by Justin Bell
Bringing itself upright, the beast tore its claws from the man's chest, dropped him to the floor and stood before Strickland, broadening its shoulders and snarling. It lunged.
There was no thought, no preparation, and no consideration of what should happen next. It was just pure animal instinct when Strickland shifted left, then surged forward while his fingertips split as dark talons punched through flesh.
A slashing right hand swept through the air, claws slicing nothing as Strickland dodged, then shifted and lunged right using his own hand to cut a series of ragged divots through the fur-covered flesh of the attacking creature.
The wolf screamed and tumbled left, but Strickland was on him again slashing with his other hand, now a fistful of pointed nails. This second slash cut deep and long, striking at the beasts ribs, then tearing up and towards its chest, ripping through leather skin and thick sinew and nails tangling on internal organs, tearing them free and scattering gristle up onto the wall in Jackson Pollock streaks of colors and patterns.
The creature didn't stop. It lurched forward, clamping its jaws down on Strickland's right shoulder with its fangs tearing into skin and latching onto the bone underneath. Thrusting himself upright, the military commando took two steps backwards, dragging the wolf along as it clung for purchase. The beast tried to reinforce its grasp with its left hand, forgetting for a moment that it had no left hand, and as it scrabbled for purchase, Strickland twisted, wrenching his shoulder free and drove his left claws across the other beast's face.
With a screaming howl, the creature thrashed back, slamming Strickland with a wild blow that knocked him back into the shelves on the wall. Whatever containers were still intact exploded in a shower of glass, the shelves buckled and shattered underneath the increased weight of the Strickland monster, now a full blown wolf man like the creature he battled.
The beast leaped at him again, but Strickland rolled left as the creature barreled into the shelves behind him.
"Kill him!" the scientist screamed, taking a cautious step towards Strickland. "Save us!"
Strickland whirled on him and lashed out with his claws, following it with a vicious, growling scream. With one swipe he tore out the pale man's throat, ravaged his neck, and snapping his head back. He took two uncertain steps, one forward, one backward, then toppled over and lay still with his head lolling on the remains of thin ligaments of neck muscle.
Claws dug deep into Strickland's left side as the beast recovered and renewed its attack. The momentum threw him into the corner and the creature pinned him there then tore its claws free and cocked its arm back in preparation to strike again.
The wolf soldier jerked his head to the side as a follow up strike slammed towards him, but missed wide left and smashed into the wooden surface of the wall behind him. Throwing his head forward, he drilled his forehead into the snout of the other wolf, splitting cartilage and causing the creature to howl and stumble.
Strickland pressed forward, shoving himself out of the corner and barreling into the beast with claws slashing furiously. The first hacking slash tore more ragged, hair-covered flesh from the beast's torso, which was already a crimson mess. The next slash ripped it from hip to shoulder, slicing trenches across at an angle. Blood flowed, leaving the other wolf's fur now more red than brown as it wavered on its feet, standing unsteadily.
Strickland hunched over, breathing hard in ragged gasps. His muscles were a raging fire and his head was splitting. Brief clutches of reality tried to fight their way through the red haze of animal rage, but they kept getting swallowed up by bestial fury.
For a moment he saw his wife ... then Mora Krieger. For one desperate second he was at the bar several hours earlier, joking with the whole team about what they might do with the twenty thousand dollars they would earn. But each brief vision was overwhelmed by a wild, crimson fog of anger, and the raw power of the beast itself fighting for purchase.
In that one moment, Strickland was distracted, thinking back to a different world. In that one moment the other beast struck.
Barreling forward, it lunged and slashed, buried its claws deep into Strickland's left side, and tore through the fabric of his vest, shredding the torn sweater and ravaging muscle and bone. As he faltered, the other creature pressed onward, clamping its fangs into his throat, and pressing down on Strickland's jugular. The red cloud of confusion scattered to give him an awful moment of clarity in which he realized that he was pinned to the floor in a small nameless room with a raging beast's fangs pressing into his flesh. The beast was milliseconds away from tearing open his arteries and leaving him to bleed to death in a foreign country where his fate would never be known to his wife and daughters.
Red was swallowed up as his eyes fluttered and his mind raced into darkness, protecting itself from the awful, inevitable truth.
A loud bang resounded in the room and the teeth relaxed just for a moment. Strickland turned his head just as four uniformed men burst into the room, wearing dark clothes with no identifying marks. Weapons drew and coughed in a strange, muffled sound, that was not gunfire, but something else.
