Thy Brothers' Reaper

"Thy Brothers' Reaper"

by Nan Devincent Hayes Renaissance Alliance Publisher, 2000 Optioned for film 2001

Enclosed below are the following materials for your review of my novel Thy Brothers Reaper for consideration as a brief treatment for the intent of it being made into a movie: Intro Overview Major/Minor Characters (Profile) Sampling of Reviews Sample Chapters (taken from publisher's PDF draft)

I. INTRODUCTION of Thy Brothers Reaper This is a sci-fi thriller, and yet a medical suspense novel that deals with the wonders and dangers of human cloning. It is based on years of research along with the author possessing a Ph.D is in creative writing; an M.S. in medical research; an M.S.Ed. in teaching/science education, and a bachelors degree in chemistry/biology. This well rounded background has given the author, Nan Hayes, (who has written 14 books, 4 of which are novels, and all of which are published by royalty houses), had taken the time to pen such a novel that would be of interest to all readers and viewers. It has received fine reviews (see below). Please note that the first edition is written under the author's pen name "Devin Centis" [now a collector's item], while succeeding issues are under her real name: Nan DeVincent-Hayes. This novel has brought about interest from several movie companies with one presenting a firm option.

II. OVERVIEW Gillian Montague has taken a job as an apprentice P.I. that has her tracking down the cause of a series of brutal and vicious deaths, where victims' skulls are punctured because the assailants need certain chemicals that are made and utilized by the brain. All of the assailants are huge, abnormally powerful beings, except for a handful who are mutants, and, in most cases, they act according to instructions, unless their chemicals run low. So the clones appear to be common humans who look and behave as anyone else, except for their large size and somewhat stilted speech. But because they have computer chips embedded in their brains, and require these cerebral chemicals to function normally, their behavior often becomes erratic. The clones arise out of research and development by twelve underground labs owned by the government.

Through research and the help of her ex-husband, Mitchell Frey, Gillian discovers that these large but not unattractive men are clones bred by the authorities to form an omnipotent military force that will take over the world when secret government organizations set out to form a "New World Order" on the political, religious, and economical fronts. Some of this is accomplished not only through the use of clones puppeteered by medical scientists working for the government but also through water contamination and food shortages, United Nations troops, and espionage as well as the machinations of high-level men throughout the world pushing for control of the universe; they strive to accomplish their goal via secret government organizations and conspiracies.

Gillian is unaware that a clone has passed himself as his adult donor, or that her best friend is a part of the government's plans. The novel moves back and forth among the key characters while holding readers' attention as to whom really is a the clone, and who isn't. It's a medical thriller combined of suspense, espionage, and mystery, as well as some romance.

The location of the story revolves around the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and Wilmington, with some scenes taking place in Ocean City, Maryland.

III. CHARACTER PROFILES
Major Characters

Gillian Montague: As the protagonist, Gilly flounders around in life trying to decide what she should do for a career. In her late thirties already, she finally opts to work for a detective agency to become a highly rated investigator. She signs on with Collier Detective Agency where she meets Cyril and Wally, and unwittingly soon become embroiled in a fight for her life, and that of all those who she cares about.

Chase/Leslie Chandler: One is the clone of the other, and serves as the protagonist. Throughout the story, Gillian attempts to investigate both men but soon learns that their backgrounds from childhood to modern day have been erased by the government, and though something strange about both scares and bothers her, she pursues her research at the cost of too many lives. But in the process, she uncovers a secret societies government conspiracies that rock the whole world.

Mitchell Frey: Even though he's Gillian's ex-husband, he remains in love with her, and goes out of his way to protect her because of her naivete, and her inexperience in the detective business. The loss of his dear friend, Sawyer Basse (who, unknown to Mitch, served as a government pawn), and the impending danger to his ex-wife, make him sneak into the main Enolc lab to steal documents, although he is found out. During the chase, he is exposed to plutonium radiation.

