Variant Strain

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With a flare of heat, Peter leaped to the top of one of the buildings. He barely let his toes touch the roof before his legs were pumping once more, leaping to the next roof still carrying MJ.

Images mixed up from TV shows, Wikipedia and memories of at least one experienced paramedic flashed through his mind, all of them insisting that he should have her slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

Except that was really meant to keep the subject's torso level and to spread the weight out across both shoulders to allow the person doing the carrying to keep it up for an extended period.

Peter barely felt her weight, so that wasn't really a consideration. He was also sure the fireman's carry wasn't meant to be used while someone was running at over sixty miles an hour across rooftops and while making thirty yard leaps.

He was reasonably certain that his body had adjusted itself to a larger size to make carrying her easier. It made sense, because why else would she seem so tiny and frail in his arms?

Or she really is that small and you never noticed? Donna replied.

He had her head tucked in against his shoulder, one arm supporting her entire upper back, while his other arm held up her legs at the knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alto voice was humming the wedding march... or it was Ravel's Bolero. He wasn't certain which.

He was running back along the route that the convoy had taken. He could see that the soldiers and Thunderbolt agents had started taking control of the panicked civilians. There were a lot of dead infected scattered on the street, but he could also see that more were escaping down side streets.

The containment effort had failed. The infected had gotten out of Forest Hills. He knew the rest of Queens was still blocked off to casual traffic. No one was being allowed in or out... or they weren't when last he'd heard. So that meant there might still have been a chance to contain the outbreak.

Unless some numbnuts decides to let folks out again and you end up with another break out. Cletus piped in around the humming.

That part bothered him. He wasn't thinking about it when he'd chased after the convoy, but the route they'd taken along Queens Boulevard could've only led eventually to the Queensboro bridge. Granted that would have taken them out of Queens, but it made no sense.

Maybe they were taking them to Roosevelt Island, there was a hospital there, but that just didn't feel right. But the alternative made even less sense. Why take people from out of a potentially infected area and take them into Manhattan?

Densely populated-- already infected-- Manhattan.

It would have made more sense to take them somewhere more isolated. Somewhere further away from people in case anyone were infected.

It probably was only luck-- and me-- that kept the convoy from reaching Manhattan. It wasn't like they could take those people to the Gentek building either. That was gone. Maybe whoever planned for the evacuation didn't get the memo. Or wherever these people were being taken-- Bellvue.

That almost made him stop as he realized that had come from one of the Thunderbolts he'd just consumed. They were taking the survivors to the facility beneath Bellvue Hospital. The outbreak there had seemed limited and had already been cleaned up... and he realized with a start that the facility was even larger than he'd initially realized. He'd only been in one of the top-most levels. There was more to it, even further down. That almost made sense... although part of him wondered if the decision to take the refugees into Manhattan was simply because they already knew the place was infected.

They should by now, he thought furiously. The Shield team made it out of the Gentek building before it collapsed, to the best of his recollection from Hank's memories.

Unless General Talbot didn't listen. Connors murmured quietly. The military mindset can be an inflexible one.

Cain graveled, Their helmets come with cameras. Going to be tough to deny that.

Do not underestimate the ability of old men to deny reality, Connors returned darkly.

Peter ignored their argument and glanced over his shoulder. Whatever pursuit the Oscorp security team had in mind didn't appear to have kept up with him. The Thunderbolts hadn't even been able to mount a chase through the chaos of the new outbreak. Peter doubted they would have cared. They were far too busy.

He didn't like that the Oscorp squad leader had called for 'eyes in the sky'. He wasn't going to take any chances.

He hadn't decided on a place to take MJ to yet, but if nothing else he was going to make sure any pursuit would encounter its own problems.

The Vultures had shown themselves quite adept at dealing with any intrusions into their airspace. Granted he didn't want whoever they sent after him to get hurt, but he was fairly certain they would know enough to break off pursuit-- not that we've seen any-- once he wandered into a Vulture infested area.

