Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  “If you wish,” the answer came with a note of certainty in it. “Why not become what you are, what your science intended you to be? Do you realize what an opportunity this is for you?”

  Szabo’s dull, dead eyes abruptly began to shine. They held a madness that hadn’t been there before. Madness, though, often had a purpose to it and Szabo certainly had his own goals in mind. “This is your chance to take back your life,” he said. “Your girlfriend can take back her life as well. You can live among others of your own kind. I’m giving this to you, Goldman, in exchange for your help.”

  Here it came, the offer. While Harry was keenly aware of how society viewed him as well as his girlfriend, murder and tyranny was no answer. “And how can I help you?”

  “I need Istvan,” Szabo stated in a businesslike voice. “You asked me once why I needed him, and now it is time to tell you. His blood is the key to immortality. You are aware that when a hybrid is created, it will eventually devolve.”

  “I know.”

  Szabo eyed him carefully. “You are also aware that when two or more animals are combined with a human, that subject’s lifespan is shortened considerably.”

  Harry was also aware of this fact. He’d heard the news from both Nurmelev and Grushenko. With a shock that shouldn’t have been one, he now understood what this maniac wanted. “You’re going to use his blood to counteract the aging process of the cells.”

  The man-shark’s mouth split into an enormous grin and he gave an enthusiastic nod. “You are clever. I tried to explain this to my fellow members, but they do not understand. Over time, with the extension of life, we can work on other things, such as intelligence. For now, they serve my cause well enough as they are.”

  This was worse than monstrous. Harry got up quickly, his movement tipping the chair over. He’d run simulations on that before in his lab, back in New York. Hematology wasn’t his specialty, but he knew enough about blood to make an educated guess. In every single experiment he’d performed using improved T-cell saturated blood as a countering agent, it had ended in failure. “You’re worse than crazy. The blood won’t counteract the change in genes. I tried that. I tried using protein sheaths to prevent the decay and—”

  “And you will continue to refine your ideas until you get them right.”

  The words, so casually delivered in a cold and calculating manner, indicated that Szabo was absolutely sure that his plan would work. He got up and offered a tiny smile, drawing his lips back to reveal his razor sharp teeth. “You may think now that you will not help me,” he said. “I think you will, Goldman. I most assuredly think you will. If you don’t want to see your girlfriend flayed while she is still alive, you might reconsider.”

  A shudder of horror speared Harry. This maniac was crazy enough to do it. The mob that had taken her to her cell...

  “If you touch her, you won’t live ten minutes,” he said, feeling his own anger outweigh his fear. “Try anything and I’ll...”

  He got no further as Szabo, in a move too fast to follow, backhanded him across the face with his claw. The impact hurled him through the air and he landed ten feet away, flat on his back and half out of it. Getting to his feet, Harry wiped blood from his mouth and rushed the monster, claws out and moving fast.

  It didn’t work. With a casual move, the man-shark grabbed him around the throat, picked him off the ground and held him aloft. He shook him like a dog would shake a rat. Harry struggled and slashed at the man-shark’s arms, but couldn’t get free of his grasp. “You... you won’t...”

  “I won’t... what?” asked Szabo, his tone most mocking. “I won’t hurt her? I could, but I will not, for I have no use for her. I have also instructed my followers not to harm her and they will not—at least for the moment.

  “You, however, I can use. Although your process was not complete, you still retain your intellect. This is something I need. If you do not wish to work for me, then I will give you incentive.”

  He then bashed Harry into the ground and began to stomp on him all over, occasionally switching to pummeling him with merciless strikes. Harry held out as long as he could, but eventually he gave up and let the blackness consume him.

  “Wake up!”

  The voice, soft, feminine, had an iron edge to it and it cut through the fog around Harry’s brain. The voice repeated the command, louder this time. The resonance brought him back to the land of the awake. He stirred, his body aching in places he didn’t knew existed. Taking a look around, he found himself in a cell, lying on a filthy cot. Anastasia’s face hovered a foot above his. The only light came from a flickering light bulb overhead. “How long... how long have I been out?”

