Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  Then I remember the bond formed between Detective Ramirez, Ivan, and myself is false. Aunt Rose invoked a spell to make it so.

  I also can’t stop thinking about the reason behind the bond. To go to war. To kill.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Colonel Dayton whispered to Major Ransom. Aunt Rose and Dixie hurried into the kitchen to watch the goings on in the backyard from the window. He’d held the major back in the living room. “We’ll get some backup and—”

  “What? No. Didn’t you just hear Aunt Rose explain the plan?”

  “The plan? Are you out of your mind?”

  “No, but I’m in yours and what you’re thinking is out of the question. There’s no way I’ll ever be a part of that.”

  Dayton studied her face. She was serious. She’d forgotten why they were here.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything. You have no right to harm these people, let alone kill them. That’s not why we’re here.”

  “Those two—outside—those aren’t people. The UN needs one of those hounds.”

  “Why? Proof of werewolves? Proof of a plot to end humanity? Do you think all this madness will end because we have proof? No, we’ve got to do exactly what Aunt Rose says to stop this attack.”

  “The military will stop this attack, not some old lady.”

  “She’s more than an old lady, Jon. Didn’t you see her eyes when she spoke? And the fire flare when she entered the room? That old lady is probably humanity’s only hope.”

  “Okay, listen to me, I’ll try and make this real simple. We have an opportunity here—a chance to verify the existence of unexplained paranormal activity. That’s why this unit was created. That’s why the admiral sent us here. That’s our job.” Dayton’s brow gleamed with sweat. His voice rose with each word until he was shouting at her. “Now let’s get the hell out of here and—”

  A shadow moved across the major’s face. Dayton turned, throwing a punch on instinct. He caught Aunt Rose square in the stomach. The old woman doubled over, wheezing and gasping, unable to catch her breath. Dayton jumped up and grabbed Ransom’s hand. “Let’s go while we can.”

  She wriggled free of his hold. “No, I’m not leaving.”

  He stared at her for just a moment before dashing out the front door.

  The neighborhood was alive with activity. Cars sped up and down the street, probably in a wild race to get out of the neighborhood. Shouts of: “Oh, leave that behind, let’s just go,” and “Hurry up, the werewolves are coming,” echoed across the block. Children cried and dogs barked. Palm trees lined the street, bowing in the furious wind. The smell of a recent downpour filled his nose with the grit and grime of the street.

  Dayton had no intention of leaving Major Ransom behind, but she’d given him little choice. She didn’t understand the opportunity that presented itself: the chance to capture an actual werewolf. And once the military destroyed all the others, the UN would have the only living specimen in existence.

  He glanced inside the detective’s car. No keys. The front door of the house opened so he crouched down behind the sedan.

  Aunt Rose’s voice carried on the breeze. “Colonel Dayton, come back inside. It’s much too dangerous out there. Come inside where you’ll be safe. Don’t be so reckless.”

  “Yeah, right,” he mumbled, “safe inside a Daemon’s house.”

  He waited until he heard the door shut then jumped up and sprinted across the street. He turned north on the sidewalk, still running as fast as he could. Most of the houses he passed had the lights on; no doubt their doors were locked as they watched the horrors of the attack on live television. This neighborhood was miles away from the main action and these people were safe—for now.

  Dayton reached into his coat pocket searching for his cell phone. It wasn’t there; more than likely it fell out when he bolted from the house. He was certain Aunt Rose would send the two werewolves after him. He sprinted a few more blocks, flying up one street and down another until he felt it was safe. He needed a phone.

  He climbed the steps to the front porch of a house in the middle of the block and banged on the door. It creaked open a few inches, a wary eye staring at him from inside.

  “What you want?”

  “I need to use your telephone. It’s an emergency.”

  “Go way.”

  The door would have slammed shut, but Dayton kept his foot wedged in the threshold.

  “Please.” He thrust his NSA badge up. “I need a phone.”

  “You’ll need a doctor when I shoot you.” The homeowner shoved the barrel of a pistol through the crack. “Go way now.”

