CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN
Tonal fought alongside the resistance. Staying in feline form, she wreaked havoc among the military and became the nightmare of every government soldier. Whenever there was close combat, she would appear, killing her enemies indiscriminately and viciously. Her fame preceded her. Soldiers deserted as soon as they had any indication that she would be involved in the fighting. Nobody knew the full story—that she could change—only that a massive feline murdering machine was somehow on the side of the resistance, and that nobody could kill it. It was the devil incarnate.
Slowly but surely the resistance got the upper hand, gaining ground and support with every battle and every death. Key figures were assassinated, many of them killed by Tonal, their throats ripped out, strengthening the nightmare. Her recklessness fuelled the belief that she was immortal.
Supporters flocked to the revolutionaries. Adding to the power and might of the resistance. Victory was on the horizon.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
This was what we had been fighting for all the time. The final battles. Now that Alex was dead we needed to push our advantage quickly, make sure we had—and kept—the momentum.
But it was difficult. Alex’s death had touched us more than we would confess to.
Dulce was a wreck. Hector kept her out of the fighting for the first few weeks.
Jesus seemed to take out his guilt in endless strategy meetings, pushing the partisans even harder and blocking out everything but the final struggle.
Me, I just killed and killed. Trying to drench my sorrow and guilt in blood.
The enemies blood preferably, but in their absence, any animal in the jungle.
I killed for the killing.
The act itself a statement.
The violence was abominable and out of any context. Totally without restraint. I ripped the victims to shreds. On the battlefield I played with some of the enemy. Hamstringing them and then slowly, excruciatingly painfully, incapacitating them further to finally finish the job off and move on to the next one.
But it didn’t help.
I could still feel Alex near; could still hear him sobbing and begging for his life.
The loud sound of his neck breaking rang in my ears, overpowering everything else, even the cries of the dying. Every time I closed my eyes, I relived the scene in the Presidential suite. Tried frantically to imagine other outcomes—naturally to no avail. Besides it wouldn’t have helped, probably even made things worse if I had dreamt up an alternative, now, after I had killed him.
He filled my waking and the few sparse sleeping moments.
I let myself go. No restraints on the battlefield. I let the beast out. All self-control that I had spent years learning went out the window.
Blood and gore were my rewards. The killing went on and on and on.
But it didn't seem to help.
The peace I fought so hard to achieve eluded me. What had seemed helpful earlier to reduce the tension—killing the enemy—now only increased the red haze and blood-lust. I wanted more. What was happening to me?
Controlling myself was ever more difficult. Differentiating between friend and enemy was becoming vague and a chore. Besides Dulce, I avoided everyone. Growling when they came too close. The distance as much for their safety and for my sanity. Dulce; I shadowed. She was my friend and the only link to Alex. I convinced myself that I was protecting and comforting her, but it was a two-way street. Her closeness was necessary to keep that last little thread of my sanity.
But even that was eluding me lately.
Recently there had been voices in my head. My conscience probably. And the Primal urge. Both vying for my attention and support.
‘How could I do this?’
‘Easily, it’s in my nature.’
‘I have to stop.’
‘Why?’
‘Killing is unethical and runs against everything I believe in, every fibre in my body.’
‘Then why am I so good at it?’
I hardly ever slept. Afraid that the conscience wouldn’t wake up with me in the morning. That I would be delivered into the hands of the Beast only. That I would lose every semblance of humanity inside me.
That I would lose me.
But who was I anyway? For that matter—what was I? How could I hang on to something I might not even have?
And the ever present and unanswered question.
Why me?
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE
Tired and weary, Dulce pushed open the door to the room she was allotted in the new camp. Hector was fighting on the southern front. They had just won a decisive battle and she had spoken to him on the phone. He would be coming to the capital to help the attack on this front.
Today they’d decided to mount the final offensive to gain control over the capitol. The troops were ready, and Jesus had just spoken to them, motivating them for the final battle. But she was tired. Continuous fighting for more than two years had drained her of all her energy. It had been eight months since Alex had died, the pressure had been unrelenting, not allowing her any time to grieve.
She missed her brother. He had been gone in person for many years, but still deep down, she had known that the real Alex was there somewhere and hoped that maybe he would return as the same big brother she had known and grown up with. Now that was impossible. He was dead.
Since his death, Tonal had been almost her shadow. Where ever Dulce was, Tonal was one step behind. Though she appreciated the protection, Dulce missed her human friend. Missed being able to talk to her and receive an answer back.
Last week Tonal had finally let her be on her own in the compounds, surrounded by the resistance’s soldiers, and created some distance.
Turning on the light she walked into the room. Immediately she saw her friend sitting in the chair—in human form. The fact that she was in the room was not as surprising as her current physique. She had changed for the first time since Alex’s death.
Goose pimples ran up and down Dulce’s arms, dread mounting.
‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’ Understanding flooded her mind.
Tonal nodded. ‘I couldn’t just go, I wanted to tell you why.’ Her voice was almost too soft to hear. ‘And say goodbye.’ she added.
‘You can’t leave now’ Dulce blurted out, ‘Not when we’re so close to victory. We need you.’
‘No, you don’t, not anymore’ Dulce had to concentrate to hear the soft words. ‘The killing has to stop. This has to be the last battle. Or you won’t be any better than the rest.’ She avoided looking at Dulce and directed her words to the floor. ‘You have to start rebuilding, stop the blood. My special brand of violence is a liability to the movement now. You have to distance yourself from me and all that I stand for. My work is done here. I can only harm you now.’
Dulce sank into the chair opposite her friend and looked at her. The light harsh on her naked body. She looked tired, dirty and soiled. Her skin blank, her hair flaccid.
She looked like hell.
‘I have to leave’ she continued, holding up her hands, the skin brownish and coarse ‘I’m covered in blood. Even my soul is drenched. If I don’t stop now, I never will. I won’t be able to stop the violence, I enjoy killing too much. It’s taking me over.’
‘It’s the cat’ Dulce tried, ‘If you stay like this, it will be better.’
Sighing she resumed ‘No, it isn’t the cat, that’s the only thing that’s kept me sane. It’s the blood, the killing and it’s Alex.’ The silence said it all. ‘I have to heal.’ lifting her head she pleaded with Dulce. ‘This is no way to spend eternity, I’m dying inside.’
Dulce’s heart went out to her friend. She was close to tears, had known for a long time that Tonal was stressed, that things were not right. Her own needs had blocked out her friend’s. Understanding filled her, but still she had to try.
‘I need you.’ She whispered.
‘I’m sorry Dulce.’ Then silence.
Both studied the floor, as if it was interesting what the carpet looked like.
‘Will I ever see you again?’ Dulce asked. Before Tonal could answer she added. ‘Scratch that. Don’t answer. I couldn’t bear to hear the answer.’
‘Where will you go to?’
‘I don’t know, far away. Somewhere I can’t do any damage’.
‘You’re leaving tonight, now?’ more a statement than a question. Tonal nodded and slowly stood up from the chair. Dulce stood and moved towards her, they embraced, both barely hiding the tears.
‘Thank you.’ The words halting. ‘Thank you for everything. I’m still going to keep hoping that we will somehow, someday see each other again. Let me know every now and then how you’re doing, please.’
‘I will Dulce. Live well and keep safe.’
Turning towards the door, Tonal changed again and ran out into the night, leaving Dulce alone in the dark with her sorrow. It was bound to happen, she knew that, had felt the distance that Tonal was purposely creating the past week. Blocking it out had seemed like the best thing to do at that moment. But it was inevitable.
She pulled herself together, wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve and left the building to talk to Jesus.
I was back where I belonged.
<<<>>>
Thank you for reading the first novel in the Primal Series.
I would appreciate it if you could leave a review at your favourite e-book seller.
If you enjoyed Primal Nature, check out the sequel, Nature of the Beast.
The following chapters give you a preview of what is to come. There are currently four books in the Primal Series, with another planned for release in autumn 2018
You can also download my free Novella Warmonger from my website;
Www.moniquesingleton.com/warmonger
There you can find all the information about the Primal Series.
Now for the preview of Nature of the Beast… …
PROLOGUE NATURE OF THE BEAST
I never really thought about what constituted being human until it no longer applied to me. Have you ever thought about it? What the definition of a human is?
What does it mean to be a human being?
Some of the least appreciated characteristics are that you wither and die. Humans are born, go through predefined stages in life—childhood, adolescence and adulthood, into old age and finally, you die. You are susceptible to all kinds of diseases, pain and misery. You interact, live by certain values and ethics—or the lack thereof. Your life is predetermined for the most part. Generally, your existence, your health, strength and other aspects fall between pre-set borders. To be quite blunt, your life is mostly short, preordained and boring.
This doesn’t apply to me.
I don’t age, don’t die, don’t get sick and am significantly stronger than any of your kind. I don’t fit the mould and therefore I must be something dangerous. The jury is still out on what I actually am though.
I had been human for so long that it never occurred to me that might change. Why should it? It didn’t for anyone else. Strange things were happening to me, but the big picture eluded me for a long time.
They say that knowing what “isn’t” helps with figuring out what “is.” Well, that’s overrated. Understanding that I’m not human hasn’t helped me find out what I am. I’ve been trying to find the answers for the past two hundred years. There are many hypotheses, but the right one is anyone’s guess. There have been revelations that seem right, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. But I’m running ahead of the story. You will find out about them later on.
