Separation (22 page)

“Get ready,” Overton’s voice interrupted.
“We’re here.”

He’d stopped a few hundred feet from a
farmhouse. Exiting the car and taking a good look around, Harry
tested the air with his nose, found nothing at first save the sweet
smell of corn and the heady aroma of wheat, but then another smell
cut through, something familiar and yet not. It was faint, but
there all the same.

A second later, a few other smells, these
ones totally alien, smothered the more familiar scent, and a
shudder of fear ran through him. If this was what he thought it
was...

“Tell your men to get ready,” Harry said as
his claws sprang out. “Something’s coming... and I don’t have to
tell you what’s going to happen.”

Overton gave the warning. Heeding it, his men
took out their pistols, swiveling their heads in every direction
and walking slowly, weapons held at the ready.

A lone figure emerged from the farmhouse.
Wearing a pair of jeans and a torn t-shirt, it waved in their
direction. “Hi,” it said in an absurdly bright tone. “Welcome to
the party.”

No wonder the first smell had seemed so
familiar. It was another transgenic cat-man. Harry noticed this
copy had a gray coat with black spots, and he was roughly the same
height and build.

However, the resemblance ended at the long
and conical horn growing out of its forehead. Unicorns, anyone?

“Hey,” the thing called out. In contrast to
its cheery voice, its body language suggested it was spoiling for a
fight as its eyes shone with an unholy green glow and it tensed for
battle. “You didn’t show up just to say hello, didja?”

It took a step forward and waved its hands in
a come-and-fight gesture. So much for the welcome mat, Harry
thought. If this thing wanted a battle, it would get one, and he
was only too willing to oblige. “If you’re here to stop me, you’re
not going to walk away.”

A smirk formed on the clone’s face. “I don’t
have to stop you. I just have to slow you down.”

“I’ve got this,” Overton said as he pointed
his pistol. His men did the same.

“You’ve got other problems to worry about,”
the false cat-man said and pointed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw no
less than six combo creatures that looked like mixes of centipedes
and bears rushing toward them. “Look out!” he cried, and the FBI
team pivoted around to take them on, guns blazing.

A snarl signaled imminent danger, and he
turned just in time to see his opponent leap forward, claws out and
arms moving fast.

With a quick step to the side, Harry avoided
its rush and lashed out with a slash of his own that opened up a
gaping wound on the creature’s side. The other being fought back,
though, and they traded blow for blow and slash for slash.

Through it all, Harry received a number of
wounds, each one bloodier than the last. They only served to enrage
him, and finally, he grabbed his opponent in a headlock, ripped off
the horn, and proceeded to ram said horn into the thing’s heart.
The cat-man screamed in agony, then let out a gurgle. It sank to
the ground, blood bubbling from its mouth. “Where is she?” Harry
shouted. “Where’s my wife?”

“Wouldn’t you... like to know,” the creature
whispered before falling silent. It twitched and lay still.

Harry swayed, panting, his wounds fairly deep
but not life-threatening, and through the pain he felt his body
begin to regenerate. A shout from behind him came. “Hey, we got
’em!”

Tiredly turning around, Overton and the other
men ran up. “Are you okay?” one of them asked.

“I’ll make it.”

A second later, adrenaline rush over, the
world spun around at an impossible angle, and he fought to stay
conscious. That last part proved to be most difficult, and as his
perception of reality faded out, he felt his body hit the ground.
As soon as he did, the smells of blood, dirt, and then
ridiculously, the distinctive aroma of pasta and oil, entered his
nostrils.

As abruptly as the odors of an Italian eatery
had entered, though, they soon faded. “Nose is playing tricks on
me,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

Overton was staring at him curiously. “What
are you talking about?”

Harry wanted to reply, but his mouth wouldn’t
work. He didn’t even have the strength to move his lips.
Anastasia... I love you.

It was a decent thing for him to think. It
was... and then the hard earth came up to meet him, and he knew no
more.

Darkness, he awoke in darkness. He felt
movement, slow and rhythmical, and realized he had to be on the
airplane. Blinking, he sat up, and while his body ached, it was a
lot less painful than before, and he gave thanks his reengineered
body healed so quickly. The stocky figure of Overton walked
over.

