Behemoth (Apex Predator Book 1)

by David Meyer

  He closed the door to the Eye and dragged a few bodies in front of it for good measure. Then he gathered up his axes. Covering the blades, he returned them to his belt.

  He jogged to Morgan’s side. Her glassy eyes refused to focus. Her whole body shook like one of the incubators. The first hints of foam appeared at the corners of her mouth. She needed medical assistance and fast. But how the hell was he supposed to help? He wasn’t a doctor. Hell, he didn’t even know what was wrong with her. And he couldn’t exactly keep looking for answers, not with those big shot pricks trying to kill him.

  He wondered about Keifer, wondered why she’d ordered his death. Did she think he was part of Morgan’s rebellion? Had she somehow forgotten that he’d left the station five months earlier?

  Placing the rifle’s strap over his shoulder, he helped Morgan to her feet. Outside, he thought. Maybe fresh air will do her good. Admittedly, it was a dumb idea. But it was the only option he hadn’t tried yet.

  Morgan tried to walk on her own without success. It was like she’d experienced almost total muscle failure. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered.

  “Now you tell me.” Walking quickly, he dragged her toward the exit. He kept up a string of light banter, hoping to keep her from passing into unconsciousness.

  He stopped a few feet from the heavy door. Took a moment to adjust Morgan’s weight on his shoulder.

  Abruptly, the heavy door flew open. It crashed against the stopper then bounced back a few inches. Time slowed for a split-second and Caplan saw many things. He saw the dark clearing, the quiet fences. He saw flickering flashlight beams shooting across the grass, bathing everything in horrific light. He saw more scientists, technicians, and rangers, splayed out in the field, dead to the world. But most of all, he saw the grin. That nasty, toothy grin he’d first seen in Manhattan. He’d known the grin for less than a day. But it felt more like a lifetime.

  “Good, you’re still here.” Julius Pearson’s grin widened as he lifted his rifle. “Enjoy hell, Zach.”

  Chapter 44

  Date: June 19, 2016, 5:26 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH

  “Your face,” Caplan said, thinking fast. “Does it hurt?”

  A confused look crossed Pearson’s visage. His finger twitched, then paused on the trigger. “What?”

  “Well, it does now.” Caplan’s foot lashed out, slamming into the heavy door. The hinges squeaked as the door swung toward Pearson. It bashed into the man’s face, busting his nose wide open. Blood squirted everywhere and Pearson stumbled backward, clutching his broken proboscis and shouting curses at the sky.

  Caplan kicked the door again, shutting it. Then he retreated into the Heptagon, Morgan’s limp body still hanging from his shoulder.

  Scratching noises caught his attention and he looked at the Eye. The door was cracked a few inches and he could see a middle-aged man shoving it. It opened a little farther, shifting the piled-up corpses with it.

  Like all big shots, the guy probably fancied himself a badass. And who could blame him? Undoubtedly, he employed assistants who fawned over him, complimenting his wisdom and dynamism at every turn. Peons most likely begged him for favors and kowtowed to his whims, afraid of incurring his wrath.

  Caplan fired a couple of shots at the door. One of the bullets made it through the crack. The man screamed and clutched his side. Then he twisted in a violent circle and fell to the floor. Invisible hands dragged him away from the crack and the door slammed shut. Despite everything, Caplan grinned. Everybody’s a badass, he thought, until the bullets start flying.

  But Caplan’s triumph faded fast. Morgan was still dying. Pearson blocked the exit and sooner or later, the big shots would make it into the Heptagon.

  He peered at the other doors, finally settling on the one leading to the Barracks. The Barracks was wide open and thus, would be simpler to defend from attack. Plus, the clinic—really just a few beds and some locked cabinets full of supplies and antibiotics—was in there.

  He started forward, his shoulder aching under Morgan’s dead weight.

  “No,” Morgan muttered. “Research.”

  “Barracks has the clinic,” he said without breaking stride.

  Her eyes focused for a single instant. “Research,” she said with near-perfect enunciation.

