Jason’s face turned red. “Sorry, Maze.”
Embarrassed by the bad timing on his friend’s part, Harry mumbled, “Uh, thanks for telling me about the sleeping arrangements. Did you find anything?”
“Not as much as we wanted,” Maze cut in and waved at the desktop closest to them. “I’ve managed to get a couple of suspects, but I’m not sure if that’s what these guys—” she jerked her thumb at Farrell—”are looking for. ‘Scuse me a second, I’ve got to get something.”
She ran to the kitchen and came back with a paper bag. “I can’t work without my usual stash. These guys have zero taste in chocolate.”
Holding the bag in one hand and dipping the other inside to snag a few chunks of chocolate, she crammed them into her mouth, sat down at her work station, and began to tap the keyboard with light but incredibly fast fingers. Harry, Anastasia and Istvan took up positions behind Maze and watched silently.
A few seconds later, a picture appeared on the screen. It was of a man wearing what looked to be a Hungarian army uniform similar to Bartok’s. “I don’t know this guy,” Harry said.
“Yeah, you do,” Farrell replied from behind him. “That’s Szabo.”
The picture showed a man in his mid-twenties, roughly six-five and built like a pro wrestler. He had a face like a clenched fist with dark, expressionless eyes and a thin slit of a mouth. It was hard to believe that this man and the shark-bear that had attacked them were one and the same, but the name soon came up. “Meet ex-Lieutenant Zoltan Szabo,” Farrell stated in a sour voice. “He’s a deserter from the Hungarian army, turned anarchist extraordinaire. The information from Bartok came in just a little while ago. There’s no mistake.”
It was a little hard to believe that the monster that had savaged two men and probably more was ex-military, but then again, he had training and the willingness to use it. Harry walked over to a couch and sat down, Anastasia beside him. “What’s his story?” he asked.
Farrell picked up a file from the desk. Crease lines of worry or anger or perhaps both formed in his forehead as he went through the facts. Zoltan Szabo was born just outside of Budapest, got into trouble at an early age and never stopped. “Seems he had no father, was raised by his mother, got kicked out of three schools for fighting, and once he was old enough, the judge gave him the choice of going to jail or joining the army. Has authority issues.”
Farrell went on to say that Szabo’s rebellious streak continued while in service of the Hungarian government. “He enlisted at eighteen and moved up in rank to Lieutenant, got busted twice for insubordination and for fighting, but showed an aptitude for leadership in spite of his other negative qualities. On his twenty-third birthday, roughly two years ago, he deserted.”
“Does that file say why?”
Farrell ran his finger down the paper and stabbed at something. “Apparently, his time in the army didn’t lead to any change in behavior. The army psychologist considered him sociopathic and borderline psychotic. He didn’t like taking orders from superiors, didn’t mix well with others.”
He rubbed his forehead and continued to cite the strikes against Szabo. “When ordered to lead a group of soldiers on border patrol, he refused, hit his commanding officer, broke his jaw and his arm, and was brought up on charges, but escaped. He eventually fell in with a gang of bank robbers and staged a series of high-profile robberies, but he didn’t care for them, either.”
This was getting better and better. Or worse and worse—it depended on your point of view. Either way, Szabo was a nasty piece of trouble. “So he’s got daddy issues and hates authority,” said Harry, expecting the worst and getting it. “Let me guess, he killed a couple of them?”
“He killed them all,” Farrell answered without blinking an eye. “It was then that he escaped over the border and eventually made his way to Russia. We all know what happened after that.”
“Uh, sorry,” Anastasia interjected. This time she didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “We don’t know what happened. We just know that something with a shark’s head and a bad attitude is trying to kill or capture us. You’re the one with the information, and we had to get the details from Istvan.”
At the mention of his name, the little pig-man crept to the stairs. “I am curious about this place. May I look around?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Farrell said and waved his hand at the second floor. Istvan mounted the steps quickly and disappeared into a room.
Jason had been listening to the byplay, but said nothing. His girlfriend was typing furiously on her computer and images flashed by at incredible speed. Farrell uttered a weary sigh. “Szabo’s a rotten scumbag, but he’s just a pawn in all this. We’re still searching for the main man.”
