Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (42 page)

Harley

“These results are completely different from the last ones I took.”

Harley’s heart plummeted at Pell’s words. “If I hadn’t destroyed the earlier results, perhaps I would have caught this sooner, before you… well, anyways, there’s no point in what-ifs. Obviously we couldn’t have left the evidence. There was no way to know there would be a delayed reaction. ”

Harley pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never should have kissed her.”

“You kissed her?” Pell’s face scrunched in thought. “How long ago? How often and how much? Are we talking like a peck, or full-on, hardcore makeout mode?”

“Now ain’t the time for your pervy curiosity, Pell,” Harley growled.

“Purely scientific, I promise.” He waited, clearly expecting an answer. Harley sighed shakily.

“The first time was three days ago. We’ve kissed several times since then… varying in intensity.”

Pell grabbed at his hair.

“Interesting. That would explain the blood results, as well. It could be that the original results wouldn’t have shown a change, even if we’d held onto them. You are fundamentally the same in genetics, but it could be that the prolonged exposure to yours is what triggered the reaction.” He drifted off, lost in thought. “But if that were the case, why have Charleen and Cajun not experienced the same?”

“Is she…” Harley swallowed hard, momentarily unable to speak the words that burned in his throat. He didn’t care about any of that other stuff right now. Right now, only one question weighed heavily on his mind. “Is she dyin’?”

“Not exactly.” Pell hesitated, clearly unsure how to say what came next. “She’s evolving.”

Harley blinked. “Evolving?” He didn’t like this word. It tasted odd on his tongue, foreign. “What are you sayin’?”

“What if we’ve been wrong this whole time? The dreams, the sleepwalking, the change in behavior and physical appearance when in touch with a more primal side. Honestly, I’ve been baffled by this for some time. I don’t think she’s supposed to even
have
a primal side. I thought the purpose of these tags was to give her a sort of blank-slate approach to destroying Rabids. A way to destroy the enemy without facing the consequences a Hybrid must face.” Pell gripped at his hair, striding around the room as he thought.

“But what if we’ve been wrong? What if these tags were not meant to replicate Hybrid reactions without consequence? Harley, what if those tags were meant to protect
us
, the
Cleans
? What if the tags haven’t been responsible for a lot of her behavior?”

Amiel’s Hybrid’s words, spoken to him not so long ago, suddenly echoed in Harley’s ears
. “I wasn’t responsible for what Amiel did in that alley. Amiel was.”
Harley blinked, a feeling of deeper dread welling within. Pell seemed caught up in the same sensation.

“Harley… what if they were meant to suppress something that was already there, inside her?”

Harley’s brow rose, as he felt more troubled with each word.

“Suppress what, exactly?”

Pell stopped pacing long enough to meet Harley’s gaze with a troubled one of his own. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” Pell knew everything. If this was new and concerning to him, things were not looking promising.

“That’s not good.” Harley forced the words through his suddenly tight throat. Pell nodded his head in agreement.

“Whatever these readings are, they are unlike anything I’ve seen before, Harley.
Amiel
is unlike anything we’ve seen. I mean, we’ve always known that, but this?” He shrugged, at a loss. “This is
huge
. It’s almost like she always had this, whatever it is, locked inside her. And maybe your DNA interacting with hers helped bring it to the surface, acted as a trigger of some sort. No matter the case, if we are right about this, those tags are rapidly losing the battle to keep whatever she is at bay.” They stared at one another for a long, silent moment filled with heavy understanding.

“I gotta get back to her.”

“Harley?”

Harley paused on his way out the door.

“What do we do now?”

Harley’s jaw clenched at Pell’s uncertain question. He didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.”

Amiel

Amiel sat up, one hand over her stomach, the other hovering above her mouth. Head pounding, stomach churning, and lightheadedness making her sway: Amiel felt horrid. A tickling sensation on the side of her neck had her slapping a hand against it. In horror, she stared at her hand. A black, inky substance covered her skin.