  Dayton backed up and stumbled down the steps into the front lawn as the door slammed shut. People were frightened—he heard it in their voices as they evacuated the neighborhood. They might need more persuasion than a fake NSA badge to be of assistance. He eased his own pistol out of its holster.

  A door flew open across the street and three people ran out of the dark brown stucco house. They scrambled into a sedan and it raced out of the driveway, burning rubber as it headed for the end of the block. It narrowly missed another car backing into the street.

  Dayton ran toward the house. With one kick, he broke an opening through the door, reached inside, and unlocked the deadbolt. The house was vacant. He flipped on a light switch and found the telephone in the kitchen.

  “Admiral Garrison, this is Dayton.”

  “Thank God, Colonel. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, for now. Hundreds of werewolves are attacking the city. They’ve broken through the military lines and are headed for downtown Las Vegas.”

  “Yes, we’ve been following the news from here. Las Vegas seems to be the city hit hardest so far.”

  “The hardest hit? What do you mean?”

  “Other cities are under attack: New York, San Francisco, Paris—”

  “Listen to me, sir. Listen to me. These are not werewolves—well, not in the traditional sense. They were created…” He swallowed hard and shook his head before he said it, “With a spell cast by Daemons.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  “The dogs are able to transform from wolfhounds into humans as they please. They mean to kill every real human that crosses their path.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I managed to hear it all from a Daemon. Major Ransom and I came face to face with it tonight. The plan is to destroy humanity. They’re calling it The Convergence.”

  “Who’s calling it that?”

  “The Daemons. According to them it’s the beginning of the end.”

  “Well, the U.S. military is forming a plan of attack as we speak. It may be a bit dicey at the moment, but they’ll soon set it right, there’s little doubt of that. In the meantime, I need to know your status.”

  “I’m on my own, sir. Major Ransom is being held by the Daemon, and I have no idea where Cuthbert is.”

  “Oh my lord. Is the major alive?”

  “Yes, the last time I saw her. In any case, sir, I have a plan. I’m going to capture one of the creatures, and I’ll need an exit plan.”

  “No, Colonel. The council has changed its mind about—”

  “Sir, we’ve got to study the beast, find out what makes it tick. You said yourself other cities are under attack. This may be our best chance of knowing how to stop them.”

  Another stretch of silence. “I’ll put together a plan and call you back.”

  “No good, sir. I have no phone. Just have a team waiting for me at McCarran. I’ve got to go.” He hung up and checked his watch. He knew an extraction team could be scrambled and ready in less than two hours. Time was critical now.

  He raced out of the house and down the street looking for just the right opportunity. A white Volvo with its engine running sat in a driveway a few houses down.

  “C’mon Julie, hurry up. Them dogs are coming. Nobody cares if you’re in your nightgown.” A man stood
in the doorway, his back to the street.

  Dayton slipped behind the wheel of their vehicle and drove away. He saw the man running after him in the rearview mirror. “Tell Julie I’m sorry,” Dayton whispered, “the greater good, and all that.”

  He drove in circles for a few minutes until he found his way back to Aunt Rose’s house. Detective Ramirez’s car was gone. He parked the Volvo across the street and jumped out. The front door of the house opened, and he ducked down. A garage door opened; the hinges were so loud they could have raised the dead. Lifting his head for a look-see, he observed Major Ransom, Dixie, and the Daemon enter the garage.

  The sound of a footstep behind him froze his blood. He turned and looked up.

  “Hello, sir,” said Cutty.

  “Get down, out of sight.” He tugged on Cutty’s shirt and dragged him down to the ground.

  “Whoa, what the—”

  “Quiet. How did you ever manage to find me?”

  “GPS in your phone. You been outta touch for a while so I figured I’d find out what you and Major Ransom were up to, you know, if you needed any assistance. All hell’s broke loose in Vegas tonight, I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.” Cutty gave Dayton a toothy grin.

  Dayton shook his head. Would Cutty’s presence complicate matters? “Where did you park?”

  Cutty pointed to the black sedan halfway down the block. The car would stand out far less than the white Volvo.

