by Ben Horton
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ Cameron raised his hands. This girl was getting way ahead of him. ‘You’re saying Fry caused the explosion? Deliberately?’
‘Think about it: all the injured victims were taken to Fry’s private clinic instead of the hospital. Right after the “accident”, Fry made this big public announcement about how he was going to pay for special treatment, and make sure all those kids were given the best care possible. But surprise, surprise: so far none of them have managed to recover. Meanwhile – and this isn’t public knowledge, of course – all the bodies of the dead kids were secretly transferred from the city morgue to the lab.’
‘Wait,’ repeated Cameron. ‘When did you say this was?’
‘Twenty-seven days ago.’
‘Twenty-seven? I’ve been out of it for nearly a month?’
‘I’m afraid so. I know that’ll come as a shock.’
That was putting it mildly. Cameron shook his head. A month had never sounded so long before.
‘If you don’t believe me, take a look at yourself,’ said Rora. ‘Fry didn’t do all that work on you overnight.’
Cameron stared down at his right arm, where gears and pistons were still visible through the teeth-marks the Bloodhound had left in his artificial skin. What Rora was saying sounded impossible, but it did make a terrible, twisted sort of sense.
Rora pressed on relentlessly, hatred burning in her eyes like dark flame. ‘Then, a couple of weeks ago, we found out more. Before he disappeared, Jason managed to plant a remote microphone in the lab. From a couple of conversations we overheard, we learned that Fry was using the bodies he’d harvested from the accident to build new human–machine hybrids more powerful than anything he’d achieved before. That was when we realized what he was up to.’
‘What?’
‘He was going to use them to destroy the Monster Republic.’
‘But why?’ Cameron’s head was spinning. He couldn’t make sense of any of this.
Rora shrugged. ‘We’re a danger to him – the living proof of his botched experiments. If the Prime Minister’s investigators found out about us, he would be finished.’
‘So why don’t you go to the police?’
‘Yeah, right,’ snapped Rora. ‘Everyone in this town thinks Fry is their guardian angel. Who’s going to believe a bunch of freaky-looking kids? We’d end up being stoned to death by an angry mob, or banged up in another lab, with another bunch of scientists running tests twenty-four/seven. No thanks.’
Cameron felt stupid for having even suggested it. He’d just experienced at first hand how ‘normal’ people had reacted to seeing him.
‘Besides,’ muttered Rora, ‘we had a better plan. The first hybrid off this new production line was you. But it seems that you were only partially successful.’
Cameron remembered Fry leaning over him, delivering his verdict: Barely acceptable. He’d never had anything nearly as damning as that in his school reports.
‘Whatever the reason, Fry deactivated you while he built a second prototype,’ Rora continued. ‘But he didn’t throw you away. That meant that sooner or later he was bound to break you out of storage and work on you some more – but we saw our chance.’
Rora was growing more animated now. ‘From what we heard through Jason’s mic, we knew that you hadn’t been fully programmed when they shut you down. Not conditioned to obey Fry without question like the Bloodhounds are. So we figured that if we could spring you from the lab and get you on our side, we’d stand a chance of fighting back, whatever Fry had to throw against us. So that’s why I came to find you, and that’s why you’re here.’
‘No,’ said Cameron, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the words that Rora had spoken. He refused to believe it. ‘Cyborgs? Animal-human hybrids? A nutty professor working for the government blowing up a nuclear power station to create an army of mutants? This is science fiction, not something that happens in Broad Harbour.’
‘Really?’ Rora looked at him with disgust or impatience, Cameron couldn’t quite tell which. ‘You’ve seen yourself in the mirror. How do you explain it?’
Cameron turned away, staring into the night and hoping the darkness would blot out what he remembered of that reflection in the laboratory window.
‘I’m not sure what I saw.’
‘Yeah, right. Welcome to denial.’ Rora hopped off the bench and landed in front of him. ‘We’ve all been there, Cameron. And you know what? After a month or two, you can’t argue with the truth any more and you learn to accept what you are. But you, you’re special. And I’m Sorry but you don’t get the luxury of time. You have to wake up and accept what you are now.’
