Hugh Bailey stomped into Neely Flescher's office at five p.m. Winter had arrived a month early, leaving three inches of white. Rings powdered the welcome rug around his thick-soled boots. The steam radiator in the corner clanked and whistled with precious heat, though a chill prevailed.

"You sent for me, sir?"

"Good evening, Mr. Bailey. Won't you have a seat?" Neely pointed to the rickety guest chair, then sank into the plush leather one behind his desk. "We've got a last-minute run for a priority client, and you're the only man qualified."

"Where's the drop this time?"

"Clearwater Heights. For a Mr. Bryce. He's paying well."

A full night's ride in these conditions. Hugh leaned back, and laced his fingers behind his neck. "How much?"

"Five grand. But it must arrive intact by sunrise."

"That's a lot of dough. This Bryce fellow must be desperate."

Neely's grin was as slick as his hair. He lit a cigarette with panache. "Confidentiality and dependability, whether rain, snow, or shine. It's what Flescher Courier Services prides itself upon."

"I know it well."

What a shame the discretion didn't extend to Neely's regard for his employees. Hugh had once believed his boss was fair. Everything changed two weeks ago, after what happened to Edie.

"Are you in?" Neely asked, exhaling a plume of rose-perfumed smoke.

Hugh held his breath against the stench. "I'll take it."

A tense handshake sealed the contract.

Hugh's previous plan was to get out of Elmsvale come spring. Now, he hesitated to leave this pathetic town. Times were tough all over the country, ever since the market crash of '29. He'd be lucky to find steady employment elsewhere. The true reason, however, was he dreaded leaving Edie alone.

Time wasn't a commodity he could spare. He hurried out the door, without a backward glance.

His RL 45 waited by the gate. Not much to look at, primered and dented here and there, but Rusty was reliable, A three-speed transmission, the latest flathead twin engine, a beast hewn of steel and adoration. Much of his recent pay had gone to winterizing. The new studded tires and customized oil system would serve well tonight.

He'd grown up riding and repairing motorcycles with his father, earning enough to purchase his first at age thirteen. Endurance racing was his favorite pastime when he wasn't carrying correspondence.

He set Rusty to neutral, and wheeled her to maintenance. Milo, the mechanic, tended to the required inspections, while Hugh headed to the dispatch center.

The door creaked shut behind him. Light spilled from the overhead lamp, slanting in a pale column.

Miss Edie Waters kept dispatch tidy and warm, unlike Neely's smoke-drenched cave. She sat at the edge of her reception desk, swinging one slender ankle over the other while she chatted on the phone. A pencil skirt flattered her hips, mother-of-pearl buttons accenting the slit at the side. She twisted her fingers around the cord.

"I assure you we'll handle the job with utmost care. That's how Flescher does business, sir. Of course. We'll be in touch." After she hung up, she stood to meet Hugh.

He removed his cap, and straightened his posture. "Good evening, Miss Waters. I'm ready for my assignment."

Her dark blue eyes surveyed him in one downward glance. "You've come to my rescue again, Hugh. I thought we'd never get this delivery out. We don't want to disappoint a client like Mr. Bryce."

"I understand."

"Thank you so much." Her berry-red lips curled, a marriage of smile and pout. Dangerous, and irresistible.

He pointed to the wall clock. "I should get on the road."

"Yes, I know. And you'll have to be cautious, too. This cargo is...unique."

"What do you mean?"

"Have a look. I've never seen anything like it."

Hugh's attention settled on a peculiar contraption leaning against the wall. Jumbled hoses and dials gleamed along a box-like metal container, inset with a transparent dome at the top. Two air cylinders adorned the sides, compressor pumps hissing. Glaring through the tangle of wires and brass attachments was a familiar corporate logo.

"Killinger Laboratories," Hugh said. "I've carried shipments for them before. But that's one crazy setup."

"It's alive--one of Mr. Bryce's prized pets." Edie smoothed a brunette curl from her forehead. "A rare breed of fish, I guess. You'd keel over if I told you how much it's insured for."

"Why would a fat cat like Bryce transport a valuable specimen with us? Doesn't he have a private vehicle?"

"I thought the same, but you know our policy. We don't ask, we deliver."

He lifted the object by one of its attached leather straps, and nearly dropped it in alarm. "What the hell?"

A blur flashed past the dome at the top. An eye peered out, and a strange paw pressed against the glass. It dove away in a flurry of bubbles.

