“It’s quite amazing, really,” Dr. Amon Trofino said. His copper skin and green eyes were framed by the mask over his mouth and nose and the sterile cap over his dark hair. He wore a plastic shield and a full isolation suit over the whole getup. He gestured to the forty-inch LCD touch-screen monitor and the digital skeleton that pirouetted in slow circles on an invisible axis.
“What exactly am I looking at here?” Spears asked. The suit felt uncomfortably light for something that supposedly offered complete virological protection. He was used to wearing the kind of heavy body armor that could stop a fusillade of bullets, not this overpriced composite fabric. It didn’t help that he had neither the time nor the patience to wait for the doctor to cut to the chase. He needed to know every detail about his prey before he briefed his men, and he needed to know right now. After last night’s colossal failure, this was now a one-shot deal. They couldn’t afford to blow it again.
“This is a digital reconstruction of a helical CT scan. In essence, the thin, multiplanar slices were used to build a precise anatomical image from the inside out. Then we stripped away the soft tissue and musculature, which left us with this fully articulated skeleton and the complete vasculature system you see now.”
“Which one is this?”
“The largest one. The one we call Alpha. All of the others demonstrate the exact same traits, though.”
Spears stared holes through the doctor. When Trofino’s eyes met his, the man’s smile faltered. He cleared his throat and got right down to business. He avoided looking directly at Spears’s face again.
“As you can see, the bones themselves appear disproportionately wide. That’s a consequence of the widening medullary canals that run through them, due in large measure to the increased demand for blood flow and the corresponding expansion of the vessels that supply it. This reaction is typical of Thalassemia, an inherited form of anemia that requires frequent blood transfusions to compensate for the body’s inability to produce the necessary amounts of hemoglobin and red blood cells. What you see here, however…” Trofino tapped the screen and it zoomed in on one of the upper arm bones, the right humerus. “This here is atypical of the disease. With Thalassemia, you would expect to find thinning of the bone cortex—that’s the outer layer that provides stability and resists fracture—but in this case, you’ll notice that the cortices are actually thicker than normal. And note the distinctly white coloration. That’s not just dense bone. That’s mineral deposition. And not just any mineral. That’s iron. The bones are infused with so much iron that we dulled the blade on the Stryker saw trying to core a sample.”
“Are you telling me that their bones are somehow plated with iron? Like armor?”
“It would take a serious blow from an ax to break one, I’d imagine. We hope to commence with that level of testing soon, pending your approval.” He tapped the screen again and the image zoomed out to the twirling skeleton again. “And that’s not the half of it. Look at the skull.” He touched the cranium and the head drew into sharp focus. “The calvarium—the forehead from the brow to the hairline—demonstrates marked thickening. Again, as you would see with Thalassemia. Only instead of the pathological obliteration of bone, there’s increased density, as you can see. The same kind of iron deposits I showed you on the humerus. And right here…” He turned the skull on its axis so that it stared directly out at them and pointed first to the forehead, and then beneath each eye in turn. “…and here and here, you should see the frontal and maxillary sinuses. They appear dark on a normal person’s scan because they contain air, but these show a distinct lack of pneumatization, which means they aren’t hollow. The proliferation of marrow in the frontal and facial bones has obviously triggered hypertrophy, causing the bone to grow to fill those gaps. As a consequence, the bones, by nature, have to shift, causing the malar eminences—the most anterior portions of the cheek bones—to exert pressure on the developing teeth, forcing them not only downward, but forward and together, which is why it looks like they can hardly fit their jaws in their mouths.”
“That’s all very fascinating,” Spears said, drawing on the last of his patience before he ended up squeezing the doctor’s throat in his bare hands, “but that still doesn’t tell me what makes these things tick. Where are their weak points? How can I predict how they’ll react in different situations? All of this is excellent work. I’m sure it will help us develop this project down the road, but right now I need to figure out how to ensure the success of tonight’s operation.”
“You’re going to deliver it to me alive, right? You assured me—”
“That I would make every conceivable effort to take this thing alive.”
“A living specimen would potentially save us years of research and trial and error. We could move forward with testing in—”
“We’ve had this discussion already, doctor.”
Trofino opened his mouth to argue, but closed it when he saw the expression on Spears’s face. The color slowly drained from his cheeks as he regained his composure.
“We’re dealing with an extremely intelligent proto-human race that managed to remain undiscovered for countless millennia, even in this age when we’ve laid bare nearly every inch of the earth with satellites. This is a species not dissimilar to our own in cognitive functioning, but one whose physiology more closely resembles that of a Neanderthal. Pound for pound, its bones and muscles are far stronger than ours. This is a species that recognized the necessity for population control as a means of both survival and detection avoidance. This is a predator the likes of which we never imagined existed.” He paused. “Let me show you something.”
He toggled the image on the screen so that the bones vanished, leaving only a tangled web of arteries, veins, and internal organs.
