To the Mackey family.
Bruce, Tammy, Alex, Jordan, and Nathan.
You live in Florida. Don’t look out the window.
I’m just saying.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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28
Epilogue
About the Author
From Dr. Catalyst’s Files
Preview
Copyright
IT WAS STILL SO HARD FOR HIM TO ACCEPT.
Up until this moment, almost everything had gone wrong. Unexpected forces were aligned against him. Variables not considered in his equations and simulations somehow appeared with regularity. There was no doubt about it: Dr. Catalyst’s plan to restore the Florida ecosystem was falling apart before his eyes.
Everything that could go wrong did. One by one, his Pterogators were being gathered up in the Everglades. While their introduction dramatically reduced the snake population, they had not eradicated the pythons and boa constrictors as he had hoped. His Muraecudas put a severe dent in the number of lionfish on the coastal reefs. But apparently they’d migrated to other waters, or had perhaps fallen victim to sharks or bigger predators. None had been sighted in weeks, and the lionfish were returning.
And the media was reporting that his Blood Jackets, which he considered his crowning achievement, were dying off. Scores of them had been found dead all over Florida City and the surrounding countryside. He hadn’t even been able to recover the body of the inept Dr. Newton from the swamp. Surely the man was dead, but it was a loose end, and Dr. Catalyst did not like loose ends.
It felt as if he was teetering on the brink of total failure. Early on in his campaign, he had issued a manifesto. Sent to hundreds of media outlets and posted online, it called for like-minded individuals to join his efforts. It was his hope to start a movement, to rally others to his side. It had utterly failed. No one had offered to join him. A few fringe environmental groups had “endorsed” his efforts, but Dr. Catalyst had envisioned throngs of people — hundreds, if not thousands — flocking to his cause. They never materialized. The media called him a crackpot and a danger to society. How preposterous.
He was a visionary.
Still, despite his genius, his efforts had not had the desired effects. And there was one reason. In his mind, his creatures would be healing the fragile Florida ecosystem right now if not for the harassment and interference of a particular individual.
Emmet Doyle.
When the Doyle brat showed up — that was when his plans had gone awry. Someone not even old enough to shave was dashing his hopes and dreams for a naturally restored Florida Everglades. Interfering. Agitating. Forcing him to divert his precious time and resources from his mission. And now he was left with no other choice but to remove this obstacle. No matter the cost.
Prior to releasing his creatures, Dr. Catalyst had purchased over two dozen vehicles. It had been comically simple for someone of his brilliance to hack into the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles registration database and create false registrations and titles of ownership for each vehicle.
One of them, a dark brown panel van, was parked at the curb a few hundred yards down the street from the Doyle home. The windows on the rear door were tinted, allowing no one to see inside. A few ventilation slots were cut into the vehicle to allow air to circulate. The name of a famous national delivery service company had been painted on the side. The van’s license plate and registration would easily pass muster if he were to meet a police officer. Provided they did not ask him to open the rear doors. No one must view his cargo.
That would be a problem.
As if to illustrate his point, the van jerked on its suspension and a strange growling, laughing roar came from the van’s cargo bay. His newest creation was keen to steal into the night. A low growl sounded through the rear wall of the van, and the vehicle bounced again as the creature threw itself against its cage. It was eager to be set free. To hunt.
But patience was required.
At his campaign’s start, Dr. Catalyst had placed video and audio recording devices at National Park Service headquarters. It allowed him to keep tabs on the comings and goings of Dr. Geaux and Dr. Doyle, and on their efforts to thwart him. Somehow they had discovered he was monitoring them and staged a futile attempt to capture him by feeding him false information. He had easily seen through their feeble deception. However, they had removed his surveillance equipment. Now he no longer had inside information on the movements of his enemies.
Dr. Catalyst paused mid-thought. He could hear muffled growls and groans from the animal in back. The van shook again as the creature launched itself repeatedly at the side of its cage. He had not fed it yet today, deciding that hunger would hone its hunting instincts.
Finally the animal quieted. Dr. Catalyst resumed watching the street.
The loss of his equipment forced him to resort to actual physical observation. He couldn’t trust replacing the bugs at the park offices or on Doyle’s and Geaux’s vehicles. They were now regularly checked for listening devices. So he did it the old-fashioned way. Trailing them around town. Spying on them whenever he could do so unobserved, until he had enough data on their routine behavior for his next grand demonstration.
It took precious time away from his work, but eliminating Emmet Doyle would also remove Dr. Doyle and Dr. Geaux from the equation. Then his mission could continue.
His fleet of vehicles had come in handy as he followed Emmet and his father at various times during the day and night. Tonight was Thursday. On Thursdays, Emmet and his father joined Dr. Geaux and Calvin at Pompano’s Pizzeria and did not return until after 9 P.M.
Dr. Catalyst looked at his watch. 9:10 P.M. They would be arriving any moment. As if on cue, he saw their pickup truck in his driver’s-side mirror, turning onto the street. He leaned down in the seat as their truck passed by, making sure they didn’t spot him. A lone man sitting in a van at night might be remembered. An empty vehicle would draw little attention. The truck passed by and continued down the street until it turned into their driveway. He sat up, watching as Emmet and his dad exited the pickup and entered their home.
