Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  Szabo caught him looking around. “Oh, please do not think that the transponder you have swallowed will work here.” He held up a small device, the size of a cigarette lighter. “This interrupts the signal. You are not as clever as you thought. I figured it out after the attack in Serbia, and your girlfriend could not hide its existence from us.” A malicious grin split his features. “We beat it out of her.”

  Inwardly, Harry raged at Szabo’s last statement. Adrenaline and the desire for revenge made him start forward, but he held himself back with a supreme effort. Right now, there was nothing he could do about it. The monster had everything planned to the last detail. “Okay, you got us. So what do you want?”

  A throaty laugh, laced with menace, rang through the air. “In due time, I shall tell you,” Szabo said. They walked a bit more and soon found themselves at the base of one of the pillars. “We are here,” he announced.

  The sound of wings flapping overhead made Harry look up. It sounded familiar. Sure enough, Martuska circled down slowly to land in front of them. For a change, she wore a smile—and it was directed at Szabo.

  In return, he smiled at her, but when he looked at Harry, the smile faded and a malevolent look crept into his eyes. “You are not that clever,” he said from the side.

  Once again, Harry cursed his inability to figure things out and waited for the inevitable blow. If he was going to get slammed, he figured it would be quick.

  It was indeed quick, as he never saw the ham hock fist that crashed against his jaw. He did, however, see the stones and dirt that came up to meet his face. Then the blackness took over.

  A hoarse voice cut through Harry’s non-self-imposed sleep. “Wake him up.”

  This voice wasn’t Szabo’s. He didn’t want to wake up, but a second later, a massive hand smashed into the side of his face, jolting him into full awareness. Harry groaned and slowly sat up. He found himself in a cell lying on a filthy cot. If there were hellholes, then this was it. The other cell in Serbia had been a luxury hotel compared to this place.

  There was no sink, no toilet, and the floor was black with streaks of red showing through the muck. In the corner he saw a pile of bones, many of them distorted. Some still had bits of meat on them. The smell was beyond rank and he breathed through his mouth.

  Another slap brought him face to face with Szabo. With his mouth open and jaws ready to bite, he looked more shark-like than ever. “Get up, little man,” he commanded. “Get up or I shall tear off one of your arms—”

  “Not just yet,” the hoarse voice interrupted. “I must speak with Goldman alone.”

  Szabo grunted and moved out of the way. Behind him stood an even greater monstrosity, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a gasp. “You’re Kulakov?”

  “I am... and I was. Now, I am more.”

  Kulakov’s description was correct. He might have been a man once, but not now. In Harry’s mind, he couldn’t even be classified as human anymore. A large, amorphous gray blob, he had to be almost six feet in width as well as in height. Numerous arms and legs dotted his body. Long, muscular and constantly on the move, they made him look like a cross between a spider and an amoeba. He still had a human’s head, though, oval and hairless, with piercing black eyes and a thin slit of a mouth.

  The man-shark hovered in the background, grunting with impatience at some task yet unfinished. Apparently, Kulakov didn’t think much of the tough-guy act as he swiveled his ahead around and ordered, “Szabo, get out and check the laboratory. Do it now.”

  His voice, cold and devoid of passion, sounded more than commanding, and it sent a shudder of fear up and down Harry’s spine. Szabo uttered a grunt, but left, reluctantly it seemed, as a frown flickered briefly across his mouth.

  After he left, Kulakov nodded and rubbed his multiple hands together. “I must show you our compound. This is where we—and you—shall make magic happen. It will be the magic of science, young man, and not something a magician conjures out of the ether.”

  “If you think I’m going to help you, you’re crazy,” Harry stated. “What makes you—?”

  “Come with me,” Kulakov interrupted. “There is only one reason, and that reason should be impetus enough for you. I will show you.”

  He moved away from the cell and gestured with one of his arms. “Move ahead of me to the door at the end of the hallway,” he instructed. “There are stairs. Go down two flights. There, you will see your answer.”