  “Let’s go. I want you to follow the car that’s about to pull out of this garage.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Good.”

  ****

  Detective Ramirez drives around the neighborhood for a few minutes, searching for Colonel Dayton. He can’t believe the man punched Aunt Rose. I can’t either.

  That’s not all that confuses me. Before we piled into the car, Dixie put her hands around my neck, pulled me down, and kissed me—right in front of Detective Ramirez, Major Ransom, Aunt Rose, and Ivan. It took me by surprise and still lingers in my mind as we head south on Las Vegas Boulevard. Was it a kiss for luck? I’ve seen that in a movie called Star Wars. I need time to think about what it meant, but there isn’t any. We’re headed into the war zone.

  Our side of The Strip is almost empty, just a few cars darting across our path then turning onto side streets. The opposite side of the road, the side heading away from the battle, is bumper to bumper—a line of headlights as far as I can see. Ramirez floors the gas pedal, and we scream down the boulevard. We zoom past The Grotto, across Sahara Avenue, and come to the major hotels on Las Vegas Boulevard. Vehicles are crowding over onto our side of the street. The hotels are being evacuated and emergency vehicles, their blue and red lights flashing, seem to be everywhere.

  Ramirez slows down, but keeps heading due south. He steps on the brakes as people dart out in front of the car. It’s slow going through the throngs of people rushing past us.

  “We may have to get out soon,” Ramirez says. “It’s a long way to Blue Diamond from here. You two can probably make it by foot in a few minutes.”

  “Aunt Rose wants us to stick together,” I say. “Besides, if we transform right here it would only cause more panic.”

  “The freeway’s no good, it’s blocked off.”

  “Why don’t you try Paradise?” Ivan says.

  Ramirez makes a hard left and bolts toward Paradise Road. He’s braking, accelerating, turning and cursing, but still manages to pull his cell phone from his pocket and dial.

  “Ed, this is Marco. I know. Can you believe this shit? Listen, I need a favor. Can you get to The Grotto? Find that son of a bitch Russo and arrest him. He’s behind all this. That’s right, Sonny Russo. Trust me, I’ll explain later. I’ll do my best to meet you there as quick as I can. Yeah, the whole world’s gone nuts. Thanks.”

  The car skids through a few intersections and suddenly we’re past the airport and driving through a tunnel. There’s a car on fire in the opposite lane, blocking traffic for miles. Hundreds of people are on foot running north through the tunnel.

  “We’ll be there in about five minutes,” Ramirez shouts.

  “Ivan!” I have to yell to get his attention. He’s focused on the human drama playing out through the window. “Ivan, how do I spot an Alpha?”

  “Easy, nothing to worry about—wow, did you see that?”

  He seems mesmerized by the events around us. But he’s not at all a passive observer. His eyes are wide and he’s shifting around in his seat, turning back and forth to get the best view. His excitement reminds me of a human’s pet dog riding in a car for the first time. He’s literally bouncing up and down in his seat.

  “Ivan. Tell me, how do I know which human is Alpha, and which are not? It’s important.”

  He doesn’t bother looking at me as he answers, “The Alphas have a power you can feel, like a magnet—a magnet that grabs your soul.”

  “My soul? What does that even mean?”

  “Haven’t you ever felt that pull from our Alpha? It’s something you just feel. Like when he comes into a room—you don’t have to see him to know he’s there. You just know.”

  “I haven’t spent as much time around him as—”

  “Wow! Did you see that car? It just flipped off the overpass!”

  Ivan’s too excited to talk right now, and I’m afraid it will only become worse the closer we get to the front lines.

  Ramirez jams on the accelerator and flies down the 215. “Couple more minutes.”

  Traffic is thinning out, only a few desperate drivers on the highway, most racing away from the conflict.

  “Get ready you two. It’s time to get ready.”

  Ramirez reminds me of a pilot in an old World War II film telling the troops it’s time to jump into the battle. And maybe he is.

  Ivan stares at me and gives me a wink. It surprises me. He’s so animated—electrified—by the upcoming fight. I wish I had one tenth of his enthusiasm.

