Hybrid (30 page)

He drank half of his second cup of coffee, gathered the rest of his dishes, and deposited them on the carousel outside the kitchen. He had to be at the elementary school to pick up Brianna by 2:30. He had enough time to catch up on some paper work and start his quarterly tax forms, as well as place the call to Denton before he would have to get his daughter, but first, there was something that he had to do.

* * * *

It was nearly ten in the morning when the Chevrolet 4x4 pulled up alongside the curb in front of a blue split-level house. The neighborhood was full of well-kept yards and impeccably trimmed bushes and hedges. Erik stared at the Forrest nameplate on the mailbox. He took a deep breath and made his way toward the front door, his stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He rang the bell and heard activity inside the house. The door opened and an older gentleman answered. Erik saw a distinct similarity between this man and his departed friend; he knew that this was Steve's father.

“Hello, sir,” Erik began nervously. “I was wondering if I could speak to Carol for a moment.”

“Who are you?” the older man asked, his tone somewhat challenging. “Are you another reporter? If so, we have nothing to say.”

“No, sir, my name is Erik Knight. I was.... “He paused. “I worked with Steve. I considered him among my friends.”

The old man looked him up and down, as if assessing him as a potential threat. Erik suddenly knew that Steve's father must also have been a police officer. He detected the manner and demeanor of a law enforcement official.

“How many years?” Erik asked, attempting to break the ice.

“What?”

“How many years were you a cop?” Erik asked quietly.

“I put in 35 years in Boston,” the old man answered. “How did you know that?”

“You have the same look and manner that Steve had when he was studying something, the look all good cops have, the awareness, the alertness. I respected that in him,” Erik answered softly.

The man studied Erik closely, then stepped aside and gestured him into the house. “Come in, please. I didn't mean to be harsh, but there have been several reporters snooping around here the past few days; damn vultures, anything for a story,” he cursed as Erik followed the man into a modest living room.

“Carol,” he shouted toward the hallway, “you have a visitor.”

Carol Forrest slowly walked down the hallway. Erik wondered if she would recognize him; he'd only been to the house on three occasions, the last such occurrence had been over two years ago. Erik noted the haunted look in her eyes. She was carrying her youngest daughter, whom Erik knew to be only twelve or fourteen months old.

“Erik Knight,” she said as she put the baby in a playpen. “It's been awhile, almost three years.” She sat in a chair next to her child. “I saw you at the funeral, up on that ridge. Why didn't you come down?”

“You were with family. I didn't want to intrude,” he answered. “I said my goodbye once everyone else had departed.”

“Steve would have been glad that you came. Thank you”

“Mrs. Forrest—”

“Carol, please,” she interrupted.

“Carol,” Erik corrected himself, “I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. Steve was a good friend to me at a time when I didn't have too many. I was fortunate to know him. He always spoke highly of you and the kids, always showing off his ‘wallet-sized’ whenever he had the chance.” Erik adjusted his position on the couch. “I just wanted to come by and see if there was anything that I could do to help out.”

The baby started to cry as Carol was about to reply. She bent over, picked the child up, and carefully placed her over her shoulder, gently patting the little girl's back. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, I do.” Erik answered.

“Talk to Collin, he's having all kinds of problems with this. He worshipped his father. He can't understand how his daddy could be gone. Steve talked to me a little about your past. I know you're an orphan, so you can probably relate to what the boy is feeling. It may help him if he can talk to someone who's been through it. Lord knows I don't know what to say to the boy.”

“I will,” Erik promised, but not really knowing what he could say to a young boy who had just lost his father.

“And one last thing,” she added as her voice began to waver.

“Yes, anything,” Erik replied.

“Kill them. Avenge my husband's death. If he was a friend to you, hunt those cursed things down and kill them. They tore my husband apart, piece by piece, left me with nothing but pieces to put in the ground, and I want them dead for that!” She said as she suddenly wept uncontrollably.

Steve's father escorted her back into one of the bedrooms, leaving Erik by himself. After a few minutes, the elder Mr. Forrest returned.

“I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Knight,” he apologized. “The pain is still too fresh, the hurt too deep.” His own eyes became tearful. “He was a good boy, my son. She's a good woman,” he added in a wavering voice. “They didn't deserve this.”

“No, sir,” Erik agreed. “They certainly don't. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

The two men exchanged a firm handshake and Erik headed toward the front door. Erik left the house and quickly made his way back to his apartment. He felt tired again; the memories of his friend and the voice over the radio as he met his untimely end kept playing over and over again in his mind. He decided that he would try and say something to Steve's son, but at this point, he didn't know what to say to a young boy who just lost his father.

Erik thought back, trying to remember the scant memories of his parents. He had vague memories of the accident that killed his parents and grandparents. His father had shielded his small body, taking several jagged pieces of glass into his torso and head. He remembered waking up in a hospital room and the agony when he finally learned that all the adults in his life had been killed in one tragic accident. But they seemed like fragments from another life and another time. Erik was barely four years old, but he still could recall vivid flashbacks of that fateful day. Erik was glad that the boy still had a father figure in Steve's father, and a mother.

He arrived back at his office and quickly checked his phone for messages. As usual, there were none. He stared at the pile of waiting paper work with distaste. He walked over to his couch and sat down. He felt a dull pain shoot through his hamstring, reminding him that he still had not fully recovered from the ordeals that he had put his body through during the past week. He leaned his head back against a throw pillow and slowly closed his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep and he tried to fight the oncoming blackness, but was soon in a deep slumber.

* * * *

Friday afternoon 1:38 p.m.

Richard Pendelton sat at his large mahogany desk, staring out over the scenic Boston Bay. He enjoyed watching the jet liners departing and arriving at Logan International.

