Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (21 page)

Harley

“What is your favorite color?” Amiel grinned up at him like a child in the candy store. Harley shook his head, the smile on his face making it hurt. He’d been smiling all night, with the little goofball throwing all sorts of crazy questions at him. She had dived right into the crazy, with questions like “which of your feet is bigger than the other”, and “if you had to choose between having three arms or a green nose, which would you choose?” Where did she come up with this stuff? He’d played along, simply enjoying the thrill it seemed to bring her. Her laugh rang through the alleyways, brightening the early morning hours. They’d been on patrol for two hours, been through three Rabid encounters and at least a hundred questions by this time.

To be fair, for every question he answered, she gave one of her own. For example, her right foot was bigger than the left, and she would choose to have a green nose because she was already clumsy enough with just two arms. He’d jokingly agreed, which earned him a swat, which in turn became another of their famous challenge brawls. He had to admit, he rather enjoyed those now.

“Blue’s my favorite color,” he replied. She was running out of crazy questions and reverting to some of the more normal ones, it would seem.

“Purple is my favorite. But I am rather fond of blue, too. Really deep, icy blues.”

He caught her staring up at him, and she quickly looked away with a blush. What was so embarrassing about liking blue? He waved the thought away. He was thinking into it too much, and girls were weird. That’s all there was to it.

“What is your favorite thing to eat?”

Harley opened his mouth, about to reply with “pancakes”, when a scent suddenly registered with his brain that made it go haywire. Before he could recognize the scent his instincts already knew, pain lanced through his back, up into his brain. Immediately, the immobilizing pain sent him to his knees, his teeth bared in an agonizing, silent scream. He knew this pain well: Foundation.

“Run, Amiel!” he gasped, trying to push her away when she fell to her knees at his side.

“Not so tough now, are you?” A man’s voice drifted toward them, and through the pain, Harley felt he should recognize it. A thud to his right signified the man’s dropping from above them on the roof. That explained how he’d managed to keep his scent masked from Harley this long. But now that he was close, the scent clicked in his mind. He knew the owner of the scent, and he wanted to strangle the guy… but he was helpless to do so. How had Duane come into possession of a Foundation watch?

Amiel gasped, recognizing the man just as Duane offered Harley his first kick to the gut. Harley growled, pushing to one elbow.

“Nope, can’t have that,” Duane mumbled, twisting the knob on the watch to up the pain by what Harley estimated to be two levels. Harley kicked outward, catching the guy off guard. But in his weakened state, he could do little more than trip him. Duane stumbled to the side, cursing as he upped the pain by another two. If he kept this rate of increase up, Harley would be dead in no time.

“Stop it!” Amiel screamed, as though reading his mind. “You’re killing him!”

Harley could feel her panic, her anger, along with her helplessness. He could see the war in her eyes, the sheer need to protect him battling with the sheer fear of confronting the monster that had nearly killed her twice now.

He wanted to reassure her, tell her she was stronger than she thought. To tell her that he wasn’t mad at her for not acting. But it was all Harley could do to stay conscious. If Hybrids had one weakness, it was the devices surgically implanted in their spines. None of them had learned to overcome the pain the way Charleen secretly had. They had come to the conclusion it was simply something in her pure DNA that protected her.

His thoughts drifted slightly before he forced them back on the present. He
had
to find a way to fight through it, or they were both dead. Amiel finally unfroze, reaching into her jacket for the gun, but Duane was ready.

He yanked a small, black box from his own jacket, and Harley’s heart sank when he realized it was a Taser. The barbs shot out across the distance, lodging in the skin of her chest. She hadn’t had her jacket zipped all the way up, and her suit only went so high. He’d made it that way so it was easier to wear under clothing without being noticed. Now he cursed that decision. Amiel fell to the ground, spasms rocking her body in much the same way his was. Duane sneered down at her, giving her a swift kick in the gut. Harley and his Hybrid alike screamed furiously in the recesses of his mind. Crouching down, Duane grabbed Amiel by the hair, yanking her upward.