‘Huh.’ That sounded like a raw deal to Cameron.
‘And if you really need more proof, here it is.’ Rora glanced left and right, as though making sure there were no passers-by to catch sight of something they shouldn’t.
And then she changed.
It was like watching a werewolf movie. Rora’s already-dark eyes deepened to solid black and her fine auburn hair grew rapidly, thickening to fur all over her morphing features. Her fingers flexed and stretched, scalpel-sharp claws snicking out of the tips. Her mouth swelled and she peeled back her lips to reveal a serious set of fangs. She was still very much human-shaped, but there was more of the fox about her now than ever.
‘There now,’ she said. ‘That’s something you can’t argue with.’
She was right, Cameron was lost for words. All he could do was stare at her while his brain struggled to catch up with his eyes.
‘And before you ask – no, I don’t have a tail.’
For a moment Rora eyeballed Cameron. Then, almost imperceptibly, her mouth twitched into a grin, and Cameron found himself smiling for the first time since he had woken in the lab. It felt strange, as if his face had forgotten how to do it, but there was a funny sense of relief at the same time, even if it did hurt his stitches.
‘So,’ he said finally. ‘Fox. Bloodhounds.’ He gestured around the park. ‘Are you expecting a load of toffs in red jackets to come jumping over the hedge on horses?’
Rora’s smile faded. ‘This isn’t a joke, Cameron.’
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But if all this is true – what you said about me being the first of a new batch – then there could be more people like me.’ Cameron pictured a face exactly like the one he had seen in that reflection. ‘More monsters.’
‘Well, I guess we know which one of you is the brains of this outfit.’
Cameron’s heart skipped a beat.
He and Rora spun round simultaneously to face the figure standing in the shadows between the trees. The shape was little more than a silhouette, but Cameron knew who it was. He’d know her voice anywhere.
‘Marie?’
Part of him wanted to rush forward and give her a huge hug, but something stopped him. In the chaos of his visit home and their flight to the park, he had forgotten about her again, and he felt another hot flood of shame. Until now, he’d had no idea she was even alive. Would she understand if he told her how crazy things had been?
She stepped lightly towards him, her movements as graceful as ever, and Cameron suddenly felt ugly and self-conscious, wishing he could hide his hideous new face. Then he remembered – Marie had been standing just behind him when the explosion happened. She must have been hurt too.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. I’m better than fine.’
Marie’s voice was soft, but there was something in the way she spoke that unsettled Cameron. As she got closer, he prayed that she was telling the truth; that she wasn’t hurt or scarred.
Marie stepped into the light.
She had lost her lovely hair, he could see that much. It was close-cropped – like a soldier’s – and he thought he could pick out the ridgeline of a scar on the side of her head. She was wearing combat trousers and a short vest that showed off her slender waist.
Coming up close to him, Marie took hold of both hi
s hands and tilted her head towards him. Cameron gazed into her face, and suddenly he knew that everything was going to be all right.
Marie smiled her beautiful smile.
‘Reckon you can fly, Reilly?’
And then she hurled him halfway across the park.
chapter seven
school reunion
Cameron crashed into a tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him. But it was nothing compared to the blow he’d been dealt on hearing those words. It had been Marie’s voice, but the words had belonged unmistakably to Carl Monkton. Cameron had heard him use them at the power plant. But why would Marie be repeating them now?
Cameron was still struggling to make sense of it when Marie came striding over. Rora chased after her and made a diving tackle for her legs, but despite the fox-girl’s light-footed steps, Marie must have heard her, because she spun round, kicking out to send Rora’s small frame flying.
Cameron rose to his feet, but by the time he was up, Marie was right there in front of him again. Her fist shot out and punched him in the face, hard. Cameron staggered backwards, tasting blood. He touched a finger to his mouth.
‘What are you doing, Marie? What’s going on?’
Cameron’s brain couldn’t process what was happening. It was Marie he was looking at, but she’d never been violent. And certainly never so strong. He glanced past her to see Rora getting to her feet, clutching her side.
