The X Species
Neko Sparks
Chapter 1: PROLOGUE
PREHISTORIC NORTH AMERICA MIDDLE PALEOLITHIC, 40,000 YEARS AGO
Heavy snow blows across the prehistoric Nepalese landscape. An eerie silence between the violent flurries.
Shadows from the hearth flame dance on the cave wall of the ancient dwelling as the shaky hand of an elderly Neanderthal, the family patriarch, carefully etches images into a stone wall. A vignette of his people, a historic footprint to serve as witness to their time here. Nearby, mothers and children of his clan scuttle busily about as they carry out assumed day-to-day chores.
Just East of the village, and far removed from the warmth and tranquility of the prehistoric den, a group of Neanderthal men trudge slowly through the blinding snow storm. It is obvious from their organized efforts they are searching for someone. The blizzard bares down on them mercilessly, making the blanketed terrain increasingly difficult to navigate. Reluctantly they call off the search and reverse course head on into the storm. A lone Neanderthal, NALU, remains behind. He surveys the snow ridden landscape one last time. Regret, sorrow, and pain collide simultaneously to visibly carve themselves out among his rugged, weather beaten features. His heart cries, but he will not, for here, tears freeze and the will to live follows. He turns, heads off to catch up with the group.
Several of the clan women are huddled over the hearth preparing food. Others are cleaning, and still others are readying animal hides for wear. A young clan boy rushes into the cave. He is GRUNTING excitedly, incomprehensibly, as he motions toward the cave entrance. A sense of excitement fills the prehistoric den as male members of the clan slowly begin to file in. Covered in snow, they seem to bring the cold of the blizzard in with them. Their mood is solemn. Soon, excitement gives way to silence as anxious clan women search for their mates, brothers, sons, and fathers. There are many joyous embraces as long separated families reunite.
A guttural CRY rises among the commotion.
Nalu tries to console his grieving mate, KAL. He takes her head into his hands, his thick forefingers stroking her face, his eyes beg for hers to meet his. And for a brief, passing moment they do. But there is no hope there, she sees through his crumbling manly facade. Momentarily, she feels feint, her legs become weak, limp. She collapses into Nalu’s arms. As the blackness lifts, she again finds her eyes locked with Nalu’s. Only hopelessness mirrors back at her. His thick, powerful limbs envelop her, she sobs uncontrollably.
Failing to maintain his own faltering composure, Nalu struggles to fight back tears and in a single swift motion he pulls himself from Kal, retrieves his weaponry and heads for the cave entrance. A young Neanderthal, Etiuk, watches Nalu’s departure from an adjacent corner, his pregnant mate, Maka, is at his side. Etiuk glances to Maka, his eyes searches hers for some type of consent to join his old friend, none is forthcoming. He glances down at her protruding stomach, then back up to her. Immediately she understands, Nalu, without hesitance, would do the same for their firstborn.
Etiuk turns and rushes to Nalu’s side. Two other clan members soon follow. The Neanderthal men disappear into the snowy abyss.
The intense blizzard bares down on a sole Neanderthal boy. Slowly, painstakingly, he makes his way through the knee high snow. His trek is further hampered by the opposing wind and bitter cold. He CALLS out into the nothingness of the blizzard, no one can hear him. Not here. Panic in his eyes, he scans the desolate tundra for any sign of his clan. Nothing. A muffled ROAR is heard beyond the howling of the arctic wind. Apprehensive of its origin the boy retreats into a nearby crevice. His brief experience has taught him that bad things tend to follow the distant calls of the wild. Concealed in the shadows, he surveys the seemingly vacant landscape.
Simultaneous ROARS. Closer now.
Clearly shaken, the boy instinctively lowers himself behind protruding rock formations bordering the snowy incline just beneath him. His trembling hand grips the spear at his side tightly. His eagerness to be recognized as a man among his elders and peers has brought him to this most undesirable fate. Manhood is forced upon him this day.
