The Fog of Dreams

by Justin Bell

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was a sound unlike one Agent Burndock had ever heard. Loud, long, and haunting, it sounded like a thousand years of torment pent up and released into a single deafening roar.

  "What the holy fuck?" he asked, lifting his head away from his telescopic sight. "Did you guys hear that?" he asked, clicking his radio transceiver.

  "Heard it. Don't understand it," reported one.

  "Affirmative," reported a second.

  Burndock waited to hear a third confirmation. However, it didn't come.

  "Sniper-Four, respond."

  Empty silence was the only response.

  "We've got trouble, Day Watch. Drop those rifles and rack up with something more short-range. That sound came from the northeast perimeter. Load up and move out!"

  In the cabin, the world was a tumultuous crimson whirlwind of pain and stark realization of what had occurred in that haunted cabin. This single breakthrough in clarity opened the floodgates, and William Strickland now faced every memory over the past few months. His first waking moment, repeated visits to town, the confrontation in the construction yard. The family photo in the hallway with his two little girls and his? his?

  He threw his head back and screamed in agony once again, and as the scream reached its apex, the skin on his face pulled across his muscles and skull, bursting sweat from his pores. Crimson madness that had been swirling around him, now descended upon him, soaking into his body like cheesecloth, and fueling the already rampaging adrenaline. Screams cascaded into growling rage, and suddenly it wasn't a scream, it was a howl. The loud, dark, and troubled howl of a wounded animal.

  Burndock used silent signals amongst the din of the howling creature as he saw the two other snipers emerge from the woods. They formed up on him and as a trio, they walked determinedly towards the source of the other worldly sound. As they neared the edge of the tree line, Burndock held back and shuffled left, seeing the crumpled body of Geoff Emmanuele a few feet away from the front door of the cabin. One of Emmanuele's cohorts was about ten feet away from him, but in similar condition. Burndock noticed that the former Canadian Special Forces soldier stirred. He signaled to him and waved him over, and the man crawled to his feet and stumbled to where Burndock stood.

  "Strickland?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

  Emmanuele nodded. "What's going on in there?" he asked, as if Burndock might have a better idea.

  "No clue. We're going in."

  The other two snipers grew close to the cabin, with their two assault rifles in a half-elevated position. Emmanuele trotted over towards them, stopping for a second to scoop up his own rifle before joining them, not giving Burndock any choice in the matter. Day Watch Lead raised his own M4's sight to his squinting eye and signaled with his other hand. One of the men carefully approached the cabin door, reached out with his hand, and twisted the knob as the other two men approached closely behind, weapons raised.

  With absolutely no warning, a sudden blur burst from the open door and grabbed the lead man, then dragged him swiftly inside the cabin, slamming the door hard behind him. It happened so quickly and with so little warning that the remaining men standing in the grass could only watch, eyes wide. It drew deathly quiet in all areas for what seemed like forever. No birds, no animals, nothing? just the dead silence of woods, an ominous, rickety building, and God only knew what inside.

  Sniper Three looked back at Burndock with a look of questioning in his eyes. Do we go in there?

  Burndock pointed two fingers up in the air and then gestured forward aggressively, telling the two men to proceed inside, while he moved forward slowly, covering the rear. None of the men even took a step before the deafening crash broke the silence.

  The front wall of the cabin bowed sharply, and then exploded outward, spraying large wooden fragments in all directions, propelled by the limp body of Sniper Two, who had been forcefully expunged, going through the thick wooden wall of the structure. Sniper Two tumbled, end over end, amidst the spiraling pieces of broken wall and landed awkwardly on his neck and shoulders in the grass, with wooden shards slapping down around him.

  "Jesus," Burndock couldn't help but say. His eyes drifted to the cabin, looking up at the now smashed away front wall, opening the inside of the twisted building to the elements.

  "Free fire zone!" Burndock yelled and raised his M4 hauling back on the trigger. As his assault rifle chattered, so did the other two, smacking aside more shards of wood from the cabin's exterior, with bullets also passing through the smashed hole in the wall and going inside the cabin itself. Within seconds, another blurring body followed Sniper Two's lifeless corpse, this one full of life and rage. Strickland leaped from the gaping hole in the side of the cabin, twisting and dodging the flying bullets, landing in a graceful crouch. His canine-shaped head cocked back and forth, soaking in the scene in front of him with flaring nostrils and perked, pointed ears.

  This version of Strickland was not the one Emmanuele had seen only moments ago. This Strickland was covered in a dirty, wet fur, a mixture of brown and gray, which ran over his entire body, just under his torn shirt and pants. His legs now resembled those of a dog, with his elongated feet splayed out in the grass, keeping him balanced. Narrow, pointed ears sprouted from his head, beneath a thick bush of gray hair, and his thin green eyes squinted above a slightly elongated snout. Blood and spittle spattered from his slightly opened, panting mouth, in between jagged and stained teeth. Outer clothes still clung to his frame, but just barely, with engorged muscles threatening to burst through the thin fabric.

  "Holeee fuck," was all Emmanuele could really stammer out as he got his first real look at William Strickland in his other form.

  "Why are you talking?! Perforate that fucking thing!" shouted Sniper Three and opened automatic fire on the crouching creature. Strickland's head whipped around just as he left his feet and within a half second, he had made up the twenty yards between him and the gunman. Then he was on top of him, ripping and tearing with his knife-like claws and teeth like something out of a creature double feature. Sniper Three didn't even have time to scream before he was on the grass, and Strickland turned his attention towards the Canadian, who still swiveled his weapon towards him. To his credit, he actually got off a burst of gunfire as Strickland jumped, but the beast slid cleanly out of the way and thrust his right fist full of long claws directly into his guts, and to his dying day, Burndock was sure he'd never forget the sound. Emmanuele's back faced him so he couldn't see whatever was ripped out as Strickland yanked his closed fist backwards. Nor could he see the results of his face-first plunge into Emmanuelle's throat but the result was the same. The beast crouched over the torn and broken corpse of a man, who had been full of piss and vinegar not forty seconds before.

  Burndock stood there, his own M4 raised and trained on William Strickland, his finger resting on the trigger, and his eye looking through the scope. He had him dead to rights.

  But he couldn't fire.

  It's not his fault.

  We did this to him.

  He tried to push the thoughts aside, as the narrow green eyes burned into his soul, but he couldn't. Strickland hadn't been a bad guy. All he wanted was to find his family, and who could blame him? It wasn't his fault that he was now some fucked up genetic tapestry courtesy of the United States government.

  Man and beast stared intently at each other, fire in both of their eyes. Burndock silently wondered if his hesitation would cause his own death, but Strickland's muscles relaxed slightly. Green eyes slowly faded back to brown. A slow, mournful whining growl replaced his gasping pant as the man inside realized exactly what kind of beast he had become. Lifting his head once again, Strickland looked at Burndock curiously.

  "Why? Why? didn't you? shoot?"

  Burndock lowered his weapon. "This isn't you, Strickland. This isn't who you are. They made you this way."

  A tear slowly emerged from the creature's left eye and ran down his cheek, which reduced in swelling and faded in pigment
back to a more normal flesh.

  "I killed her," he said, lowering his head once again.

  Burndock looked at him uncertainly.

  "It was me."

  "I don't understand."

  Strickland looked up, his almost human face now caked with shame and grief. "My wife. I killed my wife."

  The words hung in the otherwise silent wooded area like a single gunshot, and Burndock had to lower his eyes.

  "I'm? I'm sorry," he said softly. And he was. He was suddenly sorry for whatever small part he had played in this completely twisted puppet show.

  Strickland looked surprised, just for a second, but quite quickly, the surprise and grief melted from his face and a determined rage replaced it. "I have to kill them."

  Burndock raised his head. "What?"

  "They made me do it," growled William Strickland, a cool flicker of green once again shining in his narrow eyes. "They made me kill her. And my girls? What about my daughters?" He rose from the ground, now looking more determined than shameful. "I can't let that stand. I won't."

  The NSA agent looked frightened just for a brief moment. "Look, man. You can end this cycle right now. Just go. Just go and forget this place."

  "I may still have my children?. Two daughters who will have to live with the memory of their father killing their own mother!"

  "William, please," said Burndock, trying to appeal to the human side of this man in front of him.

  "I cut you a break," Strickland snarled, any trace of kindness now long gone from his eyes. "Get in my way, and I'll fucking gut you."

  Burndock approached him slowly, but didn't get a chance to speak as Strickland lashed out with a right punch, snapping his head to one side and dropping him to the carpet of green grass. Strickland's mouth twisted into an angry grimace, with the slightest hint of sharp fang poking up from his lower lips. A low growl emerged from his mouth, but he fought the urge, spun around and disappeared into the woods.