Someone knocked on the door and then whoever was out there started hammering. “FBI!” the person shouted. “We had a perimeter breach.”
After putting the rifle down, Harry opened the door. The same tall and spindly man who’d spoken to him before stood there, red-faced. He had his gun out, ready for business. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice shaking. “We saw something running around outside in the bushes. Your, uh, girlfriend went after it and—”
“He’s right here,” answered Harry, sweeping his hand toward the couch where Anastasia sat with the now-quivering and miserable pig-guy. Sarcasm dripped from his every word. These guys were about as useful as empty cola bottles. “Nice job on the security thing.”
The agent’s face got even redder. “That little skunk!” he exclaimed and glared at the pig-man. “You, buddy, you’re coming with me.”
Uttering a grunt of disgust, he made a motion to level his gun, but Harry clamped down on the agent’s forearm. “We’ve got it covered. I don’t think he’s going to run. We need to talk to him.”
The agent made as if to enter and now, truly pissed off at the other man’s attitude, Harry shoved him back. “He’s staying here.”
“You don’t get it, kid,” the agent said in a peeved tone. “This is my job. I need to bring him.”
“No, you don’t,” Anastasia called out. “You need to call Farrell. We need to talk to this guy first.”
The tone in her voice meant do what I say or you’ll be eating your pistol in five seconds. With a slow and careful motion, the agent holstered his weapon. He pulled out his cellphone and started pushing buttons. “I’ll call it in,” he said.
With an expression that spoke of someone who’d just eaten ten lemons, the agent walked off with the parting words of, “Remember, he belongs to us.”
“Justice for all,” Harry murmured, slamming the door shut.
He went over to the couch where Anastasia and the new arrival were sitting. The latter huddled in a small ball with his arms around his torso and with a wary look on his porcine face. “I heard what you just say,” the pig-man said. “I do not understand.”
“What you just saw is our version of law and order,” Harry remarked, entirely without irony. “Okay, start talking.”
His eyes darting wildly, the pig-faced man swung his head back and forth, licking his lips with a small pink tongue. “Come on,” Anastasia prodded. “We’re like you. You can trust us.”
“My name is Istvan, Istvan Antos,” the pig-man said after a fashion. “I was born in Hungary, in Budapest. My English is... not so good. Please listen to me. I was... student in university and then I was taken away to place in the woods.”
His words tumbled out. Between the speed with which he spoke and his accent, it was more than a little difficult to make out what he was saying. However, between the gasps and pants, his story emerged. Growing up in Budapest, he had a normal life until his first year in university. “I was always small,” he said. “I am what you call a little person—a midget?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Anastasia said. “Go on.”
Istvan turned his gaze to the ground. “I got sick,” he said. “It was my appendix. I go in for operation. The doctor, he take my blood and say something to someone else. I do not know what he say. I have operation and then they leave me alone. My parents come to visit me. I think I will go home soon.
“Then new doctor come one day. I was in bed, too weak to understand. His name is not Hungarian. It is Russian.”
“Describe him to us,” Harry said.
Istvan shut his eyes and recited, “He was tall, very skinny and smoked, even in the hospital ward. He sounded intelligent and said that he was a doctor interested in genetics. I do not know what genetics have to do with me. I have simple operation, but he seemed excited.”
The description seemed to set Anastasia off, as she growled and spit out a name. “Grushenko,” she said with a tone of supreme loathing, as if the name itself were poisonous.
Istvan nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, that is the name. Grushenko, his name is Grushenko. He spoke Hungarian to my doctor in my hospital. The doctor, he leave, uh, left and this Grushenko, he said that he could... help me become to be better.”
Anastasia began to growl softly, her eyes narrowing second by second. She’d gone through the same thing, and if she was recalling her experiences, Harry knew that she’d erupt in anger sooner or later. Probably sooner, he figured. “So what happened then?” he pressed. “Did he do experiments?”
Istvan nodded. In a hushed voice, continued his tale. “I didn’t know what would happen to me. I was given pills to help with pain, so my mind is dreamy. I sign paper. Grushenko said no worry. We will help you. The next day they come in and give me... what you say?” He mimed the action of someone giving him a needle.