“Why do girls always say that? ‘Stop it, you’re killing him’,” Duane mocked Amiel in a high-pitched voice. “Of course I’m killing him. That’s the point. I’m going to kill you, too.” He tossed her glasses on the ground. “Can’t have those getting in the way. I want to see the fear in your eyes tonight.” He dragged her with him toward Harley, arm wrapped tightly around her throat. Amiel’s eyes shifted toward him as the thug knelt over Harley.

“You: you are a pain in my ass. I’ve been dreaming of killing you for so long now. I just didn’t know how I’d accomplish it, until now. Until I found this little doodad.” The thug fiddled with the watch.

“I imagine you’re wondering where I got it.” Duane pulled Amiel closer, speaking in her ear like the creepy perv he was. “Did you know there’s a place called Foundation, some secret facility that creates freaks?” He chuckled, already knowing the answer to that. “Of course you did, you’re buddies with one of them. But I didn’t. No one does!” His eyes shifted back to Harley.

“You’re just a bunch of Halfer freaks that evolved from the Rabids, or some punk-ass gang of kids. That’s what everyone thinks. But none of it’s true. I was on the ‘evolved’ side of thought, until I decided to get drunk last night. And who do you think was my drinking neighbor, other than this dude with crazy gray eyes that works for a place called Foundation.” He shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Finally my luck turned around! We start talking about our shared hatred of Halfers, and he comes up with this crazy story.”

Harley jerked hard as a particularly painful bolt of electricity arced through his body. His eyes blurred, and blood and spit began drooling from his mouth. Duane took notice.

“Guess I better turn this down a bit. Don’t want you dying before I finish my story, do I?” 

The pain eased enough that Harley’s mind cleared around the edges. He didn’t let on just how much the pain had eased. He wanted Duane to have a false sense of security. He monitored the progression of the pain ebbing as his muscles loosened the slightest amount, just enough he could breathe. 

“So he says to me he’s some specialist at this facility that created the freaks, right? I just blew him off at first; he’s drunk, and drunk people make all kinds of claims that ain’t real.  But then he starts bragging about how his fancy little watch brings Halfers to their knees on a daily basis. I didn’t know if it was true, but if it was, I had my key to revenge. I started going through all these ideas on how to take him out to get the watch. Lucky for me, the bastard passed out on the bar right there and all I had to do was take the watch and leave. I didn’t even have to kill him.” He jerked Amiel closer to him when she squirmed, and she gasped in pain, fingers yanking at his arm to no avail.

“So I sat up there on that roof, thinking I’d be safe up there until I tested whether it was real or not. Sure enough, you come prancing along with your little girlfriend, just like I’ve seen you do all week. And to my surprise, the damned thing actually works! It’s kind of funny, don’t you think? The big bad Halfer, brought to his knees by a measly little piece of jewelry.”

Amiel choked out a scream when Duane swiftly plunged a knife into Harley’s thigh. Harley ground his teeth together, refusing to scream out at the pain. He tried to hold Amiel’s gaze, to assure her that it was okay, that he would find a way out. Instead, he found himself staring in wonder. She bared her teeth, eyes suddenly turning wild. The pupils dilated, and even the whites seemed to gray. Duane, thankfully, didn’t notice the transformation taking place under his arm. He was focused solely on shoving the blade into Harley’s shoulder next.

“Now we’re almost even. Hurts like hell, don’t it?” He grinned viciously. “We’ll do your face next. Then you just sit there real still and die for me while I kill your little girlfriend.” He snickered as he drew the blade down Harley’s cheek. “You know, I actually thought she was one of you? But since the watch didn’t affect her, obviously that isn’t the case. She’s just damned lucky.” He drew a deep breath of Amiel’s hair, leering. “But that luck is about to change.”

Duane moved to stand, but while he was at his weakest point in balance, Amiel kicked off of the ground, shoving backward with all her strength. Duane let out a curse, stumbling backward. Harley forced his muscles to move, his leg dragging forward to catch the back of Duane’s feet again.