  Knowing what he’d see and yet not wanting to, Harry walked ahead of the blob. Kulakov made a squishy, unpleasant sound as he moved along, like grapes being trod on to make wine. Harry did take a look behind him—once—just in time to see one of Kulakov’s limbs drop off with a mass of flesh attached to it. The sight almost made him gag and he faced forward again.

  After he opened the door, the smell of decay smacked him in the face. Mold lay thick upon the walls. The stairs were blackened by soot. Carved out of the rock, they were also uneven, and he stumbled at times. Dim lights overhead lit the way, throwing ominous shadows in his path.

  “What is this place?” he asked as they went along.

  “This is the first laboratory ever built during the Cold War,” Kulakov said from behind him, his tone conversational. “I am told that it was built almost seventy years ago, hewn out of the earth and built to last. This is true.”

  The two lower levels contained laboratory equipment, tables, beakers, centrifuges, DNA analyzers and more. They also contained multiple Genesis Chambers, which looked to be fully operational. There was also one gigantic fish tank the length of the room with a very large shark swimming in it. It was a Great White. What else would it be? Harry thought without humor.

  “It took a long time to find the proper shark to work with. It cost a great deal of money to have it sent over. However, it was worth it. That is what we bred Szabo from,” Kulakov said. “I keep the shark as a souvenir.”

  “At least you’re not calling it a pet.”

  His comment earned him a throaty laugh. Szabo stood near one of the tables, motionless. “I am almost finished,” he said. “Everything will be ready shortly.”

  Kulakov continued onward, not deigning to look at him. Szabo grunted and turned away while the scientist pointed ahead.

  As they left Szabo to his chores, Harry said, “You two aren’t exactly friends, are you?”

  “No, we are not,” Kulakov answered after a fashion. “However, he is useful to me. He was one of Grushenko’s first experiments that succeeded. He could not be stopped, however, and wanted to live his own way. He escaped and came here. After some discussion regarding our mutual goals, I gave him more enhancements.” He nodded at the shark tank. “Their DNA is instrumental in healing, you understand.”

  Sickened by the whole thing, Harry got out, “You know what he’s after, right?”

  Kulakov’s head bobbed up and down in his jelly-like body. Waves of flesh accompanied the movement. “I am aware of his goals. He can have his own realms if he wishes, and if he can control them. I will have mine. That is enough for me. Continue walking downstairs, please.”

  At the bottom, they stopped in front of a heavy looking door. “It is made of solid iron,” Kulakov said. “Six inches thick, it can withstand almost anything. Open it. You have the strength to do so.”

  When Harry yanked on it, it resisted at first. He exerted his strength, and the door creaked on rusty hinges. He walked in, staring at the row of cells that lay ahead. They were all filled with the most hideously deformed people he’d ever seen, their eyes bugging out or non-existent. He saw the silent screaming faces, twisted limbs and combinations of all types of animals. He turned his head away in disgust. It may have been an act of mercy to know that they were already dead, but it didn’t matter. This took the term perversion to a whole new level.

  “It sickens you, does it not?” Kulakov asked. His voice retained its light tone, but it now had an edge to it. “It used to sicken me, but I have become inured to it. In time, so will
you.”

  Harry tried his best to keep the gorge from rising, couldn’t and doubled over, spewing out bile. When he finished, he stood erect and wiped his mouth, only to find the mad scientist staring at him, his face expressionless. “If you are finished,” he said, “go to the last cell on your right. You will find her there.”

  Doing as Kulakov suggested, he walked over and found Anastasia lying on a filthy cot. “Anastasia!” he yelled.

  She stirred, lifted her hand in an exhausted gesture and then let it drop. “I’m fine, Harry,” she said in a weary voice as she moved into a seated position. Her face was a mass of cuts and bruises. Deep gashes scored her body. Martuska’s handiwork, he figured. She sagged down then, weary and beaten, but picked her head up long enough to launch a gob of spit in Kulakov’s direction.

