Separation (20 page)

Unfortunately, the enemy had found them.
Allenby had survived the explosion. He knew where they were, and
he’d sent those two transgenic deer monstrosities as a test. Harry
knew that. He just wanted to find out where Allenby was.

The answer to his question came two days
later. It was morning, the sun was out full and bright, and
Anastasia was sleeping in. She got tired more easily than usual,
the result, she said, of her body being in overdrive. “I can feel
the baby growing fast,” she said. “It’s like my body’s telling me I
have to rest and get ready.”

“So rest and get ready.” Knowing nothing
about this kind of birth thing and still in a state of wonder-flux
over becoming a first-time father, he fretted at the possibility of
bringing new life into this world. What kind of life would it be,
what kind of future would the baby have... those questions and more
whirled in his mind.

While he was at work—the concept of
devolvement was vexing him to no end—Overton called him from
Manhattan. “I’m on my computer right now and I’m sending you a link
in order for you to hook up with me. This video came in roughly ten
minutes ago. You’ll want to see this.”

He sent the link, and Harry clicked on it.
Overton’s face hovered in the upper right corner, looking on, but
what dominated the screen was the picture of Allenby as he spoke
from an undisclosed location. It looked as though he was standing
in a cave. In spite of the dim lighting, massive cables snaked
along stone walls and a number of machines stood out. Among them
were DNA differentiators and Genesis Chambers.

Allenby, though, presented a horrific figure,
enough to take someone’s breath away permanently. He’d become a
nightmare. Formerly short and stocky, he now stood well over six
feet and resembled a cross between a bull and a spider, a horrible
image.

His torso was similar to a bull’s, with dark
leathery skin and a heavy, thick-looking musculature. The slightest
breath caused muscle to ripple up and down like waves. On either
side of the torso, though, arms had started to sprout, three each.
They were still small, but if the mutation continued, they’d soon
become longer and more than likely much stronger.

What got Harry’s attention was Allenby’s
face. Bumpy and lumpy, it resembled an Ugli fruit on a very bad
day. The port wine stain had disappeared. In its place was a
purplish mark, something that covered the right side of his face.
The left side had turned a dark gray. Demonic red eyes stared at
the camera, and the voice sounded as if something had crawled out
of the lower depths to settle in his throat.

“Goldman, if you and your friends are
watching this, then I hold you personally responsible for turning
me into this... this thing.”

He glanced down at his body, clad only in a
loincloth. No normally sized clothes seemed capable of containing
his bulk. With grunts accompanying every word, his eyes seemed to
pierce the screen and his rage practically leaped out of the
monitor.

“My body has changed, as you can see. I’ve
become a freak, like you, and this is all of your doing. You gave
me false information and tossed me into that chamber. You turned me
into... into this.”

Yeah, and you used it. You should have
tested the theory through computer simulations first.
Harry
thought about tossing off a smartass reply, but realized the video
feed was a one-way link.

Allenby then leaned forward until his face
filled the screen and he screamed, “You made me into a freak! For
that, you shall pay. You shall pay dearly.” A second later, the
video faded out.

Why did all villains have to speak in such a
dramatic manner? He’d gone from merely pompous to ridiculous
overacting. Nevertheless, his words were enough to send a chill
down a corpse’s spine. Overton’s face wore a somber expression.
“You saw, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Harry sat back, deflated at
the prospect of facing off against a monstrosity once again. A
whisper of fear ran through him. Was he ready? He’d defeated
Szabo—barely—but against this aberration... he wasn’t sure. To
cover up his personal misgivings, he asked, “Did he send this to
anyone else?”

Silence greeted his question and he pressed,
“Well... did he?”

“He posted it on all the major Internet
social sites as well as sending it to the news networks.”

Anyone’s immediate reaction would have been
to say, “Oh hell,” and Harry’s was no different. A number of curse
words ran through his head, but overriding his angry response was
the worry of what the average citizen would say, think, and most
importantly, do. “Do we have anything to be worried about,” he
asked in the calmest, most careful manner possible.

