by John O'Brien
“If you say so.”
Carl trots for a few steps to catch up with Ted, glancing repeatedly into the woods. He stops suddenly as he sees another flash, hears a whisper of movement, and grabs Ted’s shoulder.
“There…there it is again.”
“I heard that one,” Ted mentions. “Did you see what it was?”
“No, not really. It was a flash of gray that moved quickly between trunks,” Carl replies.
“Maybe a wolf, then?” Ted inquires.
“I don’t know…maybe.”
The same sigh of movement comes from behind the two—something lightly brushing against a tree or a limb bending. Both Ted and Carl turn quickly to look toward the sound, but there’s nothing, only the darkness within the trees.
With the sun gone and night now in command, rays of moonlight penetrate the overhead cover and bathe the logging road in silver strips. The tops of the trees look frosted; the bark shows its texture in the moonlight. A breeze blows gently as the swaying boughs cause light and shadow to dance in patterns.
“It’s probably a pack of wolves. They won’t bother us, but I wouldn’t be upset if we picked up the pace,” Ted says, his chuckle concealing his sudden nervousness.
“I’m with you there. It’s such a different place at night,” Carl replies, hiking his pack higher on his shoulders.
“You’re not lying.”
The two brothers quicken their steps, walking at a pace just below a jog. The sound of their packs jostling and their rifles slapping against the back of their hips reverberates within the forest.
Murmurs of movement continue on both sides, quick whispers that then fall silent. Carl doesn’t want to look into the trees, but he can’t help himself. Constantly glancing to the left and right, he catches the occasional flash of something gray moving just at the edges of his sight. As if a tap were turned off, the whispering sighs cease and the tiny glimpses of movement disappear.
“That can be either good or bad,” Carl says, stopping to unsling his rifle while Ted continues a step forward.
“We probably just ran into a wolf pack that followed out of curiosity. Look, there’s our turn just up ahead,” Ted replies, stopping and turning to face Carl. “We’ll probably laugh about this in the camper.”
Carl’s eyes go wide. “I seriously doubt that. Look behind you.”
Seeing the sudden fear envelop his brother, Ted slowly turns to look over his shoulder. There in the logging road, as if rising from the dust, stand three large wolves. Moonlight graces their coats, highlighting their gray fur. Their eyes shine silvery-gold, reflecting the moonlight.
Before turning fully around, Ted sees ghostly shapes slink from the woods up the road behind Carl. Four more wolves emerge from the tree line to stand in the middle of the track. Within the trees, additional sets of glowing eyes blink on and off.
“Oh Lordy,” Ted says, unslinging his own rifle, the sound of his bolt clacking as he chambers a shell.
“Okay, brother,” Ted adds with a sigh. “We’re going to walk toward the three. Don’t make any threatening moves, but don’t falter either. You keep an eye behind us and to the right. I’ll watch the front and left.”
“Behind and to the right? There’s more?” Carl inquires.
“Yeah, there’s more. Just keep walking. We need to show a strong front, that we’ll be too tough to take on, without spooking them into action,” Ted answers, bringing his gun to a more ready position and stepping forward.
“Easier said than done,” Carl responds, taking a tentative step in Ted’s tracks while glancing behind.
“Or, it’s as easy as it sounds.”
As the brothers approach, the three wolves hold their ground, lowering themselves into crouches. Lips peel back and quiver, sporadically baring their teeth while low growls come from deep within their throats. Keeping an eye on the four wolves to the rear, Carl watches as they begin creeping forward. From within the woods, glowing eyes follow their progress.
With his hand tightly clasping the forestock and finger caressing the trigger, Ted attempts to stroll casually toward the wolves, but his steps feel wooden. His gaze rests on the ground to the front of the crouching and snarling beasts, but keeps the upper part of his vision glued to them. They don’t part to the side, but neither do they spring forward.
