The Gathering

by Michael Timmins

  Kat, Jessie and Clint stared at Sylvanis, clearly understanding something was wrong, but not knowing what.

  Before Sylvanis could explain what she was feeling, the ground began to shake. The building began to shake. Creaks and groans reverberated around the room as the floor bulged and cracked.

  “Earthquake?” Clint’s voice held a good deal of concern.

  Sylvanis could only shake her head.

  “We need to get out of this building. Now!” she told them.

  Unexpectedly, a thick branch jutted through the floor, knocking a table over as it pushed upward. Screams and shouts of alarm began as more and more vegetation began to emerge from the floor and walls.

  They all stared at the branch as it pushed against the corner of the ceiling and wall, plaster falling in chunks as it burrowed through.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna agree with you there,” Kat said, already moving as she spoke. Panic gripped the restaurant. Some people began hiding under tables, thinking it an earthquake. Others were already making their way toward the exit, while others were heading back into the hotel lobby, presumably to go back to their rooms.

  Kat threaded through the disorganized mob of panicked people and Sylvanis followed, right on her heels. Clint and Jessie were right behind her.

  As they broke out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon the full horror of what was happening hit them.

  All around, trees were sprouting. Their tangled mass of branches and thick trunks were tearing up sidewalks and streets. Buildings surrounding them were under assault as their walls were no barrier against Kestrel’s growth spell.

  Far off to their right came a loud screeching and crashing sound. To Sylvanis’ shock, a three-story parking garage tumbled apart. Sections, like cut pieces of cake, broke off and collapsed into piles of rubble.

  From the sounds of some of the other buildings around them, including their hotel, it wouldn’t be the last to collapse.

  “What is happening?” Kat stared at her with wild eyes.

  “It’s Kestrel. She’s doing this.”

  “How do we stop it?” Jessie peered up at their hotel. Many of his men were out in the city, looking for Kestrel and the others. She had no idea where Hank, Ben, Stephanie, Jason and Mike were. Sylvanis wasn’t worried about most of them. A collapsing building wouldn’t be enough to kill them. Ben, though . . . She pursed her lips. Nothing could be done about it. She could only hope whoever was with him would understand the danger and see to his safety. She had more important things to take care of.

  “We can’t,” she told them flatly. “However, this use of power has revealed Kestrel’s location to me.” She looked at the three of them, fire in her eyes. “I know where she is.”

  Kestrel reveled in the power she unleashed upon this city. All around her, buildings had begun to succumb to the damage caused by rapidly growing trees. With her head tilted skyward she gave out a throaty, joyful laugh as the energy thrummed through her, pricking her skin.

  She would do this to every city! She would turn nature into a weapon and civilization would fall! This, however, was only part of the plan. Turning her head, she peered back to Blain and gave him a curt nod. Immediately, Blain raised the radio to his mouth.

  “Now!”

  Corey Tay was a big man, broad of shoulder and tall. His jet-black hair lay tousled upon his head. Lantern jawed and hawk-nosed he had an impressive, if somewhat unpleasant facial features. His skin, dark from long hours working outside showed faint creases from too much sun. He had been a worker at T & G Logging, one of the largest logging companies in Eastern Texas. Had been a worker, because not long-ago, monsters attacked their establishment and turned his world upside down.

  Now, he was under the control of the True Werecroc, Gordon. Corey had been at the holding facility outside of Houston when the shift had come upon him under the mental guidance from Gordon. He and many others had escaped their imprisonment and had been whisked away by members of E.A.R.t.H., the eco-terrorist group Corey had only passing knowledge of before this.

  They had all been taken to a compound deep in a forested area somewhere miles away from nowhere. Over the next few days they were fed, clothed and were given their instructions. And while Corey had been thankful for being rescued from the government holding facility, he couldn’t help feeling he had been moved from one imprisonment to another.

  His instructions went against everything he felt strongly about and yet, he had no will in the matter. Gordon controlled him absolutely. He had railed against the control at the beginning. Fought with every ounce of strength, both physical and mental, to break free of Gordon’s control, but it had all been for naught. Gordon had squashed his attempt, along with many others in those first few days.

  Corey had at least something to be thankful for. He wasn’t under Blain’s control. Gordon seemed apathetic about his control. He used it as necessary tool to accomplish their goals. Blain, on the other hand, clearly relished in controlling others.

  Corey had seen some of the more attractive, younger women being commanded to join him in the building he used for his living quarters. There had been little doubt in Corey’s mind as to what Blain made those women do. He had seen them later, crying or staring off blankly as if their minds were now detached from their bodies.

  Corey wanted to kill the motherfucker. If he could, he would rip his ugly, smug face right off. But he couldn’t. Gordon wouldn’t let him. Instead, he now stood outside the black iron fence surrounding the White House.

  Gordon had made him group leader. Corey believed it a perverse joke to have done so, because after explaining their job, Corey had verbally defended his country. Now, he was here as the leader of a group of Weres that would attack the home of the leader of the free world.

  There were twelve of them. It seemed ludicrous for twelve people to try an assault on the White House, one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the world, but they were not ordinary people. They were Weres. They were all but unstoppable monsters.

