by Lee Taylor
“Sir?” The sergeant asked in disbelief. And although I couldn’t feel any muscles moving in my face, I was pretty confident that I was smiling from ear to ear. Agent Christian turned again and looked down at me, the weight of his gaze gave me a sinking feeling...
“Sorry Mr. Edwards, you’re just not worth the risk.”
Thank God... wait... what? I thought to myself dryly. Corporal Smith began undoing the straps on my waist, unlatching them from my abdomen. He struggled to heave my limp form over onto my front, but managed to shortly afterward to unclasp my hands, for a few seconds I just lay their lolling as the feelings of a sharp thrumming pain began to creep its way back into my conscious thoughts, and I felt physically more tired with the exertion... There were still rounds being fired off every few seconds in short intervals where Sharp and Christian were keeping the wolves at bay. It didn’t help; it wasn’t as if the wolves were sitting in the same place getting shot. They were running around, the pattering of their feet had me trying furiously to move my head and look for them, but everything was still too hazy. I could just about make out the sprigs of grass under my nose, the very real sensation of a keening pain increasing in my limbs as the toxins dispersed. My stomach grumbled and twisted into knots as I emptied it of its contents, taking more of the toxins with it. All I wanted was the sudden rush of sensations to go away.
“You’re nothing but an abomination.” To say that I was a little alarmed at the new voice in my head wouldn’t do it any justice. I was in my own world at the moment, and it took me a while to recognize the pitch and tone in the somewhat leering voice.
“You’re a sin that should be cleansed.” His voice was coming through tinny, which only added in making his voice sound even more terrifying. I didn’t know how to answer, I didn’t know if I could, whatever happened from removing the drugs from my system was apparently sending me into shock... which was really nice of them, considering they were supposed to be the good guys...
“You didn’t actually expect me to let you go, did you?” I was growing increasingly anxious as Christian kept waffling on... “Expect me to let you go?” Who the hell was this guy? For a righteous prick he was a real... well... Righteous prick!
“You have a slow metabolic rate right now. Courtesy of the drug spiking in your system, it makes you vulnerable.” Christian kept on rumbling and talking to himself... He was just getting too annoying to actually listen to, and so I focussed on attempting to wriggle my toes.
“And this fifty calibre pistol. Well, I would have to be insane not to tie up a loose end such as yourself,” Christian said, leaning in close so that he could whisper in my ear, pressing the cold steel against the back of my skull. I have got to admit, with my headache at the time the gun being depressed there felt kind of nice. I tried desperately to move, as nice as the slight easing of pressure was; I didn’t want to die then and there... Still nothing happened. I then tried to reason with him, but succeeded only in drooling, spittle trickling down my chin as I lay there. My tongue sluggishly swaying in my mouth, and my forehead was digging into the ground. I know that some people say that before you die you get flashes of images of things that you have done, people you have seen and places you have been. Well that wasn’t the case for me; I was angry, angry at Christian, angry at Lycaon for not being there to help me, even though it was me that told him to go, angry at Tessa for putting me in the situation, but all those angers and fury’s were second to my own seething hatred of myself for making one stupid decision after another... Christian’s arm trembled as he squeezed the trigger, emptying the chamber into my head.
Lycaon was charging through the forest in a craze. He hadn’t intended on following the scents of the other Lycanthropes so far off course. Panic gripped him as he bounded through the woodland; echoes of gunshots filled the air, his hind legs stretching out in front of him as his body writhed and shook with his velocity. The incoherent messages and images that Ursine had been giving off had been distracting him. He shook the hazy images aside and ploughed on through the wilderness, expecting to come across at least some wildlife... but most had dispersed with the torrent of noise being transmitted from Ivan’s estate. A sick morbidity gripped him as he envisioned Ursine lying helpless as the Summers members consumed him. He pressed on harder, riding his body to near breaking point. That was one of the bonuses of being a Lycanthrope. As fast as his body tore ligaments and tendons, or dislocated his arms and hips where he was forcing himself to move over his capacity he would heal, tearing them anew with each stride as he raced to Ursine.
