The Valley: A Lee Harden Novel, page 35
Ted came up, staring at her in shock now. Three big cuts left the flesh of his face in tatters. Blood streamed down his skin.
Kat felt regret for what she’d done. She hadn’t meant to injure him so bad, it was just that she wanted him to hurt…
He backpedaled away from her.
She snarled at him.
He gasped, and turned as though to run.
KILL IT.
And anything in her that might’ve been human was lost.
Lee watched from eight hundred yards away as Kat suddenly leapt onto Ted’s fleeing form, riding him to the ground. They hit the dirt, Ted’s legs kicking up a cloud of dust. But he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Shit!” Marie hissed from beside him. “Should we—”
“No,” Lee said, firmly, not taking his eyes away from the binoculars. “No, we’re gonna let this one play out.”
As though it wasn’t already a foregone conclusion.
A single, high-pitched scream reached them from across the distance. Just the one. And then nothing.
And all around those two thrashing figures in the dirt, not a single person in Horner’s Peak moved to put a stop to it.
Chapter 34
Sam watched Ted die. And it wasn’t quick.
His thrashing grew weak. Kat had him pinned in something that looked a lot like side control in a jiu-jitsu match. Except for the fact that Kat had her jaws clamped down on Ted’s throat.
Ted tried to claw at her face. But she simply grabbed his wrist and flattened that hand out so it couldn’t get to her. And then she worked her jaws wider. Tighter. Reminded Sam of a snake trying to get its mouth around something bigger than its own head.
Ted’s eyes were open wide. Streaming tears. Emanating terror. He kept trying to breath, his chest hitching, but there was no air getting past his throat. And every time Kat worked her mouth wider and clamped down harder, Sam heard cartilage cracking and liquid squishing.
And then it was only the sound of Kat’s own breathing, heavy but steady, in and out through her flaring nostrils.
Sam became dimly aware that the scene had drawn an audience. The ranch hands stood around, but at a distance, with a variety of weapons held in half-ready positions. They’d been all the way ready when it’d first gone down, but when Horner never gave them the command to take her out, their muzzles had slowly drifted down, and now pointed at the ground.
Sam hadn’t just been standing there and staring. In the interminable minutes—yes, entire minutes—that it took Ted to die, Sam had been looking around, trying to find a way out of this situation for him and Bea. And while everyone’s eyes were certainly on Kat and Ted, that didn’t change the fact that Sam and Bea were still surrounded.
And Bea still had Lander attached to one arm. The strange, hermit-like man just stood there watching it all with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.
And Bea’s face…God, it was terrible. Sam watched it cycle through a series of ghastly emotions. Panic. And then pity. And then dread. And then horror. She seemed to want to put a stop to it, but then there was also something else there that seemed callused to the situation. And Sam could imagine that a part of her was thinking that Ted had only got what he’d deserved.
Ted, who’d promised to turn Bea over to Lander to be raped by his primals. Ted, who’d fathered the being that had just strangled the life out of him with her teeth. Ted, who’d created a web of lies that he’d never been able to extricate himself from.
“Alright!” Horner’s voice shattered the spell of horror. “He’s dead, Kat! Get the fuck off of him!”
Sam marveled at the man’s hubris. Who in the world would say that shit to a quarter primal in the midst of an existential crisis? Was he trying to get Kat to attack him too?
But she didn’t attack him. She unlatched her jaws from around Ted’s throat and extricated herself from the limp body. Then she just crouched there for a long moment, staring down at the lifeless figure. She seemed shocked at what she’d done. A moment of humanity stuck in there amidst animal rage.
“Kat!” Horner snapped again, taking a step towards her with his fists balled.
Kat rose to her feet. Her eyes hit Horner’s from beneath hooded brows. Her blood-slaked mouth widened, and for a half a second, Sam thought she was grinning. But no. She was only baring her teeth at Horner.
And Horner bared his teeth back. Like one of those shitty dog owners that thinks the best way to control a dog is to act like one.
