The Fog of Dreams

by Justin Bell

  ********

  Burndock continued his normal rounds of the vacant lot, making sure the padlocks held the chain-link fence door in place and that the area was contained. It was a large lot, spreading out over the entire block next to the three-story office building. The simple I-beam skeleton in the midst of the square dirt area, reached up two stories into the sky. Half-assembled wooden platform floors were in various places throughout the structure to allow construction workers to reach the higher areas, and a chain-link fence surrounded everything, leaving no way in or out without unlocking or going over. The main gate was secure with a chain and lock, but anyone who entered that way just had to turn right to see the powder blue trailer with wooden ramp leading up to the front door. Burndock figured if Strickland made it this far that was going to be his first target.

  As the days went on and Burndock's suspicions grew deeper, he ordered routine patrols in expanding circles around the area, looking for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Agent Halifax drove the same route every night, taking the road out to the local grocery store, across the street from the large hospital. He then swung around and headed back into downtown, looking for anything suspicious along the way. Tonight as he drove towards the grocery store, he passed a group of hikers navigating the Appalachian Trail, but beyond that, nothing unusual. As he crested a hill and came down towards the curve at the edge of town, a bus came from the other direction, and on a hunch, Halifax pulled a U-turn and pursued the bus. It made a stop at a gas station just down the road, and three people got off, but none of them resembled Strickland.

  Halifax keyed his Bluetooth headset. "Burndock, we've got a group of eight hikers, six males, two females, and a smaller group of three folks who just exited a bus by the Mobil station. No positive identification of anyone resembling Strickland at this time."

  "Roger, Agent Halifax," came the somewhat scratchy reply. Burndock sat in a parking garage just south of the vacant lot, where he had the perfect vantage point in almost every direction. Nobody had come near the lot yet, the same as it had been every night for the past two weeks.

  Halifax broke back in. "I'm rerouting back to the grocery store and covering the next bus run. Agent Mathis, can you take the hand off?"

  Mathis interjected. "I am en route down South Main. I see the bus. I'll check these groups in about twenty seconds."

  Burndock smiled. It seemed so long ago that he had been humiliated and dismissed in front of Gary Irizarry. Now, here he was the lead field agent on the most important task that they'd had to undertake as part of this whole operation. He was focused and intense, lifting the night vision goggles to his eyes and scanning the construction zone again. Once again, he saw no telltale blobs of green shifting through the neighboring parking lots. His earpiece crackled.

  "Confirming two groups," reported Mathis. "We've got seven hikers and three folks off the bus, still walking up towards me on South Main Street."

  "Confirmed," replied Burndock. "Take a spin through the Mobil station parking lot and come back towards?" Burndock's eyes narrowed. "Wait. How many hikers?"

  "Confirm seven hikers, Burndock. Five males, two females. All wearing large backpacks, three of them are carrying walking sticks."

  Burndock pictured the map in his head and tried to calculate how far Mathis was from his current location. "Halifax, Mathis, get back to me ASAP. We're missing a hiker from that group. Halifax, confirm you counted eight hikers!"

  Halifax hesitated for just a second, and then replied briskly. "Confirmed, Burndock. Confirm I counted eight hikers, sir."

  "Converge on me, now." Burndock closed that call and then speed-dialed the next one. Seconds later, Irizarry picked up.

  "What you got?"

  "Possible match. Get your guys onsite here now!"

  "On the way." Irizarry didn't even ask a question. They had all been conditioned for fast response. If someone said 'go,' everyone at this point just went.

  Strickland knew he was pushing his luck. At the time he made the call to disguise himself as an Appalachian Trail hiker, it sounded like the perfect idea. A straggly beard and bandana to hide his face and lack of hair, a huge backpack to carry his gear. It was a natural fit. Now as he slowly separated from the group of hikers, he thought that this could be a mistake. If someone were watching for him, a single hiker walking alone, apart from his group would stick out like a sore thumb. Thankfully, even for a small town, there were plenty of concealed alleyways. He hit the first one he saw and lowered himself to a dark corner. Just as he did, he saw a second car drive the opposite way down the road, and he realized they were triangulating a position. There was still a chance that they hadn't noticed his departure, but he doubted it. They weren't field troops, but NSA Agents were no dummies. Reaching into the hiking backpack, he pulled out a black coat and gym bag then moved supplies from the backpack to the bag. He removed his baggy sweatshirt and stuffed it into his backpack, then slipped the coat over his t-shirt and tactical vest. Lifting his smart phone, he opened up the Google Maps app, and drilled down to where he currently was, tracing the various alleyways that led to the Pollard Construction site. He knew there were people looking for him, but he still thought he had a good chance of getting into that site, grabbing some files, and getting out.

