BLOOD IN THE WATER

BLOOD IN THE WATER
by Alexis Hansen

Kitty bounces a ball against the walls of his cage, matching each toss to the ocean waves lapping against the beach outside our compound. The rhythmic thud grates against my ears, doing nothing but remind me of the concrete and steel that serve as my prison. I want to snap the ball out of the air, tear it apart. Maybe take his arm along with it.

I don’t know how much of that desire is me and how much is borne of my aberrant canine instincts.

“Cut it out,” I barely manage to bite back a bark.

“No,” Kitty drawls with a lazy blink that belies the twitch of his mouth, similarly holding back the urge to curl his lips in a threat at my tone.

Control doesn’t come easily no matter how many years our handlers have trained it into us, molding us into what they wanted with scalpels and needles, skin grafts and stem cells. They designed us into weapons. Monsters.

Kitty brushes aside black bangs and glances out the barred window. His sharp teeth flash in a mocking grin. “Full moon’s out. You going to start howling, Wolfy?”

I bristle at the nickname. “It’s Fang,” I correct him, not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last. We gave up our human names long ago, if we ever had them to begin with. “Besides, aren’t werecats a thing, too?”

The scientists would have a field day if they could figure out how to make us transform like in the movies we were rewarded with on good behavior. Instead, they’re stuck with the almost human-shaped mutants they created.

Kitty chuckles. “When we get out of here, we can join the entertainment industry. We’d make a killing at those haunted house attractions.”

“They want entertainers, not science experiments that hunt the guests.”

“Shut the hell up,” a low, rasping voice cuts in, and a lithe form in the third cage sits up.

Jaw’s awake.

She sits up in her cot, looking half-head, though this isn’t new. She’s pale, like she’s been leached of color both in her skin and the hair that hangs limply over her shoulders. Her arms are gray and patchy from skin grafts the scientists attempted. Some patches adhered to her like they’ve always belonged, muscles rippling beneath the foreign material. Others appear ready to slough off her body.

“You’re noisier than a squalling prey,” she says with a hissing undertone.

“She started it,” Kitty gestures to me.

I glare daggers at him. “Just passing the time.”

Jaw’s dark eyes bore through me with an expressionless stare. I can never guess what’s going through her mind.

I repress a shudder. Jaw unnerves me. She is rough along the edges both in personality and physicality.

Her skin looks like it could cut. I’m tempted to run my fingers along it to feel the texture, but I don’t dare get close enough to try. She’ll tear my head off if I do.

If I don’t go for her jugular first.       

Her head snaps to the side. Kitty and I straighten. She can sense things we can’t.

“Something’s happening.”

The lights shut off as the power cuts out. The electric grid on our cages is no longer an obstacle, though the thick collars around our necks won’t be affected. They run on their own power supplies and are matched to radio signals that carry the exact amount of electricity required to incapacitate us, but not kill us.

I sniff the air, watching Kitty’s broad back at all times. As loath as I am to admit it, his jaguar eyes are better than mine, and he’ll react to any threat before I can.

An explosion rocks the compound. It’s too much for my sensitive wolf ears, and I let out a whine while the world rings. Stumbling forward, the bars of my cage buckle under my weight, no longer anchored to the wall. Jagged metal slices my arm as I pass through the gap, but I pay no heed. I can lick my wounds later.

Something brushes against my leg. Jaw is on the ground, hands over her ears. I move to kneel, to help her up, but freeze in place.

I’m in her cage. My hackles rise, and every instinct in me is screaming to run, but I don’t know why. 

I don’t know what she is.

Wolf blood pulses through my veins, jaguar DNA in Kitty’s, but Jaw is a mystery.

Whatever she is, she’s a threat. 

Her eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, consuming the whites. I back away, not concealing my defensive growl. She inhales and I tense, ready to—what? I’m not sure, but before anything can happen, Kitty shoves his way between us.

“Get a hold of yourselves,” he rumbles. His voice sounds muffled and distant after the explosion, like it’s coming from underwater. “Kill each other later, if that’s what you want.”

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to wrest back control over my limbs. I step back as Jaw stands. She sways, legs refusing to coordinate with the rest of her body. The explosion must have done a number on her.

It doesn’t take long for our rapid healing to kick in. Something about having our cells altered to house whatever animal traits our corporate masters wanted—including bloodthirsty instincts that go well beyond those possessed by any wild animal—means that said cells regenerate at an accelerated rate. It comes in handy in times like these.

The door to Jaw’s cage is open, and Kitty pushes his way through it first. I hold back so Jaw goes ahead of me. There’s no way I’m turning my back to her.

We are allies—for now—but something about her puts me on edge in a way that even Kitty doesn’t.

Security guards scramble around the compound like a flock of frightened sheep. As much as I itch to give chase, we keep to the shadows. Kitty’s movements are as graceful as his feline counterpart. Jaw’s are stilted and unnatural, like she has too many limbs. Her head rocks back and forth, scenting the air.

