Bestial (34 page)

“Sounds good. Mind if I join you?”

“For the bubble bath or the dinner?” As soon as she said the words, she couldn’t believe she’d done it.

“Well, well,” he said, a wolfish look overtaking his rugged features. “Is that an invitation?”

“Um … to dinner. Yes.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “We get through this night without becoming werewolf chow, and I’ll personally pay for everything and throw in a massage to boot.”

Blushing, she said, “Okay. It’s a deal.”

Rick smiled. He didn’t mention the money in his jacket. Chesya didn’t need to know he would use money ripped off from her own bank to pay for their date. He had enough stashed in various pockets to live fairly well for at least a year.

“Is very touching,” Andrei said. “Like Russian novel.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Rick said. He leaned out of the cabin of the little boat and looked toward the far shore. A small cluster of soldiers were pointing in their direction.

“They’ve spotted us,” he said. “See how all those guns are pointing at us now? Guess since they’re not shooting, they aren’t too worried, yet.”

Cathy eyed the darkening sky. “We’d better get out into the middle of the river. The clouds are making it get dark early.”

“Those look like storm clouds, too,” Rick said. “It’s gonna pour pretty soon.”

“Figures,” Chesya said. “Way our luck’s going, it’ll end up a hurricane.”

As if in answer, the bottoms of several clouds lit up from within, then boomed with thunder.

Cathy said, “I can drive this thing out there, but there’s no key.”

“The captain probably took it with him.”

“He’s dead by now,” Chesya predicted.

“Okay,” Rick said, “stand back.” With a screwdriver he found
on the floor, he popped the ignition mechanism from the panel. “If it’s anything like a car, we’ll be business in another minute or two.”

“And if it isn’t like a car?” Christian asked, the radio microphone still in his hands.

“Well, maybe we won’t have to worry about surviving the rest of the night.”

Everyone except Andrei stepped outside the cabin. Christian even hopped over to the first barge of coal. It was only a few feet from the tugboat, but if Rick was going to cause an explosion, he wanted to be as far away as possible. “Come on,” he said, motioning to his mother and Chesya. They followed him. Andrei stayed put, peering into the cabin at Rick’s activities.

After an agonizing couple of minutes, they heard the sound of the engine catching. It putt-putted for a few seconds, then stopped. Rick’s cursing soon followed; then the engine chugged into life and remained on. The little group standing next to the mounds of coal gave a cheer and hopped back to the cabin, where they were soon patting Rick on the back.

“Who says crime doesn’t pay?” he asked, grinning widely.

The sky got darker, with little flashes of lightning every once in a while. The water became choppy, and Chesya felt her stomach give a small lurch.

Christian picked up the mic and began speaking into it again, trying different wavelengths. “Can anyone hear me? Mayday. Mayday.”

Cathy pushed forward, looking down at the controls. “Okay … this looks like the anchor.”

Flicking a switch, she nodded in satisfaction when a whirring sound began, followed by the clanking of a chain on the starboard side.

After a minute, they heard a thunk, and the grinding noise stopped; the anchor raised. The river churned, probably flooding someplace to the west, and suddenly the little boat veered toward the center of the river, rocked and carried by the current. The plywood plank dropped into the river and was swiftly carried off to the east.

“Can you handle this thing?” Rick asked.

“Let me try,” Cathy answered.

She pushed the lever forward, and the motor’s sound grew louder. Chesya nearly fell when the boat jerked forward, then stopped suddenly because of the weight of the barges pulling against the forward momentum. Thankfully, the coal’s weight slowed their movements on the river. Cathy pulled back a bit, and the boat inched forward.

“These things obviously weren’t meant to go very fast,” she said with an apologetic look. “Not like a yacht.”

Soon, they were positioned in the center of the river, choppy waves rushing by them on either side. Cathy pushed the button and lowered the anchor, stationing the boat and its two coal-laden barges almost exactly in the middle of the Ohio River, beneath the destroyed Brent Spence Bridge that had once connected Cincinnati to Covington, Kentucky.

Christian said, “You did it, Mom! Excellent!”

