Dead Force Rising (3 page)

Standing, John discovered his legs were
weak. Evidently, it had been a few days since he’d used them. He headed to the
door to the right of the bed and sighed in relief to find it was a bathroom. He
needed to piss and take a hot shower. Perhaps then he would be able to get his
head on straight and see where he stood in regards to the General's unit.

The bath was the same blinding white
as his room, with a glass shower, a single sink with an oval mirror above, and a
commode. Someone had laid out a towel and array of plastic wrapped toiletries
along with what looked like a specimen cup and note. Scanning the small piece
of paper with its list of orders, John grumbled and crumbled it in his hand.
Tossing it into the trash, he grabbed the small plastic cup and unscrewed the
lid. With the urine sample done and out of the way, he could turn his attention
to the image he saw reflected in the mirror. He was in bad need of a shave, but
nothing out of the ordinary after this long. Grabbing his top lip, John pulled
it up so he could more easily examine his teeth.
Nope, no fangs
evident.
 
He was still just plain
John.
 
After a hot shower, he hoped he’d
feel that way even more so.

Emerging from the steam filled
bathroom fifteen minutes later, John walked to the white dresser and pulled
open one of the draws. He’d expected to find his own things tucked inside,
since his duffle was nowhere in sight. Instead, he found new neatly folded PT
shorts and t- shirts. Where the hell did his things go?

“Sergeant?” the General's voice
called from the speakers.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Good. I just wanted to make certain
you were awake. The sensors picked up movement in your cell.”

Cell?
Was he a prisoner? John wondered as
he eyed the door suspiciously.
 
Walking over
he turned the handle and gave it a push.
Nothing.
He
was locked inside.

“Why is my door locked?”

“Just a precaution, as is the state
of your room. We need to keep you in a controlled environment for a bit, no
chance for sensory overload or contact with others right now. I promise as soon
as we get you squared away and you can handle the changes you’ve experienced,
I’ll get you out of there.”

“Well that’s where you might have a
problem General,” John spoke while looking up at the circular speaker. “I didn't
have any change.”

“Yes well, it might appear that way,
Sergeant. However experience has proven that to be a miscalculation.”

“So I’m not the first guinea pig for
your little team?”

“No, we had three volunteer prior.”

“Where are they now?” John asked
curiously though he feeling as though he didn't really want to know the answer.

“Two are dead and the third we’ll
address some time later. After you have completed your training and we have a
fully functional unit. Now, Sergeant, if you’ll excuse me. The doctor should be
there in a short bit to begin some testing.”

Before John could ask anything more,
he heard the little metallic click which indicated the General had turned the
com system off. He still had a lot of questions and he hoped the Doc might have
some answers. Spying his weathered photographs on the nightstand, he went over
and picked them up, tucking them both into the small pocket of his tee shirt,
right over his heart.

About two hours later Dr. Horace, who
he remembered injecting him with the burning fluid in the medical lab, stepped
through the door, a navy medical bag and specimen container in his hand. He
motioned toward the bed and John walked over and took a seat as the doc slipped
the stethoscope from around his neck and put the soft rubber tips into his
ears. The bell felt cold on John’s skin as he took in several deep breaths.
 

“Well Doc, am I going to live?” John
asked in jest.

“Yes and No.”

That
 
wasn't
the answer John expected. He looked at the serious
expression on Dr. Horace’s face as the man handed John the specimen cup and
headed to the bathroom the retrieve the one John filled earlier. He felt the
flutter of nerves in his gut. What was the man not saying? Had something gone
wrong?

“I think I already filled one of
these,” John said in a second attempt at humor with the far too serious doctor.

“That one,” Horace said nearly
breaking a
smile,
“is not for urine.”

“Oh,” was the only response John
could find. He’d never been asked to jerk off into a cup before
and
 
wasn't
so sure he
could do it.

“I need to check your sperm count and
testosterone levels,” the doctor explained. “It seems that the mating instinct
increases exponentially with the change. This is why these creatures are prone
to violent sexual outbursts.”

“You mean I might rape or brutalize
some poor woman because I’m horny?” John asked in a bit of panic. He had always
liked his sex a bit rough but the thought of doing the type of acts he’d seen
in the pictures was unacceptable.

“Not exactly.
It seems that some of these things,
I mean... Well, we need to find you a woman to bond with in that state so your
external sexual aggression can be satisfied. From what I have seen, the sexual
activity of all the creatures you’ve been spliced with is much more aggressive
and frequent unless tapered by a bond. ”

“I’ll be sure to use that pick up
line,” John growled sarcastically. “Hey
babe, how about I
take you back
to my cave a fuck you so hard you can’t walk and when I’m
done maybe I’ll bite you and do it again.”

John could feel rage building in his
body as he ranted and he jumped as he punctured his lower lip with a sharp fang
as he spoke.

“What the fuck?” he screeched as he
brought his hand to his mouth to feel the sharp points of his canine teeth.

“Anger brings about the change. It’s
something you'll need to learn how to control,” the doctor advised as he handed
John two small pills and a glass of water he’d brought from the bathroom sink.
“Here, take these. They’ll help you relax and focus. We’ve got a lot of work to
do if we’re going to get you on the front lines.”

CHAPTER THREE

Thornora Grant, aka Thorn, shivered
as she sat in the front seat of her 2007 Chevy Cobalt. She dare not turn over
the engine even for a few
minutes,
the hole in the
catalytic converter would too easily draw attention. That was the last thing
she wanted at this point. Still every snow flake that danced its way onto the
windshield brought her numb fingers closer to turning the key. Even the extra
layer of clothes she’d slipped on before leaving the house no longer held off
the below freezing temperatures.