  Finding a dark corner, he put his backpack somewhere where it couldn't easily be seen and checked himself to make sure he was fully equipped. He slipped a black knit hat over his head, checked his gym shorts, and made sure the windbreaker was covering his thickly padded vest. His Glock remained stuffed in the holster at the small of his back, and his UMP was the top thing in the gym bag, easily accessible if needed. He hoped he wouldn't need it, but he wanted it there, just in case. Running his fingers over the alleys in the Maps software, he sketched out his path in his head, realizing that even in his disguise as a gym rat, he wanted to stay off the public roads. This had to be quick and dirty. Sliding the strap from the duffle bag over his left shoulder, he began walking, and took his first right, which connected to another alley in between two more buildings. Only three more blocks and he would be at the site, where he would try to make quick work and disappear.

  "Tell me you see something. Anything," Burndock was almost begging into the phone receiver, but the uncertain voices on the other end left him unsatisfied.

  Mathis was first. "I'm coming back at you, but I haven't seen the hiker, or anyone for that matter. He may be sticking to the alleyways."

  Halifax was next. "I see Mathis's taillights ahead of me, so I'm right behind him. Same result, though, I've got nothing."

  Burndock couldn't help but shake his head. This was the problem with operations this covert. It was an extremely important op, but they only had the most limited of resources to work with. Certainly, something like this would have benefited from some helicopter surveillance or more widespread security camera access throughout this small town. On the other hand, since this was such a small town, the chances of Strickland remaining completely anonymous while he tried to make his move were slim to none.

  "Halifax and Mathis, I want both of you parked and stationed at the vacant lot, out of direct sight. One of you on the basement level of the parking garage, the other off behind the trailer. I don't want you visible. I want Strickland to try and make his move."

  Both men quietly spoke their agreement, swung around into the parking lot behind the three-story building, and fell into place. Still no word from Irizarry or his group, but Burndock knew it was a stretch to get them here within a 10-minute window. He looked through his goggles again, and this time he saw some green shapes moving, but he'd identified them as Halifax and Mathis and moved the goggles to scan nearby. Still no sign of anyone else.

  Strickland stopped and knelt to the pavement, his eyes scanning the area. He had scoped out his path of attack using the benefit of Google Maps and Google Street View, and had a good idea of the best way to approach this particular construction site. He also knew that the building to his left was a r
estaurant with a large freezer section at its rear, and he was currently huddled behind that wall, scoping out the entrance to Pollard Construction. His back grew cool from being pinned against the wall with the refrigeration unit, but even if it bought him a few minutes of relief from any infrared surveillance, it would be worth it. Casting his eyes over the dark night sky, he figured the over-watch was in the parking garage, as that gave him the best scope of view for the entire lot. They weren't going to make this easy.

  As he scanned the area, he felt the steady throb of blood through his veins, and sudden perspiration emerged on his forehead and the back of his neck. A muffled buzz leaked into his brain and his breath hitched in short, raspy gasps. He tried to exhale some relief, but instead of a clean breath, a low, anticipatory growl hissed from his lips. Strickland snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing into curious slits. Here he sat, on the verge of making a great discovery, when all of the strange happenings from the past few weeks came back at him. The inhuman running speed? his enhanced sense of smell and hearing. He closed his eyes and struggled to push it back in his mind. He needed to clear his head? he needed action. Inching just slightly forward, he wasn't yet ready to give up the relative safety of the refrigeration unit, but he had to do it quickly. With a slight motion, he reassured himself that his weapons were still in the duffle bag at his feet, but he was still hesitant to go to that extent. He could feel a cloud of doubt hanging low inside his mind, and the corners of his eyes showed just a trace of the red haze that he had not seen for over two weeks.

