

  “So, he lied?” Harley offered as a sort of line in apology. It was more than he offered to most people.

  “Oh, merciful Klingons, yes. Truthfully, old people terrify me.” Pell shuddered dramatically, and Harley couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Old people. Old people terrify you?”

  “Do not underestimate the power of an old, wrinkly face to give you nightmares, my friend,” Pell stated, dead serious. “Trust me, I have good reason.”

  Harley sighed. “Okay. I’m probably gonna regret it, but I gotta hear this.”

  Pell swallowed hard. “See, I had this great-aunt, Gerty. She had huge, bug-eyed glasses, no teeth, was battier than a loon, she spit when she talked, and she had the nasty tendency to pinch my cheeks and ears. Occasionally she and her friends even pinched my bum.” He shuddered again.

  “My parents made me go visit her in the old folks’ home all the time. I think it was so that they could get out of doing it themselves, yet still seem like an involved family. I would sit there for hours, dressed up in this itchy wool suit, wedged into the middle of a couch between my aunt and all of her friends. They’d force me to play backgammon, Mexican dominos, and they even made me crochet with them.” Pell’s eye twitched at the memory, and Harley fought the grin from his face.

  “When infection broke out, I was fifteen, still sitting there in a horridly itchy suit, playing games. Imagine it, Harley. Old people galore, crawling about on the floor, dragging themselves toward you, chasing you in their motorized wheel chairs. I was lucky; most of them didn’t have their teeth in. They just left big, slobbery, suckerfish-like spots all over me. I escaped through the ventilation system using a pair of knitting needles and a yarn scarf. Don’t ask for the details, I won’t tell them. Suffice it to say, I barely made it out alive.” He drew the last sentence out word by word, haunted eyes gazing into the distance. Harley stared at him for a long moment, before patting the dude on the shoulder.

  “Fair enough. Good night, Pell.” Turning and walking toward the door, he couldn’t help calling over his shoulder. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the old people bite.”

  Pell shuddered hard, cringing as he continued to stare into space.

  “They’re so scary!” the nerd whispered, in a traumatized tone. Harley grinned, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter 15

  Amiel

  Amiel floated in a fog. She was aware of what was going on around her, to some extent. She felt warm and comfortable at the sound of Harley’s voice; she recognized the harmonious cadence of Cajun and Charleen, the energetic tones of Pell. She could hear them, but not understand what they were saying, as though her mind was incapable of deciphering what their words meant.

  She puzzled over the addition of a different voice, the voice of a man she didn’t recognize. She was distantly aware of hands touching her, something sliding along her skin. Part of her was panicked by this idea, the unnatural sensation of the touch. Yet the majority of her felt comfort in the knowledge that Harley was nearby; she knew he would never let someone else touch her in an unsavory way. She trusted him indefinitely.

  “You are a bit of a sap sometimes.” The voice in her head startled her. Amiel sat in a stunned silence, floating about in her personal fog.

  “Who are you?” No reply came, the silence deafening. She fought for some sort of control, even just a semblance of it to regain her footing. The darkness around her lightened to a gray fog, and slowly her body took shape, though it was obviously not her real body as it wasn’t completely solid like it would be in a natural setting.

  “Where am I?” Amiel wondered aloud, staring at the gauzy nature of her hand. Her eyes lifted, catching movement ahead. The mist shifted, swirling until it formed a mirrored replica of herself. The girl before her grinned, and Amiel felt her stomach bottom out from the surreal nature of it all.

  “Where aren’t you?” the voice returned, issuing from the girl’s mouth. Amiel’s eyes narrowed in thought.

  “I know you. Your voice — I’ve heard it before.”

  “I am you,” the woman stated simply, but Amiel shook her head in denial.

  “No, you’re different. Something about you isn’t the same.” Amiel hesitantly strode closer for a better look. The woman’s lips quirked as Amiel zoned in on the differences. Her hair was different: it was shoulder-length, wavy, and carried honeyed kisses of highlights. The biggest difference, however, was the eyes, which were a light, sandy brown.

  “You’re me, but you’re not. I don’t understand,” Amiel admitted, confused and unbalanced.

  “What is there to understand? You are me, and I am you. Fairly simple, I would think,” the woman replied saucily. “Don’t overcomplicate things. Just think of me as your personal Jiminy Cricket.”

  “Then… I am talking to myself?” Amiel questioned.

  “So it would seem.” The replica’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Amiel shook her head.

  “None of this makes sense. What’s happening? This can’t be real.” She paused, struck by a horrified thought. “Am I dead?”

  “Nothing so dramatic as that. You are merely… sleeping.”

  “Sleeping,” Amiel mused, glancing about at the gray fog. “Then this is a dream.”

  “So to speak.” The woman again offered that mysterious Mona Lisa smile.

  “Well, how do I stop? Where’s the exit?”

  “I am afraid you can’t do that just yet.”

  “I need to wake up. I don’t like this place.”

  “Why? I find it rather comforting.” The woman’s voice took on an almost hurt inflection, indignant that this dreamscape had been insulted.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” Amiel frowned, annoyed that she was apologizing to herself even in her own dreams. Harley was right; she had an issue with too many apologies. And yet, that was who she was. It felt rude not to apologize. Sighing, she just went with it. “It’s just that I feel too disconnected here. I feel vulnerable, and I don’t like it.”

  “You are vulnerable,” the second Amiel agreed. “But you have those that are watching over you. Is that not enough to please?” Again, the woman’s tone sounded oddly defensive. Amiel put a hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling so very tired. Out of nowhere, a chair formed beneath her, and she sank into it gratefully. The woman came forward, crouching down before her with a worried expression.

  “You do not feel well,” she said, without the le
ast bit of question in her tone. Of course, considering the woman was apparently just a mental apparition of herself, she should know exactly how Amiel felt.

  “No, I do not. I am very tired; tired and confused.”

  “I understand. You have been through a lot.” The woman nodded solemnly. Amiel watched her closely, feeling an odd sense of kinship with herself in that moment. A thought struck then, one that felt oddly imperative.

  “What do I call you?”

  “I am you,” came the repeated answer. Amiel shook her head.

  “No. That feels wrong. You have to have a name, and it’s not Amiel. I can’t talk to you and call you me… it’s just disturbing.”

  The woman’s head cocked to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face as she gazed up at Amiel.

  “Then you may call me Bryn.”

  “Bryn. That’s nice. It fits you.”

  “Thank you,” Bryn whispered in an almost pleased tone, her gaze becoming assessing, as though seeing Amiel in a new light. Amiel shook her head, wondering at her sanity. She was floating in a dream land, speaking to a version of herself that was different yet oddly right, giving it names and a personality. She needed to wake up.

  “Bryn, please tell me how to wake up.”

  “You know you can’t do that yet.”

  “Why? Why can’t I?” Amiel argued irritably. She hated this feeling of detachment, the sensation of floating, having no contact with the outside world or her true body.

  “I think you can solve that question yourself,” Bryn stated, that mischievous grin back at the tips of her lips. Her eyes held not an ounce of doubt in Amiel’s ability to sort it out on her own. Amiel paused, sifting through her mind, searching. The answer came slowly, as though pulling it through mud. And when she voiced it, she almost wished she hadn’t.