“Almost got him,” Maze said from over her shoulder.
Ignoring the sound of keys being tapped, Harry asked, growing more confused by the second, “How could Szabo be just a pawn?”
“Because that’s what he is,” stated Farrell, his voice growing angrier by the second. “Bartok told us before we went out that Szabo wasn’t working alone. And you said that Szabo isn’t smart enough to conjure something like this up by himself, so think about it. He destroyed a lab, yes? He killed all the competition. He left no traces, but he doesn’t want to become normal again or even semi-normal.”
As Harry listened, he had to admit that Farrell was right. Szabo was strong, but he wasn’t overly smart, unless you counted tactical knowledge. In this situation, that had made all the difference. Szabo had managed to skirt the FBI’s security and take out three men with no trouble, and he had enhanced powers of regeneration, strength and speed. Harry knew how well he could fight. He remembered the power of the other man-thing’s grip, the smell of death coming from him... and the fear he’d felt.
A pang of uncertainty coupled with the memory of the incident hit him right then and made him shiver. With an effort, he fought off the emotion. “So you think someone else is pulling the strings?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure who.”
“I got him!” Maze said with a triumphant note in her voice. “Get over here and look.”
Obediently, Harry pulled Anastasia over to the computer and called for Istvan.
The little man carefully picked his way down the staircase, but sat on the couch instead of venturing over to look at the screen.
The picture Maze had called up showed a short, stocky man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with an oval face, deep-set dark eyes, pale skin and a shock of brown hair. “Meet Dmitri Kulakov,” Farrell said. “He used to work for the KGB.”
Harry peered at the screen. The information said that Kulakov was born in the late nineteen-thirties. That meant he had to be almost eighty years old, if not more. And he was still in the program? There was a time for bull to be tossed, but this wasn’t just one bull. It was the entire herd. “Uh, basic math suggests this guy should be spending time at a retirement home or taking a dirt nap,” he offered, trying to be helpful. This had to be the wrong guy.
“It can’t be anyone else,” Farrell replied.
Harry turned away from the screen and took a seat on the nearby couch. Propping his chin in his hand a la The Thinker, he tried to make sense of it all. If this Kulakov was the real brains behind it, was he up to same kind of life-extension trickery that Grushenko had been up to? It was possible. It was obvious that he had the same technology available and the intelligence to use it. Those thoughts and more circulated through his mind at light speed.
A touch on his shoulder made him start and brought him back to reality. Anastasia’s breath, warm and soft, caressed his face. “Boyfriend, when you get broody, you get really broody. You must be thinking of something heavy.”
How did she know all this? “Does it show?”
She chuckled softly. “Yeah, your forehead scrunches up and you get that I’m thinking of something scientific look on your face. You know, lips pursed, nodding, just like all the other geniuses out there.”
> Her tone came across as kidding, but all the same, it stung. It pigeonholed him into being something he didn’t want to be, not all the time, anyway. In his mind, he wanted to be like everyone else, not think so deeply about life... but right now, he had too much to worry about.
“I...” he began to say until a squawk from outside interrupted him.
An agent, short and stocky, ran through the door, panic in his eyes. He made a beeline straight for Farrell. “Sir, we have a perimeter breach about two hundred yards from here, straight ahead, into the forest.”
“So much for security,” Anastasia commented and proceeded to bare her claws.
She got up and walked over to the agents. “What’ve we got—a bear-shark thing or a flying thing?”
The junior agent gulped and shook his head, wiping the fear-sweat off his face. His eyes widened to the point of popping when he saw her and got even larger when Harry came over to stand next to Anastasia. “We’ve got neither of them Miss, er, Ms., uh...”
“Get on with it,” Farrell replied testily and pointed his finger at Anastasia as if to demonstrate her realness. “She’s a person, got it? She’s with us and so is he,” he added, flicking his index finger at Harry. “What did you see?”
“It looked like a centipede mixed with a goat.”