  But then the image of his wife and daughters flashed in his head. It was an image he'd seen way too often over the past thirty days, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Any possible feeling of pity for his potential enemies melted away. These guys weren't innocents. Pulling out his Glock, he loaded a round in the chamber and screwed on a silencer, then transferred the pistol from the holster at his back to a holster on his leg that accommodated the extended barrel. Reaching to his left boot, he slid out a thin blade, and then shoved it back in its sheath. Sliding the UMP from the gym bag, he screwed a silencer on that weapon as well and yanked the sling over his shoulder. While darkness had settled in throughout the town, a series of spotlights above the vacant lot illuminated that area quite nicely.

  Down on the basement level of the parking garage, Halifax un-slung his M4 carbine automatic and screwed on his own silencer. With deft quickness, he ejected the magazine that was in it and pulled out a different one from a pouch on his pants. This new magazine had orange tape wrapped around the base indicating that it was full of dummy rounds - rubber bullets designed to cause quite a bit of pain and confusion, but not designed to kill. He knew they had to take Strickland alive, so he reluctantly replaced his ammunition and cocked the weapon, setting it to single shot. His eyes lingered on the setting, and he was tempted to set it to a three-round burst, which the M4 was perfectly capable of, but ultimately chose control over full combat assault.

  On the other side of the vacant lot, behind the trailer, Mathis repeated the same motion that Halifax had, digging out the orange-taped magazine and clicking it into place in his M4. He sighted down the tactical scope and drummed his fingers on the front combat handle of the weapon, making sure the weight felt right. Single shot was his choice as well, and then he dropped to one knee and waited.

  Up on the third level of the parking garage, Burndock saw the world through the tiny round holes in his night vision goggles, and still couldn't believe he wasn't seeing anyone approach. As he swept the area one more time, he stopped, just for a second, focusing on a rectangular blue/gray fog emanating from the back of one of the buildings. It was a weird look that he couldn't place, but it certainly wasn't human. In fact, the color seemed to indicate it was somehow glowing in cold air, but Burndock wasn't sure?

  Wait.

  He lowered the goggles and leaned to one side to see the building, and suddenly felt stupid. It was a small pizza parlor, and he had remembered grabbing a gluten-free slice there a week ago. It was a full-service restaurant with all of their organic ingredients on-site, and those ingredients were stored in a full walk-in cooler behind the counter. Suddenly he realized what he was seeing in his night vision goggles, and even more importantly, he realized that Strickland likely knew about this too.

  "Strike team, be alert. I believe Strickland is on premises. He may be utilizing the pizza restaurant as shelter from my goggles. There is a walk-in cooler on the back wall of that restaurant shielding my vision. Mathis, ten o'clock."

  "I'm looking," was the swift reply. "Nothing. But my sight is having a hard time adjusting between the spotlights here and the darkness out there."

  Shit, thought Burndock. He's got a visibility advantage. He's sitting in the dark and looking out into the light, which is a considerably more effective recon technique than doing it the other way around.

  "Be alert," he reinforced. Dammit, where was Irizarry?!

  Strickland closed his eyes and listened softly. He could have sworn he had just heard a hushed whisper, but that seemed impossible when he was so far away. With a peek, his right eye opened and focused over on the trailer, and he could almost pinpoint where the voice had come from and could almost see someone kneeling there. That mere whisper had spoken volumes to him, and he continued to struggle with the sudden sensation of increased hearing. Muscles tensed in his legs, his heart thumped in his chest and his arms curled tightly around his body, forcing an even tighter grip on his weapon. Everything froze in time, with the noise and distractions of the world fading away, and a sense of deep, intense focus setting in just behind his eyes in his frontal lobe. Eyelids narrowed. Breath stopped. The once endless buzz of ambient noise cut into sharp silence.

  He threw himself forward.

  Burndock was stunned. Just as he refocused on the blue fog of the refrigeration unit, a green blob of a figure burst from it at full speed, hurtling straight towards the chain-link fence. And full speed meant full speed, running faster than it seemed like any normal human could run, with no sign of stopping.

  "Contact, we have fucking contact!!" he heard Halifax shout in his earpiece.

  "Clearance to fire! This an open fire zone!" Burndock shouted into the dark night.

