The Gathering

by Michael Timmins

  “We will, however, not tell them about your ability to control them.”

  All heads fixed on Sylvanis. Even Clint’s who, as far as Hank had been able to determine, had shown about as much interest in the conversation as he would about a speck of dirt on the floor.

  “Do you think . . .” Kat halted, as if searching for the right thing to say to that. “Do you think that is the right thing to do?”

  There it was. The right thing to do. Hank waited with interest to hear Sylvanis’ answer.

  Sylvanis met Kat’s wide eye stare. “No,” she answered. “I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. But until we can be certain of Mr. Brumfield’s intentions, I don’t see any other course of action.”

  Kat continued to lock gazes with Sylvanis. Hank knew it wouldn’t last though. Kat was too much of a pragmatist to not understand what was at stake here. That Sylvanis wasn’t happy about making this choice would be enough for Kat to let it go, Hank believed, and was proven correct when Kat huffed, before nodding.

  “Hank?”

  He started, not realizing Sylvanis had turned her eyes to him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your thoughts?”

  She always did that. Included everyone. It was what he admired about her.

  He cocked his head. “I think you are right. We would be an asset the government would love to get their hands on and that is not the war we were meant to fight. Mr. Brumfield has stated he no longer serves, but I believe the saying is, ‘once a marine, always a marine’. Even if he doesn’t report to the government, there is no way of knowing if at some point down the road the government won’t come calling for his allegiance.”

  Sylvanis didn’t offer a reply before turning to Clint.

  “Clint?”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t follow up with anything else and Sylvanis watched him for a long time. He looked her way, before looking away again. At length, she turned to the rest of them.

  “Then it is decided.” She hadn’t asked Ben his opinion. It wasn’t as if she didn’t value his opinion. Hank had noticed she had come to rely on the older man quite a bit. It simply wasn’t a decision he could have a say in. He wasn’t a True.

  “Kat. Bring Mr. Brumfield in.”

  Kat hopped off the dresser and went to the door. A moment later she returned with Mr. Brumfield. He was a tall man, a tad taller than Kat, and broad of shoulder. He wore a tight-fitting shirt which did little to hide his bulk, his ebony skin lined with muscles. His marine tattoo, the eagle, globe and anchor were displayed prominently on his arm.

  Kat led him to the center of the room before moving to regain her spot on the dresser, leaving the man, alone in the center of a room with some of the deadliest people on the planet.

  Hank was impressed by the man’s cool reserve. Or perhaps, Hank should be shaking his head at the man’s ignorance to the danger he was now in. None of them were killers, but the truth was, up until now, none of them have had to make the, ‘for the safety of the mission’ call yet. If this man risked their mission, would they find themselves with no other option?

  Hank hoped it didn’t come to that. Never, came to that.

  Sylvanis stood and approached Mr. Brumfield.

  He offered her a charming smile and Hank felt a slight smile tug at the side of his lip at seeing Kat’s roll of eyes.

  To Hank’s surprise, Sylvanis’ faltered a little in her approach and Hank reevaluated the man. He was handsome, Hank guessed, in his own way. He had a confidence about him and bright blue eyes which he wondered if he had ever seen on a black man before.

  Sylvanis regained her composure quickly and crossed the rest of the way to stand before Mr. Brumfield. She appeared small before the man, her petite, short frame, overshadowed by his height and bulk.

  Though now that she had gathered her poise, her presence dominated between the two. It was uncanny. Mr. Brumfield became aware of the difference immediately and his smile fled as if realizing it had failed in its task and wanted no part of what came next.

  “Mr. Brumfield . . .”

  “Jessie. Please.” He attempted another charming smile before deciding against it.

  “Jessie. Kat here has explained your desire to join our cause and while we are indeed in need of people willing to fight, I wanted to make sure you understood the dangers in what you are volunteering for.”

  “Ma’am. I assure you that I do und—”

  “I assure you that you don’t, Mr. Brumfield,” Sylvanis snapped and the man had the good sense to shut his mouth.