The ground swells to a TREMBLE beneath his feet. The continual ROARING is upon him now. He tells himself he must not fear for the men of his clan are known for their prowess, he is kin to the bravest warriors of the land. He will do what he must, as a man, as a warrior. Slowly, he backs further into the crevice to secure a more advantageous position in the event the unthinkable occurs. Momentarily, he loses his footing in the uneven snow. As he struggles to regain his balance, he gazes out in amazement at the scene unfolding in front of him...
A herd of Mastodons stampede across the frozen terrain. They move swiftly, frantically, exerting all possible effort in a futile attempt to avoid becoming prey. The saber-tooth tigers are upon them.
During the chase a trailing Mastodon is mortally wounded and hopelessly surrounded. No hope for escape, the Mastodon is viciously attacked. Flesh, skin, and entrails are gorged upon. Bloody, foot long canines are bared and used upon both pack and prey as they feast.
Pungent steam rises into the frigid air, as heat escapes the mangled flesh of the once mighty beast. Taking deep shallow breaths to mantain his composure, the boy remains motionless in the sparsely lit cave. So distracted by the horrific scene unfolding before him, the young Neanderthal fails to recognize the shadow that has now eclipsed him.
Across the valley, perched on a distant ridge, Nalu and his search party watch the vicious mauling of the lone Mastodon.
Senses on high alert, a peculiar smell captures the boy’s attention. Nostrils flared, he turns his nose skyward. Immediately he recognizes the stench, sheer terror in his eyes. He senses something behind him, he can feel its odoriferous breath on his nape. This ancient beast that his clan both hunts and fears will surely diminish their numbers by one this wintery day. The boy readies his spear at his side and turns slowly... his horrid SCREAM is met by a deep ferocious GROWL. A single vicious blow brings instantaneous silence. The sheer velocity of claws tearing through flesh sends a massive swath of blood across the dirt cave floor. The boy’s lifeless body falls to the ground.
Eyes fixed open, parallel gashes intertwined with gaping flesh are visible to the bone. The Neanderthal boy - en route to manhood - is no more. A fierce ROAR emerges from the boy’s slayer, echoing from the mouth of the cave to the farthest reaches of this ancient land.
At the moment of the boy’s passing, across the vast snowy landscape, Nalu and his search party hear the distant ROAR of the beast. They move with a unified sense of urgency descending from atop the ridge.
The blowing snow has reduced visibility to near zero, still the Neanderthals press on. In the distance, they catch a glimpse of a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the pristine snow. It is hunched over, tugging at something in the snow. Still unable to make out who, or what it is, they cry out in a series of threatening HOWLS to alert the distant being of their presence. Alerted to the group, it stands and faces them before disappearing into the storm. The group presses forward.
The group is closer now. They can see the body of the bloodied Neanderthal boy laying prone in the snow. Complete carnage. Nalu rushes forward, stopping several feet from his son, he stares. He fights the wave of nausea that passes over him, his knees nearly give beneath him. What manner of beast could do this to his son, now reduced to an amalgamation of steaming flesh and bone pressed into the crimson snow?
He steps forward, oscillating fits of anger and disbelief both propel him, and give him pause, as he takes his son’s limp body into his arms. He CRIES out in agony.
The body of Nalu’s son is suspended over an open fire pit. Constructed of carefully placed wood struts and stretched animal hides the makeshift crematory is the boys passing place. Mother, Father, and elder clansman stand solemnly over the body as they are offered condolences by passing members of the clan.
In a procession that seems to last forever to the boy’s kin, the last members of the clan have passed. The elder clansman leans over the boy’s body UTTERING several indecipherable words as he dips his arthritic forefinger into the frayed animal hide medicine bag hanging from his neck. He strategically dusts the deceased boy’s brow with the powdery white substance.
Placing a reassuring hand on Nalu’s shoulder he turns to leave. The grief stricken couple briefly embrace before Nalu breaks away. Grasping a nearby torch, he reluctantly lights the pit beneath his son. The couple grieves as the flames engulf their son’s body.
Kal stares blankly into the dancing flames of the hearth. The pain of her loss is reflected in her worn face. In a show of companionship, Maka gingerly makes her way over and places an animal hide over Kal’s exposed shoulders. She eases to her grieving friend’s side, the two women embrace.
