Howls From Hell

by Grady Hendrix

  “I’m really proud of you, Otto. We all are.”

  He blushed even harder, rubbing at the back of his neck. “At least I don’t grunt getting in and out of my rig anymore.”

  Sarah chuckled, removing her headgear and pulling her ponytail tight. “I’ve noticed some of the girls sneaking glances at you from time to time. You should talk to one of them. I’m sure once you get past those haircuts, they’re lovely people.”

  Otto held the middle rope of the sparring ring and Sarah stepped underneath, dropping to the ground.

  “You women are awful to each other,” he said through a wide smile, following her out. “You would think you’d look out for each other with how much testosterone flows around here.”

  “You’d be wrong.” She tossed her gear into her duffel then rummaged through it and brought out a water bottle. She sat on a bench against the wall and drank deeply.

  “Who’s the guy?”

  Sarah wiped at her mouth. “The guy?”

  “Your date tonight.” Otto plopped next to her.

  “Some guy my sister thinks I’ll get along with. I can’t remember his name, but he’s a supervisor at some data-entry firm.”

  “Ah, upper management. I didn’t think people like that had lives outside of work.” He stood, stretching his arms wide. His shirt lifted an inch, and Sarah's eyes were drawn to the suggestion of a six-pack there.

  Looks like the days of Slim Jims and potato chips are long gone.

  “I was thinking,” Otto asked, stretching his neck, “maybe if things don’t go well tonight, you and I could grab dinner tomorrow. Think of it as a palate cleanser.”

  “Otto, my man, you’re starting to sound like Mark—so forward.”

  “Mark? Oh no, you got me all wrong.” He nearly dropped his bag. “I just wouldn’t want you to think all men are as dull as this ‘Melvin in Accounting’ or whatever. It would just be two friends, enjoying each other’s company.”

  Sarah’s face grew hot. She didn’t mean to insult him. It was self-defence. Keeping a friend at arm’s length so as not to ruin the relationship.

  “I’m sorry, Otto. Dinner sounds nice. They say you should do it every night.”

  He stumbled, and for a second Sarah thought he might stop right in his steps.

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I mean, that’s assuming I don’t fall in love with Melvin and elope with him this very night. I’ll send you a wedding invitation if we do.”

  He laughed, catching up to her. “I’ll have to mail my present to you at a later date. I picked up a second shift tonight.”

  “You work too hard.”

  Otto opened the door with his back and held it as she passed through.

  “When you love what you do, Sarah, you don’t work a day in your life.”

  * * *

  4

  * * *

  “Not the dreamboat you hoped for?”

  Otto offered Sarah the bag of chips that came with his meal. The large cafeteria was almost empty apart from a few officers who sat alone with their simple meals—bland-looking beef, neon heaps of corn, and pale mashed potatoes. All funding went toward the high-tech possession rigs, leaving the food service to suffer.

  “I feel bad for him, you know?” She pulled open the bag. “How does someone like that find love?”

  “He’s probably a really interesting guy once you get to know him.”

  “That’s the thing,” she replied, mouth full of chips. “Most everyone is, but what if that awkward stage lingers past the first date? What if he’s a stammering mess at your wedding, stepping all over your feet on the first dance? Then you guys have kids, and they’re all awkward and boring, little clones of him.”

  “I guess that’s the chance you take in the dating world.”

  “I guess.” She shook crumbs from the bottom of the bag into her mouth. “I bet you got up to no good last night. Save any damsels in distress? Stop any affronts to our civilized society?”

  “A few,” he replied, leaning back. He laced his fingers together behind his head. The motion put his chest on display. Where fat used to hang, fleshy and weak, there was now hard muscle, built by strict discipline in both the gym and the kitchen. Why was she only noticing this now?

  “The only damsel I’m looking to save tonight is you. Save you from a boring night.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes and flicked a kernel of corn at him. He dodged. It sailed over his shoulder and hit Mark on the thigh a couple feet behind him.

  Oh God, Sarah thought, here we go.

  “Boys and girls,” he said. He sat on the fixed chair next to Otto and placed his bottle full of some sort of protein shake on the table.

  “Oh, hi, Mark,” Otto replied.

  “What do you want?” Sarah crossed her arms.

  Mark raised his hands, palms out. “What the hell? What’s with the hostility?”

  She leaned forward, raising the pitch of her voice as if talking to a child. “I’m so sorry, Marky, what can I do for you? Do you need Mommy to open the lid on your juice?” She leaned forward and popped the top open on his protein shake. “There you go. Drink it up, it’ll make you big and strong.” Otto laughed behind a muffling hand.

  Mark wasn’t bothered. He smiled at Sarah.

  “Careful with that mommy-talk. I don’t need a sexual awakening this late in the game.” He grabbed the protein shake and raised it to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downed half the drink. When he finished, he wiped his lips. “I know you want to roll your eyes at me. Don’t hold back to spare my feelings.”

  Sarah complied.

  “You do that so often, I’m surprised they don’t get stuck back there,” Mark said. “How’d your date go?”

  “Otto and I were talking about how much of a pompous cock you were—”

  Otto’s eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t!”

