by David Meyer
Unless they were the terrorists.
Chapter 33
Date: June 19, 2016, 3:52 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
“Zach?” someone said in disbelief. “Zach Caplan?”
“What the hell is he doing here?” another voice called out.
More questions rang out. But they soon gave way to a sea of angry shouts and accusations.
“He’s with Corbotch!”
“He’s one of them!”
“Kill him!”
And so on and so forth. For almost thirty seconds, the scientists squabbled amongst themselves. Caplan found it almost amusing, watching these grown-up brainiacs playing at professional terrorists. They looked so eager, so willing, yet so pathetically out of place. Sort of like a terrorist B-team. Or C-team. Hell, make it the Z-team.
Still, they had guns aimed at every inch of his body. And their trigger fingers had all the steadiness of a junkie going through withdrawal. So, he made no sudden moves, silently praying they didn’t accidentally turn him into Swiss cheese.
GRRAAWWRRR!
The roar, the most massive one yet, sent a stunned silence through the crowd. Gritting his teeth, Caplan watched the trigger fingers. They flinched wildly, but not quite hard enough to send steaming hot bullets spiraling through his guts.
Heads swiveled back to Research. Eyes focused on the door, the warning sign. Caplan saw his opportunity. Scanning the room, he focused on another door, the one marked Operations, and prepped for escape.
“Don’t even think about it.” Amy Carson, a redhead with a thick Canadian accent, slid in front of Caplan, blocking his path. She was a tough old vixen with a triangular face and hollow eyes. “How’d you get in here?”
Caplan tried his most winning smile. But sheer exhaustion left him looking like a deranged clown. “You left the door open.”
“Sutter,” Carson called out. “Secure the entranceway.”
Jillian Sutter, a pretty genetics expert with the personality of a wet tennis ball, gathered up her rifle and slid into the corridor.
Carson glanced at Caplan. Her mouth worked in overdrive, chewing every bit of flavor out of a wad of bubble gum. Her pistol, sized just right for her claw-like appendage, was aimed directly at his crotch. “Are you working for Corbotch?”
He nodded at the pistol. “Could you point that somewhere else?”
She flicked her wrist and the barrel slammed into Caplan’s right cheek. His head exploded in pain as it whipped to the side.
“Let’s try that again.” She shifted her aim. “Are you working for Corbotch?”
So, they knew Corbotch owned the Vallerio Foundation. He found that surprising. Carefully, he touched his jaw. Tasted blood on his tongue. Then he nodded at her pistol, which was now aimed at his eyeballs. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s much better.”
Her finger started to squeeze the trigger.
“Okay, okay.” He stretched his aching jaw. “Yeah, I’m working for him. So what? Last I checked, he signs your paychecks, too.”
Her eye sockets sunk into her head. “Why’d he send you here?”
Caplan thought about HA-78 and the antibiotics in his bag. He needed to distribute them as quickly as possible. But to whom? What was going on here anyway? Why had this collection of eggheads turned on their employer? “He received garbled transmissions about a terrorist attack,” he said, deliberately staying as vague as possible. “He asked me to lend a helping hand.”
“Like the one he offers his enemies?” She sneered. “No thanks.”
GRRAAWWRRR!
“What the hell is that?” Caplan glanced at the Research door. “A bear on steroids?”
“None of your business,” Carson replied.
Metallic crashes, distant but still loud, wafted into the Heptagon. Whispers and murmurs died away as the brainiacs cast petrified, guilt-ridden looks at one another.
“We can’t just leave them down there.” Jermain Bernier, an oily little guy with a creepy mustache, swallowed hard. “We have to help them.”
“Who?” Caplan knew the answer even as he asked the question. “Who needs help?”
“Amanda Morgan. Bonnie Codd and Zlata Issova, too, although we think Zlata might be …” Bernier trailed off, a look of profound sadness upon his visage.
Caplan clenched his jaw. Cowards, all of them. Standing around like idiots, wringing their hands about whether or not to do something. Well, not him. Shoving some gawkers out of the way, he strode toward Research.
“Hold it,” Carson called out.
