APOLLO RISING (The Apollo Saga, Book 1) (2 page)

“It’s the jacket, isn’t it,” she questioned, trying to appease her roommate’s concerns.

“Here,” Blake offered lovingly. Reaching up, she pulled the rubber band from Allie’s hair, letting her hair down. “That’s more like it!”

“Thanks,” she lied, knowing she was just going to pull it back up the second she walked out the door, if not sooner.

“You might need these up there, too,” Blake added, holding out a thick jacket, hat and gloves. “News says a storms coming.”

“You’re the best,” Allie smiled. “Sometimes I don’t know how I would’ve survived this long without you.”

She packed the extra clothes and gear into the duffle, along with her bag of toiletries and some extra odds and ends for the cabin. She hadn’t been up there in over a year, and she would need to grab a couple gallons of gas for the generator on her way out of town too, just in case.

“Be careful, Allie Cat.”

Allie smiled, and hugged her friend. “I’ve spent a lot of time up there,” she assured her. “I know the woods better than anyone. I’ll be fine.”

Blake hugged her back. “You better. I would hate to think I might have to come up there and save you.” She folded her arms and feigned a shiver. “You know how much I hate the snow.”

Allie managed the trip down to the parking lot in one load, balancing both bags over her shoulders and a duffle on the rolling ice box, and still managed to keep the remnants of her coffee until the elevator reached the basement. She tossed the now-empty cup into a garbage bin near the doors and packed up the back of her jeep.

At the street, she stop at the sidewalk, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and took a deep breath. “Take care of yourself, Apollo,” she smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Traffic was light going out of the city. She made one stop for gas and some last minute junk food, and from there she made good time up into the canyons. She was nearly to the side roads off the freeway by the time the first snowflakes struck her windshield.

Meanwhile, Tyler was just waking up; his senses coming to in random and mystifying ways. Of course, it might have a lot to do with the powerful throbbing in his left temple, or the lingering impression that he wasn’t in his own bed.

His body woke up first; his muscles stiff with pain. He tried to stretch, instantly realizing that he wasn’t even lying down, and his hands were bound.
Bound? What the hell?
He tugged against the restraints again, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t. A few tangled memories faded in and out of context
.
The last he could remember, he had been at a bar with a beautiful brunette who’d handed him a drink.
 

A pair of footsteps approached him, just before someone kicked his seat.

“We know you’re awake, open your eyes.” It was a woman’s voice, only vaguely familiar.

“What? Where am I--?” It was hard to tell how long he’d been out. He attempted to open his eyes, wincing from the pounding pain in his skull. His sight adjusted gradually, revealing an empty warehouse laid out in front of him; the only light, a few dim rays of the setting sun peeking through a set of windows above.

She spoke again, calm and even. “Welcome back, Tyler.”

“Who--?” Another memory crashed down into his thoughts. A dark-haired woman, eyes the color of steel. The clink of ice in a half-full glass. He winced again.

The woman stepped around him, coming fully into view. She looked familiar, triggering the memory again from the bar. They talked, they’d had drinks. It was impossible to unravel, it was all still too fuzzy and indistinct. 

She was dressed in a fine ensemble that made her stand out in this warehouse interior – she would be right at home in a boardroom of a decently profitable company somewhere, he reasoned. And when she stepped forward to stand in front of him, she was not so much walking as claiming the ground, one step at a time. Although there was a dark elegance to her movements, her cold beauty left him feeling intimidated.

Tyler tried to do a quick inventory. He was in a t-shirt and jeans, and his shoes and socks were gone. He shifted his weight slightly in the chair—no phone or wallet. His wrists were tied behind him with what felt like nylon rope, but his ankles were still free.

“We’ll make this quick, Tyler,” she said, gesturing to a pair of men standing to either side of him. Only then did he notice they had been standing there the whole time. “My friends are going to ask you a single question, and you’re going to answer it correctly. Do you understand?”

“Look,” he tried to say, his words struggling to get past the numbness in his mouth, “I think you’ve got the wrong--“

He was interrupted by a powerful hand striking him across the jaw, nearly taking half his teeth with it. His ears were ringing.

“No!” The woman screamed, rubbing the sting from the hand that struck him. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” She took two steps back and nodded to her cohorts. “Gentlemen.”

One of the two men standing beside Tyler moved in front of him. He was built like a football player, nearly as broad as he was tall. He stared wordlessly at Tyler for several moments before asking, “Who are you allied to?”

Immediately, the other man struck Tyler across the jaw, making his head ring even harder.

The first man waited a moment, and then repeated the question. Again, before he had a chance to answer, the second man struck him again, harder. He tasted blood.

“Fuck! Who are you people?!” Tyler insisted.

“Just answer the question!” the woman demanded. This time her voice cracked at the height of her scream. He could tell he was testing her patience. “I’ll give you one last chance,” she said, forcing a smile. She meant business.

Tyler’s patience was wearing thin too, but he needed more time to try and wriggle his hands free. He smiled back, then spit at her.

His insubordination was answered by an immediate punch to the face by one of the men. This third punch grazed his nose, enough to cause it to bleed instantly, and freely.

When the question came again, Tyler jerked his head back quickly, letting the ensuing punch pass his face. “You gotta let me answer, dammit!” he said, flecks of blood hitting the air as he spoke.

The man who’d been doing the asking smiled pleasantly. “Then answer the lady.”

“What was the question again--?” Tyler asked sarcastically, sliding his right hand from the poorly-tied knots behind his back as he eyed the ladder on the far wall.

He was cut off – this time by the questioner – by a strike across the face with the back of his fist.

