03 - Evolution (13 page)

Michael’s sanity took a time-out. Driven by an
overwhelming physical compulsion, he pounced across the table at the
other man, knocking him to the floor. The cop only managed to fire off
one shot before his gun went flying from his fingers. The shot went
wild, nailing the ceiling instead of Michael. Splinters rained down onto
the floor, mixing with the sawdust. The sharp report of the shot echoed
against the sturdy timber walls.

Having cleared the table in a single leap, Michael was
right on top of his prey. Razor-sharp talons dug into the cop’s arms as
Michael pinned them to the floor. The policeman’s thick fingers groped
uselessly for his lost pistol. Michael threw back his head, ready to
sink his fangs into the other man’s throat. Saliva dripped down his
chin. He could already taste the cop’s hot blood. He couldn’t understand
why he had waited so long….

Pandemonium erupted inside the tavern. The other
customers shrieked and shouted as they jumped up from their seats,
knocking over tables and chairs. They pushed and clawed at one another
in their desperate attempts to flee the tavern. Plates and cups crashed
onto the floor. Behind the long wooden bar, the bartender dived for the
floor. Flailing bodies crammed the front door, blocking each other. A
trucker swore loudly in Hungarian. The barmaid let out a hysterical
scream as a serving tray slipped from her fingers. Glass steins
shattered loudly. Beer spilled over the sawdust.

The commotion momentarily distracted Michael. His fangs
still poised over the policeman’s jugular, he glanced up at the panicked
crowd. Their terrified faces hit him like a sledgehammer. They looked
scared to death.

Of me?

The thought was like a splash of cold water, restoring
his sanity. He turned to look at himself in the mirror above the bar. He
hadn’t morphed all the way into his hybrid form, but the reflection he
saw was repugnant enough. A blood-crazed beast, with ebony eyes and
bestial fangs, stared back at him.

“Oh my God…” His own voice sounded alien to him, deeper
and more guttural. He looked down at the cop beneath him. The man’s face
was white with fear. Frantic prayers tumbled from his lips. Michael
realized that he had been only seconds away from ripping out the man’s
throat.

“You don’t want that on your
conscience,”
Selene had warned him.

He had come so close!

Sickened with himself, he let go of the cop’s arms and
clambered away from the man. His mind recoiled from what he had almost
done; it was as if he were trapped inside his worst nightmare. He was
supposed to be a doctor… a healer. Not a cannibal!

His eyes searched the faces of the fleeing patrons,
seeking forgiveness and understanding, but all he saw were the
panic-stricken eyes of innocent men and women afraid for their lives.
They glanced fearfully back over their shoulders as they ran screaming
into the parking lot outside. He had become these people’s nightmare as
well.

It was all too much for him. The room began to spin
around him, and he grabbed on to a tabletop for support. The pounding in
his head multiplied and divided; he realized he was hearing the
heartbeats of over a half dozen prospective victims, all mixed together
in an unbearable cacophony. The smell of their alcohol-laced blood and
sweat mixed with the oppressive odor of spilled beer and paprika. His
stomach rebelled at the stench. Alternating waves of hot and cold washed
over his body as the most violent spasm yet wrenched his insides. He
dropped onto his hands and knees, gray-faced and shaking. He vomited
explosively. Undigested potato sprayed from his mouth. He gnashed his
fangs in agony.

Is this it?
he wondered.
Am I dying?

He half-hoped he was, but no such luck. Once his stomach
was empty, he found the strength to lift his gaze from the floor. A
lighted sign reading KIJARAT caught his eye.
Exit,
his brain translated, as he scrambled
to his feet and ran for the tavern’s back door.
I
have to get out of here before I hurt someone for good.
That
frozen blood back at the bunker was starting to sound like his last hope
for salvation.

I should have listened to Selene!

The rear door was locked, no doubt in violation of the
local fire codes, but Michael slammed into it with superhuman strength.
The door crashed to the ground and Michael found himself lying
face-first in a dark alley behind the tavern. Icicles dangled like
spikes from the overhanging roof of the building. Frozen puddles filled
the potholes in the pavement. Snow continued to blanket the ground. The
sun had not yet risen.

