Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  Listening for the sounds of approaching feet, he heard only two pairs of legs striding unevenly over the ground. They were moving fast, though, and he wondered what he’d be facing.

  “They come,” the pilot said in a hoarse whisper. “I think one of them is monkey. The other... I don’t know.”

  Harry took a closer look. It was definitely the monkey-man. Regeneration was indeed a wondrous thing. The monkey-man’s eyes, formerly blinded by Anastasia, had healed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

  Mutant number two resembled a cross between a rat and a kangaroo. It had the latter’s massive thighs and sprang across the hard-packed earth, but the head was all rat, along with a pointy nose, whiskers and beady eyes.

  Both of them didn’t appear to be armed, but they had wicked-looking claws and enhanced strength, so perhaps they felt confident no one would oppose them. Overconfidence—Harry was counting on that.

  “Well, what is here?” the monkey-man said once he saw the shaking Istvan. “We have been searching for you, pig-man. You come with us.”

  “I do not think so,” Istvan replied and in a surprise move, he stamped on the monkey-man’s foot, before bolting from the scene, squealing like a pig.

  Monkey-man howled more in surprise than pain, but let out another howl, this time of real pain when the pilot appeared, machine gun at the ready. “Die!” he screamed out and riddled his opponent’s shoulder and upper chest with bullets. The mutant bellowed with rage and the pilot’s eyes widened with surprise. “Why not you die?” he cried.

  Regeneration was the key thing here. Even as the pilot uttered those words, the skin began to knit and the monkey-man lunged toward the pilot and tore both machine guns away from him. Wrapping his hand around the pilot’s throat, he began to squeeze with a wicked grin on his face. A horrid gurgle came from the man’s throat as he fought back against certain death. He kicked and thrashed under the monster’s grip while the kanga-rat stood by and laughed.

  “Laugh at this!” Harry yelled and leaped off the roof, claws fully extended. The kanga-rat looked up in surprise, which left his throat exposed. Harry opened up his opponent’s throat with a massive swipe of his claws. That gave the kanga-rat another smile, but it didn’t have time to scream.

  It did have time to die, though and sank to the ground with a soft sigh.

  “I kill you!” the monkey-man screamed and hurled the limp body of the pilot away.

  He ran over in a blur of speed. Harry, now enraged, met him head on and proceeded to beat him to a pulp. Laying him out with a series of right hand smashes, Harry was about to choke him when Istvan came creeping back. His voice was very indistinct. “Harry, stop your killing. We need him.”

  Reason entered the picture and Harry reluctantly took his hands away from the monkey-man’s throat. He was unconscious, and Istvan ran inside the farmhouse and came back with a length of stout rope, which he used to tie up the thing securely. “Go check on pilot,” he said.

  The pilot’s throat had been crushed. Even in the darkness, Harry saw the mottling and purpling of damaged flesh. He knelt down at the man’s side. “Hey, hang tight. You’re going to be okay.”

  “My name...” the pilot whispered, “my name is Peter.”

  His head lolled to one side. He was dead. Hanging his head, Harry went to the side of the barn, found a shovel and began to dig a grave. The man deserved a decent burial.

  The captive lay on the kitchen floor, bound, helpless and gagged. When Harry started to question him, he started to scream and chatter. Even through the gag, it came out high and shrill. Harry wasn’t an expert on animals, but to him it sounded more like the cry of a monkey than a man. He wouldn’t respond to questions. Finally, he managed to break free of his bonds and Harry knocked him cold.

  “I will search for something stronger,” Istvan said. He went out to the barn and returned, laboriously dragging a length of chain behind him. “I find this. It is good enough?”

  “It’ll do.”

  Grimly, Harry set about tying up the creature in front of him. Halfway through, the monster woke up and began to kick. It didn’t scream, though. It simply spit out each word, laced with unreasoning hatred. “You will never win,” it said.