“No… no, no, no!” Amiel stumbled to her feet, somehow managing to make it into the bathroom. Her eyes immediately went to her neck in the mirror. Grabbing a towel off the counter, Amiel savagely rubbed at her neck, her confusion and horror growing. The tattoo was gone, the skin pink and fresh where it had once been; the ink had been completely pushed out. She didn’t understand. Harley had said it would take at least two weeks for her skin to push the ink out. Amiel stumbled backward as her eyes met those in the mirror.

More black, inky substance eked from the corners of one eye, though it seemed dry, old. Splashing water in her face, she scrubbed it away, panicking. What was wrong with her? She closed her eyes as a wall of dizziness slammed into her. She grabbed onto the counter, forcing herself to stay upright. A strange sort of restlessness jolted through her in waves, urging her to run. Stumbling from the bathroom, Amiel slumped against the wall, winded. Her eyes drifted toward the apartment door, the urge to run growing by the second. She bit her lip in uncertainty. She should stay in bed, take it easy until Harley came back; but the nagging feeling of restlessness was beyond her limits to ignore.

The wall suddenly became her best friend as she used it to slide her way toward the door. The breeze on her bare legs reminded her that she was only in her undies and the second fish t-shirt Harley had gotten for her after her Collapse, that reached only to her thighs. She’d thrown up on her other clothes at some point and refused to put pants on altogether when Harley helped her change. It hadn’t seemed to matter then. A sensible place in her mind said she should throw some on now, before going into the hall, yet her blurry eyes couldn't locate them. Besides that, somehow Amiel knew she'd never make it out if she stopped now.  Something was very wrong with her, but she couldn't seem to comprehend exactly what. The only thing in her mind was an echoing mantra.

“Get outside, Amiel. Get outside now!”

“Bryn?” Amiel mumbled. Her words sounded weird, all garbled like her tongue didn’t work correctly. No reply came.

The door before her shifted side to side, making it difficult to find it exactly. Using her hands as a guide, she finally stumbled into the real door. She slumped against it, hot skin pressed to the cool metal. She blinked, sweat dripping from her eyelashes as she tried to focus on the locks beneath her fumbling fingertips. After much effort, the locks sprang open and she threw the door wide, wincing when it slammed against the opposite wall and sent horrendous echoes through her brain. A wave of fresh air followed the wake of the door’s journey, washing over her face. But it wasn’t enough — she needed… more. More
what
,
exactly, she had no idea. She only knew that she needed it like she needed air.

Her knees gave out, and so it was on all fours that she found herself struggling to crawl out of the apartment, eyes fixed on the far-too-distant and swirling stairwell. Elbows bowing, her chest thudded against the floor, soon followed by her face. Heat seared through her senses, the tags trying to save her from whatever was drowning her from the inside out. Forcing her heavy eyes open, she stared desperately at the stairs. She wasn't going to make it.

Thunder boomed through the floor beneath her, and the world rolled around her, putting strain on her sensitive stomach. When the rolling stopped, she found herself on her back, gaze fixed directly on a man. She squinted, trying to force the fuzzy brain in her skull to form coherent thought. She knew this man, had seen him often. His mouth moved, but echoing thunder was all her ears could glean from it. Her head lolled to one side as she concentrated heavily on pushing her way through the fog. Stairs… she needed to get to those stairs. Her body ignored her mind’s desperate urgings, and the face loomed before her vision once more. Pale gray eyes, greasy, dark hair.

“Hello, Chipmunk.” The words finally made their way through her brain and instantly it fired a single shot of coherent thought. Chipmunk. Darvey! Somehow the connection terrified her. Then reason finally registered, further fueling her terror.

“Your dwead.” She tried to force the words from her mouth, but her tongue felt uselessly fat and swollen, lips fumbling over every sound.

“Shhh, Chipmunk. Mustn't make things difficult. Don't talk, or you’ll bite your tongue. And it's my tongue to bite, now.”

A second shiver of terror raced through her at his words.

“Harwey,” she muttered out, tears wetting her cheeks. Where was Harley? The tags increased her heart rate to the point that her fuzzy brain feared it would explode.