“I dimmed the lights so you could get some
rest. We took off about ninety minutes ago,” he said. “We’ll be
back at JFK soon.”

Didn’t they smell... ?
“Did you ever
see Leo?”

Even in the darkness he made out the features
of Overton wrinkling in confusion. “Leo, what are you talking
about? He’s gone.”

“I thought I... never mind.” Harry shook his
head and came to a full state of alertness. “You didn’t come back
just to give me an ETA. What happened?”

Overton snapped his fingers. Immediately, the
lights came on to reveal worry replacing confusion on his face. He
called one of the agents over. “Get me the laptop,” he
commanded.

As soon as the man brought it over, he opened
it up. “You’ll want to see this. This is bad.”

It showed a series of attacks carried out in
Manhattan. Cafes, restaurants, businesses... all of them had been
attacked by aberrations of humanity. A young blonde reporter stood
outside a bookstore wearing a frightened expression. Scores of
bodies littered the sidewalk. Dozens of ambulances and paramedics
also dotted the scene, taking care of the survivors. There weren’t
many.

“There are more bodies inside,” the reporter
uttered in a hushed voice. “We’ve heard reports of other atrocities
being committed around the city, and the police are actively
searching for the assailants...”

The words of the now-dead clone came back to
him.
I don’t have to stop you. I just have to slow you down.
“Good luck in finding them,” said Harry, heartsick at the carnage.
“They’re probably dead by now. Allenby engineered them to die
fast.”

As if by magic, the mutated figure of the mad
scientist appeared in the video. The reporter stated, “We received
this from a madman not more than thirty minutes ago.”

The resounding voice of Allenby rang out,
evil dripping from every word. “If you are watching this, then know
that these attacks were just a warm-up. They were a test to see how
your police fared against us. From the carnage around you, it is
obvious your police did not fare well at all. So far, I have
limited my attacks to Manhattan, but I have the capability and more
importantly, the will, to extend my reach to other cities if I so
desire.”

He paused to let his threat sink in before
delivering his ultimatum. “If you do not want others to die, then
arrest Harry Goldman. Otherwise, I promise you there will be
more.”

Overton had been hovering around the laptop
as if anxious to shut it off, and once the video ended, he closed
the laptop’s lid. “They’re going to come for you.”

Harry’s mind whirled. “I have to find
Anastasia. She’s pregnant, and that psycho has her. Please,” he
begged, “help me to find her.”

Every fiber of his being cried out for
revenge while his thoughts focused on his wife and he prayed she
wouldn’t be hurt. Overton hesitated, and finally nodded. “Once we
get to Manhattan, I’ll speak to the Chief of Police. That’s the
only thing I can do.”

“What about Jason and Maze, have they found
anything?”

“They’re still working on it.”

Patience, he was asking for patience, and
Harry was just about out of it, but he had to wait and find out
where this maniac was hiding out. Soon, they reached their
destination and found the Chief of Police, Matthew Tolliver,
waiting for them outside police headquarters, flanked by six other
policemen.

“Stop right there,” he ordered. A stern
looking individual with a permanent scowl on a weathered and lined
middle-aged face, Tolliver did not look like the bargaining type
and his next few words proved it. “Goldman, I’m going to have to
place you under arrest.”

It figured, but Harry asked the obvious
question of, “What for?”

Tolliver’s face tightened. “If it isn’t
clear, then I’ll make it transparent for you. I’m arresting you for
posing a security threat and endangering the peace. I might also
add you were warned not to participate in any transgenic
experiments—”

“I haven’t.”

“Oh no?” The scowl on the chief’s face
intensified threefold. “Can I assume you saw the video?”

“I did.”

“Then if you saw it, you know what Allenby’s
been turned into, so if that isn’t your doing, then whose is
it?”

In a flash of cold reality, Harry knew that
he was partially to blame, although it had always been Allenby’s
choice to begin with. “Sir,” he answered, striving for internal
calm, “I had no idea he would use that research. He’s also a
bio-genetic researcher, and he got his ideas from foreign powers.
His company—I mean his ex-company—set up a lot of chambers all over
the world and he’s been cloning people and...”

