by Pixie Unger
But, fiercely loyal to her owner. That said a lot about the personality of the woman.
Craig knew his pack. He could tell what each of them thought of this situation.
Mac was thinking with his dick.
Sean was feeling guilty about Lori. Again.
Gus wanted to recreate the family he had lost.
Marv was still a southern gentleman, thinking about protecting the girl.
Craig was thinking about the long-term implications of what they were doing. He wasn’t certain that he liked where this was going.
Still, he had been following Marv for almost a hundred years. If this went bad, well, that was just the norns telling him to move on. If it did work, Craig needed someone to help him understand the world again. He could feel it leaving them behind.
August 22nd 11:45 pm
Mac pulled into the last gas station before he crossed into the next pack’s territory. He wasn’t the only biker there. Three big guys wearing stahlhelm helmets with swastikas on the side were also getting gas. Mac made sure he pulled up so they could see the rainbow patch on the side of his jacket. He wasn’t the best at this. Sean was way better. Mac looked too much like a skinhead who had lost a knife fight or two for it to work. Still, he gave his hips an extra swing as he walked past them to the pay phone.
Bob answered the third ring. “I’m coming for a visit.” Mac informed him, “I’ll be at the usual place in twenty and I’m bringing snacks.”
The other bikers were staring at him as he swished past them, so he blew them a kiss.
They caught up to him ten minutes out. They brought two friends. Mac pulled over onto a back road. They followed. He stopped his bike. They stopped. He pulled off his helmet and draped himself over the back of his crotch rocket. “You know why I wear the rainbow patch?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a reply before answering his own question. “It’s because my master says he never wants to find out he was on the wrong side of a war again.”
“What does that mean?” The leader demanded, wrapping a length of chain around his hand.
“It means every war you sick fucks have ever waged on the world, you have lost. But it’s not too late to get back on your bikes and leave.”
“Yeah.” said one of the others. “It is.”
August 23rd, 12:05 am
Robert pulled his truck and trailer onto an abandoned side road. He saw six bikes parked neatly in a row. He grinned and climbed out of the cab. He walked towards the creature that was currently beating a man to death and laughed. “I see you brought snacks.”
The creature loped over and pulled a phone out of the leather jacket draped over one of the bikes. “I need this across state lines by morning,” it barked.
Robert nodded. “I can do that. Are you keeping the bikes?”
“Consider them payment for your help.”
----
Sarah was half way through an MRI. Marv was pretty sure it was going to show at least a skull fracture. The admitting staff had told him only next of kin could be with the patients here. He pointed out she was a Jane Doe as he pulled out his credit card. It was amazing how much that helped smooth things along.
By 2 am, they had approached him about organ donation. This is where not being the actual next of kin was very helpful.
By 3 am, Marv and Sean were filling out police reports. Craig sat with Sarah while they were occupied.
By 7 am, Sarah had a bed in the ICU. Craig was standing guard. Or at least sitting watch. They weren’t expecting anything yet, but having someone sitting there dumping pheromones into the air near her couldn’t hurt.
Well, except that the nurses kept coming by to ask if he needed anything.
And some of the interns.
And the little old lady volunteer who came around with the sandwich cart. That last one was a little surprising.
“Here,” Estelle insisted, “just take a sandwich. You are too thin. If you were my son, I would make you eat more. I’ll bring you a thermos of soup tomorrow, in case your… young lady is still unwell.”
Craig may have blushed slightly at the knowing look she gave him, but he said thank you and took the sandwich. He had long ago learned not to argue with geriatric women, it only ever went bad.
At 11 am, Sean turned up to take over the guard duties. Craig stretched, “The chairs are crap, but there isn’t much we can do about them.”
Sean frowned. “Tell the boss. Maybe he can figure out how to donate something more comfortable.”
Craig nodded. He walked past Estelle in the lobby on his way out and smiled. “Thanks for the sandwich.”
