Thin Hope

by Holly Hook

  Elsie wiped Yarmuk’s forearms with an alcohol swab. The sterile, clinical smell invaded Darren’s nostrils. “You may proceed,” she said.

  Yarmuk barely flinched as both syringes entered his skin. Out of the corner of Darren’s eye, figures in lab coats and military uniforms leaned forward behind the glass, anxious to see the results, if any.

  “Injecting,” Darren announced.

  His blood disappeared from the syringe and into Yarmuk’s arm, carrying with it the CDV virus. Darren released the pressure when it was half gone—he would need an additional sample for later if this experiment was a success. He knew that next to him, Gracie was injecting Patrick’s blood into his other arm.

  His wife’s voice echoed through the theater. “Completed.”

  “Step away,” Elsie ordered, readying a clipboard and backing away from Yarmuk. Patrick joined her, gaze still trained on the murderer with intent.

  Gracie set her half-emptied syringe on the preparation table, and Darren joined her. His heart pounded with anticipation—or was it apprehension—as he watched Yarmuk. Complete silence fell over the theater as their bodyguards held their rifles at ready.

  Darren listened as the clock ticked on the far wall. Ten ticks. Twenty ticks.

  Yarmuk drew in a sharp breath, snapping his head up to stare at him with those murderer’s eyes. Violet crept into his irises as his skin blanched, so much that it looked like he had crawled out of a nearby body bag. But this was a darker violet, almost black, a perfect cross between an Emoshi’s and a Delainian’s.

  “It’s working,” Gracie half-gasped, taking notes on her clipboard. Elsie joined her, doing the same. “It’s working!”

  Darren could only match Yarmuk’s stare, a rush of excitement washing over him: the thrill of discovery. They had pushed the limits of science once again, and the country of Delainia just might stand a chance against Lateine. He had to restrain the urge to embrace his wife, kissing her in front of these top scientists and military officials.

  “Wait,” Elsie said, freezing in place.

  A strange, unnatural growling sound came from somewhere deep inside Yarmuk, as if some kind of beast were about to be born from him. His nearly-black eyes stayed fixed on Darren, so much that he took a step back. Every muscle in his arms seemed to ripple and tighten, pulling the straps taut that held him in place.

  Guns clicked on both sides of the room. Yarmuk’s growl grew louder, even through the gag, as something ancient and brutal and core rose up inside of him. A faint cracking sound filled the room as he lurched forward against the straps.

  Something else was happening. Two lumps seemed to be growing out of his shoulder blades, ripping out of his flesh and expanding out to the sides. Darren had to blink a few times before he was sure what he was seeing. Wings. Reddish, leathery wings crisscrossed with purplish veins, evolution gone on a runaway course.

  The sound of ripping filled the air as straps began to break. Yarmuk looked up again, straight at Darren, and stared him down with eyes filled with pure power.

  He had no time to react or shout an order. A blast of wind hit him head-on, with the force of five Delainians all concentrating at once, and tossed him back into the table. Glass shattered as Darren landed on the floor, pain surging through the back of his head as he made contact. Gunshots rang through the air as Gracie shouted something, and another growl ripped through the air. Darren struggled to sit up as a yellow spot grew bigger in his vision.

  That didn’t stop him from finding the worst: Yarmuk struggling against the remaining straps, wings spread, purplish bullet holes riddling his body and his gray jumpsuit. Already, the bullet wounds on his arms were closing, his skin pulling together into pink scars which vanished completely a second later.

  Yarmuk now had the healing ability of an Emoshi, only faster...much faster.

  The murderer pulled at the last strap, the one securing his legs. He stared down Darren once again. “You!”

  “Sir, you must evacuate!” A soldier appeared at his side, grabbing his sleeve and lifting him up. “Come on!”

  The yellow spot in Darren’s vision disappeared as he stood, pain still throbbing in the back of his head. Figures stampeded around each other behind the observation glass, struggling for the exit. A lone figure with blond hair stood up against the opposite wall, open-mouthed. Gracie. Yarmuk, now free of the straps and towering over him like a newly-released gargoyle, was blocking her way to the exit. He had his back to her, but that wouldn’t last for long.

