Helen Chavez
This story is unfortunately unfinished. I'm not sure it ever will be finished, but it's really worth reading anyway.
~Lynn
Chapter 1
He was dying. He was dying, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Frank Brodie shifted painfully, the deep bite-wounds in his body protesting at the movement. But he was past caring, knowing that even if the blood-loss didn’t kill him the baboons would, their massive, genetically altered bodies tearing his sorry carcass to pieces in seconds – and he knew they would return soon to the site of their ultimate triumph, here in the wrecked compound that had made them what they were. The ultimate killing machine. Primates with the intellect of a human being – a primitive human, but a human none the less.
He smiled despite himself, easing awkwardly into a sitting position on a piece of the wrecked tower, the air reeking with the smell of burning fuel and carbonised flesh. He had thought for a fleeting moment as he waited for Davis to throw the lantern and blow the tower, that he might make it off this godforsaken island, maybe make it home to his pigsty of a hovel in San Miguel. But then his legs had finally given way and he had sprawled in a heap in the dirt, his wounded body committing the final betrayal.
But then, he should never have been on this pile of rocks anyway. Not ten years ago, when the experiments had gone fatally wrong, the experiments to turn big game animals into genetically-modified specimens to tantalise the rich hunters that visited the island. Old Doc Matthews had certainly delivered the goods. But the hunted had turned on the hunters, and the animals only intended as lab specimens had escaped and become the top of the food chain on San Miguel Island – and their prey had included Man.
He sighed, and then managed to light a cigarette with shaking hands, the old Zippo lighter flaring briefly in the receding night, sunrise beginning to finger the sky with blue tendrils. Brodie leaned back, inhaling deeply, his eyes closing as the memories flooded his mind.
The screams, the blood, the smell of death. But mostly it was the screams. He had made it off the island by the skin of his teeth, but he had left his compadres behind to die. And Doc Matthews had died with them, the crazy ol’ coot adamantly refusing to leave.
Sonofabitch. Left me to live …
Brodie shuddered as the thought lingered. Just how many times had he thought or spoken those words in the past ten years? But he knew the answer to that one. Every time he awoke yelling in fear as the nightmares threatened to swallow him whole, and he would rail against the agony of memory. But then the peace that came from the inside of a tequila bottle would ease the pain, and he would slip into blessed oblivion for a little while.
Tequila. That made him think of the Doc, remembering the two of them sitting companionably on a warm, flower-scented evening, watching the sun go down as they spun a yarn or two and tossed back a couple of snorts of the fiery liquid. Biting back a groan of pain, he managed to lever out the half-empty bottle of tequila from his back pocket, his wounds sending jolts of agony through his battered frame. His breath was coming in short gasps now, and Brodie struggled to stay conscious, the calmness of death enticing him as it wove a spell full of promises of freedom from guilt and pain and fear.
He shakily raised the bottle heavenward, and for a moment the pain faded. The words came haltingly, whispered and hoarse.
He smiled.
“See you in a minute Doc …”
But the bottle never reached his lips.
As the faint hum of the generator faltered and died into silence, the big man who had come to this island to finally put an end to ten years of nightmares and heartbreak slid quietly into oblivion.
**************
Tara Matthews was running. She ran desperately, knowing she had little time to reach her goal, the knowledge of what followed her turning her heart to water.
They’re coming …
She had left a frantic Kelsey on the beach hauling a bleeding and battered Davis into the small inflatable lifeboat – one only intended for two, as Brodie had dryly pointed out. Brodie. He hadn’t made it to the beach. Indecision had taken her for just a moment, her strong sense of self-preservation screaming at her to get into the inflatable and get the hell out of there and Brodie be damned.
But she couldn’t.
Davis had gasped out that Brodie was still alive – just – as Tara helped lever the tall man into the boat.
“I’m going back.”
Kelsey had looked at her as though she had finally lost her mind.
“Are you goddamned nuts?????”
Two pairs of eyes locked for long moments, then the girl’s mouth had snapped shut like a gin trap. Tara had already decided. Kelsey nodded hurriedly, needing more than anything just to get the hell away. But there was one last thing before she went, and her hand caught Tara’s wrist as the young woman turned back towards the beach.
“I’ll send help. So help me, I’ll send someone to get you …”
Tara smiled through the dirt and bruises, and touched a hand to the cheek of this feisty millionaire’s daughter.
“I know.”
The agreement made, Tara turned back once more and waded ashore. She didn’t look back.
And so she ran, skirting carefully around the track back to the compound where she knew she would find Brodie. He’s probably dead … The words sang through her mind like a litany, but she kept going. Her breath came in sobs, desperation driving her onward, but she knew deep down in her heart she was doing the right thing.
