Hybrid (17 page)
The creature grabbed him by the throat and held him two feet off the ground. The last thing Takei heard was Anderson's screams of horror as he witnessed the occurrence. Anderson tried to run, but panic held him frozen in place. The creature pressed its face eyeball to eyeball with the man. Anderson lost control of his bladder and felt himself trembling. The creature placed an icy hand around his neck, never once taking its blood-red eyes off the man's face.
“Please, please, please don't kill me,” Anderson whispered as the creature turned his head from side to side. The creature suddenly released Anderson from its icy grip. It slowly backed away from the terrified man and disappeared into the darkness.
“Thank you, God, thank you, thank you,” he whispered as he headed toward the door to the outside chamber.
Anderson wasn't aware of the creature stalking him. When the massive tooth-filled jaws snapped his torso in half, he was completely stunned and surprised. Anderson had felt no pain, only a numbing coldness. He looked around into the darkness, his headlamp still functioning. The last sight he saw was a large feline-shaped head with green luminous eyes devouring what was once the lower part of his body. Mercifully, Anderson closed his eyes and expired.
* * * *
The pilot of the helicopter was in a state of total terror. He warmed up the twin turbine engines on his ship and counted the agonizing seconds as the rotors slowly turned. He watched the continuing video stream from the fallen camera, he saw as the two creatures made their way outside of the cavern after brutally devouring the expedition team. He knew they were coming. Somehow, he knew that the creatures were coming to claim the last member of the reconnaissance party.
“C'mon, damn you!” the pilot swore at his machine.
More agonizing seconds passed as the rotors increased in intensity, he knew that in another few seconds those things would be outside. He checked his gauges one last time; he had enough RPMs for a lift-off.
He jammed the control yoke back and depressed the throttle forward; the helicopter shot up in the air as if it were fired from a cannon. At 100 feet above tree level, the pilot felt safe. He turned the craft around, circling the area.
He then felt his skin go cold. He glanced down over his passenger side console and saw a set of large green eyes staring up at him from the treetops. He wanted to pull his craft back, but something about those eyes was hypnotic, he had to see more. He reached down and activated the choppers forward floodlights, bathing the creature in eight million-candle power of halogen light. The beast roared up at the helicopter in savage anger. The pilot stared in amazement at a creature that was a cross between a cat and some mythical fairytale dragon.
There was something else, something sitting on the thing's broad back, a creature that was slightly bigger than a man, the pilot judged. Its hideous blood-red eyes looked right up at him—looking through the intense floodlight, through the dark midnight, through the aluminum hull and Plexiglas of his ship, straight into his soul.
The pilot felt an uncontrollable wave of fear and nausea as he felt it probing him through the distance that separated them. He pulled the yoke back, raising his craft higher and higher into the night sky. At 3000 feet, he felt safe, and banked the craft away from the quiet town. He didn't give a shit about radar at this point; he wasn't going near the ground until he reached the helipad in Boston. He had witnessed the death of five men at the hands of something out of a horror movie. If not for the footage that was transmitted back to the corporation, no one would believe a word he said.
“Spectre 1 to base. Over.”
“Base, go ahead, Spectre 1,” a subdued voice responded.
“The entire recon team's been slaughtered! Did you see it?” the pilot screamed into his headset. “They were murdered by these ... these creatures. Oh, God, it was horrible.” The pilot wept into his headset.
“Did you see anything else? Was anyone else there?” the voice over the radio asked.
“Who the hell would be out there? Of course no one saw,” the pilot answered.
“Spectre 1, are you operating below surveillance altitude?”
“Yeah,” the pilot lied. “I'm at 650 feet, in whisper mode and holding course southeast until check-point delta.”
“Affirmative, Spectre 1, hold course and speed until check-point delta. Base out.”
* * * *
There were six men seated at the conference table, 80 floors above the Boston skyline overlooking Logan Airport and the waterfront. The man seated at the head of the table stood slowly and walked over to a small wet bar. He poured himself a double scotch and inhaled the drink with one swallow. He paused momentarily as the booze burned its way down his throat and sat like acid in his stomach.
