The Gathering Read online

  “The boy?” he asked, turning his head inquisitively to her.

  Glancing over at him, she shook her head. “Varden? I am unsure. He listened to everything I said, but he seemed determined to stay with the old man. After speaking with him I glanced at the Elder and tried to convey the necessity of him leaving.” Guiding the horse around a hole in the road, Adonia deftly moved back beside him. “The old man nodded at me at the end after glancing at the boy, so I believe he will do his best to convince the youth to flee.”

  “Good. We need to try and save as many as we can before we flee ourselves.”

  Adonia’s frown gave him all the knowledge he needed about her feelings towards fleeing. It wasn’t like she didn’t understand the need for it, but she was a fighter, a hunter. She was not prey, to flee like a hare before a fox. She was the fox.

  “We have only a few more villages to visit. Then, we will go through the Sundering.” The words made her visibly shudder as she spoke them.

  "It is necessary, Adonia." Looking at her with stern eyes, he continued, “We are doing a disservice to those who volunteered to become Lycans to fight the war. They are being hunted, killed, their fami . . ..”

  “I know, Calin,” Adonia interrupted. “I don’t need you to explain the reasons again. I do not wish to see them in harm’s way, but the Sundering. I never thought we would be forced to take such action.”

  Nodding, Calin returned his attention back to the road. He had made this argument to Catherine and Adonia. Had made it long before it became apparent they would all be at risk from the Romans. He, unbeknownst to the rest, already performed the Sundering. Had already relinquished his control of those he granted lycanthropy to, and in turn, to those who had been granted lycanthropy by his Pures. They were all free now. Free of lycanthropy, and free of him.

  It had not been a pleasant experience, and so, he knew not to judge Adonia's reluctance to go through with it. It just wasn't right to continue to put those good people at risk of persecution by the Romans.

  They rode in silence for a bit, not wishing to breathe words into the quiet night and their discordant thoughts. Each of them battled with their own issues, Calin knew. He hoped Adonia would not breach hers tonight. He did not wish to think of the future after the Sundering. Did not wish to think of the duty he and the others had yet to perform.

  Adonia brought her horse a little closer to Calin’s and his heart sighed in resignation, knowing she was going to ask again.

  “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about. What we would do after the Sundering, Calin?”

  His eyes closed upon her words. He knew what she referred to of course. In this past couple of years, her feelings for him became apparent. Her attempts at bridging the gulf between him and his heart had been worthy. But that chasm remained insurmountable. What’s more, it flew in the face of his duty. His duty. The last thing he could do for Sylvanis—the one thing he had no desire to do.

  "Adonia, you know I care for you. I do not wish to see you hurt . . . as I hurt . . . I . . ." Words tumbled from him. He did care for Adonia, but he was no longer capable of love. She knew this. Why did she keep pushing him for something he was incapable of doing?

  "It matters not, anyway. You know this Adonia. We have a duty. Sylvanis need us."

  “Sylvanis is dead!” Her voice was harsh in its defiance.

  Calin froze, though his horse plodded on as if nothing painful had been uttered.

  Adonia lowered her head; a sigh whispered from her.

  “I am sorry, Calin. I did not wish to say those words and wish I could take them back.” A tear spilled from her beautiful green eyes. “It’s . . . I love you, Calin. We have no idea what, if anything, will happen with Kestrel’s spell or Sylvanis’. Do we forsake our own lives, our own feelings, for something which may never occur?”

  “It is our duty.” Calin’s voice words were clipped and forceful. “It is my duty.” He implored, “I know your feelings, Adonia, and I am sorry I do not share them. My love is for Sylvanis, and I owe her my life. Dead or not.” Those last words came with a hint of bitterness. “We have one last task to accomplish for her, and I will not fail in it.”

  He looked at her, emotion visible upon his features. “Don’t you understand, Adonia? This last thing, we must do? I despise it. I hate the idea of doing it!” Tears now flowed from his eyes. “The faith I keep for the love I have for Sylvanis, I must break it!”

  "She needs Trues with her when Kestrel rises again. Trues only we can provide. Trues we can only provide with the continuation of our bloodlines." They both knew what that meant. While normal for people to get married and have children, it usually wasn't something one was honor bound to do.

  "And those bloodlines must be pure, Adonia. You know this. If we were to be together. Have a family together. What would it do to our bloodlines? Would we be dooming Sylvanis to one less ally?" Adonia once again peered forward, unable to look at him, at the words she knew to be the truth. "Perhaps dooming her to the loss of two allies? We do not know what it would do, and for her sake, we cannot risk it." Calin looked forward as well, knowing this discussion was coming to an end. "I will not risk it.”

  Together they rode in silence from then on. One whose heart had long since broken, and another for whom the break was fresh.

  Chapter One

  The office held little light. The sparse furniture were mere silhouettes in the gloom. A faint light, flickering, played across them before going dark again. A faint click of a mouse button, a sharp tap breaking the silence, and the light danced again. It played in full across the face of the man sitting behind the solid oak desk.

