by Angela Hunt
Hybrids
Angela Hunt
Contents
Copyright
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also by Angela Hunt
About the Author
Published by Amaris Media International.
Copyright © 2016 Angela Hunt
Cover Design: Angela Hunt
Photos ©BestPhotoStudio fotolia.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission from the publisher.
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HARBINGERS
A novella series by
Bill Myers, Frank Peretti, Angela Hunt, and Alton Gansky
In this fast-paced world with all its demands, the four of us wanted to try something new. Instead of the longer novel format, we wanted to write something equally as engaging but that could be read in one or two sittings—on the plane, waiting to pick up the kids from soccer, or as an evening’s read.
We also wanted to play. As friends and seasoned novelists, we thought it would be fun to create a game we could participate in together. The rules were simple:
Rule #1
Each of us would write as if we were one of the characters in the series:
Bill Myers would write as Brenda, the street-hustling tattoo artist who sees images of the future.
Frank Peretti would write as the professor, the atheist ex-priest ruled by logic.
Angela Hunt would write as Andi, the professor’s brilliant-but-geeky assistant who sees inexplicable patterns.
Alton Gansky would write as Tank, the naïve, big-hearted jock with a surprising connection to a healing power.
Rule #2
Instead of the four of us writing one novella together (we’re friends but not crazy), we would write it like a TV series. There would be an overarching story line into which we’d plug our individual novellas, with each story written from our character’s point of view.
If you’re keeping track, this is the order:
Harbingers #1—The Call—Bill Myers
Harbingers #2—The Haunted—Frank Peretti
Harbingers #3—The Sentinels—Angela Hunt
Harbingers #4—The Girl—Alton Gansky
Volumes #1-4 omnibus: Cycle One: Invitation
Harbingers #5—The Revealing—Bill Myers
Harbingers #6—Infestation—Frank Peretti
Harbingers #7—Infiltration—Angela Hunt
Harbingers #8—The Fog—Alton Gansky
Volumes #5-8 omnibus: Cycle Two: Mosaic
Harbingers #9—Leviathan—Bill Myers
Harbingers #10—The Mind Pirates—Frank Peretti
Harbingers #11—Hybrids—Angela Hunt
Harbingers #12—The Village—Alton Gansky
There you have it—at least for now. We hope you’ll find these as entertaining in the reading as we are in the writing.
Bill, Frank, Angie, and Al
Chapter One
I stood at the bottom of the Tampa airport’s escalator and searched for Tank with an odd mingling of excitement and dread. Excitement, because I hadn’t seen him, Brenda, or Daniel in several weeks, not since we parted after our adventure in the Caribbean. Dread, because each time I met Tank after a separation, his face lit up like Times Square on New Year’s and I didn’t know what to do about that. I loved him like a brother, but clearly, he felt something more for me . . . feelings I didn’t think I could ever reciprocate.
I blew out a breath and studied the passengers on the escalator. Most wore the look of people who’d spent too much time in a cramped space, but a few faces were smiling, probably because they were meeting the pretty young women who held welcome signs for the various cruise lines. Tampa was a major port, and who wouldn’t look forward to a few days at sea? As long as we didn’t encounter pirates, even I might be tempted to board a sailboat again.
“Andi!”
I smiled up at Tank, who seemed to span the entire width of the escalator as he waved. I pointed to the baggage carousel for his airline, then walked toward it. Tank was loud, enthusiastic, and eager—not exactly the sort of person I wanted to meet in front of all those people coming down the escalator.
I had no sooner arrived at the baggage area than I felt my feet leave the ground. Tank had come up from behind and wrapped me in a bear hug, and his overly rambunctious greeting lifted me at least two feet off the floor. “Andi, it’s so good to see you,” he said. “I didn’t think we’d ever land.”
“I’m glad you did. Now, will you please put me down?”
He lowered me gently, then stepped to my side, arms extended as if he planned to hug me again. I lifted my hand and patted his chest in an effort to hold him off. “Brenda and Daniel came in yesterday and spent today at Disney World. They’ll probably be back around dinner time.”
“Sure was nice of your grandparents to let us use their house again.” Tank picked up the gym bag he’d dropped behind me. “After our last visit, I wasn’t sure they’d want to have us again.”
I smiled, not needing to be reminded of the last time we’d gathered at the beach house. In the space of a few days, we encountered dead fish and birds, alien creatures, and a green slime that ended up nearly killing me. I hoped this little vaycay would bring nothing but the rest and relaxation I’d promised the others.
“How’s the professor?” Tank asked.
I glanced up to see if he was asking out of concern or mere politeness, but honest curiosity shone from Tank’s eyes. I had to admit—whatever else he was, Tank was a genuinely good guy. He cared about people, even the professor, who seemed to try everyone else’s patience.
“He’s good,” I said, tempering my voice. “Working hard on a presentation he’s supposed to deliver tomorrow at the University of Tampa.”