  “—but here you go, proving me wrong. You do care. You do listen. Someday you’ll make some little sorority girl the happiest wifey ever.”

  “I’m over my college-girl phase, Forrester. I’m into women now.” He dropped a wink at her, and she felt like simultaneously laughing and puking.

  “Well, I’m into real men who don’t get their eyebrows threaded.” She lifted a fist to Otto, who reluctantly bumped knuckles.

  A fresh-faced officer with close-cropped hair approached Mark from behind.

  “Marcus Taylor? The captain would like to speak with you.”

  Mark’s mouth turned downwards in a comical frown.

  “Uh oh,” he whispered to Sarah and Otto. “As if the mommy-talk wasn’t worrying enough, it looks like I’m in for a spanking. What are the odds of me coming out of this day with a weird, diaper-wearing, baby-talking fetish?”

  Sarah burst out laughing. It just slipped out. She didn’t want to give Mark the satisfaction, but it was too late.

  Mark stood, smiling.

  “Do good out there, boys and girls,” he said and walked off.

  “See ya, Mark,” Otto said, and Mark lifted a hand over his shoulder in a lazy farewell. “Guy’s a bit of a prick, huh?”

  Sarah wiped a tear from her eye. “Uh-huh. He’s relentless.”

  “Gotta admire that.” He looked uncomfortable. She should’ve tried harder not to laugh at Mark’s joke. “I figured you and I could check out this new restaurant a couple blocks from my place. It’s supposed to be pretty good, all organic and stuff.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Otto smiled at her then looked at the table. Mark’s shaker cup remained there, forgotten. “Guess the baby forgot his bottle. I’ll bring it to him.”

  Sarah chuckled. “I’ll see you tonight, Otto.”

  He lifted his hand over his shoulder as he walked away. The gesture lacked something present in Mark’s wave, a certain confidence that didn’t have to be forced or displayed for the benefit of others.

  Sarah blushed. Don’t you dare compare them. Otto was a nice guy. He didn’t deserve
that.

  The joke wasn’t even that funny. But later, when she thought of it, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

  * * *

  5

  * * *

  “We were hoping to get someone who knew how to fix computers.”

  Sarah had been called into the body of a boy who was deep within the clutches of puberty. The computer monitor before her was filled edge to edge with pop-ups advertising erotic video games, easy hookups in your town, and pills to increase your dick size by one to three inches. The faux-leather chair beneath her was uncomfortably warm.

  “What the hell were you kids doing on this thing?” Her pubescent voice cracked.

  “Nothing! We were, um, just on YouTube, watching videos.”

  Sure, thought Sarah, and those crusty socks your mom finds under your bed are that way because your sweat is 50% corn starch.

  “Please, you have to help. This is my dad’s computer. It was all your idea anyway. I mean, Josh’s idea, sir.”

  “The Summoner is for emergencies only.”

  “This is an emergency!”

  Sarah smacked her forehead with a sweaty hand. Not her hand, not her forehead.

  The customer was always right. Summoners weren’t cheap. If this kid’s dad was willing to shell out the money, it was her responsibility to provide assistance.

  Sarah located the offending program, shut it down, found the file location, and uninstalled it. All that was left was to close the pop-ups and install a parental lock. When she did, the boy's disappointment paid better than any money his dad could provide.

  “You spend too much time looking at that stuff, you’re going to be bored when you finally get to touch a real woman.”

  She basked in the embarrassment that washed over the young boy as he turned a bright shade of red. His glasses had fallen halfway down his nose, and Sarah noticed the cluster of pimples forming between his eyebrows. High school would be tough for him.

  “Maybe you guys should find different hobbies,” she said. “Watching porn with your buddy is a little fucked up.”

  Before the boy could stutter his response to her, Sarah relinquished control. She opened the visor on the control helmet and let her eyes adjust to the lighting in her area. The clock next to her rig reassured her that her shift was half an hour from being over. Thank God, she thought. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

  A light on her HUD notified her of a call. One more. She lifted her fingers to the helmet, secured it, and assumed control.

  There was a flash of white. It faded, revealing a modern kitchen equipped with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and a row of sharpened knives hanging by a magnetic strip. She scanned the room for signs of distress but found nothing.

  Not nothing. Smoke. The smell hung in the air like a cloud. On top of the stove lay the charred corpse of either a large chicken or a small turkey. Other than the bird, she was completely alone. In the body of a fifteen-year-old boy.

  “What—”

  A dry erase board hung on the fridge, an uncapped marker hanging from a string. that’s not my dad was scrawled in clumsy capital letters. An arrow beneath pointed down a short hall that ended in a closed door.

  What did it mean? Was it for her?

  She walked towards the door and tried the knob. Locked. She put her ear against the cold wood.

  A woman’s muffled pleas came from the other side.

  Sarah backed up a step, lifted a thin leg, and drove her heel into the door beneath the knob.

  It swung open, revealing the naked backside of an overweight man. His pants were around his ankles. He leaned over a woman lying on her back at the edge of a king-sized bed. His large, hairy hand covered her mouth. The woman’s crying eyes met Sarah’s.