Dixie: Even best friends can cast doubt on their nobility and honesty, as is the case with Dixie. Having been friends with Dixie for fifteen years, Gillian never considers her friend's espionage activities in the scheme of the New World Order. Dixies role in the story is so pivotal that little can be said here without giving her away. Gillian later learns the key to whom Dixie really is.

Dana Carter: is Mitch's only hope of exposing Hammond, the government, and the Chandlers, but Dana meets with an end that leaves readers aghast at such a horror. All of Mitch's hopes disintegrate with Dana's death.
_____________
Minor Characters

Cyril Collier: Cyril (affectionately called Cy) owns Collier Detective Agency which has hired Gillian as an apprentice gumshoe. He tries to bring honor to his profession through his own credit and dignity. In the end, when he attempts to assassinate the U.S. president, he pays a high price for this decency.

Wally: is Cy's newphew. Cy has taken on his sister's son when the young man got into trouble back in Baltimore, about two hours from the Delmarva Peninsula. Wally comes to idolize his Uncle Cy who should have taken better care of this citified kid.

Althea Azar: is Dr. Hammond's (see below) secretary, and though faithful to him, she rues the day she was transferred to him and his research labs. To get out of her contemptible position, she squeals on Hammond and the government's underhanded connivance, and ends up paying for it.

Dr. Hammond: This scientist is the originator of Enolc Labs that started all the cloning research. He knows what the government's intent is and although he dislikes it to a certain extent, to him it's a job he fulfills even when it results in heinous crimes--at the cost of lives around the world.

Harry Gamblin: is Secretary of Defense in President Williams' Cabinet. He despises the deceitful and manipulative president as well as all the Enolc labs, along with every second he must remain in his high level position but feels he has no way out since the president has blackmailed him. A decision is made for him.

Annie: This is Cyril's secretary who comes across as uneducated, somewhat cockney and disarming, with little ambition and even less compassion for others, but in the end, Gillian learns how good-hearted and inculpable the brass secretary is.

Dr. Stella Reid: As an old flame of Cyril, who he had once refused to marry because he felt the differences in their careers, their races, their income and educational levels would set them up for a destructive relationship, he had never stopped loving her, and when things get heated up, he turns to her because of her position in the CDC. It is Stella's stepping into the picture that sheds light on the crux of the story, as well as topsy-turvies everyone's safety.

IV. REVIEWS
Thy Brothers' Reaper is a doozy of a yarn, full of a future made messy and dangerous by the age-old vices of greed and a raging hunger for power. Devin Centis writes of a world on the brink of war, of science loosed from ethics, of monsters wrought from our need to be God, of an America top heavy with technology. This is a novel that starts in high gear and stays there, as good a read as any you're likely to snatch from a bookshelf this year. Get ready, friends, to stay up late." Lee Abbott, Noted author of several novels; recipient of many book awards

"In Devin Centis' futuristic novel, Thy Brothers' Reaper, the Brave New World is terrifying. The water can be deadly, the streets are full of clones, and the military, in attempting to perfect itself, has manufactured murderous beings who endanger everybody, especially those dedicated to telling the truth about what is going on. In deft, crisp prose, Centis imagines a world in which fertility clinics are often places that plunder ova for experimentation, and where mutants and clones could be wandering the mall or idling in the carpark. In fact, it is the juxtaposition of the ordinary and the unthinkable that makes this novel such a scary read. A generation ago it would have seemed science fiction, pure and simple; today it seems all too horribly possible. Dolly the sheep and DNA, as a tool for releasing the innocent from Death Row, has a downside, and Centis has imaginatively chronicled it to perfection."
Mary Bringle, author of 10 novels; conference speaker; well known writer

(See additional reviews on Amazon)

This novel may be purchased in bookstores nationwide, through the publisher (Rapbooks.com) or via Amazon. Check also to see if the author has any copies available.

