by GA Hauser
Roman checked the lock on the back door, shaking the handle. He looked at his phone, which had a full charge and then pocketed it. Knowing all the windows were secure since it was winter, Roman picked up the travel mug and brought it to the living room with his shaving kit, then did a check of the house before he relieved himself for the drive.
Charlie exited their master bathroom and stopped to watch Roman, who was standing near their nightstand, making sure he had bullets in the magazine inside his gun, and two extra clips.
"What's the point?" Charlie asked, gesturing to the gun.
"Regulation." Roman buckled the leather shoulder holster on, and put the two full magazines into his jacket pocket.
"My ass…" Charlie was about to shut off the bathroom light, but Roman walked by, entering it and standing at the toilet.
Muttering as he left the room, Charlie said, "Ya can't shoot what ain't there, Roman…"
"Shut up, Mosby."
~
After he retrieved his coffee mug, Charlie met up with Butch in the living room. Butch appeared nervous, fidgeting, and had the truck keys in his hand. "Them horses better be all right," Butch said.
"What more can we do, Butch? You are welcome to stay." Charlie noticed Butch's attention dart behind him.
"You ready?" Roman asked, also holding his mug.
"I suppose." Charlie opened the front door, nodding for Butch to leave first. He did, not looking back.
Butch said, "Roman, I put your shaving kit into your bag for ya."
"Thanks, Butch."
Charlie had a last look around. "Set the house alarm."
Roman put his jacket on, an ATF ball cap on his head, and patted his pockets with his free hand while he held his travel mug, looking frustrated. He obviously could not find his keys.
Charlie said, "Butch has the truck keys."
"Okay. Fine. You set the alarm." Roman left the house, and Charlie gave a last look inside, shut off the light and armed the house alarm. He double-locked the door and noticed Butch sitting behind the wheel of the pickup and Roman beside him in the front seat. Charlie was too tired to debate the idea of riding in the back, so he walked over to the corral one last time and tried to say goodbye to his horse. Spirit was not interested, giving him a quick look and eating the hay that had been scattered for the small group.
"Fine. Ignore me." Charlie walked to the truck and got in the back seat, putting the mug into a cup holder.
One of the day workers waved, "Have a safe trip. Don't worry about a thing!"
Roman lowered the window. "You got all our phone numbers? In case?"
Charlie said, "Yeah, they do, but I told them to call the sheriff. What good will callin' us do?"
"I want to know if anything goes on while we're gone," Roman replied.
Butch, putting the truck in gear said, "Me too."
They waved at the group of men as Butch drove out of their driveway.
Charlie sank low in the back seat and stared out of the window. It was going to be a long drive.
~
An hour into their trip Roman's ringtone sounded. He removed his phone from his pocket and realized it was Phil, asking to video chat. Roman reluctantly accepted.
"Roman," Phil said, appearing to be sitting in his office in Utah.
"What's up, Phil?" Roman tried to keep his own image filling the screen so Phil didn't know he was already on his way.
"Got a lead…thought you should know. You at your computer?"
"Hi, Phil!" Butch said as he drove.
Roman rubbed his face and stared at Phil's image as it gazed at him from the phone.
"Was that Butch?"
"Yes." Roman tried to tilt away from Butch, but when he did, he could see the truck's passenger's window behind him appear in the small screen.
"Roman? Are you on your way to the ranch now?"
Butch turned to look at Roman in confusion.
Charlie said, "Tell him, ya big dork."
"Is it a secret?" Butch asked, changing lanes on the interstate.
"What's the lead?" Roman asked tiredly.
"I was in touch with Sheriff Kenmore…and there's been some recent activity near the reservoir."
Charlie unfastened his seatbelt to sit closer to the front seat to hear, and Butch shut off the radio.
"What kind of activity?" Roman already knew.
"Couple of deer and a rancher's sheep were sacrificed. Sheriff Kenmore was really hesitant to talk about it, saying it would panic the locals."
Charlie blew out a breath in frustration. "Yup, that's Dale for ya."
