by John O'Brien
The next day, we’re up in the hills prowling along logging roads. There isn’t a destination in mind, just discovering places we haven’t explored and enjoying the sun. The dogs roam ahead, sniffing the myriad scents along the side of the hard-packed dirt and stone roads. A gentle breeze carries the aromas of fir and cedar as we stroll among the trunks growing tall to either side, the occasional beam of sunlight breaking through the overhead cover.
Although it seems normal, there’s something hidden underneath. Ever since I told them what I did, it’s been there. Not a barrier or something bad lurking, but a subtle change. It hovers beyond the range of sight and words. I catch glimpses of them from the corner of my eye, pondering perhaps what else may lie hidden.
I like to be open with my kids, but there are just some things that need to remain in the dark recesses of my being. If you mention anything regarding being in the military, or along those lines, there comes the inevitable, “Have you killed anyone?” Like that’s some pinnacle achievement or giving them what they need to place you in some container. It’s either awe or a downturned face. And then there’s the other one that follows, “What’s it like?” What you don’t hear is, “How are you doing?”
Now, there are other reasons I don’t talk about it—the secrecy and such. Living in perpetual tension, the alertness needed to live through these situations, it takes its toll and sharing it with others just brings that shit to the forefront. There’s no way I want to put the kids in a situation where they see that side. They’ll imagine things, sure, but their imaginations are better than the real thing. On the other hand, like I mentioned, I don’t like to hide things from them.
And even if I told them my stories, there’s no way I could share that the monsters they’ve read about and seen in movies are real. I mean, life is tough enough without constantly looking over your shoulder for the boogeyman. I don’t even know how deep that rabbit hole goes. All I’ve witnessed are the Strigoi. Are werewolves also real? The Mothman? Aliens? Where does that shit end? I’ve fought the Strigoi firsthand, and there are times I’m still not sure they’re real. As I gaze through the dim lighting under the lofty boughs, I wonder just how prevalent they are.
Before I’m ready for it, a message arrives and it’s time to go. The bruises have mostly vanished, the deeper ones yellowed and on the verge of disappearing. I hate leaving the kids with their saddened eyes. That’s another thing that has seeped in: the sadness. Sure, it was always like that, but now it goes beyond just us not being together. Both Nic and Bri reach up with tight hugs, whispering “Be safe” and “Come back.” Robert also hugs me tight, no words spoken and none needed—the message is there, loud and clear.
Rolling into the resort, I find Gonzalez is already there. I drop my bags off in my room and join her downstairs, sliding into one of the comfy chairs in a sitting room. She looks up from a book she’s reading, marks her place, and sets it down beside her.
“Whatcha reading?” I ask, nodding toward the now closed book.
“Oh, nothing much. It’s some apocalyptic story,” she answers. “A solar storm hits the earth at the wrong time and sends some kind of wave around the world that does something to the souls of the living.”
“Sounds interesting. Maybe I could read it after you finish. And before you start, yes, I can read.”
“So, sir, what was that about with you and Lynn?” Gonzalez asks out of the blue.
“What was what about?”
“You know. When she called you back into her office in the 130? Alone?”
“Oh, that. She just, uh, wanted to cover a few more details about the operation,” I reply.
“Uh huh. I bet she did. So, did you tell her?”
“We talked about this. It’s bad policy to date someone you work with.”
“Did you kiss her?”
“What?! No!” I state, flabbergasted and becoming more than a little anxious about the whole thing.
“You kissed her,” Gonzalez says, matter-of-factly.
To be honest, I’m not sure about the whole thing myself. I hear my mind trying to explain how relationships at work go, but that sane aspect of me was just whistling Dixie at the time. We’ve spoken since, but then I went home and things were kind of left hanging. Trying to keep something like that hidden when everyone comes back together is going be a little awkward, aside from the whole dating thing to begin with. I mean, when do we actually date? Do I take time away from the kids after missions? Are we going to secret ourselves out of here at times—some kind of rendezvous in the woods?
Lynn had stated that everyone knew, but that’s a far cry from everyone knowing. This is worse than tracking down and infiltrating some guerilla base. At least there, I know what I’m doing.
Walking in the room from God knows where, Lynn strides to stand in front of the two of us. “Okay, Gonzalez, flyboy, everyone else will be arriving shortly. Briefing at 1900.”
Gonzalez and I nod. Lynn then turns to leave.
“Nicknames now, huh,” Gonzalez quietly says. “I think I just made myself fifty bucks.”
“Fifty bucks? What do you mean?” I inquire.
“Well, sir, you see, everyone put in a twenty about that meeting in the 130. McCafferty and I both said you two had become an item. The others said you chickened out. So, that’s a hundred bucks split two ways.”
“You mean a hundred split three ways,” Lynn calls from the door, alluding to warranting a cut.
“Sorry. It doesn’t work that way,” Gonzalez replies over the back of the chair.
“Jack, a moment please?” Lynn asks.