His words trailed off when he found Tolliver
staring at him with a look of disbelief. “I assume you have proof
of that.”

“I, uh, no, I don’t have any hard
proof...”

At that point, Harry clammed up so as not to
sound totally demented. Apparently, Tolliver hadn’t been following
the international news reports. On the other hand, the foreign
governments hadn’t released much information, and it was doubtful
they would. No airing of their dirty laundry would be given
out.

In addition, there was no hard evidence save
what the FBI possessed—and considering they were trying to bypass a
virus, no way could he provide anything now. “I didn’t know his
plan,” he finally said. “But Allenby’s got my wife and I have to
get her back. Please, let me try to find her.”

Tolliver’s face resembled a stone mask. “Not
happening. Come with me.”

“She’s my wife!”

“I don’t care.”

Those three words summed it all up. He looked
at the man’s eyes, which held nothing but contempt, and a quick
look at the audience revealed indecision in the eyes of some,
hatred along with scorn in the eyes of others.

As for the other onlookers’ expressions, they
were simply blank... and perhaps they, along with the undecided,
were the most dangerous of all. However, this was no time for a
philosophy lesson. Seconds counted. Harry snarled and started
forward, but Tolliver reached for his sidearm. “Don’t make me do
this...”

His voice trailed off when Overton whipped
out his own pistol and cocked it, placing the barrel against
Tolliver’s head. “If you don’t let Harry go, I’m going to shoot
you,” he warned. “Remember, I’ve got jurisdiction in this matter.
You don’t, so I’m going to suggest to my friend that he escape now
and that you order your men to stand down. Sound good to you?”

Immediately, the other officers took out
their pistols and got ready to fire. Tolliver’s fingers hovered
around his holster, but in that moment between going for the gusto
and staying alive, it seemed as though he chose the latter. His
body sagged ever so slightly and he took his hand away.

“Stand down,” he ordered his men, and they
dropped their arms. To Overton, he said in a voice of pure rage,
“You are going to regret this. I guarantee you.”

Overton jerked his head to the side. “Get
going, Harry. See you later.”

With no other choice than to escape, Harry
took to the alleyways and rooftops, clambering up and around fences
and jumping where needed. Dusk was falling fast and darkness was
his ally.

Friends and allies were few and far between,
and where could he go... ?

“Hey,” he muttered as an idea came to him,
“it’s worth a shot.”

Skirting the open streets and keeping well
out of sight of patrols by the law as well as by self-appointed
guardian angels, Harry stole in and out of alleyways and backyards.
He’d thought of using the sewer system, but the smell was enough to
knock him cold. No, he’d take his chances on the surface.

Minutes later, though, he came to regret not
going underground. He rounded a corner and saw ten men standing
around with clubs and tire irons in their hands. “Oh crap,” he
whispered.

“It’s him,” one of them cried and pointed.
“Get him!”

The mob charged and Harry did the only thing
possible. He fought. Using his fists, feet and elbows, he blocked,
kicked and lashed out whenever possible. While he received a number
of blows to his back and legs, he knew he couldn’t go down. If he
did, then he wasn’t going to get up again. He did, however, keep
his claws sheathed. This was a matter of disable, not kill.

Minutes later, fight over, he stood over the
unconscious forms of the mini-mob, breathing heavily and sweating
like a racehorse after a hard workout. His body ached and he
noticed blood dripping from a dozen wounds... he’d live. The sound
of sirens split the air along with more shouts of “It’s him!”

Oh wonderful, more of them! Now the police
are tracking me...

With the thought of flight in mind and not
fighting, he looked around frantically for an avenue of escape.
Dashing into an alleyway, he spotted a manhole, hesitated, and then
tugged the cover off. The stink immediately assailed him. “Sewers,
it’s always sewers...”

After climbing in and replacing the cover, he
dropped down to the ledge and skirted his way along the walls. The
sewer was dimly lit by a ghostly greenish-yellow light, and rats,
cockroaches and other denizens of this particular subterranean
world scurried out of his way.