Brodie had come back to this hell-hole, despite severe misgivings, the memories almost crippling him. But he had come back – come back to try and make things right, to stop the nightmares. In the past two days he had saved their lives time and again, even entering the huge cave that was the lair of these wonderfully lethal monsters her father had created to haul her out of there, putting his own life at risk in the process. She owed him, the stubborn sonofabitch.
She knew the primates would not be far behind once they had finished screaming their frustration down on the beach, so she only had a short time to get Brodie and find somewhere to hole up until help came. She remembered how hurt he was, and she had no idea how she would even get him back onto his feet. If he was still alive. Please God … let him be alive …he’s not dead … he can’t be …Spotting the gates to the compound stark against the lightening sky, she quickened her pace and pelted into the wrecked space, the still smouldering ruins of the tower lying scattered and twisted on the ground. She slowed, averting her eyes from the burnt heaps of flesh that had once been blood and fur and teeth. The baboons had been hit hard when the tower fell.
But where the hell was Brodie?
And then she saw him. His long, powerful body was resting against one of the wrecked steel pylons of the tower, head hanging sideways, lax … he looked as though he was asleep. No, she thought, he looks dead …
She hurriedly picked her way over the tangled wreck of metal around him, heart lurching at the blood on him. Dear God, he was torn to ribbons … Reaching his side, she crouched beside him. His eyes were half open, unseeing, and there seemed to be no rise and fall of the broad chest. He was dead, she knew it. She reached forward with a shaking hand to feel for a pulse at his neck, almost in tears, knowing she would find nothing.
The groan almost frightened her to death.
Scrambling backwards, Tara sat down hard on her backside, her heart pounding. Then she watched in the early morning blue light as hazy azure eyes slowly blinked and the big body stirred slightly, a ragged breath tempered by broken ribs lifting the chest. She quickly came to her knees and touched Brodie’s stubbled cheek, feeling him flinch at the caress of her fingers. Good – not only was he alive, he was responsive. The ‘medic’ in her took over smoothly and efficiently.
“Brodie – Brodie! Can you hear me? C’mon now, Brodie, I need you to wake up for me …”
The blue eyes flickered open once more and she saw them try to focus on her face. He muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, and she leaned forward.
“What? What did you say?” When there was no response, she tapped Brodie’s cheek with her fingers, hoping to get a reply. Another ragged breath heaved through him, and the eyes opened once more - this time the focus was stronger, the sapphire blue sparking indignantly.
“Leave me … the hell alone …”
Tara almost laughed out loud with relief. Not only was Brodie responsive, he was thoroughly pissed off.
Quickly she checked over his wounds – mostly deep bites, some ragged and torn, but all of them had stopped bleeding. She palpated his abdomen, checking for the hardness that signified internal bleeding, but apart from the sharp pain of a couple of broken ribs, Brodie seemed to be intact internally, which was a blessing. He bore her examination stoically, slowly relaxing to her gentle ministrations, her cool touch trying hard not to hurt him any more than she had to.
Why had she come back? Didn’t she know he was dying? And when those goddamn things turned up – as they surely would – she was going to get ripped to pieces in seconds. She was committing suicide, dammit!
He tried again.
“Get the hell away from me … git!” An unsteady hand caught Tara’s arm, stopping her for a moment. His pain-filled eyes bored into hers. “They’re gonna eat you alive … you know that …” His voice was hoarse with emotion.
But the defiance and concern for him in those liquid brown eyes shook him to the core. She smiled.
“No, Brodie – they’re not. Because I’m not going to let them get either of us.” Tara carried on with her examination, wincing in sympathy as she found a particularly nasty bite on his left shoulder. She continued talking as she checked him out. “Remember how you said that if you saved me, it would make the pain of the last ten years go away? Well, you did it, Frank – Kelsey and Davis are on their way, and help’s coming, I know it. I just couldn’t leave you behind … not after all we’ve been through … not after being with you … y’know …” She ducked her head in sudden shyness. Then she leaned forward and dropped a gentle kiss on Brodie’s lips, the big man too surprised to answer in kind.
Brodie studied the slight young woman for long moments. Then a rare grin crept onto his battered features.
“Crazy. That’s what you are … just plain crazy … stubborn as hell … just like your old man - sonofabitch …” The last word came in a gasp of agony as Tara gently eased up the torn black tee-shirt to reveal a bloody tear in his side. His head dropped back on the metal pylon, his eyes closed in exhaustion. She wondered again how on earth she was going to get him onto his feet.
“Brodie, we have to get moving. I have an idea about where to hide, but you have to get up. Do you think you can stand?”
He pried open an eye and regarded her with a jaundiced expression.
“Nope …”
Tara’s eyes narrowed. Dammit, she wasn’t going to let him give up now …
“Brodie, you have to get up – we’re heading for the generator room, it has a steel door and small windows. They’ve tried to get in there once and failed, so it should hold until help arrives. Come on Brodie – what’s to lose? We’re dead anyway, if we don’t.”