  “No.” Darren shook off the soldier and faced Yarmuk. A wave of despair washed over him. Gracie was all he had in this cold, heartless world. If he lost her to this...thing...he could never go on. The world was a hopeless place, and life was worse. He was a failure to her, his country, and his people, and no one would ever know him as anything other than a madman who had isolated Delainia from everyone else on the continent. They stood no chance in this war.

  Darren sank to his knees, despite another tug on his sleeve from the soldier. His limbs felt like two tons of despair had deposited themselves there. Maybe he should let Yarmuk kill him. It would end this agony.

  A shadow fell over him, blocking out the florescent light from above. Another gunshot rang out, then another, both deafening. The shadow advanced, impervious to the bullets. Somewhere, Elsie yelled, “Aim for the heart! That’s an Emoshi’s weak point!”

  “Get away from him!”

  A figure in white charged in front of Yarmuk, blond hair flying. Gracie raised her arm, just enough so Darren could see the glint of a surgical scalpel in her hand before she slammed it down into the creature’s chest.

  Instantly, the crushing despair disappeared from Darren’s limbs, leaving only an icy panic in its place. Yarmuk had emotion manipulated him. Feet away, Gracie swung the scalpel down again, dripping purplish drops of blood onto the floor.

  “Hold your fire!” Darren rushed for the overturned table, seizing the nearest sharp object: a pair of surgical pliers. Yarmuk screamed, making the hairs rise on the back of his neck. It was an inhuman sound, straight from the pits of some hell.

  Yarmuk toppled back into the table, purplish blood spurting from his chest. It soaked the front of Gracie’s lab jacket as she advanced on him, burying the scalpel blade in his ribcage once again. A repulsive squishing sound rang through the air as she did. Already, the skin around his wound was beginning to pull together. She didn’t have long before Yarmuk could fight back.

  “Get back!” Darren rushed forward and jammed the pliers into the closing wound, reopening it once again. His soldier joined him at his side, holding Yarmuk’s arm down, while another two soldiers squeezed in and took his other arm as he tried to swing at Gracie. Yarmuk growled again, louder, flinging his arm and tossing off one of the soldiers. Elsie took his place, grimacing with the effort.

  “The heart!” she repeated.

  Gracie took another stab as Darren withdrew the pliers, this time with a muffled cracking sound. Another gunshot rang out next to them as a soldier raised a gun to Yarmuk’s head. A purple spray exploded from his other temple, and the creature’s head lolled down, but he didn’t stop breathing. They couldn’t give Yarmuk time to recover.

  Gracie made the move first. She reached inside the chest wound with a disgusting sound, grasping the scalpel with a blood-soaked glove. Darren could barely watch as she twisted her wrist around the closing wound and produced a reddish, pulsating mass an eternity later.

  Yarmuk’s chest fell as his body grew limp. His gargoyle wings hung at his sides, slack. Silence fell over everyone still left in the room. Darren took a step back as Gracie dropped the now-still heart to the floor, open-mouthed with shock and hyperventilating. Elsie nodded to the soldiers as they let go of Yarmuk’s arms, letting the body tumble to the floor. Purple blood expanded in a puddle around the corpse as its wings settled to the floor.

  Footsteps broke the silence as Gracie rushed over to the biohazard bag on the side of the room and started retching
. Patrick stepped out of the way of the expanding blood, studying the mess on the floor.

  “Are you okay, sir? You didn’t get any of that blood inside you, did you?” a black-uniformed soldier asked.

  “No,” Darren replied, studying himself. Splatters of the dangerous liquid covered the front of his lab jacket. He’d know if he did, because the transformation of Yarmuk had taken mere seconds. “Check Gracie.”

  He rushed to her side as she stood from the biohazard bag. Her skin had taken on a deathly sheen, but her eyes remained their normal Delainian black, no trace of purple creeping into them. He wanted to spout tears of relief that she hadn’t caught Yarmuk’s condition, no, disease. “Dear.”

  They embraced as soldiers and figures in lab jackets surrounded them. Gracie did something that she’d never done before: she started sobbing into his shoulder.

  Darren stroked her long hair as she settled into him.

