Chapter Fifteen

Getting It Back

 

 

 

At Kratka Ridge, Paul looked for a welcoming party and didn’t find one. He figured someone would try to attack him as he drove in, but no one showed. Parking the car a good three hundred meters away from the mountain base, he exited the vehicle and crept over to a clump of rocks, hiding and sniffing the air. He smelled nothing. His eyesight, now back to its usual superhuman level, searched every rock, bush and tree in the immediate area, but he saw no traps or soldiers or police lurking.

Approaching the mountain face, he walked over the lever, senses working overtime for the presence of the enemy, but detected nothing. Checking the camera setup, he saw that someone—or something—had smashed it. Good ol’ Sandstorm. It didn’t matter, though. Once the surveillance went out, they’d know he was coming anyway. He entered, and the only sound he heard was the echo of his footsteps as he descended the stairs.

At the bottom lay the training ground. It was empty, but Paul remained on the alert for Peterson’s minions. Still, as he crept along, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. The facility seemed defenseless, as he found no laser guard beams, no cameras and no motion detectors. It was as if Peterson was deliberately letting him walk in.

And really, why shouldn’t Peterson feel secure? The lab was practically a fortress. The walls were fireproof. So he didn’t have to worry…much.

However, there was one thing the doctor hadn’t counted on. He hadn’t counted on someone who wanted to set things right. And Paul knew that the doctor’s arrogance would make him careless.

Venturing farther along the corridor, his feet making soft, padding noises, Paul’s senses went into overdrive for any sound, any smell, anything that would give the enemy away. His heart thumped wildly, but after taking a few deep and quiet breaths, it settled down, and he continued on.

The smell tipped him off. Evil and noxious, it hit him right between the nasal orifices, the aroma of a hundred burritos combined with twice as many cow pies. A wall of evil-smelling dirt suddenly rose up in front of him. “Mudslide,” Paul said, backing off.

The cow patty had gotten bigger, way bigger than he’d remembered. “You’ve grown,” said Paul, stating the obvious as he assessed his chances. Right now, they didn’t look too good.

“It comes from good eating and exercise,” Mudslide responded and expanded his mass to throw up a wall.

Paul tried to push through it, but found it impenetrable. Seconds later, a very muscular arm formed out of the mud and shoved him back. “Hey pal, where you going?” asked Mudslide, forming his body into a roughly human shape. A slash of a grin emerged from his face. “Seems we got us a party goin’ on, and you ain’t been invited.”

There was a time and a place for everything. This was not the time or the place, and Mudslide lashed out with his fist. It wasn’t soft mud. It felt like cement. The blow caught Paul and sent him flying across the room and into a work table filled with bottles and beakers of chemicals and other instruments.

As he fell to the floor, many of the bottles bounced around him. Some shattered immediately, and he rolled out of the way, just in case they contained acid, while others hit and spun and remained undamaged.

The blob flopped his way across the floor and asked, “Had enough? You really should know better. I ain’t whole yet, and I ain’t gotten the hang of how to move like you do, but I know I’m already twice as strong as you are and that I can’t be hurt. I’m mud, man, mud, just like swamp mud. Sticky and soft, and that’s just the thing to smother you with.”

Swamp mud… He’s got the same chemicals in him as swamp mud. Paul remembered how the mud bomb had shied back from Hija, and now he knew why. Searching along the floor among the fallen bottles and instruments, he found a quick-ignitor. Getting to his feet, he held out the weapon.

Predictably, Mudslide stopped in his tracks. He was strong, yes, but also incredibly stupid. “What are you doing?” he asked, and a note of fear entered his voice.

“You said it yourself,” Paul answered. He flicked the switch and a flame leapt out of the ignitor. “You’re made of mud, and the stink you’re putting out smells like phosphorus. Answer me this… What happens when it’s lit?”

Immediately, Mudslide began to shamble backward, putting his hands up to ward off the possibility of an attack. Apparently, he wasn’t so stupid as to not realize the imminent danger he was in. “Hey pal, I didn’t do nothin’ wrong. You hear me on this? I’m just lookin’ out for my own.” A second later, his voice took on a note of desperation, coupled with fear. “They’re the power now, you hear? They’re the power.”

“Guess who the off switch is?”

Paul tossed the flame at Mudslide’s feet. Immediately, fire engulfed the mud-man and he began to twist and howl, trying to put the fire out and not succeeding.

