Lycan

by John O'Brien

  Quickly unzipping one of the bags in a confused tangle, I pull out three phosphorous grenades, hugging them like they were my children. Gonzalez and McCafferty are getting to their feet on the drenched logging road, making for Greg’s Jeep. At the rear hatch, I pull the pin on one of the grenades.

  Getting to my feet and taking my first few steps, I glance behind to see the Lycan jump on top of the Jeep. Knowing that the grenade in my hand is about cooked, I toss it into the Jeep and start running. My mind is stuck with the image of the monster leaping from the overturned vehicle and slamming into my back…game over.

  The incendiary grenade goes off, white trails of smoke streaming off into the woods. Another tremendous explosion follows as the rest of the phosphorous grenades we had are set off. I’m blown forward off my feet, skidding along the muddy road. A white flash of pain sears my shoulder.

  As I lie on the road, my head turned to the side, drops of rains splash against my face. I see a large grayish object hit a tree and bounce back to the road, also landing on its side. Our eyes meet, orange-gold staring at hazel. The wolf’s eyes hold anger, pain, and intelligence within them.

  I scramble upright, pushing forward before I’m fully upright, but the Lycan is quickly rolling over and also upright in a blink. I hear gunfire and see the rounds strike the fur, driving deep into the body. The wolf grunts and then growls, its side glowing in the dim lighting from the raging fire enveloping our vehicle. More rounds strike as I unpin another grenade while starting my run, the burn in my shoulder and side growing worse.

  I toss the grenade, barely hearing the clink of the canister as it skips across the ground. I don’t linger, racing for all I’m worth for the Jeep. The outgoing fire alters direction, chasing something in the woods when the grenade goes off, showering the road and woods with white trails and smoke. The rear hatch of Greg’s Jeep is open with one side of the rear seats now down. I dive into the back between Gonzalez and McCafferty to the sound of the side doors slamming closed as the others pile in.

  “Go!” Gonzalez shouts beside me.

  The tires spin and the Jeep lurches ahead. Glancing back, I see the receding pyre of my burning vehicle, the trees trunks glowing whitish-yellow in the dusky light. I slump back down, the blowtorch on my back demanding attention.

  Rolling my head, I see Gonzalez recognize the smell and smoke coming from my torn shirt.

  “Oh, shit! I need water, now!”

  Water pours over my already drenched shirt and skin. With a knife, Gonzalez opens my shirt more.

  “McCafferty, keep this water flowing,” Gonzalez orders.

  More water follows in a continuous stream.

  “This isn’t going to feel good, sir.”

  “It already doesn’t feel good,” I reply.

  With her fingers holding the wound open, she digs into it with her knife, working the burning phosphorous shrapnel out. I’m honestly not sure what hurts more, the burning or the digging. I’m gripping something with both hands, my teeth tightly clenched. The pain on my shoulder lessens, much to my relief. Gonzalez tosses the offending piece out the back.

  “I think I got it all,” she says, placing a wet cloth against the wound and wrapping it.

  “Good,” McCafferty says.

  “Sir, do you think you could let go of my arm now?” Denton says.

  “Oh shit, I’m terribly sorry about that.”

  “No problem. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken.”

  “Everyone okay?” Lynn radios.

  “Jack took a piece of shrapnel…phosphorous. But we’re all still alive,” Gonzalez replies.

  “Is it still in?”

  “Negative.”

  “Does he require immediate attention?”

  “I most certainly do not,” I reply.

  “I’ll have a doctor flown in. Keep an eye on it and keep the wound wet,” Lynn instructs. “If it starts burning again, Jack, you’re going to the hospital.”

  “Don’t even think of it,” I mouth silently to Gonzalez.

  “Roger that,” I tell Lynn out loud.

  “Greg, if he gives you any trouble, knock him out.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure, ma’am,” Greg responds.

  “Why’d you have to bring him in on it?” I say.

  “Because you’re too stubborn for your own good. We’ll talk more when you get to the hotel…where there will be a doctor waiting. Lynn out.”