“Gentlemen, it appears that we have ourselves a problem. I want every available resource we have studying the recordings we made tonight; did we get the images from the pod cameras we put by the FLIR?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Pendelton, we have the visuals from the chopper as it circled away. The heat signatures didn't register on the Infrared FLIR though.”
Richard Pendelton smiled a sadistic smile and walked over to a wall control panel. He took a card key from his suit pocket and slid it through the locking mechanism. A door panel opened revealing a flashing red button. “Contact the chopper.”
“Spectre 1, come in,” a man at the table called out.
“This is Spectre 1.”
“Spectre 1, give us a detailed systems and equipment check,” Pendelton ordered.
The pilot responded with various technical readings while Richard pressed the red button. The pilot's voice was suddenly panicked. He radioed that the aircraft was deviating from course, heading out toward the Atlantic.
“One less loose end for us to worry about,” Richard remarked as he poured himself a brandy. “Okay, gentlemen, let's get down to business; we need to remove all traces from the sight that could implicate us without getting anymore men killed. There are only so many disposable assets available.”
* * * *
The pilot had struggled with the controls of his ship for almost forty minutes. He gave up trying to radio for help, the communications system board went black shortly after he'd lost control of the ship. The helicopter's dual turbine boosters had been engaged for nearly half an hour, moving the craft through the air at nearly 300 miles per hour, all but exhausting the craft's fuel supply.
The helicopter's sophisticated guidance chip relayed its position to a satellite in low orbit. The helicopter was now nearly 80 miles out over the vacant Atlantic Ocean. The pilot noticed that a red light on the navigational board began glowing.
A small pulse of energy traveled through the navigational console to a small package on the ship's underside fuel tank. The package was two bricks of C-4 explosive. The electric current contacted the charge. The ensuing detonation of C-4 and fuel vapor spewed bits of helicopter and pilot throughout the icy Atlantic Ocean.
Chapter 6
Friday morning, 8:45 a.m.
The phone was on its fifth ring when the sound awoke Erik from his sleep. He was still groggy as he answered the phone with a gravelly voiced hello.
Shanda was calling to check on him. She had come by last night for their dinner and was informed of the accident. Alissa escorted her to Erik's apartment where she had knocked several times to no avail.
“I'm so sorry,” Erik exclaimed. “I only meant to sleep for a few hours, I didn't hear a thing.”
He listened to her for a few moments, but was itchy to get out of bed and take a hot shower. His entire body was one big knotted muscle.
“Can I make it up to you with lunch?” he asked. “It'll have to be for three, today is my day with Brianna. How about lunch here and gourmet ice cream for dessert, my treat of course.”
“Excellent, I'll see you at my booth at noon.”
Erik slowly made his way to the shower; he looked at his body and face in his bathroom mirror. Eight deep claw marks ran across both his pectoral muscles, and he had three deep cuts on his left cheek. Erik held his hands in front of his face; the skinned knuckles had scabbed over, and the swelling had diminished in his fingers. There were massive bruises on both his forearms from deflecting the blows from the creature.
“What the hell were those things?” he asked as he stepped into the comforting stream of hot water. The steam and heat from the shower helped relieve the soreness and tightness in his muscles. He felt much better as he toweled himself off. Erik slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. He put on a comfortable pair of sneakers, grabbed his keys, and headed out for a light breakfast and a cup of coffee.
All through his breakfast he was brooding about the confrontation yesterday. He had fought something inhuman, possibly not even of this world. How could something so abnormal exist for so long undiscovered? If these creatures had been around for any great length of time, people would have known something; the very least, there would be several missing persons reports or unsolved murder cases, based upon the creature's aggressive behavior. Once again, Erik felt that there were missing facts. It was as if he were trying to solve a picture puzzle and several key pieces were missing.
No!