  “There’s no clock here, so I’m guessing about two hours,” she replied and knelt beside him. Her face was full of worry. “He must have hit you so hard. Two of those things dragged you here. They said they’d return later on.”

  With a groan, he moved his body a few inches and pain flashed through him. Sniffing the air, he smelled the dried blood on his body. He smelled other odors as well. However, now wasn’t the time to think about what else had been there. “Help me up,” he croaked out, throat dry and caked with blood.

  Anastasia helped him into a sitting position. He rubbed his hand over his head and winced. “Thanks,” he said and shook out his limbs, ignoring the throbbing pain. At least two of his ribs had been broken. He felt them healing. They cracked and reformed, and it hurt worse than the beating. Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, he leaned against the wall and asked, “They didn’t touch you, did they?”

  Anastasia shook her head. “No, one of them tried, but he got what he deserved.” She extended her claws and picked out some dried blood and flesh from under the hard skin. “He won’t be trying it again.”

  Good for her. Anastasia was a wildcat when pissed off. “Did you find a way out?”

  Pointing at the cell door, she began to smile. “Through there,” she said, stating the obvious.

  Black humor—she would have to use it. He began to laugh. It hurt, and he stopped himself from going any further, but all the same, a little humor was needed in this situation. It was better than wallowing in pity.

  With an effort, he got to his feet and tried pulling the door open, but it resisted moving even a fraction of an inch. With a bitter sense of reality and grudging respect for his captors, he figured that they’d reinforced the bars. They were well and truly trapped. “Well, that’s that.”

  Sighing, he returned to the cot and sat down. “What does he want?” asked Anastasia as she massaged his shoulders.

  “Istvan’s blood, my help and the death of a lot of people,” he replied. Taking in a deep breath, he proceeded to explain the master plan, horrifying detail by horrifying detail.

  As he did so, a storm cloud swept over Anastasia’s face. “He can’t do that, can he?”

  “We’re not going to let him.” Of that, Harry was quite sure. The man-shark deserved a massive beat-down. Harry had never been a vengeful person, but this one time he’d make an exception. “We’ll get out of here.”

  “And just how are we supposed to do that...” she began. Her voice cut out when Harry pointed to her stomach. A grim smile spread across her face. “Thanks for reminding me. I was having so much fun.”

  This time Harry did laugh. It caused his ribs to start aching again, but he couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation. This was another fine mess, as the old saying went. He only hoped that Farrell had notified the proper authorities and also that this place didn’t have any kind of shielding from satellite detection. If it did, say goodbye to any future...

  “What you laugh about?”

  Swiveling his head around, Harry saw two of the animal people standing outside the bars. One of them was a centaur. It had a man’s torso, but two horse’s legs. It also had a single horn, long and wickedly sharp looking. It sprouted from his forehead like a lance. With the remains of some blood on it, it was a cinch that the monster
knew how to use it.

  His companion resembled a monkey more than anything else. The latter was missing an eye. Covering the ruined area was a thick and clumsily taped patch. Freshly made claw marks dotted its face. “You,” it hissed at Anastasia. “I owe you big pain.”

  “Open up and you’ll get some more,” she shot back, claws out and ready.

  They had machine guns at the ready. In a wise move, Anastasia backed off. The centaur opened up, warily eyed them both and said, “You are both coming with us.”

  Motioning with his weapon, he urged them out. “Start moving.”

  Anastasia winked at Harry, her cue to go on the offensive. In a burst of lightning-fast speed, she whipped her tail around and smacked the gun out of the monkey-man’s hands. He mouth dropped open in shock and she poked him in his remaining eye with one of her claws. “Have some more pain,” she snarled as he began to scream. A right hook from her dropped him and the sound abruptly cut off.