“I just hope she doesn’t break loose from the anchor in this storm,” Cathy said.

It was nearly dark now, and everyone turned to look at Andrei.

“What?” he asked, shrugging. Noticing the encroaching darkness, the big man said, “Oh. That.”

SEPTEMBER 18, 6:40 P.M.

T
he wind blew so strongly, Captain Taylor Burns struggled to maintain balance in his biohazard suit. The storm was gathering strength, and he prayed that it wouldn’t result in another deluge. His men found it hard enough to spot the creatures running across the destroyed bridges and leaping toward Kentucky in the daylight while it rained. If it happened during the night, who knew how many beasts could find their way into the safe zone?

A flash of lightning, still contained within the clouds, confirmed his darkest fears. He could feel the electricity in the air, could almost smell the ozone. This was going to be one humdinger of a T-storm, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to pacify it.

He had tried to lie down in his tent, get a few minutes of shut-eye, but his thoughts had returned to the small band of people with their mysterious purpose. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he was watching them again through his binoculars.

The little group boarded the tugboat and maneuvered it into the center of the river. The person piloting the vessel, a middle-aged woman, was doing rather well under the turbulent circumstances. He was astonished when they dropped anchor, stopping halfway across the water. He had already ordered a group of soldiers to gather in formation at the shoreline, their rifles pointed at the barges. They were still awaiting orders to shoot.

Scratching his head, Burns turned to Tom Granger. “Why’d they stop like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe their primary goal wasn’t crossing the river, sir.”

“Isn’t that what you would do in their position, Granger? Try to get across the river?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but we don’t really know what their position might be. They’re definitely acting according to some strategy. Watch how they move together. These people have been companions for at least a while.”

“That big guy, the one in the overalls, he seems a little stand-offish.”

“Yeah, he’s a problem,” Granger chewed his lip. “Sir, what do we do? Should I instruct the men to open fire?”

Burns thought about it for a moment. If he let his men slaughter these people, would he be protecting the rest of the nation from their infiltration? Containing the situation within the city and its outlying areas had taken a hell of a lot of work, and the powers that resided in the Pentagon hadn’t minced words when they had ordered him to protect his side of the river. They had seemed eerily prepared for the situation, as though they’d suspected it would arise one day and had drawn up specific plans to deal with it. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had known werewolves would suddenly take over an entire city, how they had been so certain that there’d be no one left uninfected.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he suspected that the whole thing had been germ warfare gone horribly wrong. It explained the government’s sudden preparedness. It also sent shivers down his spine. Germ warfare was something that other nations, crazy-militant countries, attempted to engage in with America. Not something America sought to engage in with anyone else.

And the American government doesn’t jam cell phone signals so people can’t spew their stories to the media, either,
Burns thought sardonically, frowning at the large satellite dishes on trailers behind him.

He raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead—then realized he couldn’t penetrate the sanctity of the suit.

“Don’t shoot just yet,” he told his second in command.

“Sir?”

“I said not to fire. They’ve anchored, so they aren’t going anywhere. Not yet. Keep one man posted on surveillance, and if they take up the anchor and approach this side of the river, or if they take off downstream, then we take them out.”

Burns glanced over at the soldiers who were watching the little boat through the night scopes of their rifles. They were mostly young men, and one woman, clean-cut National Guardsmen, weekend warriors with strong ideals and families who loved them and were here to aid the U. S. Army in any way possible. They would consent to any order he gave them, even if it went against their own personal values. They would kill their fellow citizens.

But it was different when your fellow citizens were covered in fur and rushing at you with sharp claws and teeth. Or when their sanity had fled, leaving crazed husks of sheer instinct. These people on the boat … they were still people, very much like those families back home. Sometimes he hated being the decision maker, despised being in control.

Raising his binoculars again, he whispered, “What in the hell are they doing out there? What are they waiting for?”

Overhead, thunder rumbled, rolling from cloud to cloud.

SEPTEMBER 18, 6:48 P.M.