  There are no further signs of wolves as Greg takes us down the logging roads, turning here and there. My shoulder aches, but nowhere near the pain before. Darkness closes in, the headlights illuminating the tall stands of trees bordering the dirt road. We still have an hour or two before we make it to town, but it looks like our first foray into the woods is over.

  “So, what in the hell happened back there?” Denton asks.

  “That fucker hit us,” McCafferty answers.

  “What?!”

  “Yeah, that damned thing slammed into us and sent us spinning.”

  “Dayum,” Denton replies.

  We finally exit the woods and get on the highway, much to everyone’s relief. We left behind a shit ton of burning gear, mags scattered along the road, empty shell casings, torn up trees, and deep pock marks from the 25mm rounds. That will have to be cleaned up once the new moon hits, but we’re all alive and that’s what counts. Some of the evidence we gathered was also lost; we’ll have to wait until we unpack to determine what remains.

  Pulling into the ranger station after dark, Greg finds that his door is wedged shut. Gonzalez, McCafferty, and I crawl out of our cramped quarters. My shoulder is deeply throbbing and it’s good to stretch out. Being crammed together like that made it feel worse. The exterior of the Jeep looks like it rolled down a rocky incline. I’m actually surprised that it kept going. Gonzalez drives us to the hotel and we adjourn to our rooms to clean up.

  I’m not in my room for long before there’s a knock at the door, a stranger standing silhouetted in the doorway by the hall lights.

  “Let’s have a look at your shoulder, shall we?” he says without preamble, entering without bothering to give his name.

  I peel my shirt and undershirt off, grimacing as the muscles have become tight. The doctor pokes and prods, making the occasional cluck or hmmm. Without saying a single thing, he cleans the wound with steel wool…that’s how it feels, anyhow. Then there’s the prick of a local and the pokes of the needle as he sews it up. From his bag, he produces one bottle of pain killers and one of antibiotics.

  “Take one every twelve hours,” he says, holding up the antibiotics. “You know the drill. If it gets red, pus runs from it, it smells bad, or it starts burning, don’t wait. Phosphorous is nothing to mess around with. Besides the burning, it’s poisonous.”

  I nod.

  “You don’t need me to tell you about these. They’re stronger than your average prescription, so don’t overdo it. The stitches will dissolve in time. That’s about it. Any questions?”

  “None here. Thank you,” I say, stretching my shoulder and feeling it tight, but mostly pain-free.

  “The local will keep it numb for a bit, so don’t think you’re healed and pull those out. If I have to come stitch it up again, I won’t be so gentle the next time.”

  “Got it.”

  What part of that did he consider gentle?

  After I clean up, the others pile into my room. McCafferty walks in carrying a case of beer. She hands me one as the others pull their own.

  “To living,” she says, raising her bottle.

  “To living,” we rejoin.

  On the way back, we coordinated with Lynn to discuss sanitizing the area once the new moon rises. We also arranged for new vehicles to replace the ones we broke. Even though the new moon is coming, our specialized equipment won’t be ready, so we’ll have to wait. Besides, we’ll need the full moon cycle for our next foray to set the trap.

  We lost most of the casts we took, but not all of them. Unfortunately, the giant one
s were in the Jeep I set on fire, along with the pictures. However, McCafferty shows us the ones she saved to her phone.

  “You can’t be too careful,” she says.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t take duplicates of the large ones. Those are gone forever, except in our memories. We were able to save a femur we found, along with a few tatters of clothing. The leg bone is shattered on top and bottom with deep gouges along its length, most likely from bites.

  “So, that’s them when they’re weak, huh?” Denton inquires once we get comfortable.

  “Yeah, I can’t wait to meet them near the full moon,” Henderson replies.

  “Did you see how far that fucker was leaping? And how quickly it moved?” Denton says.