  Sylvanis waited a moment to determine if he would keep with his good sense and when he didn’t open his mouth to say anything further, she continued.

  “What you are volunteering for could lead to your death.”

  The man opened his mouth again, but Sylvanis’ hand shot out to silence him, and again he shut his mouth. Hank could see the muscles in the man’s jaw bunch. Jessie was used to following orders it would seem, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

  “I know what you are going to say, Mr. Brumfield.” She softened her tone. “Jessie. You would say something about how you would be willing to die in the service to your country and to protect those of this nation. Which is admirable and just the type of people we are looking for.”

  She straightened and stared him hard in the eye, which given the height difference seemed implausible, but she managed it.

  “I am not talking about a death in the field, Jessie. I’m talking about the very real possibility of you dying before you ever see the enemy.”

  Jessie forehead scrunched and he made a face. He glanced about the room, looking for an explanation about what this woman told him. His eyes rested on Kat and he opened his hands, palms up in supplication.

  Kat rolled her eyes again. “Why are you looking at me? She’s in charge.” She jerked a thumb Sylvanis’ way.

  He returned his gaze to Sylvanis is surprise, waiting for her to explain.

  She sighed, turned and returned to her chair.

  “What I’m about to tell you, is of utmost importance and can’t be shared with anyone except those who have decided to become Weres.” She halted waiting for his understanding and assurance.

  After a moment, the man agreed.

  “After the transmission of lycanthropy into the body, there is a point in which the body will reject it. The nature of lycanthropy however is so powerful the body cannot reject it and it will do the only thing it can think of to destroy it. It will shut it down.”

  Jessie frowned. “Shut it down? What do you mean, like knock you out? Faint?”

  Sylvanis shook her head. “No, Jessie. You will go into cardiac arrest and if your body doesn’t recover from that, you will die.”

  Jessie staggered a step back and looked at the ground as if expecting it to drop out from beneath him. Hank thought he understood. The man was a fighter. A warrior. To die on the battlefield, well, that was one thing. But to die before seeing combat? That was another thing entirely.

  “That is the risk you take by joining with us. That is the risk your friends would take as well. I will be honest with you. Your desire to join with us, it being your choice and not one that is forced upon you will improve the chance your body will recover, and you will survive. But that is no guarantee.”

  Jessie ran a hand down his face and blew out a breath.

  “I see,” was all he said.

  Silence hung in the room as no one spoke. It seemed everyone understood Jessie might need a moment.

  Perhaps more than a moment.

  Jessie tsked and shook his head and it seemed everyone in the room tensed. Hank began to wonder if this was one of those ‘mission first’ moments he had dreaded.

  “Umm.” Jessie still peered down, his foot dragging a line in the carpet in a half circle before him. This was doubtless the most uncertain this man had been since joining the marines, Hank guessed.

  “I can’t speak for the others as I haven’t really reached out
to them yet, but as for me . . .” He chuckled slightly and shook his head as if disbelieving what he was about to say. “As for me,” his voice grew stronger and he glanced up at Sylvanis. “I would be honored to join your fight, Ma’am.”

  Sylvanis offered him a faint smile.

  “Very well, Jessie. Welcome. Is there any particular animal you feel more connected to? The closer we get to your totem animal, the better for your body’s acceptance.”

  “Totem animal?” Jessie made a face. “Like, my spiritual guide or something?”

  Sylvanis smiled patiently. “Something like that, yes. I assure you; it is important to choose what feels natural to you. What you feel a connection to.”

  Jessie’s pursed his lips, looking to Kat.

  “Tiger,” he said with a swagger.

  Kat shook her head and rolled her eyes again, but Hank caught the twinge of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth.

  “Very well.” Sylvanis turned to Kat. “I leave you in charge of Mr. Brumfield here. Have him contact whomever he feels would be willing to join us and then cut him.”

  “Wait.” Jessie held up a hand. “Cut me?”

