Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. Thoughts of getting hitched were forgotten as the hair stood up on the nape of her neck. A low growl came from her throat, but it wasn’t one of anger or fear. It sounded like she was curious, but also cautious. With quick and sure movements, she sidled over to the window, peered out and turned back.

  From the way she held her head, ears twitching madly and nose sniffing, she’d detected something or someone. A second later, he heard it, too, the sound of small feet stamping on leaves. The visitor was trying to keep his or movements as quiet as possible, but it wasn’t working. “Yeah, I hear it now,” he said. “It’s got small feet, a small body, the size of a large dog, right?”

  “Right,” Anastasia affirmed with a quick nod. “We’ve got company. There is someone outside. Whoever it is, he or she is doing a good job of staying hidden. I can smell the person, but it’s not like any smell I’ve ever detected.”

  Now Harry’s detective skills kicked in overtime. He took a sniff and tested the air, but his sense of smell wasn’t as refined as hers was. “What kind of aroma are we talking about?”

  Anastasia uttered in a whisper, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but it smells like bacon.”

  Bacon... that did sound crazy, but all the same, he took what she said seriously. However, he did have images of a massive ham tottering toward them on two meaty legs, squashing anything and everything in its path and fought to stifle a laugh. “If it smells like Porky Pig, then how is it covering its scent?”

  Anastasia shook her head and kept testing the air with her nose, her nostrils rapidly dilating and expanding. “I don’t know, unless...” She snapped her fingers and went to the door. “Stay here, be right back.”

  The way she spoke, with a sense of urgency, made him think that things were about to get real. He went over the far wall where a hunting rifle hung on some pegs, took it down and checked to see if it was loaded. It wasn’t, so he went to a small desk where he kept the shells, popped a couple into the firing chamber and asked, “Shouldn’t I call Farrell or at least get the agents over here?”

  “No,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Not yet. Those agents couldn’t find their belts around their waists. If I’m right, we’ll need to talk to this person first.”

  Before Harry could get a word out, she tore out the doorwat and bounded into the brush. He heard her step carefully among the leaves and kept his hand on the rifle just in case. He’d practiced, but wasn’t the best shot around. His reflexes and claws, he reckoned, were enough, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to think he could go up against a trained marksman and win.

  A rustling in the bushes caught his attention... it came from off to his left. It almost sounded like something was trying to burrow under the soft earth. If something that big was trying to tunnel under the earth, then it would make a lot more noise. Moles burrowed, and rabbits and prairie dogs did, too. He’d seen them, knew them by their scratching, by their scent, gamey and thick, but this sound wasn’t like anything he’d heard before.

  The feet... it didn’t have toes or claws, either. It was heavy, thudding and it made him think of a larger animal with hooves. The rustling sound grew louder. Abruptly, a squeal rang out, something high-pitched and terrified, like an animal caught in the jaws of something much larger. The squealing continued, followed by Anastasia yelling, “I got you! C’mon, stop struggling. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  “Let me go, let me go!” a frightened voice cried. The accent—it didn’t sound North American at all. To Harry’s ears, it sounded European, but not Russian. Something else, he decided.

  “Not happening, mister,” she answered.

  A second later, Anastasia came through the bushes holding onto a pig, which was not a pig. It was a man with a pig’s body, roughly four feet in height with a round, porcine face but a human nose, long and thin. The eyes were a startling blue color and it had a human mouth. The body, though, read Porky all the way. It wore a dark blue bodysuit.

  She dropped it to the ground. “Start talking,” she commanded.

  The creature sat on its butt, its leg splayed out like a baby sitting up for the first time. “I am... I have escaped from a lab in Europe,” he said in an accent thick enough to mortar bricks with. “I am Hungarian. I am one of those you have been looking for.”

  Chapter Three: First Contact

  Someone knocked on the door and then whoever was out there started hammering. “FBI!” the person shouted. “We had a perimeter breach.”