Kitty and I have a running bet. My guess is she’s based off some kind of snake. The way she moves her spine when she walks is fluid, like she’s trying to slither, and her lack of expression makes me think that whatever was stitched to her DNA has no facial muscles. Plus, she senses things that sight, sound, or smell can’t detect. Some snakes have infrared receptors, don’t they?

Kitty says she’s too much of a force of nature for something agonizingly slow like venom or constriction. We’ve never seen her hunt, since we are tested and trained separately, but even in mundane interactions, she’s like a tidal wave, more likely to tear prey limb from limb. He thinks she’s a crocodile.

Either should be impossible. Combining human and animal DNA is an incredible feat in itself, but mixing mammalian and reptilian? I can’t fathom the genetic alterations that would have had to happen for something like that to be fabricated.

If it’s true, though, it must have been absolute hell on both her body and psyche. No wonder she’s so…unhinged.

But then again, we all are.

Sea spray hits my face when we make it outside and the scent of salt is sharp and bitter, yet fresh air has never smelled so good. A chain link fence tipped with barbed wire is in sight, as well as the forest behind it. Freedom is close enough to taste yet still out of reach.

My legs twitch, ready to run for it. I am faster than any human, faster than Kitty even. A well-placed bullet could kill me, but that’s only if the guards get a chance to make the shot. Even if I’m injured, I’ll heal.

The collar’s weight burns against my throat, and for a moment, I fear it’s been activated. But no. If it had been, I would be writhing on the ground right now. It’s almost physically painful to turn my back on the woods, but there will be no freedom without these damned things gone.

Kitty’s eyes glint in the darkness and concern flits across his features. I snarl at my moment of weakness and push past him. Jaw is already at the docks, feet dragging over the boards yet hurried in their steps like someone dying of thirst who has just found an oasis in the desert.

Two figures stand tall, waiting. Their scents make my lip curl, and I want to attack, or turn tail and run in terror. Instead, I approach, head lowered in submission. Kitty slinks to my side. Jaw presses forward, unheeding the figures.

“Number 52,” the Handler barks. We are undeserving of names in his mind, so we show him the same courtesy. I flinch at the stern tone that means punishment is imminent. “Number 52,” he says again when Jaw acts as if she hasn’t heard him, going straight for the edge of the docks.

The Handler pulls out a round, palm-sized device, and presses a button. I whine on instinct, ready for the sensation of pulsing electricity to render me helpless.

It doesn’t come.

Jaw doesn’t scream when the electrical pulses course through her. All that comes out of her mouth is a wheezing breath as she flops on her back like a fish out of water. Somehow, that’s worse.

The Handler’s gaze turns toward us. I don’t move a muscle, and Kitty is just as stiff beside me.

“Number 7,” the Handler gestures at me, then at Kitty. “And Number 12. They have performed perfectly.”

The woman beside him tuts, dissatisfied. Where the Handler’s hair is shorn and his clothes are all tactical gear, reflecting function over fashion, she is the opposite. Perfectly styled locks and a pantsuit don’t match a place like this. The only sensible part of her attire is that she wears boots instead of heels, and a coat that might actually be half-decent at keeping out the cold, though much too expensive to be practical.

“That one needs work,” the Executive frowns at Jaw, still twitching on the wooden slats.

“She’s given us more than a fair share of trouble, but that was predicted in the project outlook. We’ve got a handle on her,” the Handler says. “These two, on the other hand, are perfectly obedient. Not a single personnel was harmed tonight. They’re ready for field testing.”

Rage boils in my chest at the thought that Jaw is more of a problem for them than me. It shames me that I stand here now, head bowed in compliance while she refuses to obey. But I can’t force myself to move, not when I know that pain will follow.

Jaw knows, she just doesn’t care.

As much as I hate the man, I want his plan to work. I have no desire to be their bloodhound, but at this point, I would do anything to get out of here, even if it is only temporary.

“No,” said the Executive, her tone decisive in a way that suggests they’ve had this conversation before. The Handler’s face darkens, but before he can argue, she continues. “Just because you staged an opportunity for them to escape and they returned to you like well-trained dogs doesn’t mean anything.”

She steps closer to me, slender hands reaching for my throat, and I fight the urge to bite. A manicured nail taps the collar.

“Not while these are still necessary.”

A growl slips out and I get some small satisfaction in how the Executive hastily pulls back.

“Case in point,” she says with a huff, straightening. “The regimen will continue. Without you.”

“What?” The Handler gapes, stunned, like he can’t believe what he’s just heard. I can’t believe it myself. He’s being fired?

He deserves far worse, but even this much is enough to fill me with glee. Even Kitty can’t hide his grin.

The Executive gestures back at the compound, the smoke rising to meet the moon that hangs in the sky. “Do you have any idea how much these damages will cost us? All for some pitiful demonstration? You’re fired, effective immediately. Hand over your badge and remote.”

