The gates of St. Mary’s were old and imposing. For many years, they had been a symbol of care and treatment for those in society deemed too unstable to deal with reality. Austere yet welcoming, they never closed. Any man, woman or child could walk through those gates and take the long walk up to the hospital set on the hill, and be sure of help once they reached their destination.

It was calm, peaceful. Tranquil.

That silence shattered as military helicopters screamed through the air toward them, so low that the backwash from their blades whipped the vegetation on either side of the old iron gates into a frenzy. Spotlights snapped on, trained onto the hospital on the hill.

The trap was sprung. Clean-up had arrived.

Within seconds, the ground rumbled, the sound growing in strength until heavy military transporters turned the corner. They rolled toward the gates, an unstoppable force. Metal squealed against stone as the first cut a deep grove into the gate’s stone support, leaving a wound of bright cream stone against the weather-beaten exterior.

The gates wobbled.

The second vehicle turned in, catching the damaged stone column as it passed. The stone swayed, wobbled. Finally, with the elegant surrender of a bygone era, it collapsed.

The gates of St. Mary’s fell.

“Jeez! Just try to be a little more careful, would ya?” Antonia snapped as the transporter rocked and rolled like a boat on the high seas. In the rear-view mirror, the stone wall toppled into the road, making the vehicle behind them swerve. It was that or half a ton of rock on the hood, something that would put a serious crimp in anyone’s day.

“Remember, we have a live payload. There’s no way I want to try and round up a dozen hungry RAs and stuff them back in Pandora’s box. Do you?” she directed at the young driver.

One of the new troops into camp, he was so young she’d have been surprised if he had to shave yet. And no one could miss the sparkle of interest in his eyes as he looked at her.

“I can handle anything, doll.” He winked at her as he swung the big vehicle around and onto the long drive up the hill toward the hospital. The muscles in his arms stood in high relief as he fought the steering wheel. “Seen it, done it and got the T-shirt to prove it.”

Despite herself, Antonia’s lips quirked. He was cute, very cute, but human. Which meant that if the things in the container behind them got out, he had a life expectancy of less than nine seconds.

Thinking of the container reminded her of what had happened the last time she got even marginally friendly with one of the human staff. Wiping the smile from her lips, she shot him a “don’t fuck with me” glare.

“Just be more careful. And it’s Major, not ‘doll’. Comprende?”

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir,” he replied briskly, snapping his eyes front and center.

She had to give it to him, he was way more intelligent than Fitzgerald. That guy wouldn’t get a hint if you put it in a truck and ran him over with it.

“Good.”

They trundled up the last incline, and the hospital suddenly stood in front of them. She shifted in her seat, leaning forward and looking up so she could see all of it. Four stories, it was an immense building, especially for this area. Imposing and dramatic, it stood on the hill in defiance of the elements and the desert fast encroaching from the west.

She tapped the discreet plug in her ear and started a running commentary to help with her report later. “Lights out, looks like the main power’s already offline.”

Thwap-thwap-thwap. The sound of chopper blades overhead was accompanied by a dust storm, and the transport was bathed in bright white light.

“Gunships onsite. Quarantine lines in place.”

Opening her door, she stood on the first step and waved the chopper off. The turbulence from its blades whipped her hair into a frenzy around her face but she ignored it in favor of looking over the target location.

“Main reception looks all quiet—”

The flutter of movement tugged at the corner of her eye. Instantly she zeroed in on it, her eyes as sharp as a hawk.

“Movement, second floor. Looks like one of the hospital staff. Yeah, more people at the window. Not a threat. Get the secondary team around the other side and start the evacuation,” she ordered as she turned her attention back to the main entrance and ignored the civilians—hospital staff and patients alike—who were staring down at the military convoy in a mixture of fascination and fear.

The other wing and the main reception area were both dark. No movement at all. Her instincts told her that was where their problem would be. Nothing Lycans liked more than a dark hole to skulk in. Damn creatures loved to hide or ambush their prey. She hissed through her teeth as she folded herself back into the cab.

