Crimson Strike

by Peter Bostrom

  Right on cue, the swirling colors of the portal darkened again and out leapt another creature who landed next to the first with its own sharp, yellow teeth bared. This second one had darker fur and was slightly smaller than the first. I noticed that its chest was a little larger and waist a little narrower, and … hot damn.

  It was a lady werewolf.

  But before I could begin to work out half-wolf dating dynamics, another furry creature shot out of the swirling portal. Then another. And another. Before I knew it, there was a pack of these hairy bastards, all ten of which wore short, dark pants that flexed over their powerful thighs. Well, if nothing else, they were modest creatures. Their sinewy legs below the knee bent backward like a dog’s, and ended in a paw tipped with long, ebony claws. Those could hurt someone—I just prayed to Van Helsing it wouldn’t be anyone on my team.

  The soldiers stopped in their tracks and took up a defensive position. “What are you waiting for?” I heard Lieutenant Stanton yell over our comm to the soldiers who were now about twenty meters in front of me. “Open fire!”

  A barrage of pale blue plasma slugs finally flew toward the pack. The creatures in front of the group leapt sideways in a blur and easily dodged the attack. Lucky for us, a few of the ones in the rear were caught unaware. There was a sizzling sound and yelps of pain as the plasma fire connected. But the creatures quickly recovered and bounded for cover behind one of the many broken-down transports on the side of the road.

  The three remaining Dominion troopers in their cream-colored armor had a similar idea, and were firing at us from behind a dust-covered school transport.

  I dropped from the top of the armored vehicle and landed in a crouch beside the olive-armored Dominion soldier I’d just wasted. A faint marching tune wafted temptingly from something near the soldier—probably his whip—but I couldn’t afford to go scavenging right now.

  I heard a loud yelp as one of our soldiers clipped another werewolf. Apparently, these things didn’t like plasma slugs. And without any noticeable armor, they shouldn’t be too difficult for our small squadron to handle. We’d be back to base in no time. A smile tugged at my mouth as I started jogging toward my fellow soldiers.

  And then the vampires arrived.

  They slipped through the oculus silently, like shadows. They were dressed like shadows, too. Well, if shadows wore silk and ink-black leather coats. The dark clothing made their faces look all the whiter. Most had long, raven-colored hair that was pulled back into loose pony tails and, like the werewolves, the group was clearly coed.

  Only one of them was bald—apparently the same one we’d seen in Colonel Vaiega’s office. He looked much older than the others—at least, I assumed his wiry eyebrows and sharp, snaggled pair of front teeth were a sign of his advanced age. And I definitely wasn’t planning on asking him if I was right.

  I counted five dark-clad vampires in total. Then the portal darkened once more and out strode a broad-chested figure with deep brown skin, a pitch black flat top with matching goatee, and—were those some kind of dark sunglasses? A bright yellow gem sat in the center of his charcoal gray breastplate, which was covered in swirling red patterns. I squinted and made out several spiked ridges along the swirls, which ended in flared nostrils, sharp-toothed jaws, and fierce eyes.

  Dragons. They were definitely dragons. Pretty awesome-looking, too.

  Something else set this vampire apart from the others—he wore a crimson cape made of a stiff material. It rose into two points—one over each shoulder—that ended in small obsidian claws. The way the rest of the cape was shaped reminded me of leathery wings. Dragon wings. He struck his chest with an armored fist and, in a deep, resonant voice, said, “For the glory of the Dominion!”

  The other vampires hissed fiercely in response. Flat Top made six vampires total. Seven seemed like it would be a more poetic number, but what did I know?

  Without needing any encouragement, the Peacekeeper soldiers began firing at the vampires. But it didn’t do any good—the pale creatures just drifted out of the line of fire. It was as if they could sense the path of the plasma slugs and then moved casually out of the way. My team was so screwed. Unless …

  Still jogging toward the oculus, I raised my Power Glove and, once again, extended my pointer finger and thumb to make a simple pistol shape.

  “Okay, you blood-sucking bastards,” I growled. “Eat magic.”

