Havoc (12 page)

“Okay,” I whispered. “Crouch down and face the fence. Follow my lead.”

He did so. “Ready for you,” he said.

I took a few steps back from him, then ran forward, jumped up, and landed on his shoulders, straddling his head. Unprepared, he almost tumbled forward and dropped me. I grabbed onto his stubbly head and held myself steady.

“What the hell?” he said. “I thought you were gonna use me like a jump-off point.”

“No, we're going full cheerleader,” I said. “Stand up. And you'd better not drop me.”

Dalton wrapped his arms around my legs and his chest, then easily rose to stand at his full height. I held on to his head and looked up, judging the distance between me and the row of curled wire.

“All right,” I said. “We're going to put your giant guns to work. I want you to grab me by the underside of my feet, then when I say go, shove me upward. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am!”

I raised my arms and leaned forward in a sort of crouched position, carefully keeping my balance while Dalton took hold of my feet and began to lift me up. His biceps and shoulders tensed, tightening beneath his shirt.

“Ready, on three,” I said.

“Three!” Dalton shouted. And he threw me upward.

The sudden shove off startled me, but I reacted instinctively. Pushing off with my feet right before he let go of my sneakers, I flew up in the air. I pulled my knees up to my chest as I passed over the barbed wire—and then braced myself to land neatly, quietly, on the asphalt on the other side.

I was in.

“So,” Dalton said behind me. “How do I get in?”

Snap. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Not that I was going to admit that to Dalton.

“Here, follow me,” I said.

I ran along the fence, Dalton on the other side, my finger grazing the metal wire and looking for a weakness. We reached the back of the fence, but as far as I could see: nothing.

“Hey,” Dalton grunted. “Wait. Let me try something.”

I stood back and crossed my arms. In the pale glow from a nearby floodlight, Dalton went up to the fence, gripped it with both hands, and began to pull it apart. His biceps threatened to burst from his shirt, and his neck was so tight I was certain that his head might pop off. Clenching his teeth, he yanked as hard as he could—and the wire fencing snapped apart in a line down the middle, like someone unzipping a zipper.

Dalton ducked through, smirking at me. “Told you I was strong.” He flexed forward in a parody of a bodybuilder—at least, I hoped it was a parody. I patted him on his stubbly head.

“Good boy. Now let's keep moving.”

We stalked up to the back of the building, then began to follow it, searching for some sort of rear access door. I didn't want to bust a window and set off an alarm, or kick open a door and do the same. I thought back to the movies I always watched as Daytime, and they told me: the roof.

“Look for a way to the roof,” I whispered to Dalton.

He nodded, then pointed. “There,” he said. “There's an access ladder.”

I followed his finger and made it out in the shadows, just above us. This one was easy: It was no higher than the sill of my bedroom window, and I jumped into that all the time. I leaped up, gripped the bottom rung, then dug the soles of my sneakers into the craggy brick wall to climb up. Once I was high enough up, Dalton did the same.

I hefted myself up and onto the roof, then settled into a crouch to scan the area. It was straight out of any action-movie roof you've seen, with boxy metal structures and vents for the air-conditioning and circulation system.

I crouch-walked forward, the gravelly rooftop crunching beneath my sneakers, and peered over the edge of one of the vents.

In the center of the roof was an access door. It was sturdier-looking than I'd expected—no rusted hinges or easily busted chains here. A fluorescent light was attached to the wall above the door, lighting it up, and just as with the front gates, a security camera kept a watchful eye. Next to the door handle was an access panel, what looked to be a glass screen embedded in a steel frame. A blue light blinked above it.

Dalton crouched beside me, bouncing from foot to foot. “This is awesome,” he whispered. “Busting into the enemy fortress.”

“Not so boring, after all,” I said. “Looks like the door to get in is pretty heavily protected.”

Dalton snorted. “I can bust that camera off and smash that panel in. Who's gonna stop us?”

I tilted my head, considered. It was as good a plan as I had.

The door beeped, the sound echoing across the roof. I held up a finger, hushing Dalton. The door squealed and creaked as someone shoved it open from the inside.

