Jill, Draven, and Claire looked at one another for a few moments. “Yeah,” he finally said, “that’s about the extent of it.”
“Why do you care?” Claire asked, as she was waiting to put on her best Oscar winning asthma attack. “I mean, what does it matter what happens to us? What happens to the pilot or those bears?”
“They’re coming,” Draven said, ever mysterious. “I’m one of them. Go.”
Like clockwork – maybe that’s actually what they were? The thought did occur – the orderlies appeared, and without even trying very hard, Claire felt her chest tighten up. “Oh no!” she cried out. “I... I can’t breathe!”
The two orderlies froze in place, both turning toward her with that haunting, impossible slow smoothness. They exchanged a quick glance and both moved toward her at once, gliding over the ground more than walking.
Claire clutched at her chest, croaking, gasping, pulling at her chest and groaning and twitching.
“Help this woman!” Draven cried out. “Can’t you see she’s having an asthma attack? We’re in a hospital!”
That’s when Claire realized that they didn’t just move and act alike. They weren’t just similar, they were exactly the same. Every feature, every fold of their faces, and crease on their lips were exactly the same.
“Jill!” she heard Draven shout. “Get her! We’re gonna have to be more direct!”
He lunged forward, crashing his fist into one of their heads with a sickening thunk. No reaction at all, not even a grunt or a hiss of pain. He... she? It, whatever, just cocked its head, grabbed Draven’s fist, and squeezed.
“Report,” the other orderly hissed. The static-laden voice was hauntingly familiar. “Report to Eckert.”
Its voice was cold, detached, dead and...
“Did you just say Eckert? But he’s...”
The lights in the hall went dead. Completely, suddenly, darkness enveloped all three of them. Claire heard the noise of a fight, felt the clamp of metal on her, and then felt herself wrenched free. Pulled to the right, then to the left, she felt herself tossed around before she planted her feet.
A second later, she felt that surge of strength, of power, from before when she was with her bears. Was it possible they were somewhere near? She didn’t know. But the one thing Claire did know?
There was fur growing out of her arms, her back, and her neck. She felt her muscles harden... which was novel, because Claire Redmon was not exactly a gym rat.
Before she had time to wonder “what the hell is happening?” she heard a roar like a peal of thunder, and felt herself give in to... whatever it was, surging through her.
-15-
“I’m not much for violence, but... okay fine, that felt really, really good.”
-Claire
The breath burned deep in Claire’s chest, but the fury felt so, so good.
Surges of crackling, electrical charges crept from her spine to her fingertips, thrilling every shred of her being with the sense of strength, power, and rage that boiled the blood in her veins. In the utter blackness, she threw back her head, unleashed a roar, and slammed a paw into whatever was in front of her.
She had no control, no say, she just did what felt good. Giving up to the fury was something she never imagined – but then again, neither was a three-way with a couple of muscle bound guys. Sometimes, trying new things? Works out for the best.
Whatever she hit – one of the orderlies, but she didn’t know which – crunched under her strength and flew backwards. With a snap of her jaws, she crushed what she thought was an arm, and seconds later, the taste of iron, sulfur and some kind of foul grit filled her mouth. She spat, sputtered, and threw herself in again.
Something cold and hard wrapped around her neck, and something else jabbed her in the side. Another jolt blasted her, and the smell of singed fur met her nostrils before she whirled around and ripped another one of her attackers limb from limb.
“Claire!” a pained, unused voice broke the blood rage that gripped her. “Break away! We have to find... the pilot.”
It was Draven’s voice, though how she knew that was lost on her. With another shake of her head, she separated another arm from another body, and her mouth filled with that same wretched taste.
She opened her mouth, and tried to speak, but the muscles of Claire’s throat were so tight, her vocal cords so taut, that she could only make squawking noises instead of words. Apparently that was good enough, though.
“Straight ahead! I’ve got a bead on him!” That time it was Jill shouting. Claire looked back to find the woman wearing a pair of goggles – one that she remembered from the creatures in the forest before. Were these the same ones?