“Why do you think we put up all that
surveillance equipment?”

Overton’s answer was really no answer at all,
yet it explained everything. It was intended to not only track the
half-human element, but also the human element, the lynch mobs and
lone wolves who couldn’t stand the thought of anything less human
than human inhabiting space on this planet.

“Yeah, I got it.” Harry heard the tone in his
voice, dull and resigned to being forced to defend his existence to
the average bigot yet again. “How about the signal... did you
manage to trace it?”

“No such luck, but we’re getting close. Jason
and Tina are monitoring every source of energy output around,
checking for spikes, same as they did in Europe. Security is also
being beefed up around the airports, piers, and in the major
cities.”

Would it be enough, though? Allenby and his
minions had already shown the ability to not only infiltrate places
everyone had formerly deemed safe, they’d also been able to place
their presence in such a manner as to sow discontent among the
populace.

“Sit tight,” Overton urged. “We’re here for
you.”

He broke the connection and Harry, now
totally dispirited, leaned back in his chair and wondered what the
next day would bring. While he was concerned about his own
well-being, he was more afraid for the two lives in the next room.
He also knew John Q. Citizen wouldn’t have the same concern.

The next day brought rain. The heat had been
building for quite a while, and a sudden shower cut the heat in
half. “It’s sort of refreshing,” said Anastasia in a hopeful voice
as she stood by the window, holding a plate of six freshly cut
apples smothered in honey, which she dug into with gusto. Her
appetite was still off the scale, yet she barely showed or gave
evidence of being pregnant outside of a slight bulge in her
stomach.

“Yeah, it is,” Harry responded, giving the
air a quick sniff. He found nothing unusual, and decided to hop in
his car and drive over to Herkimer.

“I’m coming with you,” Anastasia said once he
told her of his plan.

No arguing with her, and after lunch they set
off, driving slowly over the roads until they reached their
destination. The rain eventually petered out, but the sky continued
to be overcast, and a quick check on the radio indicated showers
might happen intermittently for the rest of the afternoon.

Once they arrived, Harry abruptly braked and
killed the engine. He remembered the cabin as being a large and
well-appointed job with the latest in computer tech and security
set-ups. As he looked out the window, he saw a pile of logs to his
left... but didn’t see any of the lights or sensors on the cabin
itself.

Something is wrong here.
As he rolled
down the window, the smell of smoke hung in the air, and it
provided clue number one something bad had happened. Clue number
two came in the form of bullet holes dotting the cabin walls.

“You get the feeling something isn’t quite
right with this scenario?” asked Harry as he opened the door.
“Sorry for stating the obvious.”

She didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she
sniffed the air and then pointed to the cabin. “Yeah, I’d say
someone didn’t give up without a fight.”

They got out of the car, but Anastasia slid
out on the driver’s side, the furthest spot away from the cabin. A
few sunbeams filtered through the gray sky up above and lit up the
area in a dull yellowish glow.

Time for clue number three to happen, and it
came when Overton stepped out of the cabin, Istvan in front of him.
Overton’s formerly dark hair had turned blond, and his eyes stared
vacantly at the surroundings. He moved in stiff, robotic movements,
his mouth opening and closing, but no sounds coming out. It seemed
as though he’d gone into a trance. And why had he drawn his weapon,
and where were the other guards?

In contrast to his empty-eyed visage, Istvan
looked positively terrified, his eyes round, and his face streaked
with tears. “Help me,” he mouthed.

Clue number four was another smell, one that
had been formerly been masked by the rain. Wet dog au natural, and
immediately Harry figured out what the plan was. “Get down,” he
cried and pulled his wife down with him behind the car.

It proved to be a smart move as Overton
suddenly pivoted in their direction and fired three shots. The
bullets pinged off the metal of the car. Silence followed, and then
Overton’s voice, quiet and unemotional, split the quiet. “We’re
taking him,” he announced.

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air along
with the stink of animal. It seemed Allenby’s concept of cloning
had progressed much faster than anyone had realized. “Stay down,”
she said. “I’ve got an idea.”

