Vegas Run

by Rachel A Brune

  After the diner, we stopped at a gas station. Karen filled up the car and I filled up on bags of beef jerky and pork rinds. Usually when I returned to my non-furry form, I go through a period of hunger and the shakes. It wears off in a couple of hours. But now, I couldn't seem to get clear of it. Maybe it was the six solid months I had spent furry. Maybe it was the new gift of the Überwechsel. Maybe it was just that human food is so delicious.

  Holy crap. I am part dog.

  After we'd taken care of business, Karen took me on a rolling tour of Las Vegas. This wasn't one of those fun ones where we cruised the strip and ate cannoli at Caesar's Palace. Instead, we headed out into the bright sunlight, out past the strip into where it became obvious Las Vegas is a city built on the back of a desert.

  Now they decided to put the top down, and the sun and heat punched me in the face as the air beat around us. At least out here the scents became cleaner. The sand and scrub and stone tasted dusty in my mouth, but still a marked improvement from the teeming mass of humans and their bodily functions and heightened emotions that overcrowded the tourist areas.

  I pulled on Randall's ball cap and tugged it down over my eyes. Should have bought some cheap sunglasses.

  Karen turned down a wide, four-lane residential road. On one side of the road, a curly-haired woman jogged, headphones in, oblivious to the world. Somewhere, a dog barked, brave behind a wood-slat fence.

  Calix drummed her fingers against the car door. "So what, we just roll around here until…?"

  "Just wait." Karen obviously hadn't really told her anything about me. Fine by me.

  She circled the neighborhood a few times. It consisted of a couple of gated communities, pine and palm trees peeking over tall stone walls. Who plants pine trees in a desert? The pollen crawled up my nose. I sneezed. We weren't going to find anything around here except suburbia and soccer moms.

  I caught Karen's eye in the rearview mirror and shook my head. We were wasting our time.

  We hit a few more of these neighborhoods. Each time, Karen would catch my eye, questioning me silently. Each time, I would shake my head. Nothing. I mean, Las Vegas had its fair share of whatever goes on behind closed doors in suburban sprawl. And there were some freaky things sprawling here. But none of it smelled like anything I had caught a glimpse of in the execution chamber at the top of the hotel.

  We stopped around five o'clock. The sun had begun to dip under the mountains in the distance, throwing streaks of darkness over the valley. I thought, briefly, of the times I'd witnessed the northern lights under the spell of the Change. Maybe I'd get a chance to catch a sunset at some point when I could see all the colors.

  At the thought, the other change stirred, rearing its head, stretching. We were still close enough to the full moon for it to call to the other part of me. I hoped with the coming of the night, the heat would give us a break. Pretty sure I'd gotten sunburned.

  By this time, I had no idea where we were, except far away from where we started, and I wanted to eat again. The breeze had picked up, and it brought with it a cool moisture heightening the smells it carried.

  I hadn't realized the change lingered so close to the surface. It had me in its grips, and I had turned halfway from human before I could even think to stop myself. Something in the breeze burned like sulfur, and I recognized the licorice and gun oil signature. Faint. Unmistakable.

  My clothes briefly tangled me up as the change crashed over me, sweeping me in a crunching pain that rearranged my spirit and anatomy in half the time it normally took. Karen barely had time to slam on the brakes before I launched myself out of the car. A few horns honked.

  Darting through traffic, I came close to getting clipped once or twice. No matter. I would heal, and in less than the time it took me to regain my footing.

  Finally, I darted clear of the thruway, cutting through a fence and across well-manicured drought-proof yards. Out here, the expanses were vaster. The gates enclosed not communities, but massive stucco mansions.

  The scent of oil and licorice grew stronger. Now, it warred with other strains in the wind. Blood. Concrete. Birthday cake. Somewhere near, a couple was having sex. I could hear one of them crying.

  All these scents and more passed over me, through me. I tasted them on my tongue, felt the long fingers of their ghosts pass through my fur. The stone and mulch my paws landed in as I loped along were hot to the touch, even as the evening cooled quickly.