On the seat next to him sat a pistol loaded with an extremely powerful tranquilizer dart. In the unlikely event that the creature in back decided to turn on him, he would need it. Next to it was a cattle prod. Dr. Catalyst was not cruel to animals, nor was he particularly worried it might attack him. It had been engineered and trained to seek out only one prey.
Still, Dr. Catalyst muttered his mantra.
“No chances.”
Scanning the street, he confirmed that no one was around. He grabbed the tranquilizer gun and cattle prod, then opened the door. Quietly, he stole toward the rear of the van. Dr. Catalyst holstered the pistol and put his free hand on the door handle. Flicking the switch on the cattle prod, he heard a whirring hum as the device charged.
Dr. Catalyst took a deep breath. Once the rear door was opened, a system of cables and pulleys attached to the cage gate would raise it, and his creature would bound from the van.
And it would hunt.
It growled again, and the van shook once more. It was almost as if the creature could sense that it was about to b
e set free. And it was impatient. Dr. Catalyst pushed a button on a small device attached to his wristband. It sent a signal to a collar the creature wore, delivering a mild electric shock to the beast. From within the bowels of the van, Dr. Catalyst heard a cackling laugh from the animal. The “laughing” sound signified submission to a superior.
What waited inside the pen was his latest hybrid. A singular creation. It was not made to counter an invasive species. It was not born in his lab to prevent the destruction of the Everglades. This beast had one purpose and one purpose only.
To find, follow, and kill Emmet Doyle.
Dr. Catalyst opened the door and heard the squeak of cables and pulleys raising the gate to the metal cage. He stepped behind the van door, peeking around to view the magnificent animal emerging from the dark interior. It strode to the edge of the cargo bay and stood in the open rear doorway. It sniffed the night air, then raised its head and howled its odd and terrifying cry. It was half the laugh of a hyena, and the other half the growl of the Florida panther.
It was a terrifying monster. It had the long tail and strong, thickly muscled rear legs of the panther. The front legs, spotted coloring, and head were all hyena.
Except for the jaws.
The jaws and fangs were a wicked combination of each species. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth emerged from its mouth. It looked as if hunting knives were somehow growing from each jaw.
For a moment, Dr. Catalyst worried the creature would not leave. It sat on the edge of the van, surveying the night. Ever since his Pterogators were first released, Emmet Doyle had interfered at every turn. After Emmet rescued his father in the swamp, Dr. Catalyst began to prepare for this eventuality. As he nursed his wounds and cursed his fate, he had understood the boy and his father would continue to be a problem. And they had thwarted him again and again. The only solution to the obstacle was to eliminate it. So he created what now stood there, still and silent. He savored the moment.
Each stage of his experiments produced vast improvements in his gene splicing, recombinant DNA, and accelerated growth methods. Until the Blood Jackets, which appeared to be dying out. He suspected the cause was that the two species used to create them were too divergent.
But hyenas were a close relative of the feline family — although they resembled dogs, and most people assumed they were canines. Dr. Catalyst was sure this combination of species would be his greatest achievement yet. It had to be. There was too much at stake. Once he had created a predator that could identify, stalk, and eliminate a single target, there would be no limits on the environmental damage he could reverse. With this technique perfected, he could generate an entire species that would cull other invasive species all over the world.
The genes of the panther would create a stalking predator that would fixate on its prey. The hyena genes forged a relentless and fearless hunter. Hyenas excelled at hunting, despite their reputation as scavengers. And they were ferocious in their own right, often driving off much bigger leopards and lionesses from their kills. The look of the animal alone would send terror coursing through Emmet Doyle. Dr. Catalyst’s face twisted into a snarl. How he wished he could be there the first time the obnoxious little brat encountered the animal. To see the fear and terror in his eyes would be such a thrill. Instead, he would have to settle for letting his surrogate enjoy the final victory.
The great beast sniffed the air again, and Dr. Catalyst pushed the button on the cattle prod, hearing a crackle of electricity as it discharged. He hoped it would not require any convincing to leave. But he would be ready if it did.
But he needn’t have worried. Using powerful hind legs, it leapt from the van and landed deftly on the blacktop. Without looking back, it trotted away. For a brief moment Dr. Catalyst wondered if he would ever see it again. There was a tracking device inserted in the skin beneath its neck, but who knew how long the power would last?
The creature stopped in the middle of the street and inhaled the night air. It paused, shaking its head back and forth, as if trying to focus. Then it caught the scent it desired and loped away into the darkness.
Heading directly for the Doyle home.
SECRETS.
Emmet knew that everyone had them. Some kept them. Others didn’t. There were some kinds of people who, the minute you told them your secret, they blabbed it to everyone. In some cases, it wasn’t malicious. Emmet’s mother had always told him there are some people who just can’t help being blabbermouths. He laughed at the memory. That was the exact word his mother used. Blabbermouths. He missed his mom. She had a way of cutting through everything and getting right to the crux of the matter. Like when people were blabbermouths.