A man appeared from the dark depths behind the door. He was dressed in a navy blue uniform that was halfway between police issue and military standard. A bulletproof vest covered his chest, and a rifle hung from his shoulder.

An identically dressed, similarly built man followed him out. They nodded to each other, and one placed his palm on the panel. The light blinked green, the panel beeped once more, and the door slammed shut. The two men—guards, apparently—began to walk around the perimeter of the roof.

“Armed guards at an innocuous bioengineering firm in the middle of Skopamish,” I whispered. “Yeah, nothing secret being kept here.”

“My father is full of crap,” Dalton growled.

“Apparently.”

Dalton didn't seem to hear me, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “I say we take them down, you go left and I go right. We knock 'em out and drag them to the door and use their hand to get us in.”

I watched the man who'd gone to my left. He looked out over the parking lot, his shoulder slouched, his expression bored.

I grinned at Dalton. “Sounds like a plan. Let's go.”

He nodded, then crawled on all fours to our right, toward the back end of the building where the other guy was wandering. I snuck to the left, crouched behind the convenient air vents, carefully taking each step so that I made no noise. I breathed in calmly, evenly, focused on my prey.

Prey? Ha. I could sense her, then, in the back of my head, speaking to me—Werewolf Emily. But her thoughts didn't speak to me in words, like Daytime had the night before. Werewolf's thoughts were flashes of images of her—me—skulking through underbrush. They were memories of smells, to differentiate between the scent of fear and the scent of wariness. They were ingrained memories of how to position myself depending on which way the wind was blowing.

They were also incredibly useful.

Sick.

I made it to the last vent duct between me and the guard. He hadn't moved from his spot, though now he was looking up at the stars. He wasn't a big guy, but his vest, his gear, made him appear bulky. My ears picked up the sound of his breathing, slow and steady, with a slight whistle every now and again through one of his nostrils.

He sensed nothing.

I placed the tips of my fingers on the ground, putting myself in a position like an Olympic runner at the start of a track. I tensed, about to race forward.

And behind me, Dalton roared. The other guard shouted in surprise. There was a clatter as his gun fell to the roof.

Then a thud as Dalton tackled him to the ground.

My guard jerked to attention, fumbled for his gun. He spun around and saw the commotion. “Holy hell, what the—”

He raised his rifle and began to hoof it toward his coworker.

So much for stealth.

I shoved myself off and raced forward, a dashing shadow. My guard saw me a split second before I was in front of him, but it was too late for him to react. I leaped up, grabbing his arms and shoving the gun to face the night sky. He struggled to fire, but his finger slipped off the trigger. And I was too strong for him to wrench the gun free.

Behind me I heard sick, wet thuds as fists hit flesh. I ignored it, focused on my guy. His eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. Hot breath washed over me. He looked like a scared child.

With a shout, I yanked his arms to the side. The gun fell from his hands and landed at our feet. Not wasting a moment, I placed a hand on his shoulder and propelled myself so that I was spinning around him, piggybacking him with my legs around his chest, my right arm grasping him around his neck. I tensed my arm against his throat, squeezing as hard as I could, cutting off his air. His gloved fingers clawed uselessly at the sleeve of my turtleneck as he stumbled back and forth, whipping and jerking his body to try and fling me off.

“Don't worry,” I whispered in his ear. “Just go to sleep for a bit. That's a good boy.”

After a few moments of this, he fell to his knees, his jerks becoming slow and sluggish. Finally, he went slack in my arms, and I let go of his throat, plopped my feet firm on the ground, and grabbed his shoulders to guide him to lie gently on his back. I crouched next to his prone form and held my hand over his lips and nose. Hot air seeped out, and he sucked cool air in. He was still alive.

I felt exhilarated. Of course I'd known I could take down a man solo; I'd done it before. But this was all so stealthy and hard-core. All those years watching action movies had paid off.

“Thanks, Daytime,” I muttered as I stood back up.

And realized that the fleshy thuds of fists against skin were still echoing across the rooftop. I snapped to attention and saw Dalton straddling his guard's chest. He raised a fist and pounded down against the man's face. Then hefted his arm back to do it again.

Blood glistened from his knuckles. His eyes were wide and laser focused. His smile was unfaltering, tight-jawed, crazed.

