by Tony Lewis
“You okay, boss?” asked Stitches, patting himself down in an effort to rid himself of explosion related dust.
“Yeah.”
“What are you…? Oh.”
“I know.”
Stitches gazed around the rest of the room, saying hello to Mrs. Ladle as he did so. He knew that Flug was alright and had already given himself a thorough check up. To his relief and utter amazement, all of his body parts were intact. He hadn’t lost so much as a fingernail, which was completely mystifying because nine point nine times out of ten if he so much as sneezed something or another would go flying off at just under MACH 1 and disappear.
“What are we going to do now?” he asked Ollie in an attempt to distract his attention from the death and destruction that surrounded them.
“I really don’t know,” he replied, his voice subdued. “To be honest, I thought that we would have been overrun by now. That blast must have been heard for miles around.”
“Well, Mrs. Ladle took care of the two out there,” Stitches said, indicating the corridor.
“I took care of the rest,” came a deep voice from a figure stepping through the doorway into the office.
“Ethan!” both Ollie and Stitches exclaimed at precisely the same time and with the same sense of relief.
“But how?” continued Ollie. “We thought you were staying back at the house.”
Ethan strode to the centre of the room, nodding politely to Mrs. Ladle as he did so.
“I was going to,“ he explained, “but I got a sense that I would be better off out here with you chaps, rather than hanging around back at the house no use as man nor beast. And I need to know what’s happened to Isobel. I got here just as the guards were leading you inside.”
Ollie turned towards the body sprawled on the floor behind him and was about to explain, but was cut off by Ethan before a word could pass from his lips.
“You don’t have to, Ollie. I saw what happened out there. I’ve got a good idea what she did, and as much as it pains me to say it, she got what she deserved. Even if she had lived, no member of a pack could do what she’s done and expect to go unpunished. At least it was quick. I know of at least a couple of pack mates that would have wanted her to suffer rather more than she did.”
“So what did you get up to out there, my dear?” Mrs Ladle asked, indicating the rest of the building with a hand that already contained a lit cigarette.
Ethan ran his fingers through his thick, luxuriant hair.
“When the explosion went off, soldiers came running from all directions. Their mistake was that they panicked, which surprised me to be honest. I was still at the fence then so I, how shall I put it, slipped into something more comfortable and took care of them.”
“All of them?” asked Ollie.
“Every one. They were charging around like headless chickens so it wasn’t hard to pick them off one by one. None of them are running around anymore. And a lot of them are rather more headless than they were.”
He grinned, showing a set of brilliantly white teeth which Ollie could have sworn had a vague pinkish tint to them.
At that point the assembled company all turned towards the door after hearing a loud THUNK.
“Hey, big stuff, how are you feeling?” asked Stitches.
Flug stomped into the office, a faraway look on his face. Apart from a thin trickle of dark fluid dripping from his left ear and a slight bend in his bolt, he appeared to be okay.
“Me fine, fanks,” he replied. “Head hurts a bit dough“.
Stitches held a hand up in front of his large friend and extended three digits.
“How many fingers can you see, Flug mate?”
“Uh, blue.”
“He’s fine.”
“Where da shouty man?” Flug enquired.
“The what?” asked Ollie.
“Da shouty man. Da man wiv da cigar.”
Ollie and Stitches looked around the office and then looked at each other, the worried expression on their faces mirroring one another’s perfectly.
“Damn it,” Ollie exclaimed. “In all the turmoil I totally forgot about him. How many soldiers did you say you took care of Mrs. Ladle?”
“Just the two my dear. They were the only ones I could see as I approached the window.”
“Okay, mate,” Stitches said in exasperation, “he ain’t here.”
“Who exactly are we talking about?” asked Ethan.
“The guy who was running this whole operation. He was in here when Mrs. Ladle showed up. Don’t ask me how, but he’s managed to escape.”
Ethan thought for a moment. “Maybe he ran outside with the others. Chances are that I dealt with him. What did he look like?”
Ollie described Cowan to Ethan.
“Doesn’t ring any bells,” replied the lycan. “Sounds like he would have stood out.”
“Can you remember individuals when you’re in your other form, then?” asked Stitches.
“Usually,” he answered, staring out of the window. “We’re not the simple minded killing machines that most people take us for. Believe it or not, there is a certain remnant of humanity still intact after we’ve transformed. We’re always aware on a subliminal level of what we’re doing and who we’re doing it to. It’s like a curse within a curse, I suppose.”
“We’re going to have to find him,” observed Ollie. “We can’t let him get away. If he gets back to wherever it is he came from, there’s nothing to stop him from starting all over again, only next time he’ll have more weapons and soldiers than any of us can hope to deal with.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Stitches.
“The only thing we can do. Find him. We’ll start with the facility and if that proves negative, move into the woods. Ethan, if you can go with Mrs. Ladle and start on the floor above we’ll take this one and then move downstairs.”
“No problem,” said Ethan, gesturing to the witch to follow him. “See you soon. Good luck.” They left.