  The desk itself lay as bare as the rest of the room. Few items rested upon it—a wire mesh basket with two shelves, one labeled in, the other, out, the latter filled with papers, while the other sat empty. A desk calendar, a tool most people seldom used anymore, relying more on digital reminders of meetings and appointments, lay flat upon the desk’s surface. Writing covered almost every single square, a multitude of reminders of meetings and conference calls.

  Resting near the front of the desk was a brass nameplate with a name etched upon its surface. Its face was dark, the name impossible to make out in the low light of the office. If one entered this office during the day, or when all the lights were on, they would have seen the name, Colonel Carl Simpson, Director of Homeland Security.

  Colonel Carl Simpson sat behind the desk staring at the only other item which lay upon his desk, his laptop. The light from its screen bathed him in its pale light, disjointed by images flashing across it. Crow's feet bunched at the corner of his eyes as he watched dispassionately at the video, the second of two, he had been watching repeatedly for what seemed to be several hours. How long it had been, Carl had no idea. Despite there being a time stamp at the bottom of his screen, he had not yet taken the time to check it. His focus, all of his focus, remained upon the impossible images he watched, like some kind of horror loop.

  As dispassionate as he had been at the start of this twisted movie marathon, worry and dread were creeping in. His earlier disbelief at the legitimacy of these videos, gradually turned to incredulity. Worry lines, a trademark of his, became more pronounced. The edges of his soft, fleshy lips turned down as he rested them against his steepled hands, tapping them lightly.

  He was a stern man, tall and solidly built; it was often remarked he held a commanding presence, which suited Carl fine. If people looked at you like you were a leader, it made it easier to lead them. Remarkably, he still had a full head of sandy brown hair with barely a single gray one to mar its façade. Soft gray-green eyes darted around as he watched the scene play out on his computer screen.

  The shaky video was one of many which recorded the events in Chicago. Despite its shakiness, likely due to the jostling crowd and the nervousness of the person who filmed it, it still provided the best angle and clarity of the fight. A fight, which apparently occurred between some sort of humanoid tiger, a hu
manoid wolf, and a humanoid boar.

  When DHS agent, Yark, brought this to his attention, he reacted . . . poorly it would seem. The idea one of his best field agents would bring this obviously, he believed at the time, doctored video some special effects wiz put up on social media, as a legitimate concern for the Homeland Security Director, angered him.

  That someone under his authority would bring this National Enquirer bullshit to his desk infuriated him so much, he fired Yark, then and there. Yark, who had been one of his brightest and most promising agents he had seen in quite some time, had the unfortunate luck of presenting a completely unbelievable video, long before anyone else could have understood the implications of it, especially Carl.

  When another video had been brought to his attention, this video provided to him secretly, he realized his error. The video had been delivered into his possession so secretly, in fact, he still didn’t have knowledge of which agency delivered it to him, or how or why they had known he had received this other video. It led to all sorts of questions. Questions, he didn’t feel prepared to get the answers to.

  This other video showed a disturbing scene. It was security camera footage from an office building. He had yet to discover where it was located. The lobby was all columns and tile. Large glass windows dominated one wall shedding sunlight deep within, making everything bright and full of color.

  The video picked up at 3:26 pm. As the video progressed, people were milling about or sitting on the various benches lining the wall of glass or encircling one or two of the columns. Then chaos. A man could be seen running across the lobby, only to be overtaken by some humanoid rat, judging by its long pinkish tail and rat-like facial features.

  The rat caught the man and held him. Security guards could be seen approaching, weapons drawn and aimed at the creature. The creature looked for a moment as if it would let the man go, but in one swift motion, slashed its claws across the man’s throat, turned and tossed the man’s body at the guards. Caught between helping the dying man and shooting the creature, they hesitated. While they remained uncertain as to what to do, the rat bolted through the door and escaped.

  There had been a hunt for the creature, but it eluded capture. Later, they discovered a murdered family not far from where the creature escaped. A murder he only knew about because of the report he had been given. All attempts by him to find out where this happened, and who this family was, came up empty. He had been stonewalled and been told he would receive only information he needed.

  Considering he was one of the highest-ranking people in Washington D.C., it surprised and rankled him to be kept in the dark about things threatening the country. This was indeed a threat to the country. What kind of threat, and how extreme, Carl didn’t know.

  The fight in Chicago ended on his screen. The humanoid boar tore through a formation of police officers, killing three. Two died from injuries. The other died from a heart attack later in the hospital. The wolf and the tiger disappeared into the crowd carrying away a young female—a doctor. She later disappeared after everyone on her floor at the hospital she was being treated at, was killed. Slaughtered really.

  Rumors flew from the event like a thousand birds. The tiger and the wolf were seen at the hospital according to the rumors. The boar was also seen. There had been more than one boar. The tiger and the wolf fought each other. They fought the boars. What happened remained unclear. What was clear, 23 people died in that hospital. Twenty-three people lost their lives because, as far as he could tell, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the ones responsible for this were evil, evil people.

  The director clicked on the other file and watched the scene in the office building lobby again. Opening a drawer in his desk he retrieved a single folder. A folder designated as Patient 12. The folder he received came with the thumb drive containing this video.