“They gave you a shot to put you to sleep,” said Anastasia, her eyes glowing with anger. Then she did erupt, slashing the side of the sofa with her claws open and tearing a gash in it. Stuffing poured out onto the floor. “It was the experiments, always the experiments.”
Istvan stared at her claws with fright in his eyes. Anastasia caught the look. “Don’t worry,” she said as her voice got deeper but stayed under control. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at what they did to you, me and everyone else.”
“Cool it for now,” Harry cautioned. He tapped Istvan on the shoulder. “Tell us what you remember.”
The little pig-man gulped. “They gave me shot, yes, they did that. I got... shot... and before I sleep, I heard them say Gemenc.”
“Where’s that?”
“It is Gemenc forest,” answered Istvan. “It is in southern Hungary between Baja and Szekszard.” He spelled the names, pronouncing each letter carefully.
Harry went over to the computer and opened it. His DNA-decoding program was still running, so he checked on the name that Istvan mentioned and typed it in. Seconds later, a map flashed on the screen. “Is this it?” he asked, waving Istvan over.
Istvan trundled over on all fours and his eyes grew round when he looked at the map. He stood up on his hind legs and began to jump with excitement. Pointing to a particular spot with his hoof, he said, “Yes, that is the forest. I remember my parents took me there when I was seven. It is a big place, part of a national park. It has many animals and insects. Grushenko did his experiments there.”
Anastasia came over to check things out. Staring at the map, she began to shake her head. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but how could they get away without being seen?”
Istvan’s eyes glazed over and his voice became a monotone. “I remember... I remember being carried down steps. It was very dark.”
An underground laboratory, hidden in the woods, Harry thought. Nurmelev, the scientist who’d experimented on Anastasia, had built a hidden laboratory in the Catskills not far from their cabin. If the builders had been as careful as Nurmelev was, then no one would bother looking for it and no one would care.
“Two men carried me,” Istvan said. “They wore uniforms. I did not know if they were doctors or soldiers, but a doctor would not beat me.”
Guess again, Harry thought. “So what happened?” he asked.
“The men in uniforms beat me first, hit me very hard and hurt me,” said Istvan and his voice trembled. “Then Grushenko gave me many drugs. He said that they would change me, improve me and give hope to the world. I remember lying on a table, strapped down.”
Anastasia gave a snort of disgust and took a step back, arms folded across her chest. “Let me guess, they strapped you down, didn’t let you answer nature’s call and tried to wipe your memory.”
Confusion reigned on Istvan’s face. “What does nature’s call mean?” he asked.
“Going to the bathroom,” Harry whispered.
“Oh.”
Istvan’s pink face turned even pinker, perhaps out of embarrassment or shame. Thinking about it, Harry figured that it was probably both.
The little pig-man cleared his throat noisily. “Yes,” he finally said and his voice became choked with the pain of remembrance. “I lay in my filth and stank like pig and became one. I always remember, though. I always remember. Grushenko said he wanted me to think about what I was becoming.” He blinked as if remembering something else. “The doctor also had a kind of tube he used.”
Istvan threw up a series of gestures with his hooves. Clumsy as they were, they clearly meant one thing. Grushenko had used the Genesis Chamber. “So they turned you into, er, what you are?” Harry asked.
“Yes.” This time, tears ran in rivers from the little man’s eyes down his moon-shaped face. “Yes, they made me this. There were others, too. Maybe thirty or more, I do not know for sure.”
“How’d you get out?” Anastasia asked.
Istvan remained silent, his tongue working overtime around his thin lips. When he spoke again, his voice came out with anguish lacing every word. “In that place, I heard stories of one person in America. She escaped and came here.” He looked at Anastasia. “It was you.”
“Me?” asked Anastasia. Her eyes grew round with astonishment. “How did they know?”
A shrug came from his narrow shoulders. “I do not know, but the other prisoners, once we were changed, the guards put us in separate prison rooms and sometimes talked to each other. A guard told one of them and,” he shrugged again, “if one knows, then all know.”