The thug toppled over, taking Amiel with him. She dug her elbow in as they landed, the momentum of her fall pushing the bone deeper into his gut. A huff of air escaped the guy’s mouth, his grip around her neck loosening for only a moment. A moment was all she needed. Grasping his wrist, she spun, twisting his arm as she rolled. With his arm at an awkward angle, she shoved upward, yanking the arm clear from its socket.

As Duane screamed in agony, Amiel scuttled toward a broken chunk of concrete on the ground. She let out a scream of her own as she slammed that hunk of rock down over Duane’s face, knocking him somewhat senseless. She wasted no time ripping the watch from the Cutthroat’s wrist, then slamming the rock down on it over and over until it smashed into pieces, freeing Harley of its debilitating effects. Immediately his body relaxed, sensation flowing back to his limbs. He urged it to move faster as Duane rolled to his side in an effort to grab the gun that had apparently fallen from Amiel’s jacket during their fight.

Amiel moved instead. Straddling Duane, she brought the rock down on him over and over, screaming with each descent.  Duane kept trying to squirm away, to buck her off, yet somehow Amiel held tight. By the time Harley was able to drag himself to her side, she brought the rock down one more time, blood spraying her like some grotesque scene in a horror film.

Harley grabbed the back of her jacket, yanking her toward him. She turned on him, rock held high above her head, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought she would bring it down on him too. Her eyes blinked, recognition finally registering in that dark gaze. The rock tumbled from her fingers, and she stumbled toward the side of the alley, retching.

Harley rolled to his knees, sitting up to better survey the situation. With each passing second his strength returned, the gelatin of his bones turning hard once more. The Cutthroat groaned on the ground, rolling slightly back and forth in his pain.

Harley took stock of the man’s injuries; he’d seen enough in his lifetime to know death. And right now, the thug didn’t face it. Amiel had dislocated his arm, broken his nose, smashed out a few teeth, crushed an eye socket, perhaps fractured a collarbone, and given him bruises galore. But as it was, the thug would crawl out of this alley, survive, and come for them again.

As if to prove Harley’s reasoning, Duane’s fingers twitched toward Amiel’s gun once more. Harley kicked the gun out of reach, kneeling down at his side. He ignored the pain of the knife wounds, turned it off in his mind as he focused on the wretch before him.

“Who was it?”

The thug groaned in reply. Harley yanked him upward by the lapels of his jacket. “Who was it! Who did ya steal the watch from!”

“Darwin, or some stupid name,” Duane coughed out, blood and teeth oozing over his lips. Harley’s fists tightened. Darvey. He should have known the freak wouldn’t be happy to leave them alone. He was just trying to find someone else to do the dirty work for him. But how had he gotten ahold of a watch? Darvey wasn’t allowed access to them; he wasn’t important enough. Teeth gritting, Harley dumped the thug on his back.

“I’ll kill you both. I won’t stop until you and that whore bleed in the streets!” Duane cursed, spitting at Harley. Harley stared down at him drolly, before bending to pick up the rock Amiel had dropped.

“Remember the night we met, Duane? I made ya a promise.”

Duane fell still, skin paling. “No, wait!”

“I’m a man of my word, Duane.” Two resounding cracks filled the air as Harley brought the rock down on the man’s shins, splitting the bones. Duane screamed in agony, cursing and writhing. Harley tossed the rock to the side, bent and pocketed Amiel’s gun.

“Keep screamin’. It’ll make the end come that much faster. Rabids are probably on their way already.”

Duane shut up immediately, though he still writhed on the ground. Grabbing up her glasses as he went, Harley moved to Amiel. Her form was shaking as she leaned against the wall, dry heaves still shuddering through her body.

“Hey, kid,” Harley murmured, shrinking down at her side. She flinched at his touch, hands clutching her head.

“It hurts,” she whispered in agony. Harley gently lifted her chin, trying his best to examine her for the source of her pain. His breath caught slightly when he saw her eyes; they were dilated still, and thin, blackish-red rivulets poured from her tear ducts. Harley cursed, grabbing her up in his arms. He shifted her slightly when the knife wound in his left arm protested, the muscle still trying to knit itself together. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain, lifted the girl in his arms, and quickly stumbled from the narrow street.