Lycan

by John O'Brien

  “Ol’ Cletus did say they went to town every so often. Perhaps it was picked up then, like a gift or something,” Greg responds.

  “That could be, but how much money can they have to buy something like that. I can’t imagine they engage is selling goods. They could have–”

  “Jack, how in the hell exactly is a werewolf going to be pocketing money or jewelry? They’re wolves, and those bodies we found were eaten down to the last scrap,” Greg interjects. “I hear what you’re saying, and I’m not saying they weren’t what we were looking for, but that little piece seems a bit far-fetched.”

  “Well, I was going to say that they could have killed anyone who ventured close to the village in order to protect being discovered. Like, in their human forms. Not all of those missing from the area had to be taken down by werewolves. And if they barter or have a little money, anyone living like they are would be spending what little they have on survival, not trinkets.”

  “Hmmm…okay, I’ll give you that one.”

  “All that I’m saying is that there is a lot of stuff that doesn’t fit.”

  “Look, it seems to me that this line of conversation is us attempting to convince ourselves that what we found is indeed the Lycan lair. Is there anyone here who still doubts that?” Lynn interposes.

  One by one, we shake our heads.

  “Okay, so now the question turns to what we should do,” Lynn says.

  “We have two days until the full moon, so whatever we do, it’ll have to be fast. I can’t imagine those folks will hang around for long now that we’ve discovered them. And I don’t think their greatest concern is about being evicted, but rather exterminated,” I respond.

  “Well, even though there’s no doubt in my mind that we found their lair, we can’t just go in and destroy them. The only evidence we have is circumstantial,” Gonzalez states.

  “Honestly, I don’t see why not. We know what they are and we have an opportunity here,” Denton comments. “I’m kind of in the court of taking them out before they move.”

  “We can’t just start taking people out on suspicion. Once that line is crossed, it’s very difficult to step back over it because then we don’t know where the line is anymore,” Gonzalez returns.

  “Look, we’ve all done things in our careers that fall in that gray area. But I agree with Gonzalez: we can’t just start eliminating people based on hunches, as good as they may be. However, I also don’t want to face these things in the wild again,” I say. “I do think that just notifying the forestry service won’t do us any good. They’ll evict them, but then more than likely just let them go, and that won’t take care of the issue. As a matter of fact, it will make the situation worse—we’ll have to do this whole thing over again. So, at the very outset, I think we can eliminate that line of thinking.”

  “Did anyone else see the pregnant woman?” Henderson interjects.

  “What? No,” Gonzalez

  “Yeah, she was standing in an open doorway behind us, but quickly vanished inside. However, there was no doubt she was pregnant.”

  “So, these creatures can breed?” Greg states.

  “Apparently so.”

  “So, besides turning people into werewolves, I guess that’s another way to keep the population going. Now, who knows how often that happens or how viable the child will be. Perhaps the younger ones, teenagers or otherwise, were kept indoors or not present. After all, they had time; they were somehow alerted to our presence,” I comment.

  “I’ll note that, but I think we’re getting away from our focus here,” Lynn says. “Like Jack mentioned, we only have a couple of days to figure out what we’re going to do during this cycle. I have a feeling that if we let the full moon hit without doing anything, we’ll be back at the beginning.”

  “I don’t think it would be difficult to track an entire village on the move,” McCafferty says. “We could just follow them to their new camp.”

  “We’ve lost them twice before, although that was in their wolf form. I’d rather not take that chance. We’ve been fortunate twice, escaping both encounters by the skin of our teeth. I’d honestly rather not attempt a third,” I reply. “So, here’s what I see as our options. One, we can hit them now and absorb the moral implications. We’d have to strike hard and quick with fuel-air devices, some kind of napalm mixture, perhaps clearing the area first with a MOAB. We don’t know if their Lycan traits carry over to their human form, the greatest being their ability to sustain tremendous amount of damage. If so, that may leave a few left alive, but we’ll have thinned them out and perhaps taken down the Alpha, who I presume to be Cletus.

