by R. T. Lowe
“Send it.”
He tapped the screen. “Make sure the volume’s on.”
“Okay,” she said a moment later. “I have it.”
Graham stayed on the toilet, phone pressed against his ear, listening to the video playing out in a much richer zip code than his own. He heard a man shouting and then a loud blast which he knew was a gunshot, a rifle firing off a single bullet into the forest floor. More shouts. Silence.
“What the hell are those things?” Connie’s voice whispered softly through the phone. “Meet me at the station, Graham. Now!”
Chapter 10
The Professor
Professor Malone dismissed the class ten minutes early, but just about everyone stayed in their seats, apparently fearing it was a first day hazing ritual and those who fell for it would be assigned an extra paper for their gullibility.
“Dismissed,” the professor repeated, and nodded firmly at the door.
“He’s intense,” Sophia whispered to Felix from the next seat over. “You think transferring into his class was a horrendous idea?”
Felix shrugged noncommittally as the class began filing noisily out of the room. “Depends who you ask. Just don’t let him catch you on your phone. Last semester a kid—”
“Felix! Felix August!” a voice boomed from the front of the room.
Felix sat up sharply.
Professor Malone was staring right at him (along with the students who hadn’t fled the room), waving him to the podium.
“Uh oh,” Sophia said softly out of the corner of her mouth. “What’d you do?”
Felix shared her reaction. He must have done something wrong, but what? Grades? It had to be grades, he realized, and a sinking sensation of being found out turned his insides to water. Malone was perhaps the toughest grader on campus, and even though Felix had crashed and burned on his Psychology final (he’d sat for the exam a complete wreck, sleep deprived and emotionally fried from dreaming about burning to death night after night), Malone had given him—gifted him?—an ‘A’. He nervously gathered up his backpack and coat and made his way down the aisle to the lectern, thinking Malone was about to break it to him a grading error had occurred and his ‘A’ was now, unfortunately, a ‘C’. In his head, he calculated his newly adjusted GPA and the outcome left him feeling a little sick.
The professor scribbled something on a yellow legal pad, one hand scratching idly at his thick black beard. “Give me a moment,” he said and Felix nodded, awaiting the executioner’s axe. Malone was average height and middle aged and up close he didn’t seem quite so intimidating. He wore dark pants and a black grandfatherly cardigan a shade lighter than the color of his skin. His head was shaved with a razor, the smoothest, shiniest dome Felix had ever seen, reflecting the overhead lights with the brilliance of a polished mirror. He had to force himself not to stare at it.
“So then,” Malone continued, settling his dark eyes on Felix, straightening his slightly hunched shoulders. “I saw you over the break.”
“Huh?” Felix responded, startled. “You saw me?”
“At the Home Depot just outside Cove Rock. I’m sure it was you. I meant to say hello, but it took me a while to find the color of grout I was looking for, and when I made my way back you must’ve already left.”
“So my grade’s…?” Felix muttered stupidly, his brain still stuck a few minutes in the past.
“Sorry?” Malone raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Home Depot?” Felix said quickly, voice pitching higher, scrambling to recover. The last thing he wanted was to suggest to Malone he suspected a grading error was the only sensible explanation for last semester’s ‘A’. “Yeah, I guess I was there a few times.”
“I have a little cottage on the south side overlooking that big rock out in the bay,” the professor said with a smile. “It’s been in my family for three or four generations. It’s not much, but it’s probably one of the better views in the area. I like to go in the winter when the tourists are away. There’s something peaceful about the ocean that time of year. Cove Rock too. Not that anything of interest ever really goes on there.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Except for recently—of course. That little matter at the Cliff Walk caught me by surprise. They say it’s five people now. I have friends there who keep me apprised of anything gossip worthy. Seems the town police have abdicated and handed the case over to the Feds.” He smiled knowingly at Felix. “Threw it at them is probably more accurate. I think the locals were in over their heads a bit.”