Tank frowned. “What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”
I hesitated. I hadn’t mentioned my concerns to Brenda because I didn’t want to ruin her plans for Disney, and because I was hoping my worries were only the result of a hyperactive imagination. But I couldn’t get anything by Tank . . .
“I’m a little worried about the professor, to tell you the truth. His paper is supposed to be on dimensionality and quantum mechanics, with an emphasis on multiple universes. He finished his first draft weeks ago, but he keeps muttering and tinkering with it—” I shrugged. “I don’t know. He just seems . . . unsatisfied, and that’s not like him.”
“Ain’t he a perfectionist?”
“He is . . . but this dissatisfaction seems different. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but something’s going on in his head, something he’s not sharing with me. And that’s not like him, either.”
Tank’s brow furrowed for a minute, then he grinned. “Don’t worry. When the team is together, we always seem to figure things out.” He draped his arm casually over my shoulder, then nodded to a bulky hard case coming down the conveyor belt
. “That’s my bag.”
“Good grief.” I gawked at the long case. “What is that, a trombone case?”
“Metal detector.” Tank grinned. “I’ve heard that you can find a fortune on the beach—rings, coins, all kinds of stuff. Since we’re just gonna be hangin’ out at your grandparents’ place, I thought I might pick up a new hobby.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Whatever. Grab your new toy and I’ll meet you on the curb.”
Brenda’s rental car was parked in the driveway when Tank and I pulled up. Daniel bounded out of the house as I got out of the car. “Space Mountain!” he said, his eyes as wide as saucers. “And more pirates!”
Brenda grinned as she stepped onto the front porch. “I see you had no trouble finding the Tankster.”
“Hard to miss him,” I quipped, then I bent to Daniel’s eye level. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I thought you’d stay at the Magic Kingdom all day.”
Brenda gave Tank a firm slug to the upper arm, then threw me a look. “Can you spell overstimulation? I figured we should leave before Daniel short-circuited. If the weather looks good and I can stretch my budget, maybe we’ll go back another day this week. But we had a great time.”
I glanced toward the front door. “Is the professor—?”
“Locked in his room.” Brenda lifted a brow. “I don’t know what he’s doin’ in there, but I can hear him muttering behind the door. Kinda creepy, if you want to know the truth. I know he tends to be anti-social, but today he’s taking grumpy to a whole new level.”
I sighed. “Let’s all give him some space. I think he’s worried about his presentation tomorrow. When it’s over, he’ll relax. Maybe.”
I didn’t tell her about my frustrations—about how he’d taken to locking himself in his office and he hadn’t let me read his latest paper. I didn’t want to invade his privacy and confess that I’d pressed my ear to his office door and heard him sobbing. Cursing, too, at times, and at least twice I’d heard the sound heavy objects being thrown across the room.
I thought the professor and I were close, but apparently we weren’t close enough to share whatever secrets he’d been hiding. But how was I supposed to do my job if he closed himself off from me?
I opened the trunk looked around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything as Tank had grabbed his bag and his metal detector and headed into the house. I turned to follow, but couldn’t help noticing a pair of children on the sidewalk across the street. They appeared to be about nine or ten, and they were standing motionless, neither of them speaking. They were staring at me.
Something about them sent a chill up the ladder of my spine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen kids of that age who weren’t fidgeting, running, or talking a mile a minute. We saw a lot of children on this street, most of them tourists whose families had come to enjoy Florida’s sandy beaches. But I’d never seen any kids like these.
I stepped forward to study them more closely. Something else about them seemed odd—their clothes. Most kids in the area wore tee shirts, baggy shorts, and flip flops or sneakers. These children were wearing long, dark pants, oversized long-sleeved shirts, and dark shoes. Like children from some reclusive sect that didn’t believe in showing too much skin . . .
I lifted my chin, forced a smile, and twiddled my fingers at them, then turned and walked toward the front door. But before going inside, I threw a glance over my shoulder. The children had gone. Moved on, I supposed, to explore some other local resident.
And with their disappearance, I felt an overwhelming wave of relief.
Chapter Two
The kid from Perfect Pasta had just delivered orders of spaghetti, lasagna, and pepperoni pizza when I spotted my grandparents’ neighbor, Mrs. Diaz, waddling toward our front door.
“Tank,” I called, struggling to handle the bag of food and a large pizza box while Abby, my chocolate Lab, danced at my feet in anticipation of pasta. “Will you take these while I pay for this stuff?”
Tank came to my aid in a flash, and after paying the delivery dude, I walked to the edge of the porch to greet Mrs. Diaz.
“Andi, so good to see you.” She smiled, then handed me a small package. “This was delivered to our house by mistake. I think it’s your grandfather’s medicine.”