This story begins where the last one ended, give or take a decade or two. I was no closer to answers than when I was the focus of experiments in the lab. Every day I encountered new aspects of my “differentness”, new reasons for why I don’t fit anymore.
Funny that humans need to fit everything and anyone into a predetermined box. Anything that doesn’t conform is a threat. Because it’s different, it’s strange and you can’t get your head around it.
One thing you humans definitely are not, is flexible.
CHAPTER ONE NATURE OF THE BEAST
The fighting didn’t stop when America lost the war.
Outside of the borders maybe, but within the former “American Territories”, the violence escalated. The Free World Coalition won, but how do you police the loser when they make up more than fifteen million square kilometres of hostile territory? And that was just one of the challenges that faced them.
America may have lost, the government and military having surrendered, but it was by no means a unanimous decision or, for that matter, generally supported by the majority of the three-hundred seventy-eight million inhabitants. With the fall of the government came the disintegration of law and order. The army was disbanded. The police and fire workers—no longer pulling an income and being the target of mass aggression—gave up on their job and fled.
The Coalition stepped in and with the help of the newly instated government, a semblance of order was returned to the northern states. However, the farther south you went in the American territories, the less influence the Coalition had and the greater the chaos. There, lawlessness reigned supreme.
The NUS, or New United States as the reforming country called itself, slowly expanded its influence, thanks to the Coalition. New order was enforced with extreme prejudice. That, in turn, caused the criminals to move south, which made the situation much worse there. The north was liveable, the south was anarchy. That suited me just fine. I kept to the south, initially staying in the territories America had annexed in the southern continent.
After my self-inflicted expulsion from society decades ago, I lived in the dark recesses of the Amazon jungle hoping against hope that I would find some semblance of peace, that I would be free of the blood-lust that accompanied my “talents” like the bad side of a penny. I was sick of the killing, sick of the rage, of the blood and the guilt. Sick of what I had become. I moved as far away from humans as possible. I didn’t want to mingle, didn’t want to care about anyone anymore. Didn’t want to feel. Just be me, whatever that was.
The first months were ok. I finally managed to unwind and feel some form of relief. I was the master of the jungle in my feline form. I hunted when hungry, relished the sun, even enjoyed the tropical rains. I didn’t need people. Didn’t need anything more in my immortality than this.
I was so wrong.
After almost nine months, I started to see red again. Killing to eat was no longer enough to feed the primal urges inside me. Reluctantly, I changed back into human form, hoping to relieve the tension.
It didn’t help.
The familiar pressure returned in my head, the red haze over my eyes, and the unbearable anger that terrified me. Was I going mad? Again?
I changed uncontrollably from human form to feline and back again, sometimes even a mix of the two, but nothing helped. Nothing relieved the tension that was driving me insane. In these moments, I massacred all the animals around me, anything that was stupid or unlucky enough to wander within five-hundred metres. Even that didn’t help. My vision coloured red and got brighter by the minute.
In my insanity, I drifted from my self-imposed isolation to lightly inhabited regions of the jungle. It wasn’t a conscious thing. I was totally out of it by then. No idea where I was or what I was doing.
I woke up one day next to the body of a man. I had killed him. Torn out his throat, almost dismembered the body. His blood was all over me.
I was horrified. In my primal rage, I had killed another human. Someone I didn’t know. Just a person. I had no recollection who he was or even why I had killed him. I just knew that I had. And, I was devastated.
Once again, I fled deeper into the jungle. I was all right for a while. My thoughts were coherent. I
was repulsed by what I had done, but I was thinking straight for the first time in months.
Slowly, after a few weeks, the tension returned.
I was lying on a ridge in feline form, trying not to think of the inevitable—that I was going insane again. My sensitive ears picked up the sounds of a scuffle. Uninterested, I tried to zone it out. My head snapped up; these were not the regular hunter and prey sounds of the jungle. I heard voices. Human voices. Raised in anger. Then one in terror. I rose from my perch and softly made my way in the direction of the voices. The intensity increased with every step. I heard a scream, sped up, and within seconds was overlooking a small clearing where a uniformed man with a machete hacked away at the body of another man.
With a bloodcurdling roar, I sprang from my cover and landed on top of the soldier. His terror paralysed him. I lunged, taking his head in my jaws and crunched down, killing him instantly.
Once again, I had killed a man. And once again, the tension was released.
Understanding washed over me, and with that, revulsion and horror. To relieve the blood rage, I needed to kill. But not just kill prey, I had to kill people! Killing animal prey never had the same result. Sanity only came with killing humans.
How could I reconcile my newfound clarity with my morals and ethics? I needed to kill people to stay sane. My body yearned for the release I experienced when I killed a human. But how could I stay sane if every fibre of that same sanity screamed that this was unacceptable. It was the classic Catch Twenty-two. Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. And, it meant dead humans, whichever choice I made.
Primal Nature Page 32