Sickened by what he’d done, but knowing it was the only way, Paul ran from the room and down to the next level. Searching room by room, they were all empty, save the last. Inside, Catherine waited, arms folded across her chest. “Nice of you to drop in,” she rasped. “Shall I assume Mudslide wasn’t up to the task? Was he happy to see you?”

“He’s all aglow,” responded Paul, and for a moment he wished he could have come up with something far cleverer or pithier. Then again, cleverness and pith were not needed here. He was ready, though, to kick the pith out of anyone who stood in his way. “Are you going to move or what?”

Catherine sighed and an expression of boredom crossed her face. “You are really too predictable. I was going to offer you a chance at a real woman, just in case you were going to give up that other tramp.” The bored look on her face abruptly vanished, replaced by a sneer. “You’re not, are you? I’m all woman, and you need a real woman at your side.”

“I think I’ll stick with the real woman I’ve got and not a sagging hag,” Paul replied and didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “Where is Angela, and where are the rest of my friends?”

His response earned him a hiss, and it sounded like a cross between an angry cat and steam escaping from a valve. “If you’re talking about the water dude,” Catherine said, “he’s in a glass container one floor below. We don’t have the sandman. Not yet.” A smirk formed on her gash of a mouth. “But we will. And as for your girlfriend, she’s on the bottom level, chained up, and you’ll have to get through me to get to her.” As if issuing a challenge, she spread her arms wide. Her claws came out, wicked and sharp.

Immediately, Paul fell into a defensive stance, weaving his fists in front of him. Catherine was fast, but in a room this size with a low ceiling, she wouldn’t be able to fly. Hand to hand… He could take her. At least, he thought he could.

With a swift, slashing movement, she scored the first blow, lashing out with an open hand that caught him across his face, slicing his cheek open. A shaft of pain lanced through him and blood poured out, but he ignored it and covered up, blocking her shots. “Come on, Vampira,” he taunted.

With a scream, she lunged forward, throwing punches and emitting a horrible hissing sound. The hissing soon transitioned into sounds of frustration when she couldn’t penetrate his defenses. Paul sensed her frustration was growing as her punches got wilder, as well as weaker.

“Is that all you got?”

His jibe had some effect, as Catherine let out of cry of pure rage. “I will kill you!” She charged forward, claws slashing wildly. Her mouth, horrid and empty, set him off, and when she came in to finish the job, he caught her with a sharp, snapping right that rocked her back on her heels. Before she could recover, he tackled her and knocked her cold with a powerful left hook, his best punch.

“Thanks for the directions,” he panted and tore out the door.

A sudden blast of heat scored his back. Twisting to the side to avoid getting seared, he turned around. Hija stood ten feet away, and the walking flamethrower had his hands set to high. “Getting too hot for you?” asked the human flame in a most mocking manner. “You ought to cool down.”

There was no way for Paul to escape, so he ran to the end of the hall, through the door, slammed it shut behind him and locked it. It occurred to him that he was being herded to the bottom. He’d seen an old martial-arts movie where the hero had to fight his way through a series of opponents to get to the big boss at the top of the building, and this scenario was following that movie almost to the letter. The only difference was this passage led straight down. Getting back up again might prove to be the biggest problem of all.

Putting his back against the wall to catch his breath, he felt it grow warm, then hot, and then hotter still. A second later it began to melt. “Great,” Paul panted as the heat turned the door white hot, and the air grew heavy. “I didn’t think he could go through metal that thick.”

Apparently Hija could, as a large hole formed in the center of the door and the steel began to run like candle wax. A moment later, Hija poked his head through the hole and asked gleefully, “Guess who?”

“I don’t want to know,” Paul muttered. There wasn’t much time left, and checking for the whereabouts of his friend, he spotted a tank full of water in the corner and ran over. “Ooze, are you in there?”

A bubbling, burbling voice emerged. “Where else would I be? Get me out of here!”

“Hang on!”

Paul reared back and punched the glass, cracking it on the first blow. His second punch shattered it, and Ooze poured out onto the floor. “Thanks, bud,” he said.

There was no time to look for a containment suit as Hija entered the room, flames licking at his hands. “You really are faster than I expected,” he said with a note of admiration. “I wonder what you taste like charbroiled?”

Paul started to back up, but with four walls and only one exit, there was nowhere else to go. Spotting a fire extinguisher, he grabbed it, but a flame blast forced him to drop it and he retreated. Hija picked it up and cradled it in his hands. A smirk formed on his face.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” he asked before spraying its contents all over the floor. Canister empty, he tossed it away, and didn’t notice the pool of water creeping over to it. Flames on, he set his stance. “Get ready for the storm, pal.”

