Wayward Son

by Heath Stallcup

  “Did you think of another number?” Jennifer asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m just going to keep trying the ones I know until somebody picks up. Surely if…” she paused and stared off at nothing. “I mean, when the survivors of the attack realize their communications are down, they’ll want to get them back up ASAP.”

  *****

  Apollo weighed his options and debated on how best to deal with Sheridan when he finally stepped off the helicopter and confronted the man. Did he pull him aside, put him in a choke hold and squeeze every last drop of information that he could from him or did he continue to play along, milking him for every drop of intel that he could? As much as it might please him to feel the man’s trachea turn to mush under his probing fingers, Apollo knew that nobody could speak if they couldn’t breathe.

  He jumped from the hovering chopper and strode purposely toward the warehouse, his mind still bouncing between his two options. As soon as he entered the gloom of the warehouse, he saw the drastically reduced forces packing their meager gear. He had to force himself not to smile as he realized that the crew at the hangar did more than just hold their own against the attack.

  Bigby lay back on a cot, his shoulder bandaged and soaked with blood. Apollo grabbed the nearest wolf and pulled him aside, “What happened?”

  “We thought we had them. Bastards opened a hole in the floor and brought up this big black truck with a chain gun in the back. They sliced through our offensive line in no time. We had no choice but to retreat.”

  Apollo shook his head, feigning concern. “That must be something new.”

  “Or some secret machine they hadn’t told you about.” The wolf turned back to the gear and continued packing.

  “Why are you packing? Planning to bug out?”

  He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder toward the office then looked back to Apollo. “Our boss ain’t too happy with Sheridan. We’ve been called back home.”

  Apollo nodded. “And where’s that?”

  The wolf stiffened slightly and gave him a cautious stare. “You weren’t told when you were recruited?”

  “I didn’t care to know then.” Apollo motioned around him, “But it’s not exactly like I’m qualified for much else. I’m gonna need some kind of job.”

  The wolf considered his logic then rubbed at his chin. “Belize for the most part, but Mr. Simmons has properties all over. We might get assigned to any of them. He likes his security like he likes his women.”

  “What? Burly and covered in hair?” Apollo laughed at his own joke.

  The wolf shook his head. “No, thick.”

  “Ah.” Apollo glanced toward the office and dreaded the next part. “I guess I better go pack what little I have.”

  “Make it quick. We leave tomorrow.”

  He entered the office area to find Sheridan slumped in a chair, rubbing at his temples. He lifted his rummy eyes and looked to the large ebony man hopefully. “Please tell me you had better luck than we did.”

  Apollo straddled a stool and spun around to meet his gaze. “It was almost as if they were waiting on us. I was hoping we’d get there before my team did, but they were already there.” Apollo ground his teeth as he recounted the battle and the bitch-slapping wakeup call that Jack gave him. “Plus, the man had a bunch of others there. They sliced through my team like a hot knife through butter.”

  “Fuck!” Sheridan slapped a pile of papers from the table and hobbled to his feet, his anger forcing him to try to walk off the nervous tension. “What are ‘others’?”

  “You know…supernatural beings? Elves and shit. He even had a bunch of flying fucking gargoyles. Tore shit out of our chopper.”

  “How did you get back so quickly?” Sheridan glanced over his shoulder and out the dirty window to the warehouse.

  “We stole another one.” Apollo glanced over his shoulder to see what the man was trying to look at. “What?”

  “How many men did you lose?”

  Apollo grunted and pushed off the stool. “Nearly all of them. I think we came back with eight plus me.”

  Sheridan’s eyes bulged and he had to lean against the counter. “Bloody hell.”

  “Oh, it was bloody all right.” Apollo allowed a slight grin. “I ain’t for sure, but I think we took out the vamp that owned the place, though.”

  “Thorn?” Sheridan shook his head and slowly sat back down. “It was his forces we needed to take out. Anybody that had to do with the squads. Your Team Leader and my ‘best friend’ Mr. Thompson was number one on the hit list. Any chance he was fragged in the attack?”

