by Justin Bell
Strickland looked back at the man in the room. "Do not lock this fucking door." The man glared back at him. "We're going to kill this fucking thing and get you out of there. You got it?"
He nodded.
Strickland pulled his foot free and turned back towards the room, his HK416 raised, suppressor directed out towards the open room, steady and elevated.
"Keep talking, Lundquist!"
"On your eleven o'clock, Strick," he replied, waving. Through the glass his arm looked like a strange mutation, but Strickland nodded.
In the confines of the packed room, the quiet rake of claws scraping on tile was like nails on a chalkboard. The low, throaty growl followed it, seeming like it was coming from everywhere at once.
Lundquist passed another one of the glass chambers with his eye to the sight of his SCAR. A swift blur of motion caught his attention as a bulbous dark blur warped through the glass chamber to his right, moving too fast. He spun on his heel, swinging the SCAR around and fired a swift burst of three rounds. One of the containment tubes exploded in a shower of sprinkling glass, dancing across the smooth floor.
"On my three, on my four!" Lundquist shouted, spinning again, another blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. He fired again, obliterating another glass chamber as bullets broke the sound barrier.
Strickland broke right, but twisted left, tracing the direction of Lundquist's gunfire. For a brief moment, he caught sight of a surging mound of dark fur and went full auto with the 416 ratcheting a series of 7.62mm rounds towards the center of the room. Another glass chamber exploded, but the blur moved out of his line of sight, even as he swiveled left to try to track it.
"God dammit!"
Lundquist moved up fast with his SCAR firing twice more towards the other wall, but the rounds punched harmlessly into the wall even as the dark streak jerked right, halted, then surged forward.
"It's straight ahead of me!" Lundquist shouted, adjusting his aim.
And it was. The creature was charging at him on all fours with with its hunched shoulders pumping, its eyes narrowed, and its red-tinted fangs bared. Its massive paws slammed down on the floor as it charged forward with its legs moving in concert as if it was born to run on four legs, even though Lundquist had seen it standing up on two earlier.
He adjusted aim and fired three more times at the beast as it charged. There was nowhere else to run, no place to hide. It was him or this fucking thing.
The first two shots pounded into the wolf's chest as it ran at him. Thick tufts of fur spun out into the air, chased by clouds of red, but the creature didn't even slow down.
"It's here!" Lundquist screamed, firing one more time, but the shot went wide left and the wolf leaped into the air, slamming into him and knocking him back through another glass containment chamber. Shards blasted into the air and scattered against the other chambers in an echoing symphony of breaking glass.
To his credit, Lundquist didn't scream. He clamped his lips together and drew his final breaths as the creature slammed him down to the floor and buried its fangs into his exposed throat, tearing out his jugular.
"Lundquist?" Strickland asked, as the room suddenly became a deadly womb of silence. "Hey? You there?"
The gunfire echo had faded. The shattered glass had finished falling. Nothing moved, and no sound came.
Strickland ducked his head for a moment, easing his eyes closed.
Was he it? Was he the last one?
His entire team was gone. He'd served with them for years, and in the span of two hours they were all dead.
How had he gotten here? Was this his fault?
The growl split the air, a low and ragged sound, which narrowed and rose to a hoarse, throaty howl. The amazingly loud wolfish scream sounded like it came from the depths of hell itself.
Through the remaining glass chambers, he saw the warped and distorted form of the creature stalking on four legs, rounding one of the containment units with its eyes glaring at him throughout the haze of smoke and spent ammunition.
Strickland kept the 416 elevated, but took an uncertain step backwards as the creature rounded the chamber and took two confident strides towards him, still on all fours. Even from this distance, he could see the bullet wounds in the chest of the beast, high and towards its right front shoulder. Fur was flattened and slicked red, and the creature favored its right leg, just a bit.
"I'm going to fucking kill you," Strickland hissed, even as he continued stepping backwards.
This seemed to resonate with the beast. It halted its stalking motion, and its lips parting into a strange, tooth-filled grin. Strickland leaned down, put his eye to the scope on his HK416, looked down the extended barrel, and sighted the weapon on the forehead of the creature as it crouched there. His finger hovered over the trigger.
As the creature took one step forward, Strickland slammed his finger down, and the weapon exploded with a furious volley. Several yards away, the wolf screamed and lurched left with its head whipping and throwing a narrow arc of blood across the glass case to its left.
Strickland's weapon clicked on an empty magazine, and he jettisoned it, then swept a replacement from his vest and slammed it home even as the creature turned back towards him with its face a mask of crimson. Strickland turned the weapon back towards the beast. Before his eyes, it reared back on two legs and extended its muscular arms in a rage-fueled attempt at embrace.
The creature roared, screamed really, as it threw its snout forward, baring its teeth and throwing spittle. Veins thrust out from just beneath the sinewy skin of his muscular neck and chest. Biceps surged through the low sheet of fur on his arms and Strickland hesitated, just for a split second as the bizarre, mythic creature howled at him.
It was a split second too long.
It coiled its legs and leaped forward, throwing itself into the air towards him with its claws extended.