Michael was starting to think this night was
never
going to end.

Attracted by the noise, the second cop came running
around the corner. His flashlight lit up the alley. Michael’s black eyes
blinked against the glare. He rose quickly to his feet.

“Stop!”
the young cop
yelled. He drew his gun.
“I’m warning you!”

No!
Michael thought. He
couldn’t trust himself around anyone right now. He was sane again, but
for how much longer?
For God’s sake, just leave me
alone!

Turning his back on the cop, he raced toward the other
end of the alley. Gunshots rang out behind him and he felt the bullets
tear into his back. Blood exploded from his chest as the bullets passed
through him. Pain flared along his nerve endings. The multiple impacts
staggered him, throwing his stride out of whack, but he kept on running.
Apparently the local constabulary did not employ silver bullets.

He winced at the searing pain. How many times had he
been shot? He had lost count after the first few impacts. It came as a
start to realize that this was the
second
time someone had shot him tonight, Kraven being the first. Selene’s
blood had healed him the first time around, but this time he was on his
own. Ignoring the gaping exit wounds, he dashed out of the alley.

The cop’s pounding footsteps chased after him.

Selene was dismayed to find the front entrance
to the mine open when she arrived back at the safe house. Had the winged
creature been here already? Half-buried boot prints, sunk deep into the
snow, led away from the mine. Fresher tracks, made more recently, bore
the unmistakable imprint of taloned paws. No werewolf had made those
tracks; Selene knew wolfen spoor when she saw it, and these were
something different. Hybrid tracks?

“Michael!” She raced into the bunker, afraid that she
was already too late. Twin Berettas rested in her hands. Her fingers
hovered on the triggers. She called out his name, but no one answered. A
quick search confirmed that the bunker was empty. Her heart sank further
as she spotted the untouched bags of cloned blood resting atop a
counter. Her mouth watered at the sight, but there was no time to
satisfy her own thirst. For all she knew, Michael was under attack at
this very minute.

Could he defend himself against another hybrid? Selene
didn’t want to find out.

A series of loud reports echoed in the distance.
Gunshots,
she realized instantly. Coming
from somewhere outside.

“Shit.”

She dashed back out into the snow. The sound of the
shots was coming from the east. The boot prints, which she assumed
belonged to Michael, seemed to be heading in the same direction.
Toward town,
she guessed. Selene didn’t know
whether to be relieved or angry that Michael hadn’t stayed put in the
bunker. Everything depended on who found him first, her or… that thing in
the sky.

I don’t care if he is Marcus. He’s
not taking Michael away from me.

She glanced to the east, where a faint pink haze was
beginning to form on the horizon. The sun would be up soon. If she was
smart, she would take cover in the bunker until nightfall. There was no
point in getting herself incinerated for a man she barely knew.

Fuck it.

She raced down the mountain road as if her immortal life
depended on it.

More shots blared in the night.

The older cop, recovered from his close brush
with death, came rushing out into the alley, joining his partner in
pursuit of the fugitive. Michael heard both sets of footsteps pounding
on the pavement behind him. Blood streamed from the bullet holes in his
perforated black shirt. His chest and back felt as if they had been
stabbed over and over with a red-hot poker. If he had still been human,
he would almost certainly be DOA by now. Instead he managed to keep on
running, despite having been shot repeatedly in the back. The bullet
wounds throbbed with every step.

“Halt!” a cop yelled at him. “Stop right there!”

No way,
Michael thought. He
was less afraid of being captured by the police than of losing control
again and possibly ripping both officers to shreds. Even now he could
feel the hunger—and the madness—growing inside him once more. His black
eyes gleamed in the night. He clenched his fangs together, fighting back
the urge to turn around and savage the clueless humans with his bare
hands and teeth. His mouth watered at the thought of their blood pouring
down his throat….

No!
he thought.
That’s not who I am!