“Yeah,” Felix mumbled dully, recalling the carnage of that day. He’d killed the Protectors with their own knives (two hooked blades to the throat of the pretty girl who seemed so eager to end his life), a massive log that decapitated the man with the dark hair, fire, and in Tripoli’s case, an accumulation of terrible injuries. Then there was the Drestianite, Riley, who Felix had impaled through the chest with a steel bar when he lost his temper for the briefest of moments and focused his power, causing Riley’s car to explode in a blazing fireball. He could almost smell the sea salt in the air. And the smoke, the reek of burning tires and asphalt. “I’m sure they were,” he added, his voice sounding hollow.
“Anyway”—the professor snatched up his pen as if he had something pressingly important to write on his pad—“perhaps I’ll see you again there sometime.” He lowered his eyes and the ballpoint began flying across the paper.
“Sure.” Felix stood there a moment, uncomfortably, wondering why Malone was talking to him about the Cliff Walk when he’d barely said a word to him all last semester. Then he started for the door, and throwing a glance over his shoulder (the pen was still working furiously), made his way out of the room.
“I overheard,” Sophia said guiltily, waiting for him out in the crowded hall. “Guess he just wanted to let you know you’re neighbors? Kinda weird, no? I’ve never been to Cove Rock. Sounds nice.” She adjusted her glasses with the tip of her pointer finger. “You spend the whole break there?”
“Yeah,” Felix replied quietly, his mind still on his conversation with Malone. Sophia was right. It was weird. Why was Malone telling him about the Cliff Walk? Just local gossip, like he’d said? Or was it something more than that? A cold rush of fear swept over him. Does he know I was involved? Is that what he was hinting at? How could he? No one was there—at least no one who survived to see the next day. Malone must have just wanted to chat, he told himself. The discovery of the bodies at the Cliff Walk was a huge story, especially on the Oregon coast, so he supposed it was only natural for Malone to bring it up once he realized Felix had a connection to the area. The news coverage had died down of late, but Felix still couldn’t bring himself to watch it. Whenever it came on, he turned the channel or left the room.
“Hey!” Sophia blurted, suddenly looking very excited. “I finally discovered, well, something…I think. My roommate and I found a way into a dead campus building and there’s this staircase that goes to the basement. It’s pretty creepy down there.” She smiled, the creepiness clearly giving her a thrill. “We looked around until our phones died, but we didn’t find anything.” She wrinkled her brow, disappointed. “I think we’re going back tonight. I just feel like there’s gotta be something. Anyway, I thought you seemed interested in that stuff when we were talking about it before so I was wondering if maybe you wanna check it out with me some time?” She watched him, smiling with anticipation.
Felix studied her for a moment. There was something about her enthusiasm and the guileless childlike hopefulness in her eyes he couldn’t resist. “Sure.” He smiled at her. “What do I have to lose?”
Chapter 11
Demise of the Rational World
Downey’s common room was in an uproar, the dorm’s residents demonstrating their total disregard for the fire marshal’s maximum occupancy notice posted on the wall next to the vending machines in the corner. Felix hadn’t seen it like this since Dirk Rathman announced to the world he was the new Chief Spokesperson of the ERA. A
fter the conclusion of Dirk’s ‘media event of the century’, a group of students had raised their tiger tattooed arms, saluting Dirk and publicly declaring their allegiance. Felix remembered his surprise that so many kids at his school had joined the ERA. There were eight in the room that day, and this morning, on his way to class, at least a few thousand were out in The Yard. Amazing, he thought, how quickly things can change.
Then, quite suddenly, he realized why the ERA made him nervous: its militancy. The ‘army’ in Evolution Revolution Army had penetrated the mindset of its members. The ERA didn’t view itself as a traditional political party. It was a movement, a cult of true believers that would not be deterred from its mission of freeing the country from its yolk of fear and creating a new societal order meant to last for a hundred generations. They probably considered themselves passionate, Felix thought, but they were really just a mob of fanatical zealots, and as Felix considered the distinction, he felt goosebumps rising on his arms.