  Caplan grunted, glanced at Research. He remembered the dead bodies strewn about the space. But most of all, he recalled the unlocked hatch, the dark shaft, and the 2-Gen monsters that were probably ravaging the Lab at that very moment.

  Acting against almost every bone in his body, he shifted toward Research. He had few, if any, illusions about survival. At this point, it was all about how he wanted to die. And the last thing he wanted was to give that honor to Pearson or a bunch of big shot losers. There’s always the bear, he thought crazily. Pyrrhic victory, here I come.

  Caplan opened the door and dragged Morgan to a chair. He quickly closed the door and, ignoring the creeping stench of death, began pushing cabinets, tables, and other heavy items in front of it.

  He couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls or door. But he knew the big shots and Pearson would soon come face-to-face in the Heptagon. What would they do when they saw each other? Exchange gunfire? Or warm greetings? The latter seemed more likely. After all, the big shots were likely Corbotch’s friends.

  “You need to go.” Morgan’s voice sounded faint and ghastly, like her mouth had been sewn-up with needle and thread.

  Muscles straining, Caplan pushed a heavy filing cabinet in front of the door. Then he ran to another cabinet and began to push it across the floor as well. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Gate … in the Lab. Leads outside.”

  Caplan paused. Perspiration trickled down his neck, soaking his sweat-stained shirt all over again. “There’s a gate down there?”

  She tried to nod, but her neck refused to cooperate. “That’s … that’s how we got our equipment into the Lab. And how we were going to get our animals into the Vallerio.”

  Caplan blinked. Although the revelation surprised him, it made perfect sense. The shaft was an entirely impractical way to move large objects or animals. For one thing, there was no elevator or lifting platform. For another, the entranceway dividing the security checkpoint from the Lab was simply too small to accommodate anything larger than people. And finally, the de-extinction program had been run in complete secrecy. Secrecy that would’ve been impossible to maintain the second a woolly mammoth tromped out of Research and into the Heptagon.

  “Where’s the gate lead?” he asked.

  “Short tunnel … to the cliffs … there’s a … a blind spot in Sector 12 …”

  That too made sense. Sector 12 was located southwest of Hatcher Station. It featured a small ravine lined by steep cliffs. A tunnel would only have to extend 100 yards or so to reach it.

  Caplan had plenty of questions. But one rose to the top of the heap. It was a question that, for some reason, filled him with unexplainable horror. “Who knows about the gate?” he asked.

  “People who worked in Research,” she replied, her voice growing softer with every word.

  “What about James?” Working fast, he began to pile smaller items—machines, tables, chairs, anything he could find—on top of the larger ones. “Did he know about it?”

  “Of course.” She spat foam from her mouth. “That’s … how he got the 1-Gens out of the Lab.”

  So, Corbotch had known about the gate all along. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he mentioned it? Why hadn’t he sent Caplan and Pearson that way?

  Caplan recalled the flight to Hatcher, the immunization shot he’d received at the hands of Pearson. He recalled the water-filled vials, the fabricated danger of HA-78. And he recalled how Pearson had vanished right when Caplan had entered Hatcher.

  The answer came to him like a bolt of lightening, sizzling to the deepest recesses of his brain and heart. And then he knew. He knew why Corbotch had recruited him. H
e knew how everyone had died. He knew everything.

  The whole mission was a sham from the beginning. Corbotch hadn’t picked him for his knowledge of Hatcher but rather, because he knew Morgan and the others. Because he could get physically close to them.

  Ever since he’d first seen the corpses, Caplan had puzzled over the deaths, over what had caused them. And now he knew the truth. HA-78 wasn’t fictional. It was a real virus, one that had been carried into the building.

  By him.

  Chapter 45

  Date: June 19, 2016, 5:34 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH

  The truth was too horrible to contemplate, yet impossible to ignore. Pearson had injected Caplan aboard the helicopter, supposedly to protect him from HA-78. But in reality, the injection had done something else.

  It had infected him.

  Caplan didn’t know the specifics. But he suspected he’d been turned into a modern Typhoid Mary. In other words, he carried a disease, but it didn’t affect him.

