“Thing I don’t get is this: if they don’t require food and water, why kill?”
“It’s the last chemical. It was Mikhail’s last part of the compound, but he had no intention of including it.”
“What’s it do?”
“When mixed, it amplifies one’s rage, Jeff. It makes a murderer into a psychotic killing machine. He tested it in extremely low doses. Each time, the compound was too powerful. So, he scrapped it from the original synthetic chemical he gave the KGB.”
“So what went wrong?”
“They took his work to another team, had them replicate it. Problem was, they didn’t realize most of this was guesswork by Mikhail, theory at best. They didn’t realize the results, and to make matters worse, they mixed the compound in extremely high doses.”
“So, this madman scientist didn’t know about this…”
“It alters the genes we carry that control our temper, our anger, our rage.”
“This rage gene gets flicked on, but it’s overkill. So, not only are they super-human, they actually like killing?”
“You got it,” Elizabeth said grimly.
“It’s insane…” mumbled Rivers, squeezing Elizabeth tight. “With all our technology, with all our superiority, we’re scared of something that’s more animal than anything.”
“If they weren’t earth born, we’d call them aliens.”
“Ha! Think they actually made a movie about that — SEALs against aliens or something.”
“I’m not joking around, Jeff.”
“I know, Lizzy. Just trying to wrap my mind around it all. So, besides killing these things, you want me to make sure that Russian gal does her job. Collects samples or something?”
“Correct. The more we know about the compound, the better. Unfortunately, most of Mikhail’s research has vanished, and even our advanced thinkers can’t figure it out. He was light years ahead of his time.”
“What concerns me is, why would you want to know about it? See, when Langley wants stuff like that to happen, it usually has bad results. Some things shouldn’t be created, or in this case, re-created.”
“You’re assuming we’d use it for nefarious purposes. To know, to understand the compound, is vital in case we don’t get them all. The mountain is huge, and we assume there are smaller exits. If a few get out, they’ll begin breeding again.”
“In order to develop something to stop them, you’d have to make it. Not sure I want to be part of that,” Rivers said.
Elizabeth sighed, turning over, staring him in the eyes. Their lips met, lost in the moment, forgetting the past, not concerning themselves of the future.
Only now mattered.
Their bodies came together again. This time it wasn’t a barbaric act of frustration and ecstasy, but something more passionate, something meaningful.
It was as if they’d never see one another again.
81
“Memories are a strange thing,” Elizabeth said. They lay together, entangled and loving.
“What about them?” Rivers asked in a whisper.
“There are different types of memories, some tangible, proven to be factually true. There are also suppressed memories, clouded recollections of actual events. This second type of memory combines both real and unreal events. This often can lead to delusions, where a subject’s memories are imaginary.”
“The crazies, right?”
“Delusional, yes. There are many forms of delusion.”
“So, your saying York is the second type?”
“No, actually, I believe York is the first type. I fully believe him. He doesn’t remember everything, but his memories are factual.”
“By who’s opinion?” Rivers asked.
“Mine. I’ve spent hours with him. He’s not delusional, I can tell you that. He’s suffered trauma, both emotional and physical, but he’s not off his rocker,” Elizabeth replied.
“All right, so now what?”
“There is a third way to categorize memories. It’s the most frightening, the most shocking, and perhaps the most real. I believe there are memories that have been intentionally programmed within the mind of a person. In most instances, this would be done in a lab. It seems our Soviet friends attempted to hold lab class in the Khost Province.”
“Go on,” Rivers said.
“These programmed memories, they might be real, might be by design, might be a mixture. Either way, this third form of memory is quite frightening, and hence why we’re here.”
“York? I’m not following you…”
“These programmed memories, they’re meant to cover up experiences much stranger than fiction. They’re often horrific, and we often dismiss them as absurd,” she explained.
“So, let me get this straight,” Rivers began. “These things are partially human, partially something else. According to York, and from intelligence provided by Svetlana on behalf of her government, we believe these things are advanced. Fair enough. They are psychophysiology, they have autogenic abilities, they’re faster, they’re stronger, and they’re programmed with horrific memories, and a desire to kill. Am I right?”
“You got it.”
“The Colonel pointed it out earlier. I just didn’t understand why.”
“History has taught us that we don’t always need technology and large armies to win wars. This simply isn’t true, though I’d fully support the Colonel’s notion of a cheap, effective army. It makes sense. However, we all know one thing: we’re still here, in Afghanistan. We’re struggling against guys with AK-47s and motor oil to lube the barrels. They’re doing damn good against us, and one reason is quite simple. The men you are fighting today were once our allies.”
“Yeah, we heard that,” Rivers replied sarcastically.
“The Mujahideen hated the Soviets. We supported them, with both money and support. These cave complexes you boys go in, they’re made in America.”
“That’s fucked up,” he said.
“The Mujahideen were once great, the Taliban are now. Though the Mujahideen split, leaving multiple factions, many did cross over and join the Taliban. They couldn’t help it. These people were born into war. They’ve always warred. All we’re doing is introducing a new enemy by going in. This isn’t like Iraq. These people are different, and their memories usually cover up horrific times. The Soviets were quite cruel to them. They’ve remembered this through generations, and in genetics. They were born into the fear of invasion, and the simple disdain for it.”
“Ask why they’re winning?” Rivers said aloud to the room. “They’re winning ’cause no army wants a war of attrition. The end never justifies the means.”
“Exactly,” agreed Elizabeth. “If you send wave after wave of men over a hill, they’d eventually run you down.”
“And if they were specialized, highly trained, they’d take on far greater numbers,” Rivers returned.
Elizabeth broke in, saying, “Imagine if they were both.”
“You mean to say, there might be more than we could know because, as Thompson so eloquently put it, they were fucking?” Rivers asked.
“I suppose so. Elite, killing machines that breed. It’s like a sci-fi movie,” she said.
“Guess we’re not the only ones in Khost having wargasms,” Rivers said.
Elizabeth giggled at this. She remained hidden, tight in Jeff’s arms, enjoying his embrace, fearing it would be the last time.
The pair drifted off to sleep, a sleep with no dreams, only nothingness.
82
The cave.
Another day of darkness for the creatures, another day of solitude within the cave.
Though the creatures felt something, knew something was coming — something quite different. And as the day passed, and evening neared, the creatures waited in great anxiety. This night they’d take great pleasure in succumbing to their urges, their instincts, their lust for death. This one time, the creature that once was Ahmed wouldn’t hold them back. He’d unleash their fury, he’d untie their wrath.