“What do you think this is about?” Allison said to him as they pushed their way through the room, finding Lucas, Caitlin and Harper sitting on a pool table outside the entrance of the cafeteria.
“Maybe Dirk’s resigning his position,” Felix joked, shrugging off the lingering chills whispering over his skin. He checked around for Fallon—Downey’s RD—thinking maybe she’d called a start-of-the-semester meeting to remind everyone of the thousand or so rules they were supposed to be following.
“Hey guys!” Lucas shouted, smiling broadly and looking like his old gregarious self. “If you wanna know what’s going on, you’ve come to the wrong place. Something really important’s coming on the news, but no one knows what it is.”
“Which begs the question,” Caitlin said to him, arms folded primly, “what we’re all doing here watching Wheel of Fortune when we could be having lunch?”
Harper smiled at Caitlin. Then she turned her deep blue gaze on Felix and arched her back in a slow languid stretch, the fabric of her shirt straining tight over her perfectly firm, perfectly round breasts.
Felix felt his eyes wander involuntarily over Harper, then, feeling his cheeks flush with warmth, he forced himself to check out the cafeteria. Only a few had taken advantage of the nonexistent lines. He smelled toasting bread and suddenly had a craving for a loaf smeared with crunchy peanut butter and raspberry jelly. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Anyone know what’s going on?” Allison shouted out to the crowd.
Several heads turned, but no one had an answer to what the news might be. Apparently, social media was abuzz over a ‘major’ announcement about ‘something’. Fortunately, they didn’t have to delay their lunches long. On the TV, a smiling Pat Sajak and his chromatically psychedelic wheel blinked out and the set of the Channel 8 newsroom came into view. The anchor, Connie Redgrave, wore a dark blouse and an even darker expression that informed the room she was about to deliver some very bad news. The room went quiet almost at once and someone had the good sense to turn up the volume.
Another shooting? Felix wondered. Or maybe an airplane went down again. Or was it something else this time? Something…worse?
“Good afternoon,” Connie began, unsmiling. “This is a channel eight news special report. Earlier today, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Buddy R. Shale, was found dead in his Maryland home, an apparent suicide. A letter found at his residence was provided to our sister station in Arlington, Virginia, and at this time, based on the opinion of handwriting experts, we believe it is General Shale’s suicide note. We have received a copy from our affiliate, which I will now read to you in its entirety.” She paused for a moment before she began. “‘Dating back four presidential administrations, the government of the United States has engaged in a program designed to create and clone human-animal hybrids. This program—known as the Number Project—was overseen personally by me under the auspices of both political parties, Republicans and Democrats. I recently discovered the human-animal hybrids we created—the Numbered Ones—were designed not to defend our country from foreign enemies, which was the program’s charter, but to defend those in power from our own citizens who might one day attempt to unseat them through the exercise of their constitutional rights. I was deceived, but that does not absolve me of my role in a project that not only violates international and U.S. law, but the fundamental foundation upon which this country was built. I will serve justice on myself as penance for my crimes. To those who would choose to doubt these claims, I have provided irrefutable evidence, a video of the Numbered Ones, and with this proof, my hope is that you, the citizens of this great country, will demand justice from those who sought to use these creatures to subjugate you and to strip you of your freedoms. God bless America.’”
Human-animal hybrids? Felix thought. The government created human-ani—? His mind froze on a memory of a creature snapping down at his face with enormous dagger-filled jaws, blood and drool dribbling from its mouth, burning his eyes, its putrescent breath as foul as a rotting corpse bursting from the pressure of decomposing gas. The memory was of Lofton’s creature. Not the government’s. The newscast was a lie.
Connie glanced down pensively for a moment and shuffled some papers, apparently collecting her thoughts. In Downey’s common room, the confused students looked at each other, most, it seemed, wondering if the broadcast was an elaborate hoax. Some kids on the lobby side were giggling and a few trickled back toward the cafeteria. Allison grabbed Felix’s arm, looking panicked, and gasped softly, “Do you see what he’s doing?”
