The Post-Humans (Book 1): The League (23 page)

His plan was to get into the rocky part of the hills and then he could double back, or even attack them in the dark.

As he scuttled up the hill, he cut himself on a rock jutting out, hiding in shadow. It caught Terrance in the shin.

His head swam, and he heard himself yelp like a kicked dog.

Then came the sting.

He didn’t even hear it.

It spread like fire in the back of his leg. It was like he’d been stung by a whole nest of bull ants at once. But it wasn’t an insect. It was a bullet.

“What?” he stammered.

A second bullet hit him in the back.

“Surrender, big guy, or we just keep pokin’ holes in ya.” An American voice, somewhere behind him.

Terrance looked about frantically for some cover or a way out, but he saw none. He could feel the hot blood sticking his shirt to his back and running down his sides. He was pinned and he’d done it on his own. He dropped to the ground and decided to stay low. He hoped the tall brown grass or the spiky shrubs would hide him.

His leg was warm.

Bleeding
, he thought.

He couldn’t run.

He had to fight.

The motor bikes halted and the voices grew louder. They had him now, but they wouldn’t take him alive.

He heard the crunching of twigs to his left and saw a figure in the dark and another came from the front.

He used all the energy he had for a last bout.

He launched himself at the man on his left, grabbing the rifle by the barrel and bending it in half, the metal folding like heavy gauge wire.

The man fired in panic and the firing mechanism exploded in his face sending him reeling back in pain.

The second man came fast at Terrance, and squeezed off two shots: one whizzing passed his head, the second imbedding in his shoulder.

Terrance lunged forward and grabbed the gun and the man’s arm. He wrenched his opponent quickly downward, the force breaking the bones in the man’s arm and neck when he hit the ground.

The bullets stung Terrance, but it took more than that to take him down. He was Post-Human.

Terrance could manipulate his body to strengthen or reshape his bones and repair breaks or injuries. It made him difficult to kill and gave him one hell of a right hook. He wasn’t invincible however and every bullet hurt. It’s why he called himself Cal, after his mother always telling him that he needed calcium for strong bones.

Another bullet glanced off his skull.

Blood rushed down his face and matted up his long hair.

Gunshots were ringing out from the dark now and bullets were hissing through the air like angry dragonflies.

He was surrounded.

Trapped.

Stinging erupted in his legs.

Searing pain.

They were shooting him in the legs.

Blood gushed and pain clouded his vision. He fell to his knees. He took a deep breath and tried to force down the pain.

“Hold your fire!” The American voice called out.

Figures began to emerge from the trees, rifles levelled at Terrance’s head. He knew one or two bullets wouldn’t do much damage, but more would kill him.

“I take it that this is a surrender, Mr Floyd? Or should I say Cal?”

The bald American man in the dark blue suit stepped through the deep grass and twigs so he could face him.

Terrance was out of breath and in pain; he didn’t have the energy to raise his hands.

“We have been looking for you and your little friends for quite some time. Imagine my surprise when I get tipped off that you are posin’ as a farm boy?”

The bald man came fearlessly close.

Two officers approached from either side. Like khaki ghosts.

“We gonna need you to come with us…” the bald American said as he nodded to the officers.

They stepped in and pushed the rifle barrels into his neck.

The bald man stood arrogantly in front of him lighting a cigarette. His dark blue suit appeared black now that the sun was gone. The man had said
‘Your little friends’
. Terrance assumed this meant that they were hunting the members of The League. They were the only true friends he had ever had.

They won’t use me to find them!

Terrance brought up both elbows hard and fast into the bodies of the officers either side of him. The men’s ribs smashed to pieces under the impact, they were no longer a threat.

He wanted to kill the arrogant bald man.

He got to his feet and lurched forward on his ruined legs, leaving the two officers to collapse behind him.

A kick to the head from his left distracted him, but he grabbed the foot and snapped the leg in half. Then there was a thump of a rifle butt to the back of Terrance’s head.

Then another hit to the back of the head.

Finally he was shot in the wrist, followed by the other wrist.

The officers shoved him, face first, to the ground and he could taste the blood on the grass.

