The bastards. Well, bitches too. He’d had some female bosses over the years.
So, in the end, it came down to having a job he was good at. It was also time to think about his own future and since his hands were already red? Well, so be it.
He did moonlighting work that added more blood to the mix. Once coated, it didn’t matter anymore how much blood your hands were soaked in.
It only mattered what you got paid for.
With those pleasant thoughts, Phillip Simmons went to sleep.
—
“I’m telling you,” Jean Dukes told John as they prepped Nathan and Peter in the forest, “this fabric would hold even if those two tried to bite it.”
“I fucking doubt that,” John told her.
Barnabas smiled to himself, shaking his head. The two of them had been quietly arguing this whole trip about weapons, armor, and munitions.
She reached into her bag and grabbed a square foot of gray fabric, “Here, smartass, see what you can do with it.” She tossed it to him.
John caught the fabric and pulled on it. He took his knife out and slashed at it, but it didn’t cut. Walking over to a tree, he held it against the trunk and tried to cut it a few times, top to bottom and left to right. “Well, I’m impressed so far,” he told Jean, “what is it?”
“It’s made by PPSS in England. Harder than Kevlar for cutting and slashing, but would probably need a second material for biting, maybe.” She smirked at him.
John rather liked that grin and the challenge. He put the fabric in his pocket, “Ok, we will test it. Where is this headgear your mad-scientist mind put together?”
“What the hell ...” she groused as she turned to bend over and go through her bag muttering softly to herself and finished, “... does a girl have to do to get her body noticed, not her mind?” Grabbing the two head pieces for the Pricolici with the connections for the video cameras, she straightened up.
Don’t worry, John said to himself, staring at Jean’s ass as she was getting into her bag. I see it, but it was your ability to enjoy wanton destruction that caught my attention first. The body is just icing on the cake.
—
Moments later, Simmons' eyes popped open. There was something nearby. He had heard a soft footfall. He grabbed his Glock and looked at the readouts from his sensors. Nothing showed as tripping them along the paths.
There it was again! Setting down his pistol, he grabbed his clothes and quietly put them on, making sure to tie his boots. He didn’t want to be stumbling out there without foot protection. He grabbed his Glock and his M&P10 and cautiously looked out of the tent, using the rifle’s barrel to move the flap.
Nothing.
He put a foot out and tried to keep his clothes from making too much noise as he eased out of the tent. His eyes searching in the dark for what woke him up. He put his pistol in its holster and gripped the rifle with both hands as he turned, looking around the area to see if anything tripped his awareness.
Once again, nothing.
Phillip Simmons.
Simmons looked around for the voice he heard. He saw nothing. He stepped into the darkness under a tree to escape the moonlight near his tent.
Ah, the heartbeat doesn’t go much faster, are you a trained killer then, Phillip Simmons?
What the hell? Simmons thought. He turned to his left and his right, but caught no colors, no eyes, not a thing that shouldn’t be out here with him.
Suddenly, a wolf’s howl echoed in the night, and Simmon’s blood ran cold. There shouldn’t be wolves in this forest!
Ah, Phillip Simmons, the first has called the start of the hunt. Well, I see you are armed, you will need it.
“What the FUCK!” Simmons blurted out.
Oh, I’m so sorry, I hear your heart beating a little faster now. Didn’t you know that tonight your sins have caught up with you? Or, rather, they ARE catching up with you?
Suddenly, shockingly, Simmons could hear the squealing of alarms going off in his tent.
Simmons bolted.
Fucking shit! He ran the opposite direction of where he had set the sensors and worked to keep his heartbeat down, but if the other team was capable of pushing thoughts into his head, then he was in for a fight.
But, intelligence typically meant a body, and a body always could be shot. At least, it always had been true before now, but usually, the other team didn’t project thoughts into his head. He jumped a downed tree and skidded to a stop to turn around and scramble back close to the tree trunk, his rifle aimed back the way he came.
And waited, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears and the blood pulsed through his body. He willed his body to relax as best as he could, and it started to work.
Then another howl happened, a deeper one from behind him.
Simmons turned to face behind when the first howl came again, this time, closer, along the trail he had just run down.
Fuck!
He scrambled up and considered his options quickly before deciding that between them was not a good strategic location. He slid back across the tree and started jogging towards the way he came, his gun aimed out front as he jogged back. He didn’t know which wolf was bigger, but his crocodile brain was telling him that a deeper howl meant larger wolf.
A wolf, once again, that wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here.