  We talk the night away, slowly emptying the case of beer. We hash it over again and again, saying the same things only differently. We all agree on one thing: no more forays into the wilds without Spooky sitting on top of us, and definitely not without the specialized gear. That we came through it seems a matter of luck more than anything else. Gonzalez, McCafferty, and I should have been goners the moment the Jeep went over. Had there been the other smaller wolves around as well, I doubt it would have ended the way it did. I thank everyone for their covering fire just about every third sentence.

  “Well, that about does it for me,” McCafferty declares, sliding an empty bottle into a slot in the case.

  The effect of the adrenaline finally wearing off with the help of the beers has left us exhausted.

  “Me too,” Greg states. “Are we still on with Fish and Wildlife the day after tomorrow?”

  “As far as I know,” I answer. “The new vehicles arrive tomorrow along with replacement gear. Lynn said the specialized gear will be about two weeks out, so tomorrow is ours.”

  * * * * * *

  I crack my eyes open to the sound of someone knocking on the door. My head hurts from smacking it against the Jeep roll bar as much as from the beers last night. I roll back and close my eyes, hoping to hell the intruder just moves on. But luck isn’t with me this day as there comes another steady knock.

  “Ugh,” I mutter, shoving the covers back and rolling to a seated position.

  My shoulder is tight and busy stuffing messages in the complaint box. I throw down a painkiller and don some clothes. Bands of bright daylight poke from around the heavy curtains drawn across the window, speaking to the fact that the rainstorm that hit us has passed through. If it’s one of Red Team behind that door, I’m going to kill them. Today is a day off and I was hoping to spend it resting in my darkened room. Another rapping at the door.

  “Hang on,” I state. “You better be on fire or have a limb missing.”

  Bleary-eyed, I stumble to the door and open it. Lynn is standing there, framed by the hallway lighting. My day just became a whole lot better.

  “Had a night, did you?” she inquires.

  “Somewhat. It’s mostly Jeep induced,” I answer.

  “Well, get showered,” she says, walking in and throwing the curtains open.

  Sunshine floods the room, blinding me.

  “Ugh, must you?”

  “Yep. I just flew in and we’re spending the day together.”

  “I suppose that sounds a lot better than lying around in the dark and complaining. Give me a few minutes.”

  “How’s the shoulder?” Lynn asks.

  I flex it again. “Sore as hell.”

  “So, I guess kayaking is out?”

  “I’m thinking so, unless you want to tow me behind,” I reply.

  “Another day. Now go shower and clean up, flyboy.”

  Picking up some lunch, we drive down to a park alongside the Snake River and walk down to a sandy beach area. The sun is shining down from a startling blue sky, the air crisp and clean, having been washed pure by the preceding day’s rain. Brown hills rise on all sides, the rounded mounds cut by ravines carved from eons of runoff. The wide river slowly runs past, the blue waters host to several motorboats plowing the surface. On the far side, a sailboat slowly glides along.

  The pain pill has dulled the deep ache of my shoulder, Lynn’s presence shoving the rest to the background. Sitting by the river, we talk about our lives growing up and share stories, the stuff that always starts the process of getting to know each other.

  “Air Force, a flyboy at that, and an Okie? What have I gotten myself into?” Lynn says at one point.

  “I don’t know what you mean; that’s the perfect combo,” I reply. “So, I know we probably covered this before, but my memory isn’t what it used to be. I’m curious why you opted for the logistics end of things instead of a combat role. Now, I’m assuming you had the choice, as you do have the skillset.”

  “Honestly, I grew tired of it. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I found that my talents could be put to use elsewhere. See, Jack, we may live in the same arena, but we operate in different corners. Combat in larger units is a far different world than the one you run in,” Lynn answers.

  “I can respect that. I’m not sure I’d function well in larger units—or the wider arena of battle that comes with them,” I reply.

  “It’s different for sure. What about you? Why do you like smaller teams?”

