Revolution (6 page)

A slight hiss got Harry’s attention. It came
from Anastasia and her eyes clicked right in the direction of the
back door.

“Excuse us for a second,” Harry said and he
walked over to the rear end of the cabin. There was less blood
there, but the scent hung in the air and it made him sick to his
stomach. Once Anastasia joined him, he asked, “So what’s the
deal?”

Her voice came out guarded. “I’m wondering if
he’s telling the truth this time. He led that thing right to our
doorstep. I can’t smell Szabo now, but no way is he going to give
up that easily.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry had been thinking
the same thing, but also wondered about the Grand Plan. “Do you
think that Szabo really wants me?”

“Maybe,” Anastasia shrugged and leaned
against his chest. “I’m just tired of this,” she whispered. After a
moment, she put her arms around his waist.

He returned the gesture and wished things
could have turned out differently, but there was no going back now.
Their moment of peace was shattered by Istvan asking, “Are you two
married?”

Anastasia chuckled. “No, not yet, we, uh,”
and then her manner suddenly turned supremely shy as she ducked her
head and averted her gaze, “we just share a room.”

Harry felt the blood rush to his face. Having
someone else bring up the subject of their relationship embarrassed
him. Marriage—he’d spoken to Anastasia about it, but she didn’t
really give him an answer. Teenager or not, he knew that he wanted
to spend the rest of his life with her, and now Istvan had
inadvertently brought up the subject again.

No one had ever bothered questioning the
relationship. Not many people outside of Farrell knew, but those
who did never said anything about it. It was an open secret,
though, as they were the only two of their kind. Clearing his
throat and ignoring Istvan’s stare, Harry asked her, “Do you want
to clean up first?”

She swept her hands over her fur and lifted
them to her nose, recoiling as she did so. “Yeah, I do. I
stink.”

Without another word, she padded her way over
to the shower room and walked inside. A second later, Harry heard
the sound of running water. With nothing better to do, he started
to straighten up the room. Istvan observed the action and said, “If
you have rags, I will help you.”

A quick search in the storage closets netted
them a few rags and they set about wiping up the excess blood on
the floor. There wasn’t anything they could do about the agents, so
Harry found a couple of blankets and covered them up. It was the
least he could do.

Anastasia came out of the shower a couple of
minutes later wearing a towel around her torso. “I’ll be in the
bedroom,” she said.

Istvan’s eyes followed her to the door.
Mildly exasperated by the little man’s action, Harry smacked him on
the shoulder. “Eyes on the job, got it?”

“I am sorry,” Istvan replied, his face
turning a deep shade of pink. “I just think of how I like girls and
that there is no one for me.”

His answer, delivered in a sincere tone,
forced Harry to reconsider his opinion of the new arrival. He
doubted that any of the transgenics had asked to be changed over.
Istvan hadn’t asked for this to happen. “I was lucky,” he said.

Anastasia chose that moment to walk out,
wearing a pair of floppy yellow pajamas. Loose or not, they still
showcased her figure, and Harry took note. However, love was going
to have to wait for now.

“Your turn,” she said. Harry went inside the
shower and quickly rinsed off the sweat and blood. After exiting
with a towel wrapped around his waist, he went to the bedroom and
threw on a pair of fresh boxers and a t-shirt. When he came out,
Istvan had already entered the shower room. “I don’t think we have
anything in his size,” said Anastasia as she hunted around the
drawers for something mini-sized. “I guess he’ll have to rough it
for now.”

Istvan came out wearing the same suit as
before. “It is still dirty, but I feel cleaner,” he said. Harry
tossed him a towel. “Thank you for this.”

With his thanks, the trio took their places.
Anastasia elected to stay on the couch. Istvan curled up on the
floor and soon passed out. Harry elected to stand guard. While he
couldn’t smell anything dangerous coming, he wasn’t sure that Szabo
wouldn’t want to get a little revenge.

“You need to rest,” Anastasia said. “We still
have some time before Farrell gets here.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

She nodded and after pulling the remains of
one blanket over top of her body, she curled up and went to
sleep.