  After putting the rifle down, Harry opened the door. The same tall and spindly man who’d spoken to him before stood there, red-faced. He had his gun out, ready for business. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice shaking. “We saw something running around outside in the bushes. Your, uh, girlfriend went after it and—”

  “He’s right here,” answered Harry, sweeping his hand toward the couch where Anastasia sat with the now-quivering and miserable pig-guy. Sarcasm dripped from his every word. These guys were about as useful as empty cola bottles. “Nice job on the security thing.”

  The agent’s face got even redder. “That little skunk!” he exclaimed and glared at the pig-man. “You, buddy, you’re coming with me.”

  Uttering a grunt of disgust, he made a motion to level his gun, but Harry clamped down on the agent’s forearm. “We’ve got it covered. I don’t think he’s going to run. We need to talk to him.”

  The agent made as if to enter and now, truly pissed off at the other man’s attitude, Harry shoved him back. “He’s staying here.”

  “You don’t get it, kid,” the agent said in a peeved tone. “This is my job. I need to bring him.”

  “No, you don’t,” Anastasia called out. “You need to call Farrell. We need to talk to this guy first.”

  The tone in her voice meant do what I say or you’ll be eating your pistol in five seconds. With a slow and careful motion, the agent holstered his weapon. He pulled out his cellphone and started pushing buttons. “I’ll call it in,” he said.

  With an expression that spoke of someone who’d just eaten ten lemons, the agent walked off with the parting words of, “Remember, he belongs to us.”

  “Justice for all,” Harry murmured, slamming the door shut.

  He went over to the couch where Anastasia and the new arrival were sitting. The latter huddled in a small ball with his arms around his torso and with a wary look on his porcine face. “I heard what you just say,” the pig-man said. “I do not understand.”

  “What you just saw is our version of law and order,” Harry remarked, entirely without irony. “Okay, start talking.”

  His eyes darting wildly, the pig-faced man swung his head back and forth, licking his lips with a small pink tongue. “Come on,” Anastasia prodded. “We’re like you. You can trust us.”

  “My name is Istvan, Istvan Antos,” the pig-man said after a fashion. “I was born in Hungary, in Budapest. My English is... not so good. Please listen to me. I was... student in university and then I was taken away to place in the woods.”

  His words tumbled out. Between the speed with which he spoke and his accent, it was more than a little difficult to make out what he was saying. However, between the gasps and pants, his story emerged. Growing up in Budapest, he had a normal life until his first year in university. “I was always small,” he said. “I am what you call a little person—a midget?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Anastasia said. “Go on.”

  Istvan turned his gaze to the ground. “I got sick,” he said. “It was my appendix. I go in for operation. The doctor, he take my blood and say something to someone else. I do not know what he say. I have operation and then they leave me alone. My parents come to visit me. I think I will go home soon.

  “Then new doctor come one day. I was in bed, too weak to understand. His name is not Hungarian. It is Russian.”

  “Describe him to us,” Harry said.

  Istvan shut his eyes and recited, “He was tall, very skinny and
smoked, even in the hospital ward. He sounded intelligent and said that he was a doctor interested in genetics. I do not know what genetics have to do with me. I have simple operation, but he seemed excited.”

  The description seemed to set Anastasia off, as she growled and spit out a name. “Grushenko,” she said with a tone of supreme loathing, as if the name itself were poisonous.

  Istvan nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, that is the name. Grushenko, his name is Grushenko. He spoke Hungarian to my doctor in my hospital. The doctor, he leave, uh, left and this Grushenko, he said that he could... help me become to be better.”

  Anastasia began to growl softly, her eyes narrowing second by second. She’d gone through the same thing, and if she was recalling her experiences, Harry knew that she’d erupt in anger sooner or later. Probably sooner, he figured. “So what happened then?” he pressed. “Did he do experiments?”

  Istvan nodded. In a hushed voice, continued his tale. “I didn’t know what would happen to me. I was given pills to help with pain, so my mind is dreamy. I sign paper. Grushenko said no worry. We will help you. The next day they come in and give me... what you say?” He mimed the action of someone giving him a needle.