Here it comes, one way or the other. I’d rather negotiate my way through enemy defenses than this mess I seem to have created. This is a mine field of its own. Honestly, I feel lost, but there’s a happiness coupled to it. I just don’t see how I can do this and still do the job I was contracted to do. I follow with heavy steps.
In one of the back rooms, we settle into seats. It’s a little awkward, like we’re about to work out a business contract.
“Okay, I figured we should talk, especially seeing how there’s already a betting pool on the subject,” Lynn states with a smile.
For some reason, that smile sends all of the nervousness and anxiety away. I can hear sane Jack whistling away again—just when I need him. I’m really starting to doubt his sanity.
“I hear ya. You see, for me, I wonder how this is going to work. When we’re here, we’re working and busy with whatever mission is coming up. I worry about the distraction it might bring. Don’t get me wrong, I like you and did from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but it seems the work and us are diametrically opposed,” I comment.
“You’re absolutely correct. The line of business we’re in requires the utmost focus. Jack, this is work, and any relationship we might form has to be outside of that. I understand your hesitance and I feel the same. I’ve been in the military for far too long and have seen relationships in units by the hundreds, if not more. They were all like a primed grenade grasped in a palsied hand. But this one could be different. Of course, all of those I’ve seen probably said the exact same thing,” Lynn states.
I chuckle as memories surface of the awkwardness of breakups within units where they have to keep coming to work for years following.
“So, I come back to, how is this going to work? The only time away from here is between missions, and I’m usually jetting off to the kids. When would we actually spend time together?”
“We take a few days between missions for ourselves, perhaps after a mission, and then you go see your kids. If this works out, then you get to determine when I meet them,” Lynn says. “But here we work, although I may sneak into your room later—just to test your alert levels.”
My breath catches. “I believe I’d be good with that. What about the others?”
“They better not be sneaking into your room.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, they can just deal with it,
as far as I’m concerned. We’re all big boys and girls. Well, most of us anyway,” Lynn says with a sidelong glance.
“And just what is that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I’m immature?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
“Oh! I see how this is going to go. However, you’re probably right.”
“Jack, I’m always right.”
“I’ll keep that, uh, in mind,” I say, rising and heading for the door.
“Flyboy…aren’t you forgetting something?”
I turn to see Lynn standing with a coy expression.
“I thought this was work?” I question.
“Do you have a mission in hand?”
“Why, Ms. Connell, I most certainly do not.”
* * * * * *
The rest of Red Team get in one by one, stowing their gear and meeting downstairs. The magic briefing hour arrives and we settle around the conference table. Folders are stacked neatly by Lynn, her eyes surveying everyone, those blues making my heart flutter. I wonder what is hidden inside of those packets and find myself hoping that it’s just another mission against, well, a human target. I’d be fine if the Strigoi we encountered were the only creatures we ever had to face. I can’t imagine having to tackle some of the monstrosities that are found on the front of the tabloids.
We settle in, the room quieting to only the occasional sound of leather squeaking from movement. Lynn focuses on each person, holding their gaze for a brief moment.
“First of all, Jack and I are dating. Does anyone have a problem with that?” Lynn says, her gaze challenging.
“Oh God!” I mutter, feeling the red in my cheeks flare to furnace levels. I lower myself in my seat, wanting to just slip under the table and low crawl out of the room.
“Dammit!” Greg exclaims, reaching into his pocket and slamming a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
More bills are pulled forth and counted out before being placed on the table. Gonzalez rises from her seat and walks around the table, snagging bills. “Thank you…thank you.”
“Suckas,” McCafferty says, also rising to walk around the table in the opposite direction, plucking the remaining bills.
“No problem here,” Gonzalez comments after collecting her share of the money, folding the bills and placing them in her pants pocket.
“No, I’m good,” McCafferty replies, also shoving bills in her pocket.
There are grumbles from Greg, Henderson, and Denton, but they shake their heads.
“Good. Now, let’s get down to business,” Lynn says, rising, suddenly all business.
She rechecks that the doors are closed and locked, slightly dims the lights, and turns on the projector. Once the folders are distributed, all of us snap off the tape sealing them.
“So, these images were brought to our attention, and Cyrus felt it was worth investigating,” Lynn starts.
An image comes up on the screen, the enlarged version of what lies on top of the files before us.
“This was taken from a hunter’s trail camera deep within the Clearwater/Nez Perce National Forest. That’s in the eastern part of Idaho, very rugged and mountainous. We’ll get into those details later. It was posted on Facebook,” Lynn continues.
On screen is a nighttime shot from a night vision camera. A large wolf stands frozen, captured in time. The front of its body is quartered toward the camera, but its head is looking directly at it, silver and golden eyes staring head on.
Seeing the wolf, a shiver runs up my spine. This isn’t going to be a human target.
“Am I missing something?” Greg chimes in. “It’s a wolf. Granted, it’s a large one, but still a wolf.”
“What you’re missing is what the wolf is missing,” Lynn replies.
The image zooms in till the hindquarters fill the screen. The red dot of a laser pointer circles its butt.
“This isn’t the greatest picture, but you can see here that it’s missing its tail.”