  He starts to transform. His snout elongates, but a few human words still slip past his wagging tongue, “Wow! Look at the—woof—” The words stop. He’s changed.

  I do the same, stripping off my human skin and piling it on the car seat next to me. We’re both in our furry battle gear now. It’s time to jump into the fray.

  Ramirez jams on the brakes and opens the doors for us. “Let’s go.” He leaps out and we huddle together, ducking low and out of sight, shielded by the car.

  We’re in the middle of a few dozen humans. They’re running for their lives. Two policemen run with them, shooting back into a pack of wolfhounds chasing after them. Ivan darts away from us and jumps past the wolfhounds. He tackles a man in a black suit. The man screams and sprawls on the street as Ivan rips out his throat. The wolfhounds chasing the group of people stop and stare at each other. They scamper off into the desert. Taking the Alpha down has removed them from the fight—just as Aunt Rose promised.

  “One down,” Ramirez says. “Let’s find another pack.”

  Ivan made it look so easy. He eliminated the Alpha with no problem. I’m hoping I can do the same when the time comes. Dixie’s kiss may have been for luck, but I’ll need more than that to get through the night. Besides, did the luck move to the wolfhound when I transformed, or am I reading too much into it?

  Oh, what’s the use, maybe, as the song says, a kiss is just a kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sometimes adrenaline can be your best friend. Sometimes it can get you into trouble. I’m sure what makes me pick out a pack of wolfhounds and run past them toward their Alpha is adrenaline. I’m just not sure if it’s the best friend kind or the trouble kind. The wolfhounds I run past send menacing stares and vicious growls. Are they wondering why I’m running in the opposite direction, or trying to figure out who I am? A few of them snap their jaws at me. As far as I can tell, it’s just reflex, a warning to keep clear or lose a limb, nothing personal. I count five of them hunting down a group of teenagers who wound up in the wrong p
lace at the wrong time.

  The wolfhounds work as a team, flank the kids on either side, and herd them up against the side of a block wall. Nowhere to run.

  Ivan is right, I sense their Alpha. He’s a man positioned behind the pack—enjoying the anonymity and safety of the shadows. He’s walking slowly, almost as if it’s just a stroll in the park. There’s a crooked smile edging its way across his face, as if he’s anticipating the coming massacre of the teens. I sense he likes the power, the control he has over his pack—over life and death.

  I gallop toward the man and leap into the air. Just before I land on the Alpha and put my full weight on him, his smile vanishes, replaced by shock; he’s opening his mouth to say something. I’ll never know what it was he wanted to tell the world. His throat is in my mouth—I taste the iron in his blood. His body goes limp under me. It’s over in just a few seconds. My first kill.

  I turn back and stare at the wolfhounds surrounding the teenagers. There is no attack. The canines back away and seem confused, disinterested in their prey. A helicopter flies overhead and a searchlight illuminates the scene. The wolfhounds scatter. The teenagers run away.

  “Way to go,” Ramirez yells. He points to his left toward another pack of wolfhounds on the run.

  Woof. Ivan races past me and through the advancing pack of wolfhounds. He dives at the Alpha, ripping the man apart. The wolfhounds slow down, turn, and scurry off into the desert. One of the members of the now disbanded pack of wolfhounds, a particularly oversized male with a long scruff of gray beard comes back into view and jogs toward me. Killing humans is easy; fighting a fully grown Giant Wolfhound will be another matter entirely. I steady myself and prepare for the worst.

  Ivan is at my side at once. He’s noticed the gray beard wolfhound zeroing in on me. Ivan is covered in the blood of his kills, he’s been fighting hard and is exhausted, but it’s still good to know he’s got my back.

  Graybeard approaches us, his large eyes focusing on me. The closer he gets, the more purposeful his stride becomes. In just a few steps, he’s standing nose to nose with me. Just then, I realize what he’s up to. Aunt Rose said not all of the wolfhounds trained to kill passed the test. Some, like me, exhibited freewill. Graybeard wants to help us in our fight. I can not only sense this, I feel it in my bones. We have an ally.