Strickland fired, but missed left as the creature dropped down just ahead of him. Its claws slammed chunks of ceramic from the tile floor as the growling fury threw blood-soaked spit into the air. It howled again and Strickland thrust himself backwards as the creature lunged, hacking at the air with long, jagged claws. The claws stripped through the cloth of his tactical vest, but narrowly missed flesh even as he turned away and charged towards the door.
"Please be open," he whispered as he slammed his shoulder into the door.
The hot breath of the beast shot up the back of his neck. The door sprang open, and he shoved his way through just as the pale faced man surged the other way, pushing the thick, metal door closed. It slammed with an echoing bang, crashing onto the extended arm of the beast. Its fingers sprang apart as claws grasped for flesh.
The pale man held the door closed. "It's strong," he said, straining.
Moving quickly, Strickland stepped forward, sweeping his combat knife from a boot sheath. He swung up in a tight arc, neatly severing the creatures hand just above the wrist, spraying a gout of blood in his own face. From the other side of the door, the beast howled, but in pain this time, not rage, and the door slammed forward, latching.
The room was encased in silence and darkness, the only sensation the rotten smell of thick, wet fur and spilled blood.
#
"I'm giving you thirty seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on here."
William Strickland took two long strides forward as the pale man with slicked down hair back-pedaled until his spine smacked into a shelving unit against the wall behind him.
The light was dim in this small room with the thick, metal door clamped down tight. A series of rapid, dull slams had faded as the werewolf at least gave up its insistent attempts to break into the chamber.
"I ... I can't," the man stammered. Strickland lifted his rifle and activated the tactical light, flashing the pale beam into the man's stricken face. In the splash back of light he saw the shelves behind him, lined with beakers, sealed containers, and other strange scientific instruments. He paused for a moment, then swi
veled, walking the beam of light around the entire room, revealing more shelves, more sealed beakers, rows of test tubes, and three large side-by-side refrigeration units. There was a quiet hum of electricity powering the cold storage devices, and Strickland understood then why the rest of the building was just making do on scant trickles of power.
"Can't?" Strickland asked, "or won't?" He turned back towards the man again, staring him down with the business end of his suppressor.
"It's classified," the man replied. "Top Secret. Beyond top secret."
Strickland extended a thick finger towards the exit door. "Maybe I should open the door and ask that fucking thing what's going on?"
"Jesus, no," the man gasped. "We never meant for that to happen."
"What did you mean to happen exactly?"
The other man drew in a series of shallow breaths. An off-white, stained lab coat draping over his shoulders moved with each breath.
"We're going to die," Strickland said. "Either in here without food and water or out there, hacked to death by that god damned monster. Either way, we're fucked. So you might as well tell me what's going on so at least I know what killed all of my friends."
The pale man dropped his head again, pinning his chin to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell as if he was sobbing, but Strickland couldn't hear any noise.
"Genetic experiments," the man replied. "Physical enhancements."
"Enhancements?"
The man nodded. "Trying to increase the natural survival instincts of operatives in the field. Enable them to better survive harsh climates and long missions in the field."
"And how was this supposed to happen; by turning them into fucking horror movies?"
"No, no, of course not. Merely introducing animal DNA into their bodies. Gently massaging their genetic code. Training their systems to be more adaptable to the natural world."
Strickland nodded. "Great. Good job. Smashing success."
The man shook his head. "There were side effects. Our latest subject ... well, he took to the treatments a little too well."
"That's a fucking understatement."
"Is this a GenTech thing?" Strickland asked, lowering his weapon and taking a step closer. He could still see the faint shadow of the man's face even without the flashlight.
The scientist nodded. "Contracted by the government."
"Jesus. Can't leave well enough alone." Strickland turned away and walked towards the door. He pressed his palm to it and leaned closer, pointing his ear towards the metal, listening for any sign of disturbance.
"So what now?" the scientist asked. "I was just doing my job. We didn't ask for any of this. Your friends aren't the only ones who died tonight."
"What now?" Strickland asked. He turned back towards the other man. "Why don't you tell me? What did you give that asshole? Will he change back?"
The scientist looked at him and lifted a clenched fist, closed tight around a pistol shaped hypodermic.
"This," the man replied. "This is what we gave him."
A loud and shattering slam echoed from the door behind Strickland and he stumbled forward, glancing over his shoulder. The lock buckled. On the other side he could hear the low growl as the creature drew in strength and prepared to charge again.
"He's coming in!" the scientist screamed. "He's going to break down the door!"
Strickland turned towards the door as it slammed again, the latch system twisting against the wall, chunks of plaster punching out and falling to the floor.
"Let him," he snarled, lifting his gun and pointing it towards the door. "I'll give him a fully automatic welcome."
"It won't do any good!" the other man screamed. "There's only one way!"
Strickland turned at the blur of motion. The scientist was leaping straight towards him.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
A sharp pain stabbed Strickland in the base of the neck, a deep and white-hot agony, shooting liquid lava straight down into his bloodstream, the scorching heat flooding throughout his entire body, every single fiber of muscle.
"God dammit!" he screamed, twisting and lashing out with his rifle. The scientist went stumbling backwards, smashing into the shelves behind him, shattering beakers and test tubes, and scattering the mess onto the floor.