SAMPLE CHAPTERS
(Taken from the publishers' draft in PDF file)

"Thy Brothers' Reaper"
by
Nan DeVincent-Hayes

CHAPTER 1

November 25, 2010; Wilmington, Delaware
Gillian checked her car clock: Nine-thirty p.m.; again she was late leaving the office. With her boss, Cyril, throwing the Grand Opening into her lap, she never seemed to get back home at a decent hour. She hated returning to an empty apartment late at night, in the cold of winter in downtown Wilmington, Delaware, with no one to cuddle up to. More and more she regretted having divorced Mitch, the only person she ever truly loved. Maybe she should invite him over for Thanksgiving.
"Damn," she cursed when no hot air came out of her car heater. She needed to change careers; this working as a private investigator was earning little money. She'd have to talk to Cy about a raise but she knew he'd say, "Look, I just opened my shop at this new location; give me time." What was that ahead? Rotating lights on a police cruiser? She slowed as she neared the scene on the dark back road where a police car had pulled over a black Lincoln with a gray-haired woman sitting inside, looking surprised. "Must have been speeding," Gilly said aloud as she passed the car. Her eyes watched a tall, bulky police officer get out of his car, wearing a black helmet, high-top black boots, and the usual matching uniform. Just as she passed him, she saw his head turn in her direction, and his eyes connect with hers.
She gasped. Her foot slammed the brake. His eyes! They flashed red . . . or did they? No, no, can't be.
She looked back over her shoulder, checked her rearview mirror, saw the officer approach the old woman's car.
Must be me. Working too hard.
She drove off, perplexed.

***
Washington, D.C
The broad-shouldered, three-piece-suited man leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head full of silver-graying hair. He tried listening to the ongoing briefing given by the defense department chief, but was more interested in the activity outside the huge Oval Office window where workmen permanently blocked Pennsylvania Avenue. Beams of sun burst through white, puffy clouds, and yellow mums popped out of sleepy-eyed leaves. His glance fell on his date book, and he was reminded of the cabinet meeting planned for the next day. Quickly, then, he pulled himself to attention and sat erect at his desk, his focus on the man before him reading from a paper. He interrupted: "So what you're telling me is that the experiment is out of control?" President Jackson Williams punctuated the last three words by tapping his index finger against the desk.
The graying, dark-haired Secretary-of-Defense shifted his stance, grimacing while trying to appear collected. "Well, it's not quite 'out of control' but-"
"Either it is or it isn't, Harry. Don't play word games."
"Yessir." The chief cleared his throat, stared at the floor as if searching for the right words. "It's more like 'they' have minds of their own. They're dangerous." The chief rubbed his chin as if in thought. "Some of our people have suggested that we abort the entire operation, though how we could be sure that we got them 'all,' I don't know."
The president jumped to his feet. "Abort! After all that we've done to train them to be mammoth, dauntless, fighting soldiers who we can rely on for the upcoming battle? Think of all that money we've invested in them. We are not going to abort the operation."
"But, Mr. President, they are menacing-"
"Which is exactly what we want." Williams looked out the window, his hands crossed behind his back. "The rest of the labs, and the clinics, too . . . are they experiencing the same thing as Enolc 1?"
"Not yet, since Enolc 1 was our first project but I imagine that as time passes and the products become more sophisticated, as they have at 1, then these other labs will experience the same problems. Innocent citizens are being threatened, maimed, even murdered."
The president looked at the chief over his shoulder. "No experiment is guaranteed, Mr. Secretary. I'm very pleased they're aggressive. We'll win that battle."
Harry sighed; there was no sense arguing with the man because when he had his mind made up, that was it. What did Williams care if there were trained, murderous, mad soldiers willing to die just to kill? It was a government's dream. Next year, the president would be on his way out of office before the battle erupted, free of accusing, pointing fingers . . . and protected--he and his family--for the rest of their lives.
Walking across the office to the cart with tea and coffee, the Secretary of Defense said, "The battle, sir, when is it scheduled to begin?" He poured freshly brewed decaf from the silver pitcher into the cup made of fine bone china.
The president turned around, reached for the cup."It's uncertain when Russia will invade Israel--setting it all off--but we suspect it'll be within the year. Then Egypt and the Middle East will become involved, as well as China, and us, but with our specially trained military, we'll beat the hell out of all of them . . . and emerge as the leaders."
"Which will set up the global government, the one-world economy, and the universal religion."
The president said, "The plan's been in place for decades. Our country will take its rightful, front and center position in this new government."
Secretary Gamblin sipped his coffee, patted his lips with a linen napkin. "I've never felt comfortable with the Enolc project."
"You don't get paid megabucks to feel 'comfortable.'" An old familiar look of exasperation came over the president's face, as if threatened by the questions. "Just do what you're supposed to, Mr. Secretary."
"Yessir." Harry Gamblin set the cup down on the cart. "Under your directive, then, I will commission the Enolc Project at Lab 1 ES Easton to proceed."
"That's all I wanted to hear from the moment you stepped into my office." Williams turned his back on his colleague and went for his desk chair, waving the secretary off.