“No! No more Harley,” Darvey shouted. “And no more Jaron.” Leaning closer, he lifted the tags from her chest, yanking them free of her neck. Her stomach roiled, head feeling so twisted up she had to close her eyes against the sensation. He yanked her upward, crushing her to his chest. Her head lolled uselessly to the side, coming to rest against Darvey's shoulder.

“I look out for you now. You're
mine
,” he grumbled, nose pressing into her hair. The swaying world cut to blackness, with one silent, panicked thought hanging in her mind.

“I'm so dead.”

Harley

Chloroform: Amiel's apartment reeked of it.  Harley could smell it from the base of the stairs, and it made his eyes sting now that he was inside her apartment. The door had been open wide, and there was no sign of her. He stared at the locks as though his glare could force sense from them. There was no sign of forced entry, or a struggle. Amiel had left the room of her own choosing. But why? Had she opened the door thinking it was him knocking?

His hands wrapped around the dog tags clutched in his fist. Panic and dread settled deep in his gut, like a boulder. Amiel was gone.  She was gone and someone had taken her, leaving her tags behind. What did that mean for Amiel? Had her captors sentenced her to death before even leaving this building? Had the separation from her tags destroyed her, just as it had her brother?

Harley squeezed his eyes shut, drawing deep breaths through his clenched teeth. With great effort, he forced his mind to clear. If he was going to find her, and he
would
, he needed to figure out what had been done to her, and by whom. For that, he needed his senses acute, sharp, not hazed with emotion. The world melted away, sounds and feelings gone. He allowed only the scents to stay.

There was the bitter taste of chloroform, pungent in the air. He pushed past that, forced his mind to segregate and ignore it so he could concentrate on the weaker ones beneath. There was the faint after-scent of sickness. The sweet smell of his Amiel, and a faint scent of himself from his frequent time spent in her apartment. He knelt, scenting the bed where she had lain. His Hybrid proudly noted that his own scent was still there, mingling with hers.

He frowned, refocusing on her scent alone. It was faded, an hour old perhaps. He turned, following the scent to where it touched the wall. Here it mingled with sweat, tinged with bitter fear. Clenching his teeth against the threatening emotions fighting to surface once more, he followed the trail. It got stronger near the door. It slid down the door frame to the floor, then drug along a few feet into the hall before stopping abruptly. 

Harley froze, one scent in particular caught in the air. A scent that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. His eyes shot open, hate burning in his stomach like fire. Darvey. Jumping to his feet, Harley stormed the man’s door, kicking it open with a roar of fury. The door split in half, barely hanging on its hinges. Down the hallway, a few doors opened, the elderly neighbors peering cautiously out. One glance from him, and they quickly scuttled back behind the safety of their locked doors.

Eyes wildly scanning the room, Harley sucked in a deep, searching breath, his Hybrid’s hackles rising at what it found: a hint of chloroform drifting in the air, with a hint of Rat. Mixed with that was a hint of Amiel. But no one was home.

Teeth clenched in rage, he scanned the room, following the scent of chloroform until it led him to a canister on the floor. A hose attached to the canister snaked up through a small hole in the wall. Anxiously, Harley yanked the hose from the wall, peering through. His heart clenched. The hole afforded a perfect view of everything that went on inside Amiel's apartment, but especially her bed. The hole was small enough, it would be easily missed on the other side, amongst all the dings and scrapes all these apartments sported. Was this a new hole, or had the Rat been watching his girl? His stomach clenched painfully as he ripped the cellphone from his pocket. Cajun answered on the second ring.

“Cajun's hot dog emporium, how may I—”

“Amiel’s been kidnapped.” The weight of the words crushed inward on his chest, and he fought to keep the pressure at bay. Cajun immediately stopped talking, and Harley could feel the weight of worry in his brother's words when he spoke.

“Damn.” The sound of rustling fabric in the background, followed by the closing of a door, signaled that help was on its way. Not for the first time in his life, Harley was grateful for a brother like Cajun. “Do we know who?”

“The Rat,” Harley growled darkly, immediately wanting to rip the walls down.