After several seconds, Kal pulls back from Maka and places an open hand on Maka’s jutting stomach. The inference is immediate, a soul freed, a life gained, so goes the circle of life.
Several feet away the male members of the clan surround the elder clansman. They watch intently as the elder clansman paces before them, a makeshift cane of hand carved, antiquated wood, aids each carefully placed step. He pauses on unsteady legs and leans forward, his jagged cane tip meticulously pushing loose earth into segmented fissures. A plan of attack.
He lifts his eyes from the dirt and glances around the ancient den, all eyes are on him. He points to several members of the clan, gestures aggressively, pointedly. His eyes come to rest on Nalu, a momentary pause as their eyes lock. Nalu turns over his shoulder to Kal, near tears she nods. He turns back to the elder clansman and after a moment of contemplation, he thrusts his spear skyward. The clan erupts as battle cries echo throughout the cave. Both victory, and more importantly revenge, will be theirs.
That intoxicating fusion of adrenaline and purpose that accompanies a call to arms, and subsequently gives rise to bravado, is unfortunately for them short lived. Fear permeates the Neanderthal dwelling as the opposing battle cry of their ancient foe emanates from just beyond the cave entrance. An uneasy, collective silence, they wait...
There enemy is among them.
Closer, and more ferocious than the first, a second primitive bellow soon follows. The inhuman HOWL bursts forth from the beast’s powerful lungs, echoing throughout the cave. Pandemonium.
In hushed, barely audible GRUNTS, the elder Neanderthal orders the clan to take cover. Swiftly, they extinguish all fires and take refuge in the shadows. Smoke from the smoldering embers fill the room. Visibility limited to slivers of moonlight carried on plumes of swirling dirt and smoke, they wait.
Several anxious moments pass and still no sign of the beast. A single entrance in, a single exit out, just beyond the darkness the beast awaits them. Long known to navigate these archaic catacombs, surely it too knows that passage without bloodshed is an impossibility.
Hominids have long encroached on the territory of the ancient beasts, driving them further into the darkness where evolution has nullified their once great eyesight. Their numbers have dwindled and seldom do they freely roam the fertile land outside as they once did, before the dawn of the ice age, before the rise of the hominid hunters, before fire.
A long, uneasy silence.
Etiuk, is huddled in the corner with Maka. Clutching her stomach, she wenches in pain. Maka is clearly in labor and makes every attempt to suppress the involuntary vocal wails associated with every increasingly intense contraction. Bad timing. Unsure of what to do Etiuk braves the darkness and crawls over to the elder Neanderthal.
They argue intensely in hushed GRUNT laden voices. Etiuk glances over to Maka who is breathing in and out rapidly in an attempt to slow her contractions. Her eyes meet his, a nauseating mixture of disbelief, sorrow, and inevitability is momentarily shared between them. He will not stand idly by as the cruel intentions of fate unfold. Etiuk turns to leave, the elder Neanderthal reaches out clutching his forearm. Etiuk stops mid-step turning to the elder clansman. Their eyes lock, each pleading with the other.
The two Neanderthals are joined by Nalu. More ARGUING. Again, Etiuk looks to his pregnant mate. Maka, now joined by Kal and several other clan women, is in unbearable pain. It’s now, or never. His mind made up, Etiuk turns and rushes to his cherished mate and unborn child. He does this despite the objections of the elder...and his longtime friend.
Back at Maka’s side, Etiuk helps her to her feet. Cautiously, the couple make their way to the smoldering hearth. Etiuk sticks the charred end of a recently extinguished torch into the embers. Fire illuminates the cave.
Still no sign of the beast.
Fellow clansmen watch from the shadows as the couple exits the cave. After hurriedly gathering some of their belongings Nalu and Kal soon follow. Nalu abruptly stops, turns over his shoulder to take one last look back at his fellow clan members dispersed in the scattered recesses of darkness. Uncertainty and regret visible on his harshly shadowed features, he disappears through the cave opening into the darkness...