Ignoring her, Caplan twisted the knob and opened the door. Inside, he saw more gawkers, their flashlight beams aimed at the far side. Annoyed grunts and surprised gasps rang out as he pushed his way through them.
He stopped in front of a metal hatch, hinged on one side. Although it lacked handles, it was ajar a couple of inches. He recalled what Corbotch had told him about the hatch, about how the terrorists had hacked into its security program. That was how HA-78 had been released in the first place.
He studied the hatch for a moment. Obviously, it required electricity to open and close. But since it was already open, he figured maybe it could open a little farther.
He reached out. Grabbed the hatch’s open side with both hands. Metal groaning, he began to pull it upward.
“Stop, Zach.” Gun at the ready, Carson ran to the hatch. “I mean it.”
Caplan shot a withering look at the triangular-faced vixen.
She licked her lips. Inhaled, exhaled. Then she lowered her pistol.
Caplan waved at her gun. “Give me that.”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
While she glowered at him, Caplan turned toward the crowd. He saw plenty of familiar faces. “I need a gun.”
He heard some shuffling sounds. A few whispers. But no one stepped forward. Looking down, he eyed his axes. Guess it’s just us, he thought.
GRRRAAAWWWRRRR!
The sound shocked Caplan into action. Gripping the ladder, he climbed into the shaft. Almost immediately, a strong smell of wet fur accosted him and he wrinkled his nostrils in disgust. He’d smelled fur before, but nothing quite this gunky and greasy. “What’s down there?” he asked.
Carson’s eyes bored holes into his. “Your worst nightmare.”
Chapter 34
Date: June 19, 2016, 4:02 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
Caplan clambered down the ladder, Carson’s cryptic words still ringing in his ears. His worst nightmare? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Deeper and deeper he spiraled into the shaft. His throat clenched up involuntarily with every roar, every inhuman grunt. And still, he went on, driven by memories of Tony’s fate. By an overwhelming desire to save Amanda Morgan.
By a soul-deep need to earn her forgiveness.
Light from the overhead flashlight beams began to fade. He glanced at his watch. His spine iced over as he noted the time. 4:02 p.m. Less than one hour to go.
Less than one hour until Hatcher became a cemetery.
As he descended, he thought about the antibiotics stored carefully in his backpack. What should he do with them when he returned to the upper floor? Should he hand them out to the brainiacs, even though they were behind the attack on Hatcher? Or should he focus on getting them to the dignitaries and trussed-up guards, thus dooming the brainiacs to certain death?
He maintained an even pace, the soles of his trail-runners scuffing gently against each metal rung. Why had the eggheads revolted in the first place? What was their grievance against Corbotch? Was it possible they were the good guys in all this?
Another roar knocked that thought right out of his head. He chanced a look at the ground. It was too dark to see anything, but he could still sense the creature. He could feel its heat, its energy. He could hear its rapid breathing, deep-throated grunts, and heavy paws slapping against the tough floor. And he could smell
its greasy fur, its feces, its ripe body odor.
He resumed his descent and didn’t stop until he reached the floor. Then he shrugged off his pack and set it next to the ladder. Hopefully, the syringes would be safe there.
Reaching to his belt, he drew his twin axes and peeled off their covers. The axes felt like kid’s toys in his hands. But they were all he had, so he clung fast to them.
He looked around the dark, shadowy room. It was difficult to see much. His eyes quickly adjusted, however, and he noticed broken tables, busted machines, shattered glass, blood smears, and bullet-ridden concrete pillars. It looked like a security checkpoint, albeit one ravaged by gunfire. Still beats the Bronx, he thought.
Clanging pipes and growls drew his attention to the opposite side of the room. He noticed an entranceway, surrounded by shards of glass. It led to a dark void, dimly illuminated by scattered sparks and flickering flames.
He slid along the floor, inch by inch, carefully avoiding the glass. And all the while, he listened to sounds of rampage coming from the void. He heard hollow metal pipes banging against solid metal objects. Heavy machines slamming into the floor and breaking into millions of pieces. Furious bellows followed by paws thumping against the floor.