Edie laughed. "I told you it was weird."

"Definitely doesn't look like a goldfish." He slapped his cap on. "I hope it can stand a loud engine and freezing windshear. This isn't the type of assignment I'm used to."

"Mr. Flescher insisted you take one of the servi-cars for this run. But I know how you work. You do it your way, and you've never failed us."

"Precisely. It's my ride, or I'm out."

"I have faith in you, Hugh. Keep your receiver tuned to my channel. I'm singing at the Down And Out tonight on a late broadcast."

Edie performed with the local radio station alongside her job at Flescher's, to make extra money. Voice of an angel, looks to tempt the devil himself. She was a real canary, despite the backwater dives she stooped to.

He wondered why she didn't head for the big city--Chicago, or Detroit. It must be Neely and his wealth trapping her. Only money mattered to dames like her. And money was something Hugh had lacked all his life.

He gave a single nod. "I'll listen in."

"My songs will be for you, to guide you like the sirens in those old stories."

"Didn't the sirens lead men to their deaths?"

She stepped closer, until her face was inches from his. "Maybe. All I know is, I can't stop thinking of the night you drove me home. You did a nice turn for me, and I want to return the favor."

Resolve shattered. He kissed her, against all common sense.

Her arms encircled him.

Memories of the night she'd argued with Neely flashed in his mind. Glass had shattered, followed by her fearful cry. Hugh had been just outside the main office. Edie had rushed out, dabbing at a bloody lip with her handkerchief. As he rode home, he'd passed her on the side of the road. Her car was stalled, and she was a bruised, sobbing wreck.

Hugh was above all things a gentleman. He'd given her a ride in the sidecar. One thing led to another, and they shared a kiss at her front door. He couldn't help himself. She was the boss's girl, a treacherous temptation. That night, he'd wanted to comfort her, and his feelings broke loose.

He'd warned himself never to repeat the slip. Too late. He was in trouble, falling deeper every time she was near.

He turned away. "I've gotta go."

"Don't assume too much about Neely and I." She folded her arms. "I'll make up my own mind."

Milo ambled in, interrupting them. Dark grease stains decorated his coveralls, gray hair splintered beneath his workman's cap. "Hugh? Ah, there ya are. Your ride's set. Better get out, my boy. The forecaster said more snow's a-comin' by dawn."

Grateful for the excuse, Hugh tipped his cap. "Thank you, sir. I'm headed out."

Edie grabbed a clipboard from her desk. "Wait, we have to arrange things as Mr. Bryce ordered. Milo, will you give me a hand?"

"Anything for you, doll," Milo said with a grin. He took the tank from Hugh. "Well, well. I ain't seen this kind of work since the War. Gears 'n nozzles everywhere. The German Kaiser hired a secret team of engineers to build his weapons. The few pieces my squadron captured were like this."

Hugh frowned. "Are you saying this is German technology?"

"Doubtful. But somethin' similar, I'd reckon."

"Good," Hugh said. "I don't want any trouble with the authorities."

German contraband would get him arrested. Nazi forces were decimating Europe, and continued strikes against American targets made for heightened security across the country. Checkpoints after curfew hours would be difficult, though Mr. Bryce would have to provide the documentation.

"It says to affix the frame to the courier's back," Edie said, glancing up from the document. "He's to carry it personally."

Hugh and Milo exchanged surprised looks.

"Whatever it takes." Hugh slid his arms through the obvious metal loops.

Edie's brow furrowed as she read. "Now we're to press the switch under the main harness." Once the straps were adjusted, Milo flicked it on.

Everyone gasped. Brass and steel bands extended, and clamped into place around Hugh's torso.

The creature sloshed in its tank.

"Great. I forgot to take my Bible out of my pocket," Hugh said. "Turn it off a moment, Milo."

After a few vain attempts, Milo shook his head. "It don't work. This here thing's latched onto you good. I can't remove it."

With a sigh, Hugh headed for the door. "I'll deal with it. All the more reason to get it there fast."

"I'll pray for your safe journey," Edie said.

With a polite nod, he departed into the night.

~~*~~

Seven o'clock, thirty miles down. The suspicious officers at the security blockade fussed over his rig. Eventually, Mr. Bryce's papers got him through as a commercial transport. The delay cost him precious time, but he'd make up for it. The road to Clearwater Heights was a straight shot, some eighty miles left. A supply outpost lay halfway, where he'd purchase fuel for the home stretch.