***
Easton, Maryland
Dr. Leonard Hammond drove his car across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, down Route 50, and onto Wyen Road, past the location of the once oldest oak tree in Gwen Estates at the edge of the thicket, he hid his car, got out, and started walking. He hated checking secret emergency entrances and exits, but as director, it was another of his many tasks.
The silence of the dark night magnified Hammond's footfall as he picked his way through the leaf-ridden dirt path in the shadowy woods of Easton, Maryland, on the Eastern Shore of the Delmarva (Delaware, Maryland, Virginia) Peninsula. He entered the small, domed passage hidden among towering oaks, firs, and maples. Recently built, the emergency structure's dome was camouflaged by dirt, leaves, and twigs. The dome itself was no wider, higher, or deeper than seven feet, covering a sewer-like lid five-feet in diameter.
Dr. Hammond stole a quick look around him, and then furtively pulled out a specialized pick and jabbed it into the lid while using a wrench as a lever to help lift it, although not more than a few feet away rested an electric device that hydraulically elevated the trap door. But Hammond's job was to check not only the automation but also the emergency measures. Besides, he distrusted mechanized gadgets anyway, fearful that, in this case, the lid might close on him when he was only half-way in. The thing weighed a couple-hundred pounds and could easily crush a human. Grunting, he managed to get into the hole, close the lid, and secure himself on the vertical ladder leading down to an earthen floor passageway to a back elevator in one direction, and the underground parking garage, in the opposite direction. He disliked using the elevator more than he hated opening the lid. In fact, he abhorred the whole blasted set up . . . a lab thirty-feet underground. Leave it up to the United States Government. Why couldn't they just have built the dang thing on street level the way they did the camouflaged main entrance of the lab? The newer labs didn't even have the emergency manhole exits. He heard yesterday that one of the new EnolcsBnumber eleven, wasn't it?--collapsed, with falling dirt having started out as a spray of dust, then picking up speed and quantity, and finally crumbling, tumbling, cascading like Niagara Falls, earth rushing out from every crevice, killing everyone inside, and ruining the entire project. Well, that was fine by him; there were now too many Enolc labs to begin with--maybe a dozen or so, when he had been initially told that there would be no more than two or three. This was how projects went astray.
At the bottom of the vertical stairs, he saw the lighted elevator button glow in the dim, small, squared off area. Waiting for the doors to open, he decided to confront the Secretary of Defense about the need for another emergency exit to the lab. Having just the main gate underground, and only this outside exit, gave Hammond the creeps, no matter how well constructed the facility was, or how many generators it had, or how well rigged it was for communication. He wanted a third way out . . . just in case.
As always, the elevator met him, opened its door, and dropped him another twenty-three feet. The WSSSSH of its doors sounded as they opened, and his eyes were greeted by banks of bright lights leading to a set of steel double doors. He passed his palm over a monitor that read its line patterns, and the doors automatically opened to a spacious chamber with other glassed-in rooms filled with lab tables and medical and scientific paraphernalia. At the far end of the huge room were doors that led to yet another large room. Hammond walked towards it.
"G'morning, Doctor," called out a technician near a scintillation counter.
Hammond noticed the two doors at the end of the spacious room opening into the specimen room. He nodded to a colleague as he entered his 18 X 15 office and removed his suit jacket and replaced it with a white lab coat.
His secretary, Mrs. Althea Azar, entered, pausing at the threshold. "Here's the report. It won't please you. Then again, maybe it will."
"It's out of control, isn't it?" he said rhetorically.
"Makes you happy, doesn't it." She handed him the report. "Even I get scared and I know what they are. When is it going to stop?"
"It's just begun. Lock your doors . . . always." He stepped out of the lab and into the specimen room. "It's out of my hands now."
His secretary followed. "But you're the creator-"
"I do what I'm told, Miz Azar, and you would be wise to do the same."
"Always passing the buck."
He saw her sneer and reverse her footsteps back to her desk.
Suddenly she stomped back to him, pointed a short, chunky finger. "Don't you have any morals?"
"If what we do here bothers you so much, quit. Or don't you want to give up your sixty-grand a year job? That's the problem with our government: Overpays the unskilled." "I put thirty-five years in, Dr. Hammond. I paid my dues. Where I was at the Library of Congress before coming here gave me a lot of responsibility. I went through endless training and--contrary to what you think--I acquired a lot of skills."
"And your being my executive secretary is worthy of your salary?" He jammed his hands into his suit pants pockets.
"You're no cream puff, sir."
"If I'm difficult it's only because I have an even more difficult boss: Secretary of Defense Gamblin. You know that." He strode away from her, yelling over his shoulder, "Go back to work, Miz Azar." He recalled how she had come to work for him three years ago after losing her cushy job in D.C.. She had cried age discrimination, having been sixty then, and the government shipped her over to Hammond's operation--one that she bitterly hated because she disliked being underground and disliked Hammond as much, as well as what he was doing. "Too bad," he muttered to the air.

