I headed that way, trusting my companion to follow, and wished that blasted alarm would die a rapid and painful death. I couldn’t hear anything but my heartbeat the way it blared, and if I unwrapped my shirt from my head, I wouldn’t even hear that much. I was maybe ten feet from the alcove that I was pretty sure was another hallway when a woman in tac gear and carrying a shotgun stepped into my hallway.
She froze at the sight of me, her eyes going wide. Her jaw worked like she said something, but no telling what it was. When she didn’t get the response she wanted, she whipped the shotgun to her shoulder and pointed it at me, her mouth frantically moving all the while.
I still had no idea what she was saying, but she didn’t seem to care.
She stroked the trigger of the shotgun, blasting me square in the chest… just as the alarm suddenly cut out. She worked the slide, sending a spent shell flying out of sight, but I saw her hands and arms shaking. I smelled her fear. I just took the full brunt of a twelve-gauge shotgun blast—presumably double- or triple-aught buckshot—and didn’t go down.
I flexed my mind to produce the synthesis form… and became a seven-foot-tall furry humanoid Smilodon. I flexed the proper muscles in my fingers and thumbs to extend my claws, just to add insult to injury.
The acrid scent of urine proclaimed her terror as I took a step toward her and said, “Drop the shotgun and surrender if you want to live.”
She remained frozen. Her eyes wide. Her whole body shaking with barely controlled atavistic terror. I didn’t want to kill her if I didn’t have to. I never wanted to kill anyone. So, I spread my arms wide, took one (hopefully) menacing step toward her, and roared at the top of my lungs.
The blood drained from her face faster than I’ve ever seen as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her knees buckled. Her arms slackened. I lunged and pulled my claws back inside. I grasped the shotgun by its receiver with my left hand and snaked my right arm under her left and around her torso. In my synthesis form, I barely noticed either weight.
As I lowered her to the floor, I spied a set of handcuffs on her belt. Perfect. I rolled her over and cuffed her hands behind her just as I heard someone shriek, “Wyatt!”
Hauser? Why did I hear such frantic urgency in her voice? I no longer had time to worry about double-locking the cuffs and surged to my feet. I shifted back to human and cast a quick glance back at my companion, as I growled, “Follow if you want to.”
I took off at a run.
* * *
I stopped at each intersection and shouted for Hauser. Each time, she shouted my name. If I hadn’t been so worried, I would’ve laughed at such an absurd game of Marco Polo. The occasional ping of metal buckshot hitting the floor accompanied my running search for Hauser; my body seemed to push it back out of me as I healed. It wasn’t long until even my sense of smell detected the tang of blood in the air, and I opened my mouth to improve my scent response as I surged forward.
I barreled around a corner and skidded to a stop at the sight of Hauser kneeling over Burke.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Hauser gasped. “She’s dying, Wyatt. She’s almost gone.”
“Have you found anything sharp enough to cut with?”
“I have a knife,” Hauser answered, fishing it out of a pocket and extending it to me.
I ripped open Burke’s top and t-shirt underneath. Then, accepted and opened the blade before liberally slicing my wrist several times. When the blood tried to drip or my wrist healed, I jabbed the blade back in and opened up an artery. I bathed Burke’s wound with my blood and fed her a liberal amount as well. Then, just to be sure I did everything I could, I shifted to my synthesis form—eliciting a startled scream from Hauser—and bit deep into Burke’s forearm.
I shifted back to human and watched for several moments without any change, and I feared I was too late. Tears flowed down Hauser’s cheeks as she whispered, “Please work… please work,” over and over.
Then, my bite on her arm started to heal. When Hauser kept whispering, I looked and found her eyes closed. I nudged her shoulder, and when she opened her eyes, I pointed to Burke’s arm where my bite now looked like red needle tracks.
A little cheer escaped Hauser’s lips as she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight.
“Thank you, Wyatt. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost her.” The immediate concern removed, Hauser focused solely on Burke and noticed the woman behind me. “Who’s she?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I found her in a cell next door to the room where I appeared. Since these people want her for some reason, I figured I’d spring her.”
“Only you, Wyatt,” Hauser sighed as she shook her head. “Only you would free someone you didn’t know—and probably never questioned—just…” Guilty as charged, Your Honor. “…to deny your opponents the person.”
“Well, not just to deny them holding her. I do believe in personal freedom, you know.”
Hauser chuckled. “Of course, you do. So, how do we get out of here?”
“Again, no idea. I’ve kinda just been following my instinct. Not to jinx us, either, but I’m starting to get a little worried about how empty this place has been. We encountered one person so far.”
“Five for us, but yes. It’s eerie.”
A faint sound reached my ears, and I grinned.
Hauser eyed me like a veteran schoolmarm facing an unrepentant rapscallion. “And just why are you grinning like a fool?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I just heard a grizzly bear roar.”
I gathered Burke into my arms, and we set off toward the sound of the roar I thought I heard. The bunker was a twisting maze of hallways and corridors, and we collected the woman I scared into pissing herself when we passed her.
* * *
The farther I led us, the louder sounds of a fight became. But I wondered at the lack of gunshots. Everyone I had seen was armed to the teeth. There should have been lots and lots and lots of gunshots, right? Thank goodness for the solid walls, floors, and ceiling that served as an excellent resonance chamber… when there wasn’t an ear-shredding alarm wailing throughout the place.
We continued the follow the sounds as we sought the exit. Well, I followed the sounds. Hauser and the former prisoner didn’t hear anything yet. After several minutes, though, the sounds of fighting faded. But by then, the air held the tang of blood strong enough that even I could smell it.