The beast on top of him howled and reeled back, then a series of long darts punched into its face, neck, and left shoulder. It coughed and gagged with crimson spittle spraying, then stumbled and crumpled to the ground in a motionless mound of blood-streaked fur.
Strickland felt his muscles drawing back into himself. There was a sense of relieved tension as the red cloud of rage drifted into streaming clouds in a late day dusk. Four more coughs barked and a swift stab of pain burned in his right arm and right side. Blessed darkness crawled throughout his vision, a down pillow wrapped around his pained skull, coaxing him into a sense of deep, sound, dreamless slumber.
"Targets are down!" shouted the lead man, tapping the side of his elaborate helmet comm system. "Both targets are down!"
"Only two?" came a second voice, this one not altered by mechanical comm gear.
"Only two living," the soldier replied.
"Good." Richard Grace stepped through the open door from the containment room. His tailored black suit draped from his narrow shoulders, and he adjusted his dark tie as he looked at the scene of carnage ahead of him.
"That's him?" he asked. "That's William Strickland?"
"Indeed it is," said Dr. Worthy as he emerged from behind Grace to get a better view. "That's the man I saw in Romania. Magnificent specimen."
Grace looked up into the corner of the room and smirked at the blinking red light that looked back at him.
"Security footage caught it all," he said. "Good. This will go a long way towards our proof of concept."
"Excuse me," a third voice said, and another man pressed his way into the room, skirting past Grace and walking over to where Strickland lay, now back in human form. "I can't believe it," he whispered as he knelt down next to the man. "After all these years, two successful results."
"Mostly thanks to you, Dr. Zupan," Worthy replied.
The kneeling man glanced back over his shoulder, looking a little unsure as to whether or not he deserved, or even wanted, the praise.
"Mr. Strickland appears to be a near perfect host," Grace said. "Transformation was nearly instantaneous, just as you suspected, Worthy. I think we're ready to move to the next phase."
"Indeed," Worthy replied. "The blood samples we retrieved from Romania proved just as accurate as we suspected they might. I agree ... phase one is at hand."
Zupan didn't look back at them. His fingers traced the wounds on Strickland's neck, checking for damage, but to his surprise, there was less than he anticipated.
"Zupan, prepare the memory alteration treatments. We need to be ready to move him back home."
"Home?" Zupan asked, now turning to look. "Mr. Grace, he's dangerous. We couldn't dream of sending him back home."
Worthy snapped an angry look at him. "I thought we were all on the same page with this, Aleksander. The treatment needs to be introduced within the confines of a familiar en
vironment. That is what Operation: Harvest has been built around. Introduce the shocks to the system in small doses to make the transformation more easily accepted."
"I realize that, Dr. Worthy, but look at Dr. Hammond over there," he gestured towards the corner where the pale skinned man lay with blood pooled around the grievous wound where his throat used to be. "Strickland did that. He was an innocent, and Strickland tore his throat out without a second thought."
"He perceived him as a threat," Grace replied. "The man injected him against his will."
"I still don't think—"
"The decision has been made, Dr. Zupan," Worthy replied, cutting him off. "Memory alteration treatments begin immediately. Blur these events from his mind. Get him back home and start reintroducing the genetic enhancements."
"We coax him out of retirement in a few months," Grace continued, "and let him run wild."
Zupan stood and the men in uniform moved in, enveloping Strickland, propping him up, and dragging him from the room, a lifeless body in a torn and ragged military uniform. He showed no indication of the earlier transformation beyond the torn clothing. Even being as deeply involved in Operation: Harvest as he had been, Zupan found it difficult to wrap his head around it.
"Very well," Zupan replied. "Phase One begins now. We will reintroduce him to his family and to his home."
"That is the best way," Grace replied, placing a calming hand on Zupan's shoulder. "After this train wreck, what else could possibly go wrong?"
What else indeed?
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TO BE CONTINUED IN...
OPERATION: HARVEST (Book One) – THE FOG OF DREAMS
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in San Diego, California, Justin Bell has lived most of his life in the sleepy Upper Valley area on the New Hampshire and Vermont border, near where The Fog of Dreams takes place. He first realized his love of writing at a young age and had grand visions to go to school for English. Somehow, he sidetracked into the world of Information Technology as a career, but throughout it all, he continued to write and write often.
The world of self-publishing has opened up his eyes, and in recent years, he has embraced writing much more thoroughly, polishing some work from past decades, and working on new material as well.
With an interest in military adventure, science fiction, and action, the focus of most of his work is within those genres.
He currently still resides in the Upper Valley area, and lives with his two beautiful little girls, his wife, and his part Bichon/part Rottweiler dog Maxwell.
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