“I wonder how you taste all soggy,” a voice from the floor said.

A second later, Ooze sprayed his essence over Hija’s hands, extinguishing the flames. Surprise formed on the man’s face, only to be replaced a second later by a look of supreme confidence bordering on arrogance. A mocking tone entered his voice. “You think that can stop me? I’m a walking furnace!”

“Guess what kind of liquid you just sprayed on me, pal,” Ooze said and rose up to cover his hands. “That’s fire retardant, you moron, and it tastes worse than the sewer. And here’s a little basic science. Fire needs air.”

Hija’s eyes widened, and he started to back away. “You’re bluffing.”

“Let’s douse that fire,” Ooze responded and instantly he formed a bubble over Hija’s body, cutting off the oxygen.

The flamethrower tried—he certainly did—and his body started to heat up, but soon he began to shake, and his body spasmed in the no-air environment. He poked his head outside to gasp, and Paul greeted him with a left hook that took him out of the equation.

Immediately, Ooze backed off and a stream of water poured from his left side to spill out onto the floor, while the rest of him flowed into another empty tank. “That was fun—not,” he opined. “I’m happy being just water. Hang on, and let me find my suit.”

In a swift move, he moved over to the closets and after flowing in and out of them, said “Ah,” after the third one. He disappeared inside and came out wearing a containment suit. “That’s a whole lot better.”

Seeing as how things on this end were okay, Paul took a second to catch his breath and started for the door. “Hey,” called out Ooze. “You want me to come with you?”

Shaking his head, Paul stepped outside. “No, get to the van and get back to our old house. I’ll bring back the others. Go on, and watch out for dragon-lady. She might have woken up.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and tore off down the passage and to the stairs. Making his way to the bottom, he found the right room all right—and found Angela chained to a pillar with electricity dancing over her body. Mason and Peterson were sitting there, watching. Angela stirred and weakly nodded.

In the corner sat another fully built chamber, this one larger than the originals. A glowing light indicated it was in operation. This had to stop and had to stop now. “Hey,” Paul called out. “Turn off the juice.”

Peterson turned around with a wide grin on his face. “You made it. Good show. I’m glad you’re here.”

Stopping a healthy distance away, Paul observed that the scientist had changed even more. He’d become more bestial looking with a flatter nose. A thicker brown coat of hair covered his face, and were those tiny horns growing out of his head?

They were. That was why Masters had used the delay tactics. The mad scientist needed time for his meds to kick in. Holy God, he actually went and did it. Swallowing his horror at the sight, he asked, “What did you do?”

Peterson blinked then offered a shrug. “Oh, you mean my improvements,” he said and pointed to the horns on his head. “I like to think of it altering the course of Mother Nature. I’ve managed to combine some of the best traits of everyone here and some others Bolson thought of.”

He walked over to the chamber and patted it with a loving hand. “I can’t fly, and that’s something Bolson never left behind, but I’ve got other gifts. I’m already stronger than everyone in this room put together, just about as fast and I can’t be put down. So really, you might as well give up before you get hurt—and you will get hurt.”

“Let her go,” Paul said. “It’s me you want, isn’t it? If you’re going to become what you want, you don’t need her.”

While the scientist walked over to the chamber in the corner, Mason cracked his knuckles. A loud, popping sound of synovial fluid moving through oversized joints resounded throughout the room. “Even though I’m sort of going to agree with our friend over there,” he said, “he really doesn’t understand the situation.”

Peterson waved his hand for quiet, and the large wolf-man settled down. He did take off his tie, however, and rolled his neck around, as if loosening up. Unconsciously, Paul performed the same gesture. This would not end well, but if it had to, better it end here and now.

“It’s obvious he doesn’t,” the scientist said and turned to Paul. “I’m going to answer your question, son, with one of my own. Why in the world would I let her go? I’m going to be a god. I have the most powerful member of the original cast here at my disposal. I have you and your watery friend here as well.”

“Guess again,” Paul said.

Peterson’s eyebrows arched. It was the first time he’d ever shown surprise. “He’s gone?”

“You catch on fast. Mudslide’s a crisp now, Hija’s out cold, and Mason’s girlfriend is out cold, too. So let Angela go. You want me, and your little boy wants me, too,” he added, nodding at Mason, who by now was gnashing his teeth. He started forward, hands curled into fists and only stopped when Peterson put up his hand again.

