Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  At the bottom level, the little man tossed the keys inside and Anastasia opened her cage. She came out and knelt down to embrace Istvan. “Thank you,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.

  For his part, Istvan blushed furiously and said nothing. Anastasia arose, quickly embraced Harry and started up the stairs. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Lips drawn back to expose her teeth, she replied, “To get a little payback. Martuska is out there. Szabo told me she always patrols the area. She’ll be waiting.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Bet on it. See you soon.”

  Anastasia tore up the steps while Istvan began to open up every cell and took out the mattresses, grunting as he did so. “What are you doing?” Harry asked. “We have to get out of here now!”

  “You say you want fire. I give Szabo and Kulakov fire.” Istvan clapped his hooves together. “Give me the chemical. I just sprinkle and light, yes?”

  Wordlessly, Harry nodded and handed over the materials. “Don’t stay too long.”

  He spun on his heel and raced to the stairs. As he did so, he heard his companion yelling “Come here, I am here!”

  A second later, the transgenic horde ran down the stairs. Harry flattened himself against the wall. The enhanced ran right by him, hooves, feet and claws scoring the ground. They went through the door and Harry heard Istvan yell, “Close it!”

  “Get out of there!” he yelled.

  “Close it!” Istvan repeated.

  A puff of smoke came out, and Harry then heard the sound of the igniter going off. Seconds later, flames shot over his head and he ducked to avoid getting singed. “Close it!” he heard Istvan yell once more. Reluctantly, Harry put his shoulder against the door and shut it, closing his eyes and wishing it didn’t have to be this way.

  Suicide, this was suicide.

  No time to think about it now. He charged up the steps to the laboratory where he saw Szabo waiting, a hungry look in his eyes. “That little pig escaped me. He will not get far, and neither will you.”

  A brief stab of fear lanced through Harry’s being, but only for a moment. He could and would not lose, not now or ever. Gesturing with his hand, he urged the shark-monster forward. “Come and get some.”

  Szabo obliged him and charged with his arms wide open. Harry stepped aside to let the monster pass and slashed at his neck. A gash opened up, blood poured out, but it just as quickly closed up. “My regenerative powers are beyond yours,” Szabo roared as he turned for another rush. “You cannot beat me. It would take much more than you have to kill me.”

  Wisps of smoke from the lower levels crept in, followed by cries of agony from the trapped transgenics. “Your friends are getting roasted,” Harry said.

  Szabo glanced briefly in the direction of the door. “I do not care,” he replied, his voice icy. “I can make more. I will make armies! But you will not live long enough to see that.”

  This time, he moved in more slowly, weaving his hands in a tight defensive circle. With the edge in height and weight, not to mention power, he made a fearsome opponent. Fighting hand to hand, Harry bobbed and weaved, blocked and parried the punches and doubled up his punches to the monster’s body. While his swipes always brought out the blood, Szabo hardly seemed to feel it.

  The smoke continued to pour in. It set up a cloud and Harry found it difficult to find his target. After another sweeping slash, Szabo grabbed him and tossed him against the far wall. Harry barely missed getting impaled by some protruding steel spikes. Roughly five inches in length, they were rusty and old, but still sharp. One of them scored his back and he fell to the floor. “Ha, you cannot win,” said Szabo, triumph lacing each word. “You cannot win.”

  He lumbered over and began to club Harry over the neck and back. Each hammer blow brought more pain and every disc in his spine felt as if it were being crushed. On the verge of blacking out, Harry heard the monster’s mocking laugh. “You are done. And after I finish you, your girlfriend will be next!”

  With that utterance, something snapped inside Harry’s mind and rage took over—rage, and reason. Fighting Szabo his way wouldn’t work. Feline... Harry was part feline... and felines knew how to circle in and out against much bigger opponents. The man-shark raised his arms for the killing blow and Harry ducked and rolled out of the way just in time. The massive shark man’s fists smashed into the concrete and he bellowed in pain.

  Getting to his feet, Harry forced his claws out as far as they’d go. “I’m not finished yet.”