She gave him a warm smile. “What a polite young man! You are very welcome! Going to get some proper food now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good! You’ll be wanting to find some warm socks for your young lady. Their feet get so cold in there, what with the not moving at all.” Estelle suggested.
Craig considered this. “Yes ma’am. Thanks for the tip.”
When he got out to the bikes, Gus was waiting for him. “Back to the house? Mac is back in town. We made a pot of stew.”
“Yup.” Craig said, distractedly looking at his phone. “I need to make a stop first.”
Gus considered this. “Where we going, brother?”
“I dunno. A craft store, I guess.”
Gus fought between confusion and amusement. “You after makin’ her a scrapbook?”
“Nah. Gonna knit her some socks.”
“Ha! Pull the other one, ‘sgot bells on!”
Craig glared at his pack mate. “I can knit! I used to make … stuff.”
“Socks?”
“OK, so it’s been a while. But it’s like riding a bike and besides there are how to videos for everything now.”
Gus looked surprisingly aggressive at that. “Laddy, I will bet you I can knit her a pair of socks in the time it takes you to figure out the one.”
Craig looked up at that. “Bottle of 20 year old single malt to the winner?”
Gus grinned, “Aye. If the stars align and you somehow get the jump on me, I’ll even put an e in it for you.” It was a long-standing joke between the two of them. Technically, Craig drank bourbon, but it was too much fun arguing spelling to let that stand in their way.
----
It would be an understatement to say Phyllis was surprised when a pair of bikers in black leather jackets pulled up in front of her Knitting and Needlework store. Or that she was apprehensive when they came inside. The one who was merely scruffy came over to the desk, while the one with facial scarring headed straight to the sock yarn section.
Scruffy man said, “I wanna knit some socks.” He thought about it for a moment before he added, “For a girl.”
Phyllis swallowed. “Have you ever knit anything before?” The scarred man burst out laughing. “I mean, socks aren’t the best first project.”
“Yeah, I have, it’s been… awhile.” Craig decided mentioning that he hadn’t actually knit anything since the 1950’s wouldn’t be the most helpful at this point. Instead he said, “I used to knit socks while I was in the service,” and left out that he meant he had knit during trench warfare in World War One and randomly throughout World War Two.
Gus was still chuckling to himself as he approached the counter. He slammed down a skein of grey sock yarn with a pretty purple heather fleck. “I’ll take that and a set of number 13 sock needles.”
Phyllis gaped at him. “Number thirteen is way too big for that yarn.” She fumbled behind the counter and pulled out the 9 mm needles that were more suitable for a chunky afghan than a pair of socks.
Gus frowned, pulled out his phone and tried to let Google solve the problem. While he was working on that, Phyllis helped Craig pick out something called self patterning sock yarn, a book on something called the magic loop and a weird long string with a knitting needle attached to each end.
“Ah!” Gus exclaimed, “UK,” he grumbled at the word, “size 13 knitting needle
s is a size 2.25 millimetre needle. What size did you get?”
Craig looked at his package. “2.75 emm emm size two.”
Phyllis pulled out a size one circular.
Gus frowned. “No. I want proper sock pins. Set of five.”
“Aluminium, acrylic, wood or stainless?”
Gus hesitated for a moment, “Stainless?”
She pulled out a pack of Chiao Goos. Gus opened the package and nodded approvingly. “Do you want me to wind that for you?”
Gus gave her a look. “I ken how to do that!”
“I’m sorry. You just don’t look like a man who owns a ball winder.”
Craig snickered.
“Wa?” Gus asked.
Phyllis sighed and took him over to the umbrella swift and a ball winder. It took her about three minutes to turn his skein into a cake.
“Huh. What will they think of next.”
They paid cash and left. Phyllis leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. In the forty years she had been working here, she had never had two actual customers who made her fear for her life. Everything about the men had oozed malevolent intent. They had been polite enough, but she couldn’t shake the creeped out feeling. Analysing the encounter, she shouldn’t be as upset as she was.