  All of this happened in less than three seconds. The centaur guarding Harry naturally brought up his gun, and Harry chopped at his wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and he kicked it away. He then lashed out with a left hook and sent the centaur stumbling backwards. The centaur regained his balance, felt his jaw and shook off the blow. “You hit me, little boy. I hurt you now.”

  Anastasia started to move in, but Harry called her off. “No, this punk is mine.”

  In a tangle of flailing arms, they clashed in the center of the room. Harry started out by slashing at the centaur’s neck. It was a bad idea, because it was as thick as an oak and just as strong. It whipped its head around and the horn stabbed Harry in the shoulder. A river of fire flashed through his shoulder and he stifled a yell.

  “You get more pain, little man,” the centaur stated with satisfaction when he saw the blood flow out. “I no need gun!”

  “Good to know,” Harry grunted and his claws sprang out. Ready now, he inflicted his own brand of pain, digging his claws into the soft spot under the thing’s jaw. It bellowed and thrashed around under his grip, but couldn’t break free. Harry pulled one hand out, clamped down on the thing’s horn and broke it off. A cry of agony came from the thing, but the cry abruptly ceased when Harry stabbed it in its throat, opening a wide hole. Blood spurted out, sprayed the walls, and the thing collapsed and lay twitching as its nerves began to fail.

  Sick at what he’d done, yet, feeling as if he’d had no choice, Harry dropped his makeshift weapon and panted out, “What do we do now?”

  Anastasia arched her eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the stairs. “We leave. What else is there?”

  Running to the steps, they got halfway up when they heard a hoarse cry from behind them, “They’ve escaped!”

  An alarm went off, its siren blaring. Harry grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and kept pumping up the stairs. The fiery ache of lactic acid buildup began, but he kept going. When he faltered, Anastasia urged him onwards. “Keep going,” she panted. “We’re... almost there.”

  Eventually, they got up to the surface and breathed in and out, exhausted, only to be met by around twenty of Szabo’s men with him in the lead. “Escape is futile,” he said, grinning.

  Anastasia pointed behind him. “Guess again.”

  A shot whistled overhead and then another. Szabo turned around to see where the firing was coming from. Thirty feet behind him and coming fast were no less than ten heavily armed Serbian soldiers, all wearing green uniforms and firing as they ran.

  Szabo snarled out a command. “Scatter!” His men obeyed, running in all directions.

  Most of the soldiers rushed by them, but one man, perhaps in his fifties with a thickset frame and an equally thick mustache, stopped in front of Harry. His eyes widened for a moment, but a second later, he nodded. “I thought this was impossible. It isn’t.”

  “Glad we didn’t disappoint you,” Harry retorted as the sounds of gunfire intensified. “What’s the news?”

  The man saluted. “My name is General Slobovic, in charge of the First Battalion,” he said in flawless English. “We heard about you from Ilic. Your FBI agent, the man named Farrell, contacted us and gave us your transponder signal. We also had another source.”

  “Who told you?”

  Slobovic pointed at Istvan. “He came to us a few hours ago. It was, er, a great shock at first. But after the attacks our people have suffered in the past few months and after we heard the same reports from Russia and Hungary, we knew it was not the work of a madman.”

  “Oh, it is,” Anastasia said, nodding. “It most certainly is.”

  Slobovic gave her a quick glance. “We can get to the specifics later. We were instructed to call your American FBI first and speak to Agent Farrell.”

  Istvan spoke up and his face was wreathed in a grin. “I brought him. I cannot fight, but I can hide and I can report.”

  Anastasia wore a faint smile. “Guess you’re good for something after all.”

  The little pig-man shuffled his feet and his face turned a bright red. He seemed embarrassed by the sudden praise.

  Life’s golden moment got interrupted by the return of the soldiers. One of them spoke to the general, who translated. “It seems as though the enemy has run off for now,” he said.

  Good news to hear. What wasn’t good news was the soldiers who’d decided to do the stop-and-stare routine. It not only made Harry uncomfortable, but Anastasia as well, and her eyes held the old familiar look of someone ready to open a can of whoop-ass.