“Okay, swing around and back up to the entrance. When we drop the tail gate, I don’t want any of these fuckers getting loose,” she ordered, her voice sharp and no-nonsense. “Because if that happens, I’ll be burning more than a bunch of dogs and RAs here tonight.”

The courtyard at the front of the hospital exploded into a hive of activity. As the transporter started to back up, the other vehicles surrounded the area. A cordon of steel completed by commandos with enough weaponry to arm a small regiment. Their grim faces were all locked on the main entrances and the large transporter between them and it. She wasn’t sure which they were more wary of…the Lycans within the building or the RAs they were sending in to deal with them.

Shaking her head, she looked back at the entrance and started. The door stood open. Half a second later, the commandos registered the change as well and a host of rifles were aimed at the black gap within.

Winding her window down, her arm pumping in swift, circular motions, she bellowed, “Hold your fire!”

“Just hold it here for a second,” she told the driver next to her, and studied the door with a frown on her face. Why had they opened the door? What was the point? It was as if they were inviting entry, even though they had to know what the Project would send in after them.

Not much could kill a Lycan. A Blood could, and vice versa, but cross-infection was deemed too much of a risk. She’d only ever heard one whispered tale of it around the camp, and the story claimed that the subject had been eliminated instantly. If it was true, she didn’t blame them. Such a creature would be too powerful for even the Project to contain.

RAs couldn’t be re-infected by anything. Once the RA17 virus had taken hold, they were literally walking, rotting corpses. She shuddered again. While it was a nasty way to go, at least they weren’t aware. The initial reaction to the serum killed off most autonomic and all higher mental functions. For most anyway—the scientists had theorized that some subjects retained self-awareness, but at the first hint of it, they’d been put down and the serum adjusted. Since then they’d had no problems.

Something moved in the rectangle of darkness set into the pale stone of the building. She squinted, her enhanced eyesight struggling to bring whatever it was into focus.

It was a man. He stepped forward a little, just into her range of vision but still shrouded by darkness and unseen by the humans around her.

A Lycan. He was in human form, but she still knew what he was. His eyes burned with amber fire. Instinctively, her lips curled back from her fangs as her gaze riveted on him. He was possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Even with the unnatural amber hue to his eyes, he was gorgeous. Everything feminine in her responded, even as her Blood instincts yammered at her to rip the door open, race across the distance that separated them and destroy him.

As though he could sense her internal struggle, he grinned, winked and blew her a kiss. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the darkness so even her Blood-enhanced eyes could no longer see him.

“Crap!”

“What? What did you see?” The driver asked, leaning against the steering wheel as he tried to look around her.

Without a word, she leaned back so his view was unimpeded. Air whistled between his teeth.

“Fuck. They opened the front door.”

* * *

“Bring it around. That’s it…back up, back up. Further…you could get a damn tank through there. Where’d you learn to drive…a go-cart track?”

A tense half hour later the stream of abuse from the soldier guiding the transporter back toward the now open door of the hospital was constant and scathing. Standing to one side, rifle held loosely in her hands, Antonia ignored it. It was just banter, the same the world over…get a group of soldiers in one place, and within two minutes they’d start insulting one another. Guaranteed.

“At least I can drive. You suck at it.”

She sighed and started to count, her eyes still on the open door. The darkness beyond was empty. The Lycan had gone. She knew that, and she knew that shortly they’d release the RAs to go hunt him and his friends down. Death by mindless cadaver. Hell of a way to go. So why did she feel like running in there and warning him?

“That’s not what your mom said when I was climbing off her this morning…”

And there it was. The “your mom” joke. Shaking her head, Antonia stepped forward. “If you’re all finished…let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

There were rumblings and disgruntled expressions, but the chatter cut to a minimum as the transporter rolled the last couple of feet back toward the door and ground to a halt in a hiss of air-brakes. Silence settled for a second. The call had come through from the other team to confirm the hospital was empty of civilians. Which meant it was showtime.