Harry stood at the window, listening to the
sounds of the crickets and night birds. On any other night, it
would have been relaxing just to take in the sounds of nature, but
after what had happened, he knew that his existence as well as
Anastasia’s could never return to normal.

Additionally, a stray thought, something that
Istvan had said, wouldn’t let Harry relax. Istvan had said
something about transposing genes. Or, at least, Szabo had
mentioned it, but if he was a prisoner, then would he have the
knowledge to do that? Would he have the equipment?

Backers, suppliers, other scientists,
telephone conversations—those words echoed in Harry’s mind, playing
themselves over and over. There had to be a connection. While he
thought about things, he also hoped he wouldn’t have any more
nightmares about running into a monster. He’d already met his
nightmare in the light of day and knew that he’d meet him again.
The only question was when.

Anastasia’s voice broke through the fog of
sleep and roused him. “Hey, get up.”

Instantly, he came to, blinking the crud from
his eyes. “What time is it?” he asked. He found that he’d slumped
to the floor, seated near the window, and a river of shame ran
through him. He should have been guarding the room.

“It’s five in the morning,” she said. “Don’t
worry about passing out. You went to sleep just a couple of minutes
ago. I was up before that. I heard a car just a few seconds ago. It
has to be Farrell.”

Still more than a little embarrassed, Harry
got up and looked out the window. It was indeed Farrell’s car. The
agent exited the vehicle, pulled out his pistol and ran over,
shouting, “Harry, Anastasia, what’s going on? Should I be worried
if something’s out there?”

“Put your gun away and come in,” answered
Harry, wondering what to say. The smell of blood still permeated
the air. He’d opened the windows for some fresh air, but nothing
could wipe away the smell. It lay like a second coat on his body
and he couldn’t brush it off.

Farrell walked in and immediately held his
nose. “God, what happened?”

“Nightmare walking,” Anastasia said and
pointed to Istvan. “He knows the thing that did it. There are
probably others, too.”

Her words didn’t seem to have much of an
effect on Farrell. Ever the hard-ass, he swept the room with his
gaze, which settled on the two covered corpses. Striding over to
them, he bent down and pulled back the blankets.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured as a look of
horror combined with disgust crossed his face. That look soon
faded, though and one of anger replaced it. Straightening up, he
demanded, “I knew those men. I handpicked them for this assignment.
What did this?”

“Like I said, nightmare walking,” Anastasia
repeated. “It was worse than Ivan, if you can believe it. The
monster’s gone for now, but he’ll be back.”

Farrell reached into his pocket, whipped out
his cellphone, spoke softly into it and put it away. “All right, I
just called the people at headquarters. They’ll be waiting. Let’s
move.”

“What about the people here?” Harry
asked.

“I’ll get my own crew to clean this place
up,” Farrell replied and motioned to the door. “We have to move.”
He locked eyes with Istvan. “You are coming with us. Get
going.”

He went to the door to check things out. A
second later, he gestured for everyone to follow him. His body
shaking, Istvan moved out, glancing around fearfully as he crossed
the threshold. Harry and Anastasia brought up the rear.

Farrell eased into the driver’s seat and the
three transgenics sat in the back. As they drove down the hill,
they passed a convenience store and Anastasia grunted. “You
remember that place, don’t you?”

Harry did. Three days earlier, after they’d
finished their combat training routine, he’d wandered into the
bathroom to take stock of what they needed. Some things couldn’t be
brought up by the agents, so Harry had walked outside to the car
wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It hid the fur.
It couldn’t hide his features, though. He’d shaved the hair from
his face, but his eyes and whiskers were a dead giveaway. As for
the whiskers, he’d clipped them, but they usually grew back within
a few hours.

Opening the car door, he heard a shout, and
Anastasia jogged over to him wearing a yellow track-suit and a
hoodie. “I’m going with you,” she stated in no uncertain terms.

“
I’m just going down the hill to the
convenience store,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t come along.
However, the look in her eyes, one of determination, meant that
there was no way in the world that he could dissuade her.