‘Dr Fry wants a word with you,’ said Marie.
‘OK. That’s good. I was just thinking I might turn myself in,’ lied Cameron, stalling for time.
‘Coming back with your tail between your legs?’ sneered Marie. ‘That figures. What a wuss – you make me puke.’ She mimed sticking her fingers in her mouth. ‘I don’t know why Dr Fry wants you back, but he does. So I think I’ll just keep batting you in his general direction.’
Marie punched him again, square on the jaw. As Cameron reeled away, she grabbed hold of his shoulders, slammed him back against the tree, and drove her knee into his stomach. He struggled to get his arms up to push her off, but she locked an iron grip around his wrist, then wedged her forearm up under his chin, pinning him in place. She thrust her beautiful face into his and he finally got a good look at her eyes. They were cold, like steel.
Marie’s eyes and not Marie’s eyes.
Cameron’s mind raced. Perhaps as well as enhancing Marie’s body with superhuman strength, Fry had done something to her mind. Hypnosis, maybe. Something that was making her talk and act like Carl. But even so, there had to be something left of Marie inside. Surely he could get through to her?
He could feel her arm against his throat, squeezing his windpipe closed.
‘Marie …’ he choked.
‘Marie. Oh, Marie,’ she whined, mocking him, and gave a horrible laugh. ‘I’ve got news for you, buddy. Dr Fry gave your girlfriend a new personality. Mine!’
Cameron’s stomach lurched sickeningly. It couldn’t be true. Surely even Dr Fry wasn’t twisted enough to put one person’s mind in another person’s body? It wasn’t possible. But even as he recoiled from the thought, part of Cameron’s brain was telling him that was precisely what had happened with Carl and Marie.
Marie smirked, tapping the side of her head. ‘Even if she was still in here, she wouldn’t touch you with a bargepole now, Reilly. What happened to Mr Good Looking? Do you know how many people Dr Fry had to use to stitch you together? You’re a walking school reunion.’
Cameron gritted his teeth, trying to force his one free arm up and lever her off.
‘Yeah?’ he gasped defiantly. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to use the girls’ toilets.’
That hit a nerve. With a roar, Marie – Carl? – lashed out. Latching onto Cameron, she hurled him through the air again.
Cameron landed in a heap. He was getting fed up with being thrown around. Grimacing, he flipped himself back onto his feet, braced to fight back. His opponent came at him with renewed enthusiasm, wearing a corrupted version of Marie’s smile, as if relishing the prospect of a scrap.
She lashed out with a lightning-fast karate punch, then another. Like in his fight with the Bloodhounds, Cameron’s body seemed to respond automatically, throwing up his arms to block. But somehow Marie’s fists snuck in past his guard, as if she knew where his parries were going to come from before he did.
Cameron felt his fists clenching, all set to throw a punch of his own. But then he looked over at his enemy.
Marie’s face stared back at him. How could he possibly hit her?
Forcing his arms down, Cameron backed up, trying to get quicker with his parries instead, doing anything he could think of to keep Marie at bay. She kept advancing, though, punishing him with another flurry of punches to the body, followed by a casual yet devastating spinning kick.
Cameron sailed backwards and landed in an untidy pile. Once more he hauled himself up off the grass as Marie came after him. Suddenly Rora appeared from nowhere and leaped between them, but Marie swatted her aside with a backhand blow that sent the fox-girl sprawling again. It was no good, Cameron was going to have to start getting creative or aggressive. Or both. Keeping his distance as best he could, he beat a fighting retreat across the park.
Scooping up a large rock from one of the flowerbeds, he hurled it in Marie’s direction. Without breaking stride, she deflected the missile with a casual flick of her wrist. An old log was dispatched the same way, exploding in a shower of rotten wood; she ducked swiftly under a swung branch. Soon Cameron was hurling park benches between them, even uprooting a lamp-post and trying to fend her off with that. But Marie evaded or parried everything he threw her way.
And still she kept coming.