  Whirling around, Kulakov wore a sly smile of victory on his face. “You see what I have,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice. “Now come with me. I will tell you what I want.”

  Not wishing to leave, but having no choice, Harry nodded at Anastasia, mouthed, “I’ll be back” and left with the monster-guide shepherding him upstairs.

  At the laboratory on the second floor, Szabo was busy sweeping up. “Is there anything else that you wish me to do?” he asked, grinding his teeth together. His tone indicated that he thought menial work beneath him.

  “Yes,” Kulakov replied. “Go upstairs and search for that pig. Take some men if you have to, but find him. I want him back alive.”

  So Istvan had gotten away. A sense of satisfaction went through Harry, but it faded after Szabo nodded and bared his teeth. With an audible snap, he shut his jaws and left the room. An uncomfortable silence filled the air until Harry asked, “Who are you, really?”

  “What did Morozoff say to you?”

  The answer surprised Harry and he started. “You know him?”

  Kulakov let out a sigh, the first human trait he’d exhibited so far. “Please be aware that we have followed your every move since you and your girlfriend began living in that cabin in upstate New York six months ago. There is very little that we don’t know.”

  He paused to scratch his head with one of his arms. It flowed through his body a good six inches before stopping. Another limb dropped off and Kulakov gave it quick, somewhat regretful glance before continuing his story.

  “Morozoff may have told you a few things, but not everything. I will. A man named Roslov was the head of the KGB’s medical section when it was at its peak of power and control. I was a doctor, researching life-extension techniques. I graduated medical school at the age of twenty and continued to work at the school after that.

  “I may have been young, but as my professors considered me the brightest in my classes at medical college, they contacted the KGB. After that, at the age of twenty-three, the KGB recruited me. I served them faithfully for over twenty years. And yes, I met Morozoff a few times in the course of my duties, mainly to ask for funding. As I recall, he was about three years older than me.”

  His answer stunned Harry. Morozoff was over eighty, which meant that Kulakov had to be...

  “Yes, I am seventy-nine years old,” the scientist replied as if reading his mind. A crafty smile appeared on his face. “Have I not aged well?”

  Not really, no, Harry thought, but instead asked, “What happened?”

  Two bulges formed in the gelatinous mass that simulated shrugging shoulders. “I was interested then as well as now in extending life. My first experiments were crude, using glands, hormones and insulin, among other drugs. There was some success, but at a price. Most of my subjects died. Some lived, but suffered massive brain or physical trauma. The KGB threatened to cut my funding. Only Roslov believed in me and set me up in this laboratory before he turned his mind to other things. He gave me freedom to work, but always demanded results.”

  Another brief sigh came from him. “Results take time. To placate him, I helped him with the sports programs. They were very successful, needless to say. The glory from that earned me the right to ask for more funding and gave me time to concentrate on my real work.”

  He continued speaking, his voice growing more impassioned with every sentence. Stories about Glasnost, funding being cut, the KGB losing power... he relayed everything and laid out the history of this program. “When the openness of Glasnost happened under Andropov, this program was one of the first to be developed. It was necessary for everything to remain secret, and I was put in charge. Our backers consisted of ex-KGB, bankers, and industrialists, all of whom loved Mother Russia.”

  “You continued experimenting on people?”

  Kulakov nodded. “Yes, but as I have said, many failures occurred in the initial stages of testing. So, I took the risk and experimented on myself. The results did not show at first, but after a few years, it became apparent. My body, my cellular makeup, began to break down. It was only after I consulted Nurmelev and Grushenko that they managed to stabilize my condition.

  “Grushenko, in particular, perfected the transformation chamber. I used parts of other beings to complete my own body, but—” he swept his hands up and down his blobby form and let out a sigh—”the process is still not what I hoped. My cellular makeup continues to decay.”

  Harry fought to keep from gagging once more. This patchwork maniac had kidnapped countless people in order to keep himself alive. His underlings had also committed murders, and they couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.