  I hear her question, but not all of my concentration is focused on the conversation. I’m also trying not to openly stare at her legs that extend beneath her shorts or how her shirt hugs her upper body. Thank goodness for sunglasses. I’m certainly not looking at the way her blonde hair blows gently in the breeze or the blue of her eyes as they turn in my direction. I’m amazed at just how beautiful she is, and the intelligence she holds. I’m also wondering what she is doing with me. She has it all and, well, I don’t.

  “Jack, are you listening?” Lynn asks, interrupting my not so subtle musings.

  “Yes…okay, perhaps not really,” I answer.

  “Where were you? You kind of drifted off.”

  I sigh, gathering my thoughts and feeling the blush of embarrassment rise up. “Truthfully? I was admiring you.”

  A flush comes to her cheeks and she smiles. It’s a smile that sends butterflies racing and a warmth that begins to melt the cold regions of my heart. I can’t for the life of me figure out why this gorgeous, intelligent woman is sitting here with me.

  I shake my head slightly. “So, what was the question again?”

  Still smiling, Lynn shakes her head in a similar manner. “Um…Small teams?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, if I were to be honest with myself, it probably comes down to a control issue. I feel there’s more of it to be had, and the pace is more defined, less chaotic. I guess it’s kind of like chess, where you can see all of the moving parts and can choose your next move. There’s a certain flow to it that’s kind of like an extra sense. I hate to admit it, but there’s also a powerful feeling that comes along with it.

  “I remember once in the first survival school I attended. We were practicing escape and evasion…go from point A to B without being spotted. At one point, I was huddled behind some bushes in the woods and a doe came to drink from a nearby stream. She lowered her face, took a drink, and then looked around. It came to mind that I wanted to sneak up on her—see how close I could get before she spooked. The point A to B thing left my mind; it was just me and the doe. Moving slowly and carefully, only when she dipped her head, I drew closer. The wind was still, but I knew where my scent would carry. Then, I was right next to her. I reached out my hand and touched her side. She bolted, and I was hooked. From there, I knew I wanted special ops, and once I was in it, I took advantage of every opportunity to learn from those we dropped off. I became friends with some and talked them into taking me along on a few cakewalks. It grew from there. I’m sure you know the rest of the story, having read my file.

  “See, for me, it feels safer than the chaotic nature of a large battlefield. Plus, I don’t have to walk down open streets waiting for an ambush. I shouldn’t say it’s easier, but I’ll say it anyway.”

  Lynn nods. “Why d
o you continue to do it after all of these years? Why did you sign the contract instead of retiring?”

  “I really don’t know how to do much of anything else. I could say I’m an adrenaline junkie, or maybe I desire a certain bank balance, but it really comes down to nothing else sounding very appealing. I could greet people or ask if they want a drink with their meal, but that would probably end up with me swinging in my garage. And, if retired, then I’d have waaay too much quiet time with my thoughts. Truthfully, I’m probably attempting to stave that off.”

  “Those can be terrible moments, even now. We all have dark closets that we keep tightly sealed,” Lynn says softly and then smiles. “But, let’s not spend our day talking about depressing things.”

  We open our lunches and casually down them beside the river with a peace inside that I seldom feel. The rest of the day is spent walking along the beach and holding hands, the conversation drifting down multiple avenues. Before I know it, the sun is low in the western sky, signaling the conclusion of another day. As we drive back to town, I find myself staring at the mountains in the east, their color faded by distance. I remind myself that somewhere in those elevations, werewolves hunt the forested slopes. That seems a silly thought, but there it is.

  After dinner, Lynn drives me back to the hotel. I’m reluctant to let the day go. I found a little slice of heaven, and I find myself wishing for the hands of time to stop for a while longer. I’m not good with feelings and surprised myself a few times during the day, speaking of things I’d have normally kept locked down. But, with Lynn, it just felt natural. I know that once I walk back to my room, it will be back to business.

  “I had an amazingly wonderful time,” I say.

  Lynn leans over and gives me a kiss. “Me too. It won’t be our last.”

  “I hope not.” Before closing the door, I lean back in. “I just have to say this. You’re absolutely gorgeous.”