The surface was plowed well. He swerved around bends, engine humming. So far, fortune was on his side. No fresh snow, no freebooters. Mother Nature was only one peril he faced. Despite the strict martial law restricting civilians from the open roads after dark, many criminal gangs still prowled the highway. Hugh always wore a loaded .38 caliber revolver as a precaution. The iconic Bible which Flescher Courier Services required all employees to carry chafed in his pocket. How ironic it was when a hypocrite like Neely held others to a code of morals.

Slush crusted in gray-white layers along his boots, congealing at the rims of his goggles and helmet. He wondered if the animal on his back stayed warm. Every so often, it gurgled and rattled its watery haven, signalling it hadn't frozen to death yet.

A flat stretch unfolded, and Hugh shifted into high gear. Ice fragmented beneath his tires. Edie's sirenic voice crooned through the earpiece in his helmet.

"Keep up with me, baby,

"We'll fly together, flyin' away..."

Jazz music swirled in rhythm as he dodged a patch of black ice. Listening to her was a pleasant distraction. He'd stay tuned as long as the signal lasted.

He stopped a few minutes beside a ledge to rest, and guzzled steaming coffee from his thermos. From this vantage, he could see much of the upcoming route. If Hell existed on Earth, it would be the barren white wasteland ahead. He grew more frustrated with his burden. It wasn't heavy, and didn't impede his movements much. But the fact it was locked to his body urged him on.

With a few kick starts, Rusty grumbled to life. He continued in low gear as the road skirted a frosty mountain. Clouds towered over the western horizon, in contrast with the starry expanse of sky. The storm drew closer. He prayed for speed and easy passage.

Midnight ticked on his wristwatch when he rolled into the lot of Wayne's Supply Post. The gas and refreshments offered were vital to all travelers, as it was the only civilization for fifty miles.

Spotlights over the door cast a silver pillar across the snow, along with the buzzing blink of neon beer signs in the window. A decorative tin can mobile dangled from the porch, clattering in the wind.

Hugh filled Rusty from the battered old fuel pump, then strolled inside to pay.

"Hey, Wayne. Have you got any fresh coffee on?"

He expected Wayne's usual fond greeting.

Silence. The lights were dimmed, service counter deserted.

"Anybody here?"

Only the thump of his boots replied. He peered down the nearest aisle, shelves stocked with penny candy, pop, and pulp mags.

A sputter came from the tank on his back, and the animal inside dashed against the sides, as if trying to escape.

"Take it easy there, fella. I can't have you hurting yourself before--"

Something tumbled behind the counter. Muffled cries chilled Hugh's blood. He ducked at the edge of the aisle, and drew his revolver.

He sidled low to the floor, and peered over the service counter.

Wayne lay face down on the floor, his hands and feet bound with rope, a rag stuffed into his mouth. He struggled, trying to speak.

Hugh rushed to him, and untied the gag.

"We've got to get out of here!" Sweat poured down Wayne's brow.

"Who did this?" Hugh asked, using his pocketknife to sever the bonds.

"They're still here, out back." Wayne was terrified, and leapt to his feet as soon as the ropes were cut. "They're looking for something...someone. They speak German, and they're incredibly strong."

For a minute, Hugh thought Wayne had lost his marbles.

Then the back door of the shop banged open. A shadow stretched across the floor, flashlights piercing the murky interior.

Hugh clutched his revolver.

Wayne scrambled into the corner, and hid behind a Lucky Strikes display.

A feminine voice cut through the chilly air. Unmistakably German. What sort of freebooters spoke the enemy's language?

He couldn't leave Wayne alone with these crooks. Thanks to his father, Hugh bore an innate sense of honor. He crouched, and waited.

"Jemand ist hier," a man said.

The woman answered, and their footsteps hastened closer.

When she was in view, Hugh sprang to action, taking her in a choke hold from behind. He held the revolver to her head.

"Stay back," he said.

Alarm stalled her companion, a big blond man in an overcoat. He pointed to Hugh and laughed. "Here is the one we search for."

"I'll shoot," Hugh said. "Wayne, get out of here."

Wayne hopped over the counter, and ran outside.

The woman was quick, and incredibly strong. She swept Hugh's ankle from under him, then rammed an elbow into his ribs.

Hugh stumbled, but caught himself on the edge of the counter.

She grinned. "I am the owner of the thing you carry. You will come with us, now."

