Blood Thirsty (Tri System's Edge Series Book 2) Read online

  ~

  The medical team had already been given strict orders to secure Bennett before making any attempt to attend to his wounds, which is exactly what they did.

  Jameson directed his staff to move the stretcher parallel to a special table that had been prepared for Bennett. Then, in an organized effort, they quickly undid the straps that secured the wounded man, lifted him from the stretcher, and laid him on the table.

  “Secure the restraints,” Jameson ordered.

  Two men quickly obeyed, locking Bennett’s ankles in metal restraints that were attached firmly to the table.

  Bennett remained unconscious the entire time, but the movement of lifting his arms above his head to secure his wrists seemed to cause him pain. It was enough that even in his sedated state, he began to jerk and thrash about, making it difficult for the medical staff to hold him steady.

  “The chloromex,” ordered Jameson. “I’ll give him another dose.”

  One of the other doctors promptly handed him a large syringe, which he wasted no time injecting into Bennett.

  “That should calm him down for now.”

  The thrashing stopped within seconds of the injection, and the two doctors holding Bennett’s hands secured them in the metal wrist restraints. Then the team of doctors went to work removing the armor suit Bennett wore to assess the extent of the damage.

  The armor wasn’t of rigid metal construction, but was more of a flexible mesh-like material. Still, it was strong enough to withstand bullet rounds and could even stop a blade. So, it came as quite a shock to the staff when they removed Bennett’s armor top and found gashes across his chest and abdomen. Several members of the staff let out gasps as they all stood there, staring at the gruesome sight before them.

  Even Jameson, who’d seen his fair share of battle wounds throughout his career, was taken aback by the sheer number of deep cuts that covered Bennett’s body. “Let’s get to work,” he finally said. And with that, he and his staff worked tirelessly for several hours, cleaning and stitching the wounds as best they could, until there was nothing more to do but wait.

  ~

  General Quinn remained outside the room, but watched the entire procedure through the window. The entire time, he imagined what it would mean to have an army of soldiers like Kalla. Though he knew there was still work to do before achieving the end goal, he smiled at the fact that his army would soon become an unstoppable force. The Tri Systems would be his for the taking.

  Experimentation had been temporarily halted due to lack of progress, but observing the medical team in action, Quinn believed that Bennett could very well be the missing piece of the puzzle and provide the answers that had eluded his researchers thus far. And if he was really lucky, perhaps Bennett would come out of this with the same abilities as Kalla.

  Jameson finally looked up from his work and motioned for the general to meet him by the door.

  General Quinn anxiously complied. “How’s our subject?” he asked, as soon as Jameson stepped outside the room.

  “He’s comatose but stable as far as we can tell.” the doctor answered. “We’ll keep him sedated and monitor his condition.”

  “Good,” said the general. “Keep me up-to-date on his status, and let me know of any changes.”

  The doctor nodded. “Are you sure we’ll need the restraints? At this stage, I’m not sure he’s even going to pull through.”

  “Just a precaution that I insist we take,” the general replied. “Let me know if there’s any change,” he reiterated, before he turned and walked away.

  The small hallway he was in soon met up with a large corridor that led to the bridge. He paused when he reached it, and stopped at the entrance, watching as several crew members passed by, going about their various assignments. Some looked up and smiled as they passed, while others remained focused on their destination, eyes down or ahead, not meeting his gaze. It occurred to him that his crew, his army, and even those closest to him, didn’t respect him. They feared him, yes, but they didn’t truly respect him.

  As that realization sank in, his head dropped, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt a degree of sorrow for who and what he’d become. But he didn’t allow those feelings to linger and instead turned his thoughts toward the memories that had shaped his life, leading up to his hatred for Kalla. She had something that he wanted, and he was determined to find a way to get it.

  He stepped into the corridor, but instead of going straight to the bridge, a detour brought him first to his own quarters. He opened the door and entered the main room. The door automatically shut behind him, and he made his way to the left side of the room, where his vault was located.

  He entered a code on the outer keypad, opened the vault door, and stepped inside. The lights came on, and he shut the door behind him.

  The room was small, not much larger than a closet, but sufficient for his purposes. The wall opposite the door was lined with a row of built-in compartments that were all locked. The general moved toward one of them, and entered another code on its face. Reaching inside, he grabbed a lone container and pulled it out slowly. He cradled it gently in his hands, staring as if in a trance, then turned toward the open side of the room where a table jetted out from the otherwise empty wall.

  He set the small container down on the table and unlatched the clasps that held it shut. He paused for a moment, then slowly lifted the lid to reveal a vial of blood—Kalla’s blood—that he’d kept safe all this time. It was all that remained, and because of that, was a precious commodity that he needed to protect.

  Doctor Jameson had, of course, been given a small sample of the blood to examine and test, an amount he’d insisted wasn’t enough, but the general had made it clear to him that there was no more. He wasn’t about to give all of it away, knowing that acquiring more may not be possible. Jameson would need to show progress with a little before he would get more.

