Rise of the Transgenics (6 page)

Farrell immediately pulled out his cellphone, cupped
his hand over the receiver and spoke quietly into it. Ten seconds
later a secretary, short, plump, and forty-ish with a bad dark-hair
dye job and glasses, walked through the open door carrying a
file.

Her professional demeanor suddenly cracked
when she caught sight of Anastasia. The file slipped through
suddenly nerveless fingers and fell to the floor, and she stopped
dead in her tracks, letting out an audible gasp.
“That...that’s...that’s a kitt...” she started to say.

All talking ceased when Anastasia abruptly
launched herself in the direction of the secretary and pinned her
against the wall. Her left hand held the hapless woman as she
thrashed around while claws slowly extended from her right hand. At
two inches in length, they had the ability to slice through skin
and muscle as easily as a buzz saw through wood.

Leaning over to shove her face one inch away
from the other woman’s, Anastasia laid down her challenge. “If
you’re thinking of calling me Miss Kitty,” she hissed, “then don’t.
Get out!”

With a terrified squawk, the secretary left,
and Anastasia, shaking with anger, retracted her claws, walked back
to the desk and hopped on top. With a snort of disgust, she crossed
her legs in a very prim manner and eyed Farrell. “Well?” she
asked.

A wry grin painting his features, he went
over to shut the door, picking up the file on his return trip. “Was
that really necessary? She’s under orders not to say anything, but
I’ll probably have to put in a call for a new secretary.”

“Yeah,” Anastasia ground out, still pissed
off and quivering with rage, “Yeah, it was necessary, and as for
the second point, I don’t care.” She continued to glare defiantly
at the older man.

Talk about being a badass. Harry said
nothing, for there was nothing to say. In a quick flash to the
past, he recalled the looks other people had given Anastasia when
they saw her for the first time. None of them had been at all
complimentary. Anastasia didn’t like being thought of as a freak.
Who would? The part of him that loved her—the biggest part—was on
her side all the way.

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him and the fire left her
eyes. “Sorry.”

All business now, Farrell flipped open the
file and pointed to two pictures of the victim, Nick Winter. “Well,
we’ll table apologies for another day. Have a look at these
pictures first. The one on the left was before this person got to
him. The one on the right was after he got scratched up. Coroner
said that only a large cat could have done it, and there’ve been no
breakouts at the zoo. Do you remember him?”

Anastasia blinked, wet her lips with her
tongue, and started to nod after looking at the picture on the
left. “Yeah, I do, I...” her voice grew hesitant and trailed off
for a moment. Then she looked up, the expression on her face
somewhat more confident. “I saw him when I first...first escaped
from Nurmelev’s lab. Yeah, that’s right.”

Her words came faster and surer now. “I
smelled food in the alleyway, and I just wanted something to eat.
He and some other big guy tried to jump me.” She blinked again. “I
remember running, and then the police captured me.”

“Ancient history,” Farrell groused as if
being reminded of the past was a painful thing for him.

You’re not the one who had your DNA
altered.
“Do you really feel bad about capturing Anastasia?”
Harry asked and he felt the wave of injustice coming from his
girlfriend. Bad vibes were in the room, and it was time to clear
the air. Thinking back on it, he’d also been captured and brought
here against his will. “I remember you not liking her very
much.”

The older man offered a sour smile as if he’d
just been forced to eat a dozen lemons. “Like I said, kid, that’s
ancient history and anyway, she’s on our side, although...”

Abruptly, his voice trailed off and he stared
intently at her.

Anastasia clearly picked up on the silence
and a knowing expression crossed her face. “Let me guess,” she said
as she arose from the desk to stand face to face with him. “You
think I’m still part of the Russian spy program, don’t you?” She
pushed her face closer to his and her voice took on a dangerous
edge. “Am I right or what?”

Farrell’s face showed no hint of what he
really thought. “I’m required to investigate any and all
possibilities of who might be here. Your memory is still impaired,
you’ve just come back from a cat state, and there might be some
hidden blocks or codes in your head that we don’t know about.”