He perused her steadily. She was right. But how he was going to get up, he didn’t know – he didn’t think he could sit up, let alone actually get onto his feet. And she was so slender … a sudden vision of that slim body under his filled his mind. She had been so soft, so welcoming, but that fragile frame had held him in thrall as he strove within her, the pleasure washing over them both … he snapped out of his reverie. Now wasn’t the time. She had come back for him, and he couldn’t let her down, not now. Because she cared. And no one had cared about Frank Brodie for as long as he could remember.
He thought for a moment.
“Knife.”
“What?” Tara was confused.
Brodie sighed.
“My knife. We may need it. It’s over there …” His voice was weak, but determined.
He nodded towards the carcass of the huge alpha male, stiffening now in the early morning cool. Tara saw the d-shaped guard of the big knife, the blade buried to the hilt in the baboon’s chest. She stumbled over to the creature and paused as she took in the huge canines, still bared in fury and covered in blood. Brodie’s blood. Amber eyes, dulled by death, stared at her. The thing almost looked as though it would come alive and rip her to shreds. She shuddered. Gripping the hilt she tugged hard, and the blade came free with a sucking noise, but there wasn’t much blood. She wiped the blade on the furry hide and returned to Brodie’s side.
She thought for a heart-stopping moment that he had passed out again, but bleary eyes opened as she slid the knife into its scabbard at Brodie’s right hip. She found the half-empty bottle of tequila lying in the dirt beside him and she hunted for the top. With a huff of achievement she found it under Brodie’s elbow and she screwed it tight back on the bottle. The alcohol was precious – but not for drinking. She could at least clean up some of Brodie’s deeper injuries with the stuff, although she knew it would hurt like hell. She just hoped Brodie was up to dealing with the pain.
Tucking the bottle safely into her shorts pocket she prepared to get Brodie upright, although she was concerned that his legs wouldn’t hold him – the older injury to his left thigh, caused whilst fighting off the baboon pack in the tower, was beginning to fester.
“You ready?” She touched his cheek once more, this time noticing how Brodie imperceptibly turned his face towards her palm for a moment before lifting his gaze to hers.
Then, to Tara’s surprise, he winked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be …” A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth, the blue eyes crinkling with humour.
She lifted his less-damaged right arm and draped it over her shoulders, then slid her left arm around his waist. Crouching uncomfortably, she glanced sideways and saw Brodie begin to brace himself for the effort of getting to his feet – something that as far as he was concerned was as unattainable as the moon.
He struggled to get his right leg beneath him and lever himself upwards, but the wrenched tendons screamed painfully in protest, damaged nerves ripping agony through his right side. But he kept going. Leaning heavily on Tara’s fine-boned frame he managed to get up onto his knees, the young woman sweating and hauling as he sagged against her.
For long moments they stilled, Brodie gathering what meagre strength he had left to try for the final push up onto his feet, his breathing ragged with pain. Tara thought she was going to collapse under his weight – Brodie was a tall, raw-boned man, all long limbs and broad shoulders and chest, and he wasn’t exactly a lightweight.
She smiled inwardly, despite the fear and horror of the past night. Brodie’s frame hadn’t seemed heavy before, when he had held her tight and moved forcefully within her, his throaty moans setting her blood on fire. But that seemed to have been a lifetime ago, instead of the eighteen hours that had passed since those moments they had spent together, trying hard to forget the terrible danger that threatened them all.
“C’mon, Brodie – let’s go. We have to lock ourselves in before they get here. I don’t want you getting eaten alive out here.” She gave him what she hoped was a confident smile.
Brodie cocked an eyebrow at her, a faint gleam in the azure gaze.
“Gen – generator room, huh?” His breath hitched as his ribs protested. “Don’t – don’t tell me you’re gonna ravage my poor, feeble body all over again …”
Tara snorted.
“It seems to me you were the one doing the ravaging, Brodie. Anyway – you’re in no fit state to put up a fight, and you wouldn’t be any fun …”
This time Brodie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Tara had to grin. The incongruity of it all struck her. Their joining had been far from violent – there had been a strong and desperate urgency to it, but she soon discovered that under that sardonic and uncaring exterior Brodie hid someone that obviously hadn’t seen the light of day for years. He had been so tender …
A raw, hacking cough came from the big man, a deep groan of pain tearing through him, focusing Tara’s attentions on their present perilous situation.
She held him tight until he regained his breath, and then they started the long haul upwards once more, Tara staggering under his weight. She managed to get his feet under him, but as she suspected, his legs were struggling to hold him. The wounded left leg began to fold, torn muscles unwilling to attempt the simple task of standing upright .
Brodie grunted with the effort but his weight began to drag them both,
and despite Tara’s valiant battle to hold him, they both crumpled onto the ground, Brodie on his hands and knees and threatening to collapse completely.