Roman knew he was referring to Dale Kenmore, the county sheriff who was close to Vernon and their family. "How recent?"
"Past week."
"Fuck!" Butch said, shifting on the truck's bench seat.
"Just concentrate on the damn road." Roman looked back at the telephone. "You or the sheriff know who did it?"
"Not yet. Kenmore's got all his resources on it, but he's such a small department."
"I hope you offered your help." Roman met Butch's worried expression.
"Roman, we're in the ATF…Does that have anything to do with cults and animal sacrifices?"
"Fuck you, Phil!" Butch said, and then appeared furious as he passed a tractor trailer going slow on I80.
Phil gave Roman an annoyed glare, obviously hearing Butch. "Alcohol, tobacco, and firearms, Butch," Phil said.
"Whatever." Roman ran his hand over his shaven jaw, feeling odd without the designer stubble.
"Look, you know Nick wants me involved because it's you, Roman. Otherwise—"
"He wouldn't give a shit," Roman completed his sentence.
"Yeah. Well…" Phil looked down, probably at paperwork. "So, Burk? You're on your way today? Not Thursday?"
"Things started to escalate. I thought it would be best if we got to that area sooner rather than later."
"Escalate? How?"
"Can I talk to you in person? We'll be in Heber in about five hours." Roman looked at the clock on the dashboard.
"Call me when you get to Vernon's place."
"Okay. Meanwhile, get all those files from Sheriff Kenmore. I want to read all of them."
"I'll email them."
"No, hard copies. The wireless and computer connection at the ranch sucks."
"You're a real pain in the ass, Roman. You never change."
"Fuck you. Just help me out, Agent Dean."
"Fine, Agent Burk. Fine."
The picture vanished and Roman put the phone into his pocket.
"I can't believe he doesn't want this to end." Butch scratched his head under his cowboy hat and then adjusted the brim.
"He's a selfish prick." Roman stared out of the window.
Charlie said, "That ain't fair, Roman. He was a big help to us last time."
"Your memory is fading, Mosby." Roman rubbed his chin. "He helped me because he was ordered to, not out of the goodness of his heart." Roman lowered the visor and met his eyes in the mirror, seeing Charlie in the back seat when he did. "If it's not something big, where he can go in like an army and take out an ammo dump, he's not interested." Roman flipped the visor back up, not used to seeing himself clean shaven.
"That's what got you in hot water to begin with, Roman," Charlie, said, sounding as if he were musing or daydreaming.
Roman felt Butch glance at him quickly and then Roman drifted off, thinking of that day…the day this all began.
A small army consisting of FBI, ATF, Utah Highway Patrol, and local Heber sheriff's officers stood in a meeting place in a parking lot a quarter mile from their target location.
Roman's group of officers was also SWAT trained and part of the Violent Criminal Enterprise apprehension team. They dealt with the worst offenders, explosive devices, and heavy weapons violations.
His lead ATF agent and the lead FBI agent were running the operation. Roman's heart was already pounding with adrenaline; his helmet under his arm, his AK hanging from his shoulde
r, armored up like a marine about to fight Afghan terrorists. Roman loved this part of his job best. Intel was one thing, but front line battle? Nothing better.
They had already studied the map and the floor plan of the building they were entering, had a rough idea of the types of weapons, including ingredients used to manufacture bombs, and each unit was assigned an entry point or post.
"Any questions?" Nick asked the men.
No one said a thing.
"Let's go!"
Roman put his helmet on and climbed into the back of an armored personnel carrier. As the truck moved, no one spoke, each mentally preparing for the danger ahead.
He felt the vehicle halt, and they immediately exited the back of the truck. In the darkness, Roman and his men followed the lead agents who used hand signals.
His face shield down, his AK in his hands, Roman and his crew began to surround a huge warehouse building which looked from the outside, abandoned and dilapidated.
His group of six men made their way quietly to a steel back door. Nick held up his hand and they stopped moving as a unit.
