Hybrid

by Ballan, Greg

  “What are you saying?” Shanda asked. “You came out on top out there. You saved all those people.”

  “This time, perhaps,” he added moodily as he flexed the bicep in his right arm. “I got lucky. Even with my enhanced strength it would have walked through me, given enough time.”

  “Erik, people make their own luck. Your skill and ability have been a counter for its super strength and rage. You were handicapped earlier. Would you have fought them the same way if Brianna and the other children weren't there?” Shanda asked.

  Erik was silent, considering her words. He suddenly straightened up, his eyes opened wider. “No! I could have ducked that pole, and I would have emptied the other clip into the big thing, possibly killing it, but there were too many bystanders. I couldn't risk a full assault.” He was silent again, and then smiled a half smile at her. “You're amazing, you know that? I never would have looked at it that way.”

  “That's because you're a male; men think differently than women do. You're always so pessimistic,” she added lightly as she kissed him. “You have a self-esteem problem, Mr. Knight. You need me more than you think.” She giggled as she playfully tapped the side of his head.

  “I guess I can live with that,” he answered as he kissed her again.

  * * * *

  Erik and Shanda said their goodnights at his door. Normally, he would walk her to her car, but the thought of leaving his sleeping daughter alone, even for a second, was unthinkable. He made his way back into his bedroom to check on Brianna; she was sleeping soundly. Erik quietly stepped out the door, leaving it wide open should she awaken. He slowly eased his battered body down on his couch and quickly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  He was floating in a purple mist surrounded by dozens of strange beings. He knew he was on a battlefield; he could see beings fighting all around and above him. They were not human. The group he was with had shiny metallic skin, with blue pupiless eyes. The beings they were fighting were charcoal in color. He saw one approach where he was standing, and attack.

  He raised his weapon to defend himself and was stunned to see that he, too, had the silvery flesh of those around him. He fought almost without thought, as if his body were being controlled by something outside of himself. He was a passive observer, only watching his body perform as some other power controlled his every move. He fought with extreme skill and confidence of purpose, performing feats of skill and strength that he knew were humanly impossible.

  His weapon was a long silvery staff; it seemed to be alive, knowing his every thought and intention. The weapon seemed to purr and moan during the combat, almost relishing the feel and heat of battle.

  Then, the battle was over. Hundreds of dead on both sides littered the battlefield beneath the great mountain. The dark skinned warriors were defeated; the survivors of their race were gathered and herded together like cattle.

  He saw himself guarding one of the prisoners. He could experience the conflicting emotions that the creature he shared a body with was experiencing: Pain, sorrow, regret, and grim determination. The emotion was something so pure, so intense, that he knew it was beyond human capability.

  The remnants of the defeated army were being forced into a large cave. They were shrieking in terror. He caught a glimpse of something already inside the cave. He could sense that the thing was not happy being where it was; it wanted desperately to escape. The captives pleaded with their captors for mercy, the fear and dread was so powerful that it registered overwhelmingly on his heightened senses.

  As the last of the losing army was marshaled into the cave, he heard the screams grow louder, then the thundering boom of a gigantic door closing. As he walked away with the others he felt the concussion of a cave in; the defeated army was entombed, alive, with some unspeakable horror that terrified them greatly.

  * * * *

  He stood on the edge of a great cliff, overlooking a large newly-forged canyon, with others of his kind. The smell of the air was different to him, sweeter, less tainted. He was one among a sparse handful. The last of his race, he knew. They were all saddened by what they had done and even sadder by what they must now do. They had arrived to this world filled with hope, only to pollute it with their very existence. They did not belong. This world had made its own race; they were interfering in the natural progression. It could not be allowed.

  It was then he noticed the device blinking several yards away from them. It began to blink faster and faster. He felt the fear and hesitation, then the searing heat and concussion of an explosion. The cliff they were standing on was blown apart. Those closest to the blast were killed by the force of the explosion, those further back plummeted into the depths of the great abyss to be buried by thousands of tons of dirt and rock, to remain an unknown, their passing marked by only one last act of great sacrifice.

  Even as he fell to his death he knew what they were doing was right. It was not their planet. Their time had passed. It belonged to those others now, those things who hunted with sticks and spears. He knew they would evolve over the next million years. They were the rightful inheritors of this world; interference from outside influence would destroy the natural progression. The germs they carried were deadly to his kind, and the diseases that his kind carried had destroyed several scores of native tribes. There was no way for the species to live together.

  The Earth had planted her seed and that seed bore fruit in these ape-like beings, not from their kind. They had left something of themselves within that seed, among a few select primitives. A gift from one dying, aged race to another young race on the beginning of its journey, a gift out of necessity to assure that race's future and survival.

  He felt somewhat better; 20,000 years was a short life, but long enough to witness the end of his home world and the end of his species. More than enough, he thought to himself, and as his body struck the rock floor, it was the last thought he would ever have.

