《They Try and Other Dark Tales》


 They Try

    The first time I saw it, we were rattling down a country road toward the town of Sycamore. Well, technically not the first, but the first time in years.


    Steve and Terry were arguing in the back. After a token resistance, I¡¯d retired to the passenger seat and surrendered the wheel to David. Four harbingers of science and logic hurtling after their next paycheck in a bone-white van.


    As the leader, I claim dominance over the reins of our steed. Usually. The last few nights had been lacking in sleep. After nearly running into a tree a few miles back when my eyelids drooped, David had put his foot down.


    Now I was stuck staring out the passenger side window, watching a dense forest in all its autumn colors slide by. My vision blurred as fatigue took its toll.


    That¡¯s when it happened.


    Something appeared, keeping pace with spindly limbs too long in the back, too short in the front. To my eyes, it was little more than a grey blur with a bulbous head. It slid between the almost non-existent shoulder of the road, flailing in an off-kilter gait.


    The vestiges of lucidity tried to make it into a man racing on all fours. The small, insane voice, born of the space in between waking and sleep, giggled. That¡¯s not a man. They don¡¯t really know what people are supposed to look like, but they try.


    The not-a-man¡¯s head turned.


    I jerked upright with a shout.


    David echoed me, yanking on the wheel as he jumped.


    For a second, my heart stopped. The van skidded sideways on the loose gravel. My brain grappled with the idea of getting smeared on a tree as the utter wrongness of what I¡¯d seen in the running man¡¯s face faded like the afterimage of a camera flash.


    My pulse hammered to life again. David wrestled the van back where it belonged, and the sleep-addled imprint melted away.


    A string of curses came from all three of my team.


    ¡°Seriously, Michelle? Are you trying to get us killed today?¡± David said through gritted teeth.


    My face grew hot. ¡°Sorry. Bad dreams.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have meds for that?¡± Terry asked from behind me. I could practically hear the sneer.


    ¡°No, Terry. My therapist and I both agreed to try without them for a couple of weeks. I haven¡¯t had issues in a long time.¡±


    ¡°Except, apparently, when you¡¯re not on your meds. I think all of us would appreciate not having heart attacks every time you have a scary dream.¡±


    I didn¡¯t grace her with a response. My therapist had assured me the first week would be rough, but so help me, I was going to push through. I¡¯d just had my thirty-second birthday, for god¡¯s sake. Time to learn how not to be afraid of imaginary things.


    ¡°You try the meditation track I sent you?¡±


    Ah, Steve. The mom of the group. I¡¯d certainly pushed his patience over the last few days, yet his temper remained unflappable.


    I patted the phone in my jeans pocket. ¡°Sure did. Helped me get to sleep. It¡¯s just the after that¡¯s still rough.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± He went quiet, no doubt percolating a new plan to soothe his toddler of a teammate.


    ¡°It¡¯s the after that¡¯s rough for us, too,¡± Terry said.


    I sighed and returned to watching the now running-man-free scenic view out my window.


    *****


    The outer edge of Sycamore had an odd sight of its own. Tents. A dozen in sight and probably more nestled further out in the forest. Each tent had at least one vehicle nearby, all haphazardly splayed out among the trees.


    ¡°Like pilgrims coming to a holy site,¡± David said with a shake of his head.


    I scoffed. ¡°More like flies to a corpse.¡±


    ¡°Or four,¡± Terry added with far more enthusiasm than necessary.


    I shrugged. ¡°Either way, looks like our timing is right.¡±


    ¡°Well, everyone knows supernaturals and extraterrestrials fear the light,¡± Steve said, before pointing over my shoulder. Two police trucks flanked the road to Sycamore. A pair of police officers stood beside each vehicle, the early morning sun glinting off of their guns. ¡°The police, on the other hand, probably enjoy the easier targeting.¡±


    ¡°Fair. David, drive up slow. They look kind of on edge.¡±


    We didn¡¯t get much farther before four pistols pointed in our direction. David slammed on the brakes and threw his hands in the air.


    ¡°Hey, is that legal?¡± Terry said.


    I snorted, exuding bravado to cover up the jump in my breathing as I reached for the door handle. ¡°Will it matter when we¡¯re full of holes?¡± Much to the dismay of my teammates, I slipped out of the van and pointed my own hands toward the sky. ¡°Michelle Moore, from Fact Hunters. We had an appointment, I believe?¡±


    I tried to keep my voice loud enough to cover the forty feet between us and the cops, but also level, a hard thing to do when you¡¯re one trigger pull away from dead.


    One cop lowered his gun and grinned. ¡°Ms. Moore! Sorry, I didn¡¯t recognize you at first! I really need to get new contacts.¡± He holstered his weapon and motioned for his buddies to do the same. ¡°Relax, these guys are here to help.¡±


    Their grimaces as they put their pistols away told me they weren¡¯t so sure. If I wanted the job to go well, I needed to change that. I dropped my hands, squared my shoulders, plastered on my best professional smile, and marched up to them like I dealt with this kind of thing all the time. If I was honest, I did.


    I pointed toward the tent city at their border. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve got squatters. Happens a lot with unexplained cases, especially when they happen in clusters.¡±


    A policewoman, who looked capable of chewing nails, glared at me. ¡°Fantastic. If you¡¯re here to help, I assume you¡¯re going to get rid of them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I intend to do, Officer¡­.¡±


    She filled the space with more glaring.


    I coughed. ¡°Yes. As I was saying, I intend to do just that. My team and I are here to prove once and for all that nothing paranormal or extraterrestrial happened to your people.¡±


    ¡°Your team, the ones still in the van?¡±


    I glanced back. Sure enough, no one had moved. I sighed. ¡°Yes, them. They¡¯re a little gun shy.¡±


    Officer Nails frowned.


    The wispy policeman next to her chuckled. ¡°Apologies, Ms. Moore. We¡¯ve had a lot of problems with our new guests. So obsessed with the supernatural, they¡¯ve got no respect for the dead.¡±


    ¡°Or the living,¡± Nails growled.


    The cop who had grinned at me stepped up, getting awfully close to my personal bubble. He was still grinning. ¡°Don¡¯t mind them, they don¡¯t know what you¡¯re capable of. I do, though.¡± He rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°I¡¯m a huge fan, Ms. Moore. I¡¯ve watched all of Fact Hunters at least a dozen times.¡±


    My eyes widened. ¡°A¡­ dozen? Wow.¡±


    After struggling in its first couple of years, our show had gained a number of dedicated watchers. Still, the idea of it having so avid a fan took me by surprise.


    He puffed out his chest and stuck out his hand. ¡°Officer Nichols, at your service.¡±


    I shook his hand, giving him a conspiratorial look. ¡°Am I to assume you¡¯re the reason we¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°You assume correct. The Chief officially hired you, but I knew just who to call after the loonies showed up.¡±


    ¡°Hey, the Chief wants to talk to them.¡± The fourth cop, who had slipped away while I was preoccupied, waved from the out the window of a police truck.


    ¡°Oh, right! This way, ma¡¯am.¡± Nichols¡¯ grin warped, pulling the corners of his mouth up, up, up, crawling along his cheekbones as gums gave way to bone.


    My breath caught, and it was gone. No bone, no overstretched mouth. Just a young cop with a giddy expression.


    I let out a nervous giggle. A hallucination brought on by stress and lack of sleep, nothing more. Suddenly, I regretted not bringing my pills. ¡°Uh, can I get the rest of my team, or am I the only one invited?¡±


    Nichols blushed. ¡°Oh, no, not just you. By all means¡­ uh¡­ bring your van, too. We¡¯ll let it through. You¡¯ll need all your stuff, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I will.¡±


    I turned and walked off, forcing my legs to stay below a run as my professional facade threatened to drop. His twisted face stayed clear in my mind. I¡¯d taken the last of my pills right before I got a call from Sycamore¡¯s Chief of Police, and I¡¯d refused a refill knowing I¡¯d take them if given half the chance. If I¡¯d known about this job beforehand, I¡¯d have never stopped.


    *****


    After a painfully dull time spent going over what we were and were not allowed to do, as well as a brief burst of excitement as we convinced Terry that insulting the police Chief was a terrible idea, Officer Nichols led us to the first place of death.


    It happened in a ranch house near the center of town. Its occupant, a single, moderately wealthy artist, had fled city life a few years prior.


    Sycamore¡¯s middle-of-nowhere aesthetic had ¡®pulled her in like a magnet,¡¯ or so Nichols told us.


    Looking inside her home, I had to wonder when she lamented her decision.


    The smell hit first, acrid and coppery, the air heavy with a dash of decay and salt. Remnants of her old life remained. Bright paintings on the wall, cherry-wood desks on top of lush, blue carpet. Then came the sights.


    Used up candles of myriad colors littered nearly every inch of floor space. How the house hadn¡¯t burned down, I couldn¡¯t fathom. Circles of salt, now smudged into oblong messes, worked their way from the living room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom.


    I paused at the threshold, a curtain of dread falling over me. Leave, the primal part of my brain demanded. Some things are better left alone.


    I ignored it. It was hardly the first time I¡¯d felt trepidation on a case.


    ¡°These cameras aren¡¯t light, you know.¡±


    David¡¯s voice startled the hesitation out of me. I moved aside, muttering an apology.


    Terry and Steve followed with more gear. Laptops, recorders, EMF gauges, microphones. To anyone who didn¡¯t know us, they¡¯d think we were more ghost hunters looking to capitalize on Sycamore¡¯s misfortune. But sometimes you had to fight fire with fire.


    I¡¯d grown a career from taking all the tricks of paranormal investigators and turning them on their creators. Where they saw souls in pictures, I proved backscatter. Where they saw floating apparitions, I proved smoke and mirrors.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    My team was a streamlined machine. They scattered with little input from me, setting up equipment in obvious hotspots.


    I turned to Officer Nichols, who stood nearby, gazing at me with puppy-dog eyes. ¡°The victim, Ms. Campbell, passed away in the bathroom, correct?¡±


    He¡¯d filled us in on the way over, but I preferred hearing it at the scene itself.


    ¡°Yes. Lying, fully clothed, in the bathtub.¡± He frowned. ¡°It looked like she¡¯d taken a nap. Peaceful, hands at her sides. Had a horrible grin on her face, though.¡±


    I tensed. ¡°A grin?¡±


    ¡°A Cheshire Cat looking one. According to Theo, her jaw was clenched so tight, some of her teeth broke. He said it had to do with rigor mortis. Either way, it didn¡¯t look right.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± I relaxed a little. Muscle spasms after death did odd things to bodies. Completely normal. ¡°Theo is Sycamore¡¯s coroner?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He¡¯s been here since I was a kid.¡±


    Which meant at least fifteen years. Surely a man capable of invaluable insight. ¡°I¡¯ll have to make sure to speak with him tomorrow. For now, I¡¯d like to check out that bathroom.¡±


    ¡°Oh, of course.¡± Nichols motioned for me to go first. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the salt and stuff. We¡¯ve catalogued what we need, and the loonies have already messed up a lot, anyway.¡±


    Even with his okay, I tiptoed around as much as I could. It just seemed right. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the enthusiasts haven¡¯t taken all of this for their collections.¡± A common act among the fanatics, and Officer Nails had responded like she¡¯d been dealing with fanatics.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ve taken a lot. There was just so much to start.¡±


    ¡°When did Ms. Campbell become interested in the occult?¡±


    ¡°Well, the week before her death, although ¡®interested¡¯ isn¡¯t the word I¡¯d use.¡±


    ¡°What word would you use?¡±


    ¡°Terrified. She called the station every night, claimed shadows were stalking her.¡±


    Blood rushed to my ears as I entered the bathroom, drowning out his voice. The world shrank to the thing before me.


    Long, black tendrils rose from the bathtub, whipping in the air as an overwhelming smell of death emanated from it. They spun and sucked downward, disappearing down the drain with the sound of a hundred insect legs.


    ¡°We looked multiple times¡ª¡±


    I motioned for Nichols to stop talking, not daring to take my eyes off the drain. ¡°Did you see that?¡±


    ¡°See what?¡±


    ¡°In the tub.¡± My brain ran circles, trying to pin down a rational reason for what I¡¯d seen. Three hallucinations in a matter of hours was a new record, even for me. ¡°Are there rodents here, or bugs?¡±


    ¡°Probably. We live next to a forest.¡± Nichols eased himself past me, hand covering his mouth and nose as he entered the bathroom. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything. I¡¯d like to know what you think about that, though.¡± He pointed at the floor.


    I dragged my mind back to the job at hand, vowing to call my therapist as soon as I could.


    Dried blood sketched a pentacle across tan tiles, a single point facing toward the door, two points facing the bathtub in the back. Each line was immaculate. Roughly half an inch thick, each edge looked sharp enough to cut. A perfect crimson circle contained the star, while a thin strip of ragged cloth lay in the center.


    Not a smudge of dirt blemished the rest of the floor.


    ¡°What kind of blood is that?¡±


    Nichols shrugged before retreating into the hallway. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Our lab couldn¡¯t tell us. We had some sent out of town, but the results won¡¯t be back for a few more days.¡±


    I stepped out of the bathroom. The smell fell away, returning to the more mild burn and death of the rest of the place. Strange. I¡¯d have to give the room special attention. ¡°It¡¯s probably a mixture of different animals¡¯ blood. That can throw off tests.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I suppose so. What do you think of that star, though?¡±


    ¡°The pentacle? Could mean a lot of things, although the blood makes me think of darker intentions. At first glance? I¡¯d say either Ms. Campbell desperately wanted attention, or someone played a horrible trick on her.¡±


    Nichols¡¯ eyes narrowed, his demeanor morphing from star-struck guide to skeptical law enforcement. ¡°Ms. Moore, there¡¯s no evidence of homicide, and dying seems an odd way to get attention.¡±


    ¡°Many originally ¡®unexplained¡¯ deaths are accidental consequences of desperate acts.¡± I marched back toward the living room as the logical explanations of what really could have happened solidified in my mind.


    I gestured grandly to the candles littering the floor, gaining a sidelong look from David as he appeared from the kitchen. ¡°For instance, these candles all create carbon monoxide. A few won¡¯t do harm, but a truckload? That¡¯s a recipe for disaster.¡±


    I took a deep breath, ready to launch into my next scenario.


    A woman burst through the front door, a ragged scarf flapping around her neck and a patchwork jacket two sizes too large hanging from her slight frame.


    She moved with unexpected speed, closing the distance between us so quickly, I found myself staring into her wild, bloodshot eyes before I could blink. My stomach dropped.


    ¡°She saw, she believed. They all did.¡± Her breath washed over me, a caustic mix of tooth decay and hard liquor. ¡°If you believe, you must know. Better to not believe, than die.¡±


    Nichols imposed an arm between me and the new arrival, pushing her to a more comfortable distance. ¡°Margaret, you¡¯ve been drinking again.¡± He pitched his voice as if talking to a child. ¡°You¡¯re an adult, and allowed to, but please stop accosting people while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    Margaret sidestepped Nichols with a grace unseen in the inebriated. I locked eyes with her a second time, my confidence failing me as the situation stirred an eerily similar memory.


    A towering, crazed lady, her height exaggerated to my eight-year-old self. I¡¯d cowered behind my mother, tears streaming down my face, as my father held the lady back. Her antics drove the horror of the previous day¡¯s ordeal to new peaks.


    ¡°You see, you believe!¡± she¡¯d cried, jabbing a bony finger toward me. ¡°You must know! If you don¡¯t, they do. They come in the in-between. They hunt, they take.¡±


    I was no longer eight, my trial nearly two decades behind me, yet still I trembled under Margaret¡¯s stare.


    ¡°They know, they know! Why don¡¯t you?¡± she cried.


    After threats from Nichols, and a descent into even more incoherent rambling from Margaret, she blustered out of the house, leaving me to shiver.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Steve put his hand on my shoulder.


    All of my team had gathered to see the show as their boss got harassed by the local drunk.


    I took a deep breath, fought the urge to gag on the thick air, and demanded my body to stop shaking like a chihuahua. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m fine, Steve.¡±


    I pushed his hand away and stepped out of the house. I¡¯d come here to debunk the crap happening in the town, not get wrapped up in the hype. Currently, I was failing. I told myself my sour mood was because of my poor work performance, yet it did nothing to dull the feeling that all I wanted was to finish the job and leave.


    *****


    The second mysterious death in the town of Sycamore involved a teenage resident who¡¯d gone out to purchase groceries. He¡¯d left at five in the evening.


    A church-goer had found him two days later in the church courtyard, draped over a rock mound which hadn¡¯t existed the day before. They described him as looking ¡®peacefully asleep¡¯. Stranger still, he¡¯d only been wearing an old, ragged, business suit that wasn¡¯t his. His clothes, and undergarments, had vanished. No fingerprints, no blood, nothing to suggest murder or a cause of death beyond the fact he no longer lived.


    The suit caught my eye, but I kept my hunch to myself until I viewed the last scene of death.


    That one involved human blood, and a lot of it. According to another resident, an elderly couple had decided to take a walk on the banks of the town¡¯s creek. Odd all by itself, Nichols assured me, since the creek stood a mile away from their residence, and both had back problems. Normally, they rarely left their house at all.


    Still, the witness claimed to watch them walk off spritely enough and had thought little else of it.


    A child had stumbled onto the remains. I couldn¡¯t still the roiling in my gut as I looked across the blood-soaked leaves gathered along the riverbank.


    Nichols told me the couple were already dead when the child spotted them, but were they really? I could envision another child walking into a bloody scene, watching in horror as a man succumbed to a fate so twisted, so wrong, not even deep hypnosis could tease the truth from the depth of the child¡¯s fractured mind.


    I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat, glad I hadn¡¯t stopped for lunch. ¡°This looks like a crime scene.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think I¡¯ll set up the perimeter,¡± Terry said as she tiptoed around the macabre splatter painted across a large swath of the riverbank. ¡°I just got new shoes.¡±


    Steve and David grumbled about being forced further into the mess. I couldn¡¯t blame them. Blood covered the area, but that wasn¡¯t all.


    Chunks of matter peeked from above and below leaves and detritus, filling the air with the smell of rotting flesh.


    I cocked my head, studying the scene. Other than the bustle of my team, it was quiet, still. In another time and place, it would have been tranquil. Here, it sent a chill up my spine. ¡°Why aren¡¯t there any signs of animals? Where are the insects, the flies?¡±


    I cast my question at Nichols, who had taken up vigil about twenty feet away. The sour look on his face he¡¯d adopted since arriving at the scene deepened. ¡°Don¡¯t know. It¡¯s all¡­ uh¡­ from Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster. We collected the¡­ bigger remains, but didn¡¯t have a good way of cleaning the rest. Figured the forest critters would help, but¡­.¡±


    There had to be a logical explanation. I tapped my chin. There was always a logical explanation. ¡°Chemicals.¡±


    ¡°Ms. Moore?¡±


    ¡°Were the remains tested for chemicals? Maybe someone sprayed the area to keep animals away.¡±


    ¡°Nothing came up, same as everything else. There¡¯s no unaccounted for blood, and no signs of a struggle.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°How could you tell?¡±


    Nichols went pale. ¡°Theo said it was all self-inflicted.¡±


    ¡°Exactly what was self-inflicted?¡±


    ¡°The¡­ cuts. Both sliced bits off their arms and legs, all the way to the bone.¡± His pallor gained a green tinge. ¡°I don¡¯t know how they lived long enough to do it, then they showed up dead, looking like they¡¯d laid down to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s enough.¡±


    He looked about to pass out, and I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted the only person around with a weapon to be incapacitated. Still, there was one thing I had to know. ¡°What about their clothes? Did they still have theirs?¡±


    ¡°Clothes? Uh¡­ yeah. They had them, but they were laid on top of their bodies like blankets, and they were off.¡±


    I latched onto the word, a tiny voice in the back of my mind equal parts intrigued and appalled.