  “I’m not all about winning,” Harry replied. “I’m about answers. You’re going to tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Listen, scumbag,” said Harry, his temper redlining, and he grabbed the thing around the neck. “I’m just about out of patience. Your boss kidnapped my girlfriend, your friends have murdered a lot of people in three different countries, and you’re going to die unless you start talking. I don’t want to do it, but I will. You remember your little forest retreat, don’t you?”

  A malicious-looking grin spread across the simian features. “You are nothing. I don’t care about your girlfriend. If I see her again, I hurt her good.” Hatred laced every word. “You are just like everyone else. You want to control me... us.”

  “Yeah, I know what kind of people you are,” Harry said. Szabo had spoken about helping the disaffected youth of society, those who’d been discriminated against. In reality, he was leading a group of punks who simply didn’t want to fit in and chose another way of showing their alienation—the wrong way. “So listen up—if my girlfriend is still alive, then I want to know where she is.”

  “I will not tell you.”

  That was the wrong answer. Harry let go of his collar, grabbed him by the ears and began to slam his head against the floorboards repeatedly until the monkey-man’s eyes began to glaze over. “Talk to me!”

  When the other thing wouldn’t answer, rage overtook Harry. He let go then and lifting his foot up, he prepared to stomp this thing’s head into something resembling a pancake, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. Turning around, Istvan stood there on all fours with a look of determination on his face

  “Let me,” he said. Getting up on his hind legs, he went to the stove to turn on the gas. A flame leaped up from the burner. He waddled over to the sink, took a pot, filled it with water and placed it on the burner. Then he waited. And all this time, the monkey-man watched without saying a word.

  A few minutes later, the pot began to boil. Istvan switched his gaze back and forth between the prisoner and the stove, all with a faint smile. The monkey-man began to twitch. Its eyes cleared and it looked at Harry. “You will not do this,” he said.

  “Tell me where Szabo is and maybe you won’t get scalded,” Harry said.

  “No, you will not do this!”

  Istvan came back long enough to bend over the bound monkey-man. “Please hear me. I am a pig now. I do not wish to be this way, but I am. And I am not happy.” For the first time since they’d met, Harry detected a note of menace in Istvan’s voice.

  “Go to hell, pig-man.”

  Istvan received the insult without another word. Awkwardly turning back to the stove, he proceeded to take the now bubbling pot of water and dump it on the monkey-man’s face. The skin immediately began to bubble and perforate and he screamed in agony. The sight of melting flesh made Harry want to look away, but he couldn’t show weakness in front of the enemy. “Start talking,” he said.

  In spite of his injuries, the captive spit out a “No” answer. There was something to be said for stubbornness, but this verged on stupidity.

  “That is too bad,” Istvan said and filled the pot with some more water. “It will be ready in about six minutes.”

  Sickened by the brutality, but knowing that they needed answers and needed them now, Harry swallowed his feelings of pity. If this was the only way, then so be it. The sound of bubbling water got his attention and this time he picked up the pot and began to pour it on the now ruined face of the thing writhing in agony on the floor. More screams filled the air. “Please... no more,” it begged. “I will tell you.”

  “Give me numbers.”

  The creature with the half-melted face babbled a series of non-sequitur sentences from its puffy, distorted lips.
Some of the words Harry couldn’t understand, but he heard words like “chamber” “change” “sleep” and one more word that chilled him to the bone—”stasis”.

  “What do you mean by stasis?” he asked,

  Monkey-man shook his head and writhed in pain. “We... have a base... in mountains. More labs... older places,” he said, the words slurred and distorted by his ruined mouth.

  “Specifics, I want specifics,” Harry said. “Tell me where the lab is. Tell me how many more people are changed over. Tell me everything.”

  With a shriek, the creature spasmed and its voice became faint. “More labs... out there. Some of them...very advanced... we have.”

  “Where are they?” demanded Harry, grabbing the creature by its tattered clothing and hauling him up. “Tell me!”