“Lock and load, people!” she yelled as she looped her rifle across her back out of the way and started to undo the heavy bolts and deadlocks on the back of the transporter.

“Keep eyes on that door and stay back. Cutting loose the RAs!”

She jumped back on her last words, narrowly avoiding being clipped by the heavy metal of the ramp as it swung down. The edge slammed into the ground, the impact lifting a cloud of dirt and chipping the worn flagstones. After today, the courtyard would be the least of the hospital’s worries. They’d be more concerned with the wing she was about to burn down to contain the Lycan infection.

Grabbing the door strap from the side of the container, she wrapped it around her wrist and took three running steps. On the last, she swung herself into the air, using her body weight and momentum to open the metal door, all that was left between the RAs and freedom.

It squealed as it swung open. The low-level moaning they’d all been ignoring grew louder. Not the sound of a creature in pain, nor could it be likened to the noise cattle made. It was dull and monotonous, like the air escaping from a set of moth-eaten bagpipes with rotten insides. A broken sound, an unnatural sound, and it was getting louder.

Her feet hit the ground the other side of the vehicle, and she looped the restraining strap into the hook made for it.

“Perkins and Fletcher, get your asses front and center,” she yelled, but the two flame-thrower operatives were already moving. One on each side, they flanked the vehicle, tanks primed and pilot lights lit. Perkins on the left ignited and a stream of flame lit the courtyard up in shades of orange and yellow, restoring the colors of daytime for a few seconds.

She swung her gaze to Fletcher and waited for him to test his flame. Flame-throwers were the best defense against the RAs, but they were notoriously temperamental. Her brow furrowed as the dry click-click-click of Fletcher pulling the trigger reached her ears.

Something heavy thudded against the side of the container. The moaning intensified, enriched by the sound of shuffling feet. One eye on the ramp and the other on Fletcher, Antonia held her breath. He needed to get that flame to catch, and soon. Within seconds. The RAs might be the modern, real-life equivalent of zombies, but that didn’t mean they were the shuffling snail-like creatures of moviedom. Once they’d got a whiff of live meat, those fuckers were fast.

The first RA appeared at the top of the ramp. On a passing glance, he looked normal. As normal as any of the RA stock looked, anyway. Straight from the cells, with buzz-cut hair, he modeled the latest line in prison-orange jumpsuits.

Pausing, he swung his head from left to right, as though looking for something. There was no spark of vitality in his eyes, his jaw slack. A thin line of drool connected his lips to his shoulder. Even in this light Antonia could see his skin was the green-gray of approaching decay, the veins within black with corrupt blood.

“Light the damn flame,” she muttered between gritted teeth, even though Fletcher was too far away to hear. It didn’t matter, the tight look on his face and his controlled movements all broadcast that he knew the clock was ticking.

Click-click-click.

Crap. The thrower wouldn’t catch. As unobtrusively as she could, she moved toward Fletcher, her rifle at the ready. Dully, the re-animate on the ramp turned in her direction, attention caught by her movement. Its eyes didn’t focus, but she didn’t let that fool her. Already the front of its jumpsuit was soaked with drool and it had begun to chew. Never a good sign.

“Fletch, move back and behind me,” she ordered in a low voice, aiming her rifle. The RA’s head was dead center in her sights. They might be fast, they might be nigh on impossible to kill, but nothing could operate well after she’d unloaded a full magazine into their skull.

“It’ll catch, Major. The pilot’s just a bit dicey at times.”

The sharp stink of sweat rose to surround her as he pulled the trigger again. The thunder of his heartbeat filled her ears, the fast flow of blood a siren’s call to her nonhuman instincts. As always, the darkness inside her uncoiled, presented her with images of feeding… What it would be like to wrap the soldier in her strong arms, bare his neck and sink her fangs deep into his throat.