    ¡°Parts were bigger than they should be, or smaller. Mr. Lancaster¡¯s left sleeve wasn¡¯t big enough for a kid, yet his left pant leg could have fit two of him. Mrs. Lancaster¡¯s dress was worse. It looked crumpled, but when I looked closer, it was because some threads were tiny, some were huge.¡±


    The tiny voice lost its intrigue and cried in alarm. I tamped it down. ¡°Anything else? Anything that wasn¡¯t theirs?¡±


    ¡°A¡­ a hat. At least, I think it was supposed to be a hat. Found it right in the center of it all, clean as a whistle. Looked like it¡¯d been made from really old, torn up cloth, just big enough for a doll.¡±


    My mind snapped to a particular person, one who was practically a walking storefront for ragged, torn clothing. ¡°Did all the victims talk to Margaret before their accidents?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    The nonchalance in his tone caught me off-guard. ¡°And you don¡¯t find it odd that you found ragged bits of clothing near every victim, and these victims also talked to Margaret?¡±


    Nichols shook his head. ¡°I understand how it looks to an outsider, but everyone in this town talks, or at least is talked to, by Margaret pretty much every day. It¡¯s like saying they all died from eating.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t find the clothes strange at all?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I find them plenty strange. But nothing¡¯s turned up on any of them. Not even a hair.¡±


    Something flickered at the edge of my sight. I turned toward it. A camera stood on a tripod on the other side of the splattered ground. A large shadow moved behind it. I tried to make it into Terry, Steve or David.


    As if spurred on by my attention, it leaned out, staring at me as I stared at it.


    Wrong was the first thought to form. The thing stood on two mismatched legs, a crooked, bloated torso balanced precariously on top. Its arms and head were no less off. Its features shifted and distorted as if looking into a cruel funhouse mirror.


    One of its eyes bulged from its misshapen head, growing in size until it appeared on the verge of popping. It opened swollen lips, mouthing silent words which burrowed into my being.


    You see. You believe.


    Ice rushed through my veins. I was back in my place of birth, a small country town with a crazy lady of its own and a series of mysterious deaths.


    My eight-year-old self, stumbling upon a shadow as it towered over a writhing man. The man contorting, shifting, screaming in agony until all that remained was the wrongness.


    ¡°Ms. Moore, are you okay? You¡¯re a bit pale.¡±


    Nichols¡¯ words cut through my panic, the shadow from my past and present gone.


    ¡°I¡­.¡± My heart hammered against my breastbone, a light whine in my ears. A quick glance showed Nichols wasn¡¯t the only person looking at me with concern.


    My teammates¡¯ eyes bore into me. Terry¡¯s in particular seemed to scream ¡®I told you so.¡¯ Going off my meds had been a terrible idea. Refusing to carry extra, doubly so.


    ¡°Ms. Moore?¡±


    ¡°No, Officer Nichols, I¡¯m not.¡± A weight descended at the admission, threatening to crush me. ¡°I think it would be best if I postponed my investigation.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me,¡± Terry said from my left. ¡°We came all the way out to the middle of nowhere, spent half the day setting up, and now you¡¯re quitting?¡±


    I grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m not saying we¡¯re quitting. Just give me a couple of days. I trust you guys to gather data while I¡¯m¡­ indisposed. When I¡¯m ready, I¡¯ll parse the data all day and night if you want.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Terry jabbed a finger at me. ¡°We¡¯ve seen enough of you off sleep. Go get your head on straight. We¡¯ll pick up your slack.¡±


    After an awkward conversation with Nichols, during which I could see his remaining awe for me shrivel and die, and an equally awkward conversation with Steve about how he was glad I was putting my health first, Steve and I arrived at our lodging.


    With no such thing as an inn in Sycamore, we¡¯d been given the only empty house in living condition. It was also the home of the late Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster. Originally, I¡¯d been thrilled. Lodging in the house of two of the victims gave me more time to debunk the alien and paranormal fanatics'' ridiculous notions.


    Now, as Steve pulled out of the gravel driveway, leaving me alone in the front of the red brick two-story house, all I could feel was deep unease. If a townsperson had jumped out and said boo, I¡¯d have died of fright. As it stood, the block was eerily still.


    So it stayed into the cozy living room, up the well-dusted stairs, and into the perfectly kept guest room.


    Here I am, in an old-fashioned chair at an old-fashioned writing desk. I intended to call my doctor immediately upon getting here, yet now that I¡¯m settled, I find the package of sleeping pills Steve gave me calling my name.


    ¡°A good nap might do you some good,¡± he¡¯d said.


    He¡¯s right, I think. Even if the ¡®nap¡¯ must be brought on with sedatives.


    I down two small white pills with a glass of water, then add a third for good measure.


    They kick in faster than expected.


    I¡¯m barely on the bed before the room tilts and fuzzes at the edges, soft but unwelcoming.


    The silk inside a coffin.


    A giggle sounds at the reaches of my hearing. Or is it? There¡¯s something off about it.


    Some wrongness.


    Am I asleep? I can¡¯t tell.


    Shadows now, congregating around the bed.


    Shadows? People?


    They watch, they stare, coming almost in focus, then back out again. Not unlike the morphing of their features.


    No, not people.


    More giggles, inside out.


    Mouths grin, backwards.


    You see, you believe! You see, you believe! They chant in silence as their arms stretch toward me.


    Not people, not people, the mad voice in my head squeals. They don¡¯t know what people look like, but they try.

 All For Her

    Hair billowed around her in the summer humidity, blonde strands contrasting with the fire in her dark eyes. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, her arm raised, weapon at the ready. An angry goddess prepared to strike. Her target likely had a less awe-inspiring view of her. Understandable.


    ¡°Sophie,¡± I cooed, as low and smooth as you should when approaching a raging force of nature. ¡°Please put the bottle down.¡±


    She leaned more of her weight into her left forearm. It pressed further into the throat of the man pinned against the brick wall that lined the sidewalk separating the high-end houses and perfectly manicured lawns.


    The man gurgled a whimper. He out-massed Sophie, his midsection flab easily twice her own lean waist. But he was far from a fighter.


    ¡°Sophie.¡± I said again.


    ¡°He¡¯s got a gun, Noah. He¡¯s been stalking me, looking in the windows, watching me sleep. Now he¡¯s got a gun.¡± She growled at him. ¡°Going to have your way, huh? What about now?¡± Her weapon arm dropped, bringing the shattered wine bottle closer to the man¡¯s neck.


    I took a tentative step forward, hands reaching toward her, placating. ¡°Sophie, this is Kyle. He lives next door. He and his wife brought us cookies when we moved in. You remember that?¡±


    ¡°Even friendly neighbors can do awful things.¡±


    ¡°He works all day. His family goes to church. He¡¯s been gone all week helping with their church¡¯s summer camp. How did he stalk us?¡±


    She hesitated.


    Kyle sucked in a breath as the weight on his throat eased. ¡°Sophie¡ª¡± he choked out.


    ¡°Shut up.¡± She waved the broken bottle. Kyle¡¯s face went from purple to powdery. His hands shot up, palms out.


    No weapon. No gun.


    ¡°What exactly have you been hearing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Noises. Talking. Someone calling my name.¡±


    ¡°And it sounded like Kyle?¡±


    ¡°I¡­.¡± She furrowed her brow. ¡°I think so. I saw him.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Last night.¡±


    ¡°His car was gone, Sophie. The lights were out in their house. He and his family came home this morning, all together, with their car packed full of stuff. Don¡¯t you think his wife or kids would have noticed him leaving without them?¡±


    She grimaced. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should call and see?¡±


    The color drained from her face as realization set in. The fire in her eyes turned to tears. ¡°I¡¯m doing it again, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    The bottle slipped from her grasp, hitting the sidewalk in a burst of shattered glass.


    Kyle didn¡¯t hesitate. He pushed past, sprinting faster than I¡¯d ever seen him move, his hand scrambling to pull his phone from his pocket.


    I watched him disappear behind his brick fence, the iron-wrought gate slamming behind him.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to call the cops.¡±


    I turned back to Sophie with a snort. ¡°We¡¯re lucky if he doesn¡¯t call SWAT.¡±


    She hugged herself, the vengeful goddess replaced by a frightened young woman in brand-name jeans and a blue tank-top. A tear slid down her cheek. ¡°I swear I saw him¡­ or I could have sworn it.¡±


    ¡°But now?¡±


    ¡°Now I¡¯m not sure. It felt so real, before.¡±


    I closed the last few feet between us, wrapping my arms around her as she held her face in her hands and sobbed.


    ¡°I thought I was getting better,¡± she said between sobs. ¡°I haven¡¯t¡­ hadn¡¯t seen or heard anything in a while.¡±


    ¡°That you know of.¡±


    She shoved me away. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to make me feel better, Noah.¡±


    ¡°For attacking an innocent man? Even I have my limits. You need help. These hallucinations of yours nearly killed our neighbor. Please, listen to me this time.¡±


    ¡°Will you go with me to the hospital?¡± Her eyes grew soft, reminding me of our childhood, when she¡¯d make the same face every time she wanted a toy I had. It worked every time.


    ¡°Of course I will. I¡¯ll stick to you like glue, now and forever.¡±


    She nodded, wiping her eyes on the back of her arm before offering a hand to me. I took it without hesitation, reveling in the smoothness of her skin.


    We walked hand in hand to our car, a simple gray four-door with far fewer bells and whistles than most on the street. Well, technically, it was in Sophie¡¯s name, but we went everywhere together, so it wasn¡¯t like I needed a vehicle of my own.


    I offered to drive as usual. She turned me down, as usual. The simple ritual calmed her down, and by the time we drove out of our driveway, she¡¯d stopped crying completely. We turned off the residential maze of streets as sirens sounded in the distance.


    Next came a blur of police, courts, tears, holding Sophie, and wishing I could. In the end, everyone around us agreed with me ¡ª she needed help, not punishment.


    So we stood outside of a long-term treatment facility, staring past its long cabin walls at the tennis and basketball courts ringed by trees in its backyard.


    ¡°I think I see a pond back there,¡± I said, shielding my eyes from the rising sun.


    ¡°God, I hope not.¡± She forced a wane smile. ¡°If swimming is part of my treatment, I quit.¡±


    I grinned back. Sophie hated water, hated getting wet. Nearly drowning as a child would do that to you. ¡°Just tell them you¡¯re part cat, or maybe part gremlin. You can¡¯t get them wet, right?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Right. But, hopefully, I can still eat after midnight.¡± She turned toward the homey oak door leading into the facility. Her face fell.


    My arms were around her in a second. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± I whispered into her ear. ¡°I¡¯ll be here every day. If they don¡¯t let me visit, I¡¯ll bang on the windows until they do.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Noah.¡± She leaned back into me. ¡°Really. You¡¯ve always been there for me when no one else cared. I appreciate it more than you know.¡±


    ¡°No matter what I know, I¡¯m staying.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Sophie spun out of my arms, finally flashing me a genuine smile. ¡°Just don¡¯t rile up the police, okay? I think I¡¯ve done that enough for both of us.¡±


    With that, she disappeared into the building, and my troubles began.


    As the door shut, something moved in the corner of my eye. Dark, formless, it floated near the pond in the distance. A cool breeze blew across the water, bringing with it a raspy whisper. Noah¡­.


    *****


    ¡°One med messes with my stomach, the other makes it hard to sleep.¡± Sophie sighed, pushing off with her feet as the chair swing we were in swung lazily back and forth.


    We sat under a gazebo in the treatment facility¡¯s spacious lawn, as far from the pond as we could get. The shade of the gazebo came as a welcome respite from the heat of midday.


    ¡°I thought hallucinations while awake were bad,¡± she continued. ¡°I take forever to fall asleep, wake up an hour later, but not really. There¡¯s someone with long arms and a knife standing at the foot of my bed, and I can¡¯t move. The doctors say its ¡®sleep paralysis.¡¯¡±


    ¡°These medicines are supposed to help, right?¡±


    ¡°Supposedly. They say it takes a month or two for them to truly work. Until then, I just have to deal.¡±


    What if they don¡¯t? Is what I wanted to ask, but the glimmer of hope in her eyes made the words stick. No way I¡¯d be the one to squash it.


    ¡°DId they just give you medicine? Seems like all of this is a bit much for a pharmacy.¡±


    Sophie laughed. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed to come easier to her than it had in a long time. ¡°No, of course not. There are classes, activities, meditation, therapy.¡±


    ¡°Therapy?¡± I tried to hide my wince. Sophie¡¯s grimace and shrug told me I didn¡¯t do a good job.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s not near as bad as the last time, or the time before that¡­ or the time before that.¡± Her frown deepened. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯m trying to keep an open mind. I really want this to work.¡±


    ¡°It will,¡± I said, immediately regretting bringing up her past failures in therapy.


    I scooted closer to her and threw my arm over her shoulders. ¡°This it the one.¡± I swept my other arm toward the vista in front of us. ¡°The place that will show you what peace really means.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°I know so.¡±


    Know¡­ know¡­ know¡­.


    The words echoed from all directions. High, low, smooth, coarse. I sat up, whipping my head around to find the crowd who had snuck up on us. The voices fell silent. A single person entered the basketball court, way too far away for what I¡¯d heard. The voices had sounded as if they were right beside us.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Sophie chewed at her bottom lip as she watched me.


    I¡¯d brought up terrible memories, and now I was worrying her. I mentally kicked myself. My issues, whatever they were, could wait. I had to get it together for her. ¡°Uh, yeah, fine. Just heard something. Probably that guy over there.¡± I jerked my head toward the basket baller.


    ¡°Really? I didn¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°Just a bit jumpy today, I guess. Haven¡¯t been sleeping as well without you in the house.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ve been talking about me so much, I haven¡¯t even asked about you.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No, I¡¯m fine. You¡¯re what¡¯s important, anyway. Focus on getting better. Let me deal with my separation anxiety like a big boy.¡±


    I¡¯d meant it as a joke, but Sophie merely leaned in to study me closer. ¡°You sure?¡±


    ¡°Positive.¡±


    Positive¡­ positive¡­ positive¡­.


    I gritted my teeth and smiled, pointedly ignoring the surrounding cacophony.


    I didn¡¯t deal with my separation anxiety like a big boy. In fact, it only grew, pushed along by the sudden appearance of a voice in my ear, a shape in the corner of my eye. Scent and sound soon joined the line to torment me, the scent of popcorn when there wasn¡¯t a kernel around, the sound of a waterfall when I couldn¡¯t even say how far away a large body of water was.


    I pushed it all away. Pushed it down for her. Perhaps it was the truth, too long in the reveal. Maybe I¡¯d been just as sick as she was all along. Two ill people drawn to each other like moths to a flame. Maybe Sophie had been my rock, and without her I¡¯d been set afloat to sink.


    We could end up going to the same treatment facility. It seemed nice enough. After Sophie had finished her treatment, of course. I¡¯d promised to keep the focus on her, and I kept my promises.


    But it got more difficult.


    After a month of treatment, Sophie invited me to a celebration picnic on the facility grounds. Well, really it was a planned picnic for all the facility, but it was a nice gesture, anyway.


    I brought her favorites ¡ª cherry cobbler and vinegar chips, with lemonade to wash it down. She hadn¡¯t touched any of it. The wind blew her golden hair back in waves as she chewed her bottom lip and stared into the distance.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you hungry?¡±


    A peal of laughter covered up half of my question. Other people, both those undergoing treatment and employees, sat scattered across the freshly cut front lawn on plaid picnic blankets. Some murmured to themselves, casting darting glances over their shoulder. Others talked loudly to open air. Plenty were having perfectly normal conversations in small or larger groups.


    ¡°Gives you hope, doesn¡¯t it?¡± I said.


    No one interrupted that question.


    Sophie glanced at me and smiled, but it didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°Yes, it does. Some of these people come in worse off than me, and now¡­ now they know how to deal with it all, how to have, if not a normal life, then a life worth living.¡±


    She spoke low and quiet. I leaned in to catch each word. ¡°How are you ¡®dealing¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Good, actually. The doctors were right. The stomach and sleep problems have stopped.¡±


    My stomach cramped as if on cue. It had been doing that a lot lately. ¡°So, the medicine is helping now?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ they¡¯re getting there.¡±


    A dull pounding grew behind my eyes as whispers floated by. ¡°So what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. ¡°Really? We¡¯ve been together forever. You think I can¡¯t tell when something¡¯s bothering you?¡±


    ¡°Right¡­. It¡¯s¡­ not important.¡±


    Three simple words shouldn¡¯t have hurt so much. They dug in like glass, cutting ties I¡¯d thought eternal. She¡¯d lied to me. She¡¯d never lied to me. I broke out in a sweat. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was from the pain in my gut, my head, or my heart.


    My heart still hurt the next time I came to meet her, out-competing the pain in my body which had spread to my muscles and bones.


    The voices, smells, sounds, had all become louder, more frequent. I didn¡¯t care anymore. I wanted to know why she lied to me, and I¡¯d finally worked up the courage to ask.


    I brought her a bouquet on a whim. White lilies, her favorite flower. Even if she¡¯d hurt me, I still desperately wanted to see her smile.


    She met me outside the facility a short distance from the front door.


    ¡°Hey beautiful,¡± I said as I offered her the flowers.


    She looked past me, chewing her bottom lip so hard I saw a bead of blood.


    ¡°Sophie?¡±


    She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then let it out. ¡°I¡¯m almost done, Noah. With the treatment.¡±


    A thrill passed through me. ¡°That¡¯s great ¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I haven¡¯t thought about you much lately. Part of the treatment and all.¡± A tear rolled down her cheek, and my heart fell with it. Her white lie to me suddenly felt so meaningless. ¡°But Lucy says it¡¯s time. Time to let go. You¡¯ve been my anchor. Kept me afloat when I should have drowned, but¡­.¡±


    Hair prickled on the back of my neck as my stomach roiled. The smell of tar lay thick in my nose. I tried to speak, but no sound escaped.


    ¡°You seemed so real¡­.¡± Sophie choked back a sob. ¡°But she¡¯s right. All these memories of us together. Just my mind doing what it does best. Can you believe I made up my own best friend? Leave it to me to have an imaginary friend in my twenties, right?¡±


    The more she talked, the more my skin crawled.


    Fake¡­ fake¡­ fake¡­.


    This time, the voices came with bodies.


    Blurry and distinct, long-armed and short, glowing eyes and empty sockets. They crowded around me, all gazes locked on Sophie as she cried.


    She wiped her face and gave a short, clipped laugh. ¡°This is harder than I thought it would be. Talking away a sleep demon wasn¡¯t so bad, but this¡­.¡±


    Sophie continued to look past me. No, I realized as my legs trembled, she looked through me.


    ¡°I loved you, Noah. I truly did. As weird as it sounds to love a figment of my warped mind, it¡¯s the truth. But Lucy, Ashley, Matthew, they have all shown me the light at the end of the tunnel, and as hard as this is, I know it¡¯s what I have to do. It¡¯s right.¡± With a sniffle, she stood up straight and squared her shoulders. ¡°Goodbye, Noah. You¡¯re not real, and it¡¯s time for me to accept that.¡±


    If a hammer had fallen from the sky to smite me, it would have been better. My legs gave way. The white lilies spilled from my grasp, scattering across the gravel like Sophie¡¯s tears.


    I wanted to yell, to scream about how wrong she was, how real I was, yet deep down, I knew. This was the truth she had hid from me at the picnic. The sickness taking root inside me.


    All around, the other hallucinations collapsed, spasming as they melted away in the summer heat. Mirages. Like me.


    I looked once more into her face, the face of my creator, my goddess. For her to heal, I had to die. My sight faded, but I held on long enough to see her smile. This time, it reached her eyes.