Several seconds pass. Nothing.
Soon, other members of the clan begin to follow suit, the elder clansman is helpless to stop the mass exodus. During the commotion, Nalu has stumbled undetected back into the cave. He is bloodied and badly wounded. The others do not follow.
Claw marks, like those made by the talons of a giant eagle, streak his broad sternum. He presses firmly, instinctively, on the shards of crimson soaked animal hide and loose flesh jutting from his chest. Blood flows freely through his fingers, down his forearm to the cave floor. He’s lost too much blood.
Darkness sets in on his periphery, enveloping him. Nalu opens his mouth in an attempt to warn his people, but nothing emerges. A portion of his severed vocal cords exposed, his once strong voice fails him. Again, he opens his mouth and speaks, only an unrecognizable whimper emerges. It’s too little, too late...the enemy has entered behind him.
Utter pandemonium.
The clan is viciously attacked. Gruesome shadows of violence dance on the cave walls. Splattered blood runs down the hand carved rendition of the clan.
Chapter 2: SARAH
WESTERN UNIVERSITY, PRESENT DAY
“Long considered brutish cave dwellers,” Dr. Sarah Parker surmised as she strode confidently across the dimly lit stage. A slide of a life-like Neanderthal with piercing eyes is projected on the screen behind her.
Oft regarded as a faculty outcast, Sarah revels in the euphoria of holding center stage as the packed room of her fellow Archaeologists, and most abhorrent critics, hang on to her every word.
Sarah pauses mid-step and turns examining the Neanderthal on the screen to her rear. Briefly, her eyes trace the primitive features of this early hominid that has brought her much publicized academic accolades as well as professional condemnation.
She turns back to the audience, an illustration of a cartoon Neanderthal dragging his mate by her hair appears next. Sarah offers the audience a slight smile. “...and evolutionary challenged step-cousins.” Slight laughter from the audience. Again she turns her attention back to the slide. “We’ve come a long ways girls.” More laughter.
A third slide materializes, this one depicting an illustrated evolutionary time lapse from Ape to Neanderthal to Modern Man. “Neanderthals were believed to be bred out of existence by modern Homo Sapiens,” Sarah continues in a tone that conveys her skepticism.
“In 1921, influential Geneticist and Military Strategist, Colonel Nikalov Sarkowsky, chronicled his team’s experience while on an Everest Reconnaissance Expedition for the Russian government,” An aged black and white photo of Sarkowsky and his team from atop a snowy ridge on Mt. Everest emerges on screen.
“In his writings, Sarkowsky maintained his team was attacked by, and I quote, ’An unknown hominid, half-man and half-beast that outmaneuvered us at every turn. In these ungodly conditions we - despite our specialized military training - became easy prey at the hands of the beast.’ End quote.”
Another image materializes behind her. This one of a bespectacled man, with a scholarly air, delicately palming a partial skull. Workers at various stages of the excavation process are visible to his rear. “Ahminhar Cave, Eastern Nepal,” Sarah pauses momentarily, part for dramatic effect, part due to nerves. “Ahminhar Cave was Discovered in 1925 by exiled Russian scientist Dr. Mikhail Ivanhoff,” Again the slide changes, this time unveiling an antiquated map on frayed, aged paper. Details of the planned expedition route, topographical landmarks, and Sarkowsky’s faded scrawling are still visible.
“Ahminhar Cave sits just a quarter of a mile to the East of where the Sarkowsky team went missing.” Murmuring amongst the audience members.
“Intrigued by the encounters of Sarkowsky, as well as Darwin’s writings in The Origin of Species, Dr. Ivanhoff began his foray into a series of highly confidential genetic engineering experiments based on his expedition finds. He did so, I might add, with the blessing of the Polit Bureau of Moscow, and it is rumored Stalin himself...”