  “Nope. Lucky fucker is still breathing.”

  “So he knows that you’ve switched sides?” Sheridan’s voice was cautious as his mind tried to devise three different ways to use the information as an advantage.

  “Oh yeah. And he knows that you’re involved as well.” Apollo pulled a toothpick from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth.

  “He…he what?” Sheridan paused and stared at the man as if he had grown a second head. “How could he have found that out?”

  “Because I fucking told him.” Apollo turned a defensive stare to the man. “They got the drop on me, had me dead to rights, and instead of killing me, he took me prisoner.”

  “And you had to spill your guts!” Sheridan shook with rage as he took to his feet again. “You realize that you’ve just signed my death warrant? Not just mine, but every man that used to work with me. They’ll all be hunted down and…”

  “You wanted a war!” Apollo was on his feet and closing the distance between the two. “Well now you got it, sweetheart. Jack knows everything. Well…not everything. He don’t know who’s financing this little army of yours.”

  “Why in the hell did you tell him that—”

  Apollo interrupted him again, “And I hope the son of a bitch goes running to the squads and rats me out. Rats YOU out. That way, instead of gunning for them, they’ll come hunting for us. We can set traps, we can prepare. Rather than trying to attack them in their fucking strongholds, they can come after us on our terms.”

  “You’re an imbecile.” Sheridan shook his head as he stared at the man. “Our anonymity is the only thing that was keeping us alive.”

  Apollo waved him off. “Fuck anonymous. I want them to know.” He stared out the window at the handful of wolves packing their gear for their trips home. “You need to call your boss and order us some new soldiers.” He turned on Sheridan and glared. “This time have him send some REAL soldiers. Not just knuckle-dragging grunts that can shift. We need people who are trained how to fight. Between the two of us, we sacrificed over a hundred men, and for what? To ring their fucking doorbell and announce that we wanted to punch them in the nose?” He threw the stool across the room and let it clatter to the floor. “Fuck that. We need men who can fight. If he can’t do that, then he ain’t serious about his revenge.”

  Sheridan watched the mountain of a man stomp out of the office and grinned wickedly as he picked up the satellite phone. He knew that Mr. Simmons wouldn’t be happy, but with a force like Apollo on their side and angry? He’d be a fool not to take advantage of that weapon.

  *****

  John helped where he could, but the technicians were thorough and needed little help in repairing or replacing the equipment damaged or destroyed in the attack. He felt like a third wheel as people all around him scurried about, performing their duties as he simply stood and watched.

  Finally he found a group of men bagging up the dead wolves that were slowly shifting back to their human form. “Can I give you a hand with that?”

  The men in the HAZMAT suits shrugged and offered him a pair of rubber gloves. “You may already have the virus, but a lot of them are still messy as hell.”

  John pulled the gloves on and went to work bagging and tagging the bodies. They were quickly stacked on a push cart so that they could be fingerprinted before cremation. As John was tossing the last of the bodies onto the cart Dave Marshall t
rotted back into the hangar. “Little John! Give me a hand out here.” He waved the large man over toward the door.

  “What’s up, Dave?” John stripped the gloves and dropped them in the garbage on his way.

  “We’re trying to get the dishes back up and operational. We have the smaller ones back up, but we need someone big to help push the larger one up and help hold it in place while Hammer anchors it.”

  The duo trotted to the rear of the hangar and lifted and pushed the large dish up while Hammer ran stabilizing cables out to anchor the larger mesh dish. Marshall lifted along one side while John lifted the other and kept the dish upright. Dave finally caught John’s attention. “Hey, I heard you were in the back of the truck and sliced through their front line. That’s heavy fuckin’ duty, man.”

  John chuckled to himself. “You heard wrong. I was safe and sound in the armored cab with Spanky. Doc installed a remote trigger in the console. There’s a real nice crosshair TV screen mounted in the dash.”