After uncounted intersections, the hallway we followed ended in an ‘L’ and I saw daylight, about two dozen people in tactical gear on their knees, a horde of animals I called friends, and my sister in the distance.
Now, all that remained was to call in the cavalry and get Burke back to Doc’s infirmary in Precious…
32
A week had passed since I led a war party to a black site bunker in the Grand Tetons of Wyoming. After securing the facility, we called in the Feds to deal with the survivors. We apologized for any breakage, and Hauser reported that she and Burke had killed two people during their escape. As Burke was still unconscious from me saving her life, their agency’s Internal Affairs department decided to postpone the inquiry until Burke came out the other side of becoming a shifter.
* * *
I sat on the back deck of the Alpha’s house in Precious. The house faced east, and I enjoyed sitting on the back deck and watching the line of sunlight creep its way down the mountains and hills. The sun line’s slow, stately progression reminded me of an ancient scanner. Which took my mind back to my old day job. A lot had changed for and with me since I was a dead-end tech for an IT company barely treading water, financially speaking. I was no longer the socially insecure, mostly out of shape geek. I was now the socially insecure, incredibly fit alpha shifter, serving as Alpha of Precious and Godwin County and Consul of the Shifters of North America.
I was not wild about that ‘Consul’ business, but such is life. The Shifter Council just made the announcement to all the shifters on the continent the other day, and I expected
the fecal matter to start hitting the rotary air impeller forthwith. Nothing had… yet… but it was only a matter of time.
Part of me still felt a little blindsided—not to mention jealous—that Vicki got to see Miles… that is, Merlin… in all his glory, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the history was between him and Requiem. From what Vicki said, he spoke to it as if it possessed an intelligence. Not gonna lie; that freaked me out a little. How does a staff possess intelligence?
Hauser has almost been living in Doc’s infirmary, and more than once, either the ladies or I have brought her food or forced her to go to the diner with us to eat. She seemed extremely reluctant to leave Burke’s side, and I hadn’t forgotten her statement back in the bunker, either. More than once since then, I wondered if Hauser thought of Burke as more than just a fellow Special Agent. If she did, the question then became what Burke’s thoughts on the matter were. Did she even know?
Sloane seems to be settling in just fine. I think she’s still in the “I can’t believe it’s finally over” stage, since word around town is that she spends most of her time on the wing. I think she’ll ease off in time, once she truly integrates the idea that she’s not hunted anymore. Emotional awareness of something like that always lags behind intellectual awareness.
The lady I found in the bunker accepted my invitation to come back to Precious with us. I finally learned her name when she checked into the hotel as a guest of the Alpha: Moira MacCallan. The day after Moira checked into the hotel, the ladies and Vicki whisked her off to one of the state’s larger cities, since she ‘needed some things.’ She seemed nice enough, but I still didn’t know any more about her than her name and the color of her eyes and hair.
Well, that’s not quite true. Back in the bunker, when I shifted to my synthesis form to bite Burke? Only Hauser reacted. Which meant she had seen a synthesis form at least once before. Yay… more pending surprises!
Still, though, things have—mostly—returned to normal around town, which has brought the matter of the former Attorney General’s son to the forefront of my mind. Her resignation after only a month or so on the job was one of the first headlines I saw upon my return. I was going to need to make a decision about that soon, but I felt I could take a day or two to decompress.
Goodness knows, it wouldn’t be long before Murphy delivered his next gift…
What’s Next?
Have you read “Lone Wolf,” Karleen’s origin story?
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Author’s Note
14 May 2021
First and foremost, thank you for reading…both the novel and these notes! I hope you enjoyed Roc!
I first jotted down an idea that became Smilodon, Book 1 of this series, in April of 2020. I had not intended to start writing this series when I did, but I’m glad I gave into the temptation.
Roc was as much of a joy to write as its predecessor was, and I am looking forward to Consular Times.
Some of you may have noticed that this book carries a dedication page, the first of my publications to do so. Earlier this morning (i.e. the morning of 14 May 2021), a dear friend of my friend and editor lost his grandmother. I have never met the friend of my editor. I never met his grandmother. But I did know my grandmother… well, one of them. She and my grandfather were fundamental parts of my life, almost cornerstones if you will. I lost my grandmother on 20 August 2000, six months and thirteen days after my grandfather, and it’s rare that a week goes by without thinking of her or my grandfather in some way, even 20+ years into her loss. (And yes, I still know these dates by memory.)
We are who we are—at least in part—because of the people who touch our lives. For good. For ill. And everything in between. I don’t think any of us will ever know all the people we have touched as part of our passing through this world. And I for one would rather try to leave my little corner better for my journey through it.
Thanks again for reading Roc! And an even greater thank you for wading through this note.
I hope the days have been treating you well, and I offer my best wishes for the future.
* * *
—Rob
The Novels of Robert M. Kerns
For a complete and accurate listing of all publications, both currently available and forthcoming, please visit Knightsfall Press.
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https://knightsfall.press/books
So…Who’s the Author?
Robert M. Kerns (or Rob if you ever meet him in person) is a geek, and he claims that label proudly. Most of his geekiness revolves around Information Technology (IT), having over fifteen years in the industry; within IT, he especially prefers Servers and Networks, and he often makes the claim that his residence has a better data infrastructure than some businesses.
Beyond IT, Rob enjoys Science Fiction and Fantasy of (almost) all stripes. He is a voracious reader, with his favorite books too numerous to list.
Rob has been writing for over 20 years, and Awakening is his debut novel.
Roc Page 27