  The sounds of screaming below and the fact that it was getting very hot lent greater urgency to the battle. This had to end soon or they’d both fry. Szabo lunged, and Harry’s combat training returned to him full force. He jumped backwards and landed on the edge of a table. A millisecond later, he sprang forward, flipped over his opponent’s head and slashed his eye as he did so. Szabo roared in pain. “You little insect, I will smash you!”

  “Who’s your daddy?” Harry asked and dialed up the mocking tone to high. “Oh wait, you don’t know who he is, do you?”

  Another cry of rage came from Szabo. “I will kill you for this!”

  “Try it.”

  In an absolute fury, Szabo grabbed and threw equipment, chairs, anything he could get his hands on. Harry ducked and sidestepped each toss, circled out of range, all the while tossing insults. “Other kids call you psycho... or was that what your father said?”

  More snarls and more lunges followed, but the impossible began to happen. Szabo’s rushes got slower. He still had the edge in strength, though, and his damaged eye had just about healed. Stealing a quick glance to his left, Harry realized that the man-shark had maneuvered him into a position just shy of the spikes. Last chance, so he asked, “Does Martuska know what a loser you are? She needs a better father figure than you. Maybe Kulakov will do.”

  That seemed to trigger something worse, as Szabo let out a cry of pure rage and charged him, head down. Like a matador evading a bull, Harry simply moved out of the way and let momentum rule the day. Szabo ran headfirst into the spikes and lobotomized himself.

  “You... you little man,” he said, his voice growing weaker. He tried to pull free, but couldn’t. “I will...” His voice trailed off, but he continued to struggle.

  It was time to end this. Harry walked over, extended his claws and slammed his hands into Szabo’s neck as far as they could go. The behemoth let out a strangled sound and shoved his hands against the wall in an attempt to extricate his head from the metal. “You... will never win,” he burbled out.

  In desperation, Harry shoved his hands in further, found the spinal cord and yanked on it as hard as possible. Blood poured from Szabo’s neck and spilled out onto the floor. Battle finished for the moment, Harry sagged down to one knee in exhaustion. “I just did.”

  Szabo’s body still quivered. There was only one way to make sure that he was history. Getting to his feet, Harry pulled his opponent’s body away from the wall, lugged it over to the shark, and tossed it inside with a mighty heave.

  The shark moved toward its meal and its jaws opened wide. Harry turned his head away. Bending at the waist, he inhaled great gulps of air, trying to slow his heart down.

  A second later, he began to cough as a thick wall of smoke enveloped the room. Cries for help from the trapped and perhaps damned souls downstairs pierced the air. Time to go, but where was Istvan...

  “You,” a voice from behind him said. “You have ruined everything!”

  Harry spun around on his heel. Kulakov stood there, an expression of total fury on his face. “There is a fire here and I cannot control it,” he screamed, every limb on his body quivering. “You have killed my subjects!”

  “No, I’ve killed your dream,” Harry said, forcing the words out. It hurt to talk and breathing made the pain even worse. “It’s over. The fire will clean everything up. You’re done.”

  “Am I?”

  Kulakov came at him in a blur of speed, arms working fast, chopping
and hacking away. Harry got blindsided. He’d almost figured out the thing’s patterns, but Kulakov landed a sharp chop on his neck and Harry went down, temporarily paralyzed. “I am not finished yet,” he said and dragged Harry over to the service elevator.

  Inside, the monstrosity punched the button and up they went until the elevator stopped and the door opened. Wind buffeted the area and Harry felt the clutching hands pick him up and toss him out onto the hard rock. “We are at the top now,” Kulakov snarled. “Only one of us will leave. It will not be you.”

  With a hoarse cry of rage, Harry leaped to his feet, claws out and adrenaline flowing through his body. “Bring it!” he yelled.

  Kulakov obliged him by starting forward, hands moving in their circular pattern—the same pattern. Right, left, thrust, chop from the right hand to the left, then the opposite... the thing never varied its movements. Harry did, though and evaded each shot while slashing off an arm at a time.