  Sarah didn’t think. She rushed forward and grabbed the man by his thick work shirt. He was heavy but unbalanced as he struggled to get his pants back on. She rolled him over her back onto the ground and dropped a knee on his neck. The rolls of fat surrounding it softened the blow, however. The man got to his feet, raging and shaking her off.

  Blue rings glowed around his pupils.

  She stopped, stunned. He wasn’t in control of his own body.

  This man had summoned an ACU officer, most likely to put out the fire in the oven, and whoever answered the call took advantage of the situation. Was this the same officer who stole from those he—or she—swore to help?

  They’ll relinquish control now, Sarah thought with clenched fists as she prepared to give this body back to the teenaged boy who owned it. She would catch this monster on the other side and punish them. It’s over. They’re caught.

  The rings remained, glowing fiercely like a cold, blue fire. The man hiked up his pants, covering the fading erection. He balled his fists and charged.

  Sarah braced herself. The officer would be trained. She could only hope they were less diligent with their practice than herself.

  He grabbed her by the arm, shoving her into the kitchen.

  Sarah dropped beneath his legs. She used her entire body weight to flip him, and he flew onto the counter, knocking pans and knives from where they hung. Metal and cast iron crashed around him, the sound of a destroyed wind chime.

  Sarah knelt, catching her breath.

  The man slipped off the counter and grabbed a non-stick frying pan. He swung it sideways at her head.

  Sarah ducked underneath, feeling the whoosh of air as the pan nearly caught the back of her skull.

  Her hand fell on the handle of a knife. Scrambling to her feet, she wielded it before her to find the blade only a couple of inches long.

  A chef’s selection and you grab a paring knife. She flipped it so it stuck out the bottom of her fist.

  “Relinquish control,” she ordered at the man, but he advanced in a blind rage. The officer controlling his body was someone used to getting their way.

  She slashed out, but he deflected the blow with the pan. He swung it back and hit her on the shoulder, sending pain shooting outward in a fractured spiderweb of agony. It would be someone else’s problem when she relinquished control.

  He swung high, and she ducked. When she came back up, she swiped at the inside of the man’s bicep, the thin blade cutting through fabric, skin, fat, and—her target—his brachial artery.

  Blood poured out immediately, spreading dark rouge along the thick shirt and spilling out onto the kitchen’s white tiles. The man slipped and fell onto his back, sending the pan flying. He grimaced but didn’t rise.

  Sarah investigated his face. Gone were the blue rings around the man’s pupils, replaced by dark brown and confusion.

  Sobbing came from the doorway to the bedroom. The woman stood holding the broken strap of a tank top to her shoulder.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Sarah instructed, reaching into the man’s arm to pinch the artery shut. “Police and ambulance.”

  “Archie?” The woman seemed to be in a trance. “What—”

  “Now!”

  She rocked backwards as if slapped, then raced toward a side table in the bedroom. Sarah turned her attention back to the man.

  “The fire,” he blubbered. “Did I . . . did he get it? Why am I bleeding?”

  “Listen closely. You need to tell your son something when he comes back.”

  “Archie? Where did you come from?” His eyelids were closing, but Sarah slapped him back to attention.

  “The police are on their way. Tell Archie to keep his fingers pinched the way they are right now. If he lets go, you will die in less than a minute.” She held the slick artery tight, watching the confusion on the man’s face as tears began to slip from the corners of his eyes.

  “Why can’t you—”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She relinquished control.

  Back in her own body, Sarah pulled the control helmet off and jumped out of her rig. She stumbled out of her office, blinking rapidly at the bright, fluorescent light.

  “Otto,” she called, stepping into her partner
’s room.

  He lay in his rig, helmet on.

  It didn’t matter. She could handle it herself.

  Sarah rushed down the hall with open offices on either side. In every room, an officer sat in a padded rig, eyes closed, becoming the hero in someone else’s conflict. She peeked into each room, one after the other. There were no empty rigs until she got to the second last office on the right. Next to the empty rig on the ground was a shaker cup with the last half inch of protein shake sitting at the bottom.

  “Mark . . .”

  “Yeah.” To her left, the door to the men’s washroom swung shut. Mark stood in front of it looking sweaty and uncomfortable. His eyes remained fixed on the floor.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Do I really need to explain what goes on in men’s bathrooms? Picture the women’s, just with more urinals and fewer tampon dispensers.”

  “What was your last call?” She stepped to him, and he took a step back.

  “Fuck, I don’t know. I’d humour you, Forrester, but my guts are practically running down my leg. Can we discuss this another time?” He walked away.

  She followed.

  “Wait,” Sarah said, but he kept walking. “Your shift isn’t over.”

  “I’m taking a sick day.”

  She wanted to stop him, but to fight in your own body meant to suffer the consequences. There was no walking away from yourself.

  How dangerous would he become if confronted? He was so much bigger. So much stronger. The preoccupied officers wouldn’t hear her cries for help if he attacked. They would remain engrossed in whatever situation demanded their attention.

  Otto wouldn’t hear her.