Some Gave All (31 page)

He was tiring. The snow blocked him. Ice was freezing the blood inside his veins. In the oxygen hose, he tasted something metallic and wondered if the antidote was changing because of the cold. If it would stop working. If he would get inside the cave and launch the payload and nothing would happen and he would die in agony. He would be ripped—

His beast side threw back its head and roared.

And it was answered.

* * *

“I can’t stand it. We have to retreat,” said the Humvee driver. Cat was seated by the passenger door, half-turned toward him. “Where’s my gun? Defend!” He whipped out his weapon and pointed it at Cat. “Enemy!” he screamed.

“No!” she cried. She lifted her own weapon. The driver was sweating. He began to laugh and cry. His hand wobbled but Cat could see that he was preparing to pull the trigger. Her world telescoped to his fingers on the metal.

She was about to open fire when her door burst open and someone dragged her bodily from the vehicle. She fell into the snow just as the driver opened fire—and Mazursky went down, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Blood spurted onto the snow.

The driver kept firing. Cat flipped herself over on hands and knees and crawled toward the side of the Humvee just as Tess leaped out. She reached down and took Cat’s wrist; without a beat she began to drag her as she moved on instinct, fight or flight. They both had on their helmets; Cat forgot her words, her thoughts. She scrabbled in the snow to keep up as they madly charged into the black woods, the dense branches, the icy pond with a thick crust…

…and the liquid, unfrozen water beneath.

They crashed in.

And they went down.

* * *

Bullets and bombs. Guns pointed at him. Death. Kill first.

Run.

Run.

Run.

In a sheer panic. Trying to remember the mission; there was a mission; he was a man—

Beast-Vincent roared and caught the scent. Left, right, up the hill, through the copse of trees; right, right, right. Tracking his prey, running it to ground.

It roared back, more loudly, more horribly. The world became a vast star field of glowing blackness, luminescent. He kept after it, his animalistic survival instincts unable to assess the danger as he bore down on it. Huge, unknowable, revolting.

With a savage howl of frenzied triumph, Beast-Vincent threw himself at it. It fell back, then shot into the air and landed on him, and threw him fifty feet upwards; trees raced up to bombard him in the face, the neck. He cracked and broke. Then again, it grabbed him up and slammed him down with unbelievable force.

It was killing him.
Let it let it let it.

With his helmeted head in its mouth, it began to drag him. The snow was scarlet with his blood. His arms and legs were wrenched from their sockets; his joints twisted and cracked like chestnuts in a fire.

Let it.

He was barely conscious. Roaring and growling and batting at it without any awareness of doing so. His mind was back on the streets when he had been the vigilante and millions of New Yorkers wanted him dead. Hunted everywhere, hated, Beast-Vincent.

And then he thought of Catherine. His half-closed eyes opened and he saw her smile. Her beautiful eyes. Heard her voice saying, “You are not a monster, Vincent. You saved my life.”

Saved her life.

Save it now.

It was dragging him, but miraculously, he still had his rocket launcher. He clung to it with all his might as the fear beast pulled him over boulders and streams streaked with ice water. It was going somewhere; it had a destination.

He saw Catherine’s face again. His beast attributes faded and he was just a man.

With a rocket launcher.

It took him a moment to realize that the fear beast was heading for the very cave Tess had selected for him. It raced inside. Vincent’s body armor was coated with blood and mud. He held on to the launcher.

And then his helmet was yanked off, and the full force of the creature’s fear pheromones assaulted him. He tried to move, to aim the launcher, but as before, he went completely limp. He crumpled to the ground and cowered on his knees, dropping the launcher to shield his face. He saw
something
coming down at him, but what it was… if it had ever been human…

He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t move even one single finger. Lift an arm.

The world fuzzed out, becoming white, becoming Catherine’s beautiful face.

If I don’t do this, what happens to her?

That was the greatest fear. The worst thing he could think of. The thing that he dreaded more than a painful death or even the end of the world: the end of Catherine Chandler, the woman he cherished, respected, loved.

For some, that fear would be their undoing. It would utterly unnerve them. Shatter them.

For Vincent, it gave him back his humanity.

And in that moment, summoning all the effort in his entire body, his spirit, even his soul, he forced himself to stand up. He grabbed the launcher.

Assemble, load, fire.

He collapsed.

* * *

We’re drowning
, Tess thought. Words penetrated the sheer panic that had engulfed her. She sucked on the mask for oxygen and antidote, but it was dragging her to the bottom of the pond. In her mind’s eye she saw her brothers grouped around her, yelling at her to save herself; and then she saw J.T., telling her he loved her.

There was an explosion. The water literally shook, and her eardrums pounded.

Then she was rising up through the water; someone was pulling her out. Her back arched as the faceplate was pulled up and she breathed in the heavy snowfall. Gasping in the crystalline white.

It was Mazursky, bleeding so much that she couldn’t imagine how he was still alive.

“Cat?” she bellowed, coughing up water.

And Cat said, “I’m here.”

* * *

When Vincent awoke, he was lying in the cave on his back, and there was a small campfire burning beside his right foot. On it was a metal coffee pot. As he sat up, he discovered a note on his chest:

Thank you for corralling and destroying our little problem. We are in your debt. You might consider the possibility that you are fighting for the wrong side. You can’t imagine the other creations we have at our disposal, or fathom what we will do next. The world is ours, and it’s for our friends. And you, Dr. Keller, can be one of those.

We urge you to join us. If you do not, you will face horrors that will make this seem like a pleasant interlude.

Why did we spare you?

You are unaware of what you are capable. You were not engineered to stop progressing. When faced with dangers that call upon your body to evolve, you will do just that… you will become, truly, the king of beasts.