  Corbotch had never intended to raid Hatcher. Instead, he merely planned to use Caplan as a walking, talking biological weapon. Caplan would sneak into the building or perhaps, get caught trying. Either way, he’d eventually spread HA-78 to some of his former co-workers. They, in turn, would spread the disease to others. In Hatcher’s closed environment, 100% fatality was a near certainty. Then Corbotch’s guards could enter the building, secure the Lab, and get rid of the dead bodies. New scientists would be brought in to continue the research.

  The plan had experienced more than its share of hiccups. But Caplan had eventually gotten into the building and, unbeknownst to him, infected the others. Morgan, trapped in the Lab at the time, was the last person to contract the virus. That was why she’d outlived the others. As for Pearson, Perkins, and Corbotch, they were obviously immunized against the disease. Same with the big shots.

  His brow furrowed. But why? Why would Corbotch bother to immunize the big shots from some deadly disease? It wasn’t like he knew any of this was going to happen.

  A memory nagged in the dark recesses of his mind. Concentrating hard, he managed to grab hold of it. It was from earlier that day, in the clearing just after his fistfight with Pearson. Thinking hard, he slowly wrangled the rest of the memory into the light.

  “Zach.” Perkins hiked to Caplan’s side. “You look dizzy.”

  “I’m fine,” Caplan replied.

  “Sure you are.” He lowered his voice, extended a palm. “But if you start, I don’t know, foaming at the mouth later, take one of these.”

  Caplan eyed the amber-colored pill container, complete with child resistant cap. It was unmarked and filled with small white tablets. “You trying to drug me, Derek?”

  “It’s aspirin,” Perkins said, exacerbated. “Just the thing for headaches, muscle aches, ocular problems, breathing issues, and God knows what else. Now, do you want it or not?”

  Caplan exhaled. Then he grabbed the container and surreptitiously stuffed it into his pocket.

  The memory blinked away, returning to the comfortable darkness of Caplan’s mind. For a couple of seconds, Caplan mulled over Perkins’ words and the surreptitious way in which they’d been spoken. Foaming at the mouth … ocular problems … breathing issues … all delivered with a bare whisper.

  He reached into his pocket, wrapped his fingers around the cylindrical pill container. Extracting it, he knelt on the floor. Three separate beams of light struck the container, filling it and its white tablets with an almost holy glow. Was this the cure for HA-78? Had he been carrying it with him the entire time?

  A storm of new questions rained on his mind. Was this another one of Corbotch’s tricks? Or had Perkins broken ranks with Corbotch? If so, why?

  Morgan still sat in the chair, but just barely. Quickly, he popped the container open and took out a pill. He hesitated, but only for a second. She was already on death’s doorstep. How much worse could things possibly get?

  He inserted the tablet into Morgan’s foamy mouth. “Swallow,” he said.

  Foam gurgled in her throat.

  “Swallow,” he repeated.

  Her mouth closed over. Her throat vibrated. Then she went still.

  Caplan pried her mouth open, checked it thoroughly.

  No tablet.

  He watched her for a few seconds, full of hope. But she remained still. Her eyes looked moist and glassy. Her mouth continued to foam up like she had rabies. With a trembling hand, he reached for her pulse.

  Abruptly, Morgan twisted up and to the right, screeching at the top of her lungs. The chair slipped out from under her and she sagged onto the floor. Almost immediately, her body began to twitch and flop around like a fish trying to swim on land.

  Caplan grabbed her shoulders, tried to hold her down. But she bucked violently, sending him crashing into a table leg. The table jolted. Screws, batteries, pencils, and sketch pads fell to the floor.

  A loud crash sounded out. Caplan’s gaze shot to his makeshift barricade of cabinets, tables, and machines. He heard a fleshy smack followed by the door crunching against the barricade. One of the tables started to wobble. A box-shaped machine, propped on top of a tall filing cabinet, shifted a few inches to one side. The barricade was solid, but it wouldn’t last forever.