  The general stared at the vial and contemplated his relationship with Jameson. Although the doctor seemed loyal enough, there was always that small degree of doubt. After all, he’d also trusted Doctor Carter more than anyone he’d ever known. He liked to believe they were friends. But in the end, the general believed that Carter had betrayed him by taking some of his most valuable secrets to the grave.

  General Quinn and his new team had spent hours scouring Carter’s notes, but the picture was still far too incomplete. And yet, he recalled that Carter had assured him on numerous occasions that he was very close. So, either he’d been lying the entire time, or he’d discovered something that he chose not to share. Quinn knew that Carter had learned a little about the Vie from Kalla, from her dreams, and that she’d been bitten by them, but there was little else in the doctor’s research to indicate anything more about how she acquired her abilities. And until now, none of Jameson’s testing had resulted in any success. Not even a little.

  After several minutes of internal debate, wondering if the time was right to give Jameson more blood to test, Quinn decided it would be best to wait a little longer. He still wanted to know the outcome of Bennett’s transformation, and whether a bite from the Vie was sufficient or not. If it was, he’d have all he needed to replicate the impressive abilities Kalla had acquired.

  With the decision made, General Quinn gently closed the box, latched the clasps, and walked back to the security container. He carefully placed the box inside the compartment and shut the door. The security latch made a snapping noise as it locked shut, then he turned and exited the vault, closing and locking the thick door behind him. On his way out, he grabbed a piece of fruit that sat in a dish on the table, took a big bite, then headed out the door toward the bridge.

  ~

  Standing in an adjacent hallway, Murphy peered around the corner and stared into the corridor, watching from a safe distance as General Quinn entered his quarters. While he patiently waited for the general to reappear, he began mentally piecing things together, and nothing was making any sense. He’d foll
owed the general to the medical bay, where he’d gone to check on Bennett’s condition. But when he found the general talking with Doctor Jameson in the hallway, and overheard bits and pieces of their conversation, he opted to stay out of sight. The smile on Quinn’s face during the brief exchange didn’t feel right, while Jameson, on the other hand, appeared tense and concerned the entire time. Murphy also heard them say something about an experiment. He knew there was a problem.

  He couldn’t prove anything yet, but his gut told him that General Quinn had planned this all along, and knew exactly what would happen. The awkward conversation he’d witnessed only confirmed his hunch.

  Over the years he’d learned to trust his instincts, because they were often right. This built-in warning system had saved him on more than one occasion before, so he wasn’t about to ignore it now.

  After several minutes, the general finally exited his quarters and headed toward the bridge. Murphy waited until Quinn was out of sight, then casually moved toward the locked door. He glanced around him to make sure the area was clear, then stared at the entry keypad, knowing full well what it would mean if he were to get caught sneaking into his commanding officer’s private quarters.

  He hesitated for a moment and looked around the corridor one last time, then slowly punched in the numbers he’d seen the general enter not long ago. He’d been watching the general from a distance, so he held his breath before hitting the enter key, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake.

  Relieved when the door whooshed open, he hurried inside and quickly shut the door behind him. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt sick to his stomach, so he paused long enough to take a deep breath and calm himself down. “You’re doing just fine,” he said out loud, hoping to convince himself that everything would be fine.

  After some deep breaths, Murphy began scanning the room for any clue that might lead him to whatever the General was up to.

  It didn’t take long for him to realize that the quarters were all but devoid of any personal effects. It was almost as if the room had never been used before, with everything neat and in place. Then Murphy noticed the vault door to the far left, with another keypad that was certainly required to unlock it.

  “If he’s hiding something, I’ll bet it’s in there,” Murphy said just loud enough to hear his own voice.

  He approached the keypad and stared at it, debating if it was worth the risk. He quickly concluded there was no way. Cracking code wasn’t his specialty, so he’d just be guessing. And knowing the general, Murphy figured a wrong code entered would likely set off an alarm. So, he turned around and headed back to the main door, surveying the room one last time to be sure he hadn’t overlooked anything else. Satisfied there was nothing left to do here, he pressed the button to open the door.

  It wooshed open and a voice said, “May I ask what you’re doing in my private quarters?”

  The sick feeling Murphy had just gotten rid of came back with a vengeance as he now stood face to face with the general, who was accompanied by a few guards. Murphy tried to think of a clever reply that might somehow lessen the severity of the situation, but nothing came to mind.

  “Well?” the general asked again, in a more agitated tone.

  Murphy gathered his courage and stood tall in front of his superior—arms folded, jaw clenched—and simply stared into the general’s eyes.

  “Get him out of my sight,” Quinn barked.

  Two guards grabbed Murphy’s arms and pulled them behind his back, where a third guard cuffed them.

  “We’ll chat more soon,” the general said, with a sneer on his face.

  The guards roughly shoved Murphy forward and escorted him down the corridor. They walked in silence, passing several hallways that shot off on either side, until they finally reached the hallway that led to the holding cells.

  “Something’s wrong,” Murphy blurted out, jerking away from the guards in an attempt to break free. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but the general is up to something bad, and you need to let me go.”