All Roman could hear besides his own pounding heart and heavy breathing was the excited respiration of the men behind him. He knew the adrenaline dump pre-entry, and the high level of testosterone that was flowing in each man's veins. He could smell it.
"Police! Search warrant!" was yelled from the front.
A loud smash of the battering ram hitting the door was next.
Nick made a signal. The biggest man in their unit rammed the back door with a metal battering ram. It only took him one powerful hit to punch it open.
They flooded the building and raised their flashlights up with their AK rifles and fanned out. All the while Roman could hear the agents identifying themselves in loud voices, "FBI! Search warrant!" "ATF agents! Come out with your hands up!" as they went room to room.
From the back door, his group encountered nothing. No fleeing hoards of crooks or shots fired. Not a sound of commotion, but it was a very large building, and they needed to go floor by floor.
The front entry team and rear unit met up. "Nothing yet. Go check each room," Nick said, "My men, take the second and third floor. Feds, go up to the top and work down."
Roman and the rest of the team began their ascent up an exposed stairway that was more like a fire escape ladder than an interior staircase in a factory building. It shook with the combined weight of big, muscular men and heavy SWAT gear.
Roman and Phil peeled off from the group to search their area. They signaled the rest to move on. He and Phil had done the routine so often they knew each other's movements before they met gazes or exchanged signals.
One by one, Roman and Phil cleared the massive maze of rooms. The only thing inside each graffiti-tagged space was garbage, broken office furniture, newspapers, used condoms, hypodermic needles, and dead rats. And it stunk of urine and age. The plasterboard walls peeled from moisture, and the floor was rotted.
Not a sign of current inhabitation or any clandestine activity met Roman's eyes. But they had a long way to go before they were done.
They approached the end of the hall; an open door was at each side. Roman gave a sign to Phil he'd take the left, and Phil should move right.
Roman held his rifle upright and entered the room, pointing his flashlight around the perimeter. A strong smell hit him. But it didn't seem toxic, more herbal. But it overpowered him with its potency, not to mention the surprise of smelling anything other than decay, mold, piss, and dust.
On the walls were different symbols. These were not gang signs or swear words like in all the other rooms. A red inverted pentagram was mostly whitewashed over and other signs were covering it, as if to negate its terrible message. Roman was about to shout, "Clear!" to Phil when, in the pitch blackness, he caught something shadowy moving out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and pointed his AK and flashlight. Nothing was there.
"Clear, Roman." Phil poked his head into the room, telling Roman he had found nothing in his own search.
"Okay." Roman lowered the gun and was about to join Phil to regroup and see if anyone had found anything, but something held him back.
A heavy red mist blinded him temporarily, blocking his path to the hall. Roman waved his gloved hand in front of himself to try and see through it. It made him cough and his flashlight didn't seem to permeate it.
Dizziness hit him next. He reached out to the wall, trying to prevent falling. "Phil." He coughed harder, unable to shout loudly because this toxic air was in his throat.
Once Phil realizes I'm not behind him, he'll come back. No one is left behind on any mission. Ever.
The darkness seemed to deepen and his flashlight fell from his gloved hand, shutting off as it hit the floor. Roman dropped to his padded knees, feeling sicker by the minute, wondering what he had stumbled into. He hoped no one else was suffering the same fate. A terrible fear that they'd been set up, and this was a trap to kill them, rushed over Roman.
"Roman?" Phil called out.
He tried to answer, "In here", but choked and coughed on his words. He fell to his back, the gun still clutched in his hand, but it felt as if someone were tugging at it to get it away from him.
In the blackest of shadows, a female form, but not a normal woman, was standing over him. Her face was painted bright red with white and blue markings under her eyes. A crest of black feathers topped the upper half of a wolf's skull, with its fur skin draped on her head. She held something in each hand and Roman heard chanting.
Bile rose in his throat. He turned his head to the side in case he threw up.
"Roman!"
Phil's voice seemed frantic. Roman couldn't figure out what was taking him so long. Surely Phil was only down the hall and knew where he had last seen him.
A black bird was hanging over his chest. The woman had it dangling by its feet in her hands. She cut its neck and blood spattered Roman's face shield and body armor. The chanting was making his ears ring.