His adrenaline went through the roof. He itched to rush into the void, to take down the creature and get Morgan to safety. But the growls gave him pause. They reminded Caplan of a full-size bear. Which was a bit of a problem. How was he supposed to battle a creature that could rip him in half? And it wasn’t like he could lead it away, giving Morgan a chance to escape. A grizzly, capable of speeds up to thirty miles per hour, would chase him down with ease.
He paused at the entranceway. Up close, he saw the void was really a gigantic room filled with pillars, oddities, and gizmos. Smashed generators, stricken with fire, were positioned near the walls. Strange skeletons, mounted on platforms, occupied much of the floor space. They were large, almost dino-sized. But they looked more like … well, like nothing he’d ever seen before.
He noticed individual stations, hooked up to machines and monitors, positioned between the skeletons. Most of them looked empty, like a bedroom without a bed. But a few of them held giant silken pods, reminiscent of the ones he’d seen in the Vallerio. Great, he thought. As if things weren’t already creepy enough down here.
A hulking shadow, black and covered with fur, shot across his line of sight. Speedily, it clambered up a staircase onto a ten-foot tall platform in the middle of the room. It rose up on its hind legs before flinging itself onto some wooden tables, dashing them to smithereens.
Caplan’s eyes widened. No way I’m arm barring that thing into submission, he thought.
The creature twisted in a half-circle. Then it twisted back again. Slowly, its body unfolded, growing taller and taller. It didn’t stop until it had reached its full height for a second time.
GRRRRAAAWWWWRRRRR!
It’s been supersized, Caplan thought, recoiling in shock. The creature definitely moved with the grace and power of a grizzly. But while the largest grizzlies topped out at about ten feet on hind legs, this thing was closer to twelve feet at full height. And while giant grizzlies might tip the scale at 1,500 pounds, this particular creature looked to be some 500 pounds heavier.
The creature fell to all fours. Tipped its head to the roof and sniffed the air. Then it slipped off the back end of the platform. Its paws slapped the floor.
Caplan waited for more sounds of movement. But instead, an eerie silence fell over the room. His eyes flitted from left to right. His breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes upon two bloodied and mangled bodies. They belonged to Bonnie Codd and Zlata Issova, both of whom had worked in Operations. He considered them friends and their deaths hit him hard.
Caplan gripped and regripped the axes. He was sorely tempted to race into the room, to find the creature and ravage it with his blades. But he forced himself to stay cool, focused. Morgan was still alive. He couldn’t see her or hear her. But he could feel her. He could feel her adrenaline, her beating heart. She—not vengeance—was all that mattered now.
GRRRRAAAWWWWRRRRR!
A giant black mass slammed into the entranceway. Startled, Caplan reared back and fell on the floor, crunching glass beneath him. Wide-eyed, he watched the creature press against the frame. Its left arm, covered with wiry black fur, reached into the security area. It swiped at Caplan, stabbing its long claws at empty air.
Caplan backed up a few inches. The creature looked even bigger from close-up. His original guess as to its identity—a bear on steroids—seemed particularly fitting. But why would Morgan and her fellow brainiacs—a hodgepodge collection of geneticists, biologists, and other -ists—want to do such a thing? What purpose did it serve?
The giant bear strained at the entranceway for several seconds. Then it withdrew its arm and vanished from sight.
Caplan exhaled a sigh of relief.
Abruptly, the creature’s massive head poked through the entranceway. Its eyes, fluid and lava orange, bored holes in Caplan’s forehead. Slowly, it bared its teeth, spitting and drooling on the floor. Then it roared again.
Caplan’s brain tried to come up with a little quip, a joke. Anything to break the wall-thick tension. But he was too terrified to think straight.
The giant bear rammed its left shoulder into the entranceway, squeezing partway into the security area. It strained for a couple of seconds, kicking dust and debris into the air. Then it backed away, only to slam into the entranceway yet again.
Caplan scrabbled backward like a crab. He’d never felt more outmatched in his life. Forget his axes, forget guns. He’d need a damn missile to take out a creature of that size.