Although not an expert on wolves, Ted is struck by the fact that he can’t determine which one is their leader. Normally, the leader would take the forward station with the other pack members positioned behind and to the sides. That’s not the case here. If the wolves continue their aggressive stance, Ted’s thought is to take out the leader in the hopes that the rest of the pack will scatter. But first, he has to determine which one that is.
He eyes the fork in the road beyond the canines. The camp is so close. If he and Carl can just inch by the three, perhaps they might have a chance. Injuring or killing one or two might make the pack wary, giving him and Carl room to make a run for it. Thinking he might need more rounds in a hurry—the rifle only offering one shot—he slowly shoulders his weapon and draws his .45 1911 sidearm.
“Shoulder your rifle and use your handgun,” Ted says over his shoulder.
Ted draws nearer to the three wolves, his heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can hear the solid thud of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s so odd to think that just minutes ago, the two of them were joking around and looking forward to a relaxing evening at camp.
A blur of something large springs from the trees, landing in a single bound in the middle of the dirt track. Standing sideways, the huge beastly wolf turns its enormous head toward the two, its golden gaze freezing Ted in his tracks. Long canine teeth gleam in the moonlight, slowly dripping with strings of saliva. Its dark fur sucks in the moon’s light, making it seem as if there are only the glowing eyes, the deep red of its open mouth, and teeth visible in a void of darkness.
Staring at the brothers, the giant wolf closes its mouth and peels back its lips in a ferocious snarl, emitting a low growl that seems to vibrate the nearby trees. Lifting its snout to the nighttime sky, a howl booms through the night, echoing loudly along the enclosed logging road and throughout the steep hills.
The creature is easily three times the size of the other wolves, which part to allow the monster to walk forward. Ted has never seen or heard of a wolf this size and feels his bowels go watery. His breaths come hard and fast as terror seizes his heart, catching him in its grasp and holding firm.
The beast’s gaze holds Ted in his place as a thousand different thoughts crowd his mind, but he’s unable to hold onto a single one. The fight or flight response comes in full measure, with the fight portion nearly nonexistent. However, the command to flee never reaches his legs and so he stands locked in place. The confidence he had a moment ago vanishes like tendrils of fog in the heat of a full sun.
The steady breaths of the monster bellow in the night air like a forge being fed. The long strands of saliva trail to the ground as the beast continues padding forward. Without warning, the muscles of its hindquarters tighten and the gigantic wolf leaps into the air, surging toward the two brothers, both men motionless with fear.
With the sudden lunge, Ted recovers somewhat from his shock. The giant wolf’s head looms large, its mouth open and enormous fangs ready to snap down into flesh and bone. Stumbling backward, he brings his handgun up and fires, the flash of the gunshot lighting the muzzle and chest of the leaping wolf.
The large caliber bullet strikes the wolf in the shoulder. Ted hears the solid thud of the impact and his mind registers the faint aroma of gunpowder. A second round strikes the wolf in the chest. Undeterred by the heavy force of the rounds, the wolf slams into Ted.
Stumbling under the impact of several hundred pounds of leaping wolf, Ted’s heel catches a protruding stone. Falling backward with a scream, he feels the mighty jaws close on his shoulder as his sidearm flies from his hand and clatters over the hard surface of the road. The cry
of surprise and fear turns into a scream of agony as the wolf violently twists its head left and right, its teeth tearing into the man’s flesh.
More pain erupts as the wolf clamps down harder, the clavicle snapping under the force of the jaws. Ted tries pushing the wolf away with his one usable hand, his fingers sinking deep into the dark fur. But the grip of teeth is too much, his effort useless. He tries squirming away from the intense pain, but the wolf maintains its steel grip.
Ted hears the ferocious growling next to his ear, followed by the sound and pain of more bones snapping. In a full-fledged panic, Ted starts punching the wolf on the side of its head, bringing his knees up in an attempt to move the heavy weight standing over him.
The monster releases its grip on Ted’s shoulders. Glowing eyes stare down at him from above. The fangs and muzzle are stained red in the moonlight, blood dripping from its open mouth. For what seems like an eternity, Ted locks his gaze with the horror standing over him. In those terrible eyes, he sees his own death.