His comment set her off and with a hiss, she
spat on the table. “You are a real jerk, you know that?”

Jumping onto the floor, she stood toe to toe
with Farrell. “After everything that’s been done to me, after all
I’ve—” she pointed to Harry—”
we’ve
been through, you still
think I’m some kind of spy or traitor. If you want me to walk in
there,” with a violent motion she jerked her thumb at the cell,
“then tell me. I don’t have to take your crap.”

Harry felt this had gone far enough and he
got between them, putting his hand on her shoulder and gently
pushing her back. He got the impression, though, that she could
have tossed him aside at any time. Small though she was, she had
genetically engineered strength, approximately three times that of
a very strong man.

“Anastasia, no one’s saying you’re a traitor
or spy. Am I right?” he asked, swiveling his head in Farrell’s
direction.

“Yes,” the answer came in a very noncommittal
and rather insincere manner. “It was an observation, nothing
more.”

Anastasia’s reaction was to extend her tail
into an upright position. It looked not unlike someone giving
someone else the finger. “Fine, we’re all buddies now,” she stated
while Harry fought the impulse to laugh.

Farrell, for his part, didn’t seem offended
by her anger. “You made your point. And as an officer of the law, I
have to ask. It’s my job.” He heaved in a deep breath and let it
out slowly.

“As for the victim, he won’t be jumping
anyone else,” he groused and closed the file. “When you were in
Nurmelev’s lab, did he ever mention any other clones or experiments
similar to yours?”

Anastasia paused, her eyes seemingly delving
into her own psyche. She seemed more introspective now, and her
lips tightened as if trying to dredge up the necessary information.
“No, I...don’t think he ever did. I still can’t remember a whole
lot. If I think too hard about it, my head begins to hurt. If
there’s something up here,” her ears twitched, “then it’s still
hidden.”

Harry thought back to when he’d spoken with
the mad scientist. Nurmelev had said there were only three
successes, Anastasia, Doug, and Ivan. He’d seen the mistakes,
twisted caricatures of humans, horribly distorted versions of
reality. “We only found out about that bear guy, Ivan, later on,”
he chimed in. “Doug didn’t remember, either.”

Farrell didn’t receive the news very well. A
storm cloud formed on his face, and grimacing, he got up and
whipped out his phone. “Hang on a second,” he said. “I have to
clear the main lobby.” He strode out of the room, and returning a
few minutes later, he waved at the pair to follow him.

“Come with me. The fewer people who see you
the better,” he stated, motioning to Anastasia. When she glared at
him, he hastily added, “I’m fine with the way you look. The rest of
the world is going to take more time to process all this.”

Fifty shades of angry washed over Anastasia’s
face, and she muttered something incomprehensible before asking,
“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to take a ride.”

By the time they reached the lobby it was
empty, and they moved out the rear exit. Farrell still drove his
battered old Ford, the car he’d used the first time they’d met.
After Harry and Anastasia piled in, he gunned the motor and took
off into traffic.

At roughly seven in the morning, the morning
rush hour hadn’t yet started. Farrell drove fast and hard in order
to reach the highway, and soon they were speeding along at a merry
clip.

Anastasia kept her head down. While her body
was covered up, her head was exposed, and her ears, not to mention
her fur and decidedly catlike although feminine features,
immediately gave her away. “Where are you taking us?” she muttered.
“And how long is this going to take?”

“We’re going to the Catskill Mountains,” the
agent answered, his voice tight. “It should take about a couple of
hours. Highway’s not in the best of condition, and the mountain
roads are probably covered with snow. Why?”

A moan started in the back seat, slowly
rising from a soft, intermittent sound to something higher in
pitch, regular, and annoying. Farrell irritably said, “What in the
hell is that? It sounds like an animal in heat.”

“Anastasia,” Harry said, hugging her to him.
“She gets carsick.”

“Wonderful.”