"Roman, you fucker! Where the hell are you?"
Roman used all his willpower to move, to yell, to shake this haze, but all he could do was lay prone while something wicked began to possess him.
"I can't find Roman!" Phil's voice was panic stricken. "He was just in this room! Roman! Where the hell are you?"
Roman was beyond confused. An army of men were looking for him, but he was still in the same place. Wasn't he?
He rocked side to side on his back, like a tortoise that can't right itself. His gun dropped from his hand and he heard it clatter with a loud echo. The red painted woman knelt between Roman's bent knees. When he felt pressure against his groin area, he tried to jerk away. 'Phil!' he was shouting in his brain and had no idea if sound was coming out.
Roman felt his teeth ache even just from the memory. To try and stem off the change, he began inhaling deeply, rubbing his stomach as it tightened.
Butch took notice. "Uh oh."
"What?" Charlie seemed to wake from his daydream.
"Roman?" Butch asked.
"Pull over." Roman couldn't shake the grip of that horrible event.
"Oh, Christ!" Butch looked in his rear view mirror.
"Pull over!" Roman doubled over in his seat.
The truck came to a halt on the shoulder and dust and exhaust blew like a wave over them.
~
Charlie panicked. "No way! No!" He hopped out of the back seat as Roman clawed at the inside of the passenger's door. Charlie opened it and grabbed Roman into a bear hug, making sure even if he turned he did not race off. "Roman…calm. Okay? Calm…deep breathing…" Charlie heard Butch make a noise in distress as the traffic roared on the interstate behind them.
"Okay, baby. Look me in the eye." Charlie cupped Roman's smooth jaw, only just noticing he had shaven completely clean. And this was the first time Charlie had ever seen Roman without beard growth. "Look at me, my lover."
Although he was struggling, Roman met his eyes.
Charlie cou
ld see the wolf trying to come out so clearly he felt it inside himself. "Calm." Charlie caressed Roman's hair and neck. "No need for this."
Roman blew out a few breaths and tears filled his eyes.
"That's it." Charlie could tell the peak of the sensation was subsiding in Roman. "Better. Keep lookin' at me."
Butch rubbed Roman's back gently. "Yer okay."
When Roman's breathing became normal, Charlie cupped his jaw and asked softly. "What happened?"
"I…" Roman, drained of energy, got into the truck. He sat in the seat, his head leaning against the headrest. "I recalled the day it happened. Me and Phil…"
"Okay." Charlie dug his fingers into Roman's hair at the side of his face. "It's done. Okay? Nothin' we can do to go back."
"I know." Roman nodded, closing his eyes.
Charlie noticed him mouth something to himself. "What are you sayin'?"
"…this will pass."
"It will." Charlie kissed him and a horn honked from the highway.
"She-it." Butch looked at the cars flying by and held the steering wheel with both hands. "Don't know if they saw that kiss and that was their reaction."
Charlie held onto Roman's head and made him look him in the eye again. "We're good to keep goin'?"
"Yes." Roman gave Charlie a slight curl of his lips, a sad smile.
Charlie made sure Roman was completely inside the truck, then shut the door and climbed back in. "Go on, Butch." He fastened his safety belt.
Butch turned on his signal and looked for a chance to merge back into traffic.
"Sorry." Roman ran both hands over his hair.
"No problem. We're good." Charlie touched Roman's shoulder from behind.
As if trying to sound normal, Roman asked Butch, "How we doing on gas?"
"Half a tank." Butch accelerated to full speed once more and let out a loud sigh.
"Okay," Roman said, seeming to relax in the seat.
Charlie was uneasy, trying to keep Roman sedate was a tall order. The man was usually in charge, raiding illegal arms dealers, or gangs of thugs. 'Calm' wasn't in his vocabulary. It was difficult enough not giving in and changing into something himself.
Roman reached back for him. Charlie held his hand. It caught Butch's attention and he glanced over. "I should stop for gas and a piss," Butch said.