Catching her breath, Tara started once more to try and lift him, but this time Brodie fought back. He shrugged off her help, head hanging, trying to push away her hands as she braced herself to take his not inconsiderable frame.
But he wasn’t co-operating. After another few moments battling his stubborn attempts to push her away, she finally lost her temper.
“Dammit Brodie!! What is the matter with you?? Do you want to die??”
“I’m not … gonna make it …” He shoved her in the direction of the generator room. “Go! Get in there! Leave me …” He attempted to draw the big knife at his belt
Then she realised. She was to lock herself in the heavy steel-reinforced room and let Brodie go. He would go down fighting – or at least that was his intention. She hunkered down at his side and wrapped small hands around both his fingers and the knife hilt, preventing him from drawing the blade. He tried to fight against the firm grip, but finally his waning strength failed him and he loosened his hold on the weapon.
“Go …” Brodie’s head lifted and he turned to gaze at her – and she was suddenly caught by the hopelessness in the deepest of blue eyes.
Tara let go of the knife hilt and reached forward, catching his face in her hands, knowing for an absolute certainty that at this moment she had to be at her strongest.
“Frank …”
Her voice was soft, gentle – the compassion in it piercing deep into Brodie’s wounded soul. His face became lined with grief.
“Frank … remember what I said yesterday … in the generator room, just before we …” She smiled, fond memory softening the fear in her face. “Remember? A leap of faith, Frank. That’s all I want from you. A simple leap of faith. All you have to do is get up and walk twenty feet, and then we’ll be safe. Trust me, Frank – I know you can do it …”
He gazed at her for long moments, eyes searching for any sign of weakening – but he found none.
“It’s either both of us together, or I die with you. Right here. On this spot. Because I’m not going to sit in there and watch those creatures tear you to pieces. Do you understand? Trust me …”
Brodie saw the truth in her eyes at last … and sighed.
“Twenty feet, huh?”
Tara grinned, knowing she had won.
“Twenty feet. That’s all. And then we can wait it out until help gets here.”
The sigh came again, turning into a soft gasp as his wounds jarred with the movement.
“You are one … big … pain in the ass … did you know that?” He grinned wolfishly, the gaunt face alive with bitter humour. “So … let’s go …” Brodie’s voice was a weak growl as he draped his arm once more around Tara’s shoulders.
It took long, desperate minutes – minutes Tara knew they couldn’t really spare – to get Brodie on his feet, his legs finally deciding to hold him up despite the pain it caused him. Step by agonised step they moved, slowly, haltingly, Tara struggling to support him and also keep the pair of them on a straight line towards the gaping door of the old but sturdy generator room.
After what seemed like hours, they staggered in through the doorway into cool darkness, and Tara leaned Brodie against the inside wall as she left his side to slam and bolt the reinforced steel door. It was buckled from the previous night’s onslaught, but the bolts and hinges were still intact and durable.
She checked out the heavy mesh covering the small windows – old but servicable. Even if the deranged creatures managed to pry the mesh from the frames, the gap wouldn’t be big enough to allow them access. Or at least she fervently hoped so.
Reassured, she returned to Brodie’s side. The big man had slid down the wall to lie in a wounded crouch against the damp plaster, grimacing in agony.
Tara eased him into a more comfortable position, stretching his legs out in front of him and putting a few rolled burlap sacks behind his head and shoulders. She glanced around at the heavy steel table in the corner, once used for repairing machinery and other heavy pieces of equipment, but now bare apart from an old, dusty blanket.
Once more the memories came, flashes of skin against soft skin, hands holding her tightly at her hips, the feel of the hollow of his flanks as he surged into her. The sensual rasp of his stubbled cheek against her breast as he stroked her body into shuddering pleasure, the rub of the rough blanket on her bare back …
She hurriedly grabbed the blanket and returned to Brodie, draping the worn material over his lower body as she began to check his wounds. She took time now to tear her tee-shirt into strips and start to clean out the festering wounds in this big man she had risked everything to try and save.
As she soaked a strip of material in tequila and began cleaning the deep bite in his leg, Brodie rolled his head to watch her, grimacing at the sting of the alcohol.
“Cute …” His voice was low and dry.
Tara was confused for a moment, then grinned when she realised Brodie was unashamedly perusing her neat, fragile frame – without the shirt she was clad only in a black bra, shorts and boots. Bloody fingers reached out and touched the hollow of her throat, then traced down to her breast. His touch comforted them both, as it had eighteen hours ago, and her face softened in affection. She caught his hand and kissed the palm as he closed his eyes.
“Rest, Frank – you’re safe now … we’re both safe … I promise …”
And not a moment too soon, she thought, as she watched him drift into a troubled sleep. For in the distance the screams of angry baboons rent the air - and they were slowly but surely getting closer.
They were coming …
********************