The baby, wasn’t she thinking about the baby?
Apparently not, as she moved out in a quick sprint. The crack of
the gun sounded as three more bullets whizzed over her head. She
threw herself behind the pile of logs and stayed down. Overton
fired again and again, and once the gun’s chambers clicked empty,
he tossed it away. “I’m leaving now,” he said, and picked up Istvan
in his arms.

“Not yet you aren’t.”

Harry snarled out those words as he crept out
of hiding. Moving faster than he thought he could, he tore over to
Overton’s position and threw a rocket-like punch to his jaw. The
impact caused the clone to let go of Istvan and he—it—growled.
“You... you stand with the humans?”

“I stand with my wife,” Harry answered as he
launched another shot.

It connected, and this time the false Overton
collapsed and lay groaning. Istvan took the opportunity to run into
the cabin. Harry’s senses remained on full alert, but the smell of
danger had already dissipated. Whoever else had been here had long
vanished. He bent over the imitation to ask, “Who are you?”

“I’m Overton, can’t you tell?”

“Let me take a shot at this,” Anastasia said,
striding over in a fury.

She proceeded to extend her claws and raked
the thing’s face. Blood poured from its wounds, but he said
nothing. “Talk,” she exhorted. “You shot at me. I don’t like that,
and I don’t have all day!”

Mr. Fake FBI agent still said nothing as she
kept up her assault. With each slash, more skin disappeared from
his face. He merely lay there and grinned. Finally, Harry pulled
his wife off as she screamed in frustration.

The false Overton put his hand up to his
ruined face. His fingers came away stained with his life’s essence
and he stared in wonder at the redness as it traced its way down
his fingers. “Oh, will you look at this? I’m wounded.”

“You’ll be worse if my wife gets another shot
at you,” Harry warned. “You’re one of Allenby’s clones.”

The thing didn’t respond. It—or he—simply
breathed in and out in heavy, harsh rasps while the cuts on its
face began to knit. Madness shone out from its eyes, a hate that
threatened to engulf everything and everyone. Finally, he spoke in
a faint voice. “You state the obvious. This was just a trial run.
It was what we wanted...”

Abruptly, he stopped speaking and his head
lolled. Harry fingered the monster’s neck and checked for a pulse.
Finding none, he arose, bewildered. “He’s dead.” The thought of a
famous doctor on an old television show saying the same thing—”He’s
dead, Jim”—ran briefly through his mind, and why would he be
thinking that in the first place...

“Dead, how could he be dead?”

Someone had to ask the obvious question, and
for a change, Harry was glad he hadn’t asked it first. Still... why
had
this thing died so quickly? Blood loss was the logical
cause, but its wounds had already begun to heal, and then it had
suddenly expired. Perhaps it had something to do with molecular
instability, cellular integrity...

No... Allenby’s words about multiple organ
failure reverberated in his memory. That scumbag had been lying all
the time. The organ failure hadn’t come about due to the mixing of
genes. He’d
designed
these things to break down.

Anastasia touched him on the shoulder and
pointed to the cabin. “Worry about this thing later. Let’s talk to
Istvan.”

Entering the room, they found it awash in
blood and parts of the agents who’d been on duty. Numerous bullet
holes had traced their path along the inside in crazy arcs over the
walls and the floor. All of the computers had been smashed, along
with the surveillance equipment. The smell of blood and recently
released inner waste hung in the air like a blanket and it was
enough to make a person’s nose hairs wilt.

A moan came from the kitchen. Harry ran over
to where Overton, the real one, lay, his face covered in blood and
his hand held to his temple, covering a nasty gash. “Hey, glad you
made it,” the agent got out. “That thing beat me up good.”

Helping him into a seated position, Harry
hunted around for a piece of cloth and settled for using a patch of
a towel he found. Tearing off a strip, he placed it against the
gash and wound the towel around Overton’s head while listening to
the injured agent relate the happenings of the past few
minutes.