It was looking like a nice day out there. She decided to close for lunch.
----
Marv finally got home after having spent the day arguing with and finally manipulating the hospital administration into acquiescing to his demands. He was tired, he was hungry and he was generally pissed off. All of this combined did not put him in the best mood to walk into the house and find two of his pack in the parlour, knitting.
Or more specifically, Gus knitting, and Craig swearing as he tried to follow along with a video and occasionally telling Gus he was doing it wrong. Marv stared in shock, then started growling. Both his boys dropped what they were doing and hustled to the kitchen.
“Stew for lunch, Boss.” Gus said ladling some into a bowl. Craig got out the cutlery and a beer. Gus followed quickly with soda bread and butter.
After their alpha had half a bowl of stew in him, Gus asked, “What do we know?”
Marv grunted. “Don’t know if it took yet. They are gonna keep her alive for a few weeks. We’re gonna haveta cash in a few things to make it happen. Fucking healthcare is expensive. We are gambling close to a million dollars on this working.” He considered this as he drained his beer. Craig grabbed him another from the fridge. “Gonna talk to the science division. Maybe we can get funding for this. Don’t think it's bin tried before. The sawbones are talking about brain damage. If the curse can’t heal that… we’ll have to put ‘er down anyway.” He cracked open the second beer. “Where’s the dog?”
Gus and Craig both grinned, but it was Gus who said, “Mac took Miss Molly Dog Pollywog Princess Webbed Feet for a walk.”
Marv paused, his beer halfway to his lips, “Tag says Molly. We are gonna call her Molly.”
Chapter 2
830 AD - Second Deployment
Changes in the second batch of War Dogs allow the infection to be spread. Females can be infected to produce pheromones to prevent them from being eaten by infected in their presence or during interaction such as mating. It is unknown if by design or by the genetic differences that has the infected women able to change internely to fit the needs of War Dogs. For this, the women receive their own title of the infected, the Ulfurinn. Without a combat form or a canine form, Ulfurinn are seen as lesser creatures. Their ability to produce pheromones prevents the War Dogs from viewing them as food. There are no cases of viable Ulfurinn/War Dog offspring. Ulfurinn are not able to interbreed with humans. Neither War Dogs nor Ulfurinn appear to age or become ill. They can only be killed through catastrophic injury. Women still suffer a low survivability from infection.
The Transmission of this Gift/Curse remains a mystery to the War Dogs. Ulfurinn are hoarded like treasure, but not treated as such. Locked away in underground lairs and guarded against theft from other packs.
August 25th
Marv wasn’t entirely convinced that this was the best idea. Still, it was pretty clear the girl wasn’t going to be waking up if they hadn’t. At least they were giving her a chance. Giving all of them a chance. And while they were waiting he was suddenly spending all his time arguing with hospital staff, trusting the boys to keep the business going.
Luper packs, the stable ones at least, all had a business. Something that was male dominated. A garage, electricians, a machine shop, never plumbers, and, in the old days, they might run a gentleman’s club. These days it was more likely to be a gay bar. Marv’s crew all wore the rainbow patch. Pretty much as bait, right wing nut jobs were on the menu if they came looking for trouble.
Marv had fought in the America Civil war. He thought he was fighting to protect a way of life. Plus, he may have been poor white trash, but the important part in that sentence, at the time, was white.
Until some moneyed bastard had found him bleeding out of the battlefield. The man had changed and bitten Marv’s knee before dragging him away.
Marv spent the next six years being his alpha’s slave before he was strong enough to challenge the bastard. It had changed his perspective on the equality of all men. A hundred plus years of perspective had shown him he was fighting to protect the privilege of a few wealthy landowners.
He didn’t force his pack. He only pulled on the power of his position when it was really important. Gus had wanted this.