"Not a chance." Hugh backed away, then whirled toward the door.

They chased him across the icy gravel, shouts misting.

He caught sight of the outlaws' vehicles parked near the storage shed--similar to motorcycles, but with continuous track for heavy snowfall.

Wayne was gone, hopefully in a safe hiding place.

Hugh sprinted to Rusty.

But another man stood next to the bike, blocking his way. The brute flexed arms broad as tree trunks, muscles straining against his coat.

Desperate, Hugh pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the man in the chest. He grunted and collapsed, a crimson stain spreading in the dirty snow.

Hugh clambered onto Rusty. Thank God the engine was warm, and it only took one kick start. He circled to the street, noticing the two uninjured strangers rushed to their vehicles.

It wasn't over yet. He strapped his helmet on, and holstered the revolver, then raced away.

Edie's song taunted his ear.

"Gotta be sharp, gotta stay in line,

"Workin' for my life, but ain't got a dime..."

The sound of his pursuers' engines receded in the distance. Their heavy vehicles would never keep up. He sped onward in triumph.

A little after three a.m., the first snowflake splattered against his leather gloves. He swore in spite of himself. Fresh snow was the Devil's joke. Had to stay ahead of the storm bank.

He clenched his jaw in determination, and watched the road closely. Only twenty-five miles out of Clearwater Heights, with plenty of time until dawn.

The radio transmission sputtered. Getting out of range. He reached to turn off the receiver.

Just ahead, some cars blocked the road. A group of people in expensive coats and hats loomed beside them.

Hugh slid to a stop, angling Rusty to one side to avoid a crash. Ice plumes sprayed, brakes squealed. Snowflakes whirled within the white spire shining from his headlamp. Trouble drifted from Heaven, and now this delay. His anger surged.

The assailants brandished tommy guns, forming a human barrier on all passable sides of their gleaming black roadsters. A tall man in the middle hunched against the ascending chill, his hat pulled over his eyes. He took a long draw of his cigar, and flashed a tobacco-stained smile.

"Hello, Mr. Bailey. I must thank you for delivering my precious pet on time. And yourself, as well. If you come quietly, we won't have a squabble."

Hugh scoffed. "What in blazes are you talking about? Move out of my way, before we come to blows."

The man with the cigar laughed, a rasping sound. "I think not, young man. I'm Mr. Antonius Bryce. Known among more private circles as Herr Arnvald Geissler. You and the specimen belong to me."

Hugh reached for his pistol, but the goons flanking Mr. Bryce aimed their weapons. His revolver was no match. He swung Rusty about in a darting 180, but his hope sank when three more vehicles approached.

The Germans from Wayne's rolled in, stopping his passage. Worse, the big man he'd shot was alive. How was it possible? The chest injury should have been fatal.

Surrounded. He collected his senses.

Edie's music trilled in his helmet.

"Sometimes you have to give a little,

"Save a smile for a rainy day..."

There was no other choice. He threw his hands up in surrender, though alert for any break. Only a ruse. 'Never give up' was his motto. For now, all that mattered was staying alive.

Two strapping men grabbed him by the arms, and pulled him off his ride. The woman took Rusty by the handlebars, popped neutral, and pushed the bike to the side of the road.

She produced a utility knife from a sheath strapped to her shoulder, rolled a sleeve back, and sliced her wrist without a flinch. Long rivulets of her blood splattered across Rusty's seat and frame. She took a few steps into the nearby trees, creating a lurid trail.

Hugh struggled. "What are you doing?"

Mr. Bryce paced around him, cigar smoke pungent on the fresh winter breeze. "You've kept my pet alive, and delivered her to a place where we can conveniently disappear. You're the perfect subject for my work--an average Joe, who has now perished in a blizzard."

"You can't do this. Who are you people?"

Mr. Bryce clucked his tongue. "No more talk. Come with me, like the obedient man you are."

The woman approached, her wrist mending itself at an impossible rate. Flesh bubbled and wove as if it were magic.

One of the men held his head still, and she covered his mouth and nose with a pungent rag.

Chloroform. The world went black before he retched his guts out.

~~*~~

Consciousness wavered in fragments. He sensed the drone of a car's engine, the pinch of bindings around his wrists. The animal and its godforsaken tank were still on his back. Thin slits of light shone from outside the window, angling through the trees. As his awareness sharpened, he realized he was tied up in the back seat. What a lovely way to disappear from society, taken prisoner by clandestine Germans along a desolate winter road. The authorities would only find Rusty, and the trail of blood leading into the wilderness. Everyone would presume him dead, as these deviants wanted.