With a sudden lunge, the wolf dives downward, its jaws clenching around Ted’s neck. The pain is intense as gristle and bones crunch and warm liquid spills down around the wolf’s teeth. Blood wells inside Ted’s mouth, pouring out in gushing streams. Far gone into shock, he barely registers his head being tossed about as the beast begins savagely tugging.
Watching the monstrous wolf take down his brother and begin tearing into him, Carl fires into the hulking figure. He continues firing, watching the puffs rise from the dark fur as his bullets strike. The slide locks back, the magazine empty. He didn’t miss a single shot, but his rounds did nothing to slow the beast ripping into his brother.
The creature stops its assault, releasing his brother to turn a fiery gaze toward Carl. Ted lies unmoving on the hard-packed surface, his throat ripped open and shirt coated in red. Long strings of blood drip from the beast’s open mouth, reluctantly falling to the ground. Looking briefly at his empty handgun and with a last long look to his brother’s still body, Carl runs off the road and into the trees, not caring that there might be other wolves lying in wait.
He plunges into the deep darkness of the trees, stumbling over the uneven terrain. There’s barely enough radiant light to see the wide trunks appearing abruptly out of the night. The scuff of his shirt as it brushes against bark, the pounding of his boots, his panting breath, and the jingle of his pack and rifle follow his terrified plunge down the hill. Behind, he hears the loping wolves and sees flashes of gray to his sides.
As he seeks the perceived safety of the camper, Carl sickens at the guilt of leaving his brother. He hadn’t even remained to verify that Ted was actually dead; his legs had acted of their own accord. However, he had emptied his entire mag into the great beast without it showing a care. And now, it and its kin were chasing him through the woods.
Carl continues his rush down the hill, dodging trees, shedding the hindrance of his pack. He staggers numerous times, his boots reaching out to where there should be ground and finding none or catching on a sudden rise of land. All the while, the gray flashes multiply as they race alongside him.
All of a sudden, Carl finds himself falling through empty space, his arms and legs flailing. He lands hard on a road, pain shooting up from his knees. His momentum carries him forward and he rolls over his shoulder, coming to rest on his back. Looking up, he sees a crystal nighttime sky filled with the bright twinkling of stars, moonlight beaming down to highlight the rocky ledge he ran headlong over. Glowing eyes stare down at him all along its length.
Scrambling to his feet and picking up his rifle, Carl starts running down the dirt road, his boots initially slipping as he attempts to gain traction. He knows where he is, and the camper is nearby. If he can make it inside, he’ll at least have a barrier between him and the pack. There he can hopefully stabilize the situation and get some breathing space in which to think. His greatest hope is that it provides enough of a deterrent that the wolves will give up and seek their prey elsewhere.
Bathed fully in the light of the risen moon, Carl runs down the road, his boots steadily pounding the surface. He’s winded and his knees protest each footfall, but fear and adrenaline keep him going. Ahead, the camper appears in a small field just off the road, its sides gleaming white, safety just yards away. His battered mind goes to the image of his brother lying on the road in the hills above, his shirt and face bloodied. There’s a radio in the camper from which he can hopefully call for help.
Not wanting to look back, Carl turns off the road and runs for the camper. With safety so close, he doesn’t want to lose momentum by looking over his shoulder, afraid of what he might see. As he draws closer, he feels the first measure of grief forming alongside the accompanying guilt.
Could he have done anything different? Better? After all, they’re just wolves. He should have fired immediately when they appeared, taken one out so the rest would flee. Maybe if they hadn’t loitered in the clearing, they could have made it to the fork earlier and thus past the hunting pack. A hundred things he could have done differently, and his brother would still be with him.