Gus had been turned about the same time Marv had, just on the other side of the world. Like Marv, he had been forced to walk away from his wife and kids. Where Marv had resigned himself to the life, Gus wanted someone to take care of. It made pack dynamics a bit complicated given what had happened with Sean.
Marv came along when they transferred the girl to the long-term care wing. Fuck. It was like hell’s waiting room in there. Everyone smelled like a corpse, including his girl, but especially the old lady in bed one. Why weren’t her kin folk just letting her die? God he hoped this worked. He didn’t want to have spent all this effort just to have Sarah die. He didn’t want The Black ordering him to pull the plug either.
“You can’t be here.”
Marv looked over at the nurse who was talking to him. Her name tag said her name was Susan.
“Why not? I’m paying for this.”
“That isn’t how this works. Visiting rules say next of kin only.” Susan insisted.
“Well, we’ll just have to see about that.” He was already on a first name basis with Valerie from billing. Damned if he was just gonna leave his girl here. She could fall prey to anything.
August 28th
First day back from vacation and he had pulled the vegetable patch shift. Great. Dr Paul Andrews was not a fan. It was 95% sitting on your ass and 5% not being able to do anything when the patients died. He didn’t really rush to get to his shift. He had been away for two weeks, but would be surprised if anything had changed.
Susan was working. The nurse was in her forties, she was jaded and no nonsense. She no longer bothered fussing with her hair and makeup like the younger nurses. Dr Andrews knew she was very good at her job, but there wasn’t much opportunity to shine around here. Given that most of his rounds would be talking brain death with a nurse, he preferred it when one of the cute ones was working.
“What have we got today, Susan?”
“No change on beds two through seven. Mrs Talbot passed away three days ago. Bed one is still empty. Bed eight was filled last night with a transfer from ICU. Woman in her mid twenties slipped getting out of a tow truck in that rainstorm on Tuesday. Skull versus pavement. Should have been a candidate for organ transplant, but she is effectively a Jane Doe. The tow truck operator said her name was Sarah, but they couldn’t find any ID.”
Dr Andrews pulled up the woman’s MRI. “Fractured skull and a brain bleed. Why is this girl even here?”
Susan shrugged, “Owner of
the garage is feeling guilty about what happened. He said he would pay for life support for three weeks to give the cops a chance to find her family. His cheque cleared, so she’s our problem until the middle of September.” Susan hesitated. “There’s another thing to be aware of, she has visitors.”
Paul frowned. “You said she was a Jane Doe.”
“Yeah, but someone from the garage comes to sit with her. They have a rotation or something, but there is always one of them with her. We have explained the situation, but they are insisting someone should be there if she wakes up. Dr Peters finally got angry and pointed out that she wasn’t going to wake up. The guy who was with her said that people shouldn’t die alone either. Then we got a call from the Administration about it. They are now allowed twenty four hour access, as long as they leave the room for procedures.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sadly, no. They are quite insistent about knowing what is going on with her. On the upside, they have pretty much taken over mouth care for her. I think they would change her diapers if we let them. As it is, they are very insistent we keep her clean.”
They exchanged a look. They both knew that patients were supposed to be changed as soon as bowel movements occurred. However, it was easier to check on a schedule than be on constant alert. The idea of having not exactly family members watching his every move did not sit well with Dr Andrews. He could only imagine what the nursing staff thought of that.
September 2nd
James, AKA Mac, AKA Mac the knife, was reading Sarah the paper. He did that every time it was his turn to sit with her. He read. He would start with the paper and then continue with whatever book he picked off her kindle. Despite the doctors insisting she couldn’t hear him, careful experimentation showed that her heart rate slowed for books about dog training and increased for John Saul’s Creature.
He personally didn’t believe this was going to work. The girl was almost brain dead when Gus had infected her. He and Marv had insisted that it used to be that everyone was almost dead when they were infected. Mac certainly hoped so.