  The folder and the thumb drive were all he received, in a manila envelope, on his desk, when he arrived at his office one morning. There was no indication as to who dropped it off. No indication as to how it arrived on top of the desk of one of the most secure offices in government. No explanation. Just an envelope containing a video recording and a case folder.

  While the video was disturbing to watch, the information within the folder was equally unpleasant. Why, whatever agency had been behind this, wanted to keep it classified, he understood completely. If word got out that one of the United States government’s agencies was behind, essentially ‘buying’ a pre-teen girl, experimenting upon her in cruel and horrific ways, it would be the end of this administration. This would shake the government to its core, and it would erode what little confidence the American people had in the government protecting their civil liberties.

  What they did to that little girl was beyond redemption. Regardless of her apparent ability to heal from almost any harm, the report indicated the patient still felt every ounce of pain caused by those experiments. It had been worse than torture and it disgusted Carl.

  The report was detailed. It cited dates and times of each new and barbaric thing done to this poor girl. It detailed how they ‘acquired' her as well. What happened to the girl prior to this which would have caused her to attempt suicide, he could only imagine. It must have been some sort of abuse, given the foster mother and her boyfriend had been found killed days after the girl escaped.

  The report made it quite clear, the transformation the girl had undergone into the rat-like humanoid never happened before or during any of the experiments. It happened for the first time on that day. The scientist, Daniel Mathis, the one in charge of the study, the one who had his throat sliced open by the girl, disappeared. He survived the attack. Then, mysteriously, had a heart attack. He survived the heart attack and made a rapid recovery from his earlier injuries.

  Shortly after being cleared to return to work, Daniel requested some personal time off, citing his near-death experience as the reason. The man disappeared, went completely off-grid. His bank account — emptied. His phone had been turned off, and he had not used a single credit card since he left. Carl hadn’t needed the report to conclude what happened.

  The report mentioned several times the supposed reason for what they were doing. The hope had been, they could transfer the rapid healing this girl possessed to someone else. While Carl lauded the idea, the means, and methods to which they were trying to accomplish this, were nothing short of immoral. The extremes to which this girl suffered led the Director to only one belief. Daniel Mathias enjoyed it. He was a cruel and depraved man, and despite his claims it had all been done for posterity, the claim rang hollow.

  In an attempt to transfer this ability, Mathias tried blood infusions with a multitude of terminal patients, ones with nothing to lose and no one to notice they were gone. Mathias was nothing if not thorough. The patient’s vitals were recorded, their prognosis described in detail. Every single one had been evaluated by an in-house doctor and their diagnosis confirmed. The level of detail in the first dozen or so patients sat in stark contrast to the later ones. In those, no prognosis was given, no description of what illness they suffered from. This led Carl to believe these later patients had been healthy, perhaps unaware as to what they were signing up for, if they signed up at all.

  The security footage ended, and the screen froze on the image of the man, Daniel Mathias, lying upon the tiles of the lobby, clutching his throat surrounded by security guards and onlookers. Blood soaked his suit and covered his throat and hands. A dark inky-red halo pooled around his head. A fitting image, the Director mused.

  Leaning back into his office chair, the Director sighed audibly. The file recorded the fate of each one of those blood transfusion recipients. Each one died. Each one died because of a heart attack. A heart attack, like the one Daniel Mathias suffered after his attack by the girl. A heart attack which preceded a miraculous recovery from devastating injuries. A recovery, not unlike the ability the girl had.

  It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together here
. It would, however, take a genius to figure out what the whole damn thing meant. What was sure, this wasn't some fabrication of some crappy tabloid. It wasn't some doctored video. These things, whatever they were, existed.

  They were humanoid looking animals. Humanoid, because they had been, or still were, in some way, human. This girl, Shae, was proof. The fact they all but disappeared from the public radar, which would be almost impossible, given their size and appearance, could only mean one thing. Not only did they become these monsters, but they could change back into humans, at will. Worse, they, or at least, one of them, could transfer this ability to others.

  Sighing again, he pressed his palms against his eyes to stall an oncoming headache. He would have to hire Agent Yark back. Hire him back and apologize. The man had been doing his job. Not only his job, but he foresaw the possible implications of what these creatures might mean. The threat they might possess. He should be commended.

  Looking at his desk calendar, he made a mental note to call his secretary early in the morning and have her reschedule all his meetings tomorrow. The White House needed to be briefed on this. They needed to be aware of this new threat. A manhunt would need to be put together . . . if ‘manhunt’ was the right term. This girl needed to be found. Not only her, but the others needed to be found and dealt with before they could infect others.

  “Infect,” the Director muttered out loud. He hadn’t considered the term before now, but the more he thought about it, the more the term seemed accurate. It would appear the CDC might need to be involved in this as well. He would leave the decision up to his superiors, though. They might wish to keep a tight lid on this for as long as possible. Keeping this quiet, he believed, was something they would have little to no control over for long.

  Chapter Two

  The bus came to a rolling stop on the main street of Catemaco, a small lake-side town on the banks of a lake which shared its name in Mexico. Brakes squealed, their sharp whine, a painful cry cut off by the whoosh of the accompanying employment of the airbrakes.