His own personal forest of razors.

It was a bit of a risk, he had to admit to himself. He was assuming he could either outrun, outfight or scare off anything that tried to go after him even while carrying MJ.

Bah. We're the meanest thing in this entire damn city, savin' sweet little Jessica, Cletus drawled. Ain't no biggie.

His senses were filled with MJ's scent, nearly drowning out the carrion reek of the dead and living Hydra all around. A fact that made him happy. Because it was a living scent. She was still unconscious, but she was most definitely alive. He could feel her heart beating in time to his. That was faintly disturbing and comforting at the same time.

Kind of like MJ, his voice drawled at back.

Then a sudden sharp scent cut through the pleasant haze of sweet feminine-waffle-ness. It was difficult to describe. Given how much of an expert Peter had become in the past few days at Hydra scents, he was almost ready to believe that scent-wise, it would hold few surprises for him. The terrible stink that suddenly impinged on his senses disabused him of that notion.

Hydra on its own was bad enough. A sickly-sweet carrion scent. Meat left to rot in the sun, but in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. At least not anymore.

Hell, it's downright appetizing. Cletus interjected.

This new scent though... it was coming from behind him. There was the underlying carrion rot of Hydra, but it was twisted somehow. There was a tang of ozone threaded through the scent. A bitter, acrid stench that wiped away all sweetness from the Hydra scent. It simply smelled wrong. Unnatural. Given that Hydra caused horrific mutations and could monkey with the laws of physics, something that made it unnatural was really saying something.

Peter launched himself into the air once more, trying to get more distance before he glanced back.

He saw a pair of aerial drones. Some sort of remote controlled flying machines painted in flat blacks and grays.

They looked... wrong. Unlike the more missile-like profiles of unmanned aerial vehicles he'd seen on television, with skinny wings sticking out the side, these ones were six feet wide and seemed to have the entire body in the shape of the wing. The trailing edge of the wing-body had four ducted jets that gave the wing a sort of scalloped, bat-winged look. The nose of the flying drones had a pair of stubby projections that heightened the bat-like appearance of the devices.

They were closing in on him, but too slowly. He could see the contours of the wings and their profile as they banked around buildings to chase him. They gave the impression of aerodynamic grace, without actually quite managing to have any. He could see it instinctively, even before the math worked itself out in his head. Even with the full-body wing, there was no possible way those drones could have been staying aloft at the speeds they were flying at.

Pym particles. Connors voice murmured.

That made sense. Oscorp funded study into Hydra looking for ways to exploit it. Using the virus to produce some sort of anti-gravity effect to boost up aerial drones didn't seem too far fetched.

Proof of concept. Field tests. Probably intend to use in actual vehicles eventually, Connors added.

In the meantime, Oscorp Security is trying to use them to track us down.

Picking up encrypted burst transmissions from those things. Cain growled. Could be video. Probably location information too.

The stench was disgusting and helped spur Peter to move faster. He landed lightly on the next rooftop and ran under the Vultures. They were still describing wide, looping patrols around the razor forest. They seemed to still be circling around the mobile Hive which was stuck in the center of an area clear of blades.

The Vultures swung wide of Peter, which he was glad for. What he hadn't expected was that they were also ignoring the drones. He held MJ tighter and realized why.

The smell. They were in the Vulture's airspace, but they had the scent of Hydra. Or at least enough of it that the Vultures weren't reacting to them the way they had to the helicopters.

Probably why Oscorp sent them in. Cain rumbled.

Well so much for having the Vultures deal with his pursuers, he thought with annoyance.

Peter landed on a tiled rooftop and shifted MJ in his arms. He shifted mass, allowing him to cradle her in a single arm.

We've got a clear shot at 'em from here. Cain rumbled, sending an image of his whip-blade slashing the two apart at a distance.