  * * * *

  Erik jumped, wide-awake; his body was covered with sweat and he could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. He sat up quickly, trying to recall the powerful images that had disturbed his slumber. He could only recall bits and pieces; he remembered the sensation of falling, of war, but little else. The vivid images from his subconscious dissipated from his waking mind like morning dew under a summer sun. He shook his head, not comprehending the eons-old genetic message that had been placed there.

  “Same stupid dream all the time,” Erik muttered under his breath, and fell back to sleep.

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  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Saturday, 9:15 a.m.

  Shanda walked into Madame's and spotted Erik, Brianna, and a police officer from yesterday afternoon seated at Erik's booth in the back of the restaurant. Erik looked tired and she could sense, even from this distance, that he was stressing over the events of the past week. Brianna spotted her at the door and waved. Erik looked up, saw her, and gestured for her to come over. She walked over and seated herself in the chair at the end of the booth table.

  “We were expecting you,” Erik said as she took off her jacket and draped it over the chair.

  “I never miss a free meal,” she commented in Steve's direction.

  Steve laughed at her jibe. “Just don't drain my wallet too much; I'm a working stiff just like you guys.”

  Shanda placed her order and settled back in her chair; she felt something, some presence watching her. She looked around and saw the same waitress from last night staring at her from the cash counter. When their eyes met, the young girl turned her head away.

  “What's the deal with that girl at the counter?” Shanda asked, somewhat annoyed.

  Erik looked over and saw Alissa. “Oh, that's Alissa. She's a special friend of mine. She waits on my clients and helps me out with miscellaneous things around the office. She's very shy and usually keeps pretty much to herself,” Erik replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “That's the second time I've cau
ght her glaring in my direction.”

  “Don't worry about it, she's probably just curious.” Erik placed his hand over hers. “She's really very nice, once you get to know her.”

  It was obvious that they had all met to discuss the events of yesterday afternoon, but they held off in the presence of Brianna. The young girl was busy with her favorite breakfast of blueberry pancakes and hickory smoked bacon. Jeff had fussily poured the pancake batter to resemble the outline a kitten, and had arranged the bacon strips to form a bow tie. Brianna was carefully eating each ear piece in between nibbles of the bacon tie.

  She was still very clingy, constantly looking up at Erik. The four sat exchanging mild conversation for the next fifteen minutes when Erik noticed Margaret and Richard enter the main dining area of the restaurant.

  “Okay, Bri, it looks like Mom's here to pick you up. Should we have Alissa pack the rest for you to take home?” Erik asked.

  “I don't wanna go, Dad,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. “I wanna stay with you.”

  “Honey, everything will be all right, I promise,” Erik whispered into her ear. “I'll even stop by tonight to check on you.”

  “Do you promise?” she asked intently.

  “Of course, silly. I'll be there. You just call me and let me know what time.”

  “All right,” she answered reluctantly.

  Alissa escorted Richard and Margaret over to his booth. Margaret rushed over and gave her daughter a huge hug. Her face spoke volumes of relief as she finally got the chance to hold her daughter.

  “Oh, baby, I was so worried about you,” Margaret said.

  “I'm fine, Daddy took care of me an’ my friends,” Brianna answered.

  Margaret looked up at her ex-husband with an expression of gratitude.

  “What exactly happened, Erik? I've gotten three different accounts from three different mothers. Each story was more bizarre than the one before.”

  Erik glanced over at Steve, and he nodded his head. Alissa caught the signal and quickly distracted Brianna, leading the young girl toward the cash register and a variety of books and magazines that were always there.

  Margaret and Richard pulled up chairs as Erik began his story. He went through some limited background of his earlier encounter in the Hopedale Mountain, and then described, in chilling detail, yesterday's encounter at the parklands. Margaret's face looked pale and she was visibly trembling. Richard looked sick, but his eyes had an unusual fascinated, analytical look, almost as if he were making mental computations or notes to himself.

  “That's it. I really don't know anything more. All I can tell you is that this battle between the two of us appeared to get personal yesterday. I could feel it with every fiber of my being. These things have some unknown agenda and we keep getting in the way,” Erik commented sourly. “We're going to square off again, that thing and I,” he stated ominously. “I don't know how I know that, but I just do, and the next time only one of us will be walking away. That much I know for sure.” He flexed his bandaged hand. As he moved his fingers, the muscles in his forearm rippled.

  “Brianna doesn't need a hero, she needs a father,” Margaret commented. “Don't do anything else that will put you in more jeopardy, if not for your sake, then for your daughter's. Look at what that thing's done to you already. You look as though you've been through a war.”

  “It's because of Erik being involved, a hero, as you say, that your daughter is alive today, and nine other daughters and mothers as well,” Shanda remarked with a tone that cracked like a whip.

  Margaret looked as if the words were a slap in her face. She studied Shanda intently and Shanda returned her gaze with a look that could freeze a summer day.

  “You're right, of course,” Margaret admitted sheepishly. “I simply mean to say that it would be wise if Erik avoided that monstrosity in the future. If it's that hostile, then it's better to let the authorities deal with it, or somebody who's more qualified in this area.”