Sitting on his desk were several confidential memos from his most trusted staff, keeping him abreast of the various activities within his large conglomerate. He read the memo from Conrad with great interest. It was simple and to the point. “All the loose ends have been cut.” Richard exhaled heavily—one less thing for him to be concerned about.

The whole Hopedale Mountain dig had been a giant disaster. He had assumed that the project would go off without any complications. The mountain was desolate, never patrolled by game wardens or any other personage of official status. It seemed the perfect operation site to conduct a mining operation. He cursed himself for being too greedy.

But, he also knew that it was too late in the game for self-pity. He made his choices and decisions; all he could do now was follow them through. The game had to be played out to its conclusion. He had planned carefully, once completed, there would be nothing left to implicate his firm. The tunnel would be filled in, and there would be nothing left of their campsite but smoky ruins and several impact craters. Everything now depended on timing.

They needed to know exactly when the next team was going to storm the mountain. Undoubtedly, the Army would send in helicopters and heavy equipment plus dozens of armed soldiers into the area to flush these things out. When this occurred, their helicopter would mix in with the group, break off to the target site, and obliterate everything with the Typhoon missiles and high explosive rockets. The pilot would then bank away, utilizing the enhanced boosters, and then as before, the helicopters programming would send it out to sea to self-destruct out in the middle of the icy Atlantic, eliminating the final loose ends and hopefully burying Pendelcorp's mistakes forever.

There would be no one left to tell the tale; the Military would get the blame for any loss of life, and Pendelcorp would remain untouched by any scandal. There would no doubt be an intense military investigation, and the military would no doubt be able to account for all its hardware, but there would be enough witnesses to the destruction to impede any actual progress for years to come. It would be another of many unsolved mysteries to be filed away and forgotten.

* * * *

Deep in the tunnel within Hopedale Mountain, the creatures stirred. They had spent the last of their energy reserves healing, and now were extremely hungry—desperately hungry. They had sampled the sweet meats of the small primitive creatures and sincerely desired more. There would be no more interference, the black entity vowed to itself. They would move in quickly and quietly, and then bring their prey here to feed.

It secretly wished to encounter the Simian-Esper hybrid. Its genetic programming commanded it to destroy all Espers, and there was something familiar about this one, something it remembered from long ago, before its long sleep. For what little independent thought the creature was capable of, it wanted to kill the Simian-Esper as slowly and painfully as possible, play with this victim like a cat would play with a mouse. When this Esper had finally tired and could offer no more amusement, the creature would snap its neck as easily as it had broken the others. In its own limited way, it wanted vengeance for the prior encounters.

Both creatures left their nest area and headed through the tunnel to the outdoors. They casually passed by the now abandoned Pendelcorp campsite, taking no notice of the boxes, crates, and scattered materials that had been abandoned. The large catlike creature took two large sniffs of air, tasting and sampling each molecule, looking for the particular scent of their prey. It found none and growled in distress. The other stroked its large flank gently, telepathically sending out calming messages to its large ally.

It climbed upon the creature's broad back, gesturing with its right claw. The massive beast took two steps, and then paused as if waiting for something. It emitted a high-pitch tone, and the space in front of it seemed to part into blackness. The darkness spread throughout the woods, blanketing everything in a thick black veil. Both disappeared into the blackness that now filled the woods, and simply vanished as if they were never there. The blackness fell in upon itself and sunlight once again filled the woods. The sudden chirp of a sparrow broke the silence, and the woods around the dig site again seemed peaceful and dauntless.

* * * *

Erik looked up at the clock in his office. “Crud.”

He had been wrestling with paperwork for almost two hours now, and was no further along than when he had started. It was time for him to pick up Brianna from school. He hadn't spent any time planning anything special for his daughter. This was a special time for them—they had Friday and the weekend together this time, instead of just the one evening. He figured that Brianna would have plenty of things to do, and would keep both of them well occupied.

Erik stared down at the tax forms and decided that some of his money would be well spent on an accountant. Finances were never his strong point.

He stood up from his desk, grabbed his gun, and started for the door. He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that he was entering a school zone. Firearms were forbidden, for any reason. He quickly shed the weapon and deposited it in his wall safe, grabbed his jacket and headed out to his truck.

* * * *

The children at Hopedale Middle School played happily at the school playground under the watchful eyes of three teachers. They were not aware of the darkness that encroached upon them until it was too late.

The darkness spilled into the middle of their play area, eradicating the sunlight. The two creatures emerged from the heart of the darkness and casually began to select their prey. The large felenoid scooped up a child and tossed him into a sack-like fold of skin on its massive underside. The child was too scared to scream or even struggle. Both creatures savored the child's terror as a gourmet appetizer before a fine meal. Wave upon wave of terror emanated from the screaming masses as they were chased and corralled into an ever-tightening mass of bodies, similar to dolphins herding a school of herring before they fed on the tight mass of food. One of the young teachers tried to escape and get help, her neck was snapped and her lifeless body casually tossed aside as an example for the others.

The waves of fear continued to nourish the creatures until they had at long last reached their full strength. The traces of past bullet holes disappeared from their bodies. The felenoid's skin, which had been peppered with bullet holes and scars, was now almost liquid black in appearance, barely distinguishable from the surrounding darkness. The large creature purred with sadistic satisfaction over its feed.

The children were all shrieking and crying, and both remaining teachers were terrified into inactivity. The smaller of the creatures began wading through the mass of tiny bodies, similar to a person bargain-shopping, comparing items for a particular value. It picked up a screaming girl and carefully, almost gently, placed the crying child into the larger creature's skin pouch. The pouch seemed to flow around the struggling child and simply engulf her struggling form.

“Stop it.” One of the remaining teachers boldly stepped into the path of the seven-foot monstrosity. “You can't have these children. Let them go.”