  “BEEOOW!” I quickly pressed down with my thumb, fully expecting another bolt of bright red energy to tear these creatures apart.

  It didn’t.

  Instead of hearing the low, ominous marching rhythm of my red philosopher’s stone, the sound of static reverberated in my skull.

  What the hell?

  I’d never heard anything but music when trying to work my philosopher’s stones. With my glove still extended, I tried to fire once more, but the sound of static only intensified inside my head as I did so.

  Dammit!

  Glowing red arrows hurtled toward me from one of the remaining troopers.

  I quickly lowered my arm and summoned the brassy, heroic music of my glove’s purple gem and imagined myself inside a giant rodent bubble. Okay—so it wasn’t the most imposing image, but it was what came to mind.

  A faintly purple, shimmering sphere surrounded me and sent the oncoming arrows ricocheting off as I sprinted toward the abandoned transport that Kovac, Rand, and another soldier were using for cover.

  I dropped my imaginary bubble-shield as I joined them. They were firing at the pocket of remaining Dominion troopers, while trying to force the werewolves and vampires out from the shadows. Somewhere on the other side of the street, partially obscured by transports and a couple of dumpsters, the rest of the Peacekeeper soldiers were sending blue plasma slugs flying in several different directions.

  “Took you long enough,” Kovac mumbled in between plasma shots.

  I reached for my holstered plasma gun and was about to make a witty reply when there came a sound of crunching metal as the transport we were hiding behind shook abruptly.

  The other soldier—a patch on the arm of his pale green infantry fatigues read “Cronin”—tilted his head up toward the transport’s roof. “The hell?”

  Suddenly, a furry, chocolate brown face appeared on top of the transport and growled deeply. Cronin raised his plasma rifle, but with blinding speed, the werewolf swiped downward with a clawed hand. The rifle tumbled from his hand and Cronin howled in pain.

  “Keep firing!” I yelled to Kovac and Rand.

  Cronin fell against the side of the transport, a set of deep, bloody gashes running from the side of his neck along the length of his arm. A second later, the brown beast dropped off the roof and landed directly behind us. I had my pistol out now, but as soon as I leveled it to take a shot to blast off the damn thing’s wolfish head, there was a blur of brown and a shock of pain in my hand. My weapon clattered to the ground several meters away, and as I looked back to the werewolf, I thought I saw its taught lips curl at the ends.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a dog smile, but it’s creepy as hell. This was about a hundred times creepier.

  I looked at my hand, but luckily, the creature’s claws hadn’t broken my skin.

  Reflexively, heroic music swelled inside my head. I thrust my arms forward, palms extended, and yelled, “HAYUKEN!” A fuzzy, purple sphere shot from my hands and collided with the werewolf, launching her backward several meters.

  She landed on all fours and narrowed her large, hazel eyes. Snarling, she crouched lower, like a cartoon snake ready to spring. I drew my rod-sword and it flared to life, bathing the space around me in its bright yellow light.

  Not to be out-snarled, I bared my teeth and twisted my top lip to the side. The werewolf cocked her head to the side slightly and raised a furry brow. Well, it looked like I was going to need more snarling practice.

  The monster then opened her mouth to reveal two rows of the sharpest teeth I’d ever seen and went deeper into
her crouch. I brought my sword in front of me, planted my right foot firmly, and leaned forward. This was going to hurt.

  My muscles tensed as she sprang, but a dark blur intercepted her in the air and tumbled with her to the ground. The ball of black and brown rolled a few times before separating. On one side rose the werewolf, its furry brow knitted. And on the other side loomed a rail-thin lady vampire with a dark, billowing cloak.

  There was a snarl and a hiss as the two circled each other. What the hell was this? I had figured they were fairly friendly, but right now it looked like the two were fighting over their next meal.

  I wasn’t about to look a gift wolf in the mouth (not again, anyway), so I turned to check on Cronin. He was now slumped against the side of the transport, his fatigues covered in blood. Kovac and Rand were still firing away.