  The second Halifax got the order, his M4 carbine lifted into the air just as his head dipped down, with his eye focusing straight through the tactical sight. Jesus, this guy was fast! His finger pulled back on the trigger, a silenced thump and buck in his arms after every shot. Strickland dodged quickly to the right just as a 5.56-millimeter dummy round pounded into the dirt and exploded up a belch of dust, and then three more miniature dust clouds followed. Strickland adjusted his direction only slightly, still keeping the chain-link fence firmly in sight. Four more silenced shots puffed at his feet, while two whizzed by him so close he could hear the hornet-like buzzing through the air. Suddenly he was airborne amidst a cross fire of humming bullets, and the fence thrashed with the ricochet of rubber rounds. Strickland squinted as he hit the chain-link fence about three quarters of the way up, and then latched his left hand around the top and vaulted over, landing on the opposite side in a low and graceful crouch. Halifax's eyes widened. Holy fuck, had that dude just vaulted a Goddamned ten foot fence?! What the fuck?

  Strickland spun and brought his UMP up into the crook of his shoulder, then pumped his finger on his trigger a half dozen times. Not waiting to see the results of his first barrage, Strickland ducked low and spun the other way, towards the trailer, keeping the UMP tight. He barely spotted the motion of a second man taking cover and rattled off another half dozen silenced shots, then threw himself forward into a swift run.

  Goddamn, he moves fast. Burndock squinted into the Barska scope attached with Picatinny base rings to the top of his SIG 550 Swiss sniper rifle. Sharpshooting was a specialty of Agent Burndock's that not many in NSA were aware of, and one that NSA used very conservatively. With the lighter rubber rounds, he had to accommodate the wind a little bit more
, but he also had to lead the target, which would be a challenge based on how fast he moved.

  Strickland continued to surge forward, heading straight towards the ramp leading up to the blue building ahead, ignoring the low hum of flying bullets zipping past him, thumping into the dirt, and slapping off the walls ahead of him. He never heard the silenced sniper shot from the parking garage above and behind him. The slight puff of smoke and sound ejected a single 5.56-millimeter rubber bullet from the barrel at around one thousand feet per second, and as Strickland's left foot struck the wooden ramp ahead, the dummy bullet plowed into his left shoulder blade with the impact of a Louisville Slugger. Even with a rubber bullet, the impact took him off his feet and separated his shoulder in a painful jolt, sending white-hot light through the back of his head and across his eyes. Strickland spun through the air and slammed back first against the thin material of the manager's trailer, warping a human-sized dent in the wall. With his legs coiled under him on the ramp, he caught his breath and shot forward as a second sniper bullet exploded against the thin blue vinyl wall where he had just been kneeling. He saw the briefest blur of movement and hauled back on the trigger, rattling off a series of shots with his weapon.

  Strickland had been shot with rubber bullets before, and they hadn't felt like that. What the hell were these people carrying?

  "Give it up, Strickland!" shouted Agent Halifax, emerging from the bottom floor of the garage, stepping over a knee-high cement barrier. Strickland turned to stare down Halifax, not even seeing Mathis come up behind him, his weapon also raised.

  "It's over, man," Mathis said, and Strickland turned to look at him as well. He reluctantly lowered his UMP as the two agents walked closer.

  "Don't even think about it. Burndock's got you dead to rights." Halifax approached him even closer, his M4 dipping just a tiny bit, and Strickland made his move. Twisting at the waist, he threw his weapon, sending it flying towards the enemy agent. As Halifax winced, Strickland dove low and charged forward, covering the distance between the two of them in mere seconds. Sniper bullets pounded the dirt behind him as he slammed into the NSA agent with his full body weight. Knocking Halifax off balance, Strickland's right hand shot up and caught him under the jaw, cranking his head back and sending spit and blood flying into the air.

  As Halifax stumbled to the ground, Strickland wrapped his hand around the M4 and ripped it from his tight clutches. He dropped to one knee and lifted the weapon as a quick burst of return fire echoed just over his head. Raising the weapon, he curled it close and unleashed a short burst of gunfire at the second man nearby. Mathis twirled to his left, but Strickland couldn't tell if he'd hit him, or if he was dodging the shots dramatically. He spun around and lifted the weapon in an upwards angle and squeezed off a series of single shots up to where he thought the sniper might be stationed.