  But they weren’t. Corey knew. He had seen gunmen take out one of the Weres escaping from the holding facility. Concentrated fire at the head could cause enough damage to kill one of them. Somehow, those soldiers had understood. If so, there was a possibility the Secret Service would be aware as well.

  Corey did not doubt the intelligence of those running the government. Well, maybe he doubted some in Congress, but the men and women of the intelligence community and the military, he didn’t doubt. They would have come to understand the threat these monsters posed and would have figured out a way to deal with them.

  He assumed that was why they had all been held at the facility. Not for the first time though, Corey wondered as to why they hadn’t all simply been killed. True, he couldn’t fathom the government ordering the murder of hundreds of innocent people. But, knowing what they would become . . . Well, perhaps they hadn’t quite understood the threat after all. Corey had no doubt they would understand after today. He also held no illusions as to their fate. Twelve of them would be devastating. Disastrous on a scale not seen since maybe 9/11 or the Oklahoma City bombing.

  But they were not meant to survive this. They would all be cut down. They were only a message. A warning about what will happen. A taste of the damage they were going to unleash as more and more Weres were created.

  Corey stared at the stark white building. It seemed quite a distance across that lawn, a wide expanse of well-tended green grass and manicured trees and bushes. In many ways, it would soon be a killing field.

  Corey caught sight of a pair of uniformed patrol officers watching him. He realized he had been concentrating on the White House for perhaps, a little too long. After all, he had no camera to take pictures. He wasn’t eating or snacking on anything, only staring off at the building. It must have seemed a little suspicious. Not to mention, he had a radio clipped at his waist.

  He saw they were conferring, and one brought a radio up to his mouth and spoke into it. The sounds of tra
ffic and people made it hard, even for Corey’s new enhanced hearing, to pick up what they said.

  He decided it wasn’t good, as the two men began approaching him. Blain’s voice came over the radio.

  “Now!”

  Corey sent the men a heart wrenching look of apology for what he now had to do and shifted.

  They had practiced shifting at the compound in order to master it and to shift almost instantaneously. The pain, still sharp, hurt, but Corey dismissed it.

  Screams of those on the sidewalk next to him rang out into the air. Immediately, the two officers had their weapons drawn and were shouting at him to get down. One shouted into his radio for backup.

  Screams and shouts began to echo up and down the long walk lining this side of the street as others of his kind shifted on his cue.

  “Remain discreet until we give you the signal,” Gordon’s commands rang through his mind. “If, you are discovered or confronted in any way before, shift and kill as many people as you can as you make your way into the White House. It is unlikely the president will remain in the building once the attacks take place. If you can find him, cut him, don’t kill. If not, injure as many office personnel as you can. Kill all opposition.”

  Corey charged the two officers. One of them turned and ran. The other opened fire, striking Corey twice before he attacked. Corey had little heart to kill anyone, but the pressure upon his will was undeniable. He would kill this man, but he would do it quickly.

  With a swift slash of his claws, he opened the man’s throat, cutting through the jugular, windpipe, larynx and the carotid artery, sending the man’s life blood in cascading waterfalls down the front of his uniform.

  Corey’s reptilian hide healed quickly from the shots and he took a moment to look around. Pedestrians fled, though many were across the street, their phones out, recording or photographing what happened.

  Sirens began to peel in the city, and another trumpeted from the White House. Up and down the sidewalk, his team made their way to where he stood. Four Boars and seven other Crocs moved toward him.

  Without warning, a car popped the curb and careened into two members of his team. The attack had come as such a surprise, they had been knocked back and the car continued forward until it crushed them against the iron fence.

  One Boar and one Croc were pinned against the fence, the hood of the car was buckled, and the aroma of anti-freeze poignant in the air. The rear tires of the car were spinning, burning the rubber tread as the car had nowhere to go.

  For a moment, everyone stood frozen watching the tableau in shock. The two Weres caught were the first to recover. As one, they grabbed the front of the car, pushed back, causing the vehicle to lose ground, regardless of how much pressure the driver put on the pedal.

  Then, with a silent agreeing look at each other, the two Weres heaved and tossed the car up and end over end to land on its roof. The Croc wasted no time. As the driver tried to open the wedged door, he leaped high and came down hard upon the undercarriage of the vehicle. With a crunch of metal and a shatter of glass, the car’s roof caved in, trapping the driver inside.

  The Boar followed suit, jumping onto the bottom of the car, smashing it further. The driver screamed for help. They ignored him and continued to slam themselves up and down on the car until the screams could no longer be heard.

  Corey turned away in disgust.

  His eyes trained back onto the Whitehouse. Even now, the grounds were a bustle of activity. Men converged on their side of the building. Corey knew his purpose.

  With three full strides he launched himself at the iron fence, clearing it completely by turning his body lengthwise. Twisting in the air, he landed on his feet facing the people amassing across the lawn.

  Thuds sounded all around him as the rest of the group made it up over the fence.

  Bang, bang, clink, thunk. Someone shot at them from behind, but Corey ignored them. They would be irrelevant as soon as they moved closer to the House.

