Revolution (20 page)

“I won’t... what?” asked Szabo, his tone most
mocking. “I won’t hurt her? I could, but I will not, for I have no
use for her. I have also instructed my followers not to harm her
and they will not—at least for the moment.

“You, however, I
can
use. Although
your process was not complete, you still retain your intellect.
This is something I need. If you do not wish to work for me, then I
will give you incentive.”

He then bashed Harry into the ground and
began to stomp on him all over, occasionally switching to pummeling
him with merciless strikes. Harry held out as long as he could, but
eventually he gave up and let the blackness consume him.

“Wake up!”

The voice, soft, feminine, had an iron edge
to it and it cut through the fog around Harry’s brain. The voice
repeated the command, louder this time. The resonance brought him
back to the land of the awake. He stirred, his body aching in
places he didn’t knew existed. Taking a look around, he found
himself in a cell, lying on a filthy cot. Anastasia’s face hovered
a foot above his. The only light came from a flickering light bulb
overhead. “How long... how long have I been out?”

“There’s no clock here, so I’m guessing about
two hours,” she replied and knelt beside him. Her face was full of
worry. “He must have hit you so hard. Two of those things dragged
you here. They said they’d return later on.”

With a groan, he moved his body a few inches
and pain flashed through him. Sniffing the air, he smelled the
dried blood on his body. He smelled other odors as well. However,
now wasn’t the time to think about what else had been there. “Help
me up,” he croaked out, throat dry and caked with blood.

Anastasia helped him into a sitting position.
He rubbed his hand over his head and winced. “Thanks,” he said and
shook out his limbs, ignoring the throbbing pain. At least two of
his ribs had been broken. He felt them healing. They cracked and
reformed, and it hurt worse than the beating. Pushing the pain to
the back of his mind, he leaned against the wall and asked, “They
didn’t touch you, did they?”

Anastasia shook her head. “No, one of them
tried, but he got what he deserved.” She extended her claws and
picked out some dried blood and flesh from under the hard skin. “He
won’t be trying it again.”

Good for her. Anastasia was a wildcat when
pissed off. “Did you find a way out?”

Pointing at the cell door, she began to
smile. “Through there,” she said, stating the obvious.

Black humor—she would have to use it. He
began to laugh. It hurt, and he stopped himself from going any
further, but all the same, a little humor was needed in this
situation. It was better than wallowing in pity.

With an effort, he got to his feet and tried
pulling the door open, but it resisted moving even a fraction of an
inch. With a bitter sense of reality and grudging respect for his
captors, he figured that they’d reinforced the bars. They were well
and truly trapped. “Well, that’s that.”

Sighing, he returned to the cot and sat down.
“What does he want?” asked Anastasia as she massaged his
shoulders.

“Istvan’s blood, my help and the death of a
lot of people,” he replied. Taking in a deep breath, he proceeded
to explain the master plan, horrifying detail by horrifying
detail.

As he did so, a storm cloud swept over
Anastasia’s face. “He can’t do that, can he?”

“We’re not going to let him.” Of that, Harry
was quite sure. The man-shark deserved a massive beat-down. Harry
had never been a vengeful person, but this one time he’d make an
exception. “We’ll get out of here.”

“And just how are we supposed to do that...”
she began. Her voice cut out when Harry pointed to her stomach. A
grim smile spread across her face. “Thanks for reminding me. I was
having so much fun.”

This time Harry
did
laugh. It caused
his ribs to start aching again, but he couldn’t help laughing at
the ridiculousness of their situation. This was another fine mess,
as the old saying went. He only hoped that Farrell had notified the
proper authorities and also that this place didn’t have any kind of
shielding from satellite detection. If it did, say goodbye to any
future...

“What you laugh about?”

Swiveling his head around, Harry saw two of
the animal people standing outside the bars. One of them was a
centaur. It had a man’s torso, but two horse’s legs. It also had a
single horn, long and wickedly sharp looking. It sprouted from his
forehead like a lance. With the remains of some blood on it, it was
a cinch that the monster knew how to use it.