Someone pulled his bleeding hands hard behind his back, binding them in some kind of wire handcuffs. He could feel the metal biting his skin.

They rolled him onto his back and he strained to see what was happening through the blood that was sticking his eyelashes together.

“Now, you’re just a brute, through and through, ain’t ya?” The American man aimed a tranq-gun at him and fired. It was silent, but he felt the effects. Bright lights burst in front of his eyes and he felt like he was going to vomit.

“Boys, get some o’ that there rope and tie it round his feet. Tie it to the back o’ the bike.” The bald man chuckled. “Achilles is gonna drag his Hector back to the farmer’s castle.”

Terrance blinked away the urge to sleep. He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been there. He lay on a table where his limbs were stretched out and bound.

He tried to move.

It didn’t work.

He was drugged somehow.

He could see and breathe, but he couldn’t move or speak.

“Subject’s awake, Sir,” said a man’s voice, from somewhere to the right.

“Good, stand him up.” Another man. “I want him to see his new master.”

The operating table made an electronic whirring sound as it rose. When it was fully erect it clicked off and Terrance could see around the room. There were other operating tables, computers and typical laboratory equipment.

In the centre of the room was a curious figure dressed in a long black cloak with a hood. Beneath the hood was a shiny white mask. It had no features except two horizontal eye slots.

The figure stood with arms outstretched, long black vinyl gloves covering his hands.

Terrance was confused by the costume.

The last thing he remembered was being shot and beaten in the forest by PHC officers and an arrogant, bald, American man.

Who is this? Where am I?

“Behold! I am the future.” The figure lowered his arms. He was Australian. “I am your new master.” He stepped closer. The silent footsteps beneath the cloak made the man look as if he was drifting across the floor like a ghost.

An Angel of Death.

“N… No,” Terrance muttered through the pain and the drugs.

“Terrance Floyd, formerly of The League. Alias: Cal. Your body has a marvellous ability to transform your bones and heal your flesh. You’re an extraordinary specimen.”

The figure lifted his hand, drew back the hood and took off the mask. He was a man in his late twenties. His hair was professionally cut and styled and his features were immaculately clean-shaven and chiselled. He was a handsome man about his own age.

“Terry… Can I call you Terry? I know you don’t know where your friends are.” The man smiled showing perfect teeth. “It’s a great joke that you will now work for me. And when we do find the rest of your band of merry men, they will too. You see, I don’t need to worry about people like you anymore. We have much bigger fish to fry. And you are going to help us cook them.” The cloaked man stepped back. “Shepherd, bring me the serum.”

Another man crossed the room holding a plastic case. He was dressed in a suit and tie and had red curly hair. “’Ere boss.”

“Thank you. You can witness the birth of an era.” The man in the black cloak grinned as he opened the plastic case and brought out a silver contraption. He clipped a vial containing a brown liquid into the top.

“When you wake up, Mr Floyd, you won’t remember Cal, The League, or your friends. You will be working for me.”

Terrance watched as the silver injector was raised to his neck and felt a sting as the contents filled his bloodstream.

As he drifted back to sleep he watched the figure in the black robe standing in the laboratory.

There was a wide grin on his perfect face.

ATHAN HAD BEEN shot.

He could feel the sting, like a red-hot coal dropped onto bare skin. He stepped out of the mind of a male nurse doing his rounds at the Melbourne hospital. He knew the mind of the nurse because he had been here before. It was at this hospital that he had freed the first of the coma patients.

He recalled that the guy’s name was Ash or something like that.

The nurse kept walking, oblivious to the wounded man in the suit who had just materialized in the hospital corridor.

There was a doctor at the hospital he could trust, Doctor Enstein. The same man who had given him the list of names to begin with.

Athan wondered where Enstein got the names. Who was he working for? And who sent him to find Athan in the first place? Questions that could wait, he needed help.

“Excuse me?” Athan croaked to an orderly. “Where can I find a Doctor Enstein?”

“My goodness! Why aren’t you in emergency?” the orderly squealed as she stepped out from behind her desk to lend him a shoulder to lean on.

“I need
Doctor Enstein
,” he pleaded.

