The Awakening: Part Two (The Lycan War Saga)

by Michael Timmins

  Hank's voice, deeper than usual, growled out, "It works, but it still hurts like hell, though I think it hurt less."

  Following his lead, Sim formed a picture of himself as the Werebear in his mind and felt it lock into focus. The pain was instantaneous, but not long lasting. It was done, and they were standing together as Werebears.

  Peering around for the first time, Hank realized he could see deep into the forest. Yes, the moon was at full illumination, but in the dense forest he could see fine. This must be what bears see. Everything was a muted gray color of its original though. Taking a moment to take a deep breath, he was assaulted by a barrage of smells. The smoke and pine from the fire. The freshly turned dirt from their earlier fight, and the smell of snow runoff from the creek some distance to the east. Another smell caught in his nose, he let out a soft growl.

  Sim was too engrossed in his own discoveries to hear. "So, what do we do now?"

  Hank let out a deep chuckle. "We do what bears do. We hunt!" Hank lowered himself to all fours and ran northwest, towards the smell which caught his attention...deer.

  Chapter 3

  Sylvia watched the cursor blink on her monitor, and wondered for the hundredth time, what she did to deserve this? All she ever wanted to be in life was a journalist. When she was little she would interview family members and write newspaper stories about what she learned. When she got into junior high, she joined the school newspaper and wrote several news breaking stories. In fact, one of her investigative reports was used on the evening news.

  High school improved her skills. Devoting almost all her free time to the school newspaper, she was lead reporter, lead editor and head writer all in one. In most cases in high school there should have been some jealousy and bitterness, but Sylvia was so effective at her job nobody thought ill of her. She was also a nice, if a little self-absorbed, individual. She always came off as likable, she knew, but always distant, as if thinking of something else, which was generally accurate.

  Running story ideas through her head, she had a unique ability to write an entire article in her head. It was a matter of sitting down and typing it, which is why most people didn't have any problem with the fact she almost single-handedly ran everything at the newspaper. It customarily took her about an hour to assemble and print, and it was always impeccable.

  After high school, she went to Sydney University and studied Journalism as a major and communications and biology as a double minor. The biology minor she took primarily as a personal curiosity caused her most recent problem. Because of her animal knowledge, she was regulated to covering all stories to do with animals. This was not the position she had in mind when she applied to the Sydney Times.

  Now, instead of covering critical stories about Australia's involvement in world events, or the current Prime Minister’s new promise to make good with the Aborigines, she was covering dog shows and strange mutant animal attacks! Well, the latter was only once, but was the reason she was staring at her monitor now.

  For several weeks, there have been vicious attacks in the shadier parts of Sydney. It started with pets. Dogs and cats were found torn to shreds. Ultimately, it happened to humans. Initially it was thought perchance a rabid dingo made its way into Sydney, but an animal attack expert was called in and examined the bodies. He concluded the attacks were almost identical to the way crocodile attacks appear.

  Sylvia had dutifully reported what the expert said which caused a wave of panic to spread throughout Sydney. Outside animals suddenly were kept inside; kids weren't allowed to play far from the house at all. People went crazy. For a while, every day an Aussie would show up at the police station with a dead croc and claim it was the killer croc. Once again, the animal attack expert would come in and examine the bite width of the supposed killer croc, and it would always come up short. Supposedly, this crocodile attacking was one massive croc. Its bite radius was larger than an average croc.

  Somehow this croc eluded all capture, even being seen, which was amazing, seeing how the complete police roster was combing the streets, Sydney harbor, and the sewer system for any sign of this quote, end quote, Killer croc. Once again, Sylvia placed her fingers upon the keyboard in hopes they might decide to write for themselves, but to no avail. She had nothing. No pic, no leads, no witnesses, only a case file of eight deaths attributed to this croc.

  Flicking open the file, she fanned the pictures on her desk before her. The shots were gruesome and disturbing. Sizeable pieces of abdomens, upper thighs, even the side of one man’s skull was missing. Perhaps the most disturbing of all the pics, and the reason why the police force and media were in a blitz, was of an eight-year-old girl.

  Her name was Samantha Tosh, a petite, blonde-haired girl, like the ones seen in commercials or calendars. Normally, you would expect to see a capricious smile and a twinkle in her eye, like a spark of laughter right before it came forth. Instead, all you saw was an expression of horror and agonizing pain on her face as the crocodile tore the lower half of her body off. Entrails lay in a tangle heap, jutting from her severed torso. The lower floating ribs could be seen and the vertebrae down to her coccyx were visible. Her hands were each gripping part of her large intestine, trying to put it back inside her body as she died of shock and blood loss. Sylvia felt the bile rising in her stomach and turned the picture over. She had seen all types of deaths in her time studying journalism and being reporter, but this one hit her hard.

  Sylvia thought of her niece. Tess was also eight years old, same as Samantha, and Sylvia could not imagine what those poor parents were going through. To have your young daughter taken from you, in such a violent way, was devastating. To have had to go into the morgue and gaze upon her face, a face revealing how much pain she endured before she died, and identify her as your daughter. Sylvia wiped her eyes as tears welled in them. Thankfully, her niece was safe, at home.