T
he sun had crept very low on the horizon, but the storm clouds distilled most of its light. The group on the tugboat could only see hazy shades of orange swirling through the cloud banks, vestiges of the sunset.

Rick turned to Andrei. He said, “We still don’t know if that shot worked on you, buddy. I think you’d better move to the side of the boat, just in case you start to change.”

“I feel no different, not at all,” the Siberian man said, not moving.

Christian grabbed a long pole used to guide the tugboat toward shore. It had a pronged end, the better to catch itself upon piers or docks. Pointing it toward Andrei’s chest, he said, “I think you’d better do what he says. Just stand close to the edge of the boat. If you don’t change in the next half hour, we’ll know you’re okay, that the serum did its job. If you do change, I’m pushing you into the water myself.”

“But I will drown.”

“That’s the general idea,” Rick said. “Please, man, just do it. We aren’t going to hurt you if you don’t turn into one of those things.”

Rick added, “And hand over the dart gun.”

Shrugging, the Siberian handed the gun to Rick, who slung it by its strap over his back. Andrei trudged to the back of the boat, and when he reached the edge, he faced the other four people, turning his back on the coal barges behind them. The pointed end of the pole nearly grazed his chest.

“Like this?” he asked. “This good?”

“Yeah,” Chesya said, and she moved toward him. “Thank you.”

“I no think I will change tonight.”

“I hope not,” she said. “This is all … just in case.”

He gave her a little bow. “Thank you. You are a nice lady.”

“And you’re a true gentleman. If this serum works, you know you’ll be quite famous for taking the risk.”

“If serum works,” Andrei said, “then I go back to village and live with my family. They are more … how you say, important than being famous. They are most important of all.”

One by one, the little group moved toward the burly man. Chesya hugged him, and Rick shook his hand. “Good luck,” he said.

“And to yourself.”

Cathy gave him a bear hug, her arms unable to reach all the way around him. “I hope this turns out just as you wish,” she said. “I’d like to see you back with your family. It’s …” She turned toward Christian; then she completed her thought. “It’s the most meaningful thing in the world. Family.”

As she moved back, standing next to Christian, who still held the pole in front of himself, the teenager said, “Yeah. Good luck. But if you change, you’re goin’ overboard. It’s just to save the rest of us. No hard feelings?”

“No. Take care of your mother. She love you. Even I see it.”

Rick pulled his Black Widow special and leveled it against the big man’s head. When Andrei looked at him quizzically, he said, “Hey, I’m not taking any chances.”

They waited.

The wind picked up, and the water grew more turbulent. The boat rocked beneath them.

And they waited.

The light grew dimmer. The orange streaks in the clouds faded to black. Rick eventually had to aim at Andrei with one hand, using his other to grab hold of the side of the boat for balance. The first raindrops fell.

And still they waited.

A howl emerged from the depths of the city, followed by growls and more animalistic sounds. The streets of Cincinnati echoed with the noises the creatures made as they changed—the sounds of humans becoming beasts.

Andrei stood still, watching them, not daring to move.
He eyeballed the gun that Rick held to his head. Searching within himself, he tried to find the familiar tickle of the hairs struggling to burrow their way out of his skin. He felt nothing except the pleasant plop of heavy raindrops on his shoulders.

Cathy shouted, “Look!”

She pointed toward the shore, toward the city. A dozen monsters emerged from the buildings and paced alongside the river. They growled at the tugboat. One tested the water with a clawed and padded foot and determined it didn’t want to attempt swimming to the boat.

“How do you feel, Andrei?” Chesya asked.

“A little scared. But I feel no change feelings. I think I am fine.”

Ten more beasts joined the others, pacing back and forth along the shore, watching the boat with boiling red eyes.

Christian lowered his pole. “I don’t think he’s gonna do it. It must have worked.”

“Sweet Jesus, thank you!” Chesya said, looking up at the sky and getting an eyeful of rain. “We have an antidote.”

Lowering his gun, Rick extended his hand to the Siberian again. “Thanks for trying it,” he said. “I don’t think I would have had the balls to do it, not knowing how it would turn out. You could have died.”