Felix did, or at least he thought he did. Lofton was setting up the government, accusing the Republicans and Democrats of creating human-animal hybrids when the ‘Numbered Ones’ were Lofton’s creatures. But what video was Connie talking about? How could there be a video of those horrible things? Before he could answer Allison, Connie was speaking again, her smooth newscaster’s voice silencing the laughter and anxious whispers in the room.
“At this time,” Connie was saying, “we’re going to show you the video referenced in General Shale’s note.” She stared into the camera, her mouth set in a thin line. “I need to warn you, having watched this video myself, it is not suitable for children or for those unable to stomach graphic violence. This warning is not intended to titillate or to achieve higher ratings. My fellow Oregonians, and for those watching us now across the country on our affiliate stations, please take this warning seriously. What you are about to witness is real and as disturbing as anything I’ve seen in the nearly forty years I’ve sat in this chair. Brace yourselves.” She gave a nod to someone off set and the video began to play.
Wrinkly ravines of tree bark filled the screen, then whoever was holding the cell phone taking the video stepped around the trunk and suddenly there was an entire landscape of trees and a carpet of deep green vegetation. Felix could almost feel the forest through the screen, the rich hardpacked soil underfoot. The video panned to the left. Two people—their clothes indicated they were men, one in camouflage, the other dressed in orange—were embracing each other twenty or thirty yards away from the person recording the scene. Another man in hunting gear and a hat came stumbling around a grouping of trees from the opposite side, holding a rifle. He stopped and said something the phone didn’t quite pick up. He raised the barrel of his rifle and shouted, quite audibly, “I’m talking to you mister!” Then he circled around, stopped, and gaped for a moment. His gun fired into the ground and he twitched back in apparent surprise, the weapon’s discharge rolling and echoing through the forest. The one in the orange clothes let go of the other and he collapsed, and from the way he sagged down bonelessly, he was unconscious—or dead. The man with the gun looked down at the man on the ground, hidden under a dense tangle of ferns, and threw up. The one in orange spoke with the man gripping the gun though it was hard to discern their words, then very abruptly, he opened his mouth like a snake unhinging its jaws, his chin reaching past his sternum, appearing to stretch at least two feet from
top to bottom. In the common room, the students screamed as the thing—the Numbered One—flashed its shark like teeth, and on the TV, more of them—five? six?—had entered the picture, some on the ground where the other man had fallen, others approaching the man with the rifle. Then there was a flurry of movement: the man holding the gun was knocked down, his weapon ripped from his hands and thrown, pinwheeling and vanishing into the deep shadows; a Numbered One emerged from the tall vegetation with a long piece of something—a limb?—covered in bloody green cloth, and bolted away as more Numbered Ones chased after it, fighting over the body part, and then it sprang into the air and disappeared from view; more Numbered Ones arrived, moving so quickly they couldn’t be tracked, blending into each other and blurring in and out of the picture, jumping and scampering about, competing for whatever was left of the person on the ground. The man jumped to his feet, swinging a knife across his body, screaming angrily, the microphone only picking up the words, “…you ugly ass monster!” The Numbered Ones were all over him in seconds, biting into his neck and arm and then one clamped its jaws on his throat and he fell to his back with blood spraying in the air. The vegetation was scarcer where he had landed and the viewers were spared nothing. The Numbered Ones covered his body, ripping at him with their hideous mouths, tearing him apart like birds fighting over an insect.
Felix was reliving a nightmare. Unlike his classmates, he knew how it felt to face the creatures in the flesh. He could still feel their teeth cutting into his neck. He remembered their inhuman strength. The sound of their voices. The way they smelled. He wondered what would have happened if he’d come across more than just two creatures yesterday. The hunters in the video didn’t stand a chance against the swarm that had attacked them. What about me? Would I have fared any better against that many? Would I have survived, or would I have ended up dismembered and eaten? Next time—if there was a next time—he promised himself he wouldn’t hold back, he would go after them with everything he had.
