Between a Bear and a Hard Place (Alpha Werebear Romance) (17 page)

*

T
he next five minutes passed in a flurry. As soon as Claire was conscious and awake enough to move, Draven filled her in, briefly, on the wild story that he was almost sure she wasn’t going to believe. At first, she didn’t, but the second time the same orderlies walked past, and turned their heads at exactly the same moment, she started getting a little more than curious.

And then, when Draven punched a window, broke it, and revealed they were in the middle of a compound instead of overlooking a nice terrace? That was all the convincing she needed.

“How did they know, though?” Claire was pretty close to ‘in a tizzy’. “How did they find out we were here? Or... there, or whatever? How could they possibly have talked us into landing here?”

“Did you ever use your phone?” Draven asked.

When Claire closed her eyes tight and squeezed the bridge of her nose, he grabbed her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. They likely fixed your location and intercepted the radio signal when Jill sent the distress call for a hospital taking landers. Don’t blame yourself – the only important thing now is getting the fuck out of here. And use burners from now on. Use ‘em and toss ‘em.”

Two more orderlies walked past, steps so smooth they seemed to be gliding. Each of them turned their heads at exactly the same point the others did. They nodded exactly the same way, they turned back at the exact same time.

“It’s like I’m living in a broken record, except even stranger, because I’m
in the broken record!
”

“You’re wheezing,” Jill said.

“Shit,” Claire cursed. “Of course I am. Of course I start getting all asthmatic when we need me most to not be a helpless nerd. Why can’t I just—”

“No, this is good,” Draven said, in a way that reminded Claire of Hannibal from
The A-Team
. He had that same glint of mischief in his eye that the old commander did every time he was about to hatch an insane plane that always worked perfectly. “You’re gonna get ahold of one of them. Tell them you need an emergency inhaler.”

“But if they’re—”

“We’ll follow you. I’m guessing that unless we have some way to sneak in, there’s no way we’re getting through those doors that close off the ward from the rest of the place. Have you noticed how there’s no one else here?”

“Now that you mention it,” Jill said, still a little confused. “This is really, really intricate.”

“If you have unlimited money, unlimited political power, and unlimited ambition? You’ll go to any extent to protect your secrets. That wound Jacques suffered? Sound waves.”

The two women looked at each other, perplexed. “But how?” Jill asked.

“Not sure. Before I escaped, they were testing it on me. It spreads somehow, like an infection in the muscle tissue. The only way to stop it is to cut out the affected tissue and cauterize it.” He rolled up one of his flannel sleeves, showing off a puckered wound. “I’d know that description anywhere. So here’s the plan. Claire, you really put on a show – start wheezing up a storm, and the next time the orderlies come through. Grab one of them, start croaking and carrying on. They’ll be confused, they’ll take you through the doors, and then suddenly, we’ll, uh...”

Claire was listening intently. “And then?”

Draven shrugged. “I find it best not to get bogged down in complicated plans. Leave a little room for, you know, extemporaneous thinking, improvisation. All that stuff’s important.”

“Let me translate,” Jill said. “I don’t have any other plan. That’s it.”

“So... the plan is for me to get taken back behind the ward doors, to God knows where, and then you’re going to follow me, and then you’re going to, what, think of something?”

Jill, Draven, and Claire looked at one another for a few moments. “Yeah,” he finally said, “that’s about the extent of it.”

“Why do you care?” Claire asked, as she was waiting to put on her best Oscar winning asthma attack. “I mean, what does it matter what happens to us? What happens to the pilot or those bears?”

“They’re coming,” Draven said, ever mysterious. “I’m one of them. Go.”

Like clockwork – maybe that’s actually what they were? The thought did occur – the orderlies appeared, and without even trying very hard, Claire felt her chest tighten up. “Oh no!” she cried out. “I... I can’t breathe!”

The two orderlies froze in place, both turning toward her with that haunting, impossible slow smoothness. They exchanged a quick glance and both moved toward her at once, gliding over the ground more than walking.