CHAPTER TWO
Wilmington, Delaware
She was late getting out of the store. It was only weeks before Christmas and everyone was shopping, especially in gift boutiques like hers. She went to the wide doorway, looked up and down the mall corridor but didn't see any merchants, customers, or guards. She shrugged, turned the key in the wall lock, and watched as the steel bars rolled down, clanking as they slowly lowered. The noise echoed in the mall's hollowed halls, sending a shiver through her. How could she be running so late?
She peeked at her watch. Nine-thirty. Where had all the time gone? If it hadn't been for that last customer--the football-sized guy wearing an ear-flap hat, round framed glasses, and a p-coat--she would have been out and home forty-five minutes ago. He had acted strangely; said nothing; just walked around the store fondling jewelry, posters, art work, wicker baskets, novelty items. And that smell about him!
"It's nine-o'clock," she had reminded him. He had nodded but kept on browsing. Now, fifteen minutes later, having closed the cash register and locked the entrance gate, she worked her way to the back door, flipped off the last light switch, her eyes adjusting to the dimness from the lighted "exit" signs and the few low-watt lamps she left on. Then she punched in the numbers of the store's alarm system at the keypad, and stepped outside into the darkness from the rear door. Her car was only forty-feet away, the sole vehicle in the small employee parking lot. She breathed in, tightened the collar around her neck to ward off the icy wind, and hustled to her 2003 Sprint RF.
Suddenly, the hairs at her neck rose and her fingers quivered as they fiddled with the door's lock; then she realized the door had been unlocked to begin with. Hastily she looked around. "Calm down, Sarah; you've done this hundreds of times." She let a nervous giggle escape between her lips.
At last she was in the driver's seat. A sigh of relief gushed from her lips, and she turned the key in the engine and locked her door. Ohmigod! My car door was unlocked! Uneasily, she studied the back seat through the rearview mirror to make sure no one was crouched behind her.
Nothing.
Through the mirror, she could see the plastic flower arrangement her goofy sister-in-law, Dixie, had given her for the store's grand opening that she never took into the house afterward, as well as the jumper cables setting on the rear window shelf, but other than that, nothing looked amiss. She steered down the road.
"Aruba, Jamaica, oooh I wanna take ya," blared from the radio, and she turned up the volume, singing along, loving the oldies. As cold as it was, she cracked her window a little as she entered 95 West to Wilmington. She liked the feel of the breeze hitting her face, keeping her alert. Grabbing her cell phone, she hit the automatic button and her husband came on the line.
"I'm running late, hon. Just got on the ramp and whizzing your way."
His voice sounded broken up: "Hey, babe." (Crackle) ". . . won't you driv . . . " (crackle) . . . "late. Be careful. Lock yo . . . " (crackle) ". . .iss you."
She blew him a kiss, knowing he was unaware of it, and shut off the phone. Hearing "The Rose" playing over the radio, she turned the volume back up, and began belting out the words. She tried remembering the song verse by verse, her mind periodically wandering to the shop's inventory, what to get the kids for Christmas, if they should put up a real tree, and-
She jumped. What was that she saw in her rearview mirror? She tried studying it while yet not wanting to. Quickly she took her eyes off the road and looked again in the mirror.
Nothing there.