Do we know MJ won't be affected by the mass shifting effects when you fire the blade? Donna pointed out reasonably.

We're already shifting her mass around right now, Cain growled back.

Put her down then, Cletus chimed in. Nice tidy drop over the side there.

Peter snorted. No, that wasn't going to happen.

He flexed his toes, tendrils weaving them into talons and he broke a few roofing tiles. He kicked one into his free hand and narrowed his eyes, once again thankful to have a body that could keep up with his mind.

Cannibalistic urges and all, his voice drawled back at him.

He ignored it as the numbers ran behind his mind. Peter threw the tile in a curved ballistic arc with the necessary amount of force to send it into the front of the lead drone at a speed that even a professional baseball pitcher could only envy.

The tile exploded into powder from the impact. The blow caved in the front of the drone and Peter winced as the horrible tainted Hydra stench grew more pronounced. The lightweight plastic body had smashed open and whatever had been inside splattered with a glowing red fluid that was rapidly evaporating into gas.

Pym particles. Connors pointed out with just a faint edge of smugness.

The drone listed to the side sharply, then slammed into the second drone, cracking its wing sending that one reeling further out. The first began to lose altitude sharply and was halfway down to the ground within seconds.

The second still managed to shakily keep flying, but the damaged wing was leaking a familiar reddish haze. Peter was surprised at It actually managed to make to the rooftop he was on before skidding to a noisy stop on the tiles.

You are not going to say you planned for the to happen. Cletus snorted incredulously.

Up close the scent was far worse. Tainted, but live Hydra. He remembered what Warren had told him about Pym Particles... completely chemically inert, has negative mass and breaks down spontaneously within a few minutes of being secreted by infected.

The only way they could use Pym Particles to hold up the drone... he didn't complete the thought as his own curiosity came bubbling up, despite Cain's warnings.

He brought up a taloned foot and sliced the black and gray plastic skin of the drone open.

The bat-winged body of the drone cracked open, spilling densely packed electronics and a large football-shaped casing of clear plexiglass. The case was filled with brightly glowing red fluid.

He could see tubes running out of the casing spreading out into some sort of thin membrane embedded into the inside of the plastic wings. Skin. A lot of it. Peter could make out the folds in the material where it had been stuffed into the wing shapes. More than one could rationally expect to have come from a single infected specimen. Or they'd skinned a Vulture.

Peter cradled MJ closer, letting her scent push back the acrid stench that rose from the broken drone.

We really should get going, Donna prodded gently.

"Just one last thing," Peter murmured quietly, then kicked sharply downward at the plexiglass case with his taloned heel. The material flexed at first, not quite breaking, but finally the talon pierced through, shattering the case entirely and sending an spurt of glowing red up Peter's leg.

He watched with an almost detached air as the cracks in the material hurriedly drained, allowing him to actually see what had been hidden in the reservoir of Pym Particles.

Inside was a head.

Its scalp was bald and its mouth showed the distinctive too flat and white teeth that Peter associated with Vultures. The head had been severed with obvious surgical neatness. Not simply cut across the neck. This had been cut away from its body along the jaw. The spine was still attached to the head. Not bare bone, but covered in a dense fibrous gristle that had been neatly looped and coiled into the remaining space. Peter could see a mess of wires and electronics soldered right into the spine's remaining flesh.

The jaw gave a sudden snap and Peter realized that its eyes were open. Open and staring. If a normal Vulture's eyes held little more than simple animal cunning. These eyes... these eyes were madness and pain.

The lips smacked hungrily and he noted its tongue sticking out, trying to reach him with the only thing it still had available. How long had it been in there? Peter wondered. How hungry was it?

I guess it wasn't an unmanned aerial vehicle after all. Cain noted with uncharacteristically dark humor.

If that thing had GPS, they could still know its final position. We really should go. Donna said urgently.

Y'know, every time I think I've seen the worst this whole mess has to offer, y'all keep findin' new stuff to prove me wrong, Cletus tsked.