Mixing insects and mammals—whoever was doing this had an inventive as well as a sick mind. It took a certain kind of warped thinking to crossbreed two different species. The thought of the result disturbed as well as frightened Harry, but he was also curious as to what it looked like. “We’ll take a look around,” he said to Farrell. “Call your men off.”
“But I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Anastasia interrupted. “If it’s what this agent thinks it is, then you can’t handle it. We can.”
As Farrell pulled out his phone, a thudding sound came from the back door, followed by a primal scream like a banshee mating with a rabid dog. Maze cried out, “What the hell is going on here?”
Jason put his arms around her and she hugged him tightly, shaking like a leaf. “Yeah, I’ll second that. What’s going on?”
“We got company,” said Anastasia in the grimmest of all voices. “Stay here and don’t move. Boyfriend, you ready for this?”
Not really, but was there any choice? Harry steeled his nerve. “Let’s see what’s out there.”
Anastasia took a step to her left and nodded. Harry opened the door, and something that looked like a cross between dog and frog stampeded in and didn’t stop. The far wall stopped it, though. Its head smashed right through the wood. It hung there for a moment and then with a grunt it pulled itself out and turned around, swinging its head back and forth and slavering at its mouth.
“Holy god,” Harry heard someone say. It didn’t matter who said it, as he was too busy focusing his attention on the creature in front of him. At six-plus feet in height, it had a long canine snout and powerful, muscular legs like a frog. Its body was also hyper-muscular, with a dull green coating of fur. It took a swipe at Harry. He ducked and lashed out with a punch that caught the thing flush in the jaw and knocked it down.
Just as quickly, though, it bounced to its feet. “Kill you, kill you!” it screamed and tore back at him.
Harry caught it around the neck and lifted it off the floor. The monster clawed at him and its jaws snapped hungrily. This thing was out for blood. Enhanced strength or not, Harry wasn’t sure if he could last much longer until Anastasia cried out, “Toss it!”
Good idea. Spinning around like a hammer thrower, he heaved the thing straight up. It came down in dive-bomb mode, its jaws snapping hungrily. Anastasia sidestepped its bite and took a swipe at it with her claws, catching it under its throat, and it fell to the ground. Blood poured from a six-inch hole in its neck. Its body spasmed for a few seconds before it lay still.
“Holy crap, what was that?” Maze yelled, shoving off her boyfriend’s clutch. “What was that?” She was still shivering all over.
“That,” Anastasia observed, entirely without sarcasm, “was the preliminary. The main event is outside. Coming, boyfriend?” she asked Harry.
They sprinted out the door toward the forest. As they ran, three agents wearing shredded black suits ran toward them. All of them had lacerations on their faces and bodies and blood streamed from their wounds. Harry caught one of them by the arm. “What’s out there?”
Apparently, this agent had been briefed on what Harry and Anastasia looked like, for he didn’t give them the goggle-eyed stare others usually did. Instead, he wiped tears of anger and frustration from his face. “Jesus, it’s some kind of thing.”
“You want to be more specific?” Anastasia asked.
The man panted and wiped away the river of blood that was pouring down his forehead. “Uh, it’s about ten feet long, lots of legs and built low to the ground. It has a goat’s head. It got three of our men. We tried shooting it, but it’s got some kind of exoskeleton. We hit it, but the thing kept on coming. It also uses some kind of spray.”
“Fine, we’re on it,” Anastasia cracked back. “Get going.”
The agent took that opportunity to run back to the cabin. Anastasia tore ahead. Harry followed her into the darkness. There weren’t any lights strung here, but Harry kept up with her and soon they arrived in the densest part of the forest.
Aided by the moon along with his night vision, he picked his way deftly over leaves and fallen logs. Within seconds, he picked up the smell of something. It reminded him of ammonia, only much stronger. The smell was mixed in with the heavy cloying odor of blood. He took a few more steps and then spotted something crawling fast off to their left.
“It’s over there,” he pointed.
“I see it.”
They slowed their pace and crept over, trying to make as little noise as possible. Soon, they found their quarry bent over the prostrate forms of three men. They were dead, as their heads had been separated from their bodies and lay a few feet away. The centipede thing turned around and indeed, it had a goat’s head, along with long, straight horns and fangs dripping with flesh and blood.