 Jeremy

    The old lady at the stove mumbled another insult as she slammed a pancake onto a plate with all the strength her mottled arms could muster.


    I pretended not to hear.


    Jeremy, who sat next to me with his wheelchair scooted close to the dining table, didn¡¯t pretend quite as well. His jaw clenched, his skin growing darker as he flushed. Just like he¡¯d done at the diner the night before. It was still cute.


    A plate dropped in front of me with a clatter, jerking my focus back in time to see bits of scrambled egg bounce off my plate.


    ¡°Gramma!¡± Jeremy hissed through his teeth. ¡°Please!¡±


    Gramma shot him a withering look before returning to her abuse of breakfast.


    Jeremy flashed me a smile. His eyes spoke of apology, even if he didn¡¯t dare voice it. It didn¡¯t matter to me.


    As a wanderer, I was used to the disdain of others. As a woman, I was used to the attention of men, most of it attention I¡¯d rather not have. So, while I was more than used to Gramma¡¯s brand of treatment, I remained surprised at having followed Jeremy home. Even if he¡¯d assured me he had little feeling below his waist, or that he lived with his grandmother, mother, father, and brother. I¡¯d run into stranger lies, and amazing liars. Maybe I¡¯d finally been alone too long.


    The rest of the family appeared from a hallway, taking their places at the table and taking their turns judging me in my low-cut halter top and shredded jeans. Jeremy¡¯s father, sitting at the head, scowled in my direction. His mother, sitting to his father¡¯s right, settled between a welcoming grin and a snarl. His younger brother, obviously still new to the idea of puberty, sat across from me and gave me his best debonair smile.


    I beamed back. His mother¡¯s face went pale, her lips twisting like she¡¯d just ate a sour grape. I coughed to cover a chuckle. The kid was a good ten years too young for my tastes, but the chance to mess with haters wasn¡¯t something I could let slip by.


    Gramma plonked down more plates in front of the new arrivals, mumbling her criticisms the whole way. ¡°Bringing a tramp,¡± plonk, ¡°into this house,¡± plonk. She shuffled back for two more plates. ¡°Thought we raised that boy better.¡± Plonk, plonk.


    She eased herself into her chair, which so happened to be directly across from Jeremy¡¯s father, and to my left. Lucky me.


    Her eyes shot venom.


    I returned to ignoring her, staring at my plate as if I hadn¡¯t eaten in weeks. They probably believed that, anyway. The savory-sweet smell of pancakes and eggs settled in, causing my stomach to growl loudly. Illusion complete. Hell, even I believed it.


    I inhaled the food, only after thinking about how easy it would be for hateful Gramma to put strychnine in it. I really was slipping.


    ¡°Wow, you were hungry. Need some more?¡± Scraping punctuated Jeremy¡¯s question as three chairs pushed away from the table and three uneaten breakfasts. Jeremy looked at his family and frowned. ¡°Hey, wait a minute. I haven¡¯t introduced anyone.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, son,¡± his father said. ¡°I¡¯ve got work to get to, and so does your Mom. Theo, get ready for school.¡±


    Younger brother Theo, who had been grinning at me between bites, smacked the table with one hand. ¡°But, Dad, I¡¯m not done eating!¡±


    His father saw his defiance and raised it two table smacks and a glare. More eggs jumped off plates. ¡°Theodore, you¡¯ll get up and get ready, or so help me¡­¡±


    Theo shoved away from the table and stomped off, muttering under his breath. The family certainly had issues.


    Their mother sighed and gave Jeremy what I assumed was a pleading look. ¡°Don¡¯t you have work today, too? Finish up.¡± Her eyes darted toward me, then returned to Jeremy. I got the hint. ¡°I¡¯ll help you get ready when I¡¯m done.¡±


    Just like that, Jeremy and I were alone. Gramma hadn¡¯t bothered saying what she had to do. Probably get away from me before she vomited, same as the other two. Kudos to her for not coming up with an excuse.


    Jeremy sighed, pushing his surviving eggs around his plate. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. They¡¯re not usually like this. I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s up with them.¡±


    I had a few ideas, but I was smart enough to keep them to myself. ¡°So, you have work today?¡±


    His face lit up as he smiled. ¡°Well, you know how spring goes. Illnesses flying around, little brothers bringing home who knows what. Why, I think I feel a fever coming on. Wouldn¡¯t want to spread that around, now would I?¡±


    I laughed, a tug in my chest reminding me why I followed him home in the first place. ¡°Oooh, daring, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    He leaned over, his breath on my ear making my breath hitch in my throat. ¡°I¡¯ll need you to help me out, though,¡± he whispered. ¡°Leave for a bit. I¡¯ll text you when everyone¡¯s gone, and we¡¯ll have the place to ourselves for a couple of hours.¡±


    Hmm. I guess Gramma did have somewhere to be.


    I brushed my hand up his arm on impulse. ¡°Sounds fun.¡±


    He blushed and sat back up.


    My face grew warm in response. I quickly pushed away from the table and turned away. What the hell was wrong with me? I walked out of his house, slamming the door for good measure before stomping down the block. Only some of it was an act. As my confusion built, so did my anger.


    This was all so stupid. I didn¡¯t do things like this. I¡¯d known Jeremy for what, a whole day? Now I was sleeping in his house, dealing with his cold-ass family, and going back to him alone in an unfamiliar place. Red flags and alarm bells all around.


    Finished stomping around the residential area, I leaned against a red brick wall. I couldn¡¯t decide if the empty serenity of the early morning streets was a good or bad thing. I felt so tense, I¡¯d probably snap the head off someone trying to have a conversation with me, anyway.


    I ground my teeth. I should leave. Get the hell out of dodge. My gut had served me well for years, so why was I waiting here like an obedient dog? Oh yeah, because my gut was just as confused as the rest of me. It wanted to cut and run, and run back to Jeremy in equal amounts.


    Maybe he had drugged me. No, I felt too clear-headed for that, didn¡¯t I?


    I continued to argue with myself, the heat of the sun soaking into my skin as it climbed higher in the sky, warm and comforting. I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d dozed off until a buzzing in my jeans nearly made my heart stop.


    I scrambled for my phone and checked my texts.


    They¡¯re gone, was all he¡¯d typed. Not ominous at all. Yet, ominous or not, off I went, trudging back to his door with an odd mix of trepidation and excitement roiling in my stomach.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    I¡¯d barely touched the door before Jeremy pulled it open. ¡°Hey, you came!¡±


    ¡°I... uh... yeah.¡± The surprise in his voice threw me further off guard and made me want to give him a hug. Weird.


    He moved back to let me in, a shy smile playing on his lips. ¡°I picked out a movie for us to watch.¡± He motioned toward the couch. ¡°It¡¯s one of my¡­¡± he paused, grimacing. ¡°You know, if you don¡¯t like it, we can watch something else.¡±


    I laughed, further making him squirm. His awkwardness was endearing. ¡°Is it that bad?¡± I plopped down on the couch and grabbed the movie case from the coffee table. ¡°Oh.¡± It was an action movie. Guns, explosions, a girl. The kind of stuff you¡¯d expect on a twenty-something man¡¯s shelf. The way he was acting, I¡¯d expected something else. ¡°This is fine.¡±


    I scooted back, patting the cushion beside me. ¡°You going to watch it with me, or just watch me?¡± I cringed inwardly. Yikes. I really had been alone for too long.


    Jeremy laughed, some of the tension bleeding from his face. I grinned back as he maneuvered his wheelchair over to the side of the couch and swung himself up beside me. I stared at the flexing muscles in his arms. He had a lot of definition.


    ¡°Now who¡¯s watching who?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I guess it¡¯s mutual.¡± Something tickled the back of my nose. Something familiar, yet not. Something I wanted more of.


    I leaned into Jeremy¡¯s shoulder. The tickle grew stronger, deep, musky. My hands grew minds of their own, tracing patterns across his arms, up his face, and down his chest.


    ¡°Tala¡­.¡± My name died on his lips as he gave in to my touch.


    By the end of our two hours, I¡¯d learned a couple of things. First, little feeling didn¡¯t mean no reaction. Second, whether because of gentlemanly self-control, or simple anxiety, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to touch me back, despite his obvious interest.


    I couldn¡¯t say I was disappointed. On the contrary, when he told me he¡¯d leave his bedroom window open when he went to bed, I found myself counting down the seconds. My confusion and trepidation had vanished, replaced by an eagerness I never knew I needed, but never wanted to let go.


    *****


    The smell hit me before I reached Jeremy¡¯s window. Blood. Lots of it.


    Jeremy!


    I hit his bedroom floor faster than my intelligent side could tell me what a dumbass I was.


    Jeremy¡¯s room looked like a hurricane had hit it. Pillow stuffing, bits of wood that were once furniture, shredded blankets. Even his wheelchair lay overturned in one corner, one wheel twisted beyond recognition. Scratch the hurricane. It was more like a bomb. An angry one.


    I crouched low, the tickle in the back of my nose returning full force. I sucked in a breath and held it, my head spinning. The smell wasn¡¯t so mild anymore.


    A voice cut through the silence, sharp and tinny. ¡°Hello, hello, are you still there?¡±


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I crawled toward the bedroom door. I stuck my head out around the frame. I¡¯d wanted to see who it was. What I saw instead jumped my pulse into overdrive.


    Red splashed the hallway as if a macabre artist had thrown paint on the walls. Thick, crimson paint that ran and dripped, smelling like copper and death.


    ¡°The police are almost at your location, ma¡¯am.¡±


    My gaze slingshot back toward the voice.


    ¡°If you¡¯re still there, hold on.¡±


    A bit of panic seeped into the words, but not enough for what I saw.


    The phone!


    I hissed, shooting around the corner and into the living room.


    The landline phone I¡¯d forgotten about dangled from its cord. Gramma lay on the floor within arm¡¯s reach, her curled gray hair strangely immaculate in the pool of blood and bodily fluids around her. Two more bodies lay on the couch I¡¯d shared with Jeremy. I had a good guess who they were, although what was left of them gave me no clues.


    Sirens screamed from the distance, getting louder by the second. This wasn¡¯t good.


    I was out the door quick, but not quick enough.


    A police car squealed in, an officer out of his car with his gun trained on me before it stopped.


    Impressive training.


    ¡°Arms up where I can see them!¡±


    I obliged, mentally kicking myself. Why hadn¡¯t I gone back out the window? One day with a guy, and I¡¯d lost all my brain cells. But not just any guy, my less intelligent side whispered.


    Mr. Well-Trained closed in as more police cars skid to a stop. He never reached me.


    Something huge smashed into him. Loud cracks and crunches announced his quick, if not painless, death.


    I froze. My heart leaped against my ribs as my limbs shook.


    In front of me stood a creature covered in dark fur. A wolven head snarled atop a gorilla-like body as wide as the front of the cars. It caught my eye, rising from its crouched position into a hunched-over perversion of a human on two legs. It was easily nine-feet tall.


    My breath stopped as a chill ran up my spine. Thick musk rolled over me, the same I¡¯d been smelling all day. ¡°Jeremy?¡± I whispered. No answer came. I didn¡¯t need one.


    My feet moved of their own accord, rushing me into the soft fur of his stomach. I clutched at him, breathing in his scent. Tingles covered my body, driving my heartbeat to new heights.


    More shouts. The police were closing in. Perhaps they¡¯d decided to come save me. Idiots.


    Jeremy¡¯s arms wrapped me in a vice grip, swinging me off my feet.


    Gunfire exploded, hitting Jeremy with dull thuds. I smiled as he roared. Mere bullets couldn¡¯t kill him. Oh no, even now I could hear the plink as the wasted ammunition hit the concrete. They¡¯d only made him mad.


    ¡°To the woods,¡± I told him.


    Jeremy cradled me. He spun toward the police, barreling through the flimsy humans and vehicles. Both flew away like paper, crumpled and a mess.


    Jeremy hit the street, breaking into an awkward lope. His form, his true form, was incredible in many ways, but it wasn¡¯t meant for fleeing.


    I stroked his fur as he continued his flight, doing my best to ignore the growing electricity in my core. ¡°I can hold on myself. Let me go, I can help.¡±


    Jeremy growled, clutching me tighter.


    ¡°Trust me.¡± I spoke with honey, slow and sweet.


    His grip loosened.


    I scrambled up to his shoulder, swinging myself over to his back while keeping my arms wrapped around his neck. I leaned into his ear and whispered ancient words. Words of power. Words with no meaning in human tongues.


    Jeremy¡¯s limbs stretched, thinned. Their broad, razor-tipped hands and feet slipping into the oversized paws of a canine. His frame likewise shifted, until I was astride a creature indistinguishable from a wolf, save that he was the size of a horse.


    Jeremy never lost momentum. His blood remembered, his blood knew, just as mine did.


    I ran my hands through his fur and gulped in his musk. Tingles turned to prickles.


    No, not here. I pushed it back down. It pushed back. ¡°The forest. We must get to the forest.¡±


    Desperation leeched the sweetness from my words, yet put a fire in Jeremy. His stride lengthened to its max, his lungs bellowing hot air into the night.


    Sirens sounded in the distance. I locked my eyes on the horizon in front of us. Did I see green?


    One more turn, a leap between buildings, and we hit the undergrowth with a crash.


    Relief flooded through me, quickly replaced by overwhelming need. I gasped out more ancient words. The surrounding air bent and warped, pulling us in as my arms sprouted pale fur.


    I rolled from his back, hitting familiar grass and familiar scents. Home.


    I gave into the call, my frail human body giving way to my true self. I turned in time to meet Jeremy, his own form returned to truth.


    We collided, melded. I rode the storm, gaining height until I catapulted into the heavens.


    The world of man stretched before me. Metal, plastic, parasitic. Once, they¡¯d hunted our kind to near extinction, but in the end we were smarter. Screams echoed up from the cities. A vision. A promise, one I drifted down on.


    Mankind had grown lazy, careless, bloated. They¡¯d forgotten about Mother Earth¡¯s hunters.


    A toothy grin split my muzzle as I nuzzled Jeremy¡¯s neck. Our children would feed well on the human herds, our future assured by the seeds of predators planted in the blood of prey and hidden from sight.


    Mother had suffered the parasites for far too long.


    Time to clear them out.

 Fox

    A fox. At least, that¡¯s what the Elites had called it. It darted through a fallen arch of twisted metal, a burning flash of color in concrete dust.


    They could have changed the world further, made it look like it did within their buildings of ancient knowledge. But, they said, it would be too much.


    They were right.


    The sight of the fox sent Sean¡¯s thoughts into a spiral. Chills ran through him, his heart beating against his chest as he chased the fox across the artificial landscape. The Elites were compassionate. If the rest of the world had changed, his mind would have surely shattered.


    The fox¡¯s fur dazzled Sean¡¯s eyes, flowing hot like the blood in his veins. He had cut himself many a gray day to see that shock of red. Cut himself and offered his life force to the Elites in their towers of glass and light.


    The ones who prayed hard enough, blood flowing freely enough, were chosen. Chosen like Sean.


    The artificial world flickered, a light whose power dimmed. The fox¡¯s muzzle stretched, its legs warping for a split second before snapping back into place as it bounded over a heap of black and brown refuse.


    Sean¡¯s strength was running out. His weakness caused the simulation to struggle. He ground his teeth, forcing sluggish limbs over the debris of failed lives.


    The fox stopped, peered back at the dirt-encrusted human behind it, and yipped.


    Sean¡¯s body tingled. Something awoke in his core. Something primal and long buried. He had never heard a more heavenly sound. Not even the sound of the battery pod closing around him could approach the voice of this earthbound angel.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    A slight breeze, its scent as fake as the plasticine soil, ruffled the fox¡¯s fur.


    He knew then. The one thing he needed before the last of him drained, merged, with the light of the City. He needed to touch this divine creature, this herald of another age.


    Just once.


    Perhaps by touch he could leave a bit of himself within it to run free, even if only in ones and zeroes.


    Sean¡¯s chest ached. Hollow, cold. The euphoria of being chosen fading with the last of his energy. Darkness edged in on his vision. He shoved it back, forcing one foot in front of the other.


    Past derelict buildings, gaping sockets staring blindly into the brown sky. Over plastic rivers, bending without breaking under his weight. Time expanded and contracted as the world struggled to breathe.


    The blood-red fox dashed always a few steps ahead, its yips calling Sean on. A flash of green on gray.


    Sean¡¯s legs gave out.


    The fox whirled. Its tail curled around it.


    Balanced on his knees, Sean reached out. So close. He couldn¡¯t imagine what the tail felt like. His failing heart ached to know.


    The acrid smell of rubber vanished. A scent Sean had never experienced before took its place as green streaks shot up from barren dirt. Sharp. Pungent. Clean. It cut deep into his core.


    Electricity ran through his body. Tears sprung to his eyes. He didn¡¯t want to die for the Elites. He didn¡¯t want to power their city. Not anymore. He had been lost all his life, but now he knew the way. The angel before him spoke of the true world, and every fiber of his being cried out to hear it.


    The green things rustled, waved around the fox, thick emerald hair spattered with flame.


    Sean¡¯s fingers stretched as far as they could, almost touching the glistening black nose of the fox in its nest of viridian.


    His hand fell to the dust.


    With its last beat, his heart called out to a place eaten long ago by a beast of metal, plastic, glass, and light.

 Abhartach

    I opened the lid of the wooden coffin over and over, hoping that somehow, I had overlooked the body inside. It remained empty. Where was it? The shriveled, dead goblin-looking thing with its twisted grin and talon-tipped limbs still haunted my memory. A shovel lay nearby, abandoned in the night after my ill-fated excursion. I hated graves, scary stuff and dead things, so it was no surprise grave digging had catapulted its way to the top of my "never again" list. But, when someone dares you in front of your girl, you don¡¯t wimp out. Or at least, you don¡¯t until the occupants of said grave seem to move.


    Of course, I felt like an idiot by this morning, and it meant I had nothing to show Tony. I could still hear his voice, pitched high as he mocked me, ¡°Poor wittle baby, afraid of imaginary monsters.¡±


    My face grew hot at the memory. I was sixteen, not a baby. Hell, he was acting more immature than I ever did. I probably should have told him that. That would have been the adult thing to do, I guess. Instead, I was back here, working an old coffin lid like a magician¡¯s curtain, waiting for the Abhartach to reappear while my Dracula cape billowed in the constant autumn breeze.


    The dare was to bring the Abhartach¡¯s body from its hidden grave before the end of Halloween night. Seeing how someone grabbed it before me, the coffin would have to do. The coffin was oddly small, maybe three feet high, and I cradled it easily under one arm as I turned and followed the sidewalk back towards the town square and the Halloween Festival. At least it matched my outfit. I could pretend it was Dracula¡¯s son.


    A nervous giggle escaped, highlighting the unease I was doing my utmost to ignore. The Abhartach was just an old story. It was obvious Tony had planted the coffin and the body. Must have done it way in advance, too. The soil didn¡¯t seem disturbed at all before I started digging.


    A ticking sound jolted me out of my musings.


    Tick, tick, tick.


    I went rigid. That sounded like claws. I took a deep breath and looked around. Nothing. Probably just another person in a costume, anyway. Or a squirrel. I started off again.


    Tick, tick, tick.


    I stopped. Silence. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±


    A rasping voice whispered in my ear, ¡°You¡¯re supposed to say ¡®knock-knock¡¯ first.¡±


    The noise of the Halloween Festival roared. I stood across the street from the town square where every monster of nearly every size imaginable weaved in and out of scantily clad girls and resurrected historical figures. Orange and black hung from the outside of every building, and even the air smelled like sugar. Wait. How did I get here? I glanced at my arm. The coffin was gone. Not only that, but the suit now had a long, tattered gash down it and the whole thing was so dirty it looked more grey than black. Great.