“As I’ve said repeatedly, this specimen presents with all of the hallmark traits of Thalassemia. This is a condition nearly exclusively confined to a small Mediterranean population with its distant origins in Central Asia, from which they emigrated during the Seima-Turbino Phenomenon more than two thousand years ago. The exact same region where these creatures were found. Modern treatment consists of regular blood transfusions to provide the requisite hemoglobin and red blood cells, and even then, the bone cortices continue to grow thinner and thinner until they develop osteoporosis so severe that the bones become brittle and break. What you see here is the complete opposite. These things have figured out a way to not only counteract their physical mutations, but to use them to their advantage.So how have they been able to achieve this? They certainly didn’t have our medical knowledge, nor did they have the tools necessary to transfuse blood.” He tapped the bizarre image at center mass. “Look first at the stomach itself and the venous network surrounding it. See how their mucosal linings are bright white? That’s from iron uptake. It’s the same throughout the digestive tract. So what does that tell us? Iron, as I’m sure you know, is an integral component of blood, which we obtain primarily from red meat. An iron deficiency is one of the primary causes of anemia. From this image, we can infer that this creature has consumed copious quantities of blood, which caused trace amounts of iron to accumulate throughout its system over time. This isn’t a trivial amount of iron, either. We’re talking about accumulation you could scrape from the vessels with a knife. And where does the blood go once it’s been enriched with nutrients from the GI tract? It goes right to the liver to be filtered of impurities and toxins.” He widened the view on the monitor and tapped the liver. It was so white it looked like a solid triangle of metal, the filamentous veins leaving it like rays from the sun. “This much iron in the system would have killed a human being long before reaching these concentrations. These things have an uncanny metabolism, which incorporates the iron into the tissues instead of eliminating it as waste, and somehow manages to stave off the toxic effects. For us, a hundredth of the concentration you’re looking at here would signify a condition known as hereditary haemochromatosis, which limits life expectancy to forty yea
rs at the most. For these creatures? This is an evolutionary adaptation perfectly suited to their physiology, which, as you can tell, is markedly different than ours, despite the outward similarities. These things have adopted a means of transfusion that bypasses traditional vascular routes and allows them to absorb the red and white blood cells they need through their digestive tracts without compromising the integrity of the cell membranes.”
Trofino turned away from the screen and made an effort to look Spears in the eyes before settling on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder.
“So what does that mean?” the doctor said. He sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “This is a creature that has survived for tens of thousands of years at the top of the food chain. It bleeds its prey for sustenance using elaborate proteins that thin the victim’s blood. It has the strength of two men combined. It can see in the dark and has teeth that would make a lion jealous. And it has the biological compulsion to consume blood at a rate I would speculate rivals its need for water. This is the definition of an apex predator; a killing machine whose population is controlled only by the availability of prey, not by any form of societal constraint. You’re looking at a species that’s been honing the ability to kill, stoking its ferocious instincts, since long before our ancestors even dropped down from the trees. You want to know what you’re up against? This is the most perfect predator that’s stalked the earth since the time of the dinosaurs.”
“We’ve already demonstrated we can kill them, doctor.”
“You’re missing my point. Maybe you’ll be able to take this one individual down, but certainly not without casualties. The larger concern here is what if you don’t? What if this creature has learned from your previous encounters, as it has historically demonstrated it has the ability to do? The problem is…what if it escapes? What if you chase this thing out of the ruins and end up turning it loose on the city at large? You could wind up being responsible for countless deaths—”
Spears seized him by the front of his isolation suit and slammed him against the wall.
“It won’t escape!”
“Like last night?” Trofino said. His lower lip trembled when he spoke.
“You have something to say to me? Then say it.”
“Any ecological niche can only accommodate a small number of predatory species, let alone the sudden arrival of a new apex species. Even if we’re able to isolate the traits we’re looking for and somehow incorporate them into the DNA of a group of soldiers, we risk including the mutation that can only be satisfied by the constant consumption of blood. What if we turn an elite fighting force into this kind of monster? We’d be creating a predator we could never control, one that would not only attack the enemy, but all of humanity. We could ultimately be responsible for our own genocide.”
Spears bounced Trofino off the wall. The doctor dropped to his knees at Spears’s feet.
“Then you’d better not let that happen, doctor.”
“That’s my point,” Trofino said in little more than a whisper. “Without a living specimen on which to run the batteries of tests we require, we might not be able to figure out how to control the mutations in a human host.”
Spears bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. This definitely complicated matters, but the risk would undoubtedly be worth the reward.
“Then you’ll have it, doctor,” Spears said through bared teeth that glistened crimson.
He turned and strode out of the room without another word.
* * *
His men were assembled in the hanger when he arrived. The mercenary spark in their eyes told him that Ritter had already shared the details of his incentive arrangement, which he now had to amend.
“We need to take this thing alive, gentlemen. A kill in this scenario would be considered failure.”