  Somewhere behind me, I heard the distinctive rumble of the Mustang. Karen tracked me. I spared a thought for her, then forgot about them. Maybe they would show up on time. She always got judgmental when I wreaked havoc, even when it was her idea.

  Then, I found it. The huge mansion loomed over the lawn; the lush, full grass smelled sweet and wet. Clearly, whoever lived here dwelled in denial that they were located smack dab in a desert. I leapt soundlessly over the fence bordering the property and belly-crawled under a short row of shrubs. They had been cut low to deny any intruders a hiding place. But I liked too-small places and the shadows that came with them.

  The movement over the fence had triggered a motion sensor light. I froze until the timer went off and plunged the area back into darkness. Couldn't tell if anyone had noticed. Probably wrote it off as a squirrel or other wildlife. Sometimes, our own security measures inculcate self-defeating patterns of habit. Yes, I know words of more than one syllable.

  Five, ten, twenty minutes dragged out. From my vantage point under the bush, I spent some time taking in as much information as I could. Off to the back of the house, the owner of the mansion had installed a giant pool–and not just a simple inground with a fence. This monstrosity turned out to be a multi-pool, irregularly-shaped affair, perfectly landscaped, with fountains and fire features, and whatever other kind of shit rich people need when they go swimming.

  Normally, it would take me a matter of seconds to tear across the lawn, slip my way inside, and start tearing my way through some evil men. And women. I'm an equal opportunity body counter. But there were three things keeping me under the bush, plotting.

  First, the children's toys, scattered around the backyard by the pool. They were expensive–like the big car with a doll logo on the side, probably some little kid's favorite toy one Christmas. Then, there were the discarded flip flops and towels scattered around the pool in child sizes and cartoon images.

  Finally, the scent that came to me with the breeze. Mingling with the salt licorice and the gun oil I had followed there, I now tasted popcorn and vanilla ice cream, chlorine and the fresh, new scent humans retain until they lose it under the onslaught of chemical serums American commercials insist people need so they won't smell bad or dare to look their age.

  Fuck.

  A low whine escaped me. I wasn't ready to go all avenging angel in a house with kids. Flashes of fur and blood popped across my vision.

  The rumble of the approaching vehicle interrupted my hesitation. Karen and Calix stopped a good distance away. I wanted to jump up and away, warn them of what they were walking into. I couldn't move. If I stirred, I risked hitting the lights again, and possibly warning the men inside the house of their approach. If I did nothing … well, Karen's the best shot I've ever met, but I wasn't willing to bet any kid's life they weren't going to get caught in the crossfire.

  I was going to regret this.

  Abandoning my hiding place, I darted to the middle of the lawn, sat my furry ass down, and started to howl at the moon.

  Lights flooded on. Commotion crowded the windows. Men stirred and spilled onto the lawn. Howl after howl erupted. Scents flooded around me, bowling me over. I lost track of Karen and Calix. Surely, they wouldn't approach. I couldn't tell.

  The first bullets whined toward me. Seriously? This is the approach they were taking? Not even call the dogcatcher? Okay, straight to the shooting portion of our program. Keeping up a steady stream of howling, barking, and growling, I ran in a circle, chasing my tail.

  A few rounds came close to n
icking me, but these men were lousy shots. They were nervous, too. A couple of them tried to get the others to stop shooting, and made as if to try to catch me, but they didn't come close.

  I caught no sign of any of the kids. But the smell of salt licorice came to the fore.

  A tall man, white guy with sharp features and salt-and-pepper hair cut close to his head, stood framed against the door. He turned back inside and shouted to someone. "Keep the kids inside. I don't want them out here."

  That accomplished the first part of my plan I was totally making up as I went along.

  The bullet entered my rear, tore a long furrow, and came out my stomach. Don't worry. All part of the next stage of my plan. My howl cut off into a yelp and I went from running in circles to writhing in pain on the ground.

  This made them all a little braver, and they crept closer. My teeth and claws still worked though, and they didn't get too close. Instead, one of them fired another round into me, this time into my chest.