“We’ll get the doctor for you, but you need help now.
Help here! Now!
” she called.

Athan collapsed, and everything went black.

“How are you feeling, mate?” a voice roused Athan from the fog.

“Where am I?” Athan tried to sit up. “Ow!”

“Yeah, you need to just chill for bit.” It was Doctor Enstein. “You passed out upstairs.”

“Passed out?” Athan said checking his body, finding his arm bandaged up and a few more bandages across his chest. “My clothes! Where are my clothes?”

“An orderly took them to be cleaned, they should almost be done.” Enstein nodded.

“You did this?” Athan referred to the bandages, stretching his arm. Testing it.

“A nurse, before I got here. Sorry, I came as soon as I could. I didn’t expect
you
though. I didn’t think The Fixer got broken,” he said, smiling. “What are you doing in Melbourne? I thought it was safer in Ballarat.”

“Nowhere is safe, Doctor.” Athan said through clenched teeth.

His chest hurt.

“Very true. I’ll let you rest, mate. My office is just down the corridor to the left, next to the window. We’ll need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do…” Athan laid back to close his eyes then remembered Brad and Aadi who would be wondering what had happened to him. How would he contact them?

Belinda.

“Wait! Can I borrow your phone? There are people that need to know where I am.”

“Desperately?” Enstein asked doubtfully.

“
Desperately.
”

“Okay, here, take this one, and just bring it down to my office when you are ready. Your clothes wont be long.” With that Enstein took a mobile phone from his pocket and handed it to Athan before leaving the room.

Athan searched his own memory for the Belinda’s number, using
her
phone as middle ground for communication was something that Brad and Athan had discussed on the drive to Melbourne the day before. It was a plan that the two of them didn’t think they’d have to implement, but they didn’t know they were splitting up to perform an all out skirmish on the Lucas and Associates building.

He called and left a short message on Belinda’s phone, short and sweet, so she could relay the message to Brad.

Then he relaxed back into sleep.

“Hello?” Athan snapped awake, hearing the voice. A young woman was at the foot of his bed holding his clothes all fresh and pressed. “I’m sorry, I was asked to bring these to you as soon as I could, so…” she laid them out on the visitor’s chair. “Have the police been called?” she asked, trying to be helpful.

“What? No, why?” Athan became edgy, the last thing he needed was police questions.

“Well, you’ve been shot haven’t you?” She pointed to the clothes. “Generally they are notified first.” She must have been referring to the bullet holes through his sleeve.

“It was an accident. It’s all sorted out.” He tried to sound reassuring.

She nodded, not convinced and placed the shock glove on the end of the bed. “Okay. If you need anything, just press.” She gestured to the remote control connected to the bedside.

“Sweet. Thank you so much.”

As soon as she was gone Athan pulled on his clothes, awkwardly without breaking any stitches.

His broken ribs were the most uncomfortable part.

When he was dressed he grabbed doctor Enstein’s phone and slipped out of the ward, wandering down the corridor to the office with the window.

He knocked lightly.

“Yeah?” Enstein answered from within. Athan pushed the door open and saw that the doctor was sitting casually at his desk behind a pile of forms and books. “The paperwork is the killer mate. You’d think it would be the long hours.” He smiled and offered the seat opposite for Athan to sit down.

“Thank you.”

Enstein adjusted himself in his chair and looked like he was waiting.

“I’ll start,” Athan said, as he tried to get comfortable. “Who are you working for?”

“The hospital.” Enstein nodded.

“
Seriously
?”

“Well, mostly. You are referring to the names on the list aren’t you?” Athan nodded. “Umm…this is awkward.” Enstein turned to the window and looked out at the car park and the adjoining buildings. “The head of my department was the one who put me in contact with you. She said you were The Fixer and you’d be able to make these patients wake up. It sounded a little bit mysterious to me, but I did as I was told. We got word of Kendra Thompson waking in the Ballarat hospital, then my department manager had a cardiac arrest.” Enstein was quiet a moment, and Athan felt there was more to the story. “She was forty-one, and she was a medical professional. It was unusual. Personally, I thought that maybe it wasn’t a real heart attack.”