The room echoed with their grumblings, but Spears waited it out, his eyes traveling across each of their faces in turn.
“A quarter of a million dollars to each of you when this thing is secured in the lab.”
Suddenly, he had their complete and undivided attention once more.
“I trust you’re all familiar with the contents of the crates behind you,” Spears said. He leaned over a table where the enlarged satellite image of the ruins had been overlaid with a film of cellulose acetate onto which the building blueprints had been copied. He tapped the picture as he spoke. “The plan is simple. We infiltrate the buildings at these four points. Here, here, here, and…here. We lead with the flashbangs to clear the immediate vicinity, then we discharge the contents of those crates and get the hell back out of there and take up the positions I’ve clearly marked on this picture: one of you at each egress, one more on each corner of the building complex. We hold that perimeter and make sure that it doesn’t get past us when it tries to flee the rubble.”
He could see the question in their eyes.
“I said to take it alive. I never said it had to be in one piece.” Spears smiled, eliciting the same response from his men. “Now get cracking. We still have preparations to make and not much time to make them.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Seattle, Washington
3:23 p.m. PST
“This is some truly amazing stuff, Officer Sturm! Truly amazing!” the voice on the other end of the line blurted the moment she answered her cell phone. “Tell me where you found it. No, wait. Tell me everything. From the start. Omit nothing. This has to be one of the most exciting days of my—”
“Slow down, Dr. Perriera,” Sturm interrupted. “I take it you recognized the symbols. Were you able to decipher any of them?”
When she and Porter split up after leaving the ruins, she had contacted one of her old undergraduate professors, who had referred her to Dr. Eduard Perriera. The professor of Ancient Mesopotamian Studies had sounded put out and only mildly intrigued, but had asked her to send along her pictures anyway. She hadn’t expected to hear back from him so soon, let alone with this level of excitement in his voice.
Sturm had been on her way home to try to catch a few hours of sleep while waiting for Porter to call her and make arrangements for the coming night when her ring tone had startled her so badly she nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. She must have started to doze off at the wheel. She turned right into the parking lot of a grocery store with a Starbucks inside of it and another free-standing drive-thru unit less than a hundred yards away, found a parking place off on her own, and waited for Perriera to continue.
“Not all of them. The writing is definitely a permutation of ancient Sumerian cuneiform, but some of the characters are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I was able to identify maybe a half-dozen words or phrases. I’m going to need more time if you want a thorough translation.”
“Can you tell me what you have so far?”
“Got an email address?”
Sturm rattled it off, fished the carrying case with her laptop from under the passenger seat, and opened it on the seat beside her. While she waited for the old Dell to boot up, she told Perriera about where they had found the etchings, but shared only the details he absolutely needed to know about the circumstances surrounding her discovery.
“I’m starting to think this might be an elaborate hoax, officer,” Perriera said when she was through. “If you’re telling me the truth, then someone could have just carved the symbols in hopes of generating a little publicity or a spectacle of some kind. They could have found the words I was able to translate in any number of texts and simply made up the rest.”
“It’s a possibility, doctor. However, for the time being, I’d like to approach this as though they’re genuine.”
“You know something you’re not telling me.”
The expectant silence on the line was interrupted by the chime of her email program downloading her mail. She opened the file Perriera had attached and stared at the document. The characters she had photographed formed continuous rows of arrows and lines without any apparent breaks for words or letters, but Perriera ha
d chopped them into smaller segments. The words he had identified were highlighted in yellow, and reproduced at the bottom of the page beside their translations. Early in the paragraph, he had highlighted , which translated to “mother die.” was repeated several times throughout the message. Any icy finger traced Sturm’s spine when she read its meaning.
“Blood,” she whispered.
Another word was repeated over and over, a good dozen times in just the sections she had photographed: .
It meant “scared.”
She remembered how the little girl had curled up in her lap and cried in her arms, how helpless she had seemed, how like any other child who simply couldn’t handle the terror of the world around her.
The worst was the very end of the excerpt, where the same word was repeated at least twenty times in a row. The uniformity of height and the clarity of the lines deteriorated with each instance to the point that the final occurrence trailed off the bottom of the wood.
She stared at the translation and felt the warmth of tears on her cheeks.
Alone.
Sturm closed her eyes and could see the little girl crying as she knelt naked in the darkness, scratching the word that summed up all of her fear and feelings of isolation and hopelessness into the wood again and again, before crawling through the rubble, curling up against the wall and covering herself with the cold dirt that was no substitute for a dead mother’s embrace, and trying to sleep in a frightening tomb far from her home.
“Officer Sturm?” Perriera said. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” Sturm looked out through the front windshield at a mother leading her daughter through the parking lot from the grocery store. Red ribbons flowed from the child’s pigtails, her mouth blue from the Ring Pop on her thumb. “I’m going to have to get back to you, doctor.”
“You’re going to tell me what’s really going on when you do, right?”
Predatory Instinct: A Thriller Page 17