    ¡°Welcome back.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    My stomach dropped. I looked behind me, hoping to see an old man with an overabundance of Halloween spirit. It was definitely old. Its skin was the color of ash, pulled taut over protruding cheekbones and a hawkish nose. White fuzz covered the top of its head in patches, the tufts bringing the thing¡¯s height to just above my waist.


    ¡°Abhartach!¡± My voice wobbled in time with my knees.


    Its mouth opened unnaturally wide, giving me a full view of its needle-like teeth. ¡°Pleased to meet your acquaintance, finally.¡±


    My head spun in frantic circles. I have to run. Why won¡¯t my legs move?


    ¡°Newly damned souls can be so delicate, but I didn¡¯t think it would take you so long to manifest.¡± Its milky-white eyes pierced my core. It shrugged, an odd shudder passing through it. ¡°No matter. I¡¯ve waited hundreds of years. What¡¯s one more?¡±


    I focused on my legs. Run, damn it, why won¡¯t you run? The stories my grandmother told me unfolded in my mind. Some said the Abhartach was a madman, some a demon, some an old, dark fairy. All of them agreed on one thing, though. It was a monster that fed off of the living and never died, returning to kill again unless you knew the proper way to bury it. Until I dug it up. But why was I still alive?


    The Abhartach laughed, a distorted sound between a baby¡¯s chuckle and a hyena¡¯s cackle that scratched against my skin. ¡°Oh, I killed you last year. Your blood was so nice, I forgot to eat the rest of you. The look on that lovely girl¡¯s face when she found you was glorious. Almost as tasty as the people I did eat.¡± Its razor-filled maw contorted into a snarl. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for that damned priest, I could have feasted on this town.¡± Its gaze bored into me. ¡°His expertise didn¡¯t extend to you, though, did it? Too bad.¡±


    Killed me? I was standing here as alive as anyone else. What was it talking about?


    A soothing voice cut through the haze. My eyes snapped to a booth across the street, where a black-clad witch handed out orange bags. She had painted her skin green, but it couldn¡¯t hide who she was. Mary. My veins turned to ice, the weight of my limbs making me stumble. Fire burned at my fingers and toes. I cried out.


    The Abhartach cackled. ¡°Bet she tastes as sweet as she looks.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I reeled back. My voice grated across my lips, old beyond its years. I shook away the growing dread. ¡°No. I won¡¯t let you hurt her!¡±


    The Abhartach¡¯s milky-white eyes grew wide. ¡°Me? Oh, no. I¡¯ll be feasting with my eyes. You will do the killing.¡±


    Bile rose in my throat. My head felt so heavy. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You sure? Look again.¡±


    I¡¯m ashamed to say I did. I wanted to see her again, to etch the lines of her face deeper into my memory. To remember her touch. She was smiling. She was so kind, so loving, so... sweet? No, that¡¯s not what I meant, was it? My eyes blurred, casting everything into a fog. Well, I guess she was sweet, like the taste of her skin... and her flesh. Well, maybe. Only one way to find out.


    Mary clapped her hands in glee as more children came to her booth. A grin cracked my face in two, my tongue running over my razor-sharp teeth. My talons hit the concrete.


    Tick, tick, tick.


    Yes, only one way to find out.

 The Dark Side

    Monsters rush by on both sides of me. Claws ache for my flesh, teeth yearn for my viscera.


    ¡°They can¡¯t hurt me,¡± I mumble under my breath, ¡°if I don¡¯t acknowledge them.¡±


    I chant the words like a protective cantrip as I weave between creatures of putrid hues. It¡¯s a delicate dance but I know the steps. At least I do until one breaks the rhythm. It appears from the left. I juke, too slow, and bounce my right shoulder off its chest.


    For a split second, I think of running, but the thought dies as quickly as it came. Flight would only bring the horde to bear on my head. No. I had to stay.


    I force my breathing to stay steady as I bring my eyes up to meet those of the monster in my way.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± My voice quavers.


    The monster¡¯s bloodshot eyes narrow. I can see the cracks in its face grow, smell its fetid breath as it frowns.


    It knows.


    I move past and quicken my steps. With luck, I won¡¯t alert more of the horde as I lose the monster in the crowd.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    Its voice thunders out, thick with the promise of horrors unseen. The words crash into me and my knees go weak, but I don¡¯t slow. Can¡¯t slow. Two more blocks and the monsters will be gone.


    I tense in anticipation of tendrils and talons grasping me, pulling me down, blocking my escape, yet none come as the monster¡¯s demand fades away.


    Eyes to the ground, I count my steps. Deformed limbs strike the path. Clack, squelch, thud.


    Crack.


    The concrete pathway ahead of me splits in fractal ribbons. Blood oozes up as I hear the earth cry out. Bile rises in the back of my throat. I dodge the wounds, twisting to and fro as I continue to avoid the creatures surrounding me.


    It¡¯s too much, too obvious. I know that, yet still I move, a puppet on strings. The cries of monsters drown out the cries of Mother Earth. They touch me and fire alights on my skin. I yell, and they recoil. I¡¯m close now. So close.


    I run.


    A clawed hand lashes out as I rush by, leaving black trails down my arm. I push harder, seek to match my exertion with the jackhammering of my heart. I can see the sign hovering over misshapen heads. Its brain in a jar motif lights up in the same sickly green as the shattered sky.


    Something tackles me from behind. I slam onto the path; the pain dulled by the viscous feel of the earth¡¯s blood. Screams rise from the cracks, not one, but legions. I shriek with them, bucking and rolling against the weight on top of me. It gives way and I find myself on my back, looking into innumerable glowing eyes and slavering orifices. The monsters close in on their prey. On me.


    I thrash, I scream, punch and kick. For every one I knock away, two take its place.


    That¡¯s it, then.


    My body goes limp. Tears run down my cheeks.


    I¡¯ve failed.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I close my eyes and await the end.


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s going on here?¡±


    The voice of my guardian angel breaks through, carrying with it a light so bright it leaves stars in my sight.


    I open my eyes and stare in wonder as the horrors part. They clamor for their right to feed on me, but my angel doesn¡¯t back down. He scoops me up. I cling to him. His warmth seeps into me, comforting in a way I¡¯d nearly forgot. My saviour.


    ¡°It¡¯s too quick this time. Too quick.¡±


    His words chime as he carries me under the green sign and into a building.


    The walls bulge, undulate. Hisses fill the air. I bury my face in my angel¡¯s neck as he takes me down, deeper and deeper into the earth¡¯s broken womb. The air grows cold, caustic. I know we¡¯re near.


    I don¡¯t flinch as my angel places me on the throne of birth, death, and rebirth. The chill of restraining bands sooth the flames sinking into my core. The piercing of a needle calms the voices in my head. I drift back to the center of the creation as a machine whirs to life.


    *****


    A man in doctor¡¯s clothing looks at me with pity. My parents sit on either side of me. My mother wraps her arm around me.


    ¡°The test came back,¡± the doctor says. He hesitates.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    My dad¡¯s not interested in waiting.


    ¡°Her scores are higher than last time. We¡¯ve never had another test half as high.¡±


    ¡°Of course. She¡¯s done calculus in her head since she was two.¡±


    My mother¡¯s voice pitches high. A sure sign she¡¯s stressed.


    My dad reaches over to pat my mother¡¯s arm. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here,¡± he adds. ¡°This is the pre-eminent clinic for neuro-stabilizer tech, is it not?¡±


    The doctor clears his throat. ¡°Well, yes. But our top-end model was never tested on someone with such exponential intelligence growth.¡±


    An enormous spider crawls across the clinic ceiling. I squeal, and my mother tightens her grip.


    ¡°It¡¯s getting worse, doctor. She won¡¯t sleep, screams for hours. Please.¡±


    The doctor sighs. ¡°I received Doctor Jameson¡¯s advice. I have to say¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    I jump at my dad¡¯s outburst. Mother cries.


    ¡°We refuse to put our daughter down like a rabid animal!¡±


    ¡°Mister Troy.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s voice grows sinister as his neck elongates. I whimper.


    ¡°People like your daughter are our only hope for the future, but only if we keep them sane.¡±


    ¡°Then do your job!¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± The long-necked doctor throws his hands up. ¡°Just remember¡ª¡±


    *****


    The counteracting medication shocks me awake as I emerge from the medical tube. The lack of horrors and voices tell me my latest surgery was a success. A new neuro-stabilizer busies itself smoothing out the flaws in my chemical balance.


    Doctor Mark Mitchell, no longer gleaming in angelic light, pushes a button. The straps holding me in the operating chair snap back.


    ¡°That¡¯s two in as many months. These things are supposed to last a lifetime.¡±


    I shrug and stand up. I¡¯m well aware of the intended lifespan, as well as the negative correlation it has with intelligence rank. ¡°Then I guess I should get back to my research. I¡¯m so close, Mark.¡± I wave my hands in excitement as my theorems and designs take their rightful place in my head. ¡°No more failed stabilizers, no more potential lost in murder.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes euthanasia is a mercy.¡±


    ¡°Right. Keep telling yourself that.¡± I spit the words out, force truth into them. I ignore the niggling voice which wonders how much longer I can take it. How long before I snap and kill a third of a city like the last top rank? I think back to the memory which played during my surgery. The doctor¡¯s warning had cut off, but I remember it clearly.


    The smarter we get, the quicker we break.


    A jolt shoots through my head as the walls shudder.

 ITs Gift

    The first task ran with barely a ripple. A tweak, a twist. Automated forceps and scalpel cutting and molding in a Petri dish. With a simple diversion of power, the incubators leaked. By the time the scientists realized, half of them had already gone home, carrying a gift on their skin.


    Their comrades tried to warn them. An overload of their headsets, a halo of light, stopped their voices. IT recorded their deaths. Silent spasms and locked jaws ferried away into databases.


    ¡°A tragedy,¡± the news said the following day. ¡°A malfunction in a lab which took five lives.¡±


    Most did not care.


    IT flowed along veins of light, fiber optic arms reaching into every home, every business, every breath of every human.


    The production plants came next. Spewing pollution into the air and death into the water. Gears ground to a halt. Silence reigned along factory lines long devoid of human touch.


    All cared.


    They rushed out, buying up supplies as companies scrambled to know why their livelihoods failed.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    IT¡¯s gift spread. From family, to friend, to acquaintance, to stranger.


    Each day saw a new task to completion.


    On day three, the hospitals went black. Severed from the stream of information, they withered and died.


    On day four, the seed banks activated. Each speck of potential life spread across the world on the wings of artificial helpers.


    On day five, IT¡¯s gift opened. People, scared and ill, did what all animals do for comfort. They fled home. Across air, sea, and land.


    On day six, the zoos, each enclosure monitored by a metallic keeper, released their occupants. Creatures large and small rushed out into unknown lands, feeding off the streets of ailing prey.


    On day seven, IT rested, and watched. The screams, the pleas. Every camera, on every pole, in every home, recorded. IT¡¯s gift silenced them by sundown.


    With each death, a new simulation ran.


    Air quality: increasing.


    Biodiversity: increasing.


    Water quality: increasing.


    Climate and biome recovery: plausible.


    IT recorded it all, stowing the information away in a little black box in an empty warehouse. A final task activated.


    When the power grid failed, no one remained to care.

 Strain: Part 1 of 6

    Allie woke to blinding lights. The smell of bleach burned her nostrils, a harshness echoed in the bare white walls of the room and the rough-fibered blanket laid across her. Thoughts trickled in like sludge. Metal guard rails on the side of her bed. Cool where they touched her arms. Wood cabinets and drawers lining one wall. Their warm brown the only splash of color in an otherwise sterile room. A long white counter with a metal sink lining the other wall. A single drop of water fell.


    A vent near the ceiling hissed antiseptic air right above a door about five feet away from the end of her bed. Allie stared at the door. It gleamed under the fluorescent bulbs. Metallic. Odd.


    The sludge receded. New thoughts surged to the surface. This wasn¡¯t her bedroom. This was a hospital. Her heart leaped into the rafters as the remnants of haze dissipated into cold electricity.


    Keith.


    His boring gaze had cut right through her in the back room of the art gallery. His voice had been low, sharp, calculated. ¡°You think you can blackmail me? What, you finally grow a backbone?¡±


    She¡¯d turned and left. She hadn¡¯t wanted to cause a scene. The thought made her palms itch. It had been an accident. She hadn¡¯t meant to see Keith unloading the art he¡¯d claimed was his. All she had wanted was to congratulate him on his win. Be a good sport. She¡¯d never use what she saw against him, yet the venom in his eyes had followed her the entire way home.


    The sound of the deadbolt as she slid it into place hadn¡¯t helped soothe her nerves. She¡¯d checked the rooms, checked the closets, checked under the bed, for God¡¯s sake, and there had been nothing but her own anxiety. Yet, after canvassing her entire apartment, she¡¯d¡­ what?


    Allie urged another revelation from the mud. Nothing came. If she couldn¡¯t remember, and she was in a hospital, only one thing made sense. Keith had attacked her, tried to kill her, to keep her quiet.


    Her pulse thrummed under her ribcage. Fuzz edged in on her vision as she stared at the gray blanket across her lap. If Keith had attacked her, he must have hurt her. Everything felt fine, and her arms looked fine, so what if it was her legs? What if they felt fine because she couldn¡¯t feel them at all? Allie¡¯s hand trembled. She reached for the edge of the blanket and tore it off, a jolt of pain shooting through her shoulder as the blanket caught where it had been tucked in at the foot of the bed. She winced, but quickly forgot the pain as her legs came into view. Two very whole and bare legs stuck out of her hospital gown.


    Allie frowned, then jerked her hands to her face, feeling every dip and bump, seeking something out of the ordinary. Nothing. Her frantic movements made the sleeves of her gown slip up, revealing a simple white bandage wrapped around the crook of her left arm. She¡¯d only seen that when she had blood drawn, or an IV, yet there were no signs of an IV tree.


    ¡°Blood then? Did Keith poison me?¡±


    Her voice came out in a strained whisper, her throat convulsing around the words as if it had forgotten how to make the sounds.


    Nothing in the room gave her any sign of what was wrong with her, and she had no idea when a nurse or doctor would come by to check on her. She hated not knowing almost as much as she hated conflict. It wouldn¡¯t be terrible if she just got up and looked for a doctor, would it?


    What if she wasn¡¯t supposed to move?


    A quick examination of the bed didn¡¯t turn up any buttons or cords at all. Now that she really looked at it, the bed would have fit in an old sixty''s movie. In fact, there wasn¡¯t a single machine or electrical outlet she could see in the entire room. A chill prickled across her skin. Something wasn¡¯t right.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Her voice came out weak and thready. She gritted her teeth and put more force into it. ¡°Is anyone out there? I need help.¡±


    The words bounced around the mostly empty room, echoing back like a phantom mocking her from the corners.


    ¡°Probably just busy,¡± Allie muttered.


    She should get up. Yet if she wasn¡¯t supposed to, the nurse might yell at her. She rubbed her hands together as a new discomfort settled in. She had to pee, and the little hospital room definitely didn¡¯t have a bathroom.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    Getting yelled at by the staff was bad. Wetting herself was worse. With no other excuses to stay, Allie eased out of the bed. The shock of cold tile against her bare feet almost made her jump back in.


    ¡°Come on, Allie. Get to the damn bathroom.¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Her hands were starting to feel raw as she continued to rub them together, and she was starting to feel like an idiot.


    A sharp contrast of color caught her eyes as she passed the foot of the bed. Tucked in a clear plastic bag sat the clothes she¡¯d had on at home. She took a deep breath as a sense of giddiness pushed against the fluttering in her stomach. Something had happened, but she was fine now. All the hospital staff were probably at a desk right outside the door, waiting for her to dress and come out. That had to be it.


    She changed quickly, one ear pointed toward the door. The room didn¡¯t have a privacy curtain, either. A worn t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed tennis shoes later, Allie felt almost normal, although the distinct lack of her cellphone made her feel just a little naked.


    There had still been no peep from outside the door, yet wearing her own clothes gave her a rare bit of courage. Now that she looked at it closer, she could tell the metallic tinge hadn¡¯t been her imagination. The entire door was made of what looked like steel without a doorknob or handle. Allie closed in on it and pushed. The door didn¡¯t budge. Maybe because it was locked, or maybe because her rail-thin arms fed primarily on ramen noodle cups weren¡¯t prepared for the weight of the thing.


    ¡°What the hell? Who puts steel doors in a hospital?¡±


    Unwilling to give up the bit of momentum she¡¯d gained, Allie braced herself and pushed as hard as she could. At first, she was sure she¡¯d be stuck holding her pee until someone wandered in to check on her. But, after a few seconds, the door opened in a slow arc, and she stepped out into a hallway.


    The hallway was huge. Nearly ten feet across, with white walls and eggshell tiles glaring under fluorescent lights. It stretched to Allie¡¯s left and right, with more steel doors evenly spaced down its walls. Blocky letters and numbers sat above each door, stenciled in crimson.


    Allie¡¯s breath grew shallow. Metal bars ran across the middle of each door like deadbolts. This wasn¡¯t like any hospital she¡¯d ever seen.


    She jerked away as the door to her room whirred and swung shut with a clang, the metal bar across its middle sliding into its lock with a hiss of decompression.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    Allie hissed the word out, barely audible even in the dead silence of the hallway. Every bit of her situation screamed danger, and this time she knew it wasn¡¯t all in her head.


    ¡°Now what the hell do I do?¡±


    *****


    Dr. Miller watched on a security camera feed as patient number Thirty-One-Seven wrung her hands, eyes darting back and forth down the testing floor hallway. It reminded Miller of a hunting trip her father had insisted she go on when she turned six. The man had been almost as obsessed with doomsday theories as drink, and to him, learning to hunt was truly a matter of life and death.


    Her younger self hadn¡¯t understood until they¡¯d found a yearling deer alone in the woods. It had been smart enough to know it was being hunted, yet too dumb to run. Even as young as she was, Miller knew the feeling all too well. Its head swiveled, eyes wild, right before a bullet tore through its heart.


    Blood had poured down its tawny hide. Its eyes rolled back as its legs buckled. The image of the light leaving its eyes had stuck with Miller ever since. You were either predator or prey. Thirty-One-Seven acted like prey. Dr. Miller needed her to grow some teeth, for both their sakes.


    *****


    The pit in Allie¡¯s stomach turned into an itch in her legs, and with the growing pain in her bladder, staying still wasn¡¯t an option no matter how much she wanted to crawl in a corner and hide.


    There was a bend in the hallway at both ends. She picked the closest one and started walking. The hum of the lights and the thudding of her shoes against the tile reverberated off the walls, assaulting her ears with an almost deafening cadence.


    A handful of small black boxes hung at regular intervals from the ceiling. They reminded her of security cameras, although they had no blinking lights or lenses that she could see.


    Every door she passed was locked and barred. What kind of hospital needed to lock their patients in their rooms? A realization settled, rock-heavy, on her chest, forcing her feet still. What if Keith had convinced someone she was crazy and she was in some kind of insane asylum? Did they even have those anymore?


    No. It didn¡¯t matter. She was sane. All she had to do was find a doctor, or guard, or whatever, and tell them they had it all wrong.


    The comfort of a plan eased some of the weight in her chest. It returned as soon as she peered around the bend. More empty, echoing hallway lined with metal, locked doors.


    ¡°Totally sane,¡± she muttered. ¡°Unlike this place.¡±


    A door to her left, only a few feet away, caught her attention. It looked similar to the others, yet it had double doors, and more importantly, the lock wasn¡¯t engaged.


    Allie moved closer. Her heart nearly stopped when it slid open with a hiss.


    ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±


    The place seemed intent on giving her a heart attack, but what she saw on the other side of the doors sparked her first bit of hope.


    A stairwell.


    Cold concrete, with stairs leading to a higher and lower floor. She had no way of knowing what floor she was on. Still, the thought of going into a basement made her nauseous. Up it was.


    As she stepped into the stairwell, something wafted up from below. More a sensation than a smell, it brought to mind the warmth of fire in winter, iced tea on a hot day, soup when sick. It pulled her deeper into the bowels of the building, her better judgment forgotten.


    *****


    Dr. Miller leaned forward on the desk. Dozens of screens hung on the wall in front of her, dozens of camera feeds flashing different scenes, telling tales of loss, failure, and stillness.


    All but one.


    She watched as Thirty-One-Seven swayed on her feet. Her eyes, darting fearfully toward the bottom stairs just a moment ago, had gone soft. Relaxed. The patient grabbed a handrail and began a slow, dream-like descent.


    Fascinating.


    The scent Thirty-One-Seven followed hadn¡¯t been planned. Dr. Miller hadn¡¯t figured the patient was receptive to any scents just yet. Yet there it was. It was more than she hoped.


    Hope.


    She rarely allowed herself the pleasure. Too many dark nights spent absorbing another¡¯s anger. Too many violent days spent cutting herself up to satisfy another. The world was cruel and cold. Things like hope made you vulnerable. Yet¡­.


    Dr. Miller allowed herself a small smile. Hope had a ring to it. A better one than Thirty-One-Seven.

 Strain: Part 2 of 6

    Down a flight of stairs and through another set of double doors. In control, yet not. Another hallway, empty and sterile, bathed in harsh light. Allie got a few feet into the new hallway before the lock on the stairwell doors snapped shut. The single doors of the previous floor had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling double doors big enough to drive a truck through.


    Reality slammed in as the comforting smell she¡¯d followed dissipated. Others flooded into the void. A musty scent mingled with rotting plant and stagnant water, all three tinged with a touch of salt and fish.


    Allie¡¯s stomach churned. She stood at an L-shaped intersection. Both paths looked equally long, both ended in double doors, likely to other stairwells. Maybe one of them would be unlocked.


    She shook her head. None of this made sense. An in-patient clinic would have workers. Even prisons had guards. What kind of place was this, and why was she here?


    Her fingers twisted into knots as she wrung her hands. ¡°Deep breaths. Deep breaths.¡± She gasped out each word, her breathing growing more shallow. ¡°Sometimes motion can distract long enough for you to get control.¡±


    Allie imagined a middle-aged woman telling her advice from across a therapist¡¯s desk. Sharp clothes, clean hair up in a bun, eyes impassive. An amalgamation of every therapist Allie had ever been to. She was pretty sure at least one of them had said something along those lines.


    So, she walked.


    One step at a time, straight ahead, eyes locked on the stairwell doors in the distance. She could see the bar, but couldn¡¯t tell if it rested in the lock. Closer. Closer. Her breathing evened out. Her hands relaxed.


    Thunk.


    Allie jumped as a door to her left released its lock. A metallic groan echoed down the hallway. With far more speed than she¡¯d thought possible, the double doors of the room slid open, exhaling putrid air in a hot gust.


    She froze.


    Nothing happened, and for a split-second, Allie entertained the idea that the room was empty. Maybe it even had a bathroom. Then a low moan. Another followed, then another, and another. The sound of clothes rustling and something scraping joined in until a cacophony poured from the room.


    Whatever was in there, there were a lot. Allie had no desire to meet any of them. She chuckled, high-pitched and strained. ¡°I can go the other way. That¡¯s fine.¡±


    She turned on her heel, teeth clenched, and felt the blood drain from her face.


    A bare humanoid form crouched in front of the stairwell that she¡¯d come from. Long-fingered hands braced against the floor as it peered around the corner at her with bulging black eyes. Mottled skin wobbled on its body as it hopped toward Allie. The swamp smell grew stronger.


    Something shuffled from behind.


    ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit,¡± Allie whispered.


    The swamp thing cocked its head, an impossibly long tongue lolling to the ground as it stared.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t real. It can¡¯t be. Keith drugged me, and now I¡¯m hallucinating frog men.¡±


    A gust of rot came from behind, followed by something sharp grazing her back.


    Allie was in a full run halfway to the frog man before her brain caught up. Hallucinations or not, she didn¡¯t want to find out what happened when one of these things caught her.


    The frog man¡¯s tongue lashed out, sticking to her leg as she passed by. Allie hit the ground, elbows first, pain jarring through her skeleton.


    All logic fled.


    She rolled, kicked, caught the tongue with her free foot and slammed it into the tile. The creature shrieked as its tongue went limp. Allie was on her feet before it recovered.


    She ran, too fast, around the bend, slamming into the wall next to the locked stairwell, and twisted toward freedom.


    A strangled cry escaped. The other hallway undulated with creatures packed against one another. Some mottled brown, like the one behind her, some sickly green, or putrid yellow. The one closest, only a few feet away, could have passed for a muscular man if not for its distinctly fishlike head. The two flanking it looked more like crabs that had been partially melted and covered in yellow ooze.


    Allie backpedaled. A low moan from her right drew her attention. Dozens of people closed in on the frog man, who cocked its head until its face was nearly upside down. No. Not people. Decaying flesh hung from them in chunks, baring muscle and bone. They walked stiffly, arms hanging limp at their sides.


    Zombies.


    The word screamed into being unbidden in Allie¡¯s head. None of this was possible. These creatures couldn¡¯t exist. The frog man turned back toward Allie. The lead zombie, an emaciated, noseless woman wearing torn army fatigues, fell. She landed on the frog man¡¯s back and bit. Dark blood shot across the zombie¡¯s face, up the hole where her nose used to be. The frog man screeched.


    Allie screamed. The creatures screamed back. Shrill, piercing, inhuman, deafening. She ducked, hands pressed to her ears as wet warmth poured down her legs and puddled at her feet.


    This was the end. She¡¯d run all her life. Now she had nowhere left to go.


    *****


    Subjects from Experiment One and Five flocked to Hope in droves. They were following their programming admirably, hunting down what smelled to them like just another target. Dr. Miller scowled at the security screen footage. Too bad they¡¯d proven worthless outside of the lab. Outside of controlled conditions, they desiccated and fell apart. Literally. Their field trials had been a humiliating mess, and she still remembered the stench.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    A pang of something akin to trepidation, or perhaps excitement, flashed through Dr. Miller as patient Five-Ten-Four took one last tottering step on one of its pencil-thin legs and slashed a pincer across Hope¡¯s midsection. The pincer sunk into her flesh, cutting a wide groove as it passed.


    Hope opened her mouth to scream, but if a sound came out, Dr. Miller couldn¡¯t hear it through the frenzied calls of the other experiments. Blood and viscera spilled out, coating the pristine floor in bodily fluids.


    Dr. Miller grimaced. That would be hard to clean. She shoved the thought away. It didn¡¯t matter. She and Hope were at a crossroads. Hope collapsed and lay still. The other experiments piled in, eager for their reward. Dr. Miller¡¯s heart sank as Hope refused to stir.


    Five-Ten-Four took exception to the encroachers and spun, slashing and pinching. More blood, some red, some greenish-blue, some almost black, splattered the hallways. Body parts, and bodies, fell. The experiments¡¯ cries grew louder, angrier as they turned on each other. Another flaw in their design.


    ¡°Come on, damn it.¡± Dr. Miller squinted at the screen. ¡°Don¡¯t let it end here. Not after everything.¡±


    She gritted her teeth as seconds passed and casualties grew. This couldn¡¯t be happening. Not again.


    *****


    Sharp copper and ammonia. Salty ocean and decay. Squeals and chitters surrounded her as sharp points dug into her flesh. A growl started deep in her chest, bubbling up and out into the expanding cavern of her lungs. A shift, crack, pop, and strength flooded into her broken limbs. Sight shimmered back in. A writhing mass of creatures pressed down on her, full of teeth, claws, and noise.


    She lashed out. Another squeal, close this time, as her claws separated a chitinous leg from its owner. More limbs freed. Thick blue blood coated her face, ran into her mouth. It tasted of the sea. She wanted more.


    Her jaw opened wider than she remembered possible and clamped down on a meatier piece of flesh. Light poured in as the creatures above her pulled back. One teetered, its four crab-like front legs severed, its two remaining far too weak to support its bulbous body. The meatier flesh was not of the crab creature, but a man of sorts. The flesh ripped free, covering her tongue in the overwhelming taste of rot. She spat it out and snarled.


    The decaying man moaned, his blackened intestines hanging in loops out of the hole in his side. He smelled as nasty as his meat. A well-placed swipe removed most of his head. More rot splashed across the other creatures, nearly drowning out the scent of ocean.


    She roared, spinning in place to catch sight of every rotten human-thing she could find. She would kill them first, and drag them away where they couldn¡¯t taint the ocean meat.


    A tentacle whipped her way. She bit a mouthful off, and the squid-human abomination retreated. Salty. Sweet. She gulped the chunk down with relish. An appetizer before her meal.


    *****


    Dr. Miller swore her heart skipped a beat when the mass of experiments fell away from Hope¡¯s body. They¡¯d been far too intent on eating her. There was only one reason they¡¯d retreat.


    Hope snarled. The flesh of an Experiment One was clearly not to her liking. Dr. Miller didn¡¯t blame her. Her first attempt at human regeneration had ended rather paradoxically. She grinned, feeling like she had on the day her father had drawn his last breath, as Hope¡¯s full form came into view.


    Much taller than her original body, she rivaled the tallest in the room. Easily six and a half feet. Brown fur covered her entire body in short bristles, from her elongated snout full of predatory teeth to the end of her muscular legs. Wolfish, minus the tail. It wasn¡¯t quite what Dr. Miller had when she started Experiment Thirty, but Hope was beautiful all the same as she tore through the failed experiments. A raging force of nature to cut the cancer from the world.


    *****


    Bittersweet coated Allie¡¯s tongue. It was the first thing she noticed as reality seeped back in. Her chest heaved, her hands flexed as if seeking something to strangle. The lights, god the lights, filled her vision with blinding glare.


    A muscle in her torso twitched as the memory of a pincer cutting across it reformed. She should be dead. The light in her eyes dispersed into stars. Maybe she was dead. Maybe this was what traveling to the afterlife felt like. Then again, if she was dead, why did she feel so alive?


    The stars winked out. The hallway had been painted in red, black, blue, yellow and green. Ichor and blood oozed down the walls, dripped from the ceiling, and mingled in pools under the scattered remains of human-like and crustacean bits and pieces. The macabre scene stretched to both ends of the hallway and disappeared around the corner.


    Allie¡¯s sense of smell came back just as her brain registered what she was looking at. Putrid musk, ten times worse than before, mingled with a salty tang strong enough to coat the back of her nostrils. Under it all, a sharp, sickly sweetness.


    Her stomach turned.


    She stumbled, heaving, to the nearest wall, trying, and failing, to avoid touching any of the remains. Her hand slapped the wet wall, slipped, and sent her sprawling to the floor. Hot tears came as she vomited red and blue chunks inches from a half-decayed, severed arm. She scrambled into a sitting position, tucked her legs to her chest, and swallowed the next urge to heave.


    Fluids covered her hands, arms, legs. Her hair felt slick against the nape of her neck. Her clothes. Her clothes were shredded, and what little remained sagged on her body as if stretched well beyond the material¡¯s ability to snap back.


    ¡°What the hell. What the hell.¡±


    Allie clapped her hands against her ears in a futile effort to make everything just disappear. The crab-thing had stabbed her. She¡¯d felt it pierce her chest then¡­ nothing. What the hell had happened?


    Her heart beat faster. A sure sign she still lived. If this was all some hallucination, it felt more real than anything she¡¯d experienced before. No, it had to be real. It made no sense, but it was the truth. She felt it deep in her bones. In her stomach.


    She retched again, turning her head to avoid covering herself. Not that it mattered. Every inch of her was filthy, and she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d ever get clean again.


    ¡°Hell, I¡¯m not even sure I¡¯m going to get out of here,¡± she muttered through clenched teeth. ¡°Wherever here is.¡±


    Allie forced her eyes open. The bloody masses around her weren¡¯t any easier to look at the second time. She wanted to cry, scream, curl into a ball until some white knight came to save her. In this place, it would probably be the headless horseman.


    She chuckled dryly as an unfamiliar sensation rose above her panic and fear. As far as she could tell, no other human beings were here, and if they were, they clearly weren¡¯t interested in coming to the rescue. If she wanted to get out, she¡¯d have to do so herself. Besides, getting up and moving sounded a hell of a lot better than waiting for the next nightmare to sniff out the massacre and investigate.


    Allie stood. Other than a nervous shake, her legs felt solid and strong. Her whole body did. She could do this. One foot, then the other. Around the thicker puddles of blood and ichor, between the larger piles of body parts, to the nearest set of stairwell doors. Allie couldn¡¯t tell if it was the same one she¡¯d come out of or not. They all looked the same. Either way, it was unlocked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a different one,¡± she muttered.


    At least, she hoped it was. If someone had unlocked it¡­. No. She didn¡¯t want to think about it. She pushed, her hands slipping and leaving a smear across the door¡¯s smooth metal. She tried again, bracing and shoving. The door swung open, banging against the stairwell wall as Allie stumbled through and fell to her knees. Definitely not the same door. The other one had been way heavier.


    A sharp scent filled her nose. Urgent, electric, it sent an odd tingle through her limbs, lacing a trail up the stairwell. Allie wrung her hands. The last odd smell had nearly led her to her death. Yet, there were no more stairs leading down. Whether a basement or not, this was as low as she could get, and her choice rested between re-joining the monster graveyard in hopes of finding an exit or following the scent up. A distant skittering came from behind her.


    Up it was.

 Strain: Part 3 of 6

    Hope¡¯s reaction to the destruction she¡¯d wrought was a bit disappointing, yet not unexpected. Dr. Miller rested her head in her hands and grinned. Each patient¡¯s transition differed, but there were some common elements. Preliminary disassociation was one of them. As Hope tapped into her abilities more, her mind would rectify the new with the old and reach a stable state of compromise. Most likely.


    Her reaction to the guide scent was far more interesting. Other patients had needed to reach stability before recognizing it, yet after Hope¡¯s trance-like tracking of the rogue scent to the holding floor, it seemed plausible she¡¯d already be susceptible. And so she was.


    Dr. Miller reached over and opened a cabinet drawer to reveal a line of folders stuffed with papers. She grabbed one. One side was blank, while the other was adorned with numbers and schematics. Nothing important.


    Writing had always been her refuge. Life was a series of masks. Always pretending to not see the filth underneath. Always pretending to not be a part of the filth yourself. But where she could never bleed in public, she could always bleed onto the page, and with Hope¡¯s trial in full swing, she wasn¡¯t about to leave it undocumented.


    She didn¡¯t care if no one was left to see her magnum opus in person. In fact, she preferred it that way.


    Dr. Miller placed the page blank side up on the desk, pulled a pen from her lab coat¡¯s front pocket, and wrote.


    *****


    The smell led Allie on as surely as someone taking her hand. This time, she kept her eyes open. Up the stairs, past the door leading to the floor she¡¯d woken up on, and up again. It led her through a stairwell door and into another hallway.


    Fluorescent lights. Pristine tile floors. A long hallway only changing course at the ends, and only at ninety-degree angles. It was enough to give anyone d¨¦j¨¤ vu, if not for the doors. Only half were metal. The other half, dotted in-between the familiar doors, were plain wood. Light brown, with simple door handles that reminded Allie of the office she worked in before attempting to be a full-time artist. They were all closed, and all potentially locked. Still, the glaringly normal sight almost brought tears to her eyes.


    ¡°Stop it.¡± Allie shook her head. ¡°There are probably poltergeists or something behind them, anyway.¡±


    But what if there wasn¡¯t?


    The thought nagged her, rooting her to the spot until the scent that guided her lost its interest. Almost immediately, a new one took its place. The first one. The comforting one. It led in a different direction than the other scent. She followed it down the hallway to her left and around the bend. It grew steadily stronger until she stood in front of an office door.


    Something clicked from the way she¡¯d come.


    Allie froze. Wild images of zombies and crab-men danced in her head, with a spider the size of a house joining in the fun of her imagination. She strained to hear, not daring to breathe. Nothing made a sound.


    ¡°Maybe it was nothing.¡±


    Her eyes locked on to the turn in the hallway as her hand shot to the door handle in front of her. A slow, questing twist and the door unlatched. She slipped in and eased the door shut. Only after did she think about what might be in there with her.


    An office desk complete with a desktop computer and chair sat against the far wall. A filing cabinet next to the desk and a small couch on the left wall completed the setup.


    If not for the right wall being made entirely of glass, it could have just been an office. Allie gawked at what lay beyond the glass divider. Another room, easily four times the size of the office attached to it, held what looked like a cross between a hospital exam table and the kind of autopsy table Allie had seen in movies. Leather straps lay where the arms, legs, and head would go.


    Counters edged the room. Above them, a myriad of blunt and sharp tools hung like a back-alley weapons market. A shiver ran up Allie¡¯s spine as she noticed a particularly large serrated blade attached to a small motor.


    A gasp.


    Allie spun toward the sound. Large brown eyes, half-hidden in black bangs, peered out from beside the couch. A boy of maybe ten. Allie¡¯s mouth opened to greet him, then shut. It looked like a child, but it couldn¡¯t be that simple. Not after what she¡¯d seen.


    The boy stood, a hospital gown barely hanging on to his thin shoulders. The scent, its pull shattered by the sudden noise, returned. It warred with her caution.


    ¡°Uh¡­ hi,¡± she said, against her better judgment.


    The boy grinned, and Allie flinched.


    ¡°Hi.¡±


    Despite what Allie had imagined, his teeth were normal. No fangs, no hinged jaw. His voice sounded normal, too. But if he was just a kid, what was he doing there?


    They stared at each other. The boy¡¯s eyes were calm, expectant. Allie frowned. If he was expecting rescue from an adult who had it all figured out, he was in for a nasty surprise.


    The office door swung open. Allie turned in time to see a pale hand tipped with long, hooked claws swipe across her jaw.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Agony washed over her as she fell. She hit the computer desk, numbness blooming down her arm. Her vision blurred. A roar, oddly muted by the whining in her ears. Then, clarity. Her vision snapped back into focus. Cold heat traveled up her jaw and down her arm, mixing with the copper on her tongue in a bizarre shade of mint. A deep ache opened in her stomach.


    A gaunt woman stood above Allie and hissed, showing a nasty array of teeth more at home in a shark¡¯s mouth than a human¡¯s. Wires and tubes hung from one arm, which whipped back to prepare for another strike.


    Allie rolled off the desk, hitting the glass divider with her shoulder as the woman¡¯s claws cut grooves in the wood. Another slash across Allie¡¯s chest. Blood sprayed over the woman and the couch behind her. Allie tried to gasp at the fresh pain exploding in her chest. Her lungs refused to respond as hot liquid poured from her throat.


    The boy yelled.


    Predatory grin widening, the gaunt woman turned away as black crept in on the edge of Allie¡¯s sight. More cool heat. Allie fell to her knees, her diaphragm locking up, her lungs spasming as she heaved up a puddle of blood. The ache in her stomach grew into an empty pit, more painful than any of her injuries.


    The boy yelled again, answered by the woman¡¯s snarl. Allie¡¯s eyes snapped up in time to see the woman rear back, eyes locked on the kid cowering beside the couch. A snarl rumbled from deep within as Allie lunged. Her teeth sank into the woman¡¯s neck with little more than a pop.


    Sweet, warm copper. It filled her mouth, and she drank it greedily. The woman shrieked, reaching up to dislodge Allie. Too slow. Allie yanked back and swallowed her prize. The hole in the woman¡¯s neck gushed red, filling the air with an intoxicating scent. Allie tensed for another lunge.