His helmet lay nearby, the receiver still on. Edie's broadcast crackled like embers, fading with the last vestige of his sanity.

"I'm singing till dawn, for you alone,

"Praying someday you'll call me your own..."

Sadness washed over him. All of his emotions returned--an overwhelming desire to declare his undying love, in spite of Neely. When he figured a way out, he'd go back for her.

The car stopped after an indeterminate time. Edie's signal died. No connection to the world he knew. The whirr of compression pumps and gears on the tank kept time with his breathing.

A brash click, and the door sprang open. His vision whirled like the flurries of snow. Rough hands yanked him out of the car, and he swayed onto his feet.

Mr. Bryce and the cronies strode ahead. Remote forest bolstered all sides. A perimeter spanned the compound ahead of them, twisting barbed wire guarded by officers in nondescript uniforms.

They dragged him through the steel doors of a large building, and they soon rode a cage-like elevator down, level after level. So far underground. At the end of a narrow hall, they entered a concrete room. Only the dreadful swastika banners along the walls provided any contrast. So, they were Nazis. Questions swarmed his mind, though it was pointless to ask anything. He only wanted a way out, and things weren't in his favor.

Uniformed guards with automatic weapons surrounded him. Mr. Bryce struck an elegant pose nearby, lighting another cigar.

"Where are we?" Hugh asked.

Mr. Bryce's voice crept like permafrost. "This is where the future begins. And you'll help us bring it to this great country."

One of the men cut Hugh's wrists free.

He resisted throwing punches. This was no time to take chances. Had to wait for the right moment.

"If you want my help, tell me what's going on," Hugh said.

"You must see it to understand." A familiar woman's voice. The same broad he'd tackled at Wayne's sauntered into view. She was a looker, for a Nazi with a chip on her shoulder.

The guards pressed him on all sides. Couldn't move, couldn't resist the mask-like object she pressed onto his face. Lightweight but sturdy metal, it secured itself around his skull with ominous clinks. They attached similar pieces to his legs and arms--the same clunky technology as on the tank.

How had he fallen into such a nightmare?

Mr. Bryce patted his shoulder. "As a reward for your cooperation, I'll tell you who we are. Killinger Laboratories is my creation. I founded it to shelter my true work. I left Germany after the war, and sought asylum here in America. My engineering talents didn't go unnoticed, and my investments earned a fortune. How easy it is to manipulate and influence, with money to throw about. Certain devious members of your society became my allies. Over time, I smuggled my friends over. Surely you've met Frau Meinhardt." He gestured to the woman. "She works for me, as you see, A gifted geneticist. She designed the specimen you carry. I began my own research under the Kaiser, but he was a demented failure. The Fuhrer will bring a new order. You wear the culmination of my love for the Fatherland, and our dream. And now, you'll witness its potential."

"Are you saying this ridiculous metal get-up and a malformed goldfish represent Hitler's dream for world domination?" Hugh laughed. "You've gotta be joking."

Frau Meinhardt glared. "It is not a joke, Herr Bailey. And it is not a goldfish."

"He'll realize it soon enough." Mr. Bryce waved a gloved hand at the guards. "Sedate him."

A group of people in lab coats entered, pushing a set of dubious medical consoles.

Frau Meinhardt gave a peculiar wink. "You will thank us in time. I and the others you see here, we are the soldiers of tomorrow. And you will be one of us."

A medic plunged a syringe into Hugh's neck.

He cringed, but couldn't resist with so many guns enforcing their will. The drug took effect in seconds. He was still conscious, though his senses swam.

Wires and tubes tangled everywhere. They connected him to countless devices. The metal segments on his face and limbs joined with the tank on his back.

Mr. Bryce's cigar smoke twirled. "Our system has calibrated with his biological processes, as I hoped. The subject's breathing, heartbeat, and body heat provide the energy, while our little friend produces a constant influx of the serum. We've surpassed our own expectations, Frau Meinhardt."

She tinkered with the controls on Hugh's back. "Do not be certain until we administer the final test."

There came a hiss, the sigh of air escaping. Liquid spilled down his back, and puddled onto the floor, followed by a chattering purr.

Mr. Bryce grinned. "Introduce her to the host."

Revulsion flooded over Hugh. Was this thing a parasite?