“Who are you allied to?” The man asked again, less pleasantly.

“No one! I’m not--!” Tyler tried to say, before the other man struck him again, on the side of the head. The punch was powerful enough to knock Tyler over and onto the floor, chair and all. His left arm was caught between the back of the chair and the floor, adding another layer of pain.

“Stop!” she yelled, her voice echoing across the warehouse. “Looks like he’s got quite the fight in him. Perhaps, we could claim him after all.” Her posture softened as she leaned down, tilting her head to look him in the eye.

Tyler flexed the fingers of his left hand, tenderly moving his arm so he could be certain it wasn’t broken. So far, this was the only window he had foreseen to attempt an escape. If he could just pull his arm free, he could take her. The two goons were easy, he reasoned. They were built more like fire hydrants than athletes. He was certain he could out-run them if given the chance.

“Tyler,” she addressed, matter-of-factly. “I know you’re new to Apollo City. But you’ll soon understand our politics. There’s no such thing as a lone wolf here. You’re either with us, or against us. Now,” she continued, cracking her knuckles, “which one’s it going to be?”

Neither, he decided. He was up in a flash, blocking her quick reflexes as she tried to attack. She was stronger than he anticipated—stronger than any woman he had ever encountered—but she went down fast when he tripped up one if her heels.

“Kill him!” she demanded.

His eyes took in the room as quickly as he could, running full speed for the ladder. Above it, a catwalk ran the length of the building, twenty feet up. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do; the only other way out seemed to be the door on the other side of the brut squad, both of whom were already responding to his attempt to escape.

He took the ladder rungs to the catwalk three at a time, silently praying his feet didn’t miss any of them. A loud snap filled his ears, sounding like fireworks as something punched into his thigh, nearly knocking him from the ladder before his brain could make sense of it. They were shooting at him.

“Fuck!” He pushed past the wave of pain and pulled himself up to the catwalk.

He had to keep moving. The catwalk ran the length of the longer side of the warehouse, and ended at the windows on the west side. Without looking back, he pushed himself faster toward the sun, covering the length of the catwalk in seconds. When he reached the window at the end of the walkway, he covered his face with his hands and threw himself through. It exploded outwards with a bang. There was no denying every cut from the shards of glass that carved into his skin.

He landed in a roll, and lifted himself back up onto his feet and took off running. His pursuers cleared the door and tried to intercept him before he turned the corner. He hoped the exposure of a busy street would keep them from continuing to shoot. Still, he never let up on his pace.

His right foot was hurting badly with each step, but he knew there was no way he would have time to try and tend to the glass lodged in his heel while they were on him. So he ran, and ran, all the while in excruciating pain, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in his wake until he reached the edge of town.

Finally, he paused to catch his breath. At the next corner, he spotted a gas station. Sitting at the pump, was an old rust-colored pickup with a tarp over the bed and a gun rack in the back, If he had his wallet, he would bet money it was headed out of town. He waited, hiding behind an old dumpster, for an opportunity to hitch a ride. As soon the driver started the engine, Tyler made a beeline for the bed of the truck. It was overfilled with firewood, leaving just enough room for him to crawl underneath the tarp and pray he was hidden enough to make a clean getaway.

Hours passed by like minutes, and snow had already started to gather by Tyler’s feet, which were just barely exposed beneath the flapping edge of the tarp. The temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees and he couldn’t stop shivering. Between the loud rumble of the old engine and the shock from his wounds, Tyler had managed to pass out. Again.

Man, I need to stop waking up like this.

He peeked outside
.
The truck was climbing the mountain pass already. The smell of trees made it to his senses, bringing him back to reality as he shook off the sleep and assessed his situation.

He felt around in the dark, and as soon as his fingers reached his lower body, he wished he hadn’t. His clothes were soaked from the bottom of his t-shirt to his knees. It was wet and sticky, and by the wincing pain in his thigh he knew he needed to tend to his wounds immediately. Between them and the weather, he could practically feel the warmth leaving his body. And if he didn’t get warm soon, it wouldn’t matter how quickly he could take care of the bullet hole in his leg, the cold would get to him first.

Either way, he figured he needed to get out of his jeans. Only then could he gauge the real damage. He peeled his pants off in one single tug, ripping the fabric from his wound and causing it to seep again.
Shit! This isn’t good. Isn’t good at all,
he panicked
.
He removed his shirt quicker than he had his jeans and tied it around his upper thigh; yanking it taut, hoping to stop the bleeding until he could plan his next move.

He moved back the tarp again, hoping to shine some light on his condition.

And then it happened. All too quickly and unexpectedly. At first, he shook it off as a reaction to the pain; an instinctive response from his body as it tried to heal itself. Shock, maybe. Unnerved, he thought he was hallucinating just before passing out once again. But then, as the wind kicked up under the tarp and revealed a sliver of sky between the crests of pines, he saw it and he knew.

“It’s the full moon
tonight
?! When the hell--?”

He must’ve been in that warehouse longer than he thought. But before he could do the math in his head, the mostly-full moon found him and awakened the blood that still filled his veins. His vision blurred, his breath caught in his throat. That feeling crept over his skin like the touch of a long lost lover, calling to his body to return to it.

“No, not now,” he begged. “Not here.” But it was too late.

The unwelcome change fell upon him with force; powerful, irresistible, and undeniable. His muscles clenched, throbbed; his heart raced. In moments, Tyler’s human form had vanished, torn and broken, replaced by a larger, monstrous form. The wounded and damaged body was replaced by a creature of tooth and claw and fur and rage. Seething rage, demonic and unending.