  Sylvia leaned back in her chair. It creaked faintly, a squeaky pulse, as it rocked back and forth. Pushing off with one foot, she rolled across the tile floor to the desk behind her and kicked on the police scanner. It was something she did now and again to see if she could possibly scoop a story and get off the animal beat. As was obvious from the fact she still abided at this desk, she hadn't gotten lucky yet.

  The dispatch was finishing up telling an officer the location of a domestic violence call which had come in. The officer agreed to go check on it and would radio in when he arrived at the scene. Listening for a short while back at her desk, she stared at the monitor. The boss wanted the story for Friday's run, which gave her two more days to write it, and with luck, something might happen between now at then. In the meantime, Sylvia thought as she stood, shut down her computer and grabbed her purse, she would go home and get some sleep. The dispatch was coming back on as she switched off the scanner. Swiftly, she turned it back on as she heard the address mentioned, recognizing it as right down the street.

  "...Street next to the Jommy's liquor store. Witness said she thought she saw a large croc moving into the alley between the buildings. Probably the witness is drunk, but better check it out. Please copy."

  "This is car 82, we are less than two kilometers from locale, and we will be there in two. Copy."

  Staring at the scanner for a moment, she couldn't believe her luck. If this really was, in fact, the croc, now was her chance at a significant break in the story. There were no waterways nearby, which means it wouldn't be able to get anywhere to escape capture this time. Before she could think better of it, she grabbed a camera off the desk and ran for the stairs. She approached the alley location in less than a minute.

  Lights blazed out from Jommy's like flashlights pointing into the street, creating wells of light but left everywhere else in oppressive darkness. The alley was a dark hole in which no light ventured. As Sylvia approached, she slowed. The streets were particularly empty this late on Monday night, with most people having to work in the morning, the only ones venturing out were the drunks, whores and criminals. She had
no desire to run into a thief or a rapist with a camera as her only defense. The camera, most likely, would be the reason for the robbery in the first place since it was an expensive piece of hardware.

  Stepping over the curb, she hugged the side of the building as she moved closer to the alley entrance. Noises came from inside the alley, sounds she couldn't attribute to anything she recognized. This was it, she thought. It had to be the croc and it was within her reach. The police would be here in moments, she should wait for them, but it was possible they would interfere with her getting some useful pictures. She didn't want to risk it. The noises still came from the alley.

  Standing at the corner of the alley, Sylvia listened. Down a side street the flashes of red and white, heralded the approach of the police. They had decided to run silent, not wishing to scare the croc away with the loud sirens, she guessed, but still had their lights going. Sylvia took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the alley and pressed the button on the camera. Flashes illuminated the alley in quick succession like some strobe-lighted dance floor. Firing off a dozen shots as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, Sylvia’s mind registered what she saw. In all her life, she had never witnessed anything as horrific as she was seeing, or as impossible.

  Standing deep within the alley was some sort of humanoid — it stood at least twice her height, somewhere over three meters tall, and broad of frame. Its body seemed to shift from green to black, but was made of large scales from head to toe. Its legs were lighter color on the inside as was the abdomen, chest and under its neck. Its neck swept out into a long snout filled with teeth, gleaming as the flash's light struck them. Red colored eyes sat on either side of its head.

  She had no problem realizing this was the creature everyone thought was the killer croc, because that was what it was like; a crocodile, standing on two legs. Another reason she figured this was the killer which had Sydney in a panic was the fact it was in the process of eating its latest victim. Its powerful arms held two halves of a body whose midsection was all but missing. Realizing now what those sounds she had heard were, she resisted the urge to puke. Blood, gore and ichor dripped from the gaping mouth of the creature as it froze from chewing. The flashes of light momentarily blinding it.

  Sylvia realized her predicament and stopped shooting pictures. The alley went dark. Light circles swam across her vision as the sudden darkness left her temporarily blinded. Sylvia froze for a moment, not sure if what she had seen was real. She took several steps back from the alley's mouth.

  It emerged from the darkness in front of her. As if from nothingness, the snout appeared first, followed by its massive body, like a demon stepping from a portal from hell. Its eyes locked on her and she could only watch in fascination as its inner eyelids closed over the eyes, retreating under the outer eyelids. It was then Sylvia knew she was going to die. Hopefully, the pictures in her camera would show the world what was hiding in the city. This monster was like nothing she had ever seen before, or heard of.

  Like a slow-motion action scene from a movie, she watched as the creature’s right hand reached backwards, before slowly coming forward in a terrible arc towards her head. As the arm slashed in front of her she heard, detachedly, four hollow booms, and she caught flashes from her peripheral. The creature about to end her life rocked back as bullets ripped into its flesh. Sylvia saw two bullets bury themselves into its chest, one in the arm and the other in the abdomen.

  Blood sprayed her, warm droplets of red rain, as the creature whipped around. Sylvia felt terrible pain. Flipping over, her head struck the pavement as its tail whipped around, catching her legs and knocking them out from underneath her. Head throbbing in pain, she watched from the pavement. The thing escaped with lightning speed down the alleyway. More shots were fired as one cop ran to the entrance of the alley firing into the dark alley in hopes of striking the beast. The other cop knelt in front of her. Holding on to consciousness long enough, she heard the cop call for an ambulance.