Istvan’s story continued. The experiments continued and used all sorts of animal/human combinations. Pigs, elk, falcons’ DNA and more were combined with that of humans. Each time, the Genesis Chamber had been used. The results were startling in all cases, successes in some and too horrific for words in others. Many died, but many lived.
“There was one who lived, a prisoner who called himself Szabo,” Istvan said. “I do not know his full name. He say he is Hungarian, like me. I do not know where he come, er, came from. I only know that he was large, very large and had hatred of everyone. He killed three guards before Grushenko changed him. He started fire one day in the complex, but Grushenko escaped. So did some of the other changed people. I ran when fire started, heard about commercial plane going to America and how you say, stowaway?”
He smiled for the first time, which revealed a set of small white teeth. “I was a stowaway and I come to New York. There, I do not know any people, but I know how to hide. I saw news on television, see about people like me and listen. Then I find you.” Gradually, his voice wound down and he sat on the floor, staring at the wall.
Harry sat back and considered all the details. The experiments were ongoing, in Hungary and Russia, if not elsewhere. This had to be the craziest thing going, yet it was all true and it was happening here and now. “So you found us here?”
Istvan scratched his head with his hoof. While he was still human looking for the most part, it seemed the kind of move an animal would make. “I have good sense of smell. That is all. I can smell odors from long way away. I have no strength and I cannot fly. But I can smell difference in people and animals. You are both and neither, like me. I know that smell.”
Their discussion got interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry opened up and a different agent stood there, a short, stocky black man with a face like a cement block. Istvan immediately scuttled over to Anastasia’s side and remained there, quivering in fear.
As for the agent, he gave Istvan a passing glance before switching his gaze to Harry. “We got in touch with Agent Farrell. He’ll be here in the morning. We’re going to keep watch over you tonight and no, you don’t have a say in this. Those are Farrell’s orders.”
Harry wanted to protest, but they had the guns and the authority. The taller agent came in, locked the door and put a chair beside it. He took a seat while his counterpart walked to the rear entrance to keep watch from the vantage point of the lone window. With a quick move, he took out his pistol, ejected the ammo clip to check it and then shoved it back in.
“I guess we’re stuck here for now,” Anastasia said with a note of resignation. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go to bed.”
She got off the couch and started to walk into the bedroom, but the taller agent’s voice interrupted her journey. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Over there,” Anastasia pointed at the bedroom. “I sleep in a bed, remember? I don’t curl up by the fire or on the window sill.”
Her caustic reply caused Harry to snicker. The agent was not amused. “Sorry, but it’s better to stay together. You don’t know what else is out there.”
“You mean the people you couldn’t catch?” she asked. This time Harry and Istvan burst out laughing.
The agent’s face turned red. “Yeah, the people we couldn’t catch. It’s for your protection.”
With a sigh and an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, Anastasia went over to the closet. It held a variety of linens, blankets and pillows. She took out three blankets. Returning to the couch, she tossed one at Istvan and the other at Harry. Without another word, she sat down, pulled the blanket over her and put her head down.
After wrapping himself up in the blanket, Istvan took a spot on the floor and soon passed out, snoring loudly. Anastasia, though, raised her head after he nodded off and whispered to Harry, “Something stinks here. Istvan found us too easily. I don’t trust him.”
Harry had to agree. “You think he’s a spy?”
“If he isn’t, you can call me Miss Kitty for the rest of the year,” she said and cracked a tiny smile.
“You are serious,” Harry answered, trying not to laugh. All the same, though, things were just a little too convenient. Cocking his head to one side, he strained his ears to catch any unusual sounds from outside, but heard nothing save the night insects and a few mice scratching their way over the ground.
“Let’s get some rest,” Anastasia said.
She leaned against him. Soon, he heard her quiet, rhythmical breathing. The rhythm of her breathing carried over to him and he began to nod off. A second before he did, he hoped that his girlfriend’s prediction wouldn’t turn out to be true.
“Hey, get up, we got company.”
Anastasia’s voice, urgent and hoarse, broke into Harry’s stay within the void known as sleep and he awoke, springing off the couch. “What kind of company?” he asked, noticing that her hair stood up on the nape of her neck. She began to growl, a low sound that reverberated across the room.
“The worst kind,” she answered and sniffed the air. “This one’s big, very big.”