Cameron couldn’t believe that just a few minutes earlier he’d been comparing himself with a superhero. He wasn’t feeling much like one now. Or if he was, he had more than met his match. Marie, or Carl, or whatever the two of them had become, was a monster and a half, both quicker and stronger than him. The ease with which she evaded Cameron’s obstacles was crushing. Finally she swooped under another thrown park bench and it was back to hand-to-hand.
That was it. Cameron realized he wasn’t getting a choice in the matter: it was hit back or be pummelled into the ground.
Marie swept at Cameron’s legs with a kick, but he jumped just in time, and hit out with a tightly bunched fist. It smacked Marie on the chin, jerking her head backwards.
‘That’s more like it!’ she said with a laugh, before launching herself at Cameron to repay him in kind.
Cameron reversed, ducking, and driving up with his fist. But she chopped the blow down. Back on her feet again, Rora suddenly came at Marie from the side, forcing her to turn and buying Cameron a window of opportunity to land some solid blows of his own.
For a moment Cameron and Rora had Marie on the defensive. Until Marie seized one of Rora’s arms and flung her like a rag doll into one of the broken benches scattered around their battleground. Then she was back to facing Cameron solo, and dishing out bare-knuckle blows and roundhouse kicks.
Cameron didn’t know how much more he could take, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Marie was just playing with him, delivering two good kicks or punches for every one of his that made it through her own defences.
Worse, every time he did land a blow, she just cracked an evil grin, while he winced inwardly at the thought of hitting a girl. When his knuckles slammed into her nose, it should have been a small victory. Instead, all he got was a queasy feeling as he watched the blood trickling down over her lips. Marie just seemed to be spurred on.
Finally she jumped high in the air while Cameron was glancing around desperately for any sort of weapon to hold her back. She came down on top of him and slammed him to the ground, a hand at his throat. Slender fingers that Cameron had only known as gentle and tender dug into his neck like steel claws. Her other hand was raised, bunched into a fist.
Cameron threw up one arm to fend off the coming punch, while his
other hand scrabbled to prise Marie’s fingers off his throat. He could feel himself beginning to black out. Sickeningly, he could also feel something in his right arm beginning to revolve. He knew right away it was the gun that had put a smoking hole in that Bloodhound.
No!
Last-ditch defence or not, he wasn’t having that weapon come out of him again. No matter what.
Above him, Marie seethed, pure hate gleaming in her eyes as she brought her fist down. Cameron twisted his head aside as far as he could and something in his skull clicked. Not like an idea lighting up – an actual, audible click.
Marie’s body jerked. Sparks flashed and sizzled all over her as she was flung away. She landed not far from Cameron, twitching and convulsing on the grass. There was a faint whiff of ozone and singed hair, and Cameron glimpsed a tiny blue spark spitting from the end of the middle finger of his right hand.
Another weapon. Some kind of Taser, he guessed.
Relieved and disgusted in equal measure, he struggled to sit up. Marie’s body was still jerking sporadically, but her eyes remained fixed on Cameron, burning with helpless rage.
‘Finish it!’ urged Rora, limping over, an ugly, vengeful expression on her face.
Cameron crawled towards Marie, leaning over his paralysed enemy.
‘It’, Rora had said, but Cameron only saw ‘her’. The thing lying on the ground might have Carl’s personality, but Cameron could only see Marie’s face. Could he kill her? He imagined that he could feel the weight of the gun lurking inside his arm. That would do the trick, for sure.
But he’d already made up his mind. He was not, under any circumstances, letting that gun out again – not ever. He could still smell the smoke of it in his nostrils, and see the wound it had made. He couldn’t do that again, least of all to Marie. He could hardly believe he’d forced himself to hit her.
No more.
‘How did you find us?’ Cameron demanded.
The sneer that crept across those familiar features did not belong to Marie. ‘You’ve got a built-in tracking device, dumbo.’
Rora grabbed at Cameron’s arm. ‘Then we’ve got to get away. Now. Kill it! We don’t have a lot of time!’