  “I don’t... know,” the monkey-man said, his voice a whisper. His body began to shake in a series of death throes. “I never heard name of place. Szabo knows. He knows. Find him and you will find labs.”

  A rattling sound came from his throat and his body sagged. Harry lowered him to the ground. Part of him felt sorry that this had to happen and part of him felt only disgust.

  “Is he dead?” Istvan asked.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  With the monkey-man’s death, there went any way of tracking down the main lair. If they couldn’t track it down and if the Russian government remained obstinate, then more of these transgenic people could be created and perhaps hidden away.

  However, the possibility that others still existed away from the main lab was frustrating as well as frightening. It was frustrating because if he only had the information, then he’d relay it to the authorities as fast as possible. The frightening part of it all was that he didn’t know how many people there really were. The Genesis Chamber was already operational, and in a number of countries, too. In a year, there was no way to know how many recruits Szabo could come up with.

  “We shall continue searching,” Istvan said in a high-pitched voice. He sounded very much like a pig that had recently learned how to speak. “I should feel bad that he is dead,” he added, looking at the fallen man-thing. “I do not feel anything at all.” With a snort, he spat on the fallen man whose face was had gone from being a recognizable simian one to one that connoted the word monster.

  “We already know that we’re close. The pilot said something about the mountains. That’s my guess, too,” Harry said. “You should try to cross the border.”

  Istvan shook his head. “I cannot go. I am not strong enough to go on my own. I... I am turning into what I hate most.”

  Harry wanted to say that he knew about the problem, but Istvan stopped him by holding up a now very porcine hoof. “You do not have to say. I hear Szabo and other scientist talk about this. I know what I will become... but I do not want those crazy people to catch me.”

  “So where will you... I mean, what are you going to do?”

  Istvan got down on all fours. It seemed to be a more natural position for him and he swung his head back and forth. “I do not know. I cannot go home. I do not wish anyone to see me when I change to...”

  A sudden flow of tears interrupted him and he rubbed his eyes carefully with the edges of his hooves. “I only wish to help you find your girlfriend.”

  Harry went over and sat beside him. “Thanks. I know we, uh, haven’t been as nice to you as we should have, but—”

  “I understand,” Istvan cut in and spoke in a voice without any self-pity attached to it. “You and Anastasia have each other.”

  “And we have you,” a voice from outside called.

  Szabo! He’d tracked them there... or maybe used the now-dead monkey thing as cannon fodder. It was at times like these that Harry wished he could fly. Then again, bad idea, as Szabo’s girlfriend was probably soaring around upstairs, waiting like the Red Baron to shoot the nearest invader down.

  Istvan started from his position and made for the back door, but Harry clamped down on his shoulder. “Stay still,” he hissed in a low voice. “They’ll be waiting.”

  “I cannot go with them.” Istvan’s voice bordered on blind panic, something neither of them needed. “I cannot return to be an experiment.”

  Breathing hard, Harry wondered what to do... and then had an idea. “Get ready to run the opposite way,” he ordered.

  He picked up the corpse of the monkey-man and heaved it out the window. Predictably, a burst of machine-gun fire came their way, followed by laughter. Harry detected at least six voices in the raucous laughter... but not Szabo’s. He was more than likely circling around the back.

  “I hear something,” Istvan said. “Heavy footsteps, like someone very big.”

  “I know who it is.”

  Harry got ready. “When I open the door,” he instructed, “you run to the right and keep going. Understand? Don’t stop.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Oh really, Harry thought, lie some more. They were going to shoot him down, plain and simple. After taking a couple of deep breaths to steel his nerve, he yanked the door open and charged outside. Seven transgenic mistakes stood there, but only three of them were armed.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Istvan fleeing the scene. Good, he’d be safe. Harry then piled into the transgenics, slashing and clawing his way through them. Two fell from mortal wounds to their throats and two others fell back clutching broken arms and hands.