Claire clutched at her chest, croaking, gasping, pulling at her chest and groaning and twitching.

“Help this woman!” Draven cried out. “Can’t you see she’s having an asthma attack? We’re in a hospital!”

That’s when Claire realized that they didn’t just move and act alike. They weren’t just
similar
, they were exactly the same. Every feature, every fold of their faces, and crease on their lips were exactly the same.

“Jill!” she heard Draven shout. “Get her! We’re gonna have to be more direct!”

He lunged forward, crashing his fist into one of their heads with a sickening
thunk
. No reaction at all, not even a grunt or a hiss of pain. He... she? It, whatever, just cocked its head, grabbed Draven’s fist, and squeezed.

“Report,” the other orderly hissed. The static-laden voice was hauntingly familiar. “Report to Eckert.”

Its voice was cold, detached, dead and...

“Did you just say Eckert? But he’s...”

The lights in the hall went dead. Completely, suddenly, darkness enveloped all three of them. Claire heard the noise of a fight, felt the clamp of metal on her, and then felt herself wrenched free. Pulled to the right, then to the left, she felt herself tossed around before she planted her feet.

A second later, she felt that surge of strength, of power, from before when she was with her bears. Was it possible they were somewhere near? She didn’t know. But the one thing Claire
did
know?

There was fur growing out of her arms, her back, and her neck. She felt her muscles harden... which was novel, because Claire Redmon was not exactly a gym rat.

Before she had time to wonder “what the hell is happening?” she heard a roar like a peal of thunder, and felt herself give in to... whatever it was, surging through her.

––––––––

T
he breath burned deep in Claire’s chest, but the fury felt so, so good.

Surges of crackling, electrical charges crept from her spine to her fingertips, thrilling every shred of her being with the sense of strength, power, and rage that boiled the blood in her veins. In the utter blackness, she threw back her head, unleashed a roar, and slammed a paw into whatever was in front of her.

She had no control, no say, she just did what
felt good
. Giving up to the fury was something she never imagined – but then again, neither was a three-way with a couple of muscle bound guys. Sometimes, trying new things? Works out for the best.

Whatever she hit – one of the orderlies, but she didn’t know which – crunched under her strength and flew backwards. With a snap of her jaws, she crushed what she thought was an arm, and seconds later, the taste of iron, sulfur and some kind of foul grit filled her mouth. She spat, sputtered, and threw herself in again.

Something cold and hard wrapped around her neck, and something else jabbed her in the side. Another jolt blasted her, and the smell of singed fur met her nostrils before she whirled around and ripped another one of her attackers limb from limb.

“Claire!” a pained, unused voice broke the blood rage that gripped her. “Break away! We have to find... the pilot.”

It was Draven’s voice, though how she knew that was lost on her. With another shake of her head, she separated another arm from another body, and her mouth filled with that same wretched taste.

She opened her mouth, and tried to speak, but the muscles of Claire’s throat were so tight, her vocal cords so taut, that she could only make squawking noises instead of words. Apparently that was good enough, though.

“Straight ahead! I’ve got a bead on him!” That time it was Jill shouting. Claire looked back to find the woman wearing a pair of goggles – one that she remembered from the creatures in the forest before. Were these the same ones?

No time to think about that, no time to think about anything else. With her head lowered, she charged straight ahead, bowling through two more of the strange orderlies. Her massive shoulder slammed straight into the heavy door, which resisted far more abuse than any other hospital door she’d ever encountered.

“How?” she managed to croak.

“At the same time!” Draven’s voice came, raspy and tight. “On three!”

A fist closed on Claire’s neck, but it wasn’t trying to wrench her around. “It’s me,” Jill said. Her face was so close to Claire’s ear that Claire smelled the soda and chocolate on her breath. “Draven can see, you can’t, I’ll help lead you. For now, just get through that damn door!”

Somewhere to her left, Claire heard Draven shout “three!” and without a second thought, charged straight ahead. This time when the cold steel crunched against the bone of her shoulder blade, the door gave, blasting outward and slamming against the metal on either side with a teeth-rattling
clang!