“No, that’s not what I really want,” the doctor replied with a bored air. “I’ve decided I don’t want you after all. You’re an annoyance. Your girlfriend is as well. You had to go and do the right thing, and our friends in higher places don’t want to deal with any potential problems. I don’t, either, for that matter. That’s why I’ve decided to become what I’m becoming…and why I’ve decided to kill you.”

He turned to Mason. “Take him. Do it slowly. I’ll watch this and make notes for future reference.”

With a grin, the large man took off his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a massive, hairy torso. His arms and shoulders were clotted with muscle, and he put his hands up and wiggled them to show he wasn’t carrying any hidden weapons. As had been the case previously, Paul did the same, and found the whole thing highly ironic. Gentlemen boxers about to duke it out, only the person he was facing was no gentleman.

Mason rolled his shoulders as they stalked each other. “I could take you conventionally or with my claws,” he said. “I’ve also got fangs, like you. I could do it fast, but my boss said to do it slow, so if you want to say goodbye to your girlfriend, do it now.”

A pang over fear went through Paul’s heart, but seeing his girlfriend chained up and tortured, along with his friend, gave him all the courage he needed. “Angela, are you going to make it?”

She picked her head up long enough to yell, “Get him!”

Her cry spurred Paul to go on the offensive immediately, striking fast and hard against his larger, but slower, opponent. They exchanged blows, and at first it looked as though the combatants were evenly matched.

The man was monstrously strong, and although Paul occasionally got through with a shot that made his opponent grunt, he couldn’t put him down. He whipped left hooks and right crosses that found the mark time and again, but the other man replied with body-battering blows that made Paul feel as if his ribs were being caved in. He was game, but losing.

Still, he kept fighting, and after a left hook managed to find Mason’s ear, the larger man stepped back out of range and nodded, not breathing very hard at all. “Hey, you’re good,” he said, as he rubbed the sore spot. “I see whipping your butt in our first training session worked.”

“Not the way I remember it going down,” Paul ground out through gritted teeth. “Here’s where it ends.”

Mason smiled, revealing bloody teeth, and tried his own form of attack, which meant lunging forward and biting into Paul’s shoulder, grinding down as far and as hard as he could. Paul screamed from the pain, but did the same and sank his fangs into the base of Mason’s neck, right on the trapezoid area. It was like biting into a tree, hard and full of gristle, but desperation fueled the fight, and Mason yelled and backed off, bleeding profusely. The wound, though, while damaging, was not fatal.

Moving out of range, he put his hand up to the torn area then smiled. In less than three seconds, the gaping hole in his deltoid area began to close, and shortly after, it was gone. “You’ll have to do better than that,” Mason said. “I can’t be killed by a little bite.”

If biting didn’t work, then shock treatment was in order. “Light ‘em up,” Paul muttered, and with a sudden surge of strength fueled by desperation, he charged forward, grabbed his opponent in a bear hug, and forced him toward the pillar where Angela was.

Mason twisted his neck around, and, as if realizing the danger, he started hammering away, trying to get free. “Stop it, man. Stop it,” he cried.

Paul felt the blows and something in his back tore, but he kept going, ignored the pain, and rammed his opponent into the pillar. The charge of electricity tore through him like a tornado, but he held on and heard the screams, heard the crackle of electricity, and he smelled burning flesh. Flickering lights told him the power had cut off, and a second later Angela called out, “Stop!”

Letting go of his quarry, Mason slumped to the ground, most of his face burned away and the right side of his body half-melted. There was no way in the world he’d be able to regenerate from such serious damage. Paul grabbed onto the chains and yanked. They came loose, and Angela slumped to the floor. “Thanks,” she said and got up, shaking her arms and legs. “Are you going to make it?”

“I’m fine,” he stated and pointed at the chamber where the scientist was looking on with a shocked expression. “We’ve got another problem.”

Peterson shook his head and stepped backward into the chamber. The door slid shut and it began to glow as a fine mist covered the glass, obscuring anyone from seeing what was happening.

“Kill the power!” Angela cried, and Paul ran to the control panel and smashed it. Sparks flew upward and he stepped back to wait and see what would happen. Seconds passed and a light began to glow from the chamber. It still seemed operational, and a lone figure remained. It was Peterson—and not.

“This chamber has its own power source,” the doctor said in a hoarse voice. “You wanted to see what science could do, Wiseman, didn’t you? Take a good look, as this is the last thing you’ll ever see.”