In a flash, Harry thought about his dream. It seemed that his nightmare was about to manifest itself in reality. Both agents turned around at the warning with alarmed looks on their faces. “What is it?” asked the taller man.
“Something’s coming,” answered Harry, baring his claws. “Get ready.”
While Anastasia also bared her claws and settled into a fighting stance, the agents drew their weapons and took the safeties off. The taller agent stepped back from the door a few paces while the shorter agent kept watch at the rear window. “I got nothing,” the latter man said. “You see anything?”
“Nothing here,” the taller man said.
Istvan woke up suddenly and started to tremble. “I smell something. It is Szabo. He is here.”
Anastasia turned on him, hissing out, “You set us up!”
“No, no, I did not,” Istvan cried and scuttled over to hide in the corner near the shower area. “He knows about us, he knows!”
A loud growl that sounded like a bear crossed with a demon from hell sounded from outside. The growl quickly turned into a bellow that made the windows shake. Anastasia took two steps backwards and then whirled around to warn the agents. “I smell him, he’s coming through the front door!” she cried. “Get ready!”
Her warning wasn’t enough, though, as the door burst inward and a monster, right out of Harry’s dream, stood in the aperture. Clad in a pair of khaki-colored trousers and a ripped up lumberjack’s shirt, at roughly six and a half feet in height, it had the body of a bear, furry and hyper-muscular. However, the head resembled a shark’s, with a long snout, grayish-blue skin, and teeth that had to be at least three inches in length if not more.
And were those gills on his neck? They looked like gills, pulsating in and out. Massive hands ending in long claws completed the picture of a manufactured killing machine.
“Sweet Jesus,” the tall agent croaked out and got off three shots. They hit the bear-shark thing dead center in its chest. It would have killed any human, but this thing couldn’t be considered anything remotely human, and the bullets didn’t slow it down for a second. It lunged at the agent’s midriff, twisted its neck and fastened its jaws around his waist. With a sharp snapping sound of teeth meeting teeth, it bit him in half. The force of the bite was so powerful that the agent’s body exploded and blood and entrails showered everything and everyone in the room.
“Shoot him!” Harry yelled out.
The shorter agent took aim and blew six holes in the shark man’s torso. More blood sprayed out and he staggered, but didn’t go down. Instead, he let out another fearsome bellow and charged the man, picked him up in his massive arms and squeezed. A loud crack resounded through the room and the agent’s head lolled.
With a smile, the bear-shark tossed the corpse away and turned his head in Istvan’s direction. With a shock that wasn’t really a shock, the thing’s wounds healed in the blink of an eye.
“You, you little traitor, I thought that I would find you here, and I was right.” The monster’s accent sounded vaguely Russian... but not. Accent or no, every word carried menace and he swiveled his stare, empty and dead, to Harry. “My name is Szabo. Little men are nothing. You, you are next,” he said.
Szabo... the name wasn’t Russian, but Harry wasn’t concentrating on that at all. As the monster spoke, Harry froze as a sense of dread enveloped him. Throat suddenly dry, he swallowed and found that he had no saliva in his mouth. The old memories of him getting punked in grade school and junior high years back came through and rooted him to the floor. In situations like this, it was normal to be scared. His instincts told him to run, to find somewhere safe, but his mind told him to stay and face down his fear. Both ideas jockeyed for supremacy and he wasn’t sure which would win.
However, if he was scared, then Anastasia was the exact opposite, as she spread her arms wide and issued her challenge. “Come and get some,” she yelled.
With a shout of rage that shook the walls, Szabo charged, jaws wide open, and Harry’s instincts of self-defense kicked in. He jumped aside at the last second, but twisted around and stuck out his leg. Szabo tripped and sprawled on the floor. Anastasia seized that moment to leap onto his back and slashed away at his head. “You try to mess with us, this is what happens!” she cried.
The monster roared while his blood jetted into the air, but he didn’t seem to be seriously hurt. With a lightning-fast move, he rolled over while grabbing onto Anastasia’s tail and proceeded to toss her across the room.
The sight of his girlfriend being assaulted awoke Harry’s courage and he charged. “Take me on!” he screamed and lashed out with a right hook that actually staggered the man-shark.