The car shot forward and soon Anastasia began
to moan louder, rocking back and forth and holding her stomach.
Harry truly worried about her barfing, but figured, hey, regular
people did it all the time. “Is everything okay back there?”
Farrell queried after quickly looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got
a couple of plastic bags if you’re going to—”

“Just shut up and keep driving,” Anastasia
groaned, holding her stomach tightly.

After a fashion, the moans stopped and she
slept. The interior of the car was warm and the rocking motion
helped to lull Harry to a state of near unconsciousness.

Sleep didn’t come, not entirely. The memory
of the cabin in the woods where unspeakable acts of human
experimentation had gone on remained fresh in his mind. Nurmelev, a
short, bald, and totally insane although brilliant scientist, had
constructed a laboratory in a secret room below the surface. There,
he’d created Anastasia, Doug, and Ivan, the bear-man, a towering
menace that had died at Anastasia’s hands.

After a horrific battle and just as the end
was near, the mad scientist—why did all scientists have to be
classified as mad, anyway—had detonated a series of bombs that he’d
rigged up.

The only reason Harry and Anastasia had
survived was that they’d hidden in a secret room where the
scientist kept the remains of his failed experiments. Nothing
remained of the cabin, as he recalled, only charred timber and
twisted steel. So why were they going...?

The sound of tires crunching over what
sounded like hardened snow and gravel came through to his ears, and
a draft of cold air startled him into wakefulness. “We’re here,
kids, so get ready,” the flat voice of Farrell came. “It’s almost
nine in the morning as we speak, and it’s time to search.”

Kids, once again, he has to say kids.
This time, the agent used the plural form of the word. All the
same, for once in his life Harry wished that anyone over the age of
twenty would refer to him as an equal, at least in some ways. It
seemed like it would not turn out to be the case.

As he looked out the window, a world of white
greeted him. Snow lay thick upon the ground and covered the forest,
which surrounded the remains of the cabin. He remembered the forest
being unbelievably dense, with the trees packed so close together
that not much light could penetrate. Back then, it had been
summertime and greenery was the catchword of the day.

Now, only the neutral color of white
dominated the area, and not a soul seemed to be around. Anastasia
stirred, picked her head up, stretched, and quickly exited the car.
Harry followed suit. “This is the place,” she said, craning her
neck around to look. “Yeah, I remember being here.”

The agent had parked his car along the path
near the woods, just a few yards away from the wreckage. Harry
started to shiver. He hadn’t brought anything warm to wear, and the
clothes he had on—a thick, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of
jeans—couldn’t keep out the cold.

Anastasia tested the air with her nose,
sniffing it as a cat would in order to catch a scent of...what
could be up here, anyway? Outside of some local residents who lived
here year-round, the only other visitors during the winter were
hunters and die-hard cross-country ski enthusiasts.

“You find anything unusual?” the agent
queried while he watched her perform her smell-and-seek
routine.

Anastasia’s ears twitched and she shook her
head. “I got nothing. Just cold air and a faint smell of...” She
broke off her sentence and sniffed the air again. “I thought I
smelled ammonia, but maybe it was just a rabbit or dog passing
through.” Her nose kept moving up and down rapidly, testing the
air, though, and a perturbed look appeared on her face.

Harry observed the goings-on, and his own
feelings of uneasiness began to grow. When Anastasia got worried,
it usually meant something bad was going to happen. However, up
here, right in the middle of nowhere with no evidence to speak of,
he couldn’t figure out why she was acting this way.

Instead, he turned to the FBI agent. “So
what’s the deal?” he enquired. “There’s nothing here.” He indicated
the wreckage with a wave of his hand. “Didn’t your guys go over
this before?”

“They did,” Farrell affirmed. Hands on hips,
he surveyed the area with an air of disappointment, finally blowing
out a deep breath. “But you never know, they might have missed
something. Anastasia, can you remember anything other than what
you’ve told us?”

She continued sniffing, her nostrils dilating
and expanding rapidly. In a series of quick steps, she walked over
to where a pile of charred lumber and metal bars lay partially
covered with a blanket of snow. Standing there motionless with only
her nose working overtime, she seemed to be concentrating. Finally,
she shrugged and turned away.