  However, three more monsters piled on top of Harry and pushed him face down on the ground. Their breath smelled of rotting flesh. Angry voices told him that the end would come soon. He only hoped that it would be quick. “Time to die, traitor,” one of them said.

  “Not yet,” Szabo said. He strode over and squatted down in front of Harry. “Guess who?”

  “Scumbag leader number one,” Harry ground out. “C’mon, get it over with.”

  “I will grant you your wish.”

  Szabo’s boot flew in. Harry felt it hit his jaw, experienced a blinding pain behind his eyes, and darkness descended.

  Chapter Thirteen: Siberian Showdown

  Pain woke Harry up. While pain came in many forms, this particular kind of pain came as sledgehammer kicks in the side. In the dim recesses of his mind, he didn’t think that being rendered unconscious was all that great, but it was a whole lot better than being used as an ersatz football. “Get up,” a voice said.

  Groaning, he blinked and opened his eyes. Szabo stood in front of him, face expressionless, a machine-gun slung around his shoulders. “Get up,” he said. “We are almost there.”

  He pointed straight ahead. With a massive effort, Harry got to his feet and brushed himself off. Following Szabo’s finger, he saw mountains ahead. Peter, the now-dead pilot, had been right. “I know this sounds like a stupid question, but where is here?” was the first question that came to mind.

  “Some distance from the farmhouse where we captured you,” Szabo answered from behind. “My men and I carried you here and they have gone on ahead of me. We have but a short ways to go. I have not tied you up. If you run, however, I will shoot you. If you attack me, I will kill you,” he warned. “Start walking.”

  With a sharp gesture of his weapon, they began to walk along a dirt road toward the mountains. Sniffing the air, Harry said, “I smell water.”

  “We are in Yakutsk, a port city on the Lena River,” Szabo answered. “This is the northernmost part, near the Lena Pillars. It is a sightseeing spot for the Russian—” he spat out the word—”people. This is near where it all started, where it started with Nurmelev, with Grushenko and where it started with me. The laboratory is nearby. Your girlfriend is there, too.”

  “If you hurt her—”

  Szabo uttered a loud belly laugh and poked Harry sharply in the back with the barrel of the machine gun. “You are in no position to threaten me. I am bigger than you, faster, stronger and I am armed. You were lucky once before in Serbia. You will not be so lucky here. Anyway,” his voi
ce assumed a jovial tone, “I do not wish to kill you unless I have to. You are too valuable.”

  Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to fix Szabo with a stare. “If you think I’m going to help you create more combinations, then kill me now. I won’t do it.”

  A wintry smile came from the man-shark. “I’m not asking you to create. You are going to fix that which cannot be fixed.”

  He motioned with his weapon. “Keep walking. I will explain once we get there.”

  They continued to walk, this time in tandem, although Szabo kept a distance of five feet between them and had his weapon at the ready. He wasn’t taking any chances, Harry thought, and wondered how he could get out of this situation. Nothing seemed to present itself. At any rate, he wasn’t leaving without Anastasia.

  Soon a number of pillars loomed up, and they towered over the rest of the area. The smell of water grew stronger and held a tang in it. “These are the pillars?”

  Szabo nodded. “Yes, they are geographical formations of limestone, dolomite and slate, among other minerals. There are caves there, protected by the government. When I was first created, I was taken here and then brought back to Hungary for further...” he paused for a moment as if thinking about which word to use, “education. I remember this area well. Grushenko spoke lovingly of it. He spoke highly of your girlfriend, Anastasia, as well.”

  “Anastasia’s too good for you,” Harry answered, angry that this monster would use her name so casually. “She wouldn’t—”

  “Would not... what?” Szabo interrupted with a smirk. He seemed to be enjoying this immensely. “If you are thinking that I am interested in your girlfriend, then the answer is no. She is attractive, but she is not who I desire.”

  Harry remained silent. Shifting his eyes left and right, he reconnoitered the area, but the entire region seemed inaccessible. He only hoped that the transponder was giving out its signal and that Maze and Jason could track their whereabouts.