  Hoping that his shots at least kept the sniper ducking, he turned back towards Mathis, who had not been hit previously, and who was now lifting his own M4. The first rubber round drilled Strickland in the left collarbone, and changed his momentum, throwing him roughly backwards onto the dirt surface of the ground. He rolled over, desperately trying to get back to his feet, but suddenly Mathis was above him, his weapon trained on him, and Strickland knew he had no other move to make. He kneeled there in the dirt, resigned to the fact that he had run out of options.

  The soft sound of applause echoed across the dirt-covered vacant lot, and Strickland looked upward, seeing Agent Burndock walking across, the SIG 500 slung over his shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Strickland, well done."

  As he approached, a car pulled up to the chain-link fence and skidded to a halt, rubber catching on dirt and gravel. Burndock motioned for Strickland to stand, and he did, slowly, grabbing his left shoulder and wincing.

  "That takes some real balls, man, you know that? Coming right to our backyard?" Burndock had a cocky smirk on his face. Strickland was not a fan of that look.

  Within a minute, Irizarry and four of his crew emerged from the mid-sized vehicle and squeezed through the chain-link gate, approaching the group of three men.

  "Damn, man, I was hoping to get a shot at him," he said, looking angrily at William Strickland.

  "So," said Strickland, with a hint of pain still dripping from his voice, "what now?"

  Up in his third floor office, Agent Grace looked down into the vacant lot, disappointment on his face. Strickland had been taken down easily. Far too easily. He tapped the button on his headset.

  "Agent Carr."

  "I'm ready," came the voice on the other end.

  "Do it."

  Down in the vacant lot, William Strickland stood, his mind already sketching out ways to evade and escape the situation.

  Three hundred yards away, a man stood in an alley with a perfect perspective on the scene ahead. The bright, full moon glistened off his dark bald head, which shone just slightly with sweat. A large black trench coat was draped around his broad shoulders, and his arms were lifted in a familiar firing position. Clutched in his hands was a Knights XM110 sniper rifle, covered under a draped black cloth to avoid reflection and notice from the outside world. This large man squinted through the scope and saw the small gathering of men in the middle of the vacant lot, and slowed his breath. He waited three seconds, and then squeezed the trigger.

  "You want an explanation? From us?" Burndock asked Strickland, who appeared indignant. "I don't think that's how this works."

  "Then what the hell do you want from me? What is this about??"

  The silenced long-range shot was only noticed when Strickland suddenly shouted and grabbed the back of his neck, a questioning look in his eyes.

  "What the hell?" Irizarry asked, pulling a large revolver from a holster at his hip, and looking around.

  Strickland hit the ground, supporting himself with his right arm while his left arm, still somewhat numb, groped his neck. Unexpectedly, he didn't find a bullet hole, and instead found a stubby little point jutting out, just at the top of his spine. He yanked it out and stared at it, noting it was a small hypodermic needle.

  "What's going on?" he asked again, somewhat aimlessly. He couldn't focus.

  Burndock's head whipped around, searching the nearby area for any indication of a shooter. His fingers slapped the headset he wore as he speed-dialed a number. "Agent Grace! We have a shooter! He is not one of ours! I repeat he is not one of ours!"

  Up in his office, Grace smiled. "Watch and learn, Agent Burndock. Watch and learn."

  Burndock cast a strange look at the building next door, and then looked back at Strickland who was breathing hard, sweat streaming over his head.

  Irizarry looked up at him. "The fuck is this about?" he asked.

  The scream caught all of their attention? although the term scream just barely described the noise emanating from William Strickland, kneeling before them. It was an inhuman howl of pain, as ripples of agony tore through Strickland's very musculature. Burning heat seared him from the inside out. Slamming a heavy fist down on the dirt, his back arched high in the air, high enough to tear the shirt that covered it, revealing his pale back exposed beneath the bulky tactical vest. Right before their eyes, the men surrounding him saw a once bald head sprout? hair? It seemed to shoot up from every pore on his body, rippling in a wave of gray and brown fuzz.

  "Oh shit, what the fuck?!" screamed the man next to Gary Irizarry and lifted his weapon slightly. Meanwhile, Burndock took a few more steps backwards. The agent had heard about the research. He'd heard about the practical implications. However, he'd never witnessed the actual change event before, and after this, he wasn't sure he wanted to see it again.