  Dave rolled his eyes. “I should have known. The way stories get stretched around here…give it a week and you’ll have thrown the truck up to the main deck, then climbed in the back and breathed fire from your nostrils while you were shooting them down.”

  John broke into laughter which brought a stern stare from Hammer. “Please hold it steady.”

  “Sorry.” John kept snickering as he thought about Marshall’s warning. “Any advice for when that happens?”

  Dave gave him a toothy grin. “Just ride the wave, baby. Nod your head, tell them ‘hell yeah, that’s exactly how it happened’ and ride the wave of fame while you can.”

  “Really?” John couldn’t see himself being a glory hound.

  “Hell yeah. Because next week it will be somebody else, and you know they’ll do it.” Dave hiked a brow at him. “Especially if it’s me. I’ll blow that shit up ‘til they think I’m Superman.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same, I think I’ll stick with the truth.” He saw Dave’s face fall. “No offense, I’m just not the embellishing kind.”

  “Hey, whatever floats your boat, baby. I’m just saying we all do it. More to blow off steam than anything.” Dave felt the dish shift and he quickly adjusted his grip and realigned it. “So no offense taken.”

  Hammer stepped back and eyeballed the work. “I think that’s it. Let it go so we can see if the cables hold.” Both men gently released their grip and the dish remained solid. Hammer nodded as he turned back toward the hangar. “We should have coms again and I’ll order up some concrete so we can get these posts reset.”

  “We got eyes and ears again?” Dave asked. “You sure?”

  “I’m not positive, but the dishes were the only components actually damaged. We should.”

  “Excellent. I don’t want to miss my soaps.” Dave trotted past the two and made for the door.

  Hammer turned to John and gave him a questioning look. “Was he for real?”

  “God, I hope not.”

  4

  Doctor Peters collapsed onto his bed and ran his hands through his hair. In the extremely dim light of his bare room, he sighed heavily and cast a quick glance at the framed photograph of Laura that sat beside his tiny bed. How he missed her in times of stress. She was truly his anchor.

  After they had said their good byes, he truly feared he wouldn’t see her again. To come back to Oklahoma and find her waiting at the hangar nearly made his heart start beating on its own again.

  The nights they had spent together afterward, carefully pushing the limits and boundaries of their physical relationship, to him it almost felt as if the two had been bound together. He metered out his bites to her, keeping them limited to places where the punctures wouldn’t be seen. The blood bond that formed between them grew and continued to grow each time they did it.

  He watched her carefully. He wanted to be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally become addicted to the rush she got from his bites. He smiled to himself as he recalled the one time he nearly lost control and bit her neck right at the moment of orgasm. It had sent her so far over the edge that he wasn’t sure he would stop. Luckily for them both, he had bitten far enough back on her neck that her hair or uniform or both covered the bite marks that quickly faded.

  Completely sated and feeling much like he had as a human at Thanksgiving feasts, he lay back on his cot and felt the massive amount of blood in his stomach literally slosh as he moved. Without a proper suction machine, he’d been stuck keeping the wounds clean, and he knew he couldn’t just spit it onto the floor. He had drunk enough to keep him full for weeks.

  Rolling to his side to try to get more comfortable, he felt a headache spike between his eyes and a wave of nausea strike like he had never felt. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around his swelling stomach and tried to relieve the pressure that was building.

  He honestly felt sick and slowly sat up on his cot. He pulled the waste basket from his small desk beside his cot and held it between his feet as his head spun and his stomach threatened to revolt on him.

  Evan Peters felt himself break into a cold sweat and knew that something was wrong. Although he had never attempted to drink so much at one time before, he knew that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t from overeating. This was…something else.

  With a violence that he’d not known possible, his stomach emptied itself across the room, painting the wall with such force that it sprayed the ceiling and the back wall of his domicile. Brownish black globules of coppery blood dripped from every surface as his head spun and the room began to tilt. He glanced down at the trash can and for a fleeting moment found it somewhat amusing that the only place free of vomit was the very receptacle he intended to barf into.