Again, the creature backed away. And again, it rushed forward on all fours, crashing into the entranceway and sending sharp vibrations through the surrounding walls.
Think, Caplan thought. Think!
The creature’s rear left paw scratched against the ground, searching for purchase. Its front left arm pressed against the entranceway as it tried to force itself through the too-narrow gap.
“Hey!” A voice, one Caplan hadn’t heard in many months, rang out. It was licorice-sweet, but full of menace. “Over here!”
Caplan perked up at the voice. It gave him meaning, purpose. But it also filled him with anger. Damn it, Amanda, he thought. You’re going to get yourself killed.
The bear’s front and rear paws froze in place. Its torso twisted toward the room’s center.
Seizing his opportunity, Caplan leapt to his feet. Racing forward, he plunged both blades into the creature’s front left arm. Blood spurted out, wetting the creature’s wiry fur.
Roaring with pain, the bear lashed out. Its left arm smacked into Caplan. Stunned, Caplan fell to the floor. Then the creature yanked itself out of the entranceway and raced toward Morgan’s voice.
Caplan touched his chest and winced. No broken ribs, but he’d have a nice bruise by morning.
Assuming he lived that long.
Still clutching the axes, he struggled to his feet. He felt faint, woozy. Shaking it off, he looked into the large room. The creature bounded onto the platform, bellowing with fury. It knocked over a bunch of tables, scattering them to the lower floor. Then it began slamming its paws into the platform.
Caplan snuck into the room, taking cover behind one of the skeleton exhibits. Peeking out, he watched the giant bear rip a piece of metal away from the platform and knock it in Caplan’s general direction. The metal hit the floor and bounced a few times. Squinting, Caplan saw copious amounts of blood on the metal. Amanda’s blood? he wondered. Or the creature’s?
There was no time for a blood test. Obviously, Morgan was hiding underneath the platform. A platform that was seconds away from being completely dismantled.
“Hey, furball,” Caplan shouted, holding his axes aloft. “How’s your arm?”
The creature’s head spun toward Caplan. And suddenly, Caplan felt very small and insignificant. Probably shou
ld’ve thought this one through, he ruminated. And then he was running for his life.
With a mighty roar, the creature leapt off the platform. It smashed into the skeleton, knocking over the metal support structure. Bones launched into the air, spinning like so many Frisbees.
With the bear in hot pursuit, Caplan retreated toward one of the many stations. He darted around a giant silk pod, eight feet wide and four feet tall. It was connected to a black box and looked similar to the ones he’d seen in the Vallerio. But he heard no thumming or thrubbing. Instead, his ears detected soft cracking noises and he felt vibrations coming from within the silken strands.
“Run, Amanda,” he screamed as he passed the pod and hurtled a pair of waist-high machines. “Get out of here.”
The creature veered off path, scampered across the floor and threw itself into the next station.
Arms flailing, Caplan slid to a halt just a few feet from the bear. He stared dumbly at its lava eyes, its bloody paws. Then he shifted his gaze to the creature’s wounded arm. “There’s more where that came from,” he said in the toughest voice he could manage.
Snarling, the creature advanced a few inches.
You’re talking trash to a bear, Zach, Caplan thought. Guess that means you’ve finally lost it. Slowly, he backed up, keeping the axes in front of him.
“Hey!” Morgan’s shout echoed in the room. “Did you forget about me?”
Her voice sent a shiver down Caplan’s spine. Obviously, she had no intention of leaving him to face the creature alone. That left him with two options. Defeat it or find a way for both of them to escape.
The creature shifted its gaze to the platform. Caplan did the same and saw Morgan. Her entire body, from her sweaty, bedraggled hair to her trembling legs, looked exhausted. But her gaze was one of pure defiance.
The bear started toward her, moving with great deliberation.
Caplan opened his mouth to yell at it, to goad it back in his direction. But that wouldn’t solve his problem. So, he raced back to the station. Muscles tense, he swung his axes at the pod. The silk-like strands vibrated, trembled. New cracks appeared and Caplan attacked with them with ferocity.