“You wanna go at me, too?” Horner growled.
Sam could barely believe it. Did this skinny fuck really think he could take her? Did he really think he could stop her if she wanted him dead?
There must have been a part of Kat that thought about doing it. Because Sam watched her head swivel from side to side, those bright, wild eyes taking in all the men with guns standing around them.
Yes, she could take Horner. But then she’d be shot dead.
There was a part of Sam that felt bad for Kat. Felt for the human in her, squashed between a madman that hated her, and the primal instincts that raged for control of her. But the bigger part of Sam mentally urged Kat to lose control of herself. To make a go at Horner. Because then this really would turn into absolute chaos, and while all the ranch hands were focused on saving their boss, maybe Sam and Bea could make a break—
But Kat made her break first.
She let out a weird snarl that turned into something of a howl, and then she spun and took off. The movement surprised everyone—Sam included—and several of the ranch hands yelped and raised their weapons. But she wasn’t going after anyone. She was trying to escape.
She ran on two legs at first. But then, as though watching her devolve right before their eyes, she hunched lower and lower as she went, until her hands started clawing at the ground between loping strides, and then she was just running on all fours, like the primals did.
She cut around the side of the ranch house, and went straight on, hurdling the post-and-barbed-wire fence in one lithe jump, and disappearing into the tall grass beyond.
“Fuck her,” Horner spat. “We don’t need her anymore.”
Bran, however, didn’t seem so sure. Or maybe it was his own strange affection for the hybrid girl that made him stand there with an aggrieved look on his face and his mouth open like he was on the verge of shouting after her.
But he never did.
“Clean this shit up!” Horner bawled at his men, and they jumped to.
“Actually,” Lander said, airily. “If you’d like to simply dump him out beyond your front gate…” he smiled. “I’m sure my family could make good use of him. Waste not, want not. That’s what I always say.”
Horner regarded him with an inscrutable expression for a few beats as a handful of his men came forward and took Ted up, one man to each limb. “Whatever,” Horner grunted. “Fine. Drop him out past the gate.”
Horner stepped around his men as they bore Ted up and began shuffling for the gate. “What about this guy? Did you want him or not?”
It took Sam a moment to realize that Horner was talking about him.
Lander moved closer to Sam, pulling Bea reluctantly along with him. Freya moved up to Sam’s other side, so he found himself frozen between the two, the subject of everyone’s suddenly-intense scrutiny.
Lander peered discerningly at Sam, eyes squinted, head tilted to one side. “What are you?”
Sam blinked. “What do you mean?”
Lander rolled his eyes. “I mean, what’s your blood, kid? What’s your genetics? You Hispanic or something?”
“Afghanistan,” Sam said, not knowing whether honesty would help his situation or not. And did he want to be taken? Just so he could stay with Bea? “My family’s from Afghanistan.”
“Hm,” Lander mumbled, thoughtfully. “He’d certainly bring some fresh genetics.”
Shit, do I actually want this to happen?
“But…” Lander continued, making a pained face. “There’s something in his eyes. I don’t trust him. I don’t think he’ll…be cool. You know what I mean?”
“No, not really,” Horner said, tiredly.
“I think he’s a little soft on Bea here,” Lander sighed. “Which means he’ll be disruptive, at best. Probably won’t cooperate with my wives, either. Ah, well. Can’t win them all.” Lander finally removed his searching gaze from Sam and started forward, dragging Bea with him. “No, I think we’ll just let well enough alone for now. I don’t want him. You can…” Lander whiffled some fingers over his shoulder at Sam. “…Do whatever you want with him.”
Horner stood in Lander’s path, forcing him to stop. “Our deal’s done, then.”
“Yes, yes,” Lander said, dismissively. “It’s done.”
“You’ll keep your beasts away from my cattle.”
Lander tilted his head to one side. “Uh…yeah. That was the deal. Who do you think I am? Ted?” Then he laughed.