Simmons was searching the fauna to his left and his right down low, looking for a wolf that would be stalking him from the shadows. He was not looking up when an arm with a clawed hand snaked down to grab his rifle and about yanked his arm from its socket as it pulled it out of his grip. The gun shot twice before it came free. He twirled around and landed in the dirt.
Simmons rolled quickly to the side and pulled his Glock, breathing hard as his eyes frantically searched the limbs above him.
Fucking shit! That was no wolf.
I’d run, Phillip Simmons, the Wechsalbalg aren’t known for suffering idiots that lay there waiting for them for very long.
Simmons got up and ran. He didn’t look in the fauna anymore, and he hoped to God there was nothing in the limbs above him. He just ran.
A few moments later, his sensors beeped again as he passed them running in the opposite direction.
Seconds later, a dark body, with yellow eyes gleaming, bolted through the small clearing, jumping across his campsite in an arc of over twenty feet before disappearing into the darkness. A second ran in, around the tent and followed the first.
The chase was on!
Simmons heard both howls behind him, and a few moments later, their sounds were closer. He aimed his pistol behind him and fired off two shots in the direction of the howls before turning back around and watching his footing.
Damned dead fool he would be if he slipped or tripped.
He holstered his pistol and started to use both arms to climb a small but decently steep incline when he heard the growls behind him. He was almost to the top, so he pulled hard and rolled over, glancing behind him for just a second.
That second was enough for him to see two beings from folklore, werewolves, here in South America. This time, their howls assaulted his ears. He yanked his pistol back out and turned towards the lip, moving forward to aim over the side.
But they weren’t there.
Phillip Simmons knew utter despair. He knew he wouldn’t be making it out of this forest alive. The enemy had come for him, and he wasn’t prepared. He snorted to himself. Who the fuck was going to prepare for werewolves to come after them anyway? “It’s just me, and I’m all out of silver bullets,” he mumbled.
Phillip Simmons pointed the gun towards his head. “Hell if I’m going to suffer…” His gun hand was grabbed in a clenching strength he couldn’t fight, and a guttural voice spoke behind him, “Yesss, You willll suffferrr Philllippp Ssssimmonnnnns.” The pistol barked once into the night, whizzing off into a tree some distance away. “Besidesss, sssillverss burnns but isssn’t deattthhh sssentannncee.”
Phillip screamed
as the bones in his hand were crushed between the anvil of the gun and the fist holding his hand.
“Yyyou wonnn’t beee neeeding thiissss.” The pistol was pulled from his broken and crushed hand. Simmons was in agony as he tried to cradle the pain-wracked hand and turned around to see three figures standing above him. Two with yellow eyes and one with red that made Phillip Simmons forget his hand for just a moment.
“Welcome to Judgement Night, Phillip Simmons,” the vampire spoke, “My name is Barnabas, and I’m to be your judge.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clan Temple Near Shennongjia Peak, Hubei
Stephanie Lee allowed her mind to rest, to block out the thoughts of the outside world, the fears of seeing her father again after the long absence.
The failure she felt in her bones.
I come, her inner voice spoke.
And I am here, a pair of voices spoke back, in harmony but also separate. She could sense a higher voice and a deeper as if she was talking to both a male and a female at one time.
Why do I sense two? She asked, confused.
Because we are two in one, but we speak as two until you decide which works for you. With a decision, the voice will become one.
I choose then not to decide, as I prefer to remember always that there are two, she replied. Confident in her decision.
Yes, you are the one, the voices replied back, and we have been waiting for you.
The one what? she asked.
The one to take up the mantle, and none too soon. We sense the five have a champion, and it is strong, perhaps too strong. We need to move forward, but we have not had a vessel to pour ourselves into yet.
Why? What about my father?
Too attached to family, the voices supplied, and we thought we had time yet, centuries. Yes, if we had centuries, you would be unstoppable.
I do not live for centuries, she argued.
Oh, but now you will, the male voice supplied, as the female voice added, With us to guide you.
What do I need to do? Stephanie Lee asked, and what am I giving up?
You give up nothing that you would not give up already to seek that which was waiting for you here when you left. You surrender your freedom to be a nobody in order to rule all that you see, the two voices said together.
No longer, the male voice said, will you bow before others. Never again.
Agreed, the female voice added. You are the Leopard Empress and the Empress will have all bow before her.
Stephanie Lee’s lips, composed in her meditation, still cracked the barest of a smile.
Washington D.C. - USA
When the President stepped into the side meeting room, the door closing behind him, he noticed two Tums rolls waiting for him at his spot. George didn’t bother hiding the trash from his, already eaten with the empty wrapper sitting next to a piece of paper on the table.