Maybe it had just been car lights reflecting off something.
But fire orange lights?
Calm down. She'd call the police on her cellular and zip off the nearest ramp and into a populated place. Just hold on, she told herself.
Fleetingly she peeped into the rearview mirror as she drove down a ramp. Nothing there. Stop! this! At the end of the ramp, blackness loomed.
Her shoulders shuddered. Was that air on her neck? Was someone behind her? My God! They could have been lying on the floor and she would have never known!
Slowly she lifted herself in the driver's seat and shifted her vision to the mirror.
Her gasp rang out so loud that it made her jerk. There they were again--the glowing lights . . . no eyes! My God, they're blazing red eyes!
She screamed.
Arms jerked the steering wheel, maneuvering the car to the side of the road. A huge dark form with the glowing eyes draped over her. Before complete blackness engulfed her, she saw deep into its eyes, and realized nothing was behind them. Then she felt a puncture at the base of her neck, something sucked out in a gurgling sound, and excruciating pain that exploded within her brain.
***
Easton
From outside a large glassed-in partition at Enolc 1, Dr. Hammond watched the two monkeys nuzzle each other, pick at one another's coat, grunt and coo. He sighed. This was how he had wanted the experiment to turn out but the government had insisted on the implants. He looked around the spacious lab with two identical sheep in one, two dogs in another, and gorillas in a third corner. Walking over to the other end of the room where the apes huddled against the wall, he lightly tapped the windowed cage just to assure himself the outer protective pane was secure.
He watched them, wondering why they had withdrawn. He should go in and check but the thought of walking back to his office, unlocking the special key box to get the key card to open the cage, and returning to this very spot to unlock the enclosure and enter it, seemed all too tiring. Squinting, he almost pressed his nose against the twenty-by-twenty -foot pane to get a better look at the simians. The one ape--Abigail--was drooling--or was she foaming at the mouth? Its orangish pellet-like eyes seemed to be slanting--almost sagging--to one side. For some reason, her stump of an arm looked raw, festering.
His vision lowered to the cement floor. What was that red stuff by Simon? Vomit? Hammond cupped his hands around his eyes to block out reflections from the glass and tried making out what was going on. It was blood! He ran over to the wall near him and hit the emergency button. Instantly other technicians and lab experts appeared. His eyes sought out one of the caretakers authorized to have key cards to the locked cages. He pointed to the gate. "Open it. Now!"
When it electronically unlocked--with the automated voice announcing, "Security to entrance is breached"--Hammond glanced around, hoping maybe one of the others would willingly enter. No one budged, so he stepped inside, not realizing he was holding his breath. Abigail took a step forward, whimpering in pain, as if trying to rush into his arms for comfort. But the second she moved her body, Simon yanked her back, chomped into the stump.
"My God! He's eating her alive!" Hammond screamed. "Get Security! Get the vets!" He instinctively took a step backwards. "I need a gun!"
Abigail sank to her feet. In seconds, Simon was on top of her, gnawing away. The gate clanked open and a tech dressed in the standard white lab coat appeared with a powerful dart gun.