I checked the label—sure enough, the mail carrier had left it in the wrong box. “Very nice of you to bring it over, Mrs. Diaz. Especially—” I grinned— “in your condition.”
“What are neighbors for?” She smiled, then rubbed her very pregnant belly. “The walking does me good. I’m trying to convince this baby to make an early appearance.”
“When are you due?”
“Two more weeks.” She gave me a rueful smile. “But he’s strong and healthy, so he can come any time. Fine with me.”
“I hope he comes soon, then. And I’ll bet your husband is thrilled.”
“He’s always wanted a boy. Machismo, you know.” She rolled her eyes, then turned toward her house. “Tell your grandparents I said hello.”
“They’re in New York for the week, but I’ll tell them,” I called. “And I hope that baby comes soon.”
I went back inside the house, dropped Sabba’s package onto the foyer table, then joined the others in the dining room. Tank, Brenda, Daniel, and even the professor had already gathered around the table. Brenda had taken charge, which was fine with me, and was passing out silverware, paper plates, and napkins. Daniel had sunk into the chair at the head of the table, leaving the professor to take the empty chair at the other end.
I smothered a smile. He might be nervous about his speech, but the professor was not so preoccupied that he’d let a ten-year-old challenge his right to sit at the head of the table.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told them, dropping into an empty chair. “Let’s eat.”
“Just a minute.” Tank bowed his head as he always did. “Lord, thanks for this food, and keep us safe during this time together. Amen.”
The professor cleared his throat as we began to pass dishes and serve ourselves. “Before the conversation drifts into mundane topics, I’d like to welcome everyone. And while I certainly won’t demand that you attend my lecture tomorrow, I thought you all might like to come—especially since we’ve had first-hand experience with other dimensions and universes.”
“We’ll be there,” I said, shooting a sharp glance around the table in case anyone was thinking of sleeping in. “We’ll be cheering you on.”
“Thank you, Andi, but this group’s quiet, polite, and discreet presence will be more than enough.”
“Are you sure Daniel can handle it?” A line trenched the center of Brenda’s forehead. “He’s still a little amped up from seeing Mickey Mouse. That stuffy atmosphere might be too much for him.”
“Nice try, Barnick, but you’re not getting out of this one,” the professor answered. “I think you might actually profit from learning a few things you obviously skipped in high school.”
Brenda scowled at the professor, then grinned at me. “Actually, I skipped most of high school. And I get along just fine.”
“Be that as it may,” the professor continued, pressing his hands together, “I thought I might take a few minutes tonight to acquaint you with a few elementary principles so you won’t be totally lost at the symposium.”
“Professor, I’m not sure—” I began, but Tank cut me off.
“I’m listenin’,” Tank said, one side of his mouth bulging with pizza. “I don’t know nothin’ about that stuff, but if you can help me look less like a fool, I’m up for it.”
I picked up my fork and cut a bite of lasagna. If the others were willing to endure a lecture with their meal, how could I object?
“I know you understand the idea of three dimensions,” the professor began. “Objects in our world—like that salt shaker there—have width, height, and breadth. A line, however, has only two dimensions—length and width.”
“Flatland,” Brenda said. “I don
’t remember much about high school, but I do remember that book. Everyone in the book was a line, and if you looked at them sideways, they were long. If you looked at them straight on, they looked like little dots.” She snorted. “Crazy stuff.”
“Um—yes. Exactly.” The professor nodded. “Flatland was a two-dimensional world. We are most familiar with three dimensions.”
“I remember something,” Tank said. “I forget which movie it was, but Superman takes the bad guys and puts them in these flat things and spins them into space. They trapped and can’t get out.”
The professor gaze Tank a quizzical look—clearly, he wasn’t a Superman fan—then sighed. “Actually, tomorrow I’ll be talking about dimensions that exist beyond the three we know.”
“Hang on.” Brenda’s dark eyes gleamed with interest. “Are you going to be talkin’ about the beings Daniel can see? Angels and such?”
The professor shifted his gaze to Daniel, who was focused on plucking pepperonis from his pizza. “Not exactly. First, I’m going to discuss the fourth dimension, which is time. We are accustomed to living moment by moment, existing for a certain time in a certain place. But if you could exist in the fourth dimension of time, you might look like a long worm that snaked through all the spaces where you’ve ever spent even a single second. The worm would be small at one end, where you occupied a smaller space because you were a child, and it would grow to the size of your adult body until the place where your lifeline ends.”
Tank sucked at the inside of his cheek for a moment, then shook his head. “Unless your lifeline doesn’t end. Maybe it just transfers out of one dimension and moves to a higher one. Maybe it moves to a place where angels and demons live, or maybe it goes to a place even higher than that. You don’t really know where a soul goes after death, do you? And you can’t prove anything, because no one has really died—I mean, really died—and come back to tell us about it.” A confident grin spread across his face. “Well, except for the one guy, but the professor doesn’t wanna believe in Him.”