  Sylvanis raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you are O.K. with dying, but a little tear in your skin has you running scared?”

  “No. No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t say that . . . I just . . . you just . . . you didn’t mention anything about cutting me.”

  Sylvanis smiled flatly, stood and crossed the room to him. When she got to him, she moved to step past him, but halted, placing a hand on his broad chest and stared up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “That is the least of things I haven’t told you about, Jessie.”

  She patted him on the chest and moved past him and out the door.

  Hank concealed a grin and saw the others trying as well. Even Clint.

  Kat slid from the dresser and moved up next to Jessie. “Come on big guy. I promise I won’t hurt you too much.”

  Jessie shook his head, his mouth opening and closing. “That isn’t what I was saying. I wasn’t saying I was afraid of getting cut. It was just . . . you know. Unexpected.”

  Kat gave him a smug look. “Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “Seriously. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Oh, I believe you.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t, and she began to lead him out of the room.

  “Oh, come on, man. I’m not afraid.” Jessie pleaded for understanding once again as Kat took him out into the hall and closed the door.

  Hank smiled ruefully and bid the others goodbye as he left the room. They were all flying out tonight to take Sim home. There was a small cemetery not far from his property in Nova Scotia where he had buried Jennifer. It seemed only fitting to bury Sim next to his mother.

  Entering his room, he tossed the keycard on the dresser and sat down on the edge of his bed.

  He had thought to contact Sim’s father and let him know Sim had died, but after the way the man had rejected Sim, Hank didn’t feel like extending the courtesy. Sim would be laid to rest next to the woman who loved him more than anything by the man who loved him like he was his own son and the friends who had fought beside him.

  What more could someone want?

  To still be alive, that’s what! Hank’s hands tightened into fists as anger broiled through him. The worse part of it all was Hank had no idea who or what had killed Sim. No target for his rage.

  If he ever found Sim’s killer, there would be nothing or no one who could stop him from ripping them to shreds.

  He closed his eyes tightly and unclenched his teeth. Deliberately, he relaxed his fists and let out a long sigh. He needed to right this. Somehow. And he would. But right now, they needed to take care of things. They had work to do, and he knew Sim would not forgive him if he shirked his duties to Sylvanis and the others.

  He appreciated the understanding Sylvanis and the others were giving him. The world still turned and to spend time to fly home and bury Sim . . . well, it was almost more time than they could spare.

  People were dying. Worse, people were being forced to become Weres. Once it happened in earnest, it would be a locomotive no one could stop. No one but them.

  Hopefully.

  With the attacks in Texas, there was a decent chance Kestrel had already increased her numbers by hundreds. When she turned her attention from specific targets and let her legions free. . .

  Hank shook his head. It did no good thinking about what ifs and possibilities. With Jessie joining and bringing others with him . . . not merely others, but military men and women . . . people who knew how to fight and understood the risks.

  They were much better suited than the rest of them. He huffed a laugh. The rest of them besides Kat. That girl was a fighter through and through. Down to her core. If one person survived this conflict, Hank would put his money on Kat.

  Clint was a fighter too. But he had been through so much. Perhaps too much to be much use to them anymore. The loss of Sarah to the Boar. The loss of his control and what he did while lost in his animal instincts. The guilt. The fear. The anger. All warring inside Clint.

  Hank hoped Clint would reconcile his feelings. They needed him. They needed all of them. And yet, tragedy haunted them. Sarah. Beth. Sim. All casualties in this war which, in reality, had not fully started yet.

  With a sigh, Hank pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed. Tomorrow he would take Sim home. Take him home and say goodbye. Turning off the lights, he buried himself under the sheets, offering cool comfort against his warm flesh.

  Sleep was a long time coming. When it did, images, like fleeting memories danced in Hank’s dreams. Images of a beautiful woman and a young man standing in a forest, a log cabin behind them. They were holding hands, smiling. Sunlight dappled through the branches, and yet, it illuminated them fully.