  The wound burned like hellfire. I tried to scream, but it came out a strangled whine. It wasn't going to kill me, but the thought was cold comfort as the shock hit my body. I snarled and shook and snapped at anything I could.

  "Hold your fire." The tall man with the salt and pepper hair approached. He chewed a piece of licorice. The juice and saliva mingled as he hawked and spit. "Gimme your gun."

  One of the men who stood in a circle over me handed him a large pistol. I tried to scramble out of the way, but none of my limbs were working.

  "Where the fuck did this guy come from?" The question was rhetorical and met by a bunch of shrugs. The man raised the pistol and placed it right in the center of my head, ignoring my feeble attempts to snap at him.

  Well. I guessed I was going to learn if I could come back from a direct shot to the brainpan.

  A rifle cracked. The man nearest the tall man fell without a word.

  Another shot rang out. Now the men scattered, trying to discover where the fire came from. I took advantage of the man's microsecond of hesitation to roll back to my feet. The furrow in my backside–assholes–had started to heal, and while the pain in my chest wasn't fading, I forced myself around it.

  I launched myself at the tall man, throwing my weight against him, snapping at any exposed flesh I could find.

  "Daddy!"

  The one word rang across the lawn. The man's attention shifted from trying to pry me from his body, to stumbling back across the lawn.

  "Mackenzie! Get back in the house!" He shouted and waved at the little girl clutching her doll, staring wide eyed at the pandemonium turning her playground into a bloodbath.

  I let him go, jumping away. Whipping my head from side to side, I found myself someplace I'd never been–frozen in indecision in the middle of a firefight.

  The tall man dragged himself to his knees, then to his feet, moving all the while toward the house where his daughter waited.

  An older woman swooped from behind, picking up the little girl and disappearing into the house as the child screamed for her father. At least no matter what happened, she would be one less witness.

  Another round hit my side. I snarled and leapt. The man who shot the bullet fell to the ground, throat hanging open. I spent an overindulgent few seconds savaging the wound, then raced to the next closest man.

  Meanwhile, the targets fell steadily, victim of the two women who shot from cover and concealment. They would fire, move, pop up someplace else, fire again. Every round was judiciously aimed, and every time one of their rifles cracked, another man would fall.

  Before I knew it, I was the only one left alive, bleeding into the finely manicured grass. I lolled back, embracing the fire stitching itself across my chest. Just my body healing itself. In another ten minutes, I'd be good as new.

  Soft footfalls announced the arrival of my partner and her girlfriend. Karen squatted next to me. She reached out with one gloved hand, gently ruffling the fur. I winced when she found the entrance wound. With deft movements born of experience, she massaged the area. I howled again from the pain, but within seconds she had coaxed the round out. The flesh started to close and heal around it.

  "The leader's inside," Karen said. I nodded, but she wasn't talking to me.

  "Thank you." Calix slung her weapon. I wondered what she was about to do, but then the woman–and I kid you not–drew from a sheath on her back an honest-to-God Japanese samurai sword. Not a cheap mall version of a katana, either. The binding smelled dusty, old, maybe older than me. I'd found the source of the scent of old blood and metal I kept catching from her.

  She nodded at me. "Thank you." Then, sword at the ready, she disappeared into the house.

  I scrambled to my feet, trying to shuck the change from off my body. My words came out as a garbled whine. Surely, they had seen the little girl. She knew who she would find in the house. I had to stop Calix, get her back out.

  Finally, I stood, reclaiming my human form. "Karen." My mouth filled up with blood. I spat. "We can't let–"

  "I'm sorry, Rick."

  Startled, I caught her eye. The dead look inside them stopped me. This wasn't Karen, the woman I'd fought beside only a year ago. What the hell had happened?

  And then I forgot the question, forgot about the tall man and his daughter, forgot about Calix and her freaky sword, and pretty much forgot my own name. Karen stepped back, syringe in her hand, plunger depressed. A small bit of blood clung to the end. My blood.

  And then the silver haze hit me. The Change cried out, but it warned me too late. Darkness came rolling in and took me along with it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Snow fell in big, fat flakes, wet and sticky. I was back up in the North Country. Closing my eyes, I reveled in the silence. Snow and pines and loneliness.

