The Lycan Society (The Flux Age Book 1) (6 page)

Tomas had steadfastly refused the use of live subjects and with good reason. He had inflicted all kinds of atrocities on his dead subjects in the name of discovery.

“What are the components , Petyr?” Tomas called.

“This one is mostly werewolf,” the assistant said. “A fair portion of goat, a little bit of snake.”

Tomas grimaced. He’d mapped
most
of the lycan genome and was still filling the gaps with the DNA strands of other animals. Mixing and matching was far from perfect, but usually enough to tell them what they wanted to know. Their primary focus was getting the lycan elements right as they progressed. A fully functional lycan wasn’t far away. In theory.

“Blood’s dispersed,” Petyr reported.

“On my mark,” Tomas said grimly. Petyr went and stood by the ignition switch.

“Three. Two. One. Go.”

Petyr hit the ignition with a flourish. Tomas settled back to watch diagnostics. Petyr positioned himself by a monitor. There were several cameras inside the cell.

Tomas noticed the thugs looking at each other, grinning.
Fools
. Reanimation always took time. Out of long habit Tomas drummed his fingers against the edge of his panel. Petyr cracked his knuckles nervously.

Silence descended within the Silo.

Crack
. The abrupt sound of metal snapping.

“Jesus!” yelped Petyr, gripping the sides of his monitor.

Drawing on all the discipline he could muster, Tomas kept his eyes fixed on the all important diagnostic machine. Heart rate was through the roof. A cocktail of neurotransmitters were pinging all over it’s brain. It was thinking!

A shocking, ear-splitting scream erupted from inside the cell.

“It’s going berserk!” shouted Petyr.

“No, it just doesn’t understand,” Tomas said quietly, eyes glued to readouts that tracked the subject’s muscle mass and blood composition. Both were changing rapidly.

There was a bang as the subject launched itself against the cell door. Petyr flinched from his monitor. Another thud. A third left blood smeared on the frosted plexi-glass.

“Clear the glass,” ordered Tomas, striding up to the cell. Petyr toggled a slider that controlled the opacity of the glass. Tomas could now see in. The subject could see out.

Tomas’s breath caught in his throat. The thing was hideous. Every theory, every test carried out in this lab was based on the theory that under Flux conditions a body could rapidly transform using special RNA cache blueprints that were previously unavailable to the human body. It was simply a matter of unlocking them and convincing the body and mind that it needed to change.

The thing inside the cell had transformed alright - into a grotesque combination of the various DNA blueprints Tomas had created for it.

Some snake. Some goat. A lot of werewolf.

There was a name for this kind of creature. It was documented in Vladimir Prakow’s master work.

As Tomas watched the creature turned his head toward him, nostrils flaring wildly. It was a goat’s head, bloodied and bruised. The body rippled with muscle but was only partially covered with fur. The exposed, pulsating yellow flesh was sickening. The thing heaved with rage. Tomas could only imagine what kind of carnage it would unleash if it was free.

A long object hung poised in the air behind the creature. A tail, but also a snake. Tomas held a hand to his mouth, momentarily losing his nerve.

The hellish beast, an abomination created by his own hand, launched itself into the glass right in front of the scientist. It slammed into the inch-thick wall with incredible power, caving its own skull in. It crumpled to the floor, dead once more. The snake thrashed for several seconds before falling limp.

No one said a word. Hyperventilating, Petyr knelt against his monitor. The Berlin Club thugs had taken several steps back, ashen-faced.

One of the Tomas’s assistants rushed into the laboratory.

“This had better be good!” Tomas spat with uncharacteristic fury.

“Herr X has arrived, Dr. Verdano,” said the assistant in hushed tones.

Tomas straightened and took a deep breath.

“Good,” he said in a firm, clear voice. “Tell him we have a chimera.”

New York, USA

YASMIN WOKE TO the alarm she’d set on her cell phone. Nine hours of dreamless sleep despite the fact she was on the couch. Her first night away from Hugo in three years had been surprisingly easy.

Her ex-boyfriend had gallantly offered the queen-size bed but Yasmin was determined to be independent.

If they were going to break up, she didn’t want to be in debt to Hugo in any way. She would pay him board until she found a place to live and take only what she had paid for herself.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Yasmin filled the coffee pot and peered through the drapes - yet another bleak, wintry day in New York. She had lots of work to do.

First she had to find the courier that faithfully delivered the blood that saved her life. There was a remote chance he knew more about his client than he was letting on. Second, she needed to continue her research on the Flux. The book she had found at the Public Library raised more questions than it did answers, but it also filled her with a sense of wonder and excitement.

What if it was true? What if an age of Flux had already begun and her life had been saved because of it? On its own the prospect seemed ludicrous. But when Yasmin considered the bizarre nature of her recovery she had to keep an open mind. Her doctors had confirmed where the mysterious blood had come from - a dire wolf.

The implications of this both confused and fascinated her.

Yasmin downed her coffee quickly and stepped into the shower. She found herself glancing at the door, half expecting Hugo to appear and beg her to stay. She hoped he was sulking in his room - she simply didn’t have time to be his emotional crutch right now.

Sure, she felt sad to be drifting apart from her boyfriend of six years, but over the past few months her core values had changed forever. She had no place for Hugo in her new life, however harsh that seemed. Instead of overwhelming grief she felt relieved to be free. Free to live her new life however she saw fit.

Her mind ticking over with plans and ideas, Yasmin dressed and hurried from the apartment. Out on the cold, windswept street she ducked into the subway and was whistling toward central Manhattan within a minute.

On the train she accessed her Columbia University profile and withdrew from her photography course. The guilt she felt was connected more to what her parents would think of this. No doubt they would accuse her of throwing away her future.