  With a sickening crunch, Strickland's lower leg bones seemed to snap and reform, bulging through his stretching thigh and calf muscles, and tearing through the fabric of his pants. Another hand slammed down palm first on the dirt ground as jagged claws spurted from the tips of his fingers, eliciting a terrified, gurgling scream. Muscles tensed and grew, more hair s
prouted from all over his body, and suddenly he pushed himself up, rising above the men surrounding him, a full six and a half foot tall beast of a man, some warped combination of wolf and human that defied even the most active imagination. His eyes were wide and wild, his snout glistening, and his mouth extended into a fearsome, fang-filled sneer of hatred.

  "You!" he screamed, pointing a jagged, clawed finger towards Burndock. "You did this!" his voice was a ragged, gargling snarl. Burndock, for obvious reasons, took a few more steps back and lifted his hands, pleading.

  "I didn't? no. It wasn't me."

  The growl that emerged from the back of this creature's throat was like a demon itself scraping his nails against a blackboard from the depths of hell.

  "Fuck this shit!" Irizarry screamed and lifted the large revolver that he was holding. A Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum, Gary Irizarry couldn't think of a beast that existed that this thing wouldn't bring down. He fired his weapon once, a roaring explosion of orange, the revolver's long barrel jerking back in his tight grip. The beast that used to be Strickland spun around with an angry yelp as the bullet struck him in the left side, and exploded in a spray of brown flesh, and clumps of hair. For the third time, this creature emitted a noise unheard of by man, and leaped with a bizarre speed and grace. Before Irizarry could even think to get off a second shot, Strickland was on him and his claws raked down and across the large man's chest in spurting chasms of red. Clenching his teeth to avoid screaming a woman's death scream, Irizarry snarled up at the beast and tried to draw his weapon back around, but Strickland lashed out left with his jaws and clamped his teeth tightly around the large man's arm, which finally broke his concentration and forced a loud yell of pain. The creature jerked his head back, the bottom half of Irizarry's arm coming with it, leaving a shoulder and ragged stump behind. His eyes clouded over as his four teammates lifted their weapons and opened fire.

  Burndock turned and ran towards the parking garage. He glanced back to see Strickland launching himself headlong into one of Irizarry's buddies, his mouth wide open, and he thankfully looked away just as he imagined the teeth locking down on the unfortunate guy's face. The muffled scream and rending tear of flesh and broken cartilage would haunt his dreams and he couldn't even imagine what the rest of his life would have meant if he had seen it in person.

  Coiling his legs, Strickland dropped to the ground as gunfire echoed above his head, and he launched into a graceful leap, almost seven feet high, well over the man's head who was firing the weapon. Landing in a low crouch, his arm lashed out with its long claws and tore open his enemy's back. Within seconds, he was then on top of him using his teeth and claws to finish the job. Two more gunshots struck him in the back, jetting red blood fountains into the dark night, and causing the creature some obvious pain, sending him sprawling from the now dead body.

  Two men remained in Irizarry's crew as even Halifax and Mathis had made a hasty retreat, with Mathis assisting his cohort, who was still nursing a severely shattered jaw. Strickland stared down the last two men, his eyes narrowing into twin slits of heated anger. Down on all fours, he maneuvered around, keeping these two men in front of him as his blood-spattered teeth emerged from behind the sinister sneer. Realizing there really wasn't any other play, they both lifted weapons and fired, but Strickland was on them quick, knocking them both down and bringing teeth and claws through flesh, muscle, and brittle bone. Sitting there crouched among the pile of meat and gristle, the wolf creature looked back towards the parking garage, and growled.

  "You?" he rasped again and broke into a dead run at top speed.

  Another silenced sniper shot struck him as he ran, and he yelped, then stumbled clumsily to the dirt ground. Agent Carr lowered his rifle and slipped backwards into darkness.

  Agent Grace looked down upon his kingdom, smiling at his little pet project below. Corpses were scattered across the lot and the large beast was coiled on the dirt surface, his breath coming in swift, heaving gasps.

  He had already called the retrieval teams, and it was time to move this project to Phase Two.