Vegas Run

by Rachel A Brune

  As he neared our position, he shivered and stomped his feet. Although he held his weapon at the ready, he held it in one hand while he blew on the other hand, trying to keep warm, and then switched off. Clearly, the man was more concerned about the warmth at the end of the shift than actually keeping watch. I didn't blame him. The snow had picked up, swirling around us with a vengeance.

  As the man passed, I gathered my legs under me and leapt. My momentum caught him in the middle of switching hands, and I bore him to the ground with little resistance. A snap of my jaws at his throat, and his blood spilled in a dark spray across the snow.

  I panted and glanced back at Karen. She nodded and got up. I led the way across the short expanse to the loading dock, sparing a moment of regret for the salty heat rapidly cooling behind us. But I'd already eaten, so I wasn't that upset.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  There's something particularly satisfying about sneaking around places where you're not supposed to be, especially when the people who inhabit them go to great lengths to keep you out. The loading dock was deserted. Two normal doors flanked three huge metal sliding doors, the kind that could roll up to accommodate the fast load and unload of food and alcohol deliveries. The smaller doors were secured with keypads and double bolts. The sliding metal doors were padlocked at the bottom. One lock per door.

  Maybe they weren't worried. Maybe they were relying on someone to be watching the security feed religiously. Maybe they didn't give a shit because this was a little dinky outpost in the middle of nowhere, and people got bored looking at snow and ferrying rich assholes around.

  And maybe you should pay more attention to your security manager.

  Karen popped one of the locks in about fifteen seconds, rolled the door up about a foot and vanished inside. I followed suit. With the vanishing. It's hard to pick locks when your opposable thumbs have turned into dew claws.

  I barely had time to whisk my tail from under the door before it slammed closed, and we were inside.

  The building immediately reminded me of the casino we'd walked through in Vegas–the same smell of perfume and sweat, the warren-like floor plan designed to get people lost and prevent them from leaving too quickly or easily. Once again, my mind flashed back to Calix and wished she were here to give us the benefit of her recon.

  As if on cue, her voice sounded in our earbuds.

  "You're going to head down the first hall, then make your first right and …" We lost the rest to static.

  Karen paused, fiddling with the wire that attached her earbud to the radio ALICE-clipped to her vest. "Say again?"

  "First right. Second left." Pause. Calix left the button depressed on her end so we heard a quick staticky back and forth. "That's it. First right, second left, and you'll see a door marked ‘Private.'"

  By now, we'd passed the first right and had to turn and retrace our steps. The turn led to a short corridor, along which branched several more halls. The sense I got from what I could glean from the stale air was that the hallway we were in bisected the building. To our right, smells of comfort–leather, electronics, food. To the left, I caught scent-shots of canvas, grease, and a pervasive cold, as well as tobacco.

  "This way." Karen took the lead at the second left, and ta-da, we'd completed our quest. The first door in the short throughway was the one we were looking for. "Anyone around?"

  I chuffed and pawed the door. I don't know if she expected me to answer. In my other form, I could, but for now I was just your garden variety canis lupus. So to speak. Or not. Fine.

  With a callous disregard for Karen's eyesight, I called the change and suddenly the hallway got a lot colder. Luckily, we were both in deep shadows, because some things were not meant to be exposed to those temperatures.

  "What's up?" Karen pulled a small box from a pocket on her pants and placed it on the door's digital entry key. On the surface, an LED display began circling through numbers. I thought that shit only existed in spy movies.

  "There's a bank of servers behind this door," I told her. "Motor pool is through the door at the end of the hall–I can smell the metal and gas."

  "What's through there?" Karen nodded at the third and last door in the short hallway. She didn't actually sound interested, but I told her anyway.

  "Bathroom."

  "Good to know."

  "With a supply closet. Lots of bleach. Drain cleaners. Fun stuff."

  "Also good to know."

  The numbers on the LED stopped cycling. Karen popped the door open and slipped inside. For both our sakes, I called the change back.