I ran across the roof, pumping my arms and racing as fast as I could. I leaped over a duct and skidded to a stop as I neared Dalton and his fallen guard.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “He's down!”

The guard's face was unrecognizable. His cheeks and eyes were swelling, turning purple. Blood leaked from cuts on his forehead and his lips, seeped from a nose that looked as though it had been caved in. The man was clearly unconscious, his breaths strained and ragged.

Dalton ignored me and raised his fist back to smash the man's face in even more. I jumped forward and grabbed his arm, strength fighting strength as he attempted to slam down. “Stop!” I shouted.

“Get off!” Dalton's head snapped to the side, and he snarled up at me.

His features were moving, shifting.

The irises of his eyes faded from hazel to an unearthly yellow. His teeth were sharpening to points. His nose, his cheeks, were elongating, muscle and bone moving beneath flesh with sickening crunches and slurps. Flesh that was now sprouting a coat of brown-and-black fur.

I'd never seen someone else change into a werewolf before. It was impossible to look away from. The reality of it was so absurd that it felt instinctively like I should be telling myself, “Oh, Emily, it's just special effects. Yay, movie magic!” But this was real. Cells multiplying and mutating, transforming a person into a monster right in front of me.

My arm went slack, and Dalton took the opportunity to yank free from me. He leaped up to stand over the guard, his hands grasping at his shifting cheeks with fingers that were stretching longer and longer. His fingernails blackened like glass held over a flame as they became sharp, shredding claws.

He growled, and before I could make a move, he darted past me and raced to the back edge of the roof. He was at its edge for only a moment before he disappeared down the side of the building.

Great. He'd not only gone all madman, but now he was going to be on his own as a wolf, doing who knows what.

I spun to face the roof. I could see my guard stirring back awake. He'd find Dalton's guard, probably call an ambulance and the police.

Exploring BioZenith was out for the night, then. Instead, I turned and ran to the edge of the roof myself. I saw Dalton disappearing into the woods beyond the fence behind the BioZenith facility.

Looked like I had a wolf to catch.

Internal Document #3
The Vesper Company

“Envisioning the brightest stars, to lead our way.”

- Internal Document, Do Not Reproduce -

Details of Video Footage Recorded Oct. 31, 2010,

Part 3

21:03:44 PST—Control Room D1

Aux. footage picks up after a blackout of 1 minute and 22 seconds. Seven of the guards are down, confirmed to have been found unconscious from cutoff air supply and various head traumas.

Vesper 1(B) darts around one of the junior officers. She kicks the man in the back of the knee and forces him down. Then she picks up one of the fallen men's assault rifles by the barrel and swings it like a club, colliding with the back of the officer's head. He falls slack.

A note: Perhaps we should have protocol in place where the guards have ready access to tranquilizing ammunition in case they are ambushed before reaching our armory, as happened here.

While Vesper 1(B) takes down one guard, Vesper 2.1(A) lifts her fists and with them raises up another officer. She flings him across the room via telekinesis, where he smacks against a wall before tumbling to land slack atop another, similarly tossed guard.

From my count, only nine guards remained in the room. The tenth disappeared sometime during the camera blackout, which also affected the camera in Hallway 20, Sector D. We are investigating other footage to discover the identity of the man who ran. I recommend the coward be handled harshly.
Recommendation noted, but as before: facts only, please.—MH

Their work done, the two Deviants run to look at the various security feeds. Vesper 2.1(A) is visibly frustrated.

VESPER 2.1(A): I don't see him on any of these. He's not here.

VESPER 1(B): I know there's at least one more of us being kept here. Wait, look.

Vesper 1(B) points to a screen showing a feed of Detention Cell 7, Sublevel Sector D, the holding cell for Branch B's Vesper 4. The image does not show her, but the walls of the room are clearly visible. Printer paper has been taped in neat rows and columns all over the wall, on which someone—presumably Vesper 4—has drawn a window with flowered curtains, a door, potted plants, a bookshelf, and a desk, all in crayon. The figure of someone—again, presumably Vesper 4—appears briefly in frame from Vesper 1(B) and Vesper 2.1(A)'s respective points of view.