A shivering, damp animal perched on Frau Meinhardt's arm. Perhaps a rodent, or a monkey, it wrapped its prehensile tail around her wrist. He noticed the webbing between its tiny fingers and toes, which appeared very human. Its large black eyes flitted about the room, timid as a puppy.

"Meet Liebling," Mr. Bryce said. "She'll give you wondrous new powers, Mr. Bailey. The power to conquer our foes. Her blood produces a serum which will mingle with your own, and elevate your strength in ways you've never imagined."

He snapped his fingers in command.

The medics took Liebling, and prodded it upon a glinting steel tray.

Whatever beast Liebling was, it obviously felt pain. Its shrieks pierced Hugh's ears, stirring pity. When they finally placed it back in the tank and sealed the enclosure, Hugh trembled.

"Cruelty will never win you this war," he said. "I won't help you bastards. You'll have to kill me."

Frau Meinhardt laughed.

"You have no choice," said Mr. Bryce. "And you've already helped us, without knowing it. Your efforts won't go unrewarded. We're ready. Gentlemen, introduce the serum."

The sedation wore off, but Hugh was helpless within the iron grasp of these bullies.

They clamped a strange collar about his neck, and attached loose wires to Liebling's tank. With the click of an ambiguous switch, the collar pricked his skin, pain seeping along every nerve. His jaw clenched, throat tightened, heart rammed against his ribs, but he didn't cry out. He fell to knees, and vomited bile.

Mr. Bryce's words cut the air. "Stay back. Allow the transformation to finish."

Blood and agony. Every organ, muscle, and sinew burned. The so-called serum sizzled through Hugh's being. Veins on his arms swelled. The myriad pumps and tubes roared in his ears.

"Excellent," Frau Meinhardt said. "He responds perfectly. Test it."

A guard approached, aimed a pistol at Hugh's hand, and pulled the trigger.

Hugh's cry echoed with the crack of the gun. A clean wound screamed through the center of his palm, only to dissolve into the warm infusion. His flesh healed at an unnatural pace. Within seconds, no sign of the damage remained.

He laughed. "Is this what you've made me? A machine to fight for your madness?"

"You're the first of many," Mr. Bryce said. "Follow, and meet your brothers in arms."

They led him down another shadowy corridor. A pair of ominous doors waited at the end.

While Mr. Bryce tapped a code into a security panel alongside, Frau Meinhardt leaned closer to Hugh.

"Herr Bryce is a traitor," she said. "We will subdue him on my command. Watch for the signal."

The doors slid open, and sickly yellow light spilled into the hallway. They entered a spacious chamber, the odors of fear and formaldehyde permeating the air. Enormous cylindrical vats lined the walls, with grotesque figures floating inside them. Hoses protruded from their twisted bodies, their human and animal features watching through the glass with pathetic expressions.

Mr. Bryce spread his arms in pride. "This is the pinnacle of my achievements."

Three distorted figures huddled together in the center of the room. Their massive frames trembled as medics injected them with what must be the strength concoction. One of the mutated beings looked at Hugh, blue eyes human despite his monstrous appearance.

Hugh grimaced. "Let me guess. These guys are your idea of super-soldiers. Great strength, rapid healing, trained to kill?"

"Very observant." Mr. Bryce chuckled. "However, like Frau Meinhardt and the others, they're dependent upon periodic injections of the serum. You represent the ultimate development. With the integration of Liebling, you'll surpass them all."

At that moment, Frau Meinhardt seized a guard in a choke hold, and broke his neck with a single jerk. She shouted in German, and several men overwhelmed Mr. Bryce.

"No...what are you doing?" Mr. Bryce cowered from the turncoats.

"You are a liar," Frau Meinhardt said. "Revealing our secrets to American criminals is treason. The Fuhrer will decide your fate."

Serum flooded through Hugh's innards. All rational thought ceased, only primal ferocity. This was his chance to escape, while the enemy was distracted with their inner turmoil. He swung at the nearest vat, shattering the glass. Fluid gushed, the creature within flailing about.

Alarm contorted Frau Meinhardt's face. But it was too late.

In one dash, Hugh demolished the remaining vats. Sirens blared, and the room dimmed to emergency lighting.

Mr. Bryce broke loose, and scrambled to an emergency box in the corner. He flung it open, tossing a sinister lever inside. "You think you've bested me, Frau Meinhardt? I suspected your betrayal, and this entire facility is set with demolitions. None of you will make it out alive."