  Also, I'd detected a very interesting scent, and thus needed my nose to be in proper working order.

  While Karen did whatever she needed to do with the computer, I padded back the way we came and headed toward the comfortable part of the building. We'd had some good luck so far, but since I don't believe in good luck, I wanted to find out what was making my nose twitch.

  As soon as we entered, I'd picked up small rustles, the sorts of noises that came from far away but were loud and urgent at the source. I followed the trail around the corner, staying to the side of the corridor as much as possible. Most security cameras were set in the middle of the ceiling, aimed at picking up the movements of persons as tall as the average male.

  Not only am I short, but as a wolf, I'm pretty much a ghost on a shitty surveillance system. Amateurs.

  A short burst of Russian came from an open door about twenty meters ahead of me, answered by a short laugh and a friendly insult. The men in the room were more interested in watching whatever was causing both of their erections, rather than keeping an eye on the screen where they might have spotted us wandering around. Oh well.

  I crouched low to the ground in the shadows outside the open door, muscles tensed, ready to spring at my prey.

  "Rick, come in," crackled in my ear. "Where the fuck are you?"

  Karen needed to work on her timing. I shook my head, then scraped it along the ground for good measure, dislodging my earbud. Free of Jiminy Cricket whispering in my ear, I crouched again. Saliva dripped from my jowls.

  "Jesus Christ, Shaggy, what the hell?" This time, the urgent whisper came not through my ear but from a very pissed-off Dr. Karen Willet who had come up whisper-silent behind me. "We're not leaving any bodies on this one."

  Killjoy. I whined and slunk back, leaving the Young Pioneers to their vodka and pornography.

  All this effort to go sneaking around and breaking in, and we didn't even get to set a bomb or anything. Karen had just used the bleach to wipe down the surfaces where she'd touched the door and the computer out of necessity. Boring.

  Head hanging, grumbling to myself, I followed her down the hallway and back to the loading dock, where once again, we prepared to slip unnoticed through the door and head on our way.

  "Stoi! Chto vi dyelaesh?"

  So much for slipping away unnoticed. The light flipped on overhead, blowing out Karen's night vision and burning my eyes.

  An alarm started up, blaring with an ear-piercing harsh electronic tone. Lights placed along the corridor flashed and strobed in time with the siren.

  There were four of them–two approaching from each side, at least one of them still buttoning his pants. All of them carried an AK-47 at the ready, with an additional pistol on a drop holster at their legs.

  "Ne dvigaitesh."

  "Shit." Karen dropped to the ground into a prone position. The hallway was long and free of anything that could conceivably be used for cover. Except for me.

  The first bullet tore into my side, stitching a fiery seam across my thigh. Scheisse! Forgot how much getting shot sucks.

  Time slowed. Behind me Karen depressed the trigger of her weapon, returning fire with fire. One of the teams pulled back, their aim stymied by their friends who, by shooting at us, lined them up for some fratricide.

  Ignoring the first, shocking burst of pain, I scrambled back to my feet. I sprinted toward the two men firing at us.

  They
were semi-disciplined, taking turns. The first man fired three to six rounds, covering his buddy's approach. Then, he'd take a knee, commence to fire. If they'd had any sort of talent at aiming whatsoever–and silver bullets–I'd probably be bleeding out in some oligarch's private freak collection right about now.

  Instead, I darted left, then right, then straight ahead. In the space of a muttered Slavic curse, I leapt on the first man's throat. He screamed. The sound lasted a half second before choking off on his own blood.

  The second man's rifle clicked. The bolt chamber opened on an empty magazine. Rather than trying to reload, he dropped his rifle, fumbling for his pistol.

  Where the dim light cast shadows on the wall, the gloom was now joined by darker sprays that glistened as they dripped, leaving mottle streaks against the paint.

  Behind me, Karen's excellent marksmanship removed the threat to our rear. Vaguely, I registered her return, not a hair or piece of equipment out of place. Quite the contrast to my gore-streaked haunches.