Sometimes people shared your secret on purpose. Maybe to get you into trouble. Or to watch you squirm, when you knew people were talking about you behind your back.
There were those, however, who would never reveal a secret. You could trust them with the deepest, darkest thing you could possibly imagine. They would never say a word to anyone. It just wasn’t in them.
Emmet found that Calvin Geaux was like that. Calvin kept your secrets. (As long as the secret didn’t involve something illegal, dangerous to yourself or others, or that might cause unnecessary dirt to get on his boat or something.)
But just as he would keep your secrets, he also kept his own.
You could plead with him, cajole him, threaten him, and it didn’t matter. Emmet was pretty sure Calvin could survive having a truckload of bricks dumped on him, and he still wouldn’t give up a secret. You could force Calvin to go to the latest concert of the most current, hottest boy band, surrounded by ten thousand screaming twelve-year-old girls, make him stay through the entire thing — twice — and he still wouldn’t tell.
It was really starting to tick Emmet off.
The reason it made him so angry is that Calvin knew the biggest secret of all. Not the secret to faster-than-light travel or who invented liquid soap. He knew the one true thing Emmet wanted to know more than anything else.
The real identity of Dr. Catalyst.
A few weeks ago, Calvin disappeared into the swamp. He wasn’t gone very long — less than twenty-four hours. But long enough for everyone to know he was missing. Dr. Geaux organized a search, but Calvin returned from his quest just in time to save Emmet, Riley, and Raeburn. The three of them were about to be overrun by Blood Jackets and Pterogators after their airboat broke down.
As they raced away from the danger, Calvin had told Emmet that he knew who Dr. Catalyst really was. His clandestine trip deep into the swamp to discover the identity of the crazed environmentalist was successful. Calvin believed he had uncovered the madman’s identity.
But that was then and this was now.
And Calvin wasn’t talking.
When the kids got back, Dr. Geaux was both relieved and furious with Calvin for running off. (And with Emmet, Riley, and Raeburn for going after him.) All Calvin would say about why he had disappeared was “I had something I had to do,” so she grounded him for six weeks. She also took away the keys to his airboat so if he ran off again he would need to travel by other means.
Emmet didn’t think that grounding Calvin did any good. It appeared as if he actually enjoyed it. He swept out the tree house and built some shelves for it. His room was even more spotless. One day he was so bored he organized their entire garage. Dr. Geaux was completely exasperated. Although even she had to admit the garage was remarkably clean. Being grounded also offered Calvin ample opportunities to sit quietly without moving for hours at a time. Something he seemed to enjoy a great deal. On the discipline-effectiveness scale it didn’t appear to have much impact. Calvin still wasn’t talking.
Dr. Geaux kept telling Calvin all he had to do was “speak up” and “explain himself” and his punishment would end. Of course, this would never happen. Emmet knew that Calvin wasn’t going to say anything until he was good and ready.
And it was getting in the way of their friendship.
Emmet was in a m
ood all day. The silence at the pizza place was thicker than the deep-dish pepperoni pie they’d ordered.
“Everything okay between you and Calvin, son?” Emmet’s dad asked as they pulled into the driveway.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Didn’t sound fine. Didn’t sound fine at all at dinner. You were both as quiet as stones. Calvin doesn’t talk much on a good day, but you’re usually up for some enjoyable conversation.”
Emmet sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired.”
His dad didn’t press it, which Emmet appreciated.
Even though Calvin was still technically grounded, Dr. Geaux let him come along for their pizza outing every Thursday. Emmet thought it was more because she liked spending time with his dad. Calvin’s secret-keeping shouldn’t interfere with their blossoming relationship.
Just because Emmet was a kid didn’t mean he didn’t get stuff. His dad and Dr. Geaux liked each other. Whatever. He had more important things to worry about.
Apollo was barking madly when they walked up the front steps. This was not unusual. He always howled, yipped, and squeaked whenever they returned from anywhere and he had not been allowed to go along — something he considered a federal crime.
There were four stages of greeting whenever they returned.
First, he would be scratching at the door as it was opened and would jump on Emmet or his dad as they stepped through, barking and yapping, then rolling over on his back for a belly rub as if they’d left him alone for weeks. The fact that they’d been gone less than ninety minutes was lost on him.
Second, he would spring to his feet and begin sniffing their shoes and legs, and then stand on his hind legs and smell their pockets. He was checking to see if they had encountered anything from the animal kingdom that had left its scent on them. Or if they had, by any chance, brought home anything edible. And Apollo had a wide range of things he considered edible.
The third stage would be indignation. Emmet would say, “Hi, buddy!” and reach down to scratch his ears. Apollo would race away a few feet, just out of reach. This was supposed to be Emmet’s punishment for abandoning him. It usually lasted all of ten seconds, until Apollo gave in, raced forward, and entered the fourth stage, which was repeating the entire process all over again.
Ultimate Attack Page 1