  Jennifer and Simon smiled at him. He watched, unable to step closer, though he desperately wanted to run to them. Embrace them one final time.

  Together, they raised hands and waved to him, their smiles never faltering. They waved until the sunlight which had illuminated them so brightly before began to pass through them. Their bodies fading, the forest and the cabin could be seen beyond them.

  Hank watched in utter sadness as they faded from view and he was left, standing alone in front of his home, with nothing but the trees to keep him company.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Clint watched mutely as they laid the coffin which held Sim into the earth. Sadness was a palatable emotion riding the cool breeze of late morning. Kat stood next to him; her head bowed. She would occasionally sniff and wipe a tear from her eyes.

  Hank stood at the head of the grave. He wore a suit, black over white. It looked odd on him. He was such a rustic looking man — to see him in such formal attire seemed unnatural.

  Clint had not truly known Sim. They had briefly met several days ago at Sylvanis’ home before Clint had lost control and left. By the time he had rejoined the group, Sim had been slain.

  He knew Kat well enough to understand how heartbroken she had been when they had found Sim dead to believe he had been a decent person and someone he regretted not getting to know.

  Sylvanis had been equally rocked by the death of Sim. She had cared for the boy. Or at least, it seemed as such. Clint believed Sylvanis cared for all of them, which made her different from Kestrel. Anyone who would surround themselves with monsters like the man who took Sarah, must be a monster themselves.

  Kestrel viewed them all as weapons, and if one would break . . . oh well. Simply grab another. Sylvanis wasn’t like that. They were not weapons to her. They were people, and she cared about them.

  He glanced across at Sylvanis. She stood at the side of the grave, to the left of Hank. She wore a long black dress; her blonde hair fell past her shoulders in stark contrast. She made no attempt to hide her emotions. Tears fell from puffy eyes and her nose was tipped red. Clint could see her lips trembling which he knew was from more than the
cold air.

  She looked so much like a girl, barely into her teens. He knew she had been reborn in this body and her mind, far older than she looked, but given her manner, he wondered if the little girl her soul had taken over had some influence on her as well.

  Three others had joined them this morning. Stephanie, her short tawny hair framed her pretty pixie-like face, stood stiff-backed and stone-faced. The funeral clearly much more than putting Sim to rest for her. Her eyes saw somewhere far to the south, where the body of her best friend now lay.

  Next to her stood Jason. Stephanie was a short little thing and Jason, not much taller than she. He stood stooped; head bowed. Clint understood, though Jason and Sim had only interacted a little more than Clint had with Sim, the interaction had been bonding. Jason appeared like a man who had lost a friend. A good one.

  His other friend, Mike, stood beside him, one hand resting on Jason’s back making slow circular motions and occasionally offering a soft pat. Mike was one of them now. Stephanie had given him and her friend, Beth, lycanthropy. Beth hadn’t made it, but Mike had.

  They had all thought they had lost Stephanie and Jason. Clint wouldn’t have blamed them. He often wondered, if it wasn’t for Sarah, would he be here? Would he have joined Sylvanis’ fight? He didn’t know. He believed he would have, in the end, but he wasn’t sure.

  They were all together now. The four Trues and a couple of Pures. They would now take the war to Kestrel. Fight her and with a bit of luck, beat her and her Trues. In doing so, free Sarah.

  Sim’s coffin reached the bottom of the grave and Hank moved over to the pile of dirt and took the shovel from the caretaker. With a quick scoop, he hefted an enormous pile of dirt and tossed it down upon the coffin of his stepson.

  Kat left his side and moved to take the shovel from Hank. She dug into the mound and sent her own shovel of dirt down into the hole. She stared down into the grave and sniffed once more before handing the shovel to Jason who had moved up beside her.

  Jason poured his dirt into the hole and Clint heard him mutter, “Goodbye friend,” before handing the shovel to Ben who had been standing next to Kat. Clint waited for Ben to toss his dirt before he, too, moved to take the shovel.