  “Corey,” came a warning from one of the Boars standing next to him. Lott, Corey thought his name was, pointed toward the House, but his arm angled upward.

  Using his Were enhanced eyesight, Corey scanned where he pointed. Men were scrambling atop the building armed with long barreled rifles. Snipers. They needed to move!

  Corey charged and the rest followed. They crossed the distance quickly in a thunderous charge, tearing up the ground as they ran. By the time they had reached the assembled Secret Service, the snipers were set and had begun shooting.

  One of the Crocs had gone down, a sniper bullet had shattered his knee, causing him to fall and tumble. Corey knew he would be back up though. Those types of wounds, while slowing, were not debilitating. The wall of guns before them was a little more intimidating.

  Two lines of gunmen faced them. Kneeling in front were men brandishing shotguns and handguns, while those behind had assault rifles. When they were no more than hundred yards away, the men opened fire. Corey felt aflame as bullet after bullet sliced through his hide.

  Healing as he ran, he sent as many bullets back out of his skin as those that entered and knew the others were hurting under the same onslaught.

  A bullet pierced his eye, popping it as it bored through into his brain cavity. That took a little more concentration to repair than the other wounds, but he willed his body to reconstruct his eye and before long, he regained sight in the previously damaged socket.

  He felt a sense of pride and horrible regret at the unwavering wall of men facing them. These men knew they would die. They had to. They had unloaded a shitload of bullets into these creatures and other than the one who had fallen, and got back up, they hadn’t slowed. Yet, they remained. They held their ground. All to buy time for the ones they protected to get to safety.

  Corey crashed into them. He made his attacks quick and precise. ‘Kill all opposition’ had been the command and he would do it. But these men would not suffer by his hands. He knew others would feel the same and make quick deaths of these men. There were others in the group who enjoyed the violence or would be so riled up by the pain of being shot as to lash out at those who had shot them. Though they wouldn’t have shot them if they hadn’t been here in the first place.

  Fifty men or so were dispatched summarily, but not cleanly. The snipers had begun doing what Corey had feared. Two members of the group were down. Their heads riddled with holes. Whatever process the body used to heal itself, whatever autonomic responses the brain made to enact those repairs had been stopped by the repetitive wounds it had received.

  Corey wasted no time. Motioning to the others, he ran for the closest door, hurtling into it. It buckled but held. He moved aside as one of the Boars charged it, slamming into it. The door and the frame shook from the impact, bent from the collision, but still, it held.

  They had been warned about the reinforced doors and already had a plan in place. The Boar who had hit it, quickly moved aside as another Boar threw himself at the door. At last, the door broke away from its frame and hung askew.

  Lightning quick, they ducked into the building, knocking the door from its hinges. By the time the remaining ten had passed, the door lay upon the floor.

  Upon entering the building, they split up into pairs. The man Corey had been assigned to pair up with had been one of the men killed outside. Instead, a Boar joined him, and Corey couldn’t remember his name. In all honesty, he hadn’t tried to get to know anyone at the compound. He hadn’t wanted to be there and had seen no reason to socialize with the rest of them.

  They turned a hall and ran into two more Secret Service agents. Before Corey could react, the Boar plowed ahead, goring one man on a tusk before slamming him against the wall in a sickening thud. Reaching out with a clawed hand, he dragged it across the man’s abdomen eviscerating him in a gush of blood and entrails.

  And like that, they were past them.

  Corey felt sick to his stomach. Those men had died trying to protect the President and others here in t
he White House. They didn’t deserve to die.

  The Boar took the lead and after turning down another hallway, they entered a long one which held dozens of office doors. People were milling about in the hallway, looking one way and another. They knew there had been a threat to the White House, but Corey doubted they believed it would ever get this far.

  They were wrong.

  One man turned in their direction when they came around the corner and yelled, “What the fuck?”

  People turned to look at the man, and in doing so, got a decent look at what he saw.

  That is when the screams began.

  With a growl, the Boar took off down the hall. Like a stampeding bull he barreled into the fleeing people. Corey followed, somewhat slower. If the Boar wanted to do as they had been instructed, Corey would leave him to it. He wasn’t actually refusing the commands, because he couldn’t. But there seemed to be some gray area which allowed Corey to not try hard complying to those commands, and since the Boar preceded him, Corey could avoid hurting anyone.

  The Boar whirl-winded through the panicked crowed. He slashed out with his claws, cutting and slicing. With quick thrusts of his head, he jabbed others, puncturing them enough to injure them but not kill them.

  Men and women reeled away from them, bleeding and crying out as they went. The hallway was narrow, leaving them nowhere to go.

  They passed by an office and Corey made the mistake of looking inside. Two people were huddled there, backed up against the corner of the room. The Boar had already passed. They had been commanded to injure every civilian they saw.

  Corey couldn’t ignore the command.

  Reluctantly, he entered the office. The two women cowering inside desperately tried to move farther away from him, though they were as far away as they could.

  Corey closed on them. They scrambled away, pushing at the floor with their feet and flailing at him with their hands. Tears flowed down their cheeks. The older woman shook her head in disbelief, mouthing ‘No, no, no.”