  “They gave you a shot to put you to sleep,” said Anastasia, her eyes glowing with anger. Then she did erupt, slashing the side of the sofa with her claws open and tearing a gash in it. Stuffing poured out onto the floor. “It was the experiments, always the experiments.”

  Istvan stared at her claws with fright in his eyes. Anastasia caught the look. “Don’t worry,” she said as her voice got deeper but stayed under control. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at what they did to you, me and everyone else.”

  “Cool it for now,” Harry cautioned. He tapped Istvan on the shoulder. “Tell us what you remember.”

  The little pig-man gulped. “They gave me shot, yes, they did that. I got... shot... and before I sleep, I heard them say Gemenc.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It is Gemenc forest,” answered Istvan. “It is in southern Hungary between Baja and Szekszard.” He spelled the names, pronouncing each letter carefully.

  Harry went over to the computer and opened it. His DNA-decoding program was still running, so he checked on the name that Istvan mentioned and typed it in. Seconds later, a map flashed on the screen. “Is this it?” he asked, waving Istvan over.

  Istvan trundled over on all fours and his eyes grew round when he looked at the map. He stood up on his hind legs and began to jump with excitement. Pointing to a particular spot with his hoof, he said, “Yes, that is the forest. I remember my parents took me there when I was seven. It is a big place, part of a national park. It has many animals and insects. Grushenko did his experiments there.”

  Anastasia came over to check things out. Staring at the map, she began to shake her head. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but how could they get away without being seen?”

  Istvan’s eyes glazed over and his voice became a monotone. “I remember... I remember being carried down steps. It was very dark.”

  An underground laboratory, hidden in the woods, Harry thought. Nurmelev, the scientist who’d experimented on Anastasia, had built a hidden laboratory in the Catskills not far from their cabin. If the builders had been as careful as Nurmelev was, then no one would bother looking for it and no one would care.

  “Two men carried me,” Istvan said. “They wore uniforms. I did not know if they were doctors or soldiers, but a doctor would not beat me.”

  Guess again, Harry thought. “So what happened?” he asked.

  “The men in uniforms beat me first, hit me very hard and hurt me,” said Istvan and his voice trembled. “Then Grushenko gave me many drugs. He said that they would change me, improve me and give hope to the world. I remember lying on a table, strapped down.”

  Anastasia gave a snort of disgust and took a step back, arms folded across her chest. “Let me guess, they strapped you down, didn’t let you answer nature’s call and tried to wipe your memory.”

  Confusion reigned on Istvan’s face. “What does nature’s call mean?” he asked.

  “Going to the bathroom,” Harry whispered.

  “Oh.”

  Istvan’s pink face turned even pinker, perhaps out of embarrassment or shame. Thinking about it, Harry figured that it was probably both.

  The little pig-man cleared his throat noisily. “Yes,” he finally said and his voice became choked with the pain of remembrance. “I lay in my filth and stank like pig and became one. I always remember, though. I always remember. Grushenko said he wanted me to think about what I was becoming.” He blinked as if remembering something else. “The doctor also had a kind of tube he used.”

  Istvan threw up a series of gestures with his hooves. Clumsy as they were, they clearly meant one thing. Grushenko had used the Genesis Chamber. “So they turned you into, er, what you are?” Harry asked.

  “Yes.” This time, tears ran in rivers from the little man’s eyes down his moon-shaped face. “Yes, they made me this. There were others, too. Maybe thirty or more, I do not know for sure.”

  “How’d you get out?” Anastasia asked.

  Istvan remained silent, his tongue working overtime around his thin lips. When he spoke again, his voice came out with anguish lacing every word. “In that place, I heard stories of one person in America. She escaped and came here.” He looked at Anastasia. “It was you.”

  “Me?” asked Anastasia. Her eyes grew round with astonishment. “How did they know?”