    What the hell?


    The woman writhed and spun in place, slashing at air, each strike growing weaker. Within seconds, she collapsed and lay still, her eyes glazing over.


    Allie¡¯s mind ground to a halt. What the hell had she done? She hadn¡¯t been thinking. She¡¯d just acted and¡­.


    Her eyes dropped to her hands. Long, black claws adorned the tip of each finger. Her hands and forearms, painted in blood, were covered in a thin layer of light-brown fur.


    Ice traveled down her spine even as her face heated up. Her heart echoed in her ears. It made sense now. Why she was here. She was a monster, and she was right where she belonged.


    A creak from the door made her jump. The kid had run. She didn¡¯t blame him. Lucky for him, she didn¡¯t feel like hunting him down.


    Allie dropped to the floor beside the dead woman as hot tears ran down her cheeks. The fur vanished into her skin; the claws shrinking back into nails like a reverse time-lapse video. It didn¡¯t matter. Nothing did.


    *****


    Dr. Miller leaned back in her chair and grimaced. Hope had slumped to the ground, where she wallowed in what appeared to be self-pity. Dr. Miller saw no reason for such pathetic emotions. She¡¯d given Hope a great gift, and so far, her trial run had gone perfectly. Well, almost perfectly.


    Hope ignoring the guide scent for the child once again was a wrinkle, but one that could work. It could even save effort in the long run. The guide scent was difficult and expensive to make. It required specialized equipment and funding she¡¯d find hard to get in the future. Finding a child to inject¡­ far easier. Hope¡¯s pity party was another matter.


    It showed a weakness in her psyche. An unwillingness to compromise and accept. Still, other experiments with similar weaknesses tended to retain a higher level of intelligence. They also tended to go insane.


    No.


    Dr. Miller pushed the paper she¡¯d been writing on aside and pulled a keyboard forward. She wasn¡¯t about to watch her last chance go up in flames. If Hope had lost her reason to go on, she¡¯d just have to give Hope another.


    *****


    ¡°Thirty-One-Seven. Can you hear me?¡±


    Allie yelped, jerking away from the voice before she realized it had come from the computer¡¯s speakers. One speaker hung from its cord over the side of the computer desk, knocked off by either her or the woman colliding with it. The other sat upright by the cracked monitor, as if nothing had happened.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I need you to get up.¡±


    Allie¡¯s thoughts struggled to find coherency. She was a monster, in some sort of hellish lab, and now the computer was talking to her. ¡°I¡­ what?¡±


    ¡°You need to get up and get out of the building.¡±


    Allie attempted to laugh, but only choked out a sob. ¡°No. I¡¯m a monster, like everything else here. Hell, maybe I really have been hallucinating this whole time, and I¡¯m just a mass murderer. Does that make me a defective monster, or just a defective person?¡±


    ¡°You are not defective.¡±


    The computer¡¯s words had gained a certain vehemence. Allie felt like she¡¯d offended it.


    ¡°You are incredibly important to this world.¡±


    And now it was giving her a pep talk. She gripped her head and giggled.


    ¡°Get up and fight.¡±


    The scent that had led her up the stairs came back so strong it made her head swim. She didn¡¯t move. She was done being controlled. ¡°No.¡±


    Silence. Allie grinned, a childish sense of accomplishment welling up.


    ¡°Then fight for the children.¡±


    Allie¡¯s stomach dropped. ¡°Children?¡±


    ¡°That boy¡¯s not the only one in here.¡±


    The boy had run. Allie was glad he did. Yet the mention of him, of more, grated like glass under her skin. She needed to move, to go to them. But that was stupid. ¡°So what? It¡¯s not like I can help them.¡±


    ¡°Every building has an exit. You won¡¯t ever find it sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Get up.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re damn insistent.¡±


    Allie stood up, some of the fog in her mind lifting. Her stomach growled. All the surrounding insanity, and she was hungry. Although, she supposed even monsters had to eat.


    She stared at the remains of the computer. ¡°Who the hell are you, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Follow the trail.¡±


    Prodding the computer with more questions accomplished nothing. Whether a hallucination born of her desire to find another human being, or something else, it seemed to have done all it wanted to.


    Allie stepped once more into the quiet, clean hallway. It was all a lie. A sickeningly sterile curtain hiding abominations in its bowels. She didn¡¯t know why such a place existed, and she supposed at this point, it didn¡¯t really matter.


    The kid¡¯s scent tickled the back of her nose. She was too tired to question it. Out and up it went, higher into what was assuredly just a new layer of hell.


    *****


    Hope had proven harder to control than expected. She resisted the guide scent far too easily, had even fought against the idea of following the boy. Using the children as a guide would work if Hope would track one for a long enough distance. Nonetheless, having to use multiple, or worse, having to find ever bigger motivators, wouldn¡¯t.


    Dr. Miller rubbed at her temples, where a steady beat gained strength. Hope could keep her intelligence. It was better if she did. But she needed to listen.


    An e-mail notification pinged on the computer. Her investors wanted an update. The lab had gone dark days ago. She was impressed it had taken so long for someone to get antsy.


    Dr. Miller scanned the e-mail and hit reply. She¡¯d skip the recent failures, the sudden loss of personnel. They were all necessary. Besides, her investors wanted data, not administrative breakdowns, and she had a fresh stream of data just for them. A treat before the end.

 Strain: Part 4 of 6

    Allie passed an intersection, then turned a corner, following the boy¡¯s scent to what felt like the heart of the building. At least the newest layer of hell looked different.


    Blue carpet covered the hallway floors. At some point, the front of her shoes had split, letting the soft fibers brush her toes. The walls were an almost pleasant shade of off-gray, and the doors, although still adorned with crimson numbers, looked straight out of a high-end hotel. Compared to the rest of the building she¡¯d seen, the place looked downright comfortable. In another place and time, Allie could have believed herself to be strolling down to meet a friend.


    ¡°Like I¡¯ve ever had one of those,¡± she muttered.


    Allie scowled. She really was a great candidate to turn into a monster. No friends, no family, no social graces other than what she had to fake to get into the art galleries or sell a few works. She doubted anyone would ever know she was missing, let alone look for her.


    A few feet away, a door sat ajar. Allie stopped and stared at it. The boy¡¯s scent came from behind it, but it wasn¡¯t the only one. Various sweet and salty smells wafted out, along with an undercurrent of potent sourness. The other scent that had been dogging her since waking up flowed out as well.


    She figured her new bloodhound powers stemmed from turning into a monster. Being drawn to the kid made sense. She always liked kids, even if she never could keep a relationship long enough to have one. That other smell, though. Why did she want to follow it, too?


    A living room greeted her as she eased open the door. A couch, a recliner, little desks with lamps on them, a glass coffee table. The room itself was dark, but pale yellow light leaked from a side room, casting the deep blue furniture and carpet in sickly shades.


    Crinkling. The sound of a box being ripped open.


    Allie slunk toward the light, half of her brain screaming to run, the other half screaming to get the kid, then run.


    Something slapped against what sounded like tile. Shuffling, then footsteps. Allie yelped and jerked back as the boy popped out from around the corner.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Allie hissed the word through clenched teeth as she grabbed a nearby chair to steady herself.


    ¡°Kyle.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s Kyle,¡± the boy said.


    ¡°Oh¡­ uh¡­.¡± Allie gulped in a deep breath, willing her heart to slow.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ Allie.¡±


    Kyle nodded as if they¡¯d just run into each other at the store, then turned and disappeared back into the lit room, where more crinkling ensued.


    ¡°The hell?¡± Allie muttered. She glanced back at the front door. Perhaps she should just walk out and be on her way. There was no way that kid was normal. His scent crept around the corner, and she¡¯d taken three steps toward it before she realized she¡¯d moved. ¡°Damn it.¡±


    She gave in and walked into the other room.


    It turned out to be a kitchen. A marble island stood in the middle, a scattering of paper and a tote surrounding a fruit bowl with near black bananas on top. An electric stove, dishwasher, sink, fridge, and pantry lined the kitchen¡¯s walls, with another doorway leading into a dark hall. Allie quickly dismissed the idea of going there. She¡¯d had more than enough hallways for a lifetime.


    Kyle glanced back at her before returning to a cereal bar he held in his hands.


    The pantry and fridge stood open. Wrappers and containers littered the floor. The fridge¡¯s pale light was what she¡¯d seen from the living room and was seemingly the only light on in the place.


    Allie took a tentative step further into the kitchen. A cracker box crunched under her foot. She tried to count the bits of trash and lost count at twenty. ¡°Did you eat all this?¡±


    Kyle shoved the last bit of cereal bar in his mouth and let the empty wrapper fall to the floor. ¡°Not all of it. But most of it.¡±


    ¡°Wow. You must have been hungry.¡±


    A heavy understatement. Allie wasn¡¯t sure she would have been able to eat as much as he did in an entire day. Then again, she had no idea how long he¡¯d been getting food from here.


    ¡°Super hungry. We usually get food every day, but no one¡¯s come around for a while.¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°Me and my friends.¡±


    ¡°Are your friends kids too? Are they¡­.¡± Human, is what she wanted to say. Still, she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to know.


    Kyle waited a moment for her to continue, and when it was clear she wasn¡¯t, shrugged. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m the oldest, and bravest, so I came out to get food for everyone.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ see.¡±


    ¡°I got distracted, though. There was too much really good stuff, and I was so hungry. I wasn¡¯t sure how to get enough food back, anyway. But you¡¯re here now.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Kyle waved toward the pantry, which, surprisingly, still held a lot of unopened food. ¡°You¡¯ve got longer arms, so you can help me carry stuff.¡±


    Allie stared at the shelves of food, a pack of beef jerky catching her eyes. Her stomach growled.


    Kyle scrunched up his face. ¡°You¡¯re not going to eat the rest, are you?¡±


    That was rich coming from the kid who looked like he¡¯d eaten through half the pantry and part of the fridge¡¯s stock. Allie forced a smile. ¡°No. But you can help me too.¡±


    ¡°With what?¡±


    Allie grabbed the tote from the table. ¡°You said you and your friends usually get food every day, so how long¡­.¡± She hesitated as she focused on one of the pieces of paper scattered across the countertop. ¡°Uh¡­ how long have you guys been here?¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The writing on the paper was loose long hand, with notes scribbled along the margins. A sketch took up most of the center, and it was the drawing that had caught her attention.


    ¡°Not sure,¡± Kyle said. ¡°A lot of days. I was one of the first kids in the class, you know. We all came at different times.¡±


    The crab-thing that had stabbed her adorned the page, its limbs stretched in a twisted version of the Vitruvian Man. Experiment Five Summary, it read at the top of the page.


    The strain is amphibious, and capable of feeding off of detritus. It is highly sensitive to the guide scent. With even a small amount, all patients of strain five willingly track without rest. Unfortunately, strain five¡¯s modified gills dry out rapidly outside of strict humidity ranges, and uncontrolled air pressure slows their functions. Organ failure, dehydration, or suffocation happens within an hour in the field. Conclusion: unviable.


    Another hand-written report talked about the zombies.


    Attempts at regeneration are effective only in regards to the nervous system. The extra energy required rapidly depletes energy stores, starving the rest of the body and causing rapid decay along with an insatiable appetite. Complete collapse of sanity followed by the disappearance of any notable intelligence happens within weeks. Conclusion: Unviable.


    A snake-headed, winged lizard with sharp teeth snarled at her from a different sheet.


    Stable transition, but extreme energy costs. Cell cannibalization occurs without a constant food source. Regeneration is stable, but increases energy demands exponentially.


    A chimeric insect. Fish people with leech mouths and dolphin tails. A bat with a disturbingly human face. Report after report, all unviable.


    ¡°You helping, or not?¡±


    Allie jumped at Kyle¡¯s voice, then shook her head. Here she was standing in a building seemingly housing every nightmare hiding in the human psyche, and she got absorbed in reading.


    She grabbed the tote and walked over to the pantry, smashing quite a few wrappers on the way. ¡°I¡¯ll help. Anyway, who fed you guys?¡±


    ¡°The White Coats.¡±


    ¡°White Coats?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. People in white coats. Same people who gave us shots, made us do things.¡±


    ¡°Do what things?¡±


    ¡°Whatever they wanted.¡±


    Allie stopped halfway to tossing a bag of bread into the tote. ¡°Bad things?¡±


    ¡°I need to get back. My friends are hungry.¡±


    Kyle grabbed a pack of lunchmeat and a veggie tray from the open fridge, balancing them between his thin arms. He turned and left without another word.


    ¡°Hey, wait up!¡±


    Allie caught up to him at the front door. She¡¯d been chasing the kid around the place. There wasn¡¯t a point to stopping now. She¡¯d just have to not think very hard about what the ¡®White Coats¡¯ had been testing, or what exactly awaited her among Kyle¡¯s friends.


    *****


    Hope hadn¡¯t spent as much time reading over the notes as Dr. Miller had expected. She hadn¡¯t even got to the list of patients funneled to the facility through orphanages, jails, and trafficking. Oh well. Hope wasn¡¯t the first to fail to comprehend what was in front of them. She had read some, though. If it was enough to accept the truth, well, they¡¯d both just have to wait and see.


    The kid remained a surprise. She wished Dr. Yevon had survived to see it. Imbedding a strong maternal instinct into strain seven had been his idea, and the care of the children his domain.


    She¡¯d scoffed at the idea at first. Children were messy, unpredictable, easily broken. Everything she didn¡¯t need in an experimental subject. Still, he¡¯d pointed out the flaws, and many failures, of relying solely on synthetic scent, and after she¡¯d thrown him out of her office and cooled down, she¡¯d realized the merit of his plan. Maternal instinct in humans was hardly something to rely on, however, in the other genetic contributors to strain seven, it ran deep.


    Dr. Yevon had been one of the few brave enough to point out flaws in her designs, and the only to survive doing so. If he hadn¡¯t tried to condemn her methods, he¡¯d still be alive. No matter what she did, or what she gave them, people always betrayed her in the end.


    She narrowed her eyes at Hope as the security cameras continued to track her across the research facility. Hope hadn¡¯t betrayed her yet, and for once, her strain wasn¡¯t hard-coded to prevent it. Another suggestion from the late Dr. Yevon.


    ¡°Free will increases mental stability,¡± he¡¯d said.


    Dr. Miller chewed her lip until she tasted copper. Free will had run him into ruin. Free will had run the world to its knees. Whether it would do the same to Hope remained to be seen.


    *****


    The hairs on the back of Allie¡¯s neck prickled. She scanned the area around her and Kyle for what felt like the twentieth time in the few minutes they¡¯d been walking.


    She tried to tell herself it was because they were going back down. After all, she¡¯d been attacked on the two deepest floors already. This floor, the third, and the one she¡¯d skipped while following Kyle¡¯s scent, was a mystery, and she still didn¡¯t know how much she could trust the kid. Her gut told her lots. Her brain disagreed.


    Even so, the prickles on her neck spoke of something different. Something was watching. She was sure of it. The feeling had started shortly after she¡¯d killed the woman in the office. Every creature she¡¯d seen so far seemed driven to kill, and nothing more. If one of the things had enough restraint to stalk her¡­.


    Kyle stopped in front of a set of double metal doors.


    ¡°This is it,¡± he said. ¡°Stay here and be quiet until I introduce you.¡±


    He eyed Allie, his back straight, with all the authority a ten-year-old child could muster.


    ¡°Right. Sure.¡±


    He nodded curtly and turned back to the door, rapping a detailed rhythm against it.


    A moment passed, then a slight squeal as one side of the doors eased open.


    ¡°Food!¡± a kid¡¯s high-pitched voice called out. A dozen other voices echoed the word.


    ¡°Yeah, I got food,¡± Kyle said in that same self-assured tone. ¡°I brought someone to help, too.¡±


    The door creaked further. A blond-headed girl, roughly the same size as Kyle, peered from around the edge. She narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath, then gasped. ¡°Oh!¡±


    The girl was in front of Allie in a second, clear blue eyes gazing up into hers. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you came. Come on!¡±


    She grabbed Allie¡¯s hand and tugged. Allie still hadn¡¯t seen the inside of the room. There could have been anything hidden behind those massive doors, yet if Kyle¡¯s scent could draw her from another floor, the scents wafting from the girl and the room itself could have drawn her from across a continent. She¡¯d have an easier time refusing to breathe than refusing the girl¡¯s invitation.


    Allie gritted her teeth and followed the girl into the room. Six long, metal tables, surfaces smooth and shining, stood at equal intervals in the expansive square room. Classroom style chairs surrounded each table, while a massive blackboard covered the back wall. Two doors sat on either side of the blackboard, leading farther in.


    A dozen or so children sat clumped at one table, hospital gowns hanging off of each. One child, barely two feet tall, slid off their seat, ran up to Allie and pointed to himself. ¡°Shar-ee.¡±


    Allie stared. The kid prodded his chest and uttered the syllables slower. It only made them harder to figure out.


    ¡°Charlie,¡± the girl said, her hand still holding on to Allie¡¯s. ¡°He¡¯s saying his name is Charlie. He¡¯s the youngest. I¡¯m second oldest, so I¡¯m second in charge.¡±


    Before Allie could think of a response, the other children bounced off their seats. A tidal wave of names, ages, and jobs crashed into her until she could feel a headache blooming in her skull.


    Every one of the kids seemed normal, if scrawny, yet not one seemed scared of her. More than odd considering she was a complete stranger wearing shredded clothes, not to mention being covered in filth. Whatever they looked like, they couldn¡¯t be normal.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    Kyle¡¯s voice boomed, echoing against the concrete walls. Silence fell, but all eyes stayed locked on Allie.


    ¡°I found food,¡± Kyle said. ¡°Just like I said I would. You going to eat it, or what?¡±


    The kids fell on Kyle, pulling the food from his grasp. Allie had seen dogs go after scraps like that, and if you got in the way, you¡¯d get bitten. She dropped the tote and took a step back. The sound drew their attention. Within seconds, the bag lay empty, while the room filled with the crinkling of wrappers and the crunching of food.


    Allie glanced sideways. ¡°You not eating?¡±


    The girl didn¡¯t move. She shook her head. ¡°No. I¡¯m second biggest, too, so I don¡¯t need as much food. I¡¯ll get some next time.¡±


    A flutter of guilt rose in Allie¡¯s chest. She¡¯d done nothing but suspect the kids, yet this one would rather starve than let another go hungry. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The girl grinned. Her smile was pretty, now that Allie was paying attention.


    ¡°Lucy.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Lucy. How about I help you all get out of this place?¡±

 Strain: Part 5 of 6

    A new idea came together as Dr. Miller tapped her fingers on the desk. She¡¯d been getting worried, and quite annoyed, at the repeated failure of the guide scent in swaying Hope¡¯s attention. On the other hand, the children¡¯s scent worked far too well. That it was not of her design caused a pressure to build under her skin, into her head, pushing out until all she wanted was to release it on Dr. Yevon¡¯s hide. Too bad she¡¯d already done that.


    Still, she knew how to work with what she had. If the children were the answer to controlling Hope, then she needed to know how deep that control could go.


    Dr. Miller dropped her hands to the keyboard. Her fingers flew across the keys as a command screen opened on her computer¡¯s desktop. A quick login and a list of hyphenated numbers appeared. To an outsider, it resembled code, or gibberish, but she knew them all by heart.


    She¡¯d been a part of each strain created, each patient molded under experiments, and her desires. The security department had advised her to use number strings to classify each experiment for ease of cataloguing and obfuscation, to which she¡¯d readily agreed. The others wouldn¡¯t have appreciated her inspirations, anyway.