  She halted a few meters from me, giving me a look I had seen more than once. Or twice. Or heck, every time we worked together. But I was hungry, and the rapidly-healing holes in my side needed some sort of fuel.

  "Come on, Rick, that alarm's going to bring a lot more guys than we can handle."

  Karen was right. As per usual. And the wounds from the last couple of bullet holes were quickly closing.

  I gave the corpse one last shake, licked my lips, and followed her out of the facility.

  Snow had begun to fall in earnest, increasing until almost whiteout conditions. We took off on a trot in the general direction from whence we came.

  "Fuck, I can't see where we're going." Karen had her GPS out. "This piece of shit refuses to connect."

  I whined and nudged her with my shoulder, thinking of several wasted one-liners about relying on technology. She tucked the device back into one of her many pockets and pulled her fleece cap further down her ears.

  She pulled on a pair of gloves, not pausing as she kept up with my pace. Then, one hand steadied her rifle on its sling, while the other rested on the scruff where my neck and shoulders joined. Taking her hint, I took the lead.

  Unerringly–okay, so maybe I might have gotten slightly mixed up and taken us in a small-ish circle at one point–but mostly unerringly, I got us back out to the side road where we'd left our vehicle.

  Driving in the snow was no fun, but we made it back to the house with only a few minor heart attacks (on my part.) You know, fur is great and all, but modern heat is a wonderful invention.

  We pulled up to the outside of John Tell's old apartment. Karen killed the engine. I waited for her to open the door; the snow hadn't let up and I lazed in the heat of the car, too comfortable to want to blast the more fragile parts of myself with the blizzard.

  Instead, she opened the glove box. The minute she did so, I smelled it, faint but recognizable. That stupid cuff.

  "Rick, I'm going to need to put this on you."

  Nope. No way.

  "Rick. We need to go back. There's no way we can stay here and get this data analyzed in time, and every minute we don't leave, we're tempting fate that these Black Mountain operatives put two and two together and come find us."

  I growled.

  "Suit yourself."

  Damn it. My attention had been captured by the cuff, which had taken my gaze away from Karen. She took advantage of my distraction to stick a syringe in my side and depress the plunger all the way.

  "Don't worry," she said as I began to drift off into a very pleasant slumber. "There's no silver. Just a heavy dose of large-animal tranqs."

  Man. Wonder if I could get MONIKER to give me some for recreational–

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My system metabolizes anything I throw at it within a matter of minutes, which makes it a son of a bitch trying to go on a bender. MONIKER, as usual, had access to some good stuff–better than I could find on a regular basis. It knocked me out long enough for the team to pack everything, head back to what passed for civilization, and shovel me on a plane.

  Somewhere after takeoff, the drugs wore off just enough for me to be aware I'd been drugged. But not so much as to shake me out of the dream that had overtaken me. Or maybe a hallucination?

  Aleksy and I sat on a fallen limb in the snow, watching a convoy of trucks pass below us. A familiar scene, with just enough difference to be uncanny. For instance, Shin, my Korean buddy, sat on my other side, smoking a cigarette. One of them shouldn't have been there.

  "Wie geht's, Herr Wurst?" Aleksy leaned behind me to tap Shin on the shoulder. The soldier handed him his pack of cigarettes. He grabbed one and started smoking without lighting it. Dreams are weird.

  "Are you haunting me?" I grabbed for the pack, but somewhere in there it vanished.

  "Maybe." Aleksy's skin held a wan aspect I didn't remember him ever having. His round Polish face should have been tanned, rough from exposure to the outdoors. This dream Aleksy had a fluorescent pallor.

  "Well, then, make yourself useful, ghost of Christmas past." I reached for his cigarette. "Tell me what's in store for my future."

  I took a drag. The smoke filled my lungs, cool on the inhale. At the back of my throat, the taste of candy lingered, almost too sweet.

  Aleksy shrugged. Shin said something in Korean, and he nodded. I don't know what he said. I don't know how Aleksy suddenly knew Korean.

  I didn't know why the snow-covered forest scene around us began to fade into a gray and tan color scheme, and then slowly disintegrate.