  Gordon knew he was fucked. His appetite, finally, got him in trouble. He ducked into his hideout, a block from where he got shot, though you couldn't tell anymore, as the wounds were now healed. Shutting the door behind him, he conjured a picture of himself as a human into his mind. With slight discomfort, he reverted to his original form. The man most people would recognize as Gordon Sands was of middling height and build, though he recently dropped about twenty pounds in which everyone at work desperately wanted to know what his diet was. This always made him smile, knowing they certainly wouldn’t want to know he was eating other humans.

  Short-cropped, sandy blonde hair topped his rather squarish head. Pencil thin eyebrows, which he worked tirelessly to keep, arched over olive green eyes. High cheekbones and a strong face made Gordan a man who got most ladies to give him a second glance. Not to mention the fact he was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, and a damn fine one. Gordon Sands was hardly thirty and a very successful doctor.

  This was his life. An excellent job, wonderful pay, and all the toys he could buy and all the women he could want. At least, it had been his life, until a few months ago. It was the same day Stonehenge fell. He would never forget, and wondered again if it was a coincidence or if it had something to do with his initial change? The timing was too suspect. Researching it, as far as he could tell, right when the last stone fell is exactly the moment he first changed.

  Well, his life, as he had known it, was over. Oh sure, he still pretended to be Dr. Gordon Sands, going through the motions, but it didn't bring him the joy it once had. The only thing to bring him joy now was the killing. He began to understand a little how some serial killers must feel. How thrilling it was to choose a target, then kill them, except, he was better than any serial killer. Something beyond them. Some serial killers pretended to be nice citizens, pillars of the community. Later they would turn out to be monsters. Monsters, yet still human. And as such, eventually they would leave some sort of physical evidence.

  He, on the other hand, was a monster. When he killed, he wasn’t human, and therefore, would never leave any physical evidence linking himself to the murders. Hell, the police didn’t think of them as murders. They were animal attacks.

  Gordon dressed slowly, not wanting to rush out of his hiding spot and appear suspicious. The perfect killer, he thought. No one suspected the crocodile killing people was a man. But now. Now he had fucked up. Not only did he leave witnesses, but he was photographed. The cops would be on the lookout for some sort of person behind all of this. They couldn’t ignore the evidence they had. Before, they were searching for a wayward croc. Now they were on the lookout for, well, he wasn’t sure what they would be searching for. They definitely would be widening their search parameters.

  He would have to lay low for a while and not go hunting, he frowned. The truth was, he was beginning to enjoy the taste of human flesh. At first, it disgusted him. Now, he began to crave it, like some junkie questing for his next fix.

  Stepping out of his hideout, he locked the door behind him.

  He bought this cellar studio after he understood his abilities and his needs. Every few nights he came here, stripped down, and became the beast. Then, he would go and find a victim, eat, and return.

  There was a club around the corner he went to afterwards. He always felt aroused after he fed. It wouldn’t take him long to find a willing partner to take home to satisfy his lust. Climbing the stairs, he was making his way to the front of the building when a cop came around the corner, bringing his flashlight up to point at Gordon’s face, the intense light momentarily blinding him.

  “Excuse me, sir. Can I ask what you are doing here?” The cop lowered the light a touch so Gordon could make out the features of his face.

  “I own the studio down the stairs there.” Gordon pointed off behind him at the unlit stairwell.

  “Okay. Still does not answer my question sir.” The cop reiterated after shining the flashlight down the stairwell.

  Gordon flashed a smile. He was becoming irri
tated by this police officer’s attitude. He shouldn’t have to explain himself to this pathetic human, but he was trying to not draw attention to himself so he tried to calm his frustration.

  “Well, it’s just I was going to hit the club across the street and I hadn’t been by this property in some time. I decided to check on it and make sure everything was in order.” Flashing another smile. His smile was disarming, or so he was told, so he tried to use it as often as he could to ease people’s minds so they wouldn’t see too close at the darkness inside him. “I checked, and everything is fine. So, if you don’t mind, I’m off to the club.”

  The officer examined him for a moment more before smiling back.

  “All right. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the ladies. Just be careful out here, okay? The crocodile killed not too far from here this evening and is still on the loose.”

  Gordon feigned fear. “Really? It escaped again? For a crocodile, it certainly seems quick.” Gordon finished smiling crookedly at the cop.

  “Yeah, well the report just came in. Not sure I believe it, but, this crocodile walks on two legs.”

  Gordon's smile wavered, but he recovered and barked a laugh.

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. It sounds like some cop trying to make an excuse as to how it got away from him.”

  The cop shook his head. “That’s what I thought at first, too, but there were two cops and a female reporter who took some pictures of it. Also, the cops took several shots at it. They believe at least two confirmed hits and possibly a third. The thing turned and ran away.” The cop shook his head again. “Even if it was Halloween, I would have trouble believing all of that. We will have to wait for the pictures. I’m sure you will see something about it in the papers tomorrow.” The cop lowered his flashlight and clicked it off.

  “Well, have a good night.”