Anastasia strolled around to the passenger
side and got in. “I’ve got cabin fever. The agents bring us food
and we never go out, so let’s go.” Once he got in, she added in a
more placating tone, “I’ll stay in the car once we get there,
okay?”

Thinking that this was a very bad idea, but
having no choice, Harry started the motor. “You get carsick,
remember?”

“
It’s just down the hill. And I don’t want
to run in the daytime.”

“
Yeah... okay.”

Misgivings aside, Harry revved the motor and
took off. A few minutes later, they arrived at a convenience store.
He went in, grabbed a basket and began to load it up. Razors, candy
bars, a few items for Anastasia... check. He took the basket over
to the cash register, where an extremely overweight man in his
forties sat behind a counter, reading a newspaper and ignoring the
world.

In addition to him, there were three other
people in the store, two large young men who looked like
weightlifters—thick necks and torsos—and a young kid, maybe fifteen
or so. The kid darted around, filling up a small basket, and one of
the big men stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Try going
around me.”

Harry heard the sneer in man’s voice and a
pang of painful memories resounded in his mind. Punking time... and
this kid was the one being punked. Short and skinny, he reminded
Harry of himself before the transformation. While he wasn’t any
taller now—he stood around five-eight and weighed maybe
one-sixty—he was far stronger and faster than he looked.

“
I need to buy something,” the kid piped
out in a high-pitched voice.

“
Buy it somewhere else,” the large dude
responded.

Casting a frightened and resigned glance
around him, the kid put down his basket and took off, which
provoked a snicker from the bigger man and his friend. This was all
wrong, Harry thought, but he wasn’t about to cause trouble.

Things—he had to buy things, and he went over
to the counter. The man did nothing except to whistle tonelessly
under his breath and read his newspaper. “Excuse me,” Harry said
after waiting a minute for a response and not getting one. He
rapped the counter and waited. Why people had to be rude was beyond
him, but he didn’t make the rules. He just tried to be polite. “I’d
like to buy these things, please.”

With glacial slowness, the man put down the
paper and turned around as if he was doing the world a favor by
doing so. Once he got a good look at Harry, a look of alarm crossed
his face. “Hey, I don’t want to be rude or anything, but what’s
wrong with your eyes and what’s with the fur? Are you an actor or
just a freak?”

That remark crossed over from rude into
asshat territory. Harry had always shaved on a daily basis. His
body, no, it retained a light coating of fur, but his face, once
clean, looked almost human. Not that he minded looking as he did.
It was what others thought that concerned him.

As for his eyes, he silently cursed for not
wearing his sunglasses. He usually wore them in public, but in his
haste, he’d forgotten them inside the car. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s
all good,” he said.

The two other guys in their twenties, big,
beefy, with overdeveloped biceps and t-shirts cut to display their
arm growth overheard the question. One of them nudged the other and
they ambled over. “Hey Tim,” one of them said to the cashier. “Is
this guy giving you trouble or what?”

“
There’s no trouble,” said Harry, trying
to avoid a conflict. Before the transformation, he would have
backed off. He’d been skinny and weak and got used to being picked
on, beaten up and discarded like so much of yesterday’s garbage.
But that was before, not now. Still, he didn’t see this as a
life-or-death situation.

Unfortunately, the other two guys did. The
man who’d spoken poked him on the shoulder. “You got a problem,
buddy?”

“
I don’t know, Mark,” the older man said.
In a split second, his look of surprise changed to one of meanness,
his mouth twisting into a slit. “I heard about those animal people
in the city a few months back. You look like one of them, sort of.
I thought it was a joke, but maybe they were on the up and
up.”

“
No problem and no trouble,” Harry
repeated, eyeing the door. The man’s other friend stepped in front
of the entrance, barring all possibility of escape.

“
Hear that, Joey?” the large dude said to
his friend at the door. “This guy doesn’t want any trouble.” He
snatched the basket from Harry’s hand and his voice dripped with
sarcasm—that, and malice. “Well, let’s see what Mr. I no want
trouble has.” His meaty hand dipped into the goods. “You got
razors, candy bars and tampons. So, are the tampons for you or for
your girlfriend?” he asked with a throaty chuckle.