  The guards wrestled to regain their grip on Murphy’s arms, and one of them said, “Just following our orders, sir.”

  “You need to let me go,” Murphy insisted once again, continuing to struggle with the guards. A headbutt to the nose of one guard did the trick, but once he was loose, he didn’t run. “Listen, General Quinn is responsible for the death of two of my men,” he said, as he turned and faced them.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” one of the guards said, attempting to grab Murphy’s arm again, “but we have our orders.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Murphy, as he kicked the man’s leg at the knee, breaking it instantly. The guard fell screaming to the floor.

  Taking advantage of the ruckus he’d caused, Murphy managed to ram the other two guards into one another with his shoulder, knocking them both off balance and to the floor.

  He clumsily jumped over them and started back down the corridor, zigzagging through a maze of hallways toward the barracks where the rest of his team would be. But before he could turn the final corner that would reunite him with his team, a sharp, burning sensation engulfed one side of his upper thigh, and he fell to the floor. He rolled over on his back and looked at his leg to find blood dripping down the front where the bullet had grazed him.

  “Murphy,” someone called out.

  He looked up in the direction of the voice just in time to see the butt of a rifle as it slammed against the side of his face.

  C

  HAPTER 7

  It was already midday when they finally reached the small town. The trek had been further than Zeke had led him to believe, but as Jarek stared at the half dozen buildings in disrepair, with open country all around, he could see that Zeke hadn’t been lying about the size.

  He followed Zeke toward one of the larger structures, a run-down wooden building that stood apart from the others. Its back wall sat up against the mountainside, which meant there wasn’t another way out if he ran into any trouble.

  “Big place there’s the saloon,” Zeke said. “Come on, I’ll buy ya a drink.”

  Jarek nodded but stopped for a moment and looked off into the distance where he noticed something else. It was hard to know for sure, but it looked like a compound or base of some kind.

  “You comin’?” Zeke called out.

  “Yeah,” Jarek replied. He picked up his pace and followed Zeke toward the saloon’s doorway, and as they got closer, he could hear music playing inside, muffled slightly by raucous laughter and shouting.

  Jarek followed Zeke up the wooden steps of the wrap around deck and walked to the entrance, where his strong senses were assaulted by the strong stench of liquor and sweat. He did his best to ignore the unpleasant smell, and followed Zeke through a pair of batwing doors, then straight toward the bar.

  “Two shots of yer finest,” Zeke belted out above the noise. “On my tab.”

  The bartender nodded and quickly produced two dingy looking shot glasses, along with a tall bottle. He filled each glass just below the rim and left the bottle on the counter.

  Zeke grabbed both drinks and turned around fast enough that some of the liquid splashed over the rim of each mug. “Oops,” he said with a smile, as he handed one to Jarek. “This one’s on me.”

  “Thanks,” Jarek replied. He drained the mug’s contents in one quick swallow and placed it on the bar. It may have been a good strong drink to anyone else in the room, but to his altered palate, the drink tasted like slightly flavored water that had no effect on him at all. “Not bad,” he lied.

  Zeke squinted suspiciously at Jarek for a moment, still holding his full mug.

  “Aren’t you gonna drink that?” Jarek asked.

  “What’s your real endgame?” Zeke replied. “Why you really here?”

  Jarek heard a cocked pistol from behind, and he could see the beads of sweat dripping down Zeke’s face. The untouched drink in his hand was shaking just enough to indicate there was a problem, but Jarek didn
’t know what the problem was.

  Not wanting to risk his cover, he played dumb and shrugged. “Not sure what you mean, Zeke.”

  “You feelin’ alright?” came Zeke’s reply.

  It was an odd question to ask, but it gave Jarek a hint as to what was going on. He figured his drink had probably been drugged, and Zeke was wondering why there had been no effect on him yet. Jarek decided to play along, to see where this all went.

  “What do you . . .?” he slurred, loosening the grip on his glass and allowing his knees to buckle. The mug shattered a second before Jarek hit the floor. Pretending to lose consciousness, he twitched his eyes as though trying to fight the drug, then finally closed them and lay still on the grungy floor.

  “Took longer than normal,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  “Long as it worked,” Zeke replied. “Tough one, though. Never seen anyone hold out that long before.”

  Jarek heard the thud of boots against the floor, then suddenly felt several hands grab hold of him and carry him out of the saloon, dragging his feet across the wooden floor, then down the steps, where the men dropped him on the ground. He remained still and kept his eyes closed but listened as the men spoke.

  “Did ya make the call?” Zeke asked.

  “Yeah, should be here soon,” another man said.

  “They usually go down right away,” a third man commented. “Don’t that bother you at all?”

  “Well, he’s down now, ain’t he?” Zeke answered.

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  The sound of a rapidly approaching vehicle interrupted the conversation, and the voices went quiet. After a few more minutes, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop.

  Still playing the part, Jarek listened as two men jumped out of the vehicle and walked to where he lay in the dirt. The men reached down, one grabbing his feet, and the other under his arms, and lifted him off the ground.

  Jarek stole a peek to see they were carrying him toward a large military truck.