“You hit back... good,” Szabo said, rubbing his snout. “Try again.”
Evading the first slashes, Harry bore in close. He used his own claws to rake Szabo’s face, all the while ducking and weaving in order to avoid the snapping jaws. His comeback continued until the monster clubbed him on the back of his head. Stars exploded in Harry’s field of view and shock paralyzed his system.
In a mocking voice, Szabo asked, “Is that the best that you can do?”
Harry felt the other man-thing lift him. A second later, the air rushed by and the window rushed forward. Sailing through it, he landed on the grass in a shower of glass and his own blood.
“Damn it,” he muttered. After getting to his feet, he unsteadily ran inside to find Anastasia still clawing and slashing at the enemy for all she was worth. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry joined in. Pain and rage helped fuel his assault and he cut and chopped at the much larger man-thing. Szabo replied with swipes of his own. Soon the air became thick with the smell of sweat, blood and fur.
“Enough of this,” Szabo growled and with a mighty backhand, knocked Anastasia against the far wall, where she collapsed in a heap. He turned around and grabbed Harry by the throat. The man-thing’s strength was incredible. Harry slashed the monster’s forearms, kicked and squirmed, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t break the hold.
“You are less than nothing.” Szabo smiled, and after practically crushing his larynx, tossed him to land on top of Anastasia. He then took off through the door and into the night with an astonishing burst of speed.
“You’d better get off me,” Anastasia said with a groan.
His body screaming with pain and his breath coming out painfully, Harry fell to the floor, trying to calm the hammering in his chest. That thing had scared the ever-loving hell out of him. Szabo was truly a nightmare come true. “Are you all right?” he rasped. That monster had almost crushed his throat. He could have—but didn’t.
She panted out, “I’ll make it, but this is really going to hurt in the morning.”
With another painful groan, she got to her feet and wended her way over to the couch, where she collapsed in a heap. Harry wearily took his place next to her, noticed that her body had already begun to heal and also noted the same thing happening to him. At the same time, though, he cursed himself for hesitating. Seconds counted, and he realized that hesitation could be costly.
Perhaps Anastasia sensed his uncertainty and fear and perhaps not. With a gentle, loving hand, she patted him on the shoulder. “You did fine,” she said, casting her gaze to the ground. “He’s... way too much for me.”
It was a rather astonishing admission on her part. She’d never backed down from any challenge before, never admitted defeat. Perhaps this was one adversary she couldn’t fight against... and Harry had to own up and say the same. “Yeah, he’s got the edge in strength, but not in speed. We have to work together. We can take him.”
Anastasia lifted her head and nodded. “Let’s figure that out another day.”
Her gaze then shifted from one of softness to one of steel when it locked on Istvan. He hadn’t moved from his position, but when he saw her face, he started to whimper once more and curled up into a ball. “Don’t you try that I’m afraid don’t hurt me crap on me,” Anastasia said.
She got off the sofa and with an iron hand, dragged him over to the couch. There she slung him onto the cushions like a student tossing his backpack down after a hard day at school. “We heard what Szabo told you. He called you a traitor. If you don’t want to end up like those two agents,” she pointed at their remains, “then you’d better start talking, and you’d better start now.”
Istvan gulped and nodded, fearfully looking around him. “I will tell you,” he said in the faintest of all voices, “but he will come back for me. He wants me. He wants this man,” he pointed to Harry, “and he wants to kill. I cannot fight him. I cannot win, and I cannot escape what I am.”
A second later, he dissolved into tears and his body shook uncontrollably. While he cried, Harry took one of the dead agent’s cellphones and dialed the number for FBI headquarters. A minute later, he hung up and turned to Istvan. “I just called the FBI. An agent—his name is Farrell—is going to be here as soon as he can. If you have anything to tell us, then you’d better start now. Stop crying, or else we’ll do this on our own and leave you—”
The threat got through to Istvan, for he stopped crying and got on his knees as if begging for mercy. “No, please do not leave me. I will tell you what I know.”
Anastasia crossed her arms over her chest in the manner of a detective during an interrogation. “Then start talking. We’ll listen.”