  “Zach …”

  Caplan looked at Morgan. Her eyes were still moist and glassy, but he saw a spark of life in them. Her lips had lost their bluish hue and her mouth no longer dripped with foam.

  His heart leapt to new heights. He wanted to grab her, pull her close, smack her a big wet one on the lips. He didn’t even care about the residual foam. “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “I nearly died.” She blinked a few times. The glassiness faded away. “And all you can say is, ‘feeling better?’”

  “What do you want? A poem?” He offered his hand. “Come on.”

  She gripped it. He pulled and she rose to her feet. He held her for a moment, staring deep into her eyes. God, he could swim in those eyes. They were almost enough to make him forget the past.

  Almost.

  Again, the door crunched against the barricade. Three or four grunts rang out in unison. The door shifted an inch, moving the cabinets and causing the box-shaped machine to tumble to the floor.

  Rubbing her eyes, Morgan broke away from his embrace. “Did you find any other survivors?”

  “Only ones who want to kill us,” Caplan replied.

  Morgan didn’t scream or break down crying. But the look of dull despair in her features spoke volumes.

  “I did this,” Caplan said. “I brought the disease here.”

  Her gaze shifted to him. Her brow furrowed.

  “Corbotch’s goon injected me aboard the helicopter,” Caplan explained. “I thought they were immunizing me against HA-78.”

  “But instead they infected you,” she said, slowly. “And you infected everyone else. So, why am I still alive?”

  “Because of this.” Caplan held up the pill container. “Corbotch’s pilot gave it to me on the sly. I didn’t understand why until just now.”

  “Let me see that.” More clashes and clattering rang out. Ignoring the ruckus, she took the pill container, opened it, and studied the tablets. Then she recapped it, handed it back. “Hold on to this.”

  “You want to study them?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about more immediate concerns. Without those tablets, you’ll kill everyone you meet.”

  Caplan’s eyes widened.

  The grunts grew louder. Flesh and muscle slammed into the door. Metal screeched as the barricade shifted a couple of inches across the vinyl flooring. A hand, clutching a pistol, snaked into the void.

  Caplan pushed Morgan to the ground. A couple of gunshots, all wild, streaked overhead. Then the hand disappeared and the assault on the barricade started up again.

  Caplan eyed the myriad of weapons littering the floor. “We can hold them off,” he said. “But not forever.”

  “Then it’s time
we make our exit.” Morgan crawled under the nearest table. Caplan followed suit and they made their way to the back of the room. Upon arriving, Morgan rose to her knees and grabbed the hatch’s handle.

  Caplan frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

  “The gate’s in the Lab.”

  “So is the bear.”

  She gave him a little smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

  “Let’s just say being bear food isn’t on my bucket list.” Caplan’s face twisted in thought. “Will the gate even work without power?”

  She nodded. “There’s a crank mechanism.”

  “And after we get through the gate?”

  “We enter a short tunnel. It opens up into a natural cave in Sector 12. After that …” She shrugged.

  Due to the steep cliffs, few animals bothered with 12 and thus, it was almost always free of predators. But what would they do when they got there? They couldn’t just sit around, twiddling their thumbs. Sooner or later, Pearson would show up, probably with the big shots in tow.

  The smart move was to head for the helicopter, to seize it. Yes, that could work. If they were fast, they’d only have to deal with Corbotch and Perkins. And Perkins had already secretly helped Caplan by passing on the pill container.

  Caplan grabbed the metal handle and helped Morgan pull. The hatch yawned open. He stepped over to the ladder. Stared into the dark shaft.

  I must be out of my mind, he thought.

  But he grabbed hold of the ladder anyway.

  And slid into the waiting darkness.

  Chapter 46

  Date: Unknown; Location: Unknown

  “What’s he doing up there?” Mills fixed her gaze on the metal ladder and accompanying shaft. A dull thumping noise, coming from high above, filled her ears. “Running laps?”

  Elliott kept her focus locked on a wheel-shaped object. Constructed from a tough, opaque plastic-type material, it measured about four feet thick and roughly twice that in diameter. “Probably seeing how fast he can pat himself on the back.”