Hammond watched him sneak up behind Simon to the pathetic, ear-piercing screams of the gnawed Abigail. "Be careful," Hammond warned the technician. "Aim for Simon's chest." He could hear the quick, shallow breathing of the tech, and knew the man was as nervous as himself. "Don't kill him; he's vital to our existence here."
The tech tip-toed toward the mad primate, his hand outstretched with the loaded gun. He moved in, five feet away from the ape.
"Careful," Hammond whispered.
The tech took a few more steps. He stood only three feet away.
"Easy now." Hammond backed up toward the gate. Behind him, the couple dozen of personnel remained stark silent.
A few more paces and the tech was a foot away from Simon. He aimed, cocked the trigger.
The hush in the large cage grew as thick as gravy.
"Shoot, shoot, now!" Hammond tried yelling under his breath.
Abruptly Simon turned, faced the tech, his mouth slavering with blood, meat hanging from its teeth.
"Get out, run!" screamed Hammond, shaking the iron gates. "Let me out!"
Personnel looked at each, glancing from one face to the next, with no one moving. Their grim expressions turned twisted, and their eyes lowered to the floor.
"Get me out of here!" Hammond squealed.
Behind him, Simon charged the tech who barely got off a dart. Down he went with the big ape on top of him. The tech squealed, kicked, pummeled his fists against the furry monster but still Simon wouldn't budge. When the ape bit into the tech's ribs, everyone heard the bones crunch followed by more screams, then a gurgling sound.
Hammond banged harder on the iron door, his shrieks sounding much like a banshee on the lose. Just as the ape looked up from his prey and started quickly undulating his feet and arms toward Hammond, a technician stepped up and opened the gate, and then just as quickly jumped back away from it.
The ape--only feet away from Hammond--rushed forward, its mouth open, its reddish-orange eyes flashing. Hammond raced out the gate, chastising himself for having gained weight; if he had been slim and streamlined, he would have moved faster. His lab coat snagged on the gate latch as his foot smacked the wrought iron staves.
Simon swiped at Hammond's back, its unnaturally long nails ripping the white cotton lab coat to shreds, but no matter how hard Hammond tried unsnagging his jacket and slamming the gate shut--even with the help of several large male techs--the ape pushed from the other direction.
"It's getting out!" screeched one worker, as the others instantly stepped backward. Sweating, Hammond, in a ripped shirt and lab jacket, stood fumbling with the door, trying to get out, and just when he sensed Simon gaining power and about ready to burst through the opening, the ape collapsed to the cement floor, moaning. Hammond shot out the cage. Simon writhed until the drug slowed his movements to a complete halt. His eyes fluttered, then closed.
Workers flew into the cage, several placing Simon on a wheeled Gurney; others doing the same with the mauled Abigail. With his heel bloodied and sore, Hammond limped to his office, his tie undone, his lab coat a mangled mess of threads, and his Christian Dior starched white shirt, shredded.
Ms. Azar and one of Hammond's assistants met him in his office.
"Are you all right, Professor?" asked the assistant who still called him that from her days at the university where he had worked before joining President Williams' administration. Hammond knew, to his assistant, he was the best geneticist, not only at the University of Arkansas, but also throughout the midwest.
"The situation could be worse," began Azar, "Simon could be dead."
"That will be enough, Ms. Azar. Call the supervisors together for a meeting within the hour."

--END Thy Brothers' Reaper EXCERPT--

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