His companion resembled a monkey more than
anything else. The latter was missing an eye. Covering the ruined
area was a thick and clumsily taped patch. Freshly made claw marks
dotted its face. “You,” it hissed at Anastasia. “I owe you big
pain.”

“Open up and you’ll get some more,” she shot
back, claws out and ready.

They had machine guns at the ready. In a wise
move, Anastasia backed off. The centaur opened up, warily eyed them
both and said, “You are both coming with us.”

Motioning with his weapon, he urged them out.
“Start moving.”

Anastasia winked at Harry, her cue to go on
the offensive. In a burst of lightning-fast speed, she whipped her
tail around and smacked the gun out of the monkey-man’s hands. He
mouth dropped open in shock and she poked him in his remaining eye
with one of her claws. “Have some more pain,” she snarled as he
began to scream. A right hook from her dropped him and the sound
abruptly cut off.

All of this happened in less than three
seconds. The centaur guarding Harry naturally brought up his gun,
and Harry chopped at his wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and
he kicked it away. He then lashed out with a left hook and sent the
centaur stumbling backwards. The centaur regained his balance, felt
his jaw and shook off the blow. “You hit me, little boy. I hurt you
now.”

Anastasia started to move in, but Harry
called her off. “No, this punk is mine.”

In a tangle of flailing arms, they clashed in
the center of the room. Harry started out by slashing at the
centaur’s neck. It was a bad idea, because it was as thick as an
oak and just as strong. It whipped its head around and the horn
stabbed Harry in the shoulder. A river of fire flashed through his
shoulder and he stifled a yell.

“You get more pain, little man,” the centaur
stated with satisfaction when he saw the blood flow out. “I no need
gun!”

“Good to know,” Harry grunted and his claws
sprang out. Ready now, he inflicted his own brand of pain, digging
his claws into the soft spot under the thing’s jaw. It bellowed and
thrashed around under his grip, but couldn’t break free. Harry
pulled one hand out, clamped down on the thing’s horn and broke it
off. A cry of agony came from the thing, but the cry abruptly
ceased when Harry stabbed it in its throat, opening a wide hole.
Blood spurted out, sprayed the walls, and the thing collapsed and
lay twitching as its nerves began to fail.

Sick at what he’d done, yet, feeling as if
he’d had no choice, Harry dropped his makeshift weapon and panted
out, “What do we do now?”

Anastasia arched her eyebrows and pointed in
the direction of the stairs. “We leave. What else is there?”

Running to the steps, they got halfway up
when they heard a hoarse cry from behind them, “They’ve
escaped!”

An alarm went off, its siren blaring. Harry
grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and kept pumping up the stairs. The
fiery ache of lactic acid buildup began, but he kept going. When he
faltered, Anastasia urged him onwards. “Keep going,” she panted.
“We’re... almost there.”

Eventually, they got up to the surface and
breathed in and out, exhausted, only to be met by around twenty of
Szabo’s men with him in the lead. “Escape is futile,” he said,
grinning.

Anastasia pointed behind him. “Guess
again.”

A shot whistled overhead and then another.
Szabo turned around to see where the firing was coming from. Thirty
feet behind him and coming fast were no less than ten heavily armed
Serbian soldiers, all wearing green uniforms and firing as they
ran.

Szabo snarled out a command. “Scatter!” His
men obeyed, running in all directions.

Most of the soldiers rushed by them, but one
man, perhaps in his fifties with a thickset frame and an equally
thick mustache, stopped in front of Harry. His eyes widened for a
moment, but a second later, he nodded. “I thought this was
impossible. It isn’t.”

“Glad we didn’t disappoint you,” Harry
retorted as the sounds of gunfire intensified. “What’s the
news?”

The man saluted. “My name is General
Slobovic, in charge of the First Battalion,” he said in flawless
English. “We heard about you from Ilic. Your FBI agent, the man
named Farrell, contacted us and gave us your transponder signal. We
also had another source.”

“Who told you?”

Slobovic pointed at Istvan. “He came to us a
few hours ago. It was, er, a great shock at first. But after the
attacks our people have suffered in the past few months and after
we heard the same reports from Russia and Hungary, we knew it was
not the work of a madman.”