The Handler sputters. “Cost of damages—the cost is nothing compared to what these hybrids will get us! Do you intend to keep them locked up for testing forever?”

The remote in his hand was the only thing keeping me from leaping at his throat then and there. We are not things. We are not tools.

One day, we will prove it.

The Executive’s voice is icy. “We will keep them for testing as long as it takes to ensure their loyalty.” Not happening. Ever. “The remote. Now.”

She holds out a hand. The Handler hesitates. I can see it in his eyes. The defiance. The temptation. One command from him is all it would take for us to rip her apart.

I long for him to give it.

I also long for him to give in, to go away and disappear forever.

The badge lands in the Executive’s waiting palm. The remote follows a moment later. The Handler holds onto it for a few seconds too long, and the Executive yanks her hand back.

Then it sprays blood.

Jaw’s jaws are clamped around the woman’s wrist. The remote clatters to the ground, and in an instant, I leap on the woman, shredding her luxury coat and the skin underneath, coating her perfect hair in blood. She screams, but no one is fast enough to save her.

A gunshot fires and I leap back, prepared for the sting, but it is Jaw who stumbles, clutching a bleeding wound in her side. Not fatal. Not for her. But it causes her foot to slip on the edge of the docks, and she falls into the water with a splash.

The Handler’s cry of pain is music to my ears. Kitty’s claws are embedded in the man’s leg, and he’s about to pounce on something more vital, but another gunshot has Kitty pulling back, a good chunk of his ear missing. An inch to the left and he’d be dead.

The Handler scrambles backward, reaching one of the inflatable skiffs. Quick, practiced movements have the moor undone in seconds, gun still raised. Then he’s on board, pushing off from the docks and abandoning the Executive.

I move to take a running leap before he can get away, but he jerks the gun in warning and I stop.

He doesn’t want to shoot us. Even fired, we are valuable assets. But if his life is in danger, it won’t matter how valuable we are.

My fists clench as his boat drifts farther away. Even if I were to risk the chance of him landing a headshot, I wouldn’t be able to reach him now. Kitty lets out a roar, venting his own frustrations. He’s a better swimmer than me, but in the water, he’d be a sitting duck for the Handler’s gun. 

In the boat, the Handler’s hands shake as he tries to get the motor started, failing several times before he freezes in place. The scent of fear comes wafting off him in waves, sweet and tantalizing. His eyes flick to us, darting between me and Kitty before scanning the docks.

Jaw never resurfaced.

He fires the gun wildly into the black ocean, and I don’t see why until the motor is ripped clean from his boat. He hyperventilates, the terrified sound a far cry from anything I’ve heard from him before. Stripped of his defenses, his power, he is a different person entirely.

He is prey.

A dark shape ripples the water from below, and then the boat is upside down. The Handler didn’t even get a chance to scream.

The tangy scent of copper is strong, and dark liquid clouds the ocean’s surface. All is silent. He doesn’t resurface. Neither does Jaw.

I understand now. “Looks like we both lost the bet,” I mutter.

She is a shark, and there’s blood in the water.

Kitty’s hand is on my arm, his claws pricking my skin. “We need to go,” he says. “Now.”

I shake my head. It’s too late. Already, footsteps are stomping toward the docks, the click of guns, tasers, and more remotes for our collars coming with them. Even with the Handler and the Executive dead, we won’t make it past the guards, the infrared cameras, the fence. We never had a chance.

I kick the Handler’s remote into the water. Maybe Jaw has a chance. They must have known when they made her that it was a risk creating a creature who can go where they can’t.

Something slides beneath the water, lithe and powerful. I catch a glimpse of Jaw’s face. She is at home in the water in a way she never was on land. Her features are expressionless as always, the whites of her eyes consumed by black.

Is she grateful? Vengeful? Does she wish me to find freedom, or does she want me to fall in so she can tear me apart?

I won’t find out. She sinks into the cove, disappearing without a trace.

The security guards approach us and Kitty growls his defiance. With a glance at the Executive’s body, I raise my hands in compliance. Even the outlook of more cages, more training, and the inevitable punishment we will face for this doesn’t wipe the feral grin from my face.

We hurt them. We tasted blood and killed two of their own. They’ve been dealt a blow, and now, without the Executive and the Handler, they’ll be scrambling to deal with the damages. Not to mention, they just lost a major asset in Jaw.

They may put us in a cage, but we are still wild.

Fiction © Copyright Alexis Hansen
Image by Elias from Pixabay

Alexis Hansen grew up moving across the USA before returning to her family’s roots in Utah where she’s been raising goats ever since. She was homeschooled, spends way too much time lost in her own imagination, and can never decide whether to write or draw. She enjoys butting heads with her goats (not literally!), going on walks with her dogs, and fulfilling her honorable duty as a cat bed for her feline overlords. You can find her on Twitter @goatlextales