Peter stamped his foot down sharply once more, crushing the head beneath his heel and putting the poor soul out of its misery. He felt no urge to feed on the disgusting mess, but turned and began running as fast as he could.

He held MJ closer, burying his face in her hair briefly and wallowing in her scent.

There was no way he was going to let Oscorp get their hands on MJ now.

Except Anna, Aunt May, Gwen and her dad are all probably with them, his voice drawled.

Or so we hope. If they weren't already infected. He sighed.

And if they are? His voice drawled back, and Peter found himself glancing over his shoulder to the drone, which was already blocks behind him.

He would have to deal with that in good time. Cain was still monitoring communications and so far had yet to turn up any references to his Aunt or the rest of their group.

He couldn't really do anything about that until he took care of a more pressing matter. Namely where could he take MJ?

There's always the Stacey house. Donna suggested.

Peter frowned. It was probably a good a place as any. Gwen had locked up when they had left, but she had shown them all that the spare key was hidden in a flower pot next to the front door.

They'd taken all the food in the pantry and packed it into the car when they'd left-- had that only been this morning? Peter was going to have to check out the local stores for food... assuming the looting hadn't started and there was still anything left.

A memory presented itself quite clearly that there was still plenty of food in the Stacey's panic room.

Peter blinked, wondering how he knew that. He knew they had a panic room, Gwen had mentioned it... or George might have and Peter overheard them, but he hadn't been in there when they'd stayed over.

--George liked to invite his partners over for a drink or two in there. There was some bourbon hidden behind the gun rack, along with some shot glasses. He didn't like to drink where Gwennie could see him. So the safe room was the best bet. In retrospect all the time he spent down there with me probably didn't help his relationship with his wife--

The memory was clear, if fragmentary. It had been less a memory and more a snatch of thought directed at a memory. There was no real sense of identity. For a panicked moment, Peter wondered if it had been a memory of his father's. They had been partners... but there was a scent associated with the memory.

Cigarette smoke. Bourbon and Marlboro Reds. -- barely anywhere left in New York to smoke. Going to just be a matter of time before we wouldn't even be able to smoke in the privacy of our own homes."

"I'd still let you smoke down here, Jean." George said, his tie loose, his shirt-sleeves rolled up. He'd looked good. He had laughed so ha--

Peter blinked to clear his head of the images. Jean DeWolffe. He'd consumed George Stacey's partner. She'd been among the infected and he hadn't recognized her.

She was just another Walker in the crowd, Donna replied gently. You could have barely seen anyone's face in that rush.

He shuddered as he let his body run on automatic and allowed his mind to flit through the memories that he'd gathered in close association, doing his best not to dwell.

Two days ago. She'd been injured when the Police station had become a Hive two days ago. Two days since Brian Watson's insane moments as a Rhino. He remembered the bleeding injury she'd had.

She could have been infected then, perhaps? But given how fast the Hydra strain rampaging through Queens induced mutations, it seemed unlikely that Jean DeWolffe could have kept the fact that she'd been infected a secret for over an hour much less two days. Her more recent memories were far too fragmentary to figure out much of what had happened between then and now.

Or one of them damn rats bit her today and she was clean til it happened, Cletus pointed out.

And it doesn't matter right now, Donna said forcefully and drawing Peter's attention back towards MJ in his arms. One thing at a time.

Peter sighed wearily.

She had a point. He would let MJ rest in the Stacey's panic room. He knew how to get in now. Once she woke up, he could carry her somewhere safer. Maybe their house in Staten Island.

He would have to make sure Aunt May and everyone else was safe. Anna knew Brian Watson's friend Harry Osborn in passing. Assuming they were all together... and assuming they hadn't gotten infected... they should be fine.

He hoped.

Then once he was certain of that... he could finally deal with the source of all this.

He would deal with Jessica once and for all.

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