  This experimentation was not worth this. Science had gone too far this time.

  There was one last option in this war, an option that would have been unthinkable only days ago.

  “Sir. Ma’am.” Patrick appeared at his side with his purple eyes. “You should both go be decontaminated. I’ll send these soldiers with you.” He studied the lab. “I will order the cleaning here. What do you want done with everything?”

  Darren struggled to get his thoughts straight. He almost wished that Patrick would use his emotion manipulation to calm him down, but nothing came. It was for the best, then. Yarmuk had done a number on him, and it had almost gotten him killed. “Go ahead. I want both of our blood samples incinerated. Incinerate the body, too. Order the entire lab decontaminated as well.” He separated from his wife, who blinked tears out of her eyes. The metallic smell of blood invaded his nostrils. “Dear, I have another idea. Perhaps Keilara—”

  Gracie nodded in understanding. It was settled. They would have to try for an alliance, as unlikely as that was. It all depended on how desperate the King and Queen were getting.

  “Decontamination, sir,” Patrick repeated, turning to the soldiers left in the room. “Quickly. I order everyone in this room through the showers. Incinerate all clothing worn in this room.”

  Darren opened his mouth to remind him that he was in charge here, but Elsie stopped him.

  “He’s right,” Elsie said, staring down at the purple splatters on her own lab jacket.

  “Okay,” Darren said, trying to force away an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. “Showers, everyone.”

  Patrick held the door open to Lab 2B as the soldiers filed out, followed by Gracie. He gave Darren another urgent nod. He heeded it, suddenly very aware of the bloodstains on his own clothes and the purple liquid beading on his gloves. He dropped the pliers to the floor, only now realizing he still had them in his hand. If this blood got into even a pinprick on his skin—

  “Make sure everything is disposed of,” he said, filing out the door.

  Darren trailed after the parade of bloodstained soldiers and fellow scientists. Somewhere, a radio crackled as a soldier reported their situation. A steel door opened automatically ahead of them, allowing Gracie and Elsie through. His stomach felt as if the war itself had settled there. He checked behind him to make sure no hapless soldier or scientist was trying to take a peek inside the soiled lab.

  Patrick wasn’t following.

  At first, Darren thought nothing of it. He was beginning the cleanup, after all. But shouldn’t he want to get decontaminated first, to make sure he didn’t contract—

  His legs started to carry him back towards the lab before his brain knew why, footfalls echoing off the sterile walls and florescent lights above. “Patrick!”

  Darren pushed open the lab door, leaving a bloody handprint on the frame.

  His new Commander leaned over the fallen corpse of Yarmuk, jabbing a syringe into his arm. He withdrew the purple liquid that contained the combination of CDV and Emoshi blood.

  Patrick stared into the air for a moment, unaware of Darren’s presence. “Kiki.”

  Without looking down, he jabbed the needle into his own arm, pushing down on the syringe and squeezing the dangerous cocktail into his own bloodstream.

  Darren turned away from Patrick, his vocal cords locked in icy terror. His new Commander had gone over the edge. He hadn’t really wanted to help Delainia at all. He was working for someone else...if there was anyone else.

  Darren finally got his legs to work. “Security!”

  A groan issued from inside the bloody lab. The transformation was in progress, and would complete in mere seconds. Only two guards remained in the hallway, with the others having moved on to the decontamination showers. Damn traitor! Patrick had planned this since Yarmuk’s transformation, perhaps longer. There was only one option here, and he hated to do it.

  “Sir. What is the threat?” A hollow, tinny voice came from a speaker somewhere. Six figures in yellow biohazard suits appeared in front of him, all brandishing automatic weapons.

  Before he could babble out his story, the door to Lab 2B flew open with a bang. A blast of wind shot through the hallway, throwing back the lead soldier into his companions. Darren gripped the railing on the wall to avoid joining them. His lab jacket flapped around him as he held on, arms trembling.

  At last, the wind died. The biohazard soldiers lay there, stunned, before scrambling for their weapons on the floor. Darren whirled around, bracing himself for another blast of wind.