  Evan found himself panting for breath and his extremities shook as he reached for the can. “This is wrong,” he mumbled. He tried to stand and found his legs had turned to rubber. As he went down, he reached out and grabbed for his desk to break his fall.

  He lay on the floor, the can upended between his legs and watched as the ceiling above him slowly twisted and turned. “I need to tell Colonel Mitchell…” he moaned as the darkness over took him.

  *****

  Rachel remained in the rafters of the warehouse while Damien worked. Her eyes watched him much like a hawk would watch a mouse scamper in the grass. She could feel the last vestiges of humanity seep away as he drew ever closer to seeing her brought back to her full potential.

  She couldn’t remember why she had resisted seeing the plan through to completion. On the few occasions that she allowed herself to remember her ‘other’ self, she quickly dismissed the pity she felt for the humans that she would soon rule. They were of no more importance to her than ants on a sidewalk were to the humans who trampled them during their daily grind.

  As Damien finished the preparations, he looked to the rafters and called to her, “Mistress, it is prepared. We are ready.”

  She stepped out and floated to a gentle landing behind him. “Are you certain?” She walked slowly around the stainless steel container, staring at the dark red blood within. It’s surface reminding her of a polished mirror.

  “Yes, my queen. I am certain.” Damien held his head high as he watched her.

  “You’re certain the blood is pure?”

  “I tasted each source. It is pure.” He bowed slightly as she continued to pace around the perimeter.

  “Prepare the final sacrifice.” Her eyes never lifted from the blood as she spoke, but Damien knew exactly what was expected. He walked to where the elder was held captive and dragged him from his cage.

  The man was bound and gagged, his eyes screaming for help as he struggled against Damien’s grip. Rachel refused to watch as Damien pulled the elder to the foot of the vat and forced him to his knees. “For your glory, my beloved.”

  “All things for my glory.”

  He jerked the elder’s head aside and sunk his teeth deep into his neck, ripping huge chunks of flesh from his quaking form. Damien barely ch
ewed before swallowing the gooey chunks and biting another chunk loose. As the elder began to convulse, Damien punched through his chest and pulled his dead, withered heart from his chest. He quickly shoved it into his mouth and sucked the black blood from his fingers as the elder’s power began to surge through him.

  He felt the centuries add to his own power and it knocked him to his knees. Rachel felt the corners of her mouth draw into a smile when Damien fell to the ground. It was time.

  She raised her hands to the moon and began an ancient chant in a language not spoken since the dawn of man. The blood in the vat rippled as the ground shook, and Damien watched as the lights inside the warehouse dimmed. He smelled something akin to ozone forming inside the warehouse and saw a hazy fog forming, moving quickly around Rachel as she continued to chant.

  Damien slowly pulled himself to his feet and watched as she continued to chant, her head back, eyes closed, mouth forming words that he couldn’t hear. A buzzing sound seemed to have come from nowhere and washed out everything…or…or was it just him. He could feel himself growing weaker. But…how could that be? He just ate the heart of an elder. He knew he had gained centuries from it and yet…he could barely stand. He felt so weak. His head was spinning and he could feel the power being sucked from him. Whatever was causing it, it felt like it was draining him.

  His legs collapsed from under him, but his hands refused to let go of the sides of the steel vat. He could feel it warming under his grip. The cold of the steel giving way to heat from…something. It wasn’t totally uncomfortable, yet, but it continued to grow in intensity.

  He mustered all of his strength and raised his head, his eyes settling on Rachel. Rather, on what was left of Rachel. Her withered corpse still stood at the end of the vat, her jaw barely moving as the last mutterings of the chant fell from her lips. He watched as her body fell to the ground and he could have sworn he saw dust rise up into the air. For the briefest of moments, he hoped that she actually survived the transition. He had grown accustomed to her.