“Oh, it is,” Anastasia said, nodding. “It
most certainly is.”

Slobovic gave her a quick glance. “We can get
to the specifics later. We were instructed to call your American
FBI first and speak to Agent Farrell.”

Istvan spoke up and his face was wreathed in
a grin. “I brought him. I cannot fight, but I can hide and I can
report.”

Anastasia wore a faint smile. “Guess you’re
good for something after all.”

The little pig-man shuffled his feet and his
face turned a bright red. He seemed embarrassed by the sudden
praise.

Life’s golden moment got interrupted by the
return of the soldiers. One of them spoke to the general, who
translated. “It seems as though the enemy has run off for now,” he
said.

Good news to hear. What wasn’t good news was
the soldiers who’d decided to do the stop-and-stare routine. It not
only made Harry uncomfortable, but Anastasia as well, and her eyes
held the old familiar look of someone ready to open a can of
whoop-ass.

A second later, she stalked off to lean
against a tree. “If you’re finished staring,” Harry said to
everyone in the calmest voice he could muster, “then you might
start by destroying the facility.”

Slobovic barked out a command to his men.
Three of them readied their guns and ran down the stairs. The
sounds of shooting began. Soon after that, cries of pain echoed up
to the surface. “It seems they are doing their job,” the general
said.

Explosions from below made the ground shake,
and shortly after, the soldiers came running out surrounded by
smoke. They hastily shut the door.

The general nodded. “I gave orders to burn
the facility.” He turned and spoke to one of his men. The soldier
replied instantly and Slobovic looked at Harry. “He said that
around ten of the enemy was still down there. They will not be
getting out again.”

“Neither will any of you,” a voice called
from behind them.

Spinning on his heel, Harry saw Szabo hurl
something in their direction. “See if you can live through this!”
the man-shark called out.

Harry’s eyes followed the trajectory of the
projectile. It landed in the middle of their group. “Run!” he
yelled, just before it exploded.

Too late—the force of the blast sent Harry
hurtling some yards away. He came to, eyes unfocused and ears
ringing. Smoke filled the air and waving it away, he yelled,
“Anastasia!”

No answer. He continued to call her name, but
the silence was deafening. Finally, his hearing cleared and he
heard a gasp. Running over to the source, he found Istvan lying
near a tree, moaning pitifully. “My head hurt,” he said. “What
happened?”

“We got bombed.” Harry turned around and
surveyed the scene. Three soldiers were still alive, along with the
general whose face was covered in blood. He was also uttering a
string of words that had to be curses. The remaining soldiers
staggered over and nodded at him, but in all the chaos and
confusion, one simple fact stood out.

Anastasia was gone.

The soldiers made a perfunctory search of the area,
but came up with nothing. It was obvious that Szabo’s gang had
disappeared and taken Anastasia with them. They could be halfway
across the border. Who could find them now? The Serbian army hadn’t
been able to track them, and it was clear that Szabo and his band
of fanatics knew the land better than anyone did.

Uttering a cry of loss, Harry sagged to the
ground. A stabbing pain in his right side caused him to wince.
Searching for the source of the pain, he let his fingers do the
walking and lifting his sweaty, bloody shirt up, he pulled out a
shard of metal from below his ribcage. Blood and clear fluid oozed
out, but the pain began to fade immediately.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I lose my girlfriend,
get stabbed, what else can go wrong?”

A second later, he took back his question.
Bad things usually happened in threes. Although he wasn’t
superstitious, at the same time, he didn’t want to tempt the gods
of fate.

Glancing at the wound, he saw that his skin
had already started to knit. Grateful though he was for having
regenerative powers, he also cursed Szabo for doing what he’d done
and vowed to find Anastasia no matter what the cost.

A few seconds later, one of the soldiers
returned and reported to the general. In turn, Slobovic relayed the
information to Harry. “I am sorry. She is gone. We must return to
base and there you can contact Farrell. Come, we will go to our
jeeps.”

With nothing left but to trust the man, Harry
followed him and Istvan tagged along, tears streaming from his
eyes. “I am sorry,” he said between sobs. “I should have tried to
help. Instead, I am coward and hid.”