We look forward to observing this. And you can be sure that we will be doing so.

Soon.

With regards,

Howard Thornton

President and CEO, Thornton Industries

Vincent crumpled the note and began to drop it into the fire when he stopped himself. Instead, he sniffed the paper and closed his eyes. Focused. Saw the soldiers hoist up the dead fear beast. Saw them carry it out.

He reached the edge of the forest just as the helicopter rose into the snowstorm and left with the corpse, dangling from a net. Even from here, he could smell that it was dead.

He stared after it a moment, savoring victory—over a monster, and over his own fears—and then he went in search of Catherine.

SIX MONTHS LATER

S
eated at Mr. Riley’s beside, Vincent leaned forward and murmured his confession into the old man’s ear. Told him the story of Lafferty’s request that he, Vincent, helped her escape. How he had refused, and consigned her to death.

“And I’m sorry,” Vincent said. For a moment he thought Mr. Riley had fallen asleep… or worse, and he checked the old man’s pulse. It was fluttering. Mr. Riley was dying.

Twin tears traced glittery tracks down the sick, careworn face, and Vincent knew he had heard it all. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

“Son, you couldn’t even save yourself,” Mr. Riley murmured. It was a struggle to speak. With great effort, he lifted his hand and it hovered limply in the air, as if seeking Vincent. Vincent slid his hand beneath it, and Mr. Riley grasped his fingers, his grip surprisingly firm.

“I didn’t know if I should tell you the truth,” Vincent said. “You believed all these years that she died a hero.”

“But she did.” Very slowly, Mr. Riley’s eyes opened and fixed on Vincent. “She volunteered all the way. Enlisted. Worked her ass off to get into Delta Company. I was so proud. She told me how hard it was over there. And how you kept her spirits up. Told her not to be a big baby.”

Vincent remembered. His throat tightened as memories of that night on patrol flooded back, when Lafferty broke down and told him she wanted to walk into the desert and never come back. Away from the carnage and the people who hated them and the little children who begged for the scraps from their mess tent. That was before the experiments.

He wouldn’t tell this old man that, ever.

But he had told Lafferty that the people there were counting on them—the freedom fighters, the civilians who needed this war to end—and the people back home, who had given this conflict their best: their young men and women. Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters.

He had told her to be brave, and to fight with valor, and he’d sworn he would survive if she would. They’d made a pact. She’d hugged him and called him her brother.

“I wish I’d never met her,” Vincent said. “That she’d stayed home—”

“Hush your mouth, boy,” Mr. Riley snapped. “My Roxie did die a true hero.”

“For the wrong cause. They betrayed us.”

“Not everyone. Some people believed they were making you safer.” Like Cat’s mother, Vanessa Chandler. “And Roxie stepped up. She volunteered. Who would have died in her place? Maybe an ambassador who negotiates a lasting peace in the Middle East. Or a doctor who discovers how to cure the disease that’s killing me.

“She was a hero,” he said again. “Like you.”

He squeezed Vincent’s hand again—less firmly this time—and gave him a little smile.

“You’ll take care of Aliyah, you and Detective Chandler? I left everything to her. It’s not much, but it’s more than she’s got now.”

“We’ll take care of her,” Vincent promised. Given all the violence and trauma in her young life, Aliyah was doing remarkably well. He and Catherine had told her the truth about beasts—that they were not magical, but a product of science, and that one day there would be no more beasts. One truth and one half-truth, then. One fond hope.

Mr. Riley gasped. “Amanda and Roxie are waving at me,” he said. “I see them.”

“Then go to them,” Vincent said quietly. “And say hi to Lafferty for me.”

“I will.” The old gentleman smiled. His eyes fixed, and Vincent knew he was gone.

Outside in the hospice garden, roses bloomed.

* * *

He walked into the conference room at Thornton Industries with an easy swagger and an air of confidence. Mr. Howard Thornton, president and CEO, smiled at him and said, “Welcome aboard. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”

“Yes, sir, but if I may make a suggestion… you need to rearrange the interior of your private jet. The feng shui is off.” He adjusted the prayer beads around his wrist.

Mr. Thornton chuckled. “Californians. Now, please tell us everything you know. We’re especially interested in hearing how Vincent Keller devised the plan to eliminate Experiment Z two-three-seven. Or as they so quaintly called it, ‘the fear beast.’”

Sky Wilson took a seat at the beautiful conference table. “Of course, sir. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Mr. Thornton beamed. “Wonderful. And in return, Mr. Wilson, I will show you…
wonders
.”

* * *

In Greenwich Village, in each other’s arms, two lovers dreamed of rings and rainbows, and loved ones long departed; and the words of their vow sealed their soul together:

That vow would see them through the dark times, if more came. If the entire world came at them, as long as they stood together, they could not lose.

We will always win. We have already won.

Cat woke from the unimaginable joy in her heart. Propped on his elbow, hair tousled from sleep, Vincent gazed down at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Another life that has just begun.

“I had the most amazing dream,” he told her.

And Catherine said, “Me too. I dream it every night.” She reached up to hold him. “And you’re always in it, Vincent.”

“You
are
it, Catherine,” he murmured. “You are the dream.”

When the sun rose, they were still dreaming.

N
ancy Holder is a multiple award-winning,
New York Times
bestselling author (the Wicked Series). Her two new young adult dark fantasy series are Crusade and Wolf Springs Chronicles. She has won five Bram Stoker Awards from the Horror Writers Association, as well as a Scribe Award for Best Novel (
Saving Grace: Tough Love
.) Nancy has sold over eighty novels and one hundred short stories, many of them based on such shows as
Highlander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel
, and others. She lives in San Diego with her daughter, Belle, two corgis, and three cats.

You can visit Nancy online at
www.nancyholder.com
.