The vapid smoke-screen that encumbered the surrounding woodland let Lycaon know when he was getting nearer to burned out husk of an estate. His enhanced vision providing with him glimpses of Ursine’s aura as he approached. Being bombarded with the glimpses of hazy mental imagery Ursine was involuntarily letting off as he struggled on the floor, Lycaon’s ears pinned back to his head, and his lips pulled back to reveal his jagged teeth. He knew the Summers were nearby, and he wanted answers.
The awkward angles and positions of the surroundings meant that dashing in a straight line was near impossible, having to jolt and jostle as he clipped trunks and seedlings. Mounds of dirt clumped under his nails as he sped on, it wasn’t until he almost smashed through the perimeter wall surrounding the estate, that Lycaon realised he had made the clearing of Ivan’s expansive lawn. The helicopter was just in front, only a few hundred yards away, obscuring his view of Ursine and the soldiers. Not allowing himself to pause, Lycaon began to spread out in a wide arc, aiming to circle around on the distracted wolves. He followed rounds streaking toward the Summers, instantly formulating a plan of attack.
That was until Ursine blasted his thoughts out so vivid and clear that Lycaon could hear Christian utter his chiding whispered monologue, crunching the gravel as he approached Ursine. Sick realisation shuddered through Lycaon as he heard what was said. Even though Ursine was occupied at the time, his mind elsewhere helped to make the words more resounding. For a moment, Lycaon could even feel the depression being made at the back of his head, the touch of the cold steel as the muzzle parted hair and touched some bare scalp.
Instantly Lycaon changed directions, his meandering arc around the estate changed and he barrelled across the clearing toward the helicopter. The element of surprise was still in his favour. He charged forward again, this time his tact was out the window, his eyes shone a dark golden amber, and this moment Lycaon was aiming for the slimy bastard, agent Christian. Usually he wouldn’t be so impulsive, but he had few friends. Years of fighting had shown him how easy it was to be betrayed and for what little price they would. But Ursine was different; he accepted everything in a good nature. Sure he bitched and moaned about it, but who wouldn’t?
Lycaon galloped on, leaping clean over the helicopter’s rotating blades as it readied to depart, landing on the other side with a thump. With his quadruped form he didn’t need to duck and roll to carry the momentum forward.
Christian was now fully in his view. Ursine lay sprawled out, and most of the noise was swamped under with the sound of the propellers, with their rapid thundering bursts of gun fire. Lycaon’s jaws opened as he plunged forward the last few feet. The Agent hadn’t heard his approach or the bellowing snarl as he leapt for him. With his jaws gaping, Lycaon lurched forward biting hold of the coward’s wrist a micro-second too late as the mortal squeezed the trigger, emptying its contents into Ursine’s head.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lycaon could see Ursine jerk with the shot. His head bounced up from the point-blank shot. A feral, unrequited rage gripped Lycaon and rid him of all but his base elements. Lycaon whipped his head to the side, biting through muscles, bones, cartilage and sinew, sending the agent several feet into the air. The realisation hadn’t even gripped the agent before Lycaon turned kicking up tufts of dirt and circled in on Christian’s colleagues. Lupus, Lycaon’s other half, was in control and was willing to die to exact bloody retribution.
Lycaon assaulted the nearest
soldier, wrapping his jaws around the man’s body as he had turned to fire. He clenched his jaws and succeeded in chipping a tooth, even in his wolf form his teeth were unable to penetrate the suit of carapace body armour, as the soldier flailed with the vicious shaking Lycaon performed on him. He looked like a damned ragdoll, loose arms and legs flailing as he was nearly bitten in two. It didn’t matter for long as the other soldier gasped, turning in surprise and fired rounds from his rifle in a desperate attempt to help his colleague. He managed to punch holes clean through Lycaon, yes, but also the man who he was clutching had received a round through the back of his neck. The high velocity round was enough to surpass his superior armour, and so Lycaon’s victim was now motionless in his saliva riddled maw. Cries of anger ripped forth from the other soldier as he realised what he had done.
