And two hundred people with the enthusiasm of this girl would be a formidable unit indeed.
They would need to do some testing first. Perhaps enhance fifty troops and unleash them on a small town in Mexico. Or even someplace secluded in the US. It was easier to cover-up than one might think.
Then some other woman ran up to the children and fired a gun into the air, breaking Tope’s reverie.
What an interesting turn of events.
Benson raised his sidearm, but General Tope held up a finger, stopping him. This new woman was obviously not a threat. She was haggard and bleeding and out of breath, and she held the gun like it was a snake she wished to throw away, and she had something—an infant—in a sling across her belly. Tope wanted to see how this played out. Wanted to see how the chubby girl reacted to this new threat.
The chubby girl fulfilled Tope’s expectations. She lunged at the woman.
The woman twisted to the side and kicked her in the face, knocking her onto the ground.
A pity. All that sadistic rage, but no skill.
“I apologize for this,” Dr. Plincer said. “I’ll have Lester and Martin take care of it.”
Plincer nodded at his men. They advanced on the woman.
Fascinating.
The woman was armed. The men only had hand weapons. But they approached her without fear.
Tope was liking this serum more and more.
Rather than try to shoot them like she should have, the woman instead ducked around the boy’s pole. There was another shot, and then the boy’s hands were free.
Stupid. She should have taken care of the threat first, then released the children. This woman was no soldier. She was an idiot.
The men closed the gap on her, and she wasted even more time freeing the girl by firing at her bonds.
Then a handful of wild people rushed out of the woods. The ferals. They threw themselves at Lester and Martin, snarling and slobbering and brandishing… was that silverwear?
What the ferals lacked in technique, they apparently made up for in savagery. Tope became concerned.
Lester and Martin had much better skills than the pudgy girl. They dispatched several of those wild people with precise, almost eloquent, strokes of their knives.
But when a dozen more ferals came screaming into the area, Lester and Martin fled. So did Dr. Plincer.
Benson had his gun out, shooting two of the wild people who ran at him. They fell, but were quickly followed by five more.
That’s when Tope’s concern became fear.
He ran, briefcase in hand, back the way he’d come. Benson fired twice more, and it sounded like the woman was shooting as well.
Then a man cried out, “Help me!”
Benson, whom Tope had hired to protect him, was calling for help. General Tope found no amusement in the irony, and he certainly didn’t offer assistance of any kind. Tope didn’t even turn around to see what had happened. He was too intent on running for the helicopter.
Tope rounded the corner and saw the chopper in the distance. He hoped the pilot, Crouch, was paying attention and about to start the engine, because Tope could sense he had several feral people chasing him. He chanced a look.
More than several. Five or six.
Tope wasn’t in the best shape, and wasn’t a fast runner, but terror was the ultimate motivator. He reached the helicopter before the savages, yanking on the door handle.
Locked.
The turbine engine whined to life, the rotors beginning to spin. That idiot Crouch was staring over Tope’s shoulder at the oncoming horde, his eyes big as duck eggs.
General Tope banged on the door. Once he got inside he was going to strangle that fool. Revise that; after he got inside and was taken to safety, he would strangle him.
Then the unthinkable happened. General Alton Tope, the man who was going to make sure the US military maintained world supremacy, was dragged away from the helicopter in utter disbelief.
The suitcase was ripped from his hand, but these people had no interest in its contents. They seemed interested in him, wrestling him to the ground, pinning him down.
But why? What could these ferals possibly want?
The first jolt of pain was in Tope’s leg. It was followed swiftly by an equal pain in his arm.
They’re biting me.
Typical Army fuck-up. A multi-billion dollar spy telescope, plus a decade of clandestine intel, and no one had known the ferals were maneaters.
Tope screamed, and a savage stuck his ugly face in Tope’s, flecks of flesh and blood in his filthy beard, mouth open and drooling, his lips moving closer and closer.
Tope was more revolted by this man’s kiss than by those who were chewing on him.
But it turned out this man wanted to chew as well.
General Tope was tangentially aware of a strong wind, the helicopter taking off, as more and more of his body was gripped in the mouths of these cannibals. He began to choke, blood running down his windpipe from the bleeding hole where his nose used to be.
The helicopter’s speaker system crackled and came to life. The last human voice Tope ever heard was that bastard, Crouch.
“Sorry, General. You didn’t pay me enough to die here.”
Tope exposed his neck, praying to be bitten there, praying for someone to pierce his jugular or carotid and end his suffering.
He had no takers.
Apparently the ferals liked their meals alive and kicking.
This was unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed. Dr. Plincer had been so close to sealing the deal. Who could have guessed the ferals would have showed up?
Well, actually, he should have guessed it. He was the one who made them that way in the first place.
But Plincer hadn’t known there were so many. He also hadn’t known they’d been able to organize their group, almost like some primitive tribe. It was fascinating, from a scientific standpoint, but a huge disaster from a financial one.
Hopefully, General Tope would get away, and they’d be able to try again at a later date. If not, perhaps the military would send another representative. The Russians were also a possibility. Plincer had even been contacted by a former member of the KGB. This situation was just a slight delay—a hiccup—in the overall game plan.
Plincer hurried through the big iron door into the prison, but before he got a chance to lock it someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arm up behind his back.
Subject 33.
“Well, you recovered quickly,” Plincer said. “It’s good to see you up and about.”
Subject 33 twisted upwards, popping Plincer’s shoulder out of its socket and taking the doctor’s breath away.
After that it got bad.
Very bad.
They didn’t run. They hid. Cindy couldn’t believe how wonderful it was to get this second chance. She promised herself she wouldn’t waste it.
Right after Sara freed her and fired a few times at the oncoming wild people, the four of them ducked into the trees and jumped into a shallow ditch.
Tyrone had his arm around her, and it felt better than the biggest hit of meth she’d ever taken. She helped him take the dog collar off, and then removed hers. After being unable to use her hands for so long, the freedom to move them again was fantastic, though the cuffs were still pinching her wrists—Sara had only shot the chain between them. Even the throb from the bite wound seemed to hurt less.
Now all they needed to do was keep away from the psychos, the cannibals, those army guys, and the mad doctor. The army guys seemed to have left, their helicopter flying off overhead.
“Help me!”