Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

“Of course, Sister. I don’t have enough here, but if you could help me bring the rest out from their boxes inside, I would be forever grateful.” Rider pointed to the doors immediately behind him, and the two nuns started to follow him through the doors marked Restricted Access . “I just had an operation on my back and I’m not supposed. .” Rider tried to distract their attention from the shouts of the approaching cops.

“Sisters, stop!” boomed Rodney Patton’s voice, and for a moment, everything in the mall did stop, as every eye turned towards the gigantic black man. He was holding up a large gold police shield in one hand, and a larger chrome handgun in the other. He was breathing hard, but had stopped running. A smaller man in a space suit continued towards them.

The pain split Rider’s head a second time, but he was able to look through it and see Rucker. An expression of confusion crossed his face. Only the German had been able to do that to him, and only the German had known their secrets. Rider closed his mind, just as he did when Klaus Reisch used to hurt him for fun all those years ago. A young Izhan Ahmed, years before he had become Joseph Rider, had tended to the German through his “illness.” He had been away in Rome, with Avanti, on that fateful night seven years ago. Less than a man, but more than a boy, he had come to Libya to learn how to fight, but the sheik himself had felt that young Izhan’s talents lay beyond martyrdom. He had become Avanti’s assistant and learned the ways of the West as the Ukrainian moved through the United States and Europe. He himself had told Avanti of the disaster in the Libyan Desert, and learned from Avanti’s reactions to this stunning blow how to accept the will of God.

The pain hit him a third time and Izhan and Rucker were suddenly sharing the same mind — that strange two-way connection now fully established. Rucker struggled to control him, but he fought back, just as he had done with Reisch. Rucker was stronger, though, a great deal stronger, and Izhan knew that it was only a matter of time before the American had full control. Rider grabbed the closer of the two nuns, pulled the handgun from his jacket pocket, and shot her in the small of her back. She screamed, and Phil’s attention was diverted just long enough for Rider to slip out of the mental stranglehold. Rider pulled the other nun through the doors and slid a crowbar through the handles. It wouldn’t stop them for long, and it wouldn’t stop Rucker at all. Already he had renewed his assault, but it was the best he could do. Through the pain, Rider grabbed the screaming nun by her habit and dragged her up the stairs.

“Move, damn you. Get up, or I’ll shoot you as well!” he yelled into her face after her habit had come off. She climbed to her feet, and he pushed her up the stairs.

“It’s bad,” Phil said to Patton as they turned Sister Ellen onto her side. “Definitely kidney, maybe spleen, but I don’t think he got the aorta.” He was applying pressure to the entrance wound with his silver gloves. “I have to go get him, and you have to take care of this.”

Patton was looming over him, sweat spilling off his forehead. They both knew that he was now almost certainly infected. “Go, I’ll take care of her.” They shared the briefest moment of mutual respect when their eyes met. “Take this and kill that son of a bitch, because if he comes down here alive, I’m going to kill him.” Patton passed over his weapon, and Phil could feel the pure hatred in his soul.

Phil tried to push through the doors, but the crowbar was securely fixed to the handles. He looked back at Patton and the fallen nun, judged that they were safe, and then blew the doors in. They rebounded off the far wall fifty feet away.

* * *

Izhan heard the explosion of doors and was thankful for the brief respite from Rucker’s undivided attention. He had reached the roof, and the nun ran out into the dazzlingly bright afternoon sun. They both shaded their eyes and stumbled forward. The chillers were on, and he followed their loud mechanical strumming. He grabbed the hem of the nun’s skirt, and she lost her balance. Izhan dragged her across the stone and tar roof. She wouldn’t be much of a shield against Rucker, but against bullets, she would do fairly well.

They reached the condensers, and a large column of steam shot a hundred feet into the sky above them. He dropped to his knees, and Sister Janine tried to crawl away as he pulled out the remaining seven sheets of infected paper. He swatted at her, and she responded with a vicious kick. The heel of her shoe opened a large gash across his still-masked face. As he looked back at her, he found that she was stricken by her own savagery. He took the butt of the gun and hit her hard in the face. Her nose broke with a crack, and she spun around into the gravel.

Rucker was at the door as Izhan tore his first sheet and tossed the pieces into the steam column. They shot high into the air, as the mental wrestling match resumed. Izhan tore the second and third sheets, but before he could launch them, he was wheeled around and slammed against the metal wall of the chillers, the fragments of the infected paper inches from the rising column. He tried to release them, but Rucker now had full control.

Phil pinned him there. Small pieces of torn paper began to fall from the sky and collect at Izhan’s feet.

Voices and the noise of heavy footfalls started coming up from the stairwell, and Phil slammed the door shut without taking his eyes off Izhan. The isolation suit was both hot and unnecessary, so he slowly stripped it off. A tiny slip of paper fell out, and it was caught by a tiny breeze that wafted it towards the pile in front of Izhan.

“That’s better,” Phil said, after stepping out of the pants. “I would like a moment of your time, so why don’t you get comfortable as well?” The mask dropped off Ahmed’s face and fell into the neat pile at his feet. “I can feel that you want to hurt me; you want it very badly.” Phil stared at Izhan while the younger man struggled to free himself from the invisible force that held him. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite as strong. The depth of your hatred is truly impressive.”

“What do you know about hatred?” Ahmed sneered.

“Very little,” Phil admitted. Izhan could use the mental connection almost as well as Phil. “As you can see, I am capable of experiencing only a narrow range of emotions. The truth is that I can perceive your emotions much easier than my own.”

“You are an abomination in the eyes of God.”

“Are you trying to anger me?” Phil squatted down, using the chillers to shade him from the sun as he gently sorted through the life of Izhan Ahmed. He tried to resist, but he had no more luck freeing his mind than he did freeing his arms. “Where does all this hate come from?” Phil asked sincerely.

“Your Western society degenerates our faithful,,”

Phil silenced him. ”Yes, yes; our very existence offends the Almighty, and it is your duty to destroy us. It’s an excellent sound bite, but it’s all very trite and uninteresting.” Phil forced him to make eye contact. “You are an educated man, Izhan, and while lesser men may actually buy into that nonsense because they don’t know better, you do know better.”

The young man stared back at Phil, anger burning in his eyes.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, but I must know.”

“Why?” Ahmed asked defiantly and used every ounce of energy to close his mind.

“Honestly, I can’t tell you; I find your willingness to commit acts of extreme sacrifice and extreme violence compelling.”

“I’m not going to help you learn how to be human.” He spat back.