"What did you do?" Strickland screamed as his arms bulged and tensed, and the muscles locked firm underneath his commando sweater. It was like bugs were crawling all over his flesh. He tossed his weapon to the ground scratching at the sleeves of his sweater, trying to tear off the fabric. "What is this?" he shouted, glaring up at the pale sweat-soaked man in the white coat.
"I didn't know what else to do," he stammered, his eyes wide and face flushed a deep crimson.
Behind Strickland, the pounding began again. A loud, shattering crash sounded as the metal door bowed inward, the latch straining against the wall. With a deep, sharp intake of breath, Strickland drew up tall, closing his eyes. He could feel every inch of skin, ever fiber of muscle, he swore that he felt every inch of blood running through the miles of veins in his body, and all of it was on fire.
A red fog crossed his vision, clouding the world around him, and a rage tightened the muscles on his neck, squeezing his brain like a clamp. The skin on his fingers pinched painfully, his entire body racked with a sudden and voracious agony. It was like hunger, or a pain fueled by a hunger only satisfied by feeding upon itself and growing.
With one more sudden, rocking slam the latch exploded, spraying metal and wall fragments into the room. The door flew open, whipped around, and banged against the inside wall, revealing the opening into the containment room.
The creature stood framed within the opening, hunched on two legs with its long, muscular arm dangling almost to the ground. The left side of its face was slicked with red fur, and spots of rust colored skin and hair covered its right torso. But it stood wide and angry with bulging veins, narrow eyes, and bared teeth.
Its black lips snarled and it howled, a sharp and piercing sound that shot through Strickland like a broad head arrow. He couldn't think. The creature's roaring screech, his own skin boiling from his bones, and the scientist's scrambling that shattered more glass containers to the floor all combined into a violent orchestra of chaos. Strickland took a step backwards with his hands clamped over his ears, waiting for the creature to descend upon him, tearing and ripping.
"No no, please no!" the scientist screamed as he ran towards the rear corner of the small room, knocking into shelves and spilling more contents onto the floor.
The creature lashed out, thrashed the stump of its left arm, and slammed it into Strickland's chest, throwing him several feet backwards. He tipped sideways in the air and slammed into a set of shelves back by the other wall, exploding wood, glass and colored liquids. It all crashed down to the floor around him as he fell with his ears ringing and his eyes bursting with colored lights.
The beast reared up, glaring at the man in the white lab coat with lips snarling and spittle flying from between clamped fangs. It growled, loud and long, taking a wide step forward with claws scraping on the floor.
Stumbling backwards, the pale man in the lab coat found himself pinned in the corner with both shoulders pressed together by walls where the shelves ended. With great effort the man tried to press himself backwards into the wall. His shoulders narrowed and his spine filled the contours of the corner as if he might make himself one with the wall and somehow avoid certain death.
Green eyes narrowed from within the layered muscle of the creature's face and it took one steady step forward, as if taking its time to torture its victim. Long strands of saliva slipped out from clenched fangs, clinging to leather lips for dear life. As the creature took another slow and determined step forward with claws clicking on smooth floor, the scientist pressing himself even further into the corner.
"Please," he whispered. "We didn't know. We couldn't have known."
A deep growl rumbled in the wolf's throat, from deep within its core.
Its hand clenched and unclenched, moving in a calculated, purposeful motion of intimidation. Dark shadows crept along the floor and crawled up the legs of the pale man with slicked back hair as the wolf approached. A pale glow from the containment room bracketed the tall, lumbering form of this otherworldly creature that looked more animal than man. It was a vision that the scientist still couldn't rationalize, even though he had assisted in its birth.
Another howl broke the air as the muscular arm shot out like a piston, and claws dug into the flesh of the man's shoulder, pushing him back hard against the wall. He didn't scream; his face just pinched closed like a clenched fist, and closed his eyes and mouth within the tight fingers of his face. Tears broke free from the clenched flesh of his eye sockets and he whimpered softly as blood pooled around the puncture wounds at the fleshy meat of his shoulder.
Twin green eyes narrowed, and the creature leaned forward with its lips curling into an angry snarl and its teeth sneaking out from its mouth as it drew nearer and nearer to the weeping scientist. The wolf's mouth opened wide as he moved in, hovering inches from the pale man's scrunched up face with pointed fangs slicked with red saliva. The creature lowered its gaping maw closer.
A piercing, shrieking howl cut through the small room like a dull, serrated blade cutting a ragged and ugly slice through the flesh of stillness.
The beast reared around, snapping its jaws shut and glowering towards the other side of the room as Strickland bolted upright with fists clenched and muscles flexing at his neck. The pale scientist's eyes widened as Strickland's flesh mottled and darkened, his skin twisted around, and bone shifted and snapped. With a muffled gasp, the soldier doubled over as his commando sweater split underneath the tactical vest, and buckles strained under the bulging form of his changing body.
His head snapped up, glaring at the man in the coat as yellow irises pushed their way through the milky pools of his eyes.
"What did you do?" he screamed, each word a punctuated growl of rage, bellowed through teeth that spilled out of his open mouth, replaced by narrow, jagged incisors.