The rounds discharged into Lycaon’s massive torso were enough to knock him off balance, and so he bounced back skidding onto the floor. The soldier charged forward, the whole while expelling rounds into the cloud of dirt that shrouded Lycaon’s skittering form. He considered for a moment the possibility of passing from the wounds already inflicted, but Lycaon was a lot older and wiser than he appeared. With his dark passenger’s bloodlust temporarily sated, he changed back into his human form, shedding his fur and claws and crawled from the ashen shield obscuring his view of the approaching threat. It was true that he was more vulnerable in his human form, but with the plan Lycaon had devised, he was going to need opposable thumbs.
Lycaon dove out of the dust cloud to where the fallen soldier’s rifle had skittered to; the only thing available that he knew could penetrate the plating of the other man’s armour.
He took hold of the dead man’s weapon and aimed at the disgruntled soldier. Down the long barrel, matching the foresight with the man’s heart, a shot ripped forth from the approaching soldier’s rifle. In his haste the round flew past Lycaon’s head, punching into the ground beside with a puff and thwack of dirt. The psychotic soldier screamed out obscenities in a primal rage, acknowledgement dawning on his face as Lycaon eased the trigger.
Whether it was the soldier’s trained body or luck, but as the man back stepped from Lycaon he lost his footing and fell onto his rump. Well in either case it had the desired affect for Sharp. The projectile skipped through his helmet, destroying the soldiers HUD and missing entering his naval cavity by millimetres. Lycaon attempted to fire at the stunned soldier again, but his rifle’s magazine was empty. He grunted, throwing the rifle aside and got to his feet, turning the rifle to use as a club. Sharp shook his head, unclasped his head gear and threw it to the floor. Blinking wide-eyed, he was still dazed from the glancing impact. Until he saw Lycaon clicking the trigger with the spent rifle, Sharp felt a flutter of delight, and let loose a grim smile as he returned the favour, pulling his own rifle to his chest. Unfortunately with his fall the rifles safety had broken, and he found the trigger immovable. With a grunt of frustration he unsheathed a knife from his webbing and dove toward Lycaon, meeting each other head on. Lycaon was caught with his arms raised above his head, readying to club the soldier as Sergeant Sharp slid his blade into Lycaon’s gut to the hilt. A white-hot bolt of misery rocked Lycaon, and he let out a cry of agony as his life-force began to drain as the man twisted the blade and began to pull it free to repeat the process. Sergeant Sharp was easily as strong as Lycaon was with his biometric armour. And even though Lycaon could hear motors buzzing and churning quietly, he had no clue how to disable the hefty prosthesis. Then it dawned on Lycaon that the man’s head wasn’t. In a last ditch effort, before the other Lycanthropes were on them, Lycaon rolled backward, taking the momentum of the soldier with him as he landed on his back and kicked out, launching Sharp several feet into the air, directly into the helicopter’s active propellers. Sharp panicked, lifting his arms to shield his face. There was a loud, metallic thud, and the soldier was thrown to the ground, skittering along the abrasive surface, shielding the damage from view.
Slowly Lycaon sighed in a wheeze of pain, clenching and drawing at the blade from his stomach. Letting out screams of pain, the blade eased out and Lycaon just let it go, dropping it weakly onto the floor.
Lycaon now lay on the floor, minutes ticked by; the helicopter had already left, leaving the remnants of the Helsing members vacant on Ivan’s lot. The Summers had closed in, taking in Lycaon’s and Ursine’s scents. They seemed to be taking their time, which was odd for them as they were usually governed by their more primal and basic instincts. Their eyes glinted gold. Lycaon felt too weak to fight them. He was already too exhausted and too injured to change; the wound in his abdomen wasn’t helping him either. Whatever metal Sharp had used was preventing his wound from closing up and healing completely. Maybe in his next life he could do something more for his loved ones. As the paws padded nearer, their warm sweaty breathing washed over in adulation of the chaotic scene before them, they sniffed. Other member who lay limp on the floor, another Human was draped over it like a shawl, but Lycaon couldn’t see his face, slowly Lycaon shifted his gaze to Ursine, his body looked like it twitched... But that was impossible... The darkness enveloped Lycaon and he slept.