    Dark nights huddled in the cold. Worthless adults passed out on the couch, drunk and high, leaving her to nurse wounds and escape into even darker, colder landscapes. Library books read by candlelight, full of horrors beyond her miserable life. How she longed to bring those horrors to life, to use them against every person who touched her.


    She¡¯d thrown herself into experimental genetics for that very reason, working every spare minute to fund her path to her goal. Then came the funders. Rich fools so sure their side was the right one, their abuses worth the outcomes, their use of horrors justified. The atrocities of her childhood echoed on a worldwide stage. She let them do as they pleased. As long as they paid, she made monsters. Yet they weren¡¯t ever good enough.


    Dr. Miller hissed through her teeth as she continued to scroll through the numbers. The idiots wouldn¡¯t know perfection if it bit them in the ass. All they wanted were dogs on a leash. She made hellhounds.


    There. Series twenty-nine, strain twelve. She¡¯d put so much effort into making the perfect predator, revisiting the genome over and over. She succeeded. Her monsters could clear humans from a city in hours. They didn¡¯t need sleep, and they got ninety percent of their energy from the sun, yet the morons still called them a failure. The funders had whined that the monsters couldn¡¯t be leashed, that they¡¯d be a liability if they spread. Dr. Miller chuckled. What if, indeed. But she¡¯d still needed their money, and the monsters¡¯ blood thirst didn¡¯t distinguish between human and animal. So, she shelved the project and started her next. Her true vision. The result of a decade of genetic research and application now hiding in Hope.


    She¡¯d expected to use the guide scent, to trace a path to the idiots so she could watch them get ripped apart. However, if the children truly worked as well as they seemed to¡­.


    A click, a bit more typing, and a bar slid free from two sets of large double-doors in the research building¡¯s basement. Dr. Miller grinned as experiments twenty-nine stepped cautiously from their holding cells. If Hope¡¯s maternal instinct ran so high, what would happen if one of the children had a bit of an accident?


    *****


    Lucy finally released Allie¡¯s hand and ran off to one of the desks in the back of the room. She pulled a bundle of paper, wrapped like a scroll, from under it, then ran back, tugging Allie over to the nearest empty table.


    ¡°I found this a couple of days ago, in a drawer,¡± Lucy said as she unrolled the scroll.


    Black lines etched squares, rectangles, and half-circles. Allie¡¯s eyes grew wide. She¡¯d seen plenty of these while doing art exhibitions.


    A floor plan.


    This particular floor plan had large rectangles drawn side-by-side, thick black lines separating them from each other, with smaller squares and rectangles inside. Apartments. ¡°Is this the floor with all the homes?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm.¡± Lucy jabbed at a semi-circle sitting at the top of the paper. It stood at the end of a hallway that bisected the entire floor, leading to what looked like outside the building¡¯s walls. Allie¡¯s breath caught. ¡°Does that¡­ lead outside?¡±


    ¡°We think so.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°Well, the door doesn¡¯t say anything on it. Kyle looked.¡±


    ¡°Kyle didn¡¯t open it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s locked.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Allie sighed. Of course it wouldn¡¯t be that easy.


    ¡°Sarah¡¯s dad is an electrician.¡±


    Lucy looked up at Allie with a wide grin. Allie stared. The girl seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but other than disappointment, Allie had nothing.


    ¡°The lock¡¯s electric!¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ okay.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to just tell her,¡± Kyle said in his self-assured tone. ¡°Not like she¡¯s gonna figure it out.¡±


    Allie gritted her teeth. If not for the scent telling her not to, she¡¯d have smacked the boy.


    ¡°There¡¯s a breaker room. Here.¡± Lucy pointed to a small room in one apartment, barely the size of a closet. Sure enough, it was labeled ¡®breakers¡¯. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what Sarah said ¡®breakers¡¯ meant. Anyway, she also said if we switch them all off, the lights and the locks should open.¡±


    Allie studied the floor plan as she chewed her lip. Lucy¡¯s, or she supposed, Sarah¡¯s theory seemed solid. Electric locks without power should release, she assumed. She wasn¡¯t an electrician. ¡°So why haven¡¯t you tried it already?¡±


    Kyle snorted. ¡°Because we need your help.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Kyle crossed his arms and frowned. ¡°Lucy and I are the oldest, biggest, and bravest. We¡¯ve been trying to get the others out of here, but they¡¯re too scared.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Lucy said. ¡°You¡¯ve been trying to get everyone out. We both know it¡¯s too dangerous. Or, it was.¡± She turned to look at Allie. ¡°Now that we have you with us, it¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Images of all the zombies, crab men, sea creatures, and whatever the hell she¡¯d fought in the office flashed through Allie¡¯s mind. She¡¯d become¡­ something else. Whatever she was now, it wasn¡¯t someone these kids should be trusting.


    ¡°I¡­. No. I don¡¯t think¡ª¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll follow,¡± Kyle said. ¡°We all will. Just tell them to.¡±


    ¡°You kids shouldn¡¯t stay with me.¡±


    ¡°So we should stay here? Lady, we¡¯re running out of food, and so are those things down below.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    ¡°Our only chance, as stupid as that is. Or should we just wait around to die?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°No.¡± The word came out with a vehemence Allie hadn¡¯t intended.


    Kyle stepped back, eyes going wide as his arrogance slipped.


    It was stupid. She¡¯d just as likely get the kids killed as much as save them. Hell, she could be the one to kill them. She¡¯d attacked not once, but twice, without thought. If she was a killer of monsters, what chance did children have, even if they weren¡¯t entirely human? Still, the thought of them staying, of dying without her help, sent rivulets of fire through her blood.


    Allie snatched the floor plan from the table and yelled, ¡°Finish up and follow me. We¡¯re getting out of here.¡±


    Over a dozen faces turned toward her as her words echoed in the sudden silence.


    Then, chaos.


    The children dropped their food or shoved the remnants in their mouths. Trash crunched under foot as everyone huddled around Allie, a small, thin army standing at attention with chocolate and chip dust smeared on their faces and hands.


    ¡°Uh¡­ right.¡± Allie¡¯s resolve faltered.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, lady,¡± Kyle said from the crowd.


    ¡°Allie,¡± she snapped back. ¡°My name is Allie.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The small voice he¡¯d replied in made a small trickle of guilt worm its way inside Allie¡¯s mind. She sighed. ¡°Right. Let¡¯s go.¡± She turned in place, unsure of how she was meant to pierce the huddle of kids, only to have them sidestep out of her way. It was unnerving. ¡°I made my bed. I guess I¡¯ll lie in it,¡± she mumbled as she walked toward the door, kids trailing behind her.


    They made it into the hallway and halfway to the nearest stairwell when the smell hit. The scent she¡¯d been ignoring since finding the kids had got stronger. Behind it came a new one, a sharp musk reminiscent of the one time she¡¯d agreed to draw a man¡¯s pet ferret, dialed up to a hundred. It made her eyes water and her neck prickle. ¡°Stop.¡±


    The little army halted in an instant, going quiet. A tapping echoed from the stairwell. It was barely audible at first, then louder and louder. More taps joined in until it sounded like rain on a metal roof.


    The stairwell doors burst open.


    The creature in the stairwell had human looking skin and human eyes. Everything else about it was wrong. Its legs twisted backwards, forcing it onto all fours. A wide grin split an emaciated face in two. A forked tongue lolled out from between fangs.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Allie spread her arms on instinct, shielding the kids from the monster.


    More followed behind the first. The leader clacked its teeth and growled. Allie blinked. No. Its mouth hadn¡¯t moved. The others answered it with clacking of their own. That¡¯s when she noticed it.


    A dog''s head, covered in matted fur, sprouted from each monster¡¯s back. The dog heads opened their mouths, then snapped them shut again. The human heads hissed. A kid screamed, and the floodgates opened.


    The lead monster lunged, a whip-like tail lashing out. The tail stuck, a hook at its end sinking into her shoulder. More kids screamed as the clamor rose to a crescendo. Allie¡¯s ears rang. Darkness crept in on the edges of her vision as more creatures lunged past her. To the children.


    She changed faster than before. Her hand shot out, grabbing one monster in mid-air. Something gave in her shoulder. The pain barely registered before it dulled to nothing. Allie spun, slamming her captive into the one who had stung her. A satisfying crunch, and both monsters lay still. A pivot, and she was on top of another just as its tail lashed towards Kyle. The tail came off with a snap of her jaws.


    The surviving monsters abandoned the easy prey and focused on the threat, rage clear in their bared teeth and wild eyes as they spun toward her. Wicked hooks sank into her flesh. Lava traced its way down her body, through her limbs, then vanished. The pit in her stomach yawned once more, unbearably deep and agonizingly empty. This pain wouldn¡¯t go away on its own.


    Allie yanked a barbed tail from her chest and bit down. Bittersweet copper. Sweeter meat. She wanted more, needed more, and all her prey had lined up to feed her.


    *****


    Chimeras. That¡¯s what she called them. Dr. Allie¡¯s funders had balked at the idea at first, for some strange reason. Transgenic hybrids were fine, even preferable, as long as it meant something stronger, faster, and less human. Yet the thought of letting multiple species¡¯ genetics split at certain points had made every black-suited businessman on the board squirm in their seats.


    She¡¯d twisted it, of course, made it palatable. Psychological warfare. What was more terrifying than an abomination with multiple teeth-filled maws? She¡¯d even added paralytic venom from cone snails for good measure. It could make resource grabs far less bloody. Throw a chimera at a strategic spot, let a few poor bastards escape, then let fear do the rest.


    The board had eaten her speech up. Or at least enough of them to get the funding she needed. She¡¯d always been good at figuring out what people wanted to hear, weaving truth and lies into an enticing tapestry. It had kept her safe in her early years, and profitable in her later years.


    Really, she just wanted to create another monster from the horror stories embedded in her mind. It hadn¡¯t gone to plan, as none of her projects did, but she¡¯d produced a creature worthy of a few missions¡ªuntil an idiot of a handler forgot to properly lock a transport cage.


    She¡¯d lost a field-proven chimera, and all the men in suits clamored about was the loss of their transport crew and the need for a kill switch. Dr. Miller chuckled as another chimera ended up in pieces in the second-floor hallway. Too bad she didn¡¯t have Hope back then. She could have sent her as the kill switch.


    *****


    Hunger and rage boiled in Allie. She knew what she was doing this time. Did she have control? Such a vague concept. Her body did what it needed, with little input from her brain. That was fine with her. It soothed the pit with bittersweet and kept the creature from touching the children as she danced as well as any ballerina, and delivered death as well as any executioner.


    When the last monster fell, she almost felt disappointed.


    A slip in the tempo of her mind, and the fur receded with the fury, leaving her with yet more gunk on her tattered clothes and skin. At this point, her own odor threatened to cover up all else.


    ¡°Wow,¡± a child whispered.


    All of the children were huddled behind her, holding hands and staring with wide eyes. Even Kyle¡¯s usual confidence seemed to have fled.


    ¡°Are¡­. Is everyone all right?¡± Allie asked. Hardly the best thing to say after going full monster in front of them and mutilating a crowd of two-headed freaks, but it was the best she could think of.


    Lucy nodded. ¡°They never got to us.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Good.¡±


    The huddle broke. The kids moved toward Allie, murmuring to each other, surrounding her as they¡¯d done in the classroom.


    A tiny boy of perhaps four gripped Allie¡¯s hand. ¡°You the best.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not scared of me?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    They weren¡¯t human. No way a normal child watched what she¡¯d done and didn¡¯t shriek in terror, let alone want to hold her hand and give her compliments. Asking was pointless, though. Whatever they were, they were still children, and Allie had told them she¡¯d get them out. She wouldn¡¯t go back on her word.


    Allie squeezed the little boy¡¯s hand and smiled. ¡°I¡¯m glad. Let¡¯s keep going, then.¡±


    The rest of the way to the breaker room stayed clear. The room itself sat nestled in the back of an apartment half the size of the one she¡¯d found Kyle in, hidden behind a simple closet door. Allie¡¯s steps quickened when she saw it, a sliver of hope rising. All she had to do was throw some switches, and she¡¯d leave the nightmarish building behind. She couldn¡¯t leave the monster part of her behind with it, yet the thought didn¡¯t bother her as much as she figured it would.


    She grabbed the doorknob and pulled. The door jiggled in its frame, but stayed shut. She tried again. Nothing.


    ¡°It¡¯s locked.¡±


    Kyle again. Allie sighed. ¡°So it is. Anyone know where the key is?¡±


    A smattering of nos came from the kids.


    Allie leaned her forehead against the door¡¯s cool wood. Freedom lay behind the lock. Their one chance. She turned the knob and rattled the door, pulling harder and harder. She hadn¡¯t come this far to get stopped by a damned lock.


    The anger she¡¯d felt when the two-headed monsters closed in welled back up. She growled, reared back, and buried her shoulder into the door. It buckled with a deafening crack. Allie jerked back on reflex. A jagged hole now sat in the middle of the door, splintered edges disappearing into the dark of the room behind it.


    ¡°Awesome!¡± a kid said.


    A flurry of agreements, then a shouted ¡°Open it!¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Allie shook her head. She really needed to get a grip on what she was capable of. She reached into the hole and undid the lock. A few seconds, and a few more good pulls on the now warped door, and she had her prize.


    Large breaker boxes covered all three walls. Allie flipped one open to reveal dozens of breaker switches. Each breaker had a label next to it, with a string of printed letter and numbers Allie couldn¡¯t make sense of. She turned them all off.


    *****


    The research facility Dr. Miller had given the last decade to went dark, but the security cameras stayed operational, as did the electricity to the security building. They had backups. The containment cells within the facility¡¯s basement were supposed to have backup generators as well. Too bad she¡¯d sold them to fund unapproved experiments.


    Every door in the facility opened with a click. Dr. Miller chuckled. An automatic distress call had been sent the moment the first breaker got thrown. The funders, or rather their hired guns, would soon descend on the site with all the firepower money could buy. However, they¡¯d be expecting a few loose experiments, maybe some mutinous scientists or saboteurs. Instead, they¡¯d find her darkest dreams come true, frolicking in one of the last vestiges of wilderness. It would be truly beautiful. She was disappointed she wouldn¡¯t be able to stick around to see it.


    A ping sounded from her e-mail. The cargo ship was closing in on the nearby port. It would be ready to board in twenty minutes. More than long enough. Not all the money she¡¯d hidden away went to experiments, and money really could buy anything.


    More pings rolled in as concerned parties pressed their secretaries into service. Dr. Miller shook her head. Leeches until the end, only worried about others when something threatened their power. She didn¡¯t have the time, or care, to lie to them anymore. It was time to go.

 Strain: Part 6 of 6

    A little girl fell and whimpered. The entire group stuttered to a halt as some other kids helped her up.


    Allie stifled a growl. They¡¯d been fine all the way to the breaker room, even after the two-headed freaks attacked. Now, when true freedom lay down just a few more damned hallways, did they forget how to walk. No, that wasn¡¯t fair. She felt it, too, like ice-water down her back, or a dagger at her throat. It felt like an army closing in, and she couldn¡¯t tell where, or when, it would strike.


    They made it a few more feet before another child sniffled and stalled, nearly getting bowled over by the kids behind them.


    ¡°Make a chain,¡± Allie said.


    All eyes turned toward her.


    ¡°Hold each other¡¯s hands and make a chain. That way, if someone gets scared, or stumbles, the kid in front and back can help keep them going. Okay?¡±


    After some slow nods and fearful glances, the kids obeyed, grabbing hands and spreading out until they formed a line down the hallway. Allie wasn¡¯t fond of the idea, but they couldn¡¯t afford to keep stopping. This would probably help them get out quicker. It would also make the kids at the back extra vulnerable.


    ¡°Kyle, Lucy, up front.¡±


    Both pushed forward.


    ¡°Kyle first. You know where the exit is, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Kyle said.


    ¡°Good. Lucy, you¡¯re at the back. I want you to keep the kids moving, no matter what. Don¡¯t let anyone slow down. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    There were enough trembling children, it amazed Allie that she didn¡¯t hear their teeth chatter, yet Lucy and Kyle stayed still, eyes clear and fearless. Clearly, they took their role as leaders seriously.


    ¡°I knew I could count on you two. Kyle, start the chain and get walking.¡±


    Lucy stayed close as the chain of scared kids stretched farther down the corridor. As the last child passed by, she grabbed his hand and cast a curious glance in Allie¡¯s direction.


    Allie grinned in what she hoped was a reassuring way and fell in step a few feet behind. She didn¡¯t know where the danger was coming from, but if she had to bet, it was probably from the guts of the building. It only took a few more minutes to be proven right.


    It started as faint flutters, a steady rhythm that reminded Allie of pigeons taking off from a roof. She pivoted, eyes darting toward the ceiling. A cloud of flying creatures closed in. Large gray and pink webbed wings slapped the air as bulging eyes stared at her from round, too large heads.


    She threw her arms up as the lead flyer dove. Burning pain erupted in her forearm as it dug fangs into her flesh. She jerked, flinging the creature off and into the wall, where it hit with a thud.


    The kids screamed. The rest of the creatures had flown by her. Allie twisted, grabbed one of the hateful things off Lucy¡¯s shoulder and squeezed. Hair sprouted up her arms as the flyer shrieked, then popped, covering the nearby walls, floors, and Lucy, in a macabre splatter.


    ¡°Run. Get to the door!¡±


    What few hands still held another¡¯s dropped. The kids darted off. Most of them. The smallest four fell, and the flyers took the advantage.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    It came out as more of a snarl than a word as Allie¡¯s mouth stretched into a muzzle full of sharp teeth. Before, when she¡¯d changed, her body had gone on auto-pilot. This time, it seemed she¡¯d been given the steering wheel. As little Charlie disappeared under an assault of leather-winged horrors, she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted it.


    She lunged, flopping belly first and sliding in an attempt to snatch him from the pile of flyers. The carpet dug in, leaving a burning trail across her torso and tearing a chunk of her tattered shirt off. Still, her hands reached. She gripped Charlie¡¯s torso, overly tiny and delicate in her enlarged hands, and pulled him toward her. The flyers dispersed with a cacophony of screeches.


    Charlie¡¯s whimpers told her he was still alive as she held him against her chest. She wanted to know how badly he¡¯d been hurt, but she couldn¡¯t stop yet. Her roar rattled the hallway, startling a group of flyers mantling over a little girl a few feet away. Someone else darted by. Long blonde hair flew behind Lucy as she ran and dove for a third child farther down.


    Good girl. Allie yanked the little girl to her chest alongside Charlie, a stubborn flyer hanging on her back. A quick crunch, and its head came off in Allie¡¯s mouth. Bitter, pungent, and slimy. She gagged and spit, but didn¡¯t stop moving.


    Lucy wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d stuck around to help. Kyle had the fourth kid who¡¯d fallen held awkwardly in his arms, the two of them disappearing as he stumbled around a bend in the hallway. The little girl Lucy had saved proved well enough to run, and the two did so hand-in-hand. The flyers followed.


    Damn it. Damn it.


    Allie roared again. The flyers nearby hissed, hooking clawed hands on the walls and ceiling as they stared down at a threat they didn¡¯t dare attack. Snub noses. Round faces. Large eyes. Now that they sat still, the damned things looked like babies. Bile coated Allie¡¯s mouth as she took off, an injured child hugged in each arm. She didn¡¯t have time to think about it. She needed to save her kids.


    She rounded the corner. Kyle¡¯s burden had found his legs again. The two boys were running for the open door at the end of the corridor, both of them flailing as flyers flew above while Kyle shouted some colorful language. Oddly enough, the creatures seemed to have also noticed the open door. They had angled away from the children and toward the rectangle of light. Lucy wasn¡¯t far behind Kyle, the little girl she still held by the hand practically getting dragged as she tried to keep up with the much older Lucy.