  A shrug came from his narrow shoulders. “I do not know, but the other prisoners, once we were changed, the guards put us in separate prison rooms and sometimes talked to each other. A guard told one of them and,” he shrugged again, “if one knows, then all know.”

  Istvan’s story continued. The experiments continued and used all sorts of animal/human combinations. Pigs, elk, falcons’ DNA and more were combined with that of humans. Each time, the Genesis Chamber had been used. The results were startling in all cases, successes in some and too horrific for words in others. Many died, but many lived.

  “There was one who lived, a prisoner who called himself Szabo,” Istvan said. “I do not know his full name. He say he is Hungarian, like me. I do not know where he come, er, came from. I only know that he was large, very large and had hatred of everyone. He killed three guards before Grushenko changed him. He started fire one day in the complex, but Grushenko escaped. So did some of the other changed people. I ran when fire started, heard about commercial plane going to America and how you say, stowaway?”

  He smiled for the first time, which revealed a set of small white teeth. “I was a stowaway and I come to New York. There, I do not know any people, but I know how to hide. I saw news on television, see about people like me and listen. Then I find you.” Gradually, his voice wound down and he sat on the floor, staring at the wall.

  Harry sat back and considered all the details. The experiments were ongoing, in Hungary and Russia, if not elsewhere. This had to be the craziest thing going, yet it was all true and it was happening here and now. “So you found us here?”

  Istvan scratched his head with his hoof. While he was still human looking for the most part, it seemed the kind of move an animal would make. “I have good sense of smell. That is all. I can smell odors from long way away. I have no strength and I cannot fly. But I can smell difference in people and animals. You are both and neither, like me. I know that smell.”

  Their discussion got interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry opened up and a different agent stood there, a short, stocky black man with a face like a cement block. Istvan immediately scuttled over to Anastasia’s side and remained there, quivering in fear.

  As for the agent, he gave Istvan a passing glance before switching his gaze to Harry. “We got in touch with Agent Farrell. He’ll be here in the morning. We’re going to keep watch over you tonight and no, you don’t have a say in this. Those are Farrell’s orders.”

  Harry
wanted to protest, but they had the guns and the authority. The taller agent came in, locked the door and put a chair beside it. He took a seat while his counterpart walked to the rear entrance to keep watch from the vantage point of the lone window. With a quick move, he took out his pistol, ejected the ammo clip to check it and then shoved it back in.

  “I guess we’re stuck here for now,” Anastasia said with a note of resignation. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go to bed.”

  She got off the couch and started to walk into the bedroom, but the taller agent’s voice interrupted her journey. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Over there,” Anastasia pointed at the bedroom. “I sleep in a bed, remember? I don’t curl up by the fire or on the window sill.”

  Her caustic reply caused Harry to snicker. The agent was not amused. “Sorry, but it’s better to stay together. You don’t know what else is out there.”

  “You mean the people you couldn’t catch?” she asked. This time Harry and Istvan burst out laughing.

  The agent’s face turned red. “Yeah, the people we couldn’t catch. It’s for your protection.”

  With a sigh and an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, Anastasia went over to the closet. It held a variety of linens, blankets and pillows. She took out three blankets. Returning to the couch, she tossed one at Istvan and the other at Harry. Without another word, she sat down, pulled the blanket over her and put her head down.

  After wrapping himself up in the blanket, Istvan took a spot on the floor and soon passed out, snoring loudly. Anastasia, though, raised her head after he nodded off and whispered to Harry, “Something stinks here. Istvan found us too easily. I don’t trust him.”

  Harry had to agree. “You think he’s a spy?”

  “If he isn’t, you can call me Miss Kitty for the rest of the year,” she said and cracked a tiny smile.

  “You are serious,” Harry answered, trying not to laugh. All the same, though, things were just a little too convenient. Cocking his head to one side, he strained his ears to catch any unusual sounds from outside, but heard nothing save the night insects and a few mice scratching their way over the ground.