  The monster howled in pain. Going on the offensive, Harry cut and chopped at his enemy, driving him back to the edge of the cliff. A look of disbelief appeared in Kulakov’s eyes. He was losing, perhaps for the first time in his life, and he knew it. “Please,” he said, pleading for his life. His manner was piteous to the nth degree. “Please... no.”

  A scream erupted from his lips as he tripped on a rock and fell over the side. Harry ran to catch him. This thing didn’t deserve to die, not yet. It needed to be put on public display for everyone to spit on. He grabbed on to the blob’s remaining arm. “You don’t deserve to live.”

  “You don’t deserve to be as you are,” Kulakov gasped. “But I will take your assistance...”

  His voice abruptly trailed off. His body seemed to shift, become looser somehow and he had just enough time to let out one word. “Oh...”

  A second later, his arm came free from his body. With a terrible scream, he plummeted to the ground below. Harry couldn’t see him, but he heard something go splat.

  Tired and in pain, he tossed the arm over the side of the cliff. “Istvan,” he whispered.

  Hurriedly, he made his way back to the complex. From there, he rode the elevator down to the bottom. Emerging in a sea of flames, he hunted for the little pig-man, but there was no sign of him. The screaming had also stopped from behind the metal door. Knowing that he had to leave yet not wanting to, he ran for his life up the stairs and out into the open. Billowing smoke swirled around him as he slammed the door shut.

  “Anastasia!” he yelled out. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” she replied. “Take a left around the corner of the building!”

  “I’m coming.”

  Sniffing the air, he tried to get Istvan’s scent, but couldn’t catch even a faint whiff. Perhaps he’d made his escape. Harry wanted to believe that he had and wished the little man well. He’d had no choice in all of this. In fact, none of them had gotten the chance to lead a normal life. Only he had, and he’d made the choice to be with Anastasia and be like her. It wasn’t something he’d regretted.

  As he turned a corner, he found Anastasia bent over Martuska’s body. Anastasia sported numerous cuts and slashes on her face and body, but still stood. Martuska didn’t. She wouldn’t be flying the friendly skies ever again. Feathers littered the ground and a pool of blood had already begun to spread from under her corpse.

  “Birds can fly,” Anastasia said and she sounded spent. With a grunt of pain, she sat down and held her head in her hands. “They’re not so good at fighting on land.”

  Harry slumped down beside her. “Are you going to be okay?”

  It wasn’t the smartest question to ask, but it had to be. As for him, he figured on having nightmares for a month, but as for Anastasia...

  “Yeah, I’ll live,” she said, rolling her neck around her shoulders. The cuts and slashes on her body had already begun to heal. “It’s just all this... all this death... I’m tired of it.”

  A look of anguish crept over her face. “All I ever wanted was to be normal. Now I can’t be. I’m stuck this way.”

  Harry put his hand around her shoulder. “Is it so bad?”

  The look of anguish gave way to one of acceptance and she offered a shrug. “If you’re with me, then that’s enough. I can put up with the stares and the comments and all the other crap if you can.”

  Thinking about it, Harry wondered if Szabo had been so wrong. He’d wanted to build a society away from the mainstream, build his world and make it a place where others like him could live and walk around free. It wasn’t a bad idea, but his way of doing it—through murder and terror—had been all wrong from the start. And he’d never realized it. Maybe he hadn’t cared.

  As for Kulakov, he’d been mad from the start. Wanting to reshape human evolution, which meant killing most of the human race—no, Harry had not allowed that to happen and neither had Anastasia.

  A sudden thought speared Harry’s mind. It was something very simple, very basic and yet fundamental to every human being out there. From now on, he decided that he’d walk around in the sun whenever he pleased. He’d go where he wanted, buy whatever he liked and do what was necessary to be the same as everyone else. In his mind, he was just like everyone else, only furrier.