Slowing, Carl reaches out for the door handle. The sound of something large and fast intrudes into his consciousness, along with a deep growl. Clasping his hand around the cool metal doorknob, Carl is hammered to the side as something heavy slams into him. He loses his grip on both the door and his rifle, landing violently on his shoulder. Looking up, he sees the snarling face of the gigantic creature that ravaged his brother. Eyes gleam above a drooling mouth, the panting breath hot on his face.
Behind the giant head hovering over him, the black-purple heavens host a myriad of tiny sparkling diamonds. Moonlight frosts the forested hillside. Carl turns his head toward the nearly full moon, seeing the gray shadows of canyons and gleaming whites in stark clarity. The moon is so close and clear, he imagines he can see the individual rocks on the surface of the space object millions of miles away.
His view of the pristine night is suddenly blocked by darkness as he feels the monstrous jaws close around his head.
Chapter One
The days off with the kids were great, but there came the inevitable email calling me back. I’m always amused when I get them—this one in particular wanted me to purchase any Viagra I may require from Canada. It was with a heavy heart that I boarded the airliner and crammed myself into one of the seats that seemed to get thinner with every flight. It just struck me as odd that as the overall population got larger, the seats grew narrower. I don’t know, maybe the seats made the people seem bigger, but I do know that I’m not much into the forced intimacy.
Arriving back at the resort, I find the others already there. I always seem to be the last one to arrive, but that pretty much describes my life—a day late and a dollar short. Stowing my gear, I join them around the large dining room table. I don’t say much more than some perfunctory greetings, instead helping myself to a steaming bowl of stew. The first bite reaffirms my thought that I’d move here if it weren’t for the kids. If they weren’t still in school, I’d take up the question of bringing them here. Of course, they’d miss their friends and the lives they’re building.
Conversation slowly picks up once I settle in, centering on our recent expedition beyond the southern borders. Recent events have brought to light that the monsters of myth and lore are real. I haven’t really thought of much else since returning from Mexico, and I’m not overly comfortable with the fact of their existence.
The world is made up of many layers, though most people reside in the comfortable central one. People hear news of events worldwide, but for the most part, their chief concern is how bad the drive home will be. Then there are the layers of the drug business, the dollars and the deaths. Many don’t see the evil everywhere, hidden beneath a camouflage netting that’s draped over society. There are also the undercurrents of special ops, which keep the majority of the things the bad guys do away from the populace. Many, many layers, some of which I’m aware of and some of which
I’m not.
I’ve spent a large part of my life in special ops, which crosses into many of the darker underlayers of the world. The fact of this deeper one where monsters exist is actually something I could have gone a lifetime without knowing and been better for it. Now, not only do I have knowledge I can’t scrub from my brain—even with a healthy application of bleach—but I’m in a group responsible for keeping these nightmares from surfacing into polite society. Of course, after having been recently crammed together with my fellow men and women inside the tin can, I’m not sure why.
“What do you think, sir?” Gonzalez asks.
“Huh? What do I think about what?” I respond, looking up and realizing that I haven’t been listening.
“What we’ve been talking about,” McCafferty says.
“Oh…no, I don’t think you should tattoo a skull on your face,” I reply.
“That would be pretty cool,” McCafferty states under her breath.
“So, you’ve sat two feet away this entire time and haven’t heard a thing we’ve said,” Greg comments.
“Pretty much,” I reply. “Give me the Cliff’s Notes version and I’ll let you know my expert opinion.”
Gonzalez says they were discussing the Strigoi and how to deal with them better. There were a few close calls that could have gone either way, so they were talking about how to kill them quicker; basically, how to drain their energy reserves faster. Lynn walks in carrying several folders and takes a seat, setting the folders in front of her without opening them.
“Well, in hindsight, I think we went about it entirely wrong. Our carbine rounds cause damage, but not enough. Many of their wounds healed too easily, even if they did bleed down their stores of energy. If we can cause more damage, perhaps something like a crossbow bolt that continually cuts, then I think we’ll have an easier time,” I reply.
“So, kind of like the whole ‘stake in the heart’ kind of thing,” Gonzalez says.