Frau Meinhardt drew her pistol. She fired a single bullet through Mr. Bryce's back, and he collapsed in a scarlet pool.

Gunfire ricocheted around the room. Hugh ignored the barrage, as his body healed and expelled the bullets. Screams were silenced with not-so-pretty smashes. He swung at every Nazi and deviant in his way. Soon only those enhanced by the serum remained standing.

Frau Meinhardt faced Hugh. The few guards left alive surrounded her.

"We need not fight each other," she said. "Join us, Herr Bailey. You are now greater than a mere man. The world will never match your power. Together, we will make them all understand."

He cracked his knuckles with a sardonic grin. "Think twice. You're in America. We beat you in the last war, and we'll do it again."

Firearms were useless against the regeneration. Brawn and and tenacity collided, as the emergency signal blared on.

The three mutated soldiers joined Hugh, and wrestled the remaining guards to the floor. The smaller men were no match for beings eight feet tall, with fists like wrecking balls. Bone and tissue decorated the room. Not even the serum could heal bashed heads, and torn appendages thrown to opposite corners.

A German voice yelled over a nearby intercom.

Frau Meinhardt was the last Nazi in the way.

"This building will explode in ten minutes," she said. "Join me. I will show you the way out."

Hugh grabbed her by the hair. "You either lead us out of here, or you best get running--because I'm going to kick you back to the Hell pit that spawned you."

She moved like a blur, ducking away. Her blond locks tore loose. Snatching a scalpel from a nearby medical tray, she raced toward the door.

The mutant soldiers barreled after her.

Frau Meinhardt spun and slashed. Blood and bits of flesh flew from her blade. A formidable match.

The mutants fell back, flanking her from a distance. Their injuries healed, but they remained wary.

Hugh engaged her with a swift hook.

She dodged, and sliced at his extended arm.

The pain lasted only a second, and his skin soon melded over the wounds.

Gasping, she gashed his face and throat. Blood arced a moment, but the injury staunched. He extended his fingers, and the plates he wore extended. He used the broad metal edges to deflect her blows, At the same time, he pressed her backward, tearing at her throat and gut.

Regaining confidence, the three mutants cornered her.

The German voice returned, shrill in warning.

"Five minutes," Frau Meinhardt said, her pulse rapid beneath Hugh's grip.

One of the mutants spoke. "Get us out of here. Or we all die together."

The altered soldiers grabbed her arms and legs, and dragged her to the door.

"You're human," Hugh said. "What did she do to you?"

"She stole our lives away, the way she wanted to steal yours," one soldier said. He choked her, fingers digging into her pale skin. "That's right, bitch. I'll squeeze until your dose of serum wears off. Open the goddamn door. Now."

She was no fool, and quickly entered her security passcode.

Minutes later, they boarded the elevator, and began the ascension to freedom.

Hugh's fingers brushed against the Bible in his coat pocket. He wasn't a devout Christian, only carried it as a stipulation of his job. But at that moment, it comforted him, bringing thoughts of Edie. He closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever sat in the sky for deliverance.

They reached ground level. How many minutes--two? One? He sprinted to the nearest exit.

A steel gate rolled down, the last impetus to his escape. He dove, and slid across the floor, his armor absorbing the scrapes. Too late. It closed, pinning him. He was half to safety, half goner. Brass and steel strained as the heavy gate bore down on him.

The tank on his back shattered, liquid spilled. Liebling squealed, and leaped out of her compartment. She scurried away into the surrounding trees.

"We can lift it together," Hugh said, grunting from the tension on his back and ribs. Though his source for the serum was gone, and the mechanical armor was busted, he used every last ounce of his might to push the gate open.

Two of the soldiers assisted him, while the third held Frau Meinhardt captive in meaty arms.

Hugh's armor dented, bowed, and finally gave way with an eerie screech. Undaunted, they pushed the gate up, until the center bowed into a convenient opening.

Hugh scrambled through first, and offered a hand to the soldiers after him.

All made it out, save one,

A countdown began in German over a nearby intercom.

"Come with us," Hugh said, frantic.

The others ran for cover.

Frau Meinhardt writhed, trying to break free.

The big soldier subduing her grinned at Hugh. "She's too dangerous to be left alive. I'll make sure she dies. Haven't got a life to get back to, anyway."

Hugh stammered. "But--"

The countdown narrowed.

