Project Chimera

-From here onwards the story is set on George's pov unless stated otherwise-

George

I revealed myself from the hole I had managed to squeeze into before that... thing got to us. I lifted the oval-shaped sheet of metal I had used to cover the entrance, my arms aching from how long I'd held it down. The little girl I'd yanked inside with me blinked at the sudden light, her small body still trembling with fear.

"You okay?" I asked softly, my voice hoarse.

She nodded, but she couldn't speak. She was shaking too hard, like a leaf in the wind. I didn't blame her. I was scared out of my damn mind. My uniform was soaked through with sweat, my heart pounding like a war drum.

The smoke was clearing fast now. I reached for the radio clipped to my vest, trying to call the others.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Alvarez, do you copy?" Static. I adjusted the dial, tapped it a few times. Still nothing but a low hum and static hiss. I cursed under my breath and tried to lift myself from the hole.

But something grabbed my leg-tight.

I flinched, heart stopping for a second, but it was her. The girl. She clutched my pant leg like her life depended on it. Honestly, maybe it did. I looked down into her wide, tear-glossed eyes. I was all she had right now. I wasn't going to fail her.

"We have to move," I whispered, scanning the broken corridor ahead. "Come on, sweetheart. We can't stay here. It's not safe."

The ground vibrated. Not a small tremor-no, this was heavier. Rhythmic. Like footsteps. Big ones.

Shit.

My pulse spiked. She gripped me tighter. I knelt, scooped her up into my arms, and ran. As fast and as quietly as I could. Her tiny arms clung to my neck, and I could feel the panic pouring off her in waves. But she didn't scream.

The mall had become a graveyard.

Lights flickered above us. Every corner we turned brought the smell of smoke, blood, or worse. In the distance, I could hear other screams-some cut short, some still echoing. Were they being hunted? Trapped? Killed?

I didn't want to know.

A hand jutted from beneath a collapsed vending machine we passed. Lifeless. Pale. I didn't stop. Couldn't. That would be us if I hesitated. She buried her face in my shoulder, and I tried to shield her from it all.

"Hold on," I muttered, half to her, half to myself.

After a few minutes of carefully navigating the shattered halls, I spotted it-the fire escape. Hope lit in my chest like a flare.

Then something darted across the corridor ahead. Fast. A blur.

I froze.

It was huge-taller than any man, with limbs too long, hunched low, and its skin... God, the skin. Glossy, stretched tight like rubber over bone. It didn't move like anything I'd ever seen.

The girl whimpered.

Its head snapped toward us.

I turned on instinct. Where the hell could we go now? The exit was blocked. Then a sharp voice called from above:

"Up here!"

I jerked my head up. A woman was leaning over the railing of the second-floor balcony. Her voice strained but steady. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, her face smeared with ash and blood. She was holding a rope-no, a knotted extension cord-dangling it down to us.

Something small flew past us-a glass bottle?-crashed on the opposite side with a loud clatter. The creature paused, its attention yanked away.

Good. It worked.

"I'm sending her up first!" I said trying to control the volume of my voice, not to attract the creature.

The woman gave a tight nod. Another man beside her-Asian, lean, arms cut with muscle, shirt soaked in blood-grabbed the cord and began pulling. I wrapped it around the girl's waist.

She looked up and gasped. "Mommy!" she screamed, reaching for the woman above.

The creature shrieked. Loud. Violent. My ears rang.

It turned, all its limbs shifting unnaturally as it galloped toward us like a damn horse.

"No time!" I shouted. "Pull her up!"

The woman and the man hauled her up, her small hands gripping the rope tight. She cried out but didn't let go. I waited just long enough to see her into her mother's arms before wrapping the cord around my own wrists.

Climbing with panic in your throat is a different beast. My boots slipped once, scraping against the wall, but I didn't stop. Couldn't.

Claws sliced the concrete beneath me.

A hand-strong, calloused-grabbed mine and yanked me up. I collapsed on the second-floor tiles, gasping for breath. The girl hugged her mother, both of them crying now, but safe.

I looked up.

The woman was watching me. She was younger than I expected-late twenties, maybe. Dirt and blood streaked her cheeks, and her skirt was half torn.

"Thank you," she said, still holding her daughter. "For protecting my little girl."

I nodded, struggling to my feet. "It's the least I could do," I said, brushing off debris from my uniform-what little good that did.

"You're a cop?" she asked.

"Yeah. Officer George Alvarez," I said, extending my hand.

She took it. "Bridget Carter."

The man who'd helped her spoke up, his voice steady despite the cuts on his face. "Names later. We need to move."

That's when I noticed the fourth man.

Leaning against a pillar, wincing with every breath. I recognized him instantly. Paul Santiago. Former heavyweight champ. His face was pale, shirt soaked in blood.

As if reading my mind he let out an "I can walk," with his teeth gritted.

"How many of you are there?" I asked, trying to assess our odds.

"Just us," Bridget said. "For now."

I was about to ask more when the ground trembled again. Louder. Heavier.

We all turned.

Two of them. Standing at the far end of the corridor, watching us with unblinking eyes. Long limbs, thick claws, heads slightly tilted.

Predators.

Bridget's arms tightened around her daughter, pulling her close like she could hide her inside herself.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Their claws tapped against the tiles with each step.

Something felt... wrong.

One of them looked different. Larger. Skin darker, ridged. Sharper. Its movements were slower, more deliberate.

"That... that ain't the same one that chased us," Paul muttered.

"It's not," Bridget whispered. Her voice shook. "They're evolving."

My mouth went dry. "Evolving?"

She nodded. "Changing. Adapting."

I stared at the creatures, my grip tightening around the crowbar I'd picked up earlier. One wrong move and we'd be ripped apart.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed.

A third screech echoed from somewhere deeper in the mall. Lower. Rougher. Like something even worse had arrived.

Klahan-the Asian man-picked up two broken pipes. He tossed one to Bridget. "We move. Now."

She caught it. The weight of the iron slightly weighed her down.

I turned to Paul. "Can you fight?"

He didn't answer with words. He tore his shirt, wrapping it around his fists like makeshift gloves. A boxer's instinct. He looked half-dead but still determined.

We didn't have a plan. No backup. No idea what these things even were.

This wasn't just survival anymore.

This was war.

And we were losing.

They screeched.

We braced.

And then, all hell broke loose.