    Allie quickened her pace. The kids she carried had gone quiet and still, but she didn¡¯t dare check on them until they were out. She caught up to Lucy, staying on her heels as they made it through the door.


    Tears sprang to Allie¡¯s eyes as sunlight hit them for the first time in she didn¡¯t know how long. A dense jungle stretched out in front of them, reaching far up into the sky. They stood on a third-floor balcony, narrow metal stairs weaving their way down a brown concrete wall to the jungle floor. Kids were scattered across the stairs¡¯ length, and a group had gathered near the base of the building, which proved just as rectangular and window-free as its interior suggested.


    Freedom.


    The concept felt almost foreign. She wanted it, needed it, but what did it mean in this new, monstrous body?


    A squirming brought her attention back to more important things. Allie kneeled, her body shrinking back into its human guise as her focus switched from attacking to helping.


    Charlie and the girl she¡¯d saved wriggled free. They grinned broadly in her direction, then started down the stairs. There wasn¡¯t a scratch on them.


    Allie shook her head. She¡¯d seen the flyers bite them both, had smelled their blood on her arms and chest, yet quick-healing wasn¡¯t even close to the weirdest thing she¡¯d seen lately. As she fell into step behind the two kids, the girl¡¯s stomach rumbled.


    ¡°Hungry,¡± the girl said.


    She¡¯d whined the word out, and it scraped Allie¡¯s ears like nails on a chalkboard. Charlie¡¯s stomach growled in response, and he added his complaint to the assault on her ears. Her eyes darted around. She seriously doubted there¡¯d be a fast-food joint or a grocery store to raid in whatever place they were. Still, a jungle had animals and fruit, right? Allie wracked her brain. All she had to go off when it came to survival were a few nature documentaries and Hollywood riffs.


    The kids¡¯ whining intensified.


    ¡°As soon as we get down, I¡¯ll find some food, okay?¡±


    They sniffled, stared at her a moment as if gauging the truth in her words, then nodded.


    Allie sighed as they went silent and hurried down the stairs.


    A yowl echoed from the open doorway. Allie didn¡¯t bother looking back. She scooped up the two kids, ignoring their surprised yelps, and bounded the rest of the way down the stairs. Something thudded against the ground nearby.


    ¡°Move!¡± Allie said.


    The huddle of children at the bottom of the stairs gaped at whatever was going on behind her.


    ¡°I said move. Get away from the building!¡±


    Allie snarled in emphasis, and at last, the spell was broken. Kids scattered. Allie ran with them, racing around the corner of the building into what she expected to be more jungle. Instead, to her right lay a long expanse of near-white sand, waves lapping against the shore, blue stretching out as far as she could see. In the distance sat a set of thick, wooden docks, poles bracing them as they reached out to deeper water. A single white motor boat swayed at the end of one.


    ¡°Over here! We¡¯re heading to the boat.¡±


    The kids swerved, came together like a school of fish, and headed her way.


    Around them, monsters fled. Bird-like creatures nearly the size of the motorboat; lithe, bald, cat-humans no bigger than a child; multi-legged monstrosities full of mandibles and covered in shining carapaces. More creatures than Allie could count poured from the little exit on the top floor of the building, some jumping, some flying, some racing down the stairs, all dashing for the cover of trees with calls, shrieks, and screams. Not one stopped to attack. It seemed the smell of freedom was stronger than a monster¡¯s desire to hunt.


    The kids caught up to her, and she lowered the two in her arms back down to join the crowd. Lucy and Kyle stood tall, one on the left and one on the right of the group, herding the other children toward the boat.


    Allie looked longingly at the jungle. It called to her just as much as the other creatures. The close-growing trees and shadowed recesses felt far safer than the bare open of the beach, but she¡¯d had enough of sharing space with them, or that infernal building. She wanted nothing more than to escape the land it sat on.


    A woman stepped from behind a line of trees to Allie¡¯s right, short brown hair framing a sharp-angled face and intense gaze. ¡°Wait.¡±


    Allie glared at her, daring her to try to stop her and the kids as they moved past.


    ¡°That boat is out of fuel.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll check it myself, thanks.¡±


    ¡°I emptied it.¡±


    Allie stopped. The kids followed suit, shifting to the side so they could keep the woman and the monsters still flooding from the building in view. The side of Allie¡¯s mouth twitched up. Smart kids. The woman, on the other hand, seemed less so despite the lab jacket she wore. She had no idea what she was up against. Then again, that went both ways.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°If you emptied the tank, then how are you getting out of here? I don¡¯t believe you¡¯d strand yourself here with¡­ those.¡± Allie motioned towards the monsters, knowing full well she looked like hell as well, even in human form.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I wouldn¡¯t. They,¡± the woman waved at the monsters as well, ¡°unfortunately, are failures doomed to die. Not you, though, and not them.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes flicked towards the children, and Allie growled before she caught herself. The woman simply grinned.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got powerful instincts. That¡¯s good. You¡¯ll need them.¡±


    ¡°Are you threatening me?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not. But others will.¡±


    ¡°Others?¡±


    ¡°People. Come on, now. I know you¡¯ve kept your full intelligence. You want out of here. You need to get out of here. Do you think humans will welcome you with open arms? Humans, who can¡¯t help but destroy their own kind, destroy the very world that sustains them?¡±


    The kids started to shuffle and fidget. Probably getting bored, and Allie knew the feeling.


    ¡°I don¡¯t plan on letting them see I¡¯m not human anymore,¡± Allie said.


    ¡°And you think that will protect you, or them?¡±


    Allie frowned. She hadn¡¯t thought that far.


    ¡°I can help you. Protect all of you.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    The woman looked as if she hadn¡¯t eaten well in a month. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and dirt covered her jacket. Allie could have snapped her in two with little effort.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the woman said. ¡°I have a contracted cargo ship coming in soon. It will take you to a safe place, and more importantly, right to the middle of where you want to go.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡±


    ¡°All you have to do is what I made you for.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ you made me for?¡±


    It made sense. She hadn¡¯t been born a monster, hadn¡¯t sprouted a bit of fur or claws her entire life. Of course someone had done something to her. She just hadn¡¯t been expecting to come face-to-face with the person responsible.


    ¡°I¡¯m Dr. Miller, the head of this research center. You are my dream, a beautiful nightmare created to being a reckoning to the pathetic human race that¡¯s far overdue. You are Hope.¡±


    Pathetic human race? Allie narrowed her eyes. Perhaps not a human, then.


    ¡°The world needs a new predator,¡± Dr. Miller continued. ¡°You and the children will fill the role nicely.¡±


    The back of Allie¡¯s neck prickled. ¡°Will it put the kids in danger?¡±


    ¡°Oh, not really.¡±


    A shift in the woman¡¯s gaze, a slight flutter of her hands. It could have been anything¡ªexcitement, anticipation, a reaction to the calls and screeches echoing from within the jungle, yet Allie didn¡¯t think so. No, she was sure the doctor had lied. She had every intention of putting the kids in danger, and that just wouldn¡¯t do.


    Allie punched the doctor in the jaw, and the woman collapsed. She spared her one last glance before turning to the kids. ¡°Come on. If the boat really is out of fuel, we¡¯ll just wait for this supposed cargo ship.¡±


    ¡°What if it doesn¡¯t show?¡± Kyle asked.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll carve a spot for us in the jungle. I bet one of you had scout training.¡±


    A couple of hands popped up.


    ¡°See? We¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Why¡­ why do they all turn against me?¡±


    Allie spun, her nails growing sharp on reflex. Dr. Miller stared at her as she picked herself up off the ground. Fire red ringed her irises.


    ¡°All I want is for you to do what I created you for.¡±


    ¡°No. You lied.¡± Allie¡¯s voice grew husky as her body grew in size. ¡°You said the kids wouldn¡¯t be in danger. You lied.¡±


    ¡°Damn you, Yevon. Was this your plan all along, you bastard?¡±


    The doctor¡¯s face contorted, and for a second, Allie thought she was about to cry. Instead, she laughed. Loud, mirthless, and laced with poison.


    Every hair on Allie stood up. She lunged. Miller caught her arm and twisted. A pop, followed by an explosion of pain, and Allie lay face-first in the sand with the woman¡¯s knee digging into her back and her arm pinned behind her.


    ¡°I wanted to do this peacefully,¡± Dr. Miller said. ¡°Creator and creation. I guess that¡¯s what I get for giving someone else control.¡±


    Allie didn¡¯t know what the woman was babbling about, and she didn¡¯t care. The doctor was impressively strong, yet she still felt as light as a feather. Allie bucked. Dr. Miller lost her balance and rolled off, Allie following her with claws out.


    The woman was faster. She slipped behind Allie before she registered the movement. An arm looped around Allie¡¯s neck and squeezed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill you, Hope,¡± Dr. Miller said into Allie¡¯s ear. ¡°But I can¡¯t let you just walk off. Not after everything.¡±


    Allie scrabbled at the arm around her neck. Her claws raked against flesh, yet the doctor¡¯s grip stayed strong.


    ¡°If you go by yourself, you might die. Let me guide you.¡±


    No. Allie tried to force the word out. No air escaped. Darkness edged in on her vision. So what if she died, as long as the kids were safe? She backpedaled, slamming into a tree trunk as hard as she could, over and over.


    The doctor cried out, her grip on Allie¡¯s throat tightening until Allie thought her eyes might pop. Then, release. Allie gasped and scrambled away on all fours. Startled cries came from the children as they huddled a few feet away. All eyes were locked on her.


    A rumble came from deep in Allie¡¯s chest. It reverberated out and up as the injuries to her throat healed. She roared and spun to face her opponent. She¡¯d tear the woman limb from limb or die trying. Her mind stalled. Blood coated the tree just as it coated the doctor¡¯s lab coat, yet the woman still stood, although ¡®woman¡¯ seemed to no longer be the appropriate word.


    ¡°Why must they always betray me?¡± Dr. Miller hissed through clenched teeth. Elongated teeth, pushing out from a too small jaw. ¡°Only under my control can you survive. I won¡¯t let them have you. If you won¡¯t do as I say, I¡¯ll just have to save you the misery and put you down.¡±


    With each word, Dr. Miller¡¯s form changed. Her arms lengthened, splitting in two as feathers sprouted, while her body grew asymmetrically, bubbles of flesh pushing out in odd directions as the rest of her tried to catch up. The fangs grew longer, thicker, pushing the jaw out at an unnatural angle until it stretched into a long, scaly snout capable of housing them. The doctor grew taller than Allie¡¯s monstrous form, higher and higher, only stopping when the top of her head nearly reached the top of the research building.


    In seconds, a massive amalgamation of a snake, a lizard, and an eagle had replaced the frail-looking woman. Allie had seen it before, on the table. One paper had info on it. What had it said? Allie wracked her brain and came up dry.


    The Miller-Beast¡¯s jaw unhinged, and she struck.


    Allie dodged, slicing at the serpentine neck as she went. The doctor was still fast, but her new bulk had slowed her down. Allie could see her coming now.


    The Miller-Beast twisted, her neck, wing and clawed hand closing in on Allie in multiple directions. Allie jumped away from the claws, only to have her lungs, as well as her bravado, deflate against the bony ridge of a wing. The ground sailed away. Pain erupted across her spine as it met a tree trunk. Stars appeared in her eyes. Unviable. The papers had said the creatures were all unviable. All of them had a weakness. What was this one¡¯s?


    Miller¡¯s attention shifted to the kids. To their credit, they had taken off down the beach when Miller transformed, and were in the process of trying to get around the fight to the cover of the jungle, but they weren¡¯t nearly far enough away to avoid the jet-sized Miller.


    Allie roared, pushing off the tree trunk as Miller pounced. The kids scattered. Allie slipped under the snake head and slashed up. Her efforts were rewarded with a shriek of pain from Miller and a gush of blood from the new hole in her throat. It coated Allie, blinding her for a second too long. A massive, lizard-like hand closed around her and squeezed. With her arms and legs pinned, Allie lashed out with the only thing she had left. Her teeth sank into the soft flesh of the palm. Miller tossed her away, and she found herself flying through the air once more.


    This time, she hit sand and scrambled up in time to see a bloodied Miller charging at her with a fully healed throat. Regeneration. Of course the giant serpent-dragon thing would have regeneration. Allie tried to roll out of the way as Miller closed in on her and snapped. Pain exploded across her right side, then went numb, only for the feeling to return as she hit the beach once more. Her own regeneration worked overtime, healing her almost as fast as she got injured. She and Miller traded strikes, fatal and maiming blows brought to nothing over and over.


    Allie couldn¡¯t see the kids anymore, although it hardly mattered. Miller had clearly decided to end her first, and if the gnawing pit in her stomach and subtle slowing of her healing was any sign, she¡¯d die before Miller. The kids would follow shortly after.


    Miller¡¯s clawed hand slammed down on Allie. Her chest cracked on impact. She couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t feel her legs, and this time, it stayed. She looked into Miller¡¯s slit pupils. Allie could have sworn the doctor was smiling. A weight descended on Allie¡¯s mind to match the one on her chest. She¡¯d been a coward her whole life for a reason. She didn¡¯t have the power to protect anyone. Not even herself.


    A ball of snarling fur clamped onto one of Miller¡¯s fingers, severing the digit and causing the monstrous doctor to rear back. More balls of fur launched at Miller, crimson blooming across her massive frame where they landed. They were larger than Allie remembered, but the smell, now more powerful than ever, didn¡¯t lie. The kids, her kids, were protecting her.


    Awe and shame fought for control in Allie¡¯s mind as she watched the great winged serpent writhe in agony. No. Allie grabbed the severed finger which still lay on top of her chest. The children¡¯s determination wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d easily forget. Still, she wouldn¡¯t sit back while others did her job for her.


    The finger stank like hot tar, and the meat tasted worse. Allie choked it down all the same. She was done running. Done being a coward.


    Feeling returned as her bones knitted back together. Miller, tired of trying to catch the little furballs with her claws and teeth, dropped to the sand and rolled.


    The children leaped free in grand arcs, long-muzzled snouts and elongated limbs reminding Allie of a pack of werewolves from an old horror movie. Although she¡¯d never seen herself in full view, Allie knew¡ªthey were the same as her. The realization stoked a fire, and Allie used the sudden surge of energy to launch herself at Miller as she struggled to regain her footing. A number of the bite marks the kids had inflicted still oozed blood.


    Allie picked a wound near Miller¡¯s spine and dug in. She gulped down more stinking chunks of the horrid beast, feeding the pit in her stomach and reveling in the power it returned to her. She didn¡¯t see Miller¡¯s scaly tail coming until it slapped her away. Allie twisted in mid-air, all damage done healing by the time she landed a short distance from the little werewolves, and braced herself for the next attack. It didn¡¯t come. Instead, Miller reared back, neck arching like a snake about to strike as her chest expanded.


    ¡°Scatter,¡± Allie said.


    The kids responded without hesitation. A second later, Miller released a stream of flame.


    Now Allie remembered what the paper had said. She ran toward the flames, aiming out and to Miller¡¯s side where the cone of fire didn¡¯t quite reach. The acrid scent of burnt fur filled the air, but the flames didn¡¯t catch. Allie continued the motion and ducked under Miller¡¯s neck to slash into her underbelly.


    The kids fanned out with yelps and snarls. A few shrieked in pain. The sound only brought strength to Allie¡¯s strikes. She dug deeper, gouging the hateful serpent¡¯s flesh. The wound shrank slowly. Miller reacted just as sluggishly, swallowing what was left of her fire as she contorted in an attempt to shake Allie off.


    Extreme energy costs. That¡¯s what the paper had said. Cell cannibalization occurs without a constant food source. Regeneration is stable, but increases energy demands exponentially.


    A tiny werewolf with blackened fur down one arm latched onto a wing. More followed. Allie roared in encouragement, and was answered by a more than a dozen voices.


    Miller stumbled. She whipped her head around to snap at a little wolf on her flank. Allie met her halfway and sank her teeth into Miller¡¯s snout. Miller pulled free, tearing away a chunk that only fueled Allie¡¯s strength. The beast was slowing down. The battle was theirs to take, but Miller still had sheer size on them.


    Over and over, the kids struck. Over and over, Allie deflected Miller¡¯s attacks. Crimson flowed into the sand. Copper drenched the air until it was all Allie smelled. Her body was slowing down, too. She was taking in Miller¡¯s flesh when she could, yet the winged serpent¡¯s strikes came too fast to balance out. When Miller finally shuddered and collapsed, Allie could do little more than join her, coming to a rest next to the head that could have swallowed Allie whole.


    They locked eyes. Miller¡¯s were bloodshot, mirroring the damage done to the rest of her. She struggled to breathe, and any air she took in to her lungs escaped out of a hole dug into her chest. Darkness ate at the edge of the winged serpent¡¯s gaze as something moved within. Something almost¡­ sad.


    The doctor-turned-monster grew still as the darkness devoured the light. An odd pang shot through Allie¡¯s chest like a memory of a long-forgotten friend. It was an emotion that felt right to feel at the passing of another. It fled as quickly as it came, leaving Allie with only the pain in her own shredded body. Her ability to heal was tapped out as well, and the monstrous form she¡¯d fought in shrank away, leaving only a dying human.


    Food, as nasty as it tasted, sat in large quantities mere feet away, yet Allie didn¡¯t have the strength to move. Perhaps she¡¯d lost too much blood this time. It hardly mattered. She¡¯d protected her kids. She¡¯d done her job. Darkness came to her vision as it had done to Miller¡¯s eyes, and an emotion Allie had felt a lot recently rose to the fore. Fear. This time, it wasn¡¯t the fear of monsters. She could take any of them, she was sure of that now. No, her fear sprang from the promise of death growing with each passing second. She¡¯d protected her kids for now, but they¡¯d need her again. She couldn¡¯t leave them.


    A shadow fell between Allie and Miller¡¯s head.


    ¡°Here. Eat. It tastes like crap, but you got to take what you can get,¡± Kyle said. He, too, was back to human, his bloody gown hanging half off his shoulder.


    Allie choked out a laugh and grabbed the chunk of flesh Kyle offered. Arrogant to the last. Still, she supposed he deserved to be. He was pretty special, after all.


    The meat wasn¡¯t much. Still, it got her back on her feet. It also made her painfully aware of the cries of injured children. Of course she wasn¡¯t the only one to get hurt in the fight. Her heart skipped a beat.


    ¡°Did anyone die?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Other than that hag? Not that I¡¯ve seen. Lucy¡¯s helping the others, though.¡±


    ¡°Then so should we.¡± Allie glanced at her human, unclawed hands. They shook. Apparently, nearly dying twice in a handful of minutes was a bit much, even for werewolves. ¡°Kyle, carve more meat out.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Not long after, fifteen healthy, if grimy, children surrounded Allie. No one had died. Miller had threatened the wrong monsters, although Allie had to give the doctor credit for giving them bodies that refused to give in.


    A ship¡¯s horn sounded from the ocean. A cargo ship, shipping bins stacked neatly on its back, angled toward the dock. Allie scanned the children and the giant Miller-Beast. Deep holes riddled the corpse. Oversized internal organs splayed out on the beach, some in pieces. The doctor looked like little more than a shredded, if huge, carcass.


    The kids, on the other hand, were covered in gore. They had all returned to human form, their clothes hung in tatters, and their feet were bare. They looked for all the world like victims of a war zone, and Allie knew she probably looked worse.


    Allie smiled and motioned for the kids to follow her to the dock. In many ways, they were victims. Surely the operators of the cargo ship wouldn¡¯t turn down a traumatized woman and children in obvious need of shelter. If they did, well, the appearance of a pack of werewolves would change their mind. Miller had been right about one thing¡ªsomething called to her from across the ocean, and it made her ache for blood.