"Remember me. I was a normal guy like you, once. My name was Donald McBane. Now run, you idiot."

Frau Meinhardt's eyes widened in terror, screams muffled by the hand her experiments had deformed.

Donald dragged her into the doomed building.

Instinct compelled Hugh. He bolted toward the timberline. Mr. Bryce's streamlined roadsters were parked outside the fence. He fell to the ground behind a cluster of firs, and waited for the blast.

A silence dropped first, foretelling destruction. Then the ground and sky rumbled. Waves of force tore through him, rolling the cars a good distance. Dust and char settled around him, steaming upon the fresh blanket of snow. Debris pelted his back. chinking against what was left of his armor.

When the clamor ceased, he pushed himself upright and surveyed the damage.

Fire and brimstone, as if it were the end of days. He took a deep breath, frigid air stinging his lungs. Living was all that mattered.

Guards milled across the icy pavilion, shouting amid the confusion. Snowflakes drifted from the oppressive sky, glowing red and orange in reflection.

Using the last of his enhanced strength, Hugh pried off the defunct armor. He bent the supports of the tank harness aside to remove it. At least the unfortunate occupant, Liebling, was free somewhere in the forest.

He glimpsed the two altered soldiers skirmishing with wayward guards near the perimeter gates. It was a sufficient distraction.

Time to move out of here.

When he passed the car wreckage, he spotted his helmet and goggles lying in the snow. He put them on, fastening his coat to stay warm.

The snow machines Frau Meinhardt and her goons had ridden waited near the edge of the compound. His best chance of escape. Hopefully there was enough fuel to get him back to Wayne's.

He straddled the seat of one of the tracked vehicles. It was similar to Rusty in design, though the body was hard steel, and the steering more rigid.

While he looked about for the kickstart, he heard a strange, squeaky chatter. Liebling was curled in a shivering ball of fur against his boot. The little creature locked eyes with him, black nose twitching.

"Hey there, little thing," Hugh said. "Are you cold?"

Moved by compassion, he scooped up the animal, which was about the size of a jackrabbit.

Liebling purred, and burrowed inside his coat.

"Looks like you're coming with me," he said, and stroked her fur.

Praying for clear skies and no Nazis, he gunned the rig out of the gates, and down the road. His thoughts lingered on the soldiers, and he hoped they'd find peace.

He drove steadily down the forest path, back to the main thoroughfare. Dawn broke over the eastern hills as he turned the vehicle toward Elmsvale--to home, and the woman who'd stolen his heart.

~~*~~

The storm abated not long after sunrise. He found the pass where he'd been captured, and Rusty lay not far away. Riding the motorcycle was unfeasible with the powder, but he vowed to return when the roads were clear. Fuel ran tight. For the last several miles to Wayne's, he crossed his fingers.

Providence was on his side. He rode into the outpost on fumes.

Wayne met him with a relieved expression. "Holy mackerel! If I didn't know better, I'd think I was seeing a ghost. What happened after the Germans chased you away?"

"Nazi experiments. Big fireworks. And a new pet. I thought it was a bad dream, but I pinched myself too many times."

"Heh. Well, sounds like you need a drink, my friend."

Hugh shook his head. "No thanks. I never drink while I'm on the job. And I've got one more thing to do before I call it quits." He had a confession to make to Edie.

"You're welcome to stay a while," Wayne said.

"I'll have some coffee, and I need to gas up. But I intend to make Elmsvale by afternoon."

After he'd rested a bit, Hugh said farewell.

Liebling slept in his coat for the entire ride. About fifteen miles out, she woke, blinking eyes the size of silver dollars as she peered out of his coat. She was well-behaved, for a puppy-bunny-otter, whatever the hell she was.

The radio in his earpiece sputtered, startling him.

Edie's voice.

"Hugh Bailey, won't you please come home?"

He turned the volume up.

Pre-recorded applause, then she spoke with conviction. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bailey didn't come home last night. If you have a moment, help me pray for his safe return. And Hugh, if you're listening, I booted Neely to the dog house. I'm waiting for you."

His spirits soared, couldn't stop smiling. He kept a steady pace.

When he finally retrieved his beloved Rusty, Edie rode beside him in the sidecar. Liebling purred in her lap.

Their suitcases were strapped together across the back.

"Where do you want to go, baby?" He revved the engine for emphasis.

Her smile shamed the sunrise. "Anywhere in the world, as long as I'm with you."