Horner did not. But he stepped aside, and Lander continued on, handing Bea over to Freya.
As though just realizing that her time had come, Bea suddenly thrashed into motion. But she was no match for Freya’s preternatural strength. The hybrid woman barely moved as Bea started pulling against her. Just kept marching Bea along, as inexorable as the sunset.
“Sam!” Bea started screaming, trying to look over her shoulder at him. “Sam, don’t let them do this! You’ve got to stop them! Stop them!”
And what was Sam going to say to that? His mouth opened, and his diaphragm pressed the air out of his lungs, but the words just weren’t there. Everything he thought of to say tasted like ashes in his mouth.
It’ll be okay?
It wasn’t going to be okay.
I’ll stop them?
He was utterly powerless to do anything.
So he only stared after her as she continued to fight and scream, until Freya reached the limit of her patience, drew Bea into a headlock, and choked her out until she went limp. All the while still making steady progress towards the gate.
“She’s a fiery one!” Sam heard Lander guffaw, distantly.
“Bran,” Horner said, standing there in front of Sam. “Take the kid into the house. Put him in the living room. Stay with him. And take some other guys with you. Guys you trust not to fuck things up.” Horner turned and scanned the ridges surrounding his ranch, as Bran stepped up to Sam, still looking bewildered, and grabbed him by the upper arm.
“You made the right call grabbing him,” Horner said. “Got a feeling we’re gonna need a hostage.”
When Bea came to, the first thing she noticed was the pounding ache in her stomach.
She blinked and gasped, finding it difficult to breathe. She tried to move to alleviate the pain, but something was holding her tight around the waist. And around her legs. She stared at grass and dirt, flying by beneath her.
Feet flashing. Not her feet. These were ghastly things. Dark with dirt. The toes splayed wide, and tipped with thick nails that seemed more like claws. Above those feet were legs so fatless that she could see the striations in every bit of their substantial muscle mass.
And above those legs was a bare ass.
Oh God…
Reality came back like a piercing scream, and she might’ve echoed it, if she could get more than the tiniest whiff of air. She was being carried by one of them. Slung over its shoulder—that was the ache in her stomach, pounding to the rhythm of the creature’s pace, as it ran on two legs instead of four.
Not Freya, but one of the full-blooded infected. Mutated. Evolved. No longer fully human, but not altogether a different species.
Because what was it she’d learned in biology class, so many years ago? It seemed a strange thing to remember right at that particular moment, but her brain alighted on the fact of its own volition.
Things were considered a different species if they could not produce fertile offspring.
But one of these primals could produce a hybrid, when mated with a human. And that hybrid itself was fertile, capable of producing quarter-blooded hybrids, like Freya and Kat.
They were not a different species. At least according to her ninth-grade biology class.
And then she realized why she’d thought of all that.
Because that’s what they were going to do with her. They were going to mate her with one of these full-blooded primals, in order to produce a half-blooded hybrid. In order to produce more of what Lander called his “wives.” Because they grew fast and died young, and Lander’s current wives must’ve been getting old by now. He needed fresh blood. He needed fresh genes.
The horror of it struck her afresh. She thrashed against the grip of the thing holding her, but it only tightened its arms around her. God, it was strong! She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t get away from it. Her will was a puny thing in the face of something so monstrous.
“No!” she cried out, little more than a gasp. She began beating at its back, her fists making dull, fleshy thuds against its heavily-muscled frame. She felt, rather than heard the thing growl—a low rumble that reverberated through its chest and into her belly.
It terrified her, but she didn’t stop.
“No!” Just kept hammering at its back, trying to hit it on the spine to make it hurt more, then trying to aim for the kidneys, because she’d heard that was supposed to be painful.
She didn’t feel like she was able to generate much power in those strikes, but all of the sudden she was sailing through the air, and then landed flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her and setting her to gasping and coughing.
She forced her eyes to stay open despite the racking coughs and the tears that sprang up in them. She couldn’t tell where the hell she was, aside from the fact that she was surrounded by tall grass.