“Get. Back.” Her voice no longer sounded normal, but like a guttural growl, as the RA attacked.

One second it was swaying slightly on the ramp, as though listening to its own internal soundtrack, and the next it charged. Teeth bared and a loud moan of hunger issuing from its lips, it ran down the ramp.

Crap. She had to get the one who hadn’t gone into rigor yet. Time stretched out as it ran toward her, its eyes now fixed on Fletcher. Her heart thudded in her chest once, twice, as she tracked him through her sights. She pulled the trigger, first pressure…full.

The courtyard was filled with the sharp retort of automatic gunfire. The RA jerked like a marionette as her shots slammed between his dead eyes. His skull exploded in a shower of bone and splatter of foul brain matter.

Whumph. Beside her, the thrower finally caught and spat a torrent of fire toward the fallen RA.

“Oh yeah, baby! Who’s my girl?” Fletcher crowed, relief ringing sharp in his voice. They all knew how close he’d come there.

Eyes sharp, Antonia watched the fallen RA for long moments until she was sure it was down for good. Then she lowered her rifle and nodded at Fletcher.

“Torch it.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Flame roared as she turned back to the rest. Without a word, they moved back into place. Two of them started to bang on the sides of the container, using the noise to drive the RAs out.

The moaning and shuffling increased, and a group emerged from the darkness onto the ramp. Like a herd of cattle, they moaned…in distress or hunger she couldn’t tell…and started down the ramp. None of them showed the speed or predatory instinct of the first one. Instead, they shuffled in a group, all swaying in discordant rhythms and knocking into each other.

Her gaze latched onto the one white-clad figure among the orange. Garry. Her teeth clenched tight as he paused and looked around. Something approaching intelligence entered his dead eyes, as though he were aware she was watching him.

Her heart, ever slow, stalled in her chest. Please God, no. He couldn’t be aware. They’d said they’d altered the virus to stop any possibility of subject awareness. He couldn’t be aware, it would be too cruel, especially considering how terrified he’d been of being infected.

The rest of the group shuffled toward the door, herded by Fletch and Perkins with the throwers. Garry hung back, confusion filtering onto his face like a slow sunrise.

There were shouts behind him as two orange-clad figures broke away from the group. Antonia ignored them, unable to tear her gaze away from her former friend.

“Deal with them,” she yelled, as the wayward RAs barreled past Perkins and out the other side of the cordon. “Don’t engage, try and herd them through another entrance.”

She shook her head. She’d have to deal with these idiots later. Right now, she had more important things to deal with. Frowning, she took a step closer to the RA in front of her.

Awareness had begun to fill his blue eyes, one of them already clouding over with the white film of death. His hands held out in front of him, he looked at them with growing horror.

“Garry?”

He snapped his head up at her voice, focusing on her with effort, and moaned. It was a sound of terror and pure torment. A tear slid down his cheek.

He knew. He was dead and still he knew what they’d done. That they’d turned him into his worst nightmare.

“Huuuu…” he droned, spit leaking from the corner of his lips as he tried to speak. “P-p-puh-puh…peas…pleasssssss…”

He looked at her and held his hands out. Not in the grasping reach she’d seen most RAs use to grab their victims, but instead as if to show her the gray skin and blackened veins.

His eyes held hers. Easily she read the expression in them. They begged her not to leave him like this. Not to let him kill, even though his new nature demanded it. He was…had been…her friend.

Without thinking, she had her rifle in her shoulder, and she looked at his face through her sights. Relief filled his eyes as she pulled the trigger.

The trigger clicked. Nothing happened.

“Fucking hell!”

Her magazine was jammed. An unforgivable deadly lapse in a live situation. Swearing, she slung it around her back, pulled her sidearm and aimed square between Garry’s eyes. Before she pulled the trigger, she looked directly at him.

“Fitzgerald is a dead man.”

Garry nodded and smiled.

She put three bullets through his skull and sent him, finally, to meet his maker.