The forest beyond the alley beckoned to him. He glimpsed
skeletal oak and beech trees through the open end of the alley. If he
could just make it to the woods, he might be able lose his pursuers in
the dense wilderness. He scooted out of the alley onto a one-lane street
leading out of town. The woods were only a few yards away now, on the
other side of the road. He was almost there….

A wailing siren and flashing blue light caught Michael
by surprise as a black-and-white squad car came squealing around the
corner, blocking his path. It screeched to a halt directly in front of
him. The glaring blue light hurt his eyes.

Michael didn’t even slow down. Using the hood of the car
as a springboard, he leaped over the vehicle into the forest. Behind the
windshield, the backup cops gaped in amazement. A startled curse was
drowned out by the screaming siren.

The two new cops piled out of the car. Toting rifles,
they joined the original pair of officers in chasing after Michael.
Great,
he thought.
Now
I’ve got
four
cops on my tail.

A steep hill tested his dwindling endurance. He limped
up the wooded slope, occasionally grabbing on to icy tree trunks for
support. Flashlight beams raked the hill behind him as the cops followed
him into the forest. He heard them shouting back and forth to each
other. They sounded mad, anxious… and completely bewildered. Michael
couldn’t blame them for being confused. They probably weren’t used to
fugitives who kept running even after they were shot. Despite his
injuries, he was still outpacing them.

But for how much longer? He could feel his strength
ebbing. Halfway up the hill, he dropped to his knees, exhausted. Every
muscle in his body ached. His legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that the cops were gaining
ground, no more than thirty yards behind him. Their flushed, angry faces
promised little mercy at their hands. Michael felt like an old-time
movie monster being chased by a mob of torch-wielding villagers.

Have to keep going,
he
realized. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled up the hill. He gasped for
breath, the frigid air searing his lungs. Each new step was an
unbearable ordeal. Sweat soaked through his bloodstained shirt.
Perspiration dripped from his face. Lactic acid built up painfully in
his muscles. Michael knew he was nearing his limit.
I’m hitting the wall.

“Halt! Stop where you are!” The policemen hurled threats
and orders at him. He heard them panting in exertion as they clambered
up the slope after him. “Stop or we’ll shoot!”

Michael wasn’t even listening to them anymore. Reaching
the crest of the hill at last, he spotted a dilapidated structure a few
yards ahead. A rusted tin roof topped a crude stone building missing
entire chunks of bricks and mortar.
An old mining
shed,
he guessed. He staggered toward it, desperate for any kind
of shelter. He tottered upon unsteady legs. The ground seemed to tilt
vertiginously beneath his feet. He took a few more steps, then toppled
forward onto the ground. Six inches of snow cushioned his fall. The
frosty powder chilled his face, so cold it burned. Chest heaving, he lay
prone upon the snow, unable to move another inch. He could barely lift
his face out of the snow.

Guess I should have chugged that
cloned blood when I had the chance.
He felt thoroughly drained,
as if he had just run a marathon wearing iron boots. Darkness encroached
on the periphery of his vision.

He wondered if he would ever see Selene again.

“Get him!” a furious cop yelled in Hungarian. Flashlight
beams converged on Michael’s fallen form. “Careful! He’s a real
lunatic!”

The cop’s threatening tone sent one last jolt of
adrenaline through Michael’s system. He started crawling toward the
ruined shed, dragging himself through the snow like a wounded animal.
Fear drove him onward, but it was no use. His hybrid strength had
completely evaporated.

Instinct took over. Looking back over his shoulder, he
glared at his pursuers with jet-black eyes. Their flashlight beams all
but blinded him as he bared his fangs and roared furiously in defiance.

“Holy shit!” the youngest officer exclaimed. He opened
fire and the other policemen joined in. A hail of bullets slammed into
Michael’s body, which thrashed wildly beneath the lethal barrage. All
four cops kept on firing as they advanced cautiously toward their
writhing target.

Then…

Thwack!
Selene took
out the first cop with a ridge-handed blow to the neck. The mortal
dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the snow. He wouldn’t be getting up
again anytime soon.