  Over our helmet comms, a shrill—but still somehow crisp—British voice said, “Two soldiers down. I’ve got Rice. Fall back to the transport!”

  My eyes darted back to the circling werewolf and vampire. The furry brown beast lowered her snout and looked down at the ground, while the vampire took a bold step forward. The werewolf took a hesitant step backward and I saw a smile flicker across the cloaked vampire’s thin lips.

  “Um, guys?” I reached behind me and tugged at Kovac’s fatigues, my eyes still fixed on the werewolf-vampire drama that seemed to be winding down.

  “We need to leave, now! Grab Cronin—I’ll cover us.”

  The thin vampire spun toward me and bared her teeth, the two long, pointed canines glistening in the light of my sword. Fast as thought, she sailed toward me, her cloak billowing behind.

  But I had already sounded a heroic tune in my mind and immediately summoned a steep, semi-circular stone wall of shimmering purple between us.

  The vampire halted just before hitting the wall and drew her cloak in front of her face with a hiss. I turned toward the armored transport, where Kovac was running with a bloodied Cronin slung over his shoulder and Rand pumping his arms to keep up.

  As I ran, the purple rock wall followed behind me.

  A pair of sleek gray werewolves bounded across the street and leapt toward us, but slammed against my imagined wall and bounced backward. A smaller, reddish werewolf emerged from behind an overflowing trash bin and jumped in our direction before also crashing against the wall and stumbling back.

  All three of them recovered quickly, raced up to the wall, and began beating against the barrier with their powerful fists. With each blow, the music in my mind grew a little more faint. And I was starting to feel myself getting hungry, so I knew that I couldn’t keep this defense up for much longer.

  I suddenly shrunk the rounded purple wall to half its size, causing the werewolf trio to stagger forward in surprise. Then, with a loud grunt, I quickly expanded it to twice its original size, which slammed against our werewolf pursuers and sent them sprawling.

  More stomach-growling. I couldn’t last much longer, not at this pace. I turned to run and the rapidly shrinking purple wall followed close behind me until I reached my teammates, who were piling into the back of the transport. I almost tripped over the body of the green-armored Dominion commander who, until recently, had an entire chest instead of a giant charred hole. Something long and twisted by his side caught my eye. It was his whip, which had stopped glowing as soon as its owner had died. But if this whip was anything like the other Dominion weapons, I could probably get it to start working again.

  So I snatched the now-muted gray whip from off the ground and rounded the corner of the transport. Stanton and Kovac stood on opposite sides of the open rear doors, weapons drawn. I poked my head inside and saw Rand administering bandages on Cronin and the other injured soldier. I tossed the inert whip onto one of the benches and jumped inside. Kovac and Stanton followed, slamming the door shut behind them.

  “We’re in,” I yelled to Lopez, who was still in the driver’s seat. “Now get us the hell out of here!”

  “I’ve been trying to, genius,” she spat back, her hand slamming repeatedly against the transport’s control panels.

  “But no matter what I do, the damn thing won’t start!”

  8

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WON’T START?” I yelled so loudly I could feel my eyes bulging.

  Lopez snapped her head toward me. “What the hell do you think it means?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Every time I try turning it on, nothing happens.”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could say something I’d probably regret, Lopez continued, “And don’t bother asking if I’ve called HQ. The damn portal thing must’ve fried our long-range comm.”

  “It’s called an oculus,” I said.

  Lopez bit her lip. “Whatever it’s called,” she said, “it took out our line to HQ.”

  Great—this was going to take a while. My stomach grumbled so loud that my teeth chattered, so I moved down the bench and tugged at the small canvas bag I’d stashed behind the transport’s seat cushion until it came loose. I pulled out a high-density nutrient bar and tore the silvery wrapper open with my teeth before biting down into its bland, mushy contents. I wrinkled my nose and swallowed as quickly as possible. These bars were pretty gross, but without any vending machines around for me to purchase junk food, they were the best option for keeping me fueled and my philosopher’s stones working. And with our line to HQ broken, I had a feeling I was going to need all the energy I could get.