  Wait. No. This wasn't the arid plains and scrub of my most recent trip. These trees were older, and the soil under me held foreign memories from before I was born.

  "Guten Morgen, Herr Wurst." Alexsy thought he was funny. "I trust your sleep was to the finest of accommodate?"

  "Jesus Christ, Alexsy. Pick a language and learn it."

  Alexsy shouldn't be here. Alexsy had never been here, dug in shoulder deep in a foxhole somewhere cold. When had I been here? I couldn't recall specifically. I knew that it was wrong for Alexsy to be with me.

  But I missed him. He laughed, head back, shoulders shaking.

  I looked around nervously. Now I recognized it. The listening and observation post. I'd spent three days there, hiding and sleeping and shitting in this foxhole with a member of the Republic of Korea Army. The war had just begun, but I'd been there since earlier that year.

  They'd pulled me from post-war activities behind the Iron Curtain. Said I'd become too close to the mission. I think they'd simply panicked after I got rolled up by Dmitri's troops and moved me as far away as possible.

  I'd hooked back up with Gunny's unit as a sort of extra-service attaché. No one really knew who I was or what I did, except Gunny, but it was the age of agencies with lots of acronyms and money and not too many questions asked of either. Nobody could figure out my mission, least of all me, so most of the time I'd grab one of the ROK soldiers and head out to take a look.

  This time, I'd had a tough ROK Army kid we all called Shin. I don't think he even had a rank or ever told us his full name. Just Shin. I liked hanging out with him. Tough, smart, adaptable, he could see things in the trail even I would miss. I don't know if he felt the same–he didn't talk much–but he would share his pickled vegetables with me, and I'd give him part of my rations, and so I think it worked out.

  "Alexsy, you're not supposed to be here." He'd been staring at me all through my inner walk down memory lane. "This is Korea. Where's Shin?"

  "You tell me, Sausage Breath," he answered. "This your dream. I'm just riding along with."

  Okay, then. I wasn't going to complain.

  "You back in with those MONIKER fucks?" Alexsy could speak passable English if he wanted to. He had the
cuss words down, anyway.

  "What are you talking about?" I had a hard time wrapping my brain around everything. The scenery smelled so real, I could taste the snow and feel my toes numbing in my boot. "I'm not in with them. I'm just helping out a friend."

  "A friend?" He leaned back in the foxhole, resting his rifle up against the wall of the hole. In addition to our rifles, we both wore a pistol at our sides, and carried a good number of grenades. Never knew what you would find out in the wilderness, and both Shin and I believed in being prepared.

  "Yeah, a friend. Karen's a friend." As I said it, I realized something dark and bitter had taken root, flavoring the words with a soft irony. I bit it back. "Karen saved my ass and my life more than once. I trust her."

  "She's not her grandmother, you know." Alexei pulled out a smoke from his ubiquitous pack. He offered me one, but I declined.

  "You think I don't know that?"

  He shrugged. "We are men of blunt words and violent actions."

  When alive, Alexsy had rarely indulged in his serious side. I knew he had one, but he never revealed it on a mission, preferring to joke his way past danger of death and torture and anything else the Soviets might have in store. Everything about this conversation was weird.

  We sat in silence for a while after that. Alexsy smoked. I leaned forward, enjoying the feel of the cold snow against my face, the wind as it whipped around the trees.

  Off in the distance, a low rumble started. It gradually grew louder, working its way toward us. The wind blew at just the right angle to our position, and I caught wafts of fermented cabbage and explosives. Lots of explosives.

  "Keep an eye on the trucks." I grabbed my rifle, hunkering down. Alexsy extinguished his smoke and followed suit. "I'll keep an eye out in case they have scouts covering their path."

  I radioed in our position, as well as the number of trucks and direction of travel. After the kid on the other end of the line acknowledged and signed off, I went back to scanning the woods. My nose told me this convoy had flankers out to protect its travel, and I didn't want to be caught unawares.