“Right, let’s do it,” said Ollie, a grim determination evident in his voice.
The search began.
* * *
When the blast had come through the window, Cowan had been as surprised and as unprepared for it as everybody else in the room. Luckily for him though, the angle of the discharge hadn’t been directly at him, but it was still of a sufficient force to knock him clean off his feet and send him clattering into the wall like a rag doll. Amazingly, he hadn’t lost consciousness in spite of his head connecting sharply with the floor when he landed in a crumpled heap. Then, with whatever motives that drive certain people on, call it instinct, call it training, he was instantly on his feet and assessing the situation. Without even thinking he used the acrid, choking blue smoke to his advantage. Whoever or whatever had caused the explosion would need to give it time for the smoke to clear, and that was time that he could use. Knowing the office layout, he negotiated his way to the door and even though he could barely see his hands in front of his face, within seconds he was out and into the corridor. He was not surprised to note that some of the smog had travelled this far. Fragments of wood and glass crunched under his boots as he walked on. Slumped against the wall opposite was the big dumb one. He seemed to be alive but out cold. For a moment Cowan contemplated putting a bullet through that big ugly head, but it was only a fleeting consideration. He couldn’t afford the time that it would take, or the noise that it would make notwithstanding the fact that his trusty side-arm seemed to be missing. Dismissing the eclectic sack of flesh he turned right. About twenty five feet away was something else. Heaped in a mound was what appeared to be a steaming pile of mincemeat, the only difference being was that he was sure that he could see scraps of uniform amongst the gobbets of seared flesh. Approaching cautiously, he got to within a yard or so when his eyes confirmed what he had initially suspected. Whoever this had been, and he strongly believed it to be the two privates who had been guarding the prisoners, looked like they had been through an industrial
pulping machine. The pieces of cloth were indeed uniform and intermingled with the blood, bone and shredded tissue were hunks of what had been standard US Army issue combat boots. Cowan had been in the military for most of his adult life, and during that time he had seen and, on many occasions perpetrated many acts of violence, but this was something different. For the first time the sight of mangled human bodies and the disinterred gore made him wretch. He leaned against the wall, bracing himself with both hands and hung his head as he vomited heavily. When he was done he took a few deep breaths and arched his back to stretch his cramping stomach muscles, all the while being careful not to look again at the carnage on the floor. Moving on, he made his way to the end of the corridor where he stopped, listening carefully for any hints that might give away what was going on. There, like a faint shout from a long way off, came the shrill call of raised voices and the staccato beat of automatic weapon fire. He opened the door and cautiously descended the stairs to the passageway below. It was deserted, the only clue that anyone had been here were a couple of laboratory doors that were open. One of them had been thrust aside with such force that the bottom hinge had detached, leaving the door hanging at an odd angle. The lab inside didn’t look too disturbed, just a few shattered test tubes on the floor and a spilled cup of coffee at a work station. Someone had left in a hurry though, that much was clear. He carried on turning left then right until he reached the passageway that led to the double entrance doors. In each one was a twelve inch square pane of reinforced glass. He stuck close to the wall and approached. As he did the noise from outside became louder and louder, the sounds becoming more distinct. Men were shouting at the tops of their voices and Cowan could detect the fear and panic inherent in their exclamations. Heavy footfalls pounded into the ground in quick succession, as if people were running around, but whether they were chasing something or being chased he couldn’t be sure. Then another noise assailed his ears and even though he couldn’t identify it, it was enough to freeze the breath in his lungs and turn his blood to ice water. It started off as a deep, guttural rumble that was so low that it was almost beyond the range of human hearing, before rising to a ferocious roar that forced him to clamp his hands to the sides of his head because it was so piercing. Whatever the hell had made that noise he didn’t have a clue, but it was big and it was pissed off.
Once at the entrance he, ever so slowly, leaned his head so that his right eye could look out into the compound beyond.
The footfalls were as he had expected. His soldiers were charging around, weapons raised and firing brief bursts every few seconds. The shots didn’t seem to be aimed at any one point in particular so there were either multiple targets out there or one incredibly fast one. He could see further activities in the tree line beyond the perimeter fence as other soldiers seemed to be firing random shots into the dark woodland beyond. As he was trying to make sense of the chaos before him, he noticed Lieutenant Travis exit from the forest boundary. He was running wildly towards the main gate, every now and again turning the top half of his body around thus enabling him to fire off a few well intentioned, but terribly inaccurate rounds at whatever was behind him. Try as he might, Cowan could not see far enough into the trees to determine what had gotten Travis so spooked. Even the bright light shining into the compound wouldn’t stretch that far. Just then, about fifteen yards behind the fleeing Lieutenant, the trees parted as a large form exploded through them and he got his answer. In an instant it had closed the gap and as it leapt and flew through the air, Cowan realised what it was.