Chapter 17
“Whoa, Kitty, that right there was freaking awesome! Why can’t you teach me cool shit like that?” Mike’s childish tone was lost on Kitty and Ivan as they frantically looked around and dusted debris off of them. Ivan pinched his eyebrows together with his thumb and forefinger and sighed at Mike’s outburst.
What the hell were they so on edge for anyway? And where the hell are we? That magical door thing was epic though... Oh oh, I wonder if it was maybe a wormhole! Well, whatever it was, apparently it made older people miserable as crack addicts going cold turkey. Mike looked around, registering his surroundings for what seemed like the first time. Everything was a pale, sick-looking grey aside from the streaks of violet lightning that crossed the sky. It was eerie, to say the least, white polished looking marble littered the ground, and the walls of the canyon that they were standing in was at really odd angles. Jagged edges protruded from the sides, unnaturally curving into claws grasping at the air. And even though there was a constant breeze, the canyon doubled as a wind tunnel and brought with it a little of the warm ash that swamped their feet.
“Michael, please keep it down while we get our bearings. Performing that kind of action in such a short space of time takes a lot out of me...” Kitty rubbed her shoulder. Mike nodded sombrely and faced his teacher with concern. He wasn’t sure if she was cold or hurt; either way he had learned from the last time not to touch anything without permission... That pretty much ruled out his usual tricks, but that didn’t mean he was willing to give up; after all, she had to have been wearing the tightest trousers in the history of man.
“How are you feeling, Ivan?” Kitty asked. Her tone was placating and soft.
“J’es, I am fine.” Ivan’s thick tone sounded wary; he looked around the area the whole time, straightening his posture. There had been no choice when they were under attack at the estate... It was either stand and become atomised or run and live to fight another day. They opted for the second choice. Ivan had managed to stop one of the assailants in his tracks before he had the option to detonate in the room that they were in when Kitty had noticed the device strapped to him. She instinctively opened a rough portal; her intentions were to have the berserker sent to the spiritual realm where he couldn’t harm the living... So when the other attackers began to set themselves off like it was the Fourth of July, it was convenient enough to act as an emergency exit instead. It was an awe-inspiring display of power; although of course Mike didn’t have a clue how it worked, it was amazing to see all the same.
“Mike, please stop daydreaming, will you? We really have to move. That grand-entrance we made is going to attract a lot of attention, more so than a child having a tantrum in a shopping centre,” Kitty said, with a hint of humour in her tone.
Those bad boys had to have been painted on; it makes me feel
all warm inside. Mike perversely spoke to himself. The whole time Kitty had been talking to him about his current surroundings. Kitty sighed and flicked Mike on his ear.
“Listen, knob-head, I am talking about this ash-littered wasteland... you know, the place where the ones that are too attached to the living to fully move on, hang out. Well, where we are now...” Kitty paused for a second in thought, Ivan squinted at her.
“Basically anything that’s here and moving that isn’t us... Well, we are its supper.” Kitty finished. Ivan said something with a shake of his head that sounded a lot like gibberish, but Mike could tell from the reproachful glance that Ivan gave him that it was directed at him.
“Hang on, what does supper mean? Speak English!” Mike said, and Kitty grimaced and continued to flick his ear again; unfortunately Mike’s questionable sense of humour was beginning to wear thin with Kitty. (Like it did every other day...)
“Mike... you do know the English, tend to speak English...?... It’s the Americans fault for butchering our language,” Kitty retorted. Mike smiled sheepishly, apparently satisfied with irritating Kitty enough for the time being.
“Right then, what exactly do you guys think we should do? You know what, forget that Mike. Ivan what do you think we should do?” Kitty asked, stretching in her place, which immediately drew Mike’s untrained eyes to her cleavage. She frowned, and turned expectantly to Ivan who was standing in silence, muttering something as he looked up into the stormy sky.
Kitty glared at Mike, putting him on edge. He still wasn’t sure if she could even stomach him; she had always been on edge around Mike. This was because on their first encounter. Mike was knocked unconscious, and so Kitty had commandeered his head and body, and she knew exactly how he felt about it and still she felt on edge whenever he was near because of something that she sensed and saw. Mike had caught on to the fact during their various training sessions; the only thing that Kitty had disclosed with Mike was that he had a potential gift.