  “Two, we do nothing and run the risk of starting again, having to fight them in their wolf form. Three, we drop in, observe the village, and strike when they turn. Option one carries the least risk, number two the greatest, with the third option putting us somewhere in between. This entire conversation turns around the question of morality.”

  “I agree,” Greg responds. “Do we run a greater risk to ourselves or hold to the morality?”

  “It’s what we do,” Gonzalez replies. “That morality is the entire basis of our existence. If we just go around taking people out because we think something is true, then we’re no better off than some third-world warlord.”

  “If we were just dealing with people, I’d wholeheartedly agree. But, we’re not. We’re facing monsters,” Greg counters.

  “Are we one hundred percent sure that’s what that village is? We only have circumstantial evidence.”

  “What about the fact that we didn’t see any sign of food crops?” Greg inquires.

  “They could have them based elsewhere in order not to draw attention…I don’t know.”

  “Okay, consider this one. If they’re just people living in the wild, how have they survived with Lycans in the same area?”

  “That a good question and one which I’ve tried to wrap my mind around. It’s more than likely they’re what we’re looking for, but we don’t know that as a certain fact. If we’d found wolf tracks leading in and out of the village, then okay. But we didn’t and that leaves the tiniest measure of doubt in my opinion.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, I just wanted to clarify what the issue truly is surrounding our choices,” Greg returns.

  “Duly noted. I think there are times when we act on these instincts and there are times when we need more information. As much as I’d like to say differently, I believe this is one of those times where we need more. I say we go with the third option. Sneak in, observe the village, be ready to hit the moment they transform, and get the fuck out the moment they do. That means the 130 is loaded and ready to go. MOAB in the back, the wing tanks configured with napalm. Lynn, can we do that in the time remaining?”

  “There’s a supply of MOABs still sitting down in Florida. I’ll see if one can be delivered. The wing tanks will take a little longer, but I believe we can have that ready in time. Keep in mind that’s only two napalm bombs. Big ones, but still only two.”

  “Okay. I hate to say this, but I think we may need to go back out tonight. I don’t want to give Cletus and the gang any more time to make good on their escape. After one more wide circuit around the village, we find a place to hunker down and observe.”

  “We were found the last time we went in and we still don’t really know how. How are we going to prevent that?” Greg inquires.

  “By being more careful and finding a place further out, but close enough that we can determine the moment they begin turning. They obviously had some kind of perimeter in place that we missed. It’ll be nighttime and cooler, so we should be able to better identify their heat signatures.”

  “In the meantime, I want to research this Cletus fellow a little more. I heard correctly that his last name was Bartels, right?” Lynn asks.

  “I believe so, yes,” I respond.

  “Although it may not make a difference, I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “All right. We’r
e going back in; this time I want flamethrowers. We have those, right?”

  Lynn nods.

  “Okay, let’s go wrap this shit up. I want to be airborne in fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Wind whistles through the open door, the faint stink of jet exhaust circulating inside. The steel floor vibrates under my boots to the accompanying thumping of the rotor blades spinning overhead. We pass over a darkened landscape, the ridges and ravines merging into one. The moon has yet to rise. The Blackhawk carries six armed soldiers flying through the void of night, a black shape moving across a dark landscape.

  Carbines rest between knees, each of us lost in thought. We’re heading into the belly of the beast, this time to end matters one way or the other. Seated near the open doorway, the wind ruffling my fatigues, I stare into the night as the land passes beneath. The stars twinkle brightly, their light having traveled millions of light-years across the vast reaches and only now showing up. Somewhere overhead is Lynn and the gunship, sharing the night with us.