“I'm coming over. Are you at Amiel's?”

“Yes.” He forced the strained word out as he continued his perusal of the apartment.

“Give me ten minutes — I’m coming. Fill me in on the way.”

It was dangerous to talk about details on Foundation phones, but Harley needed his brother’s voice to keep him grounded. Right now, Cajun was about the only thing keeping him from flying apart at the seams, from succumbing to his darker instincts to completely destroy the place.

“She’s been so sick.”

Cajun grunted in acknowledgment, already knowing this.

“I thought she was finally gettin’ better. I got her to eat and drink some last night, and actually keep it down. I hoped… but then she started cryin’ black tears. I couldn’t wait any more.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I called our mutual friend.”

Cajun grunted, and Harley knew his brother understood the depth to which he had allowed himself to fall for this girl. Harley ran a hand through his hair, growling angrily in frustration.

“When I came back, her door was wide open, chloroform heavy in the air, and her necklace on the floor.”

The other end of the line went silent with thick understanding. Cajun knew the implications of her lost dog tags. Harley gritted his teeth, leaning heavily against the wall. “I never shoulda left her.”

“You couldn't have known, Harley.”

Harley let his head fall against the wall, knowing Cajun was right yet still hating himself. He couldn't have known, and he would have had to leave sooner or later, with the food running low and Foundation breathing down his neck. But it didn't stop him from hating himself for going.

“By her scent, she's been gone for at least an hour. The Rat had to have come for her right after I left, before I was even outside the gates. I never smelled him. I don’t know how he got past me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “She was scared, Caj. I can smell it on her scent.” His throat closed off, and he angrily dashed away the tear threatening to escape.

“Keep talking, Harl.” Cajun urged, pulling Harley back from the brink of complete loss. Clearing his throat, Harley continued.

“I’m in his apartment. There's a canister of chloroform with a hose stickin’ through a small hole in Amiel's friggin’ wall. Her instincts must have woken her, alerted her that somethin’ was wrong. She got herself out the door, but collapsed in the hallway. That's when the Rat got to her.”

“It would appear his death was greatly exaggerated,” Cajun muttered. Harley growled menacingly in reply. His darker side rose, angrily asserting its opinion. He should have killed the Rat himself, when he had the chance. There would have been no coming back from that death.

A cool breeze shifted through the room, pulling him away from the brink just enough to draw his gaze to the window at the back of the room. Harley’s eyes narrowed as he neared it. The bars swung open easily, the lock already broken. The window had been shut as far as it could be with a rope escape ladder hanging from thin metal hooks on its edge. A casual glance would have left the window’s use a secret, but seeing the evidence left behind, there was no doubt as to how the Rat had entered the building and fled with Amiel.

“He took her out the window so I wouldn’t smell him on the way out of the apartments,” Harley muttered in muted fury.

“I’m almost there, Harl, wait for me. It’s been raining: the scent trail is probably nearly gone. We stand a better chance of finding her if we work together,” Cajun interjected carefully.

“I’ll find the scent,” Harley promised darkly, moving to crouch on the ledge. Something caught his eye before he could leap. 

A box lay halfway under the bed, and it drew him on as though it were a siren pulling him to his destruction. Pulling it out, he swallowed hard. His name was scrawled across the shoebox lid in red lipstick. The same color Amiel had worn that night at the club, the night he’d kissed her. His hands shook as he bent to tip the lid off with one finger.

When the lid fell to the floor, Harley hissed out a string of malevolent curses. Bringing it close, he sifted through the scents and found Darvey’s lookalike’s scent heavy on the box. As he tested the air in the room, he recognized MiniMe’s scent intermingled with Darvey's. They were similar enough, and he had been so furious, he hadn’t immediately recognized it as a second, separate scent.

Growling, Harley stared down at the box. There was no hole deep enough in Hell for the Rats, but Harley was going to try and find one. The box was packed full of pictures of Amiel, and in most of them she was naked, or in some sort of intimate situation. Lying in bed, watching TV, eating, getting dressed, exercising in her underwear, even in the shower. Harley’s fist convulsed closed on one of dozens of her making out with him on the bed. A giant, red X was drawn over his face.

