Bitemarks 1.2

Bitemarks 1.2

Dr Keibler took a slug from the can of energy drink. He despised the stuff but it was better than coffee and having only three hours sleep since finding the specimen. Even now the body was undergoing a slow thawing process that would hopefully minimize the damage done by it reaching a warmer temperature. The body was remarkably well preserved. Here and there were patches damaged by frostbite and as the ice melted away to give a closer view it had become apparent that she had injuries inflicted upon her by others. The throat was cut for one and there was a stab wound on the left breast, most likely what killed her. Once the ice was fully melted he hoped to get a full set of digital images to create a virtual model of her before freezing the corpse once again ready for shipping to somewhere more suitable. Somewhere where they had the technology to x-ray the body and examine in microscopic detail various parts of her external and internal structures. He walked over to the table for a closer look. She really was so remarkably well preserved. So well that it began to cast doubts in his mind about how old she was. Only the black patches and lack of clothing pointed to her long years imprisoned in her icy tomb. There was little ice left covering her now although probably plenty left beneath the skin's surface. He moved over to the head. Her hair was still intact though he knew that would not last. Dark, almost black and lengthy. It would reach halfway down her back. He touched it curiously. It had defrosted fully and although still wet, was soft to the touch. Her cheeks struck him as unusual too. They hadn't folded and sagged. He reached out and gently touched one. It felt firm, though that could just be the ice under the surface lending support. It felt warm too or was that simply a by-product of the thawing process? He moved his head closer, curiosity consuming him. He looked closely at the eyelids. The eyelashes and eyebrows were still intact and the thawing was causing them to flicker as the muscles beneath expanded in the warmth. They opened in a flash and for a second Keibler recoiled, a sudden moment of panic. It's just the heat. he told himself. Like the tendons of a body being burned. He almost convinced himself, until the woman's mouth opened and she screamed like a banshee.


Skarletta was dreaming. She knew not of what. Eagles flew. Fish swam. Tribes danced ancient forgotten dances. And then she felt. She felt an icy pain grip her body and tear her soul from those dreams into waking agony. Her eyes flicked open and she howled. The pain. It wracked every inch of her. She sat bolt upright and screamed again. The pain. She felt it now in two distinct patterns. The icy pain gripping her limbs and chest and the second lesser pain, caused by the shard of obsidian dagger still lodged in her heart. She was dying. She knew as much. And the pain was joined by the Hunger. The Hunger she knew all too well. Vision returned to her frozen eyes, locked staring straight ahead of her. And there was a man. He was babbling in some incoherent language, clearly gripped by both fear and shock. These were emotions she recognized. The language she would learn soon enough and in the process... the Hunger would be fed.


Ed Baxter gripped the temporary podium tightly and addressed the assembled mourners as, to one side, a crane-like mechanism slowly lowered a coffin into the earth.
"My father." he said, blinking the light November rain from his eyes. "My father was a great man. He was a strong man, who provided well for his family. A strong man who suffered the cruel irony of a disease that robbed him of his strength with each passing day. And yet, he remained strong. Strong in his mind as his body failed him. He was a kind man who donated generously to those less fortunate than himself, often in secret. He was a determined man. As those of you who worked with him are aware he would not rest while his work could make the world a better place for everyone, at least in his eyes."
That last comment was aimed purely a the Agency members present for they alone knew the good deeds his father had performed in service.
"He was a caring and nurturing father. A dependable and loving husband. A trustworthy and loyal friend. We have all felt the impact of his life and so we feel the impact of his death. It stands as testament to the kind of man my father was that so many of his friends showed up today to honour his passing. He would be grateful and humbled by your presence. Doug Baxter. May he forever rest in peace."
Ed stepped down from the podium and walked to the grave containing the now fully lowered coffin. He picked up a handful of loose earth from the small pile at the side and cast it into the hole, onto the lid of the coffin.
"No one lives forever." he whispered.


When he had finished talking with the assembled mourners one on one and listened to their expressions of sorrow for his loss Ed made his way back to the car. The fine rain continued and Ed kept his head low, lost in his own thoughts. It took just one word, his name, from a familiar voice to jerk him from his reminisces.
"Ed."
He looked up, into the emotionless face of Alf.
"I'm glad you came. He would be too."
Alf nodded.
"Wouldn't have missed it. It was a fine speech you gave."
"I take it you have something else to tell me."
"You did say you didn't want leave."
Ed nodded.
"I'm not ready to sit alone at home dwelling on it."
"Then in that case. We have a matter of extreme urgency." Alf extended an arm to point to his own transport. A stretch limo with tinted windows.
"I'll tell my driver I have a lift." said Ed.