  My thoughts turn to my kids, wondering what they’re up to at this very moment in time. Memories of our times together filter in, the smiles of Nic and Bri, Robert’s humor. Summer adventures, the sun shining on our shoulders—enjoying our time together without a care in the world. Cruising through the night, I miss them very much. As in many times traveling through other nights, feeling the same vibrations and hearing the same sounds, I wonder if I made the right choice in continuing to do this. At some point, I’ll have to hang up this kind of life and I ponder whether that time hasn’t already arrived.

  “Five minutes out,” the pilot calls.

  Shuffling thoughts of the kids to the back of my mind, I return my focus to the mission at hand. Gone are the happy warm memories, replaced by a coldness I know only too well. Gazing around the interior of the Blackhawk, the others are doing the same, coming out of wherever their reveries took them. Mags and gear are checked, equipment tugged to ensure they’ve been taped effectively so our movement through the forest will be silent.

  Eyes glitter behind masks of camo, expressions determined and without fear. We’re about to enter the valley with an air of finality. We went in as professionals before, but this time feels different. This time we’re ghosts, flowing silently in the night. While the Lycans may be creatures of the night, so are we.

  The Blackhawk dips its nose, diving for the darkened landscape. Ridges just a shade darker than the nighttime sky rise above. The helicopter maneuvers through a valley at treetop level. We’ll deploy two hills away from the Lycan encampment with the steep hills masking our approach.

  A field appears ahead, a small glen situated in the midst of the surrounding forest. Dropping below the trees, the chopper flares, bringing our forward progress to an abrupt halt. The Blackhawk quickly stabilizes, the grass below bent flat from the downwash. I roll off of my perch, dropping the couple feet to the ground. The rest of Red Team flows out of the doorways, forming a perimeter. With an increase of engine noise, the chopper, stopping for the briefest of moments, moves forward and out of the tiny meadow, skimming the tops of the far trees as it flies away and vanishes from sight.

  Once the Blackhawk is out of view, we quietly and quickly flow into the nearest tree line, again setting up a perimeter. The meadow and surrounding woods are wrapped in silence, replacing the fading thump of rotors.

  “Lynn, we’re boots down.”

  “Copy.”

  We wait for fifteen minutes, listening and watching for any sign of movement.

  “Okay, let’s head out. McCafferty, lead the way.”

  * * * * * *

  It takes us some time to work up the hill, but we fluidly stream ever closer to the village. Transiting the next valley, we scale the ridge separating the targeted basin, arriving at the top of a saddle just as the moon peeks over the eastern mountains. Nearly full, with just one sliver marring a perfect circle of white, its light transforms the land. Silver highlights the tops of the surrounding forests, the far-off snows on taller peaks gleaming white. It’s like an unfelt breath has come up the landscape, breathing life into a deadened world.

  Rolling over the ridge, a line of six stalking through the night, we descend into the valley, quickly vanishing into the dense forest. Gloom replaces the silver-lit world behind, not a speck of moonlight able to penetrate these depths.

  McCafferty leads us slowly downhill, each step silent, pausing with every third to look and listen. Eyes focus on assigned sectors, searching through the depths between the trunks. Not a breath of wind disturbs the overhead boughs. It’s as if the entire world was anxiously watching the unfolding drama.

  At the bottom of the ridge, McCafferty changes direction, and we begin working around the valley, searching again for the elusive wolf tracks that would verify our belief that the village is home to the Lycans. We don’t find any, nor any sign that we’ve been discovered.

  Arriving at the river leading out of the valley, with the moon having transited to the west, I see the rock shelf and waters firsthand. Having seen the video and now seeing it closer, it’s pretty easy to imagine the Lycans entering the valley through the gorge without any sign of their passage. Finding their trails would have made our job a lot easier—made it easier to cross that moral boundary to just blast them. But, we now know that we’re in it for the long haul and know the task that lies ahead of us.

  “All right, we tried and found nothing. McCafferty, lead us in and find a place where we can observe the village. I know we’re tired, but let’s stay on our toes. They discovered us last time, so let’s avoid that this time.”