Facing Paul was something only a fantasy writer could have dreamed up. At nearly eight feet in height and more than half as wide, Peterson had the body of a bear, hair included, coarse and black. His head resembled a hammerhead shark’s and his legs—multiple ones—looked like that of an octopus. Topping it off were six-inch horns on his head and massive arms that ended in rough and craggy fingers, thick and designed to rip things open.

“Holy crap,” Paul muttered.

“Not holy at all,” Peterson replied in a voice that sounded as if it came from the lower depths. “Meet the new me.”

With a bellow of rage, he charged and slashed at Paul, who evaded the first rush. Angela went all kung fu on him, throwing kicks and chops, but he batted her strikes aside with a bored expression on his bestial face. Grabbing her and lifting her over his head with ease, he tossed her to the far end of the room, where she landed with a loud crash.

Paul stood there, open-mouthed, watching the action go down. Great, are we going to be able to take this guy?

He thought too soon, as a shadow brushed by him. It was Catherine, hissing and with her claws out.

Angela got to her feet and took her on, returning each shot with two of her own. “Take him!” she yelled. “I’ve got this!”

Peterson waited with a curious smile on his face. It seemed as if he was content to let things be, but Paul knew that he could never allow the thing in front of him to leave. “You can give up now,” he said to the doctor.

The monstrosity laughed. “And who’s going to take me in, you? You can’t beat me. You and your girlfriend tried. I swatted you down like insects!” He beat his massive chest with an equally massive fist. “I can’t be beaten—not by you and not by anyone else. I’m science incarnate, strength incarnate, and there’s no one to stop me!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that a god complex was at work here, but he didn’t have time to get philosophical. “Where are you going to go?” Paul asked. “Looking like you do, where are you going to go?”

Peterson stopped ranting and his mouth worked busily, but no words came out. Casting a look down at his body, he dropped his arms as if suddenly realizing what he’d been turned into. A moment later, though, he curled his hands into fists. “Gods don’t have to be with others. Once I kill you and your friends, I’ll find my own place.”

He started forward, but a sudden flurry of dirt buzzed about his head like a swarm of angry bees. “What’s this?”

“Meet my friend, Sandstorm,” Paul said. “Your guys got the glue out of him, remember?”

The hail of grains continued then intensified. Peterson struck out wildly, but he couldn’t fight sand, and Paul joined in throwing punch after punch. He alternated his strikes with kicks, and together he and Sandstorm forced the monster back to the chamber. Dazed and confused by the onslaught, Peterson steadily gave up ground. With a final punch, Paul hammered him inside and slammed the door shut.

It wouldn’t take him long to recover, so stepping over to the control panel, Paul studied it and found what he was looking for. “Hey doctor,” he called out, “what happens if you go through the transformation twice?”

Peterson beat on the wall. “No!” he cried. “Don’t do it!”

His plea for mercy was too late, as Paul turned on the power to its maximum level and stepped back. The chamber began to shake, and smoke began to come from its base.

“Kill you, kill you!” a voice hissed, and swiveling around, Paul caught sight of Angela caught in a chokehold by Catherine. “I’ll kill you,” the larger woman was saying. “You can’t beat me.”

“Guess again,” Angela grunted. Twisting out the other woman’s grasp, she flipped over top of her head, sank her fangs into Catherine’s neck, and with a muffled scream of fury, tore her opponent’s throat out. Blood spewed in a geyser and the larger vampire woman collapsed.

Angela spit blood from her mouth. “She wasn’t my type, either.”

Peterson continued to hammer on the chamber’s doors. “Let me out!” he screamed.

Letting him free was definitely out of the question. In any event, it was too late, as the chamber started to burn from the inside, and the screams turned to shrill cries of agony. “Time to leave, boyfriend,” Angela said, and grabbed Paul’s arm. She tugged on it and they ran to the exit, with Sandstorm bringing up the rear.

Taking the stairs two at a time, they passed the rooms where Hija and Mudslide should have been—but saw neither of them. No time to search, though, and the heat grew more intense. “Out the front,” Angela said.

Since there was no time to search for the lever to open the stone wall, Paul simply smashed through the rock, and they ran into the night just as the laboratory exploded. Together, they stood and watched the facility burn. Ooze drove up in the van. “Hey, did I miss anything?” he asked.

Paul, tired and aching from the beating he’d taken, shook his head. “No, it’s all good here.” He took Angela’s hand in his, and she offered a weary smile. “Let’s go home.”