Claire shook her head, momentarily dazed.

“Turn left!” Jill shouted, yanking the fur on Claire’s neck. She had her legs wrapped tightly around Claire’s sides so that her heels dug into the muscles. At any other time, this situation would have been wonderfully funny, but right then, the only thing on Claire’s mind was getting the hell out of there.

As the unlikely trio charged down another pitch-black hallway, the sound of feet clomping against the tile was all around. Boots on the ground, Claire could tell, rubber soled ones – combat boots, hiking boots, something like that. She could hear even the squeak of the rubber sliding against the floor as the swarm ran.

“What do we do?” she croaked, her throat raw and pained, but at least she managed words that time. “They’re everywhere!”

“
Run!
” Draven urged, seconds before he grunted with pain.

Something hit Claire in the side, bringing the hot sensation of blood to her fur.

“Turn here, right! Right!” Another yank on her fur and she followed the command.

Instinctively, she powered through, head down and shoulder braced, as though she knew a door was coming. She wasn’t disappointed. Another heavy steel plate swung backward, this time opening into a room bathed with blinding, horrible, white florescent light.

Claire stumbled and fell onto one side, stunned by the brightness that seared her vision. Backing into a corner, she stopped when she found where the walls met. She blinked, hard, trying to force herself to see through the pain. At what felt like great length, but really was only a couple of seconds, the world came into focus.

There, in the middle of several faceless beings, shrouded in white scrubs, was the pilot.

“Now!” she heard Draven shout. “Get him now!”

She’d learned, in the last few minutes, not to question the old man, no matter what.

With a surge of power, she charged the table, knocking both the patient, and several “doctors” against the wall. As soon as he was free, Draven grabbed the man with his teeth, flung him onto his back.

“Window!” he shouted. “Now!”

“But... but how far up are we?” Claire heard herself ask as she did what she was told.

“High enough to hurt,” she heard Jill say. “But you’ll live.”

The sensation of glass shattering around her was followed immediately by the rush of air, chill against her fur, especially the part marked with blood.

All too quickly, the rush of air was over. The crunch of impact was the last thing Claire remembered.

*

S
hattered, splintered glass and bloodied fur notwithstanding, the trek back into the woods was calm, and almost hauntingly quiet.

Jill looked nervous, probably about her mates, but maybe about the cauterized hole in her pilot friend’s shoulder. Draven was lost in thought, and Jacques was flat-ass unconscious. Claire, though, had a whole lot of reckoning to do.

“From molecular biology Ph.D. to lab grunt to... shit, I just turned into a bear, didn’t I?”

No one answered, though she hadn’t particularly expected anyone to say anything. Since their escape, and the four hours of getting lost in the woods that succeeded it, only Draven said much of anything, and that was mostly just tired-sounding orders about go this direction, or turn that way. The strangest thing about all of it? About hulking out, turning into a bear, and ripping into those orderlies?

The strangest part was that Claire wasn’t particularly concerned about it.

If nothing else, she was proud of herself for somehow keeping cool in the face of being, you know, a mythical creature not supposed to exist. “God,” she said under her breath as her feet crunched through the leaves, “and to think – all this time, I was convinced those whack-job books were just crazy people ranting about things that made no sense.”

“They are,” Jill said, speaking for the first time in hours. Her voice sounded distant, but it was good to hear her anyway. Claire had inexplicably become attached to her small group of misfit friends. Something about them just made sense.

There was the grizzled old bear, there was the smooth-tongued Cajun pilot, the lanky scientist girl, and the four bears. And then... there was Claire. Until she turned into one and rampaged through GlasCorp’s weird, staged-up hospital, she figured she was just a normal girl with a slightly strange sense of humor, a love for
slight
over-indulging in wine and cheese.

Then the bears happened. Then Eckert, and the woods, and the hospital.

Cleo dragged a joyful tongue along the side of Claire’s jeans, leaving a wet trail along the seam and smiled in the way that made her jowls fall backwards as she looked up.