She must have been crazy for accepting
this job. However, netting a thousand dollars for watching and recording the
coming and goings of Sergeant John Rose seemed like an easy enough way to snag
some extra cash to help out her sister in-law and niece. It was more than twice
her average check at the small ambulance company where she worked as a
paramedic and Caroline and Becka needed the money. Since Thomas’ death, they’d
been struggling to rebuild their lives, both mentally and financially.

The last thing Thorn expected was the
weather to dip to arctic like temperatures and her quarry to be such a social butterfly.
She supposed social moth was a better term considering he never left the base
apartment until well after dusk and never returned until an hour or so before
dawn. Evidently, the old man who hired her had a lot of pull. He’d even
furnished her a military pass so she could keep an eye on John. Thorn knew the man
that paid her was military, retired most likely. The manner with which he held
himself and how he spoke to those around him said as much. What he wanted with
the man she watched Thorn didn't know or even care at the moment.

Tonight the Sergeant haunted a
supposed blood club called the Crept. It was one of those places which had sprung
up all over town as of late, where a bunch of wanna be vampires hung out and
sipped fruity red drinks they could pretend was blood. Thorn figured the whole
thing was harmless enough but obviously not the type of place one expected to
see a military officer. She’d even spent the first hour watching for him to
exit the club coming up with humorous military recruiting slogans regarding the
whole thing. Her favorite was a parody in which one of him promised “A bat in
every belfry!” Of course, the whole thing was losing its humor now Thorn was
sitting out here freezing her ass off.

Looking at her watch, Thorn grabbed
her small steno pad and scribbled down the time, checking it against his
arrival. Six hours had passed and with it now being almost three in the
morning, she thought he should be exiting soon so the place could close. This
was the sixth different blood club the man visited in the past week. Each time
he stayed about an hour or two then left. Tonight was a true anomaly.
 
Something about this place must be different
from the others.

Finally giving in to the bitter cold
chatter of her teeth, Thorn turned the motor over and flipped the fan switch to
high. Snuggling back into her seat, she checked her watch one more time and
returned her attention back to the bright red door leading into the club. At
this rate, she wouldn't have a hell of a lot to report to the old man come
Monday. He’d hired her to watch the man and only approach when he was in a
public place such as a coffee shop or store. The man had been adamant about her
not entering any club or bar. When she did make contact it was suppose to only
be casual conversation and in no way was Thorn to let him know she’d been
following him.

Sighing, Thorn pulled down the
drivers visor so she could look at the small picture clipped to the inside. He
brother looked stunning in his dress uniform. Frowning, she closed it back up
and looked back out the window. It was hard to believe this would be the second
Christmas he would be gone. She could remember the call in vivid detail. Thorn
had just gotten home from the third twelve-hour shift in the week and her ass
was dragging. She’d climbed under her
grandmothers
homemade quilt and was almost asleep when the phone rang. It was an inconsolable
Caroline. Though she couldn't make out a single sobbing word,
Thorn
 
knew
. It was
like falling head first into a dark cold pit, which had no bottom. To make
matters worse, the military advised they wouldn't be able to return Thomas’
corpse for burial. Therefore, instead of having a body to grieve over, there
was a framed picture and a folded flag, resulting in an inability to find true
closure.

Thorn yawned, covering her mouth with
the back of her hand, the warmth pouring from the vents making her eyes heavy. Flipping
the visor back in place, she checked the clock again, three forty-five a.m.
Where the hell was he? Digging in the bag on the passenger seat, Thorn grabbed
a crème-filled donut covered in chocolate. If she had any hope of staying awake
much longer, she would need a good sugar rush.

She took her first mouthful when a
hard tap on her window caused her to jump. Spinning around, she stared wide
eyed into the scowling face of Sergeant John Rose, who motioned for her to open
the door. Shaking her head erratically, Thorn nearly choked on the mouthful of
sweet pastry. How had he managed to get out of the club and beside her car
without Thorn seeing him? She’d only turned her attention away for a few
seconds.

He rapped on the window again, a bit
harder than last, and motioned for her to open the door. Thorn swallowed hard
and reached up to wipe away any remaining evidence of her sticky treat. What
was she going to do now? She’d been stupid for thinking she could spy on anyone
without being caught. Now she was in way over her head.

“Open the damn door,” he
growled,
slapping the glass for a third time so hard Thorn
was surprised it didn't shatter.

****

John had been scanning the local
blood clubs the past week for any signs that a real vampire might be lurking
around the area. There’d already been two cases of bodies turning up sporting
tell-tale signs. When the General mentioned he’d arranged a very special tale
to keep an eye on his comings and goings this first week out in the public on
his own, John expected a military surveillance
 
team hidden out in a dark van able to provide backup if he needed it,
not some chick in a Chevy.

Seeing that same burgundy car parked
across the street from the Crept, he’d been livid. The damn woman was going to
get herself killed. The General must have been crazy to send a civilian woman
into such a situation. John’s temperament was no better when he finally exited
the club and watched as she scavenged around in her vehicle. Obviously, she had
no clue about the speed of the things he hunted.

In a flash of a second, he stood
outside her driver’s side window. His intent to frighten her back to whatever
suburban hell she’d come from was totally forgotten when she turned to face
him. The recognition was as instant as the erection, which currently pressed
against his pants. Thornora Grant was even more breath-taking sitting there
wide eyed in the front seat of that car than she was in the picture in his
front pocket. His head spun with the possibilities of what could've befallen
her here on this filthy street.