  Patrick Maxwell, his former Commander, stood in the middle of the hallway with reddish wings spread out, as if he were showing them off. His violet eyes now leaned more towards black, and his skin had taken almost a grayish pallor.

  “I shouldn't have trusted you,” Darren said before he could stop himself.

  “But you did,” Patrick said, smiling and displaying perfect teeth. “You needed me to prepare for Ivan’s invasion, remember? And I would like to say, your experiment was a success. Congratulations, Mr. President.”

  “Who are you working for? It’s clearly not Delainia.” Guns clicked behind Darren as the soldiers awaited his orders. “This was Ariel and Marcus’s idea, was it not? They’ve manipulated you for years, Patrick. You know that they truly hate all of us.”

  “As if you’re so great?” Patrick asked, folding his arms. He seemed not to care that six soldiers had automatic weapons pointed at him. Of course, it didn’t matter. Guns weren't enough to take him down. “You’ve helped us a great deal, Darren. For that, I’ll let you live today.”

  It was time. He could not allow this beast out into the world, free to spread his condition to others. “Open fire!”

  Darren hit the floor as gunfire erupted above him. Sparks flew off walls as Patrick dodged side to side, a blur of red and black in the storm of bullets. Then he vanished around the corner of the hallway with inhuman speed, so fast he'd turned into an indistinct blur.

  “Sir, he’s gone.” A yellow-gloved arm pulled him up.

  Darren blinked at the now-empty hallway, now littered with bullets. No Patrick. “Quarantine the facility! Code black!”

  He rushed for the intercom opposite the door to Lab 2B.

  Too late.

  An unmistakable sound echoed from around the corner: the roar of breaking glass. A window. An escape route.

  “No!” Darren rushed past the intercom, heels thudding on the linoleum as he followed Patrick’s trail. Stray drops of purple blood splashed the floor, but disappeared at the corner. Patrick had healed as quickly as Yarmuk.

  The double doors to the meeting room stood wide open, one barely hanging on one hinge. Darren ignored the soldiers’ orders to stay back and rushed through. A breeze blew through the room, blowing papers off the table on onto the floor.

  The meeting room window was now mostly on the floor in shards. Above, a huge figure with wings rose higher into the sky, disappearing into the gray, low-hanging clouds a second later.

  This monster was released out into the world.

&n
bsp; Chapter Thirteen

  “It’s not like Ariel or Marcus to ally themselves with anyone,” Alexander explained, pacing around the lounge. “I highly doubt they freed Patrick in order to aid Delainia. I’m sure there’s something deeper going on. From what Ariel told me in passing several months ago, she and Patrick have been in contact for years.”

  Kiki shifted on the couch and pulled closer to Damon. “Patrick’s mentally unbalanced,” she said, flinching. She hated to even speak his name anymore. “Like them. He probably met them on some Internet forum and planned all this out.” She shuddered, remembering his now-violet eyes in Darren’s last call to them. His motive behind his transformation hadn’t been Delainia. It was her.

  Damon put his arm around her. Kiki leaned on his shoulder, trying to relax. Even with his days of endless work, he still managed to smell good.

  “That pig can’t come back here now,” Damon said, putting his pistol down on the glass table in front of them and putting his arm back around her. “He can stay in Delainia and rot there for all I care. Hopefully Darren will have him be a test subject in an experiment gone wrong. I hear people die in those labs all the time.”

  “They do,” Alexander said, settling into an armchair opposite them. “You learn a lot of things when you live for so long. I stayed in Delainia for a bit when Darren’s mother died and he came to power. His whole ‘science is savior’ idea got me to leave pretty quickly, however. Look what it got them.”

  Damon leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, like he wanted to get up and leave. “Exactly.” Then he did get up and exit the room.

  Kiki nodded to her distant relative. “I have to excuse myself.” She followed Damon out into the main meeting room.

  Damon stood at the huge window, studying the divided city. The barrier that held out Lateine’s forces for the time being still stood in place, with their tanks and boats guarding the entrance at the river. Lateine had made an attempt to push forward last night, but Keilara's forces had held them back. However, more of Lateine's military boats lined the river since the night before. Ivan was sending more forces to their new base, which meant another attack was imminent.