A figure loomed in her vision, blotting out the graying sky. She would have cried out, but couldn’t draw the air to do it, so she just recoiled, flattening herself into the dirt like she could sink into it and be buried.
Its skin was browned from the sun and covered in a thin sheen of sweet. The hair of its head and beard was a massive mane, clumped at the ends with years of soil. Its brow was beetled into a fearsome scurry of wrinkles, like an animal snarling—and snarling it was. Its mouth parted the thicket of its beard, seeming to stretch from ear to ear, its teeth unnaturally elongated.
The smell of it hit her. The sour smell of a carnivore’s skin, and sweat, and dirt.
It must’ve smelled her too.
The snarl on its face slackened into something like predatory interest. It dipped back, and for a moment, she thought it was going to leave her. Then she realized it was looking at her midsection. Her stomach collapsed into a leaden ball. Panic singed her nerves like fire. She instinctively put both of her hands down over her crotch and only then realized that she’d pissed herself.
The thing reached one huge hand over, grabbed her roughly by one hip, and turned her over with one effortless motion.
“No!” she managed to shout, and tried to kick it, but it seized her legs and pinned them down. “No!” Flattened onto her stomach, she tried to twist and grab its hair or claw its eyes, but she couldn’t reach.
She yelped when it smashed its face into her backside. She jerked her legs in a spasm of panic-energized strength, but for all the blinding effort, she barely moved an inch. She was completely powerless. It had her pinned so securely, she was as good as paralyzed.
Oh God! What’s it doing?
She felt the heat of its breath in her crotch. Heard it snuffling. Inhaling.
She screamed again, because it was all she had. There was only the stupid idea that if her voice reached a certain, piercing decibel, perhaps it would scare it off. As though it were a skittish animal. But it gave no reaction to her scream. Just kept nuzzling and snuffling at her crotch.
A bark—short, sharp, and unfriendly.
At first, she thought that it’d been the creature that had her pinned. But then the bark came again, louder and closer, and when she looked up, she saw a haze of blonde hair rocketing out of the grass ahead of her.
The pressure on her legs, and the head pushing between her thighs, immediately relented.
Freya stood over her as Bea curled into an instinctive ball. The hybrid growled menacingly, and the creature that had been snuffling at Bea backed away with a plaintive hoot and a grumble, moving sideways on all fours with its head held low.
Bea realized she was hyperventilating when her vision began to shrink and sparkle at the edges. She tried to breathe deeply, but something in her chest wouldn’t let her. The fear had overtaken her. Sunk its claws into her deep. Dragged her down into nightmarish dread. Her future was being illustrated for her in sickening detail, and there was no escaping it.
Her hyperventilation was broken with a single sob that wrenched every bit of breath out of her. Just kept pressing it out of her until she thought she’d never be able to breathe again.
A hand settled on her shoulder. She barely felt it. Only really noticed it when it patted her.
Patted her?
Bea’s sob finally strangled out, her abdominal muscles aching with strain by the time she sucked in another breath. She twisted and found Freya squatting over her, still patting her on the shoulder like a bored mother whose child has once again fallen to pieces over a skinned knee.
For an instant, Bea almost screamed at her and jerked her shoulder away. But she was too scared. And too taken aback by this strange show of pity.
Freya’s face was much like Kat’s, in that everything from the nose up looked normal. And everything below was twisted.
And then Freya did a strange thing. Something Bea didn’t think possible. She made a very human expression. One corner of her mouth and one eyebrow quirked up. Was she being…sardonic?
Freya’s voice came out thick and unwieldy: “Fight. Harder.”
What?
And then a very human chortle. Not from Freya, and certainly not from Bea.
Bea whipped her head around and saw Lander standing there, sweating and breathing hard, but smiling. He must’ve been running with them. Maybe that’s why he was so goddamned skinny—from trying to keep up with these creatures, but without the advantage of their mutated genetics.