Not only was it a werewolf, a creature that he had become extremely familiar with during the recent past, but it was the biggest one that he had ever seen. It must have easily weighed in at over two hundred kilos and with barely an ounce of fat on its body, it was one of the most formidable things that he could recall coming into contact with. The massive beast slammed into Travis’ back, knocking him to the ground and sending up a dust storm of dried mud and leaves and spilling the terrified soldiers’ weapon from his grasp. As he struck dirt, he rolled over onto his back and tried to scrabble away, but it was no use. The wolf was on the struggling marine in a flash, pinning him down by the shoulders with its huge front paws before opening its cavernous jaws and biting into Travis’ neck and shoulder. Blood gushed into the air, arcing majestically away from the entwined combatants, some of it splashing down and soaking into the ground whilst still more flowed onto the wolfs muzzle, making its fur glisten in the night. Travis’ body twitched spasmodically a couple of times before it went still forever and the wolf bounded from him, already focussed on another target.
Cowan let out the breath that he had been holding for the duration of the attack on Travis. He had only stopped breathing for just a few seconds, but the sudden expulsion of air caused him to hyperventilate, his lungs eagerly sucking in oxygen as if he was in the midst of a marathon. Quickly forcing himself to calm down, he realised that it was no surprise that none of his personnel had been able to take the beast out. It was lightning fast and moved with a grace and fluidity that belied its tremendous bulk.
It was only now, when he looked carefully, that he noticed the other corpses scattered around the clearing. He could see at least ten all of them in various states of disarray. A couple had been decapitated whilst others were missing limbs or had deep, jagged lacerations over their exposed torsos. Wide eyed and in danger of going completely over the edge, the major realised that he could no longer see the murderous beast, but then from the left a new figure entered his field of vision. A big, heavily muscled man who was doing up the buttons of a shirt as he surveyed the carnage that surrounded him. Cowan understood. The beast had reverted to human form and it was he who Cowan was now staring at. It was at this point that the major was in two minds about what course of action he should take next. He figured escape was probably the best option. Wait until the attacker outside had finished gloating over the remnants of his bestial rampage and went away, and then find a way out of here, after which he would someday return and with enough firepower to take out this whole god forsaken town and its unholy inhabitants. Or, he could consolidate his position here and stand and fight right now. The second option wasn’t the most ideal tactically, considering what he was faced with, but it was the best option emotionally. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to go Rambo on this lot and destroy them all.
Cowan was still watching out of the small window in the door when his mind was incontrovertibly made up for him. The big man outside had finished perusing his handiwork and was now walking directly towards the door that the major was standing behind. For the first time in his life, the tough, grizzled and battle hardened veteran panicked. A frigid shiver ran down his spine that felt like icy talons being scraped along his very marrow. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry, which was in direct opposition to the palms of his hands, which were slippery with sweat. His heart was pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil, but his vision remained steady. The man was now within fifty feet of him and striding purposefully. He would be here in just a few seconds. Cowan turned and ran as fast as he could, back down the corridor and away from any chance of escape. At last he came to another door on his right. He forced it open, dashed inside, made sure it was closed properly and ran to the back of the room taking refuge behind a shelving unit in a corner.
“Major?” a timid, whispered voice from behind him said.
Cowan slowly turned his head. There was a steel cabinet roughly three feet high and five feet across. It was highly polished and in its mirrored surface, Cowan could see his own reflected face. The two doors of the cabinet were shut except for the one on the right hand side, which was open about an inch. Peering at it Cowan could see an eye, blinking furiously but staring right at him.
“Is that you, major?”
“Meredith?”
The door slid wide open, revealing Dr Meredith who spilled out onto the floor in an untidy heap.
“Major, am I glad to…”
Cowan hushed him with a teacher-like finger to his lips. He glanced back at the door just in time to see the lycanthrope walk past. Thankfully, he didn’t stop. Cowan gazed at the door for a good few seconds before he remembered his fellow hider behind him.
“What are we going to do?” Meredith asked, sounding like a frightened child. “What happened out there?”
Cowan didn’t answer. His thoughts were elsewhere. He had realised that in his eagerness to hide from the marauding monster, he had stumbled into Meredith’s lab. A plan was starting to form in his overwrought mind. Where it had come from he didn’t know, but if he had stopped to examine it further he would have realised that it was born out of desperation and a willingness to survive, no matter how high the odds were that were stacked against him. Still, above all else was revenge. Though he wasn’t capable of rationalising it, the overriding emotion that had taken control of him was the urge to get back at those who had destroyed his chances of completing his mission. The pieces fell into place easily. Ignoring the whining question from Meredith, he got to his feet and scanned the lab. He knew that he was risking exposure, but he didn’t care. His course, his destiny, was fixed and set. To his right was a refrigeration unit where he knew that all of the collected samples were stored. Despite the doctors’ pleas for him to get out of sight, Cowan walked towards it and slid the door open.
A rush of frigid air escaped, surrounding him and causing him to gasp in surprise. Inside, there was only one object. It was hexagonal, each side being a steel tube. He grasped it and pulled it closer to him. Each tube had a clasped lid, three of which were open and three of which were secure, and it was these that he was interested in. He popped the lids of the locked tubes and removed the items from within.