“Dante... Harley, what's going on, man?” Cajun's worried voice cut through his murderous daze.

“He's got pictures.” That was all he could gasp out. He vaguely heard Cajun's choice words, and the acceleration of his engine, but Harley was lost to the world, thinking of all the savage ways he could destroy the little freaks.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when Cajun laid a hand on his shoulder, he very nearly ripped his brother's head off. Cajun held his hands out to his sides, making no attempt to defend himself, head bowed slightly. At this unfamiliar sign of submission from his brother, Harley froze, surfacing slightly from his hate-filled daze.

“Sorry,” he growled tightly, trying to keep the fury from misdirecting toward his brother.

“Sorry I took so long. I had to deal with the guards. The neighbors were apparently worried about a certain madman breaking down their doors and killing them. I bought us a bit of time.”

Harley nodded, though he didn’t much care what his brother had had to do to stop the men from coming for him. His mind was busy raking through ideas of where the Rats could have taken her. Other than being pervy creepers, Harley didn't know much about them. Mini D rarely came out of the woodwork, and when he didn’t want to be found, he was damned good at hiding.

As for real Darvey, Harley had checked into his record the moment he discovered him as Amiel’s neighbor. It was squeaky clean, no documented run-ins with the law. Given the state of the country, however, that didn’t say much. A good portion of government records had been destroyed, purposely or accidentally. And since then, records were rarely kept. Darvey worked for the government, so even if he did have dirt, they likely would have buried it. Outside of work, the guy was a ghost. No relatives, no friends, nothing. He lived his whole life at work, and in his apartment... taking indecent pictures of innocent girls. Seeing red, Harley turned to the window to jump, but Cajun’s hand stopped him.

“Wait. Look.”

Harley turned, following his brother’s line of sight to the trashed door. Scrawled across the back of it was a mess of writing in red lipstick. He could have kicked himself for not noticing it sooner, his attention so fixated on the window and the pictures. Stepping closer, he shoved the split pieces of wood back together. The lipstick formed the words “hide and seek”, with a torn map of an area deep in the Skirts taped below it. The map was of a vague proportion of ten blocks or so, circled in that red lipstick. It was an area even Harley didn’t dare enter without backup.

“Why would the bludger tell us where to look? It has to be fake, some kind of trap or misdirection,” Cajun warned. Leaning closer, Harley breathed deep, finding MiniMe’s scent heaviest on the door. He’d been the one to write the message.

“It's real. He wants me to find her,” Harley growled, shoving the crumpled photo of him and Amiel into Cajun's hand. Cajun unrumpled the picture enough to see what was on it, immediately zeroing in on the red X. “Whatever he has planned for Amiel, he wants me there to watch.”

“Harley. Are you sure about this, mate? You go in there, you probably aren’t coming back out. Is she worth that to you?” Cajun asked, concern reflecting in his eyes.

“She’s worth everything to me,” Harley murmured, eyes closed as he hung onto the door for support, muscles shaking with fear and fury alike. Drawing on his Hybrid, he brought it out to play. His eyes rose to meet his brother’s, the pitch and fire of Hell reflected in their depths. Cajun leaned back slightly, not backing down in submission, but giving Harley’s Hybrid respectful space.

“They took her, Caj. And I’m gonna tear this city apart until I find her. Then I’m gonna tear them apart.”

“Got it. Lead the way. I have to do some misdirection of my own. Can’t have Char following us in there.” Cajun pulled out his phone, leaving Charleen some lame excuse as to where he had gone and when he’d be back.

Harley jumped from the window, sprinting toward his bike the moment he touched ground. His heart gave a twitch as he ran by Amiel’s bike, sitting lonely in the lot. She’d be fine. He’d find her and bring her home, and he’d destroy every last freak that had anything to do with taking her. Shoving the photos into the side bags on the bike, Harley barely waited for Cajun to jump in his car before heading toward the Skirts, Hell’s fury flowing in his wake.