  “Right now, Mrs. Pendleton, your ex-husband is the expert. He's the only one who's been able to survive an encounter with these things, two encounters, actually. Somehow, he can see them and track them while we can't. He also has extensive knowledge of the woodlands in question; nobody I know of has spent more time in the mountain than Erik. He is the qualified person in this area, the one that the local authorities will consult to handle this matter,” Steve interjected.

  “You're not helping me here, Steve,” Erik groaned.

  Margaret shook her head, and smiled a disarming smile. “Well, Erik, you are just the indispensable man today. You saved our daughter, Richard and I are grateful for that, but will your new friends be around for your daughter after you're six feet under the ground from playing hero with those godforsaken things?” she responded loud enough to silence the entire restaurant. She looked quickly around as the normal background conversation ceased; she suddenly became aware of the spectacle she was causing.

  “You're making our own case for Richard being her legal guardian. You're still too wrapped up with being the hotshot and not the parent. Your male ego is writing checks that your body can't cash. I know you all too well, you can't let this thing go unchallenged. You'll go out of your way looking for a rematch!” she added forcefully. “Reckless,” she whispered angrily in a voice they could just barely hear.

  Erik's face was red with anger; Shanda could see his muscles trembling. His grip on his water glass had increased drastically and she could hear the glass creak under the intense pressure. The glass shattered, spraying them with water. Erik looked up, his eyes filled with contempt.

  “That's quite enough, lady. You've said your piece. You're making an ass of yourself, and embarrassing all of us to boot. Don't you ever judge me about the kind of parent I am or the work that I do. You lost that right when you walked out on me several years ago. Take your attitude and opinion out of my sight, right now,” he spat with a voice thick with quiet rage.

  Margaret was suddenly unsure of herself. She quietly grabbed her purse and headed out the door, taking their daughter as she left.

  Richard looked at them uncomfortably, “I'd like to hear more, really.” He glanced toward the door and then back at them. “Perhaps some other time.” He quickly walked out the front door after his wife and step-daughter.

  “Charming,” Shanda commented to no one in particular, though in her mind she agreed with Erik's ex; he was in no shape to face these things again anytime soon.

  “A pleasant way to start the morning off,” Steve remarked as he dabbed at the stream of water with his cloth napkin.

  “She is a beaut,” Erik sighed as Alissa came over with a fresh glass of water and a sponge.

  “Is she coming back?” Alissa whispered as she mopped up the water and carefully picked up the shards of broken glass.

  “No, I don't think so. Hurricane Margaret only blows through once in a great while. Hopefully, she'll cool off in a little bit.” Erik sat back down.

  Steve picked at his eggs while Erik and Shanda stared into their food; no one could think of anything to say to move out of the awkward moment that occurred earlier. People were still staring and whispering at the three as they sat in relative silence.

  “Have you heard anything from Nelson or Belachek?” Steve asked.

  “No, not since they left for New York. I really can't plan anything until we can coordinate operations. What's the word with the local officials?” Erik responded.

  “About what you'd expect: argue, delay, cover up, and keep people out of the parklands. The Selectmen want a team of heavily armed police to sweep the area where we were attacked. They will have the ‘Shoot to Kill’ directive. Our town fathers want this threat eliminated as quickly and as quietly as possible, and before the fall elections,” Steve replied heavily.

  “So, basically, the Selectman are going on a ‘fishing’ expedition into the Hopedale Mountain, hoping to use officers as bait to draw these things out,” Erik observed.

  �
��Well,” Steve answered defensively, “they didn't quite state it that way, but that's what it pretty much boils down to. I think they're hoping that we'll have enough combined firepower to put these things down for good.”

  “I don't think handguns are going to do the trick,” Erik observed.

  “Nor do I,” Steve agreed. “We'll be breaking into the heavier weapons for this little foray.”

  “Just make sure you guys don't blow each other to kingdom come with your toys,” Erik replied as he sipped from his fresh glass of water.

  “That would sort of spoil the day, wouldn't it?” Steve replied as he stood up from the booth. “I'd love to share more of your charming company, my friend, but I have things to do today.” He pulled a twenty and a ten from his wallet. “This should cover things here, let me know when you hear from the boys from Halls; I'm sure they're going to want in on the little upcoming trek back into the great outdoors.” Steve turned and headed out the door.

  Erik sighed heavily as he stacked the empty breakfast dishes and placed them at the corner of the table.

  Shanda watched him. She could tell the confrontation with his ex-wife bothered him. She was reluctant to admit that she found herself in agreement with Margaret. Erik was a father; he had a responsibility to his daughter, more than the mere financial obligations, but an obligation to keep himself alive and reasonably out of harm's way. Shanda understood the risk associated with his profession, but the inherent risk of going back into those woods after what had happened earlier was more than risky. It bordered on foolhardy. She wanted to say something to him, but she was afraid of even broaching the subject.

  “I'm sorry you had to sit through all that. Was it as ugly as it seemed to be?”

  “Well, Erik, it's not often that you see dirty laundry aired like that in public.”