Dominance

Chapter 15: Medium-well Roadkill

As Mr Shale and his men confidently surrounded Twister, Sara backed up against him. Under his soft fur, his muscles were trembling tightly, trying to fight the effects of the serum.

"Stay back!" Sara shrieked, eyeing one GRC man who was waiting patiently with a chain rope in hand. Her brain scrambles for a plan, a way out of this, but all it produced was an overdrive of panic.

Shale let out a scoffed chuckle as he addressed Twister.

"You've always been such a pain to deal with, Specimen 248. It's a shame I can't just dissect you."

Twister's growl crackled painfully between breaths as Shale reloaded his tranquillizer gun. His expression flicked from triumphant to cold. The men around him and Twister stood like trained soldiers, waiting for their next command.

"All my research, all my work, has never amounted to anything substantial with you."

Creases suddenly crinkled in his brow and when he spoke again the volume increased aggressively.

"And it pisses ME OFF!"

Shale's voice was almost manic and it physically caused Sara to shrink backwards.

"Every sample we took, every experiment. A total waste of my time. It was nothing but dead ends. And every second of the day you were a fucking pain in my arse. But I always break you down and win in the end."

Shale's gaze suddenly flicked to Sara. There was a prominent crack on the lens of his grimy glasses. 

"Until you-" Shale hissed angrily. He rocked forward threatening to reach out and grab at her, but Sara was a fraction quicker. 

She kicked her leg out, just missing his hands clenching the gun, but hitting his arm with enough force to make him fold over to readjust his grip. So she tried again, this time forcing as much of her weight behind the kick as she could.

This time she struck him in the face. Hard.
Blood gushed from his nose and splattered onto her once-white sneakers and pant bottoms. There had been a loud definite crack, which Sara wasn't sure if it was Shale's nose breaking or his glasses, which fell frame dented and lens shattered onto the road.

Sara felt a pang of triumph as Shale screamed a mix of fury and pain and clutched his face. His men around him shifted and went to lurch forward, but Shale managed to put a hand out signalling them to halt. Red seeping through his fingertips flicked towards them with the gesture.

"I'm going to enjoy killing this little bitch myse-"

"-This doesn't seem like a fair fight." Norman's voice interrupted, bellowing down from atop of one of the Jeeps. One hand grasped tightly around a bloodied wound in his opposite arm and over said good arm was hitched a well-worn duffle bag. His expression challenged Shale's as three new people congregated around the vehicle where Norman perched. They were still clearly outnumbered against the GRC, but that did not seem to waiver the support's confidence at all.

There were two men and a woman now backing up Norman, all of them armed, and all of them moving with a graceful but inhuman predatory stride. With the innocent bystanders keeping a generous distance from the drama, and Shale's men looking like clones in their identical uniforms, Norman's reinforcements were easily distinguished apart. On top of that, there was little doubt in Sara's mind that these people were probably not human. And right now that was actually a relief. 

Sara's attention drew instantly to just one of these men who was burly built and had a familiar bald head. He was out of uniform, now sporting cargo pants, heavy black steel-capped boots, and a grey V-necked shirt that was at least a size or two too small for him. But it was most certainly police officer Scotts.