  From somewhere to my left, I heard a crisp clearing of the throat. “Then the transport’s our best option. Pardon me Private, but did you try the throttle?” Lieutenant Stanton asked Lopez.

  If Lopez would’ve had a gun in her hands, she would’ve shot Stanton right there—probably in both kneecaps. Lucky for him, her hands were busy with the transport’s controls. But she did manage to shoot him with an icy stare that was so cold it made me shiver.

  Stanton jerked backward, as if he had been hit in the chest by a giant icicle. His normally composed voice and precise British accent faltered. “Oh—that’s … what you’ve been doing. Well, carry on, Private.”

  Rand looked up from securing a bandage around Cronin’s neck. “If Lopez is unable to start the vehicle, then it is certainly a mechanical issue.”

  Lopez sighed loudly. “Thank you!” She said, shooting another glare at Stanton.

  The lieutenant’s neck retracted like a turtle—but not the pizza-loving mutated kind that knows martial arts. More like an old turtle wearing oversized glasses. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, as Chief Mechanic, you should be the one to make any necessary repairs. Privates Walker, Kovac, and I will provide cover.”

  I suddenly realized that we hadn’t heard or felt anything since escaping to the armored transport. I shoved the remaining nub of the dog food-looking nutrient bar into my mouth and peered out of the long, thin window that was facing the oculus.

  Only, it wasn’t there anymore. I blinked hard, but nothing changed, so I closed my eyes and listened for the faint background sound of musical instruments tuning. Nothing. All I could hear were the grunts and groans of injured soldiers.

  “The oculus closed,” I said with my mouth half full. I didn’t need to look behind me to know that Lopez was giving me an annoyed glare.

  Just then, the transport’s comm crackled to life. “—if you can hear us. Over!”

  Lopez’s eyes grew three sizes larger. She slapped a button and quickly said, “HQ, this is Private Lopez. We read you—”

  “Lieutenant Stanton,” the voice on the other end of the comm interrupted, just as quickly. “Captain Patel is requesting you confirm the enemy has left ground zero.”

  Stanton stepped gingerly around the bandaged soldiers and joined me, leaning close to the window.

  “I . . . don’t see any of the invaders,” he said. “Maybe they’ve retreated.”

  Kovac snickered. “The Dominion doesn’t retreat,” he grumbled.

  “Wait—over there.” I said, nodding to the left.


  In the steadily dimming light, it was difficult to make out objects that were more than a few meters away, but a flickering streetlight provided just enough illumination for me to catch movement at the edge of the street. At first, I only noticed the off-white helmet and arms of two Dominion Eggheads who were running. Then, as I leaned forward and squinted, I spied two more figures—the pair of gray werewolves who had kept slamming so enthusiastically against my shield.

  “I have eyes on two troopers and two . . . monstrosities headed away from their entry point,” Stanton said. “Please tell me HQ knows where the others are.”

  A low curse sounded from the comm, then, “We’ve only got spotty access to street cams. But we count maybe five or six of those pale-faced bastards and seven or eight of the furry things heading downtown. Captain Patel has sent teams to pursue them and create a perimeter.”

  “What about us?” I asked.

  There was a clear pause before the voice answered. “Lieutenant Stanton—you said you saw two more of those and two troopers on the move?”

  “Yes,” said Stanton. He looked back out of the thin window. “They seem to be headed toward Bohr Memorial Park. God help us if there are civilians there.”

  There was silence for a moment, then, “That’s what the captain needs you to find out,” answered the voice. “The city ordered a lockdown, but apparently the park’s emergency alert speakers haven’t been repaired in years. Do you understand?”

  “Roger that,” Stanton said crisply as he stepped back from the window.

  “HQ out.”

  Stanton furrowed his brow as he quickly checked the ammunition levels on his plasma rifle. “Walker, Kovac—you heard what HQ said. We’re going for a walk in the park.”

  “Doesn’t Rand need cover?” Kovac asked, his large forehead a mass of wrinkles.