Harry took a closer look. The bodies looked... burned in addition to being eviscerated. Was the spray acidic?
More than likely it was, but there wasn’t a whole lot of time to think about things, as the monster’s eyes, round and large like softballs, bugged out in its grotesque head. Its segmented exoskeleton glittered in the moonlight and it made Harry think of a suit of armor. “Huh, you come to hurt me, is that it?” it asked.
Like Szabo, this one had an accent, but it didn’t sound Hungarian or Russian. “You got any ideas where it’s from?” Harry whispered.
“It’s not from around here,” Anastasia answered as she set her body in a fighting stance. “It doesn’t sound Russian. It might be from another Slavic country.”
Point of origin didn’t really seem pertinent, as the monster left off its kill and started toward them, moving fast on its multiple legs. It attacked Anastasia first, gnashing at her with its teeth. She deftly stepped out of harm’s way. “You can do better than that,” she taunted.
As it stared at her through its enormous eyes, something seemed to click, and the monster reared up on its hindquarters. In the dark, its mouth glistened and Harry saw the danger immediately. “Anastasia, get out of the way!” he cried. “It’s going to spit at you!”
The warning came too late, as a foul smelling liquid sprayed from the creature’s mouth. It had a powerful stink, like wood alcohol combined with crap. The spray hit the surrounding trees and grass and they began to smoke. Acid... this thing uses acid!
He yanked on his girlfriend’s arm, but not before a gob of spit landed and began to sizzle. Anastasia screamed and rolled away, landing on the ground and rubbing her arm into the dirt. A second later, the smoke stopped, but she lay stunned from the suddenness of the attack. “You like my spit?” the thing asked in its heavy accent. “I have more.”
It quickly trundled over to
her and once more reared up, but after Anastasia scuttled off to safety, Harry moved faster than he thought possible and sank his claws into each side of the thing’s head. It screamed and thrashed around. He pushed his hands in as deeply as they would go. A few seconds later, the thing gave a horrid gurgling sound and collapsed.
“Spit on someone else,” Harry ground out and ran over to Anastasia, who was in the process of sitting up and holding her arm. In the moonlight, a sizable chunk of skin, roughly three square inches, had been burned. Her fur had protected her somewhat, but not enough. “How are you doing?”
She turned her head up, a grimace of pain crossing her face. “I’ll live. Thanks for dealing with that thing.”
“Let’s go back.”
Checking the area for further intruders, Harry found nothing. As they retraced their steps and trudged their way back to the cabin, he kept sniffing the air. This time, another scent, heavy and thick, like fur, wafted over. Someone else was here, he thought, watching and waiting, but Anastasia said nothing. Soon the cabin loomed up, where Farrell stood outside the front door, his gun drawn. “Did you get it?” he called out.
“He’s history,” Anastasia answered in a voice choked with fatigue and pain. “I’m going to lie down.”
Farrell came over and in a surprising bit of tenderness, draped her uninjured arm around his shoulder. “I’m going to scout around,” Harry said. “I’ll be back soon.”
Anastasia gave him a look of concern, but nodded and caressed his face with her good hand before the agent escorted her inside. “Be careful, boyfriend.”
“You know I will.”
Farrell offered to go with him, but Harry declined. “I have to do this on my own.”
He took off, going back along the path and kept his nose moving, sampling and sorting the smells of the night. They were many and varied—the rabbits taking their nightly sojourn in order to munch on leaves, the smell of droppings from a squirrel and the calls from the various night birds. However, the smell of something animal and human combined... he smelled nothing.
He wondered if Szabo or the other experiments had some kind of masking agent, like deodorant. His hopes of not running into anything savage got dashed though, when he saw something up ahead and pulled up short. The smell and the person—it was Szabo. He wore the same clothes from their earlier encounter and leaned against a tree, his arms crossed and a look of total unconcern on his face. A pang of uncertainty hit Harry, but the monster ahead of him didn’t seem to want to go on the offensive.
Revolution Page 10