  Anastasia’s hand caressing his face broke his train of thought. He turned and locked eyes with her. “How about you?” she asked. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he tiredly got to his feet. He reached down to pull her up with him. “I think we’re going to be fine.”

  A sound from over the horizon broke through. It was a helicopter. “Company’s coming. It has to be Farrell.”

  He took his girlfriend’s hand in his. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Fourteen: Wither Thou Goest

  The debriefing, short and sweet, took place on the airplane back to the States. Upon boarding, Harry sank into a seat, feeling every bone ache. His muscles sent stabs of pain to spots he didn’t know existed. Enhanced healing powers or not, he could still be injured, and getting injured hurt.

  Anastasia plopped down beside him. She gave him a nod as if to say I know how much pain you’re in. A slight groan came from her as she shifted around to a more comfortable position.

  Farrell took a seat across the aisle and gingerly sat, favoring his bad arm. “I thought you said the Russians shut you out,” Anastasia said.

  “Initially they did,” he replied. “However, a friend came forward with a little information, and they changed their minds.”

  “What friend are we talking about?”

  Farrell chuckled. “It was Morozoff. He said that he had detailed files on every single dirty deal the Kremlin has done for the last twenty years.”

  Astonished, Harry asked, “He bluffed them?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Farrell turned to Anastasia and added, “Morozoff said that he owed it to you. It wasn’t much, but that was all he had.”

  She remained silent, but gave a tiny smile and returned the nod. Farrell sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m up for a vacation.”

  Vacation... yeah, right, Harry thought. If he and Anastasia went anywhere outside the cabin, where would they go and what would they do? Right now, he wasn’t thinking about relaxing on a beach sipping Coke or an alcoholic beverage. He was too busy thinking about the events of the last hour, and like a horror movie, the worst parts replayed themselves endlessly in his mind. The gurgling sound that Szabo had made after Harry had sunk his claws into his neck. The horrific shrieks that the other enhanced had made as the fire consumed them.

  Finally, he remembered the look of utter terror on Kulakov’s face as he plummeted to his death from the top of the peak. Like a time-loop, the events came back in living color. It was a sure bet that he’d have nightmares for a while. However, the immediate danger was over. The enemy, for now, had been defeated. Life would continue.

  “Did you manage to get any information?” asked Farrell, breaking
the spell. He leaned forward in his seat and waited with an expectant look on his face.

  “What did...” Harry blinked. “What was that?”

  “Information,” Farrell repeated in a testy tone. It seemed that he needed the information yesterday. “I’m asking you if you found anything.”

  “No,” Anastasia cut in. “There was nothing. It’s all gone.”

  Farrell grunted as if he somehow disapproved of them getting out of the laboratory alive and intact, but not bringing back the secrets of the universe. He twiddled his fingers and after blowing out a deep breath, offered, “Well, at least you’re both okay. That’s something.”

  That had to be the understatement of the year, Harry reflected. To him, it was a big something. An even bigger something—rather, someone—sat beside him. Seeing Anastasia alive after the conflict had sent a huge wave of relief through him.

  On the other hand, they hadn’t found a trace of Istvan. After the battles with Szabo and Kulakov and after the fire and the subsequent explosion, it seemed that all traces of his existence had been wiped out.

  As they waited for the helicopter to arrive, Anastasia said with a wistful tone in her voice, “I want to believe he’s still alive. He helped us so much.”

  Harry also wanted to believe the little man had survived. Maybe one day he’d turn up.

  The sounds of the helicopter grew louder. Before it landed, Anastasia ran through the area, testing the air with her nose. At one point, she even dropped to all fours and sniffed at the sparse grass. “You smell anything?” Harry asked.

  She got to her feet and shook her head. “No, there’s too much smoke and blood in the air. If his body had been burned, I’d have smelled it. There’s nothing.”

  Her statement sent a wave of loss through him. Istvan hadn’t asked for any of this to happen to him. Like many of the others, he’d been an unwilling pawn, used for the amusement of the sick minds out there, along with their evil plots. They had paid, but Harry still held out hope that the little man had somehow made it through.