We stare at the image. From all appearances in the grainy shot, it does look like the wolf is missing its tail, but I can think of a hundred reasons for that.
“Perhaps it was bitten off in a fight. Or, someone could have raised it, had its tail cropped, and then set if free. It’s hard to tell from the angle of the shot, but it could also just have it tucked underneath. From its stance, it looks like it could have been spooked by the camera going off,” I comment. “As far as that goes, it could have been snipped off by a trap.”
Okay, maybe only four reasons.
“Maybe it was just born that way…some kind of malformation,” Gonzalez adds.
“All good points,” Lynn concedes.
“But this image shows it better,” she continues, another image appearing. “This one was taken at about the same time by a wildlife photographer. We snapped up the images as soon as we became aware of them, paying for the original files and erasing any evidence of them online.”
The image, taken during the day, shows a pack of wolves running through a thick stand of timber, each frozen in varying moments of a loping gait. The picture is crisp and highly detailed. Even without any enhancements, I can see the four wolves onscreen don’t appear to have any tails. Even though my male Rottie has a cropped tail and I’m used to seeing it, it looks really strange on a pack of wolves.
“So, someone is going around cropping tails on wolves?” McCafferty says. “Weird, but all the same, they’re wolves.”
The picture again zooms in. “That was my first reaction as well. That perhaps we’re dealing with some weirdo. But, look again. Cropping a tail leaves a nub. You’ve all seen them. As you can see, there isn’t any such thing.”
“I bet balance and turning quickly is a bitch,” Denton states.
“It doesn’t look like they’re having problems with balance in that photo,” Henderson responds.
I have to admit they do look graceful, although odd.
“So, are we looking at a new species, then? Even if so, I’m still at a loss as to why we’re looking at wolves,” I say.
My mind is screaming “No!” in resistance to the possible implications of Lynn’s presentation. She’s obviously leading us somewhere, and I’m not sure I like the destination.
“Let’s couple these images with the fact that there have been numerous disappearances over the years, dating way back to the first explorers to reach that particular area. As a matter of fact, the remains of two hunters were found not long after they were reported as missing. Aside from their weapons, the evidence found could fit into a freezer baggie,” Lynn says.
Silence fills the room, so quiet that even the air circulating seems unnaturally loud. I’m pretty sure that everyone is thinking the same thing, but they’re afraid to bust the bubble of silence lest speaking those thoughts make them reality.
“So, what are we talking about here? Werewolves?” Denton finally says.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Lynn answers.
“You could have just told us that,” I state.
“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Lynn replies, smiling innocently.
“What about flyovers and doing a grid search? I know there’s rough terrain and thick forests, but surely something would turn up.”
“Already done, and nothing showed up. No heat sources aside from other wildlife. We couldn’t even locate this pack. So, it looks like we’re going in on the ground. Our first stop will be where the hunters were found. We have a meeting with the local ranger district office at 1100 the day after tomorrow. They have the evidence in storage, and they’ll drive you to the location.”
“Is there a map showing where all of these deaths took place, or at least their last known location?” I inquire.
“It’s all there in your files, but don’t expect much. Most of the time, it’s only known they were heading into a general area and then were never found. Very few bodies were recovered,” Lynn answers.
“That sounds rather ominous,” Greg says. “I�
�m just curious as to why this zone of disappearance wasn’t investigated years ago?”
“I think it’s a lot like the disappearances in Humboldt County, California. People just went missing and were never seen or heard from again. They were investigated but nothing was ever found, for the most part,” Lynn answers.
“So again, you’re saying that what we’re looking at on the screen is a pack of werewolves?” Denton inquires.
“That’s what I’m suggesting. From the information we have, those on the screen are pack followers—average to larger-sized wolves…werewolves…that follow a much larger leader. So, let’s dive into what we have a little deeper, keeping in mind that we lost a lot of data with the breach.
“I don’t want get into the intricate details, but some of it is worth mentioning. Like the Strigoi, lycanthropy is transmitted via a virus introduced chiefly through saliva. The virus itself is lupine parvovirus, which crossbreeds between wolf and primate.
“Once injected, LPV infects every living cell in the body. How it works is not really important for our purposes—suffice it to say, it’s able to mutate freely and has no known cure.”
I lean back in my chair, goose bumps rising along my arms. This is real, and I almost wish I could go back in time to lay down the pen without signing. My life would be so much easier not knowing some things.
Lynn continues. “Transformation is slower than with the Strigoi, but no less brutal in nature. Supposedly, not many survive it. However, the difference is that Lycans are able to revert to their human selves, but with the knowledge of what they are. The odd thing here is that LPV tends to go into a hibernating state that fluctuates with the full moon. So it would follow that any Lycan will be strongest during the full moon and weakest as it draws near the new moon when they transform back into their human form.
“There’s a whole lot more here, but we’re not scientists attempting to figure out a cure. We’ll cover a little more of the viral component later, but let’s move on. Physically, Lycans have some similar traits to bears—no tail, for instance. It seems they make up for the balance issues with a wider pelvis and front shoulder, but that’s about it for any other details.