These things were definitely predators; if they had been around for any period of time, there would be a large number of missing persons or reports of strange encounters. Erik had hunted and explored those woods for nearly a decade and had never experienced an encounter like he had yesterday. Something happened in those woods, something recent. He knew the answer was up there, up in the mountain top, somewhere, just waiting to be discovered.
The only problem was getting up the mountain without getting killed by the creatures that now inhabited the forest there. Erik also realized that if these things were linked to Lisa Reynolds, they were not content just to stay in their little woodland habitat. If they fed on humans, they would most definitely come to where the humans are. Nobody would be safe. He knew that these creatures had to be destroyed before more people wound up as missing or worse.
“How are you feeling?” a voice broke Erik from his deep thought.
He looked up to see Alissa standing over him with a steaming pot of coffee. She smiled shyly as she refilled his cup.
“I'm better, thank you,” Erik answered.
She stared at the wound on his face, and then at the damage to his hands. “How does the other guy look?”
“I think I gave as good as I got,” he answered evasively.
“I'll bet you did,” she answered mysteriously. Alissa reached over and gently touched his cheek where his flesh had been cut, and touched the large greenish-blue bruises on his forearms. “Be more careful next time, Erik, we can't afford to lose you.”
Erik felt an unusual spark of electricity as she gently touched his cheek. “I will be.” He watched her walk away, wondering exactly what she meant.
He gathered his keys and headed out toward his truck to pick up his daughter. He glanced back over at Alissa as she was busily gathering dishes as he headed out the door. She caught his look and smiled at him briefly.
* * * *
Erik pulled into the palatial gated community where his ex-wife and daughter lived. He always felt awkward here. His old Chevy 4X4 seemed out of place in a neighborhood littered with Mercedes, BMWs, and Jaguars. He parked his truck as close to the end of the driveway as possible and made the 100-foot walk up the driveway to the front door. To his surprise, Margaret met him at the front door.
“What on Earth happened to you?” she asked, studying his face and arms.
“Hazards of the woods,” he relied jokingly.
“She's running behind schedule,” she announced, gesturing him inside.
“Nothing unusual about that,” Erik answered.
“Erik, I hate to do this to you, but Brianna was invited to a pizza party at the park this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Erik replied, waiting for the bomb to drop.
“It's her best friend Peggy's party and she really wants to go. Would it terribly ruin your time if she spent some time there today?”
Erik kept thinking about the park, the place where Lisa Reynolds was abducted. Erik was reluctant to agree, and Margaret sensed it. “You realize that a girl is missing, and that she was last seen at the park?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “I read about it in the paper and it was on the local radio station. But, there'll be several parents there, other kids, and she'll have her father there to watch her.”
Erik smiled slightly at her. “I have some plans for the day. Bri and I will be having lunch and dessert with a friend of mine. If she really wants to go to her friend's shindig, I'll see if we can stop by later.”
“Fair enough,” Margaret replied.
As if on cue, Brianna sauntered down the stairs with her small suitcase. Erik was amazed at how much his daughter had grown over the past six months. She had her mother's rich tan skin, combined with his light blue eyes. She was truly becoming quite a beautiful young girl. He experienced a few guilt pangs about not seeing her as often as he'd like.
“Hi, Daddy!” she said with a beaming smile. She stopped and stared at the wounds on his face and arms. She wrinkled her face and commented. “I'll bet that hurts.” She hugged him.
“Hey, Munchkin, are you all set?”
“Ready to go,” she answered, already heading out the door.
Erik turned to Margaret, smiled, and followed his daughter out the door. “We'll see you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
* * * *
Erik and Brianna had spent nearly two hours at the mall. Erik had taken Margaret's advice and taken her on a shopping spree with the money she had returned to him. They were headed back to Madame's for lunch, when Brianna began hinting about her friend's gathering at the park.
“Did Mom tell you about the party this afternoon?” she asked in her best innocent little girl voice. Erik recognized the tone.
“Yes, your mother has done her best to lobby on your behalf,” he responded lightly.