  However, there was nothing he could do for now. He was under guard, Szabo was a fearsome opponent, and they had Anastasia locked up. “You’re just sick,” he said.

  Kulakov uttered a harsh laugh. “You may call me what you wish. If you are thinking of escaping, then dispel yourself of that notion. You cannot. You will not leave your girlfriend behind, and you have nowhere to go. The exits have been sealed, all except one. That exit is known only to Szabo. You will never defeat him. Even if you manage to get by him somehow, there is only one way off this rock, and that is by helicopter. I have not left this facility for over twenty years. My size prevents it.”

  “How do you get around then?”

  “You have seen how I move,” Kulakov replied. “Over time, I have gotten used to my condition. I get around, after a fashion.” One of his arms pointed downward. “On the bottom floor, there is an emergency elevator that leads to the very top of this rock. In the past, when I was still human, I would signal a helicopter that would pick me up and deliver me to either Moscow or Kiev in order to meet my associates. Unfortunately, I have changed too much and cannot be seen by outsiders. Fortunately, this area is self-sustaining.”

  How it could be self-sustaining was beyond Harry, unless... those bones he’d seen. With a growing sense of horror beyond the horror that he was already feeling, his revulsion for Kulakov grew. This thing had become a cannibal.

  “I think I’ll go to my cell now,” he said slowly. The madness here had become like a coating to his skin and it was working its way inwards. If he stayed any longer, he’d also lose his sanity. “I’ve seen enough.”

  Kulakov favored him with a cruel smile. “There is more yet that you shall see. However, I shall give you time to think it over. When you awaken, that is.”

  In a shocking burst of speed, he moved forward, his arms weaving in a blur. One of them caught Harry on his jaw and he fell to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth.

  “Do not think of escaping,” Kulakov hissed out in a voice most menacing. “I have only one task for you and it is to stabilize the transformation process. My molecular makeup is breaking down. I wish to retain this form. Do this for me, and I promise that you and your girlfriend will live. If you defy me, she shall die in a most horrid manner, and you will watch!”

  The arms came down, clubbing him. Harry felt the smashes and covered up as best he could, but in the end, he succumbed to darkness.

  Minutes or perhaps hours later, Harry awoke with a splitting headache and the taste of dried blood in his mouth. He
spat it out and tried the door. Never mind that it was locked—he tried using his augmented strength to kick it open. It didn’t budge. Whatever material it was made out of, it wasn’t going to give.

  The thought of Anastasia being alive, though—that kept him going. He’d gone through two other accomplices, and he’d go through Szabo if necessary. A second later, his sense of bravado left him. The keepers had locked him in up and thrown away the key...

  “Harry, I am here,” a voice whispered.

  He looked around and saw Istvan trot in on all fours. “We must hurry,” the little pig-man whispered and took a key from his bodysuit.

  Harry noticed that he’d devolved even more and his hooves clumsily fumbled with the key. Finally, he tossed it through the bars and Harry used it to unlock the door.

  Stepping outside, he sniffed the air. No smell of Szabo—yet. He’d be coming soon, though. “How’d you get away?” he asked.

  “I told you once before that I am good at hiding,” Istvan answered. “I cannot fight, but I can hide. After you attack his men, I ran and hid under house. His men cannot find me there when I hide under the dirt. I follow you here by scent and wait outside. When Szabo came to search the ground just now, he lock door, but he leave key in lock.” A tiny smile crossed his face. “I will free your girlfriend.”

  They ran down the stairs together, heedless that Kulakov might see them. He wasn’t in either laboratory. Harry stopped at a worktable before continuing on. “What are you looking for?” Istvan hissed. “We must go.”

  “I need something.” Quickly, Harry searched for the chemical and... yes, there it was. He grabbed a beaker and a quick-start flame. Moving quickly, he continued on with Istvan at his side.

  “What is that?” Istvan panted, his eyes darting left and right. He shook like a leaf in a gale. “You use that to do what?”

  “This is something that will start a very big fire,” Harry answered and handed over the keys. “Let’s get my girlfriend.”