  * * * * * *

  Leaving behind the rush of water through the gorge, we head in, moving toward the heart of the valley. We somehow picked up a tail on our last trip and can’t allow that to happen this time. With our thermal capabilities, the deep void of night under the dense boughs will help us avoid any perimeter defense or roving patrol. However, the thick forest is also a hindrance as we’ll have to get close to the village in order to keep an eye on it. Silently, without even a whisper of sound, each step carefully chosen, we edge closer.

  The first buildings come into view as we crest a small rise, the hint of the upcoming day breaking up the deep gloom. It took us the rest of the night to make our way from the gorge to the hamlet. From our vantage point, we’re able to look straight through the middle of the village, but we’ll have to remain ultra-vigilant, especially since we aren’t able to have coverage overhead 24/7. The Spooky will have to refuel during our stay here, and we can’t afford to pull out after the effort we put into getting here. Plus, at some point, Lynn will have to pick up the MOAB and napalm.

  We’re all exhausted from the lack of sleep and the tension of closing in undetected on the village. The chill of the early morning folds around us as we settle into our concealed positions, felt even through the dry suits. Aside from the brief time spent for bodily functions, it won’t be easy remaining in those suits for two days, but we can’t afford to let the barest scent to escape.

  I can feel the cold ground beneath me as I lie just behind the small crest of the hill, peeking over the top, awash in the rich smell of dirt and old fir needles. Gonzalez lies beside me, having left her flamethrower back in our tiny base camp. Further behind, Henderson and Denton are keeping an eye on our six while Greg and McCafferty attempt to get some rest. We’ll keep the same shift pattern as we had on the plateau seemingly years ago: four on watch, two resting.

  As the woods lighten, the people in the village begin to stir, the first to appear stepping out of their doors and making their way to the large well where they draw water and return. Over the next hour, the streets begin to fill with more of the residents. Many emerge from their abodes to deposit goods on the wooden sidewalks, returning to gather more. The piles slowly grow larger, hand-drawn carts visiting each of the cabins to load gear.

  “Does it look like someone is preparing to move?” I whisper over the radio.


  “The only thing missing are U-Hauls parked in the streets,” Gonzalez replies.

  “I wonder if we can get a tracker in one of those carts?”

  “Good idea, sir, but is it worth the risk? They seem to have elevated senses like us. That’s the only way I can figure that they latched onto us before,” Gonzalez replies.

  I contemplate her words, wondering the same myself. It could have been chance that they happened upon us, but I can’t assume that. If they do have elevated senses while in human form, my guess would be scent. If we’re caught attempting to plant a tracker and have to leave, that could erase all of the work we’ve put in so far. I place the idea on hold.

  Staring at the village, I have to admit that I’m tempted to just burn the place to the ground with everyone inside come nightfall. While I see people walking the streets or emerging from homes, in my mind are the images of the two fights we’ve had with the Lycans. I’m not all that keen on a third one. The morality versus expediency and safety is a tough one. But, in my heart, I know Gonzalez is right. Barring walking up and asking Cletus if he’s a werewolf and him answering yes, we’re left to walking the trail we’ve set our feet on.

  The day passes slowly, our watch positions changing again and again. For most of the day, there hasn’t been much going on within the village other than packing. With the full moon only a day away, I’m curious if they’ll try to move before or after they transform. There is the small chance that we’ve miscalculated and these villagers are only that: people wishing to live outside the fences of civilization. If they are, then I commend them. Hell, if that’s all they’re doing, I’m even a little jealous.

  As the day wends its way toward nighttime, the light fading, the people of the village all begin to gather near the courtyard by the well. Before, we had only observed adults about the same age, but now we can see that there are younger adults, teens, and a few children in the mix. There are well over eighty people, the exact number difficult to count from our vantage point. Cletus is standing on the well addressing the village, but we can’t hear what he’s saying, even with our enhanced ability.