Within a stones throw of the Kremlin, Dr. Ivanhoff’s clustered early twentieth century lab fosters the perfect environment for hoped for advances in human genetic engineering. Windowless, sparsely decorated and heavily guarded, Ivanoff can work in complete autonomy here. At this moment, Inga, a twenty two year old pheasant from a neighboring village cowers in the corner of the dingy laboratory. A perfect specimen. Weary, and somewhat catatonic she watches Ivanhoff from the shadows. Not even the smell of feces from her neighboring primate cellmates, nor her own vomit dried and caked beneath her, is enough to rouse her drug inhibited senses. Her wrists and ankles scarred and bruised from her cast iron constraints, she has learned from times past that escape is futile. She stares long and hard at her distorted reflection in the tin plate, from what seems days ago from which she ate. Her blue eyes sunken and listless, her once youthful skin ashen and gaunt, she mourns the loss of her beauty. And a youth long gone. Ivanhoff lifts his eyes from the antiquated microscope viewfinder and levels his indifferent gaze on Inga. Mustering all her strength and resolve, she stares back.
Still seated, he roles his chair over to a test tube rack, carefully removes a single tube and raises it to the light examining it. A feint smile crosses his thin, chapped lips as he stands and moves purposely toward a bank of uniform metal cabinets at the far end of the tiny lab. En route, he stops standing first in front of the caged primates, then in front of Inga. Though a tiny, slightly frail man in his late fifties he is gifted at the art of intimidation. He stares at her, this time she dare not stare back. Her defiance and resolve now replaced by unadulterated fear, she can no longer lift her eyes to meet his.
Now shuffling through the multiple vials in the medicine cabinet he removes one, plunges an inch long syringe into its rubber top, and slowly extracts the milky white substance emptying the vial. Ivanhoff theatrically sprays the excess into the putrid air for all to see.
“The end goal -- a form of biological warfare. A super soldier combining human intelligence with superior primate physical agility and strength.”
Dr. Ivanhoff moves slowly, menacingly, towards Inga. The syringe protruding from his fingertips...
“A last ditch effort to boost Stalin’s faltering troops, turn the tide of the war.”
Inhuman primate cries as Ivanhoff approaches the cages. The deafening clanking of fearful primates violently rattling their cages. Trapped. Inga unleashes a horrific scream. She screams for her life.
Sarah scans the audience letting her impromptu history lesson settle in. “When the politically influential Russian Orthodox Church caught wind of Dr. Ivanhoff’s forays into interspecies breeding, he was admonished by his political backers and imprisoned.”
Curled in a fetal position, as if to rekindle the primordial security of the womb, Dr. Ivanhoff shifts unconsciously on the dusty cell floor. Manageable comfort was not among his captor’s priorities. A circular grotto, far too cramped for a grown man, the abutting stone walls and low ceiling further add to the inescapable sensation of claustrophobia. Except for the scant swathes of light from an adjoining corridor there is only darkness. A desolate space reeking of rot and mildew he is not alone.
At this moment as he drifts between dream and semi-consciousness he watches in the distance as an insect he can’t quite make out hastens up an adjacent wall, followed shortly by a mangy rodent who too thought it the ideal time to emerge from the bordering shadows. As it emerges from the recess it levels but a cautionary glance to the human before him. Stilling himself, Ivanhoff watches the rodent crossing mere inches from his bound feet. Aware of the abundance of diseases carried by creatures such as these, Ivanhoff jerks reflexively startling the rodent and sending it scurrying back into the darkness.
Malnourished, his physical condition has deteriorated to a point beyond recognition. Matted gray hair, bruised skin caked with dirt and dried blood, and a thick beard hiding his once dignified features, hopeless and dying he is a mere shell of the man he once was.
“So impressed with Dr. Ivanhoff’s pioneering discoveries in the fields of genetic engineering and human and primate reproduction...” Sarah continues.
Blood is everywhere. Inga cries out in pain as she gives birth. The doctors gaze down in disbelief at the newly delivered infant. It’s body partially covered in deep brown fur, an inhuman cry escapes its part human, part primate lungs.
“...that the political powers to be secretly released him from prison.”
A soldier kicks Dr. Ivanhoff to rouse him.
“Helping him to flee his native Russia and continue his controversial experiments far from the watchful eye of the Russian Orthodox Church.”