  A second later, she stalked off to lean against a tree. “If you’re finished staring,” Harry said to everyone in the calmest voice he could muster, “then you might start by destroying the facility.”

  Slobovic barked out a command to his men. Three of them readied their guns and ran down the stairs. The sounds of shooting began. Soon after that, cries of pain echoed up to the surface. “It seems they are doing their job,” the general said.

  Explosions from below made the ground shake, and shortly after, the soldiers came running out surrounded by smoke. They hastily shut the door.

  The general nodded. “I gave orders to burn the facility.” He turned and spoke to one of his men. The soldier replied instantly and Slobovic looked at Harry. “He said that around ten of the enemy was still down there. They will not be getting out again.”

  “Neither will any of you,” a voice called from behind them.

  Spinning on his heel, Harry saw Szabo hurl something in their direction. “See if you can live through this!” the man-shark called out.

  Harry’s eyes followed the trajectory of the projectile. It landed in the middle of their group. “Run!” he yelled, just before it exploded.

  Too late—the force of the blast sent Harry hurtling some yards away. He came to, eyes unfocused and ears ringing. Smoke filled the air and waving it away, he yelled, “Anastasia!”

  No answer. He continued to call her name, but the silence was deafening. Finally, his hearing cleared and he heard a gasp. Running over to the source, he found Istvan lying near a tree, moaning pitifully. “My head hurt,” he said. “What happened?”

  “We got bombed.” Harry turned around and surveyed the scene. Three soldiers were still alive, along with the general whose face was covered in blood. He was also uttering a string of words that had to be curses. The remaining soldiers staggered over and nodded at him, but in all the chaos and confusion, one simple fact stood out.

  Anastasia was gone.

  Chapter Eleven: Bereft

  The soldiers made a perfunctory search of the area, but came up with nothing. It was obvious that Szabo’s gang had disappeared and taken Anastasia with them. They could be halfway across the border. Who could find them now? The Serbian army hadn’t been able to track them, and it was clear that Szabo and his band of fanatics knew the land better than anyone did.

  Uttering a cry of loss, Harry sagged to the ground. A stabbing pain in his right side caused him to wince. Searching for the source of the pain, he let h
is fingers do the walking and lifting his sweaty, bloody shirt up, he pulled out a shard of metal from below his ribcage. Blood and clear fluid oozed out, but the pain began to fade immediately.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I lose my girlfriend, get stabbed, what else can go wrong?”

  A second later, he took back his question. Bad things usually happened in threes. Although he wasn’t superstitious, at the same time, he didn’t want to tempt the gods of fate.

  Glancing at the wound, he saw that his skin had already started to knit. Grateful though he was for having regenerative powers, he also cursed Szabo for doing what he’d done and vowed to find Anastasia no matter what the cost.

  A few seconds later, one of the soldiers returned and reported to the general. In turn, Slobovic relayed the information to Harry. “I am sorry. She is gone. We must return to base and there you can contact Farrell. Come, we will go to our jeeps.”

  With nothing left but to trust the man, Harry followed him and Istvan tagged along, tears streaming from his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said between sobs. “I should have tried to help. Instead, I am coward and hid.”

  As bad as Harry felt, his rational side took over—he knew it hadn’t been anyone’s fault. “You can’t outrun a grenade, and you can’t fight that thing. No one can. We’ll find her.”

  Istvan continued to cry once they’d gotten into the jeeps and taken off. They drove through the countryside back to the Novi Sad army base. There, the general quickly ushered Harry and Istvan into a small wooden building. It contained a few tables, chairs and a number of crates and sacks. “This is our storage room. I apologize for this, but right now, all of this must remain secret. Please understand.”

  Harry nodded dully. His body hurt and he was heartsick about losing Anastasia. More than likely, they’d take her to Russia, but it was an immense country, almost equal in size to the United States. Without knowing exactly where to search, there could be an infinite number of lairs where the enemy could hide.