“I take it by the Tums sacrifice waiting for me here, and the one roll that already died for you there, this is not a good update?” the President asked as he sat down and started unrolling the Tums, grabbing the top two.
“Well, maybe.” George waffled, “Depends on whether you are ok that Phillip Simmons down in South America is dead.”
The President stopped chewing and looked at his secret liaison. “By the way you are telling me, I take it the death isn’t cut and dry?” he asked before grabbing a third Tums tablet.
“No, it isn’t,” George agreed, “He went on an annual backpack trip and found himself dinner for a pack of carnivorous creatures.”
“So, no bullets, no knife wounds?” the President asked for confirmation.
George made a face, “No, but the injuries he suffered aren’t natural, Mr. President, not at all.” He tapped a finger on the table. “Plus, one of his arms had been pulled damn near off. No carnivore with the claw marks that were found on his body would have the appendages necessary to do such a thing.”
“Why not?” the President asked, “Grab his wrist in their teeth and pull, right? Or shake his body around?”
“Yes, that would work, but there aren’t teeth marks to support that story,” George noted.
“You know, you are starting to get a little weird about this whole TQB issue,” the President told him. “Are you really suggesting that they have modified wolves under their command? Genetically changed to be super-animals or something?” The President looked at George like maybe he was going a little too far in his seeking to blame everything on TQB.
“Why would you say ‘wolves’ Mr. President?” George asked, trying to get back on track with his discussion.
“Because you mentioned them before, outside the TQB complex in Colorado.”
“Well, you are right. The marks might have come from a wolf and if so they were really, really huge.” George decided to skip the part of walking on their hind legs, and added, “Frankly wolves don’t exist in that part of South America, so…” He let his comment drop. Better to plant a seed of doubt at this point.
The President nodded his understanding.
George continued, “Second on our list, we have a strange occurrence out in the desert north of Las Vegas. A Johann Pecora rented a vehicle in Las Vegas, which was found at a small ranch next to the mountains. When the car wasn’t returned on time, it was located via the transponder. The cops went out to check and found two empty mobile homes. They looked around, found a trail and followed it. At the end of the trail was a dead older man, with a pistol that had been fired, laying half in and half out of a shallow grave. His throat had been torn out by something with claws. Johann Pecora was nowhere to be found. The car hadn’t even been turned off, it ran out of gas. The police found a small aluminum case with twenty-five thousand dollars in casino chips laying on a kitchen table in one of the mobile homes. It had been opened but left there. They also found the kitchen sink door open and a safe. The safe was closed and locked. We don’t know what is in it, yet.”
“So, tell me why this is TQB?” the President asked as he gave up trying to be reserved and just opened up the rest of his first Tums roll and started chewing the tablets. “Next time, you might bring me the original flavor so I don’t eat them like candy, George.”
“I hear you, but I think I’ll disobey that suggestion, Mr. President.” George smiled as he responded, “I bring it up because we have what may be a hit, but the original target left his money and left a car to sit there, idling, while he walked out into the desert. That seems fishy to me.”
“Everything is fishy to you. It’s your job,” the President remarked, dryly.
“Then I’m perfectly suited to it,” the general smiled back and said, “so, moving on, we have Johann missing and the presumed hit man dead. No one walks that far out of the desert anymore.”
“Helicopter?” the President asked.
“Possible, but he would have had to have walked a distance away. There wasn’t enough dust thrown around to suggest a chopper had been nearby.”
“Your gender stereotyping is showing, it could have been a woman,” the President teased.
“Great, a black widow is among us. Wonderful!” George replied while rolling his eyes. He closed one folder and pushed it aside to open another, “So, we also have some images from the spy satellite we put up last week aimed out to the asteroid fields to check on what TQB is doing amongst the stars. The few half-assed shots we have been able to take so far with all of the damned interference show that they have a few assets. Plus, a pretty disturbing shot of what could be a big-assed spaceship.”
“Define ‘big-assed’ if you would?” the President asked his liaison.
“As big as an aircraft carrier?” George answered, “larger perhaps. We don’t have a full shot of the body.”
“What the hell do they need an aircraft carrier in outer space for? No countries have one that TQB needs to worry about.”
“Well, not yet,” George supplied, “but if TQB has one, it will be another arms race for us to get our own.”
&nbs
p; “Dammit, George,” the President said, his voice raising a little. “This better not be another backdoor effort to increase the military's budget.”
George chuckled, “No, although I thought about it. I realized I won’t need to push you. If this huge son-of-a-bitch shows up, I won’t need to ask you for anything, Congress will be throwing money our way to build something.”
Release the Dogs of War Page 17
