Prophet of Bones by Ted Kosmatka Read Free Book Online

the screaming man went silent. Scholler pulled out his gun.
    Up ahead, Phillips, the new asset, crouched low and kept moving.
    “Stay back!” Martial called.
    “There are people still alive in there!” Phillips shouted. On the opposite side of the room was another set of doors, bright red, leading to a secured area. Phillips pushed through and disappeared. From inside came a loud clang. Metal on metal.
    Martial turned to Scholler. “Give me your gun.”
    “Sir?”
    “Your gun. Now.”
    The guard handed it over. “The safety’s off.”
    Martial strode forward and looked through the safety glass, into the next room.
    “You should stay back, sir.”
    “Get the tranquilizers.”
    Scholler hesitated.
    “Now!”
    The big man crossed the room to the metal shelves.
    “No live ammo, tranqs only!” Martial shouted after him.
    Scholler opened the metal cabinets, fumbling with the tranq gun. He turned. “Sir, wait!”
    Martial hit the button and the doors opened.
    “Wait!”
    Martial stepped through.
    Blood everywhere, a severed arm.
    A dead researcher lay spun at an odd angle, neck arched, face a mask of surprise. Scattered around him on the floor were blood and broken glass. Pieces of swivel chair, smashed lights. Broken ceiling tiles. And in the dark shadows farther into the room, a shape. The sound of weeping. This was the behavior lab.
    Martial couldn’t see Phillips.
    Behind him, Scholler entered the lab, tranquilizer gun raised. Ekman was close behind him, his pale hair standing out in the shadows. Martial held up his hand. “Stop.”
    “Sir?” Ekman said.
    Lights swung free of their cases, dangling on swaying chords. The sound of moaning. Then a flash of movement near an overturned table. Martial saw Phillips, up ahead, standing near the wall, saw his gun come up, tracking the flash of movement in the shadows.
    “Phillips, stand down!” Martial shouted.
    “There are people still alive.”
    “Phillips!”
    The shape moved in the shadows.
    “My God.” There was panic in the young guard’s voice, and disbelief. It was the first time Phillips had seen it. The gun came up.
    “Stand the fuck down!” Martial screamed.
    Phillips fired. The gun went off, lighting the darkness with a muzzle flash.
    Martial raised his own gun at Phillips and pulled the trigger.
    The gun clicked.
    Phillips turned toward Martial, eyes going wide.
    Martial pulled the trigger again and again, the barrel pointed at Phillips’s chest—but the gun carried only blanks. Only two guards had loaded guns. Nobody knew which two, not even guards.
    Phillips stared at Martial in disbelief—at the gun, the pulled trigger.
    “I told you not to shoot,” Martial said, gun still raised.
    Phillips raised his own gun toward Martial, a reflex.
    There were two pops, in quick succession. Red flowers bloomed on Phillips’s shirt, center of mass.
    Behind Martial, Ekman reholstered his weapon.
    Phillips crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.
    “He was raising his weapon toward you, sir,” Ekman said.
    Martial nodded.
    A flash of movement crossed the room. The dark shape slid behind a desk that had been flipped onto its side.
    Martial moved into the center of the room and sank to his knees. He dropped the gun, which clacked loudly on the tile floor. Around him, the room was a disaster. He saw strange prints in the blood. Something not quite a hand. Not quite a foot.
    From the shadows came the sound of sobbing. The scrape of movement, the slap of bare skin on the floor.
    “Come out,” Martial said.
    The sobbing grew louder. Then a strange voice, almost unintelligible: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s okay,” Martial said softly. “Just come out. Come to me.”
    The dark shape moved into the light.

PART II
    FOURTEEN YEARS LATER
    There has existed, since the beginning, a finite number of unique creations—a finite number of species, which has, over time, decreased dramatically through extinction. Speciation is a special event