Yasmin didn’t see it that way. She loved photography but she wasn’t quite passionate about it enough to devote her working life to it. Somewhere along the line, when she was lying in hospital during her recovery, her priorities changed.

Life was all about movement now. She would dive into the world and make it her own. She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to survive, but she needed to test herself, confront her fears and beat them. Just like she had beaten death.

Somewhat relieved that she didn’t have to front up at university the following Monday, Yasmin stepped off the train and made her way to street level. A cold wind buffeted her as she weaved her way through a sea of black-coated pedestrians and stood in the relative sanctuary of a hot dog stand.

The U.S. Post Office was just across the road. Yasmin studied the elegant building as she munched on a hot dog with extra mustard, trying to muster all her powers of logic. What were the chances of seeing the blond courier?

It all depended on how many clients used private post boxes at the GPO. Yasmin hoped the courier made at least one daily run to the Post Office. If he did, it would most likely be in the morning. There was a comforting logic to her theory, but the reality was far different. Hundreds of people were passing by every minute. The courier could pass and she wouldn’t even notice.

Finishing her hot dog, Yasmin decided to cross the road and patrol the facade of the building. After several minutes of pacing up and down she simply sat against the wall and watched people come and go.

She was lost in a rumination on ancient dire wolves when she saw a flash of blond hair in the crowd. Could it be …?

Yasmin sprang to her feet and darted through the throng. Her sharp new instincts told her this was the boy. She forged through the press even though she’d lost sight of the target. She was rewarded with a good look at the courier as he scooted off on his bicycle.

He was the one all right, but was now rapidly disappearing in traffic. Yasmin sprinted up the sidewalk, bumping into more than one disgruntled pedestrian. She ran and ran, marveling at her lung capacity. Shouldn’t her lungs be burning right about now? At the corner of Fifth and 30th Yasmin slowed to a walk, not quite out of breath but keen to establish a visual.

Nothing.

She slapped her thigh in frustration and leaped on top of a bin to scan the traffic. Where had she learned that move? No sign of the blond mop of hair. Yasmin was cursing her luck when she chanced a look down a side alley. The courier’s bicycle was chained to a pipe on the wall.

Rejoicing quietly, Yasmin headed down the alley and stepped into the dark doorway just beyond the bicycle. Weirdly, her eyes adjusted to the light immediately. The place appeared to be some kind of shop. Junk, mostly, the sort of thing only tourists could want. Miniature Statues of Liberty, Mt Rushmore snow domes and the like. Yasmin stepped amongst baskets of cheap plastic gifts to reach the rear of the store.

Flanked by display boards of gaudy jewelery, an old Korean woman was reading the
Chosun Ilbo
behind the counter.

“Hi,” said Yasmin awkwardly. “Did you see a guy pass through here?”

The woman took a few moments to drag her attention away from the paper.

“Boy? Oh yeah,” she said suddenly, jerking a thumb out back. “That way.”

Yasmin nodded and tentatively made her way down a dark hallway. Ignoring a gritty restroom, she passed through to an enclosed cobblestoned courtyard. A weathered wooden bench stood in the corner under a Jacaranda tree. A bubbling stone fountain occupied the north wall. Puzzled, Yasmin made her way back to the dime store.

“There’s no way out,” she said.

The wizened store keeper didn’t seem to hear.

“Excuse me,” Yasmin persisted. “I said there doesn’t seem -”

“He jump wall,” the woman said flatly.

Yasmin blinked. “He jumped the wall?”

The old woman lowered her paper impatiently. “He know you follow, he jump wall.”

Yasmin considered this. Was the boy trying to lose her? How on earth had he seen her following? And why would he leave his bicycle in the alley?

Whatever the case, she sensed she wouldn’t get answers from this woman.

“Thanks,” she muttered before retreating.

Yasmin felt like letting air from the courier’s tires. But she had other fish to fry. The Public Library beckoned. She instinctively knew she wasn’t finished with the strange dime store or it’s belligerent owner. She could always come back later that afternoon.

Her mind still turning over the puzzle of the disappearing courier, Yasmin hurried along Fifth Avenue. The crazy rush of morning peak hour hadn’t abated, and there was a throng of people waiting for the Library to open. When the doors were finally flung open Yasmin made sure she was one of the first in, paranoid that her book might be taken by someone else. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the crimson spine on the shelf.

Finding a secluded corner of the Reading Room, she settled in for more tales of ghouls and vampires.

She found the 19th century English easier to read this time round. The middle chapters explored the ravaging effect of the Flux on central Europe in the eleventh century. A nest of
vampyra
emerged in the Kingdom of Hungary to fight a stronghold of lycans in Poland.

Of all Naturebound species, the lycans had the strongest social conscience, and defended vulnerable humans when they could. Despite their best efforts, several aggressive species, led by the vampyra, stripped humans of wealth and influence.

By the turn of the twelfth century human civilization had all but collapsed. Yasmin was amazed by the author’s vivid descriptions of rude, muddy villages choked with filth and disease. It seemed that the Flux caused humans to lose all self-dignity. It look lycan dedication and centuries of careful rebuilding to emerge from the ruins of the most recent Flux age.

As Yasmin was reading about lycans of the deep, dark European forests, she sensed a presence nearby.

“You have something to say?” she asked without turning around.

A familiar voice floated from the general gloom.

“You’re back for more,” said the gaunt librarian from the previous day. “Impressive.”

“It does have a certain charm,” Yasmin said, cradling the huge book protectively.

The librarian nodded, falling silent. Just when the vibe became awkward he opened his mouth again.