  "My friend says you need to cut the leeches out of your life."

  "What leeches? MONIKER?"

  The last of the trees disappeared. The two other men remained–the soldier and the partisan. Aleksy tilted his head, but it was Shin who spoke, the same heavily accented English with perfect syntax I remembered.

  "Why are you still serving a cause that has begun to rot from the inside?"

  Somehow, in the mix of hallucination and lucidity, I found myself seated upright on the webbed seat of a small cargo plane, flanked by my imaginary friends. The cuff was back on my arm. I tried to move, but every attempt met some sort of sleep paralysis. Nobody else seemed to recognize I was awake–but maybe I wasn't.

  "I'm just doing a favor for a friend," I finally grumbled. I felt like I was saying it out loud, heard the sound of my voice–but nobody else acknowledged the statement. Nobody who hadn't been dead over fifty years, that is.

  "And your friend, their services? They don't mind their hands with dirt? Maybe they touching blood?" Aleksy, for all his gift of gab, sucked at making English do his bidding.

  "Karen is a good person, doing the best she can." The words came out more defensively than I meant. Across the plane, the object of our attention sat, reading. Calix had fallen asleep, her head in Karen's lap, who played with her hair as she turned the pages.

  "We're all good guys when we look in the mirror," Shin said, not objecting or arguing with me, just stating a simple fact. "How long did your uniform make you a good guy?"

  Well, fuck. He had a point. Hindsight was a bitch. I'd been loyal to the German flag for longer than I should have–longer than I cared to admit; even after my country had lost its mind, I had hung on until–

  MONIKER. They had offered me redemption, and a chance to cleanse the rot from my country. In the process, I'd adopted a new flag, language, place in the new world order, and never stopped to think what it meant that even when I'd changed sides, the rules and the game had remained strikingly familiar.

  "Politicians are always making promises," Shin said. "It's when those politicians wear uniforms you must be doubly suspicious."

  He wasn't wrong.

  "So, you head back to MONIKER, become pet werewolf again?" Aleksy asked.

  "Just until I figure out how to get Karen out of there."

  He laughed, and Shin joined him.

  "You can't even get yourself out of there," Shin said. "You need help, b
rother."

  He wasn't wrong.

  "Where am I going to get that?"

  Aleksy nodded toward Dmitri, who sat alone at the other end of plane. I snorted in dismissal.

  "Pay attention, wolf." Aleksy's voice contained an uncharacteristic heat. And he never called me wolf.

  I took another look at our Russian partner. The old man appeared to have nodded off, lulled to sleep by the vibration of the plane.

  Until I realized his eyes were only half closed. I stared at him, and after a few seconds, could have sworn I detected a sly wink before he went back to feigning sleep. I swiveled my glance at Karen; she had put her book down and was also staring at me, but although she stared straight at me, she wasn't making eye contact. Somehow, only Dmitri had sensed where my little trip took me.

  "Look again," Shin chimed in.

  I did. Dmitri hadn't moved. Hadn't changed position. So how had the sun suddenly pooled light around him? In the space of less than three seconds, the sunlight had coalesced and deepened into a rich amber color. The effect outlined him in a glowing, living aura I'd never seen before.

  Maybe I wasn't seeing it now.

  "You're seeing it," Aleksy told me.

  Across from me, Calix yawned and sat up. "Where are we?"

  "About twenty minutes from starting our descent into Barstow," Karen replied.

  Calix stretched and yawned, and when she finished, she glanced over at me. "He still out?"

  "Yep," Karen said.

  "Hmm." And now she, too, stared at me, as if she could tell I wasn't completely in one place or the other. But I had to be dreaming. First, Dmitri's aura. Now, Calix's eyes. Instead of their normal dark color, they glowed a brilliant crimson. She licked her lips, and I broke the gaze.

